Feb 23

My Parole Board Did Not Go As Planned

Parole Board

Parole Board

My Parole Board Did Not Go As Planned

 

Sitting in a waiting room in anticipation to be seen next was nerve racking. The parole board was in session and my turn was coming up. These people would decide three things for me.

First, if I was eligible for the next custody level from Minimum to Trustee. Second, if I would finally get a detail change to the barbershop. Third, and most important, if I would be approved to go home early on parole. Rehearsing what I might say to the parole board when asked, really wouldn’t help much. It seemed as if I always choked under pressure in these situations.

A door opened and an inmate came out. He headed towards the exit and left. Not much expression on his face. No telling how many times he had done this before. It was my first time and I just couldn’t shake the anxiety.

“Inmate Mike…” Someone from inside the room beckoned me.

In military fashion, I marched into the small room that looked like all the other rooms in the DB, drab and cold. There was a table with several military personnel seated behind it. They were all wearing their BDU’s and looked very intimidating. There was a lone chair in front of the table facing the board members. This is where I would sit once I was told it was okay to do so. When I was positioned in front of the chair, I stood at attention and stated, “Inmate Mike reporting as ordered, Sir.” Normally I would salute but this was a privilege that was revoked from military inmates. The senior member of the board, who I believe was a Major, said, “Have a seat Mike.”

Sitting at attention, not sure how this would all go down, I didn’t move and I didn’t speak unless spoken to. Even though I was an inmate I was still in the military. These guys took protocol very seriously. Due to the gravity of the situation, I didn’t want to seem disrespectful or that I had lost all military bearing.

The fact that I was guilty, serving my time and at their mercy had me expecting a stern and condescending environment. The weird thing was they all seem genuinely pleasant. They started to ask me some questions about how I ended up in the DB, what my family was like, what had I been doing during my confinement, the classes I was taking. Then the questioning changed to future plans, what I wanted to do upon release, how I was going to refrain from going down the same path, what steps I had in place to ensure a successful re-entry into society.

Trying to answer every question carefully and with some thought, I believe I told them everything they wanted to hear. There was only one issue. When I told the board that I wanted to be moved from the mess hall to the barbershop and if that didn’t happen, then I would attend cosmetology school upon release, one of the board members flippantly said, “Cosmetology school? You just want to be around all those girls, don’t you?” This really bothered me. Maybe he was trying to be funny, but this was my parole board. This was my future and he was making jokes. My countenance changed and I fired back, “No, Sir, I want to cut hair. I’ve been doing it since high school and it is my passion.” They looked at me a little strange, like I didn’t know how to take a joke. Maybe, it was nerves, or that I was being sensitive, but I just thought it was inappropriate under the circumstances. Other than that moment, the board went pretty cut and dry.

When, they were done questioning me, I was told that I was dismissed. After I got up out of the chair, I stood at attention and said, “Thank you, Sirs.” Then I left the room in the same manner as the inmate before me: not much expression on my face. I wasn’t really sure how it would all pan out and I didn’t really think I said anything that impressed them.

The decisions about my custody and detail were provided fairly quickly. Shortly after the board, maybe about a week later, I was notified that I would not be going to the barber shop. Instead, I would be staying in the mess hall. This was the third request to change and the third denial. It just wasn’t in the cards for me I guess. As far as custody, I would be staying in Minimum for at least six more months. In six more months, I would be eligible for another custody hearing. Not sure if would ask again for the detail change. Custody change, I would be asking for.

Some of the people that I associated with in building B-6 had moved up to the next custody level. After Minimum custody was Trustee and once you made that, you got to leave the prison walls and move out to the Local Parole Unit (LPU). Those who went out there made it sound like the most peaceful place on Earth.

The decision about parole took a little longer. So, I was resigned to waiting once again. This was something I was getting good at, but it was not by choice and I hated it.

 

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Next post: My family moves to Omaha, only three hours away.

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The Fort Leavenworth Story

Feb 16

How Blowing It Big Turned Me Around

Blowing It

LSD

Blowing It

It was early April, 1991 and I had to submit my parole packet before my board in June.

My parents would not be back to the U.S. for me to live with them, so the plan was to stay with my grandmother in Connecticut. That plan changed when we felt like it was smarter to stay with my grandfather. He had been a Connecticut State Trooper for fifty years and it seemed as if this would be a more ideal situation on paper. Even though they divorced when my dad was a kid, my grandparents only lived about a block away from each other. They would both be around to help me out.

We looked into a cosmetology school near my grandparents and found one that I thought would work out. Since it didn’t ever seem like I would get into the inmate barber shop, this would have to be the avenue I pursued. Also included in my packet was, a statement from me that went something like this:

“Through my involvement in Narcotics Anonymous and Drug and Alcohol Related Incidents classes, I have been able to comprehend my dependency. I have learned ways to help prevent relapse. I feel that I need a second chance to prove that I have learned my lesson. I will be attending a Cosmetology School in CT and my father will be paying the tuition. I will be living with my grandfather.”

This was combined with a letter from my grandmother and a letter from my grandfather. I was still waiting to hear from the Connecticut State employment agency for some job placement assistance. This was necessary to show that I would be gainfully employed instead of returning back to negative sources of income. The last thing I needed was a letter from my dad, which he told me was in the mail.

From what I had been hearing, no one made their first parole board. Even though you might be eligible, if you had not served at least fifty percent of your sentence, it would be a no go. Feeling like my packet was pretty good and the fact I had a lot of family support, I thought it could go either way. However, I told my parents that if I didn’t make it the first time I would be okay with it. It made me feel more comfortable with the idea of being able to live with my parents than living with my grandparents.

At this point there was nothing else I could do other than submit what I had, wait for the rest and continue to serve my time until further notice.

It was after dinner in the mess hall, I had just finished wiping down all the stainless steel tables and chairs, as well as sweeping and mopping the floors on the 3 Wing side. The next task was to do the same thing on the 4 Wing side. The guard that was in charge of keeping tabs on us was sitting at a desk on the 3 Wing side. They rarely came over since cleaning the room and rolling in the silverware and plate carts were the only times we went in there.

As I began to wipe down the tables and chairs, I noticed Jim Woods walked into the room acting very nervous and suspicious. He kept looking back over his shoulder and moved quickly over to the table that I was cleaning. When he stopped, he opened up his hand and said “Dude look.” Sitting in the palm of his hand were two white square pieces of paper about a quarter the size of a postage stamp.

With the intense paranoia of the moment and the fear of getting caught, I instinctively grabbed one of them and threw it into my mouth. Taking it was a knee jerk reaction, when I recognized that what Jim was showing me was two hits of LSD, I just took one. I am still uncertain if he actually meant for me to have one of them, but it was too late. As soon as the one I took was gone, he ate the other one.

The rest of the day was crazy. Since I had been clean for almost two years, this drug hit me like it was the first time I experimented with it. The familiar shades of pink and green shadows appeared around everyone and everything that moved. The hair on my arms began to sway back and forth like fields of grain in the wind and I was fixated on watching it for what seemed like hours. In actuality it was probably only a few seconds.

Either the fear of being found out or the need to see what I looked like, lead me to the bathroom mirror. This was a common occurrence when taking acid. Everyone that did it knew that if you went to a mirror, you could get lost there for hours. When I flipped the light switch on I noticed that not only did my pupils not shrink down, but they were huge, maybe twice or three times the size as normal. My skin seemed to be very dirty and broken out, with the same pink and green cast to it that I experienced earlier. As I touched my face, it was numb and the skin moved around as if it were not attached. Someone had to go to the bathroom and so I quickly made my way to the dining area again.

Sitting at a table with Jim, we stayed away from everyone else as we watched their figures shrink, expand, stretch and contract. We couldn’t understand what people were saying to each other because their voices were slow and slurred as if time was beginning to move in reverse. And then the giggles kicked in. Everything seems to be funny for no reason. We chuckled in a weird sort of nervous laughter that we tried to keep muffled because we didn’t want anyone to know we were tripping out.

At some point one of the kitchen Cadre, came over and told us to grab the rolling garbage cans to be taken outside. As Jim and I somehow functioned through this, the Sergeant never caught on to us. It was dark outside and so that helped conceal our condition. We took the garbage to a bin and threw it all away, laughing the whole time. The Sergeant kept looking at us like we were stupid and he was not amused.

After the shift ended, I headed out of the Castle back to B-6. As I walked through the courtyard, I could feel some of the effects lifting away. Not completely, but I had a grasp on what was going on and I could feel myself coming back into more control. Proceeding up the steps and through the doors, I walked up to the guard desk and signed in while doing my best to avoid eye contact with the guard. Heading upstairs, I was looking for Wally to borrow some music.

He was right at the top of the stairs playing pool and as I got closer to him, he saw my eyes and asked me quietly, “Where did you get it from?” He knew right away what had happened without me saying a word. I told him that it was all gone and after getting some CD’s from him, I went back to my bunk. There sitting on my desk was my mail.

Sifting through the letters, I pulled out one from my dad. It seemed thicker than normal. After I opened the envelope I realized that it contained the letter he wrote on my behalf to the parole board. As I read through it I began to feel guilty, because he was saying some pretty nice things about me. It was the last statement that hit me like a ton of bricks.

My father wrote:

“I would stake my reputation, my career and my life, that my son would never do drugs again.”

What was I thinking?

Why did I do something like this now?

What would have happened to my dad if he actually put all of this up for collateral?

How was it that this letter showed up on the very same day that I had taken drugs again?

Becoming overwhelmed with emotion my eyes began to well up. It could have been the impending depression from the drugs wearing off or it could have been guilt that was affecting me. Tears started to fall from my eyes and run down my cheeks as I began to realize the impact that my choices and decisions were having on people who did not live in my skin.

I was a hypocrite for what I wrote in my parole statement.

I had betrayed the trust that my loved ones had been investing in me.

The pain from the shame was unbearable.

It was at this moment, I knew that something needed to change and that something was me. Vowing to God that there was no turning back, I made a decision that I was never going to do that again.

I am reminded of the Apostle Paul’s struggle:

Romans 7:15-20 The Message (MSG)

14-16 I can anticipate the response that is coming: “I know that all God’s commands are spiritual, but I’m not. Isn’t this also your experience?” Yes. I’m full of myself—after all, I’ve spent a long time in sin’s prison. What I don’t understand about myself is that I decide one way, but then I act another, doing things I absolutely despise. So if I can’t be trusted to figure out what is best for myself and then do it, it becomes obvious that God’s command is necessary.

17-20 But I need something more! For if I know the law but still can’t keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don’t have what it takes. I can will it, but I can’t do it. I decide to do good, but I don’t really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don’t result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time.

Doesn’t this describe us all? 

 

Thank you Jesus for paying the price for my stupidity. I am a broken mess.

 

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The Fort Leavenworth Story

 

 

Feb 09

How A Visit Made Me Feel Human Again

Visit

USDB South Gate

How A Visit Made Me Feel Human Again

It was a normal day of mess hall duties when I received a surprise message. I overheard a transmission on one of the cadre’s radio. The person on the other end said, “Send inmate Mike to South Gate, he has a visitor.” Since my parents would not be back in the states for a couple more months, I had no idea who might come to visit me. We usually worked in our t-shirts, so I put my brown shirt on and headed out of the mess hall to the 3 Wing gate.

One of the guards in the guard cage opened the gate for me and I passed through into the Rotunda and then out into the courtyard. Walking this path to go back and forth to work, church, or classes every day was so routine that, I didn’t appreciate it as much as the first time I walked through it. But today was different. Getting a visitor was a major deal. It was a privilege that was available to most inmates, however some inmates would never receive a visit throughout their entire confinement.

As I made my way towards the South Gate my pace picked up. No running was allowed inside the courtyard, so I was speed walking. Once I made it to the gate and reported in, they patted me down, and sent me into a room. There were a bunch of chairs, and a vending machine. Some inmates were there with a few visitors even though the room could accommodate a large number of people. The visitors looked strange because they were not wearing inmate brown, or military camouflage like the guards and cadre. The array of civilian clothes was colorful, bright and strange.

Scanning the group I did not see anyone I knew but I noticed an older couple sitting alone. As the woman stood up I recognized her from a picture I had in my cell.

Visit

Mary Sue & Bill

It was Mary Sue. She was the woman from Eddie’s church that had been praying for me since I was arrested. She had been writing me letters and sending me the church bulletin so that I could see my name listed every Sunday in the prayer request section. She gave me a hug and although I had never met this woman in person before, I felt like she was family. Mary Sue introduced me to her husband Bill and we began to chat. Every time they addressed me, they used my first name and that took some getting used to. Everyone here called me Mike or inmate Mike. Hearing David seemed foreign.

I couldn’t help but wonder why they came all the way from Gainesville, Georgia to visit me. They were traveling on vacation to another destination and since they were driving through Kansas, she said that there was no way that they could be this close and not stop to see me. This blew me away. Why would someone who didn’t know me from Adam be this committed to me? Why did she care so much about a drug dealing, dishonorably discharged deserter? While it was nice to break up the monotony of the daily routine, and great to get out of work for a while, the feeling that someone really cared about me was incredible.

The rest of the conversation was a lot of getting to know each other, small talk stuff. They asked questions about prison life, and how I was doing. No matter who asked, I always said “Don’t worry about me, I’m doing fine.” I asked some questions about what was going on with Eddie, since he had been released from the Fort Riley detention facility. Mary Sue said that she didn’t see him that much, but that his mom said he was doing fine. We spent a couple hours in the visitation room but it went by pretty quickly.

I could have talked all day but, I knew that they had to continue on their vacation. Mary Sue gave me another hug and I shook Bill’s hand. After thanking them immensely for seeing me, I watched them leave and head out the door. Exiting the room in the other direction, I headed back to the Castle to go back to work. This time, as I walked through the courtyard, it felt different. Maybe it wasn’t the courtyard; maybe it was me. I was different. Who knew that one visit could change an inmate this much. My body felt lighter, my head was up and I was a person. My name was David, not Inmate and someone came to see me. I mattered.

I believe that God put my name in Mary Sue’s heart. He wanted her to pray for me because I needed it. She felt led to do it and was being obedient to her calling. She was praying for me and watching God work in my life. There was nothing she could do for me herself, so praying was what she did. When all you can do is pray, prayer is more than enough.

Many others had been praying for me like my family of course. Also people from the Chapel in Germany as well as many of the kids in the Chapel Youth Group that had read the letter I had sent to them. They were all praying for me, too.

But there were others that I only would find out about later.

Last year, I joined a motivational Facebook group called the 30 Days of Hustle that currently has over 11,000 members. In this group I would be prompted with some challenges to achieve a short term goal. I posted an introduction to the group stating that my goal was to start writing a book about my experience in Fort Leavenworth.

Minutes later, I received this message:

Dear David, 

I saw your post on 30 Days of Hustle. I don’t know if you remember me, but I remember you. I dated a guy from Ft. Polk in the late 80s and you were the go-to guy for him and several friends. I never imbibed because 1) I was scared and 2) I always offered to drive. But all of that is neither here nor there. 

I was around when you disappeared. I told my mom your story and she prayed for you for a long time. I cannot WAIT to tell her that I found you! I have also prayed for you once or twice since forming a wonderful relationship with Christ. I almost cried when I started reading your blog. It is YOU! The one my mom asked about for a year. It’s YOU, the one we prayed for. God is so faithful.  

I look forward to the 30 Days and I look forward to reading your book. I’m so glad that it has such a happy ending.  

Sincerely, 

Milaka (Myers) Falk

I asked Milaka why she prayed for me.

I prayed for a lot of people from my past. If I remembered a person or an instance, I would just send up a prayer. I know you struck a chord with my mom, but I can’t tell you why. She couldn’t either – she even said once that she didn’t know why your name kept coming up in her mind.

Milaka saw my name and remembered me from over 20 years ago. Her mom, whom I’ve never met, prayed for me while I was in prison. My name kept coming up in her head and she had no idea why. Chills ran through me when I read this. It’s amazing how God chooses to reveal Himself. I believe God wanted me to know, that no matter where I was or what I was doing, He never left me. He had a plan for my life despite my attempts to derail it. If I were left to my own devices, without the prayers of others covering me in my mess, I was destined to a life of failure, disappointment, misery and most likely death.

But, God promises this:

Deuteronomy 31:8 New Living Translation (NLT)

Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord will personally go ahead of you. He will be with you; he will neither fail you nor abandon you.”

 

Next Post: I made a very stupid decision.

 

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The Fort Leavenworth Story

Jan 26

Music and Friends

Music

Music

Music and Friends

A couple of friends from Ft. Polk were also in building B-6 with me. Devin who used to live in Jane’s trailer and Chris Holmes. We were all living in the same bay. Our relationship was different now, especially since I testified against Chris. It wasn’t the same as with Captain Tessler who gave me “I wish you were dead” smirks every time I ran into him. They were civil to me but it was pretty superficial. It seemed as if there were no hard feelings but it wasn’t the same as when we were all partying together. It was just down to small meaningless conversations, and a little reminiscing of the good old days. So, I made a new friend.

Wally was a pretty interesting guy. We interacted quite a bit at the NA meetings, where he was pretty active. I really got to know him well once I made it to Minimum custody. He not only came from a wealthy family but he also had a settlement from a motor cycle accident and another settlement from a childhood eyelid surgery. He had tons of money. Because of the eyelid procedure, he slept with his eyes open. It was pretty creepy. The only way you could tell he was asleep was when you tried to talk to him, he wouldn’t respond. Another thing I remember about Wally was his hair. He kept it pretty long on top but because he was black, it didn’t look as long as it actually was. Because of the length he had little mini dreads in the front. They were unauthorized but just like my long bangs, we were able to camouflage them. I had to use gel, his just blended in.

In the Army, Wally had been stationed in Holland. He lived on a house boat in the canals of Amsterdam which is where his wife and daughter still were. He was convicted of manufacturing LSD and was serving a sentence a little longer than me but I don’t remember how long. The coolest thing about Wally was that he liked the same music as me and he let me use his stereo to listen to his tapes and CD’s. Since I worked shift work, there were times that I could use it when he was at work. Back in the Castle we only had the choice to plug our headphones into the three wall jacks. I was always afraid of plugging into the wrong jack and getting brain damage from exposure to country music.

It was awesome to hear the exact bands I loved. Bands like Depeche Mode, The Cure, New Order, The Smiths, etc. Listening to them took me to places outside of the DB. If I closed my eyes, I could escape these walls. The music transported me to the places that I remember hearing these songs. It killed the maddening noise of prison, the talking, arguing, bravado, testosterone, it all went away. For a moment, I was free, even if it was an illusion.

Another taste of freedom came when I randomly received my W-2 from 1989. It stated that I only made $3200 for the entire year. This meant that if I filed, I should get most of my taxes back. So, I put in a request for a 1989 1040EZ. After filing, I received a refund of $340. It was deposited into my PDF account. Originally I was going to buy a stereo, but I decided to save most of the money for when I got out. If I didn’t make parole my release was scheduled for about two more years. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was better than nothing.

When I told my parents what I was planning to do with the money and that I decided not to buy the stereo, they decided to send me one. This was pretty awesome because I was no longer limited to just borrowing Wally’s when he was at work. I could listen to the radio which was fine, or I could raid Wally’s CD collection. The guards were a little more relaxed about personal property in Minimum Custody. In the castle, you couldn’t even have a magazine with someone else’s registration number on it or you would have a D&A Board. Maybe they thought that sharing music kept us pacified and I was cool with that.

Having enjoyed listening to Wally’s music, I really wanted to have my own music. I remembered that Dee used to record a radio broadcast from Club 6400 in Houston. Each Saturday night the night club would air all the most popular music for about two hours. She had tons of those shows on cassette tape. I called her and asked her if she could send me copies of them and that I would pay her for the tapes. Of course she said that it was no problem and that she would get right on it.

In that same phone call, Dee informed me that she had become a Christian. It sounded like Sid did as well. In a million years I would have never expected that from them. I professed to be a Christian, so I knew how important this decision was in the grand scheme of life. It was exciting and I was so glad for them.

However, my own spiritual walk with God was not strong. Trips to the Chapel did nothing for me. My recent attempt to read through the Bible from cover to cover, left me empty. A lot of it was boring and I didn’t really get much out of it. Mostly it seemed as if I still was distant from God and only called on Him when I needed something. The focus was on myself a majority of the time which made my relationship with God like playing with a yo-yo. Knowing that I was attached to His hand, made it easy for me to stay distant. When I was down, I would be drawn back up to Him. When I was up, I would immediately be pulled back down by the gravity of my own flesh. In my head I thought I understood what a relationship with God was and meant but it did not reflect in my heart.

Unfortunately I had nothing to do with my friends becoming Christians. As I reflect on that knowledge now, sometimes I struggle with the thought of knowing that the last interaction I have had with some people was selling them drugs. Their memory of me is always going to be of my former self. Some of the people I used to hang around have passed away and I will never know if they made the decision to walk with Jesus in their heart. This would bring more freedom than music, money or the opening of prison gates.

Although I may be burdened with regrets of the past, I still have hope for the future.

Music and Friends (Click To Tweet)

If this is your first time reading my true life story and would like to start at the beginning click this title. The Fort Leavenworth Story

Jan 19

Crime And Punishment

Punishment

Punishment

Crime and Punishment

Although we were serving time for the crimes we were convicted of, there were times when if you messed up you were punished again.

If you screwed with other inmates, there would be a great chance of retaliation. Not always right away, but things didn’t just go away. Or, there were some that didn’t make it out alive for what seemed like no reason. Sometimes the punishment didn’t fit the crime.

Even though I had to continue working in the dining facility, things were getting better. My position changed to beverage man. This was the easiest job available. Basically, I was in charge of making sure that everything worked properly and that nothing ever ran out. The milk dispenser had to be filled with two big bags of white milk, and one bag of chocolate. The soda machine would sometimes run out of the flavored syrup and so I had to monitor and quickly replace them as needed. The coffee machine was huge and I had to brew it first thing in the morning when I got there in order for it to be ready for breakfast. There was plenty of time to brew coffee before lunch and dinner, however the morning brew was crucial.

The most important thing I had to do in this position was to make the coffee. If that wasn’t done right, there could be serious problems. If it wasn’t ready, then hundreds of very irritated inmates would want to have a few choice words with the beverage man. Caffeine addicts in withdrawal could be disastrous, and would certainly lead to incidents throughout the day. On one of my first attempts, I hadn’t put enough grounds in the filter and so the coffee was not going to be strong enough. There was a glass tube that showed the coffee level so I would know when it was getting low. It was because of this indicator that I knew that something was wrong. When I stopped by to check the progress, I noticed that the liquid looked more like watery tea than the dark brown it normally was. Not having much time before the mess hall opened, I drained the light brown water, refilled the metal filter with the right amount of coffee and started it over. It was about half full when the doors opened up. Luckily the first cups brewed are always the strongest and so everything turned out okay. Crisis averted, but man was I sweating.

On March 7, 1991, we got stuck in the mess hall for hours. Our shift was up but there was a problem with the headcount. Someone was missing from the DB. The procedure was to do the count a couple times to make sure the missing person wasn’t just an oversight. It wasn’t. Inmate Donald Goff who was serving a fifty year sentence for the death of his infant son had escaped. He climbed into a laundry cart and it was wheeled into a truck that drove between Fort Leavenworth and Fort Riley regularly. On the trip, Goff changed into a uniform from the laundry cart. When the back of the truck was opened and no one was looking, he walked out of the truck and right off the post.

From what I understand, one of the guys that I worked with in the mess hall had been recently released and moved to the Fort Riley area where he was originally from. The former inmate met up with Goff, gave him some regular clothes and helped him get on his way. It took hours before they could verify that he was actually gone. We could not leave the mess hall until the all clear was given. It made for a long night. Eventually they released us and I left the Castle to go back to B-6. It took about three days for Federal law enforcement to find and capture him. He had been staying in a Salvation Army men’s shelter. I remember seeing him being escorted through the courtyard in shackles as he was taken to solitary confinement. Once again, until the crime had been paid for, we could not run away from our punishment. Goff tried to gain his own freedom and for a blink in time he got away. However, a long stint in the hole and another court-martial adding more time to his sentence made the price to pay even higher than when he started out.

One of the guys that I worked with in the mess hall had a real knack of annoying everyone. Inmate Steeple always seemed to say or do things to get under everyone’s skin. He was very opinionated and sometimes he would play practical jokes on other inmates. It was hard enough to get along with this guy in the mess hall but he made some serious enemies in 4 Wing. I know this because he had an “accident”. Steeple was taking the subscription cards from various magazines and filling out the information so that they would go to other inmates using the “bill me later” option.

Someone found out that he was the culprit. A few of the inmates took the crutches that Steeple was using for a back injury from weight lifting, and used them to give him a severe beating. After that, they pushed him down a flight of stairs. He was taken to the hospital in a coma. Although, it’s possible that he recovered, I never saw him again. Sometimes it was easy to forget that I was surrounded by some very dangerous people, and then I would get a reminder. What Steeple was doing was minor, but the price he paid seems a bit steep. Something needed to be done about it but this was a pretty high big punishment for the “crime”.

One fateful afternoon, an inmate who had just recently arrived to the DB, collapsed on the recreation field. It took quite a while to get an ambulance cleared to come onto the rec field. It was too late, because he was already dead. There was a lot of discussion about whether the level of security was the reason for his death. Inmates were angry because they felt like the guards didn’t do enough to save him and that they didn’t feel safe. After the autopsy results came back, we heard that there was really nothing anyone could have done. The deceased inmate had an enlarged heart and died instantly. It really sucked that he died in prison, because he died before his crime was paid for.

It makes me think about how we all feel like we will live forever and that when making decisions like eternal security, we think that we have all the time in the world. Many others will do the same spiritually. We all start out in the bondage of sin, the effects of which result in not only a miserable life but an eternity separated from God. If only we would accept the free pardon from the one who paid our sin debt and took our punishment for us.

It’s never too late until it’s too late.

Crime And Punishment (Click To Tweet)

If this is your first time reading my true life story and would like to start at the beginning click this title. The Fort Leavenworth Story

Jan 12

Combat

Combat

Combat

On 17 January 1991, the United States started an extensive aerial bombing campaign in Iraq, changing the name of Operation Desert Shield to Operation Desert Storm.

Combat troops were on the ground blazing their way towards Kuwait City. The U.S. was at war which meant so was I, but I couldn’t do anything about it. It was surreal, growing up my entire life wanting to serve my country and now when the crap hit the fan, I was serving time for disservice to my country. This was the second time I missed out on combat. I wasn’t a warmonger, and I had no desire to go to a foreign land and get shot or anything. It’s just that I dreamed of being a soldier and serving when duty called.

Unfortunately because of my selfishness, immaturity and stupidity, I was about as far from being a soldier that anyone could be. Having the status of deserter meant that I ran from my responsibilities. There was no turning back now, I was reduced to watching the whole thing unfold from the walls of an Army prison on a little two dimensional screen. Once again all the military experts had their opinions and comments. They would talk about how the war would be won if they were in charge, or criticize the way the Generals were commanding the troops.

But the most interesting discussions came from the inmates who converted to Islam while inside the walls. Several times there were statements like “Saddam Hussein is my homeboy.” If these guys hadn’t gotten locked up, they wouldn’t be cheering him on. They would have been right over there being shot at by their “brothers.” To this day, I’m surprised that these guys were never retaliated against. I think the only thing that was keeping it from happening was the inevitable trip to the hole if there were any issues. Even heated discussions were a red flag for the guards. That stuff got shut down quickly to avoid any incidents.

Even though everyone in Fort Leavenworth was an inmate, they all were military and were still very patriotic. So many people were excited by the rumor about reinstatement to their respective branch of service. I think everyone was thinking things were going to go down like the old Lee Marvin movie, The Dirty Dozen. I was assured by my counselor that they were only rumors. No inmates would be going to combat.

Some of the Cadre went though. A Sergeant First Class who was one of our supervisors in the dining facility was deployed to Iraq. When he came back he had pictures of the “Highway of Death” to Baghdad. Burned up tanks and trucks littering the sides of the road. Two of the pictures were kind of disturbing. One was of an Iraqi soldier that had been blown up and so some of his body parts were not in the right place. The other picture was of an Iraqi soldier sitting in a burned up vehicle. At first it looked as if he was still driving it, but he was completely charred to a black remnant of a human being. He was frozen in time. It was strange to look at because I had never seen anything like it before.

Later in the war, I watched a sobering report on the news. In an incident of friendly fire near the the Saudi-Iraqi border, a U.S. Bradley Fighting Vehicle (Bradley) and an M113 Armored Personnel Carrier (M113) were destroyed by two Hellfire missiles fired from a U.S. Apache helicopter killing two U.S. soldiers and injuring six others. The soldiers were Cavalry Scouts and a reminder that, had I gone to war, this could have been me. Since I had been a Cavalry Scout, I could have ended up in this same situation. (Middleton, Jeffrey Thomas, SGT) (Talley, Robert D. PV1)

All my life I wanted to be a soldier, and now we were at war. The struggle of feeling like I had let my country down, by not being able to stand by my fellow soldiers, was brutal. The guilt and shame I felt for running away made me feel like such a coward. I would do anything to go back in time and right the wrongs, erase them or make the mistakes that haunted me go away. I couldn’t do anything to fix or reverse them. At the same time, I don’t know if I could have handled some of what I was seeing. Maybe it’s best that I never went to combat. The war that waged within me was between patriotism, shame and regret and yet at the same time I was glad that it wasn’t me on the highway of death or inside of a burning vehicle dying at the hands of one of my brothers-in-arms.

Truthfully, I didn’t really have any brothers-in-arms anymore. All the soldiers I hung out with and called my friends were either, out of the Army now, or were convicted of the same crimes as me. I did hear that Eddie Gaines and Vann had both been released from Fort Riley. They were there because they had shorter sentences. Fort Leavenworth was for inmates who had been sentenced to five or more years. Once I found out they were out, I called both of them.

Eddie had gone back to Georgia and got a job at a Krogers grocery store. Vann went back to Alexandria, Louisiana for a while and later moved to the West Coast to pursue a professional rock climbing hobby. It was so good to hear their voices. They were so very familiar sounding, but yet there was something different. It had been over a year since I had seen them both and I think they both knew that we were all moving on to different paths. There was a distance in their voices. At this point I wasn’t sure if I would ever hear from them again.

Next week, this place was more dangerous than I realized and another escape….

Combat (Click To Tweet) 

To this day, I still struggle with the fact that I have a dishonorable discharge. I wrote about how I have been able to deal with it all these years later.

Read about it here.

If this is your first time reading my true life story and would like to start at the beginning click this title. The Fort Leavenworth Story

Jan 05

December Blessings

Blessings

Blessings

December Blessings

This was a heavy blow to me because I really wanted to cut hair when I got out of prison. My plan was to get my barber’s license, gain some professional experience and start working as soon as I got out. It seemed as if I was going to have to attend school after my release.

Staying in the mess hall was not what I had in mind. However, because of my skill level at work, I was now receiving four days of extra good time a month. I currently had eight days saved up. If I never made parole, all the extra good days would drop about five months off my minimum release date. That would move it from July 1993 to around February 1993. I would lose the ability to accumulate that many if I switched details. So maybe it was for the best that I stayed put. Even though I was upset about having to stay in the mess hall, I guess it was a blessing that I wouldn’t be able to receive until later. As I look back now, God had a plan.

My spirits were lifted by all the cards that started to come in. The slowdown of mail had been making me feel kind of down. One card was from Mary Sue and her husband. She was the lady from Eddie’s church that prayed for me every day. I’m not sure why, but God wrote my name on her heart and she took a special interest in my well-being. I’m sure today that the reason things didn’t go worse for me is because of people like Mary Sue who lifted me up in prayer throughout my confinement. The fact that God had prayer warriors around the world, zoned in on me, was definitely a blessing.

My Christmas package arrived. I can’t remember everything that my parents put in there, but I do remember there were boxed and packaged snack foods and Studio Line by L’Oreal strong hold fixing gel. The only hair product that we could have issued to us was some sort of grease that had no hold. You might have been able to use it to lubricate machinery.

I requested the gel because I was trying to keep my hair longer than regulation. The barber who became a good friend of mine would cut the sides of my hair really short and barely take anything off the top. It was kind of a way around the Army haircut regulations. As long as I could keep all of my hair from falling down in my face, none of the guards really said anything. That’s why I had to have the product. Yes, still a rebel.  Aside from the hair gel, it was nice to have some stuff from home.

Home was about to get a little bit closer. My father’s tour in Germany was coming to an end and he was going to be coming back to the U.S. sometime in May. In the military, you fill out a dream sheet. Basically you list the bases you would like to go to. If they had an opening for what you did and for your rank you could end up there. This was also kind of a joke because many times the military just sent you where they thought they needed you.

Otherwise, there would probably be bases around that would be empty because no one would pick them. Although he didn’t pick it, he was going to be stationed at Offut AFB, in Omaha, NE. Coming back to the states meant that I could call them collect instead of trying to three way call through a friend. Moving to Omaha meant that they were only going to be about three hours away from Ft. Leavenworth. They would be close enough to visit. I’m not sure if the Air Force picked this destination or if God did.

It seemed that when I would get really down, God would send something my way in various forms to lift me back up again. In the month that is usually reserved for the celebration of His birth, it seemed as if I were the one receiving all the blessings.

Next post, Operation Desert Storm begins.

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If this is your first time reading my true life story and would like to start at the beginning click this title. The Fort Leavenworth Story

Dec 29

Good News Bad News

Day School

USDB

Good News Bad News

Good News came on Dec 6th, 1990. I was elevated to Minimum Custody and it was time to leave 3 Wing. My red badge was swapped for a green one with the letters MIN on it. This badge was a key to more freedom than I had experienced for over a year. While gathering all my belongings, I took one last look around the cell that had been my home for the past seven months and said good riddance. This was a place I did not ever want to get too comfortable in.

Walking out of my cell and down the staircase a sense of relief came over me, at least for the moment. As I headed towards the wing gate, many of the inmates congratulated me and wished me luck in my new living arrangements. Leaving the wing and moving across the polished floor of the Rotunda, I took pride in my last steps out of the Castle and into the courtyard.

Breathing in the fresh cold December air, I headed toward my new home, building 466 or otherwise known as B-6. It was located at the opposite end, in the South-West corner of the courtyard. The three story building looked pretty good for being built in 1840. It was very long and painted a light yellow with a grey roof. The basement level floor was actually used for the carpentry, paint and masonry shops, while the second and third floors were for inmate housing. A set of stairs took me up to the second level and under a brick and stone arched entry way, to a set of doors.

After opening the doors, I stepped onto a hard wood floor inside of a square room. Near the doors on the wall behind me were phone booths like the ones in the Castle. On the walls to the left and right were openings that led into either side of the building. In front of me I was greeted by a large desk with a guard sitting behind it. I reported to him and he told me to sign in on a clip board with my inmate registration number. I had it memorized since it was my identity. A74780 and time in. Every time I walked through those doors, I would have to sign in or out, or face a D&A Board. Even with small freedoms comes responsibility.

Behind the desk was a staircase that led to the third floor. The guard told me to follow him as he headed up the stairs to show me my assigned bunk. At the top of the stairs, there was a recreation area with a pool table and some other things to pass the time. Some inmates who were hanging out in the rec. area noticed me coming in but it wasn’t like in 3 Wing. They didn’t have “that look”; it was more like sizing me up, not staring me down.

We turned left and entered a long bay lined with bunk beds, tall metal lockers and desks. Enough of each for every inmate. Most of the inmates were at the back of the bay sitting around a TV. It was weird to hear the sound coming out of the TV. since we didn’t have to wear headphones in B-6. My assigned bunk was around the middle of the bay and the guard left me there and went back downstairs. I secured all of my belongings in my new locker and familiarized myself with the bay.

There was a communal bathroom with a shower, maybe 5 or six commodes lined up next to each other and about the same amount of sinks and mirrors. It was weird to see a mirror made of glass. The mirror I had in my cell was just a piece of metal that was kind of warped and scratched up. Around the bay some of the other inmates were reading, writing letters, or listening to their radios.

One of the privileges of being in Minimum custody was that we could have a personal radio or tape cassette player. Eventually I would need one of these but I didn’t have enough money in my PDF account. Another privilege was that we could have a package sent from home at Christmas time. There were some pretty strict guidelines for what could be in the package and one hundred percent of the packages would be searched. Another small price to pay for a little bit of feeling normal. I had already sent a list home and was anxiously waiting for that package to arrive. It wasn’t because of Christmas that I was anxious. Even though it was only in a couple weeks, the holidays were just days serving time and I probably had to work. It was just cool to get something from outside the walls.

The bad news was, as I settled in, I noticed that the noise level in this bay compared to 3 Wing was constant and loud. In fact, it may even have been louder. It seemed as if I were never going to get away from it. Getting my scores up in Academic Day School made me eligible to take a college course and so I signed up for English Composition. After one night of class and then coming back to the bay to work on homework, I dropped the class. Once the noise level reached a point where I knew there was no way for me to focus on homework, I realized it wasn’t going to work out.

They did have a lights out policy but there was no regulation on having to go to bed, so many of the inmates would stay up late and talk. It was pretty hard to go to sleep. Someone told me that I could put in for a bay change and as soon as there were openings, the Officer In Charge of the building would consider it. I signed up the next day.

The good news was that I was moving up in the system, had some new privileges and some new found freedom. The bad news was that I could not escape the noise, I dropped a college course and I was still stuck in the mess hall.

No word on my request to change details.

So, I still had to go back to the Castle and work in the 3 Wing dining facility until further notice.

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If this is your first time reading my true life story and would like to start at the beginning click this title. The Fort Leavenworth Story

Dec 22

Regret

Regret

My inmate portrait

Regret

In early November, the guards woke us up at 5:00 am on a Saturday, to go get our flu shots. This was a pretty smart idea because this many people in a confined area getting sick, could cause an epidemic.

 After the flu shot we were all taken to the gym to have our picture taken. Not a mug shot but a portrait that we could send home. This was something they did so that your family and loved ones could see how well you were doing. So I ordered some to mail to my family.

Thinking of home, I realized that it had been three years since I left for the Army. My mom would send pictures of my siblings and it was strange to see them growing up. When you see someone every day you don’t notice the subtle changes that they go through. The pictures that I received made it seem like there were some major transformations happening that I was missing out on.

My brother, Darren, was 19, serving in the Air Force and was stationed at a different base in Germany. My sister, Dana, had just turned 16; she was not the little girl that I remembered. My youngest brother, Daniel, was 13 and had some pretty long hair. He was getting into the skating scene and also looked much older than the 10 year old that I left behind in Germany.

It seemed as if the letters I normally received were slowing down. They were less consistent and becoming more intermittent. It could have been the time of year, but it also could have been that people were moving on with their lives.

One thing was certain, my siblings did not like to write letters. It seemed as if in every letter I sent to my parents, I would say that I hadn’t heard from Darren or I would ask if there were any way they could get the other two to send me a letter. I was really interested in what was going on in their lives.

The blame for their choosing not to write me had to fall on me. During the last few years at home, I had distanced myself from everyone. My reclusive and independent nature had created a self-inflicted rift. It’s understandable that they would not have as much interest in my life since I had not invested in theirs.

These walls did strange things to people. They made me crazy sometime, but only because I had to spend so much time with myself. So I really relied on the letters to help me get through the tougher times.

If left alone without any connection to the world outside, I would feel like I was becoming part of the institution.

The world would shrink down to the size of my cell, and I would be reduced to the size of the thoughts in my mind. Most of the time, this was not a good place. Isolation has several effects, one of which is regret. I could look at it two ways, either I was feeling sorry for myself or God was trying to talk to me.

 Regret

for the actions that landed me here;

for choosing wrong over right;

for the relationships that I had burned or taken for granted;

for the time wasted that I could have been using for good or something positive;

for not listening to my parents or the people in my life who cared about me;

for not applying myself when I knew my capabilities;

for not stepping up;

for not standing out;

for relying on my own strength and will to navigate life when clearly I had no idea how;

and, most importantly, for not putting God first. This included not allowing the voice of the Holy Spirit to lead me and to guide me when making decisions.

In a place where waiting made me crazy, I received some good news.

My custody elevation from Medium to Minimum Security was supposed to happen around the end of December but was moved up three weeks. Moving out of the wing would be a major upgrade.

I was relieved that at least some things were finally beginning to change. However, I had received no word about my request to change work details from the dining facility to the barbershop.

They would let me know once I moved.

 

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Dec 15

Laundry

Laundry

Laundry Bin & Prison Number

Laundry

One of the jobs that I am glad I did not get was laundry detail. It was a thankless job and it was extremely hot.

We could send our clothes to the laundry once a week. All of our soiled clothes went into a green Army laundry bag that was tied to the end of our bunks. I think they had a rotating system for each wing and for the other custody levels. Maybe different days of the week, this part is hard to remember.

At laundry call, anyone with laundry would line up and then be led down to the lower levels where the clothes were cleaned. Items that we could take down there included; our brown uniforms, light brown Army underwear and t-shirts, thick green Army socks or thin black military socks. All items were marked with our prison number and a laundry bin number. Everything that we dropped off was supposed to end up in that bin for pick up on another day.

It seemed as if stuff would always disappear. A t-shirt would go missing or there would be an odd number of socks. Every once in a while I would end up with an item that belonged to another inmate. If we needed more items, they would be issued but they didn’t like to have to do that. You could wear your clothes more than once but working in the mess hall made that hard. Food, grease and sweat from the sweltering conditions meant that they had to be cleaned every day.

Someone told me that they didn’t use the laundry service at all. Asking how this was possible, he explained it to me. So, I tried it out. The toilet in my cell was stainless steel and I had to keep it immaculate for inspections purposes. I also had an unlimited supply of shampoo. Add the two together and you have an in cell laundry operation. Taking one item of clothing at a time, I would soak them in the toilet, add shampoo and scrub. Once everything was washed, I would flush the toilet and then rinse in the clean water, ring out the items and then hang them to dry overnight.

Laundry

Marine Corps Belt

You could tell what branch of service someone was from by looking at their belts. The military issue web belts were black for Army, blue for Air Force and khaki with a gold buckle for Marines. The khaki belt was coveted for some reason. Maybe because it matched the brown uniform better than the other two, which seemed silly in prison to be concerned with fashion. I wanted one though.

A former Marine a couple cells down was getting close to being released. He said I could have his when he left because he wasn’t going to need it. This was pretty exciting. Simple pleasures. When he gave it to me, I had to cut off a bunch of excess belt because he might have been a thirty-six inch waist and I was about a twenty-eight. The black belt that I switched it out for, I was never very fond of. The fact that I was in Marine Corps JRTOC in high school made me feel eligible to wear the khaki one and so I wore it with pride.

Because I was so skinny and Weeks was willing to help me get bigger, I kept working out. Staying pretty consistent with working out was easier when you have a partner or someone pushing you to do it. When the weather was bad we went to the indoor gym. On good weather days, we went to outdoor rec call. We could stay outside for a few hours and then we would all have to come back in.

There was a day that I was outside without Weeks. Everything was fine while I was outside. Most of the time there were never any major issues because, no one wanted to have a D&A board, go to the hole or have their time extended. On the way back in from the recreation field, you had to go through a dark passage way to get back inside the DB. When it was time to go back in no one was ever in a major hurry and so the line of inmates was pretty sporadic and spread out.

As I got closer to the passage way, I heard some inmates speaking Spanish behind me. I could tell they were very close and I could not understand what they were saying. I felt a hand touch my rear which freaked me out. Quickly glancing back I saw a very large Panamanian inmate named Estevan who was serving a life sentence in the DB. He was one of the biggest body builders and was known to pursue smaller inmates for intimacy.

He winked at me and made a kissing gesture. My forward momentum increased about a thousand percent and my heart started to leap out of my chest as I moved quickly towards the DB to safety. No running was allowed and so I speed walked past other inmates until I was in a larger group. Thank goodness we were not in the same wing or life would have been very uncomfortable for me. That evening, I told Weeks what had happened. He said he knew exactly who I was talking about and would take care of it for me.

It’s possible that Weeks told Estevan that I belonged to him, he never really told me what was said. I didn’t care and didn’t want to know, as long as I didn’t have to worry about my safety. There were no more incidents from Estevan or anyone else while I lived in the wings.

Laundry (Click to Tweet)