09/29/13
No matter how hard corrupt
Hillsborough State Attorney Mark Ober tries to sabotage and derail my efforts
at release from prison, I continue to work hard at self-improvement, positive
accomplishments, and good works on behalf of my fellow prisoners. It galls that
evil man to no end that I don’t merely survive this wrongful imprisonment, but
thrive in a harsh environment that has broken and destroyed many strong men and
women. A good example presents itself in my recent activities in this prison
colony otherwise known as Okaloosa C.I., in the Florida Panhandle.
Even with Mark Ober’s
illegal, immoral and unethical efforts to increase my imprisonment, such as
obtaining and monitoring months of my personal phone calls — electronic
wiretapping without warrants or probable cause — criminal violations of state
and federal laws in collusion with high-ranking prison officials (they found
nothing in the calls in spite of their
efforts!), my good behavior and time served resulted in a “custody reduction”
from “close” to “medium custody.”
As a result, I qualified
for the “Re-entry Program,” in a special dormitory housing area reserved mostly
for “short-timers,” men getting released soon. Because of my qualifications,
education, and years of experience conducting a variety of prison programs,
including career planning, transition, and pre-release programs, the people who
run the re-entry program encouraged me to apply. I did, after a few months of
indecision while I was documenting and filing retaliation and reprisal charges
against other officials, and have been active in several of their programs
since around the first of June.
I’ve written about my
participation in the Kairos prison weekend in July. Follow-up programs for the Kairos religious experience
include weekly prayer and fellowship group meetings in the prison chapel, and
monthly half-day programs conducted by outside volunteers, Christian men from
local churches who are moved to help their less fortunate brothers — us. And it
is a fine job they do. Being in a predominantly negative environment 24/7, with
the constant threats of being locked up, gassed, having crews of guards come in
at any time to ransack our property in senseless shakedowns, or subjected to
fabricated disciplinary reports that will postpone release, being around
decent, “normal” people for a few hours who mean no harm, only good, is an
incredibly positive force in men’s lives.
To stay enrolled in the
Re-entry Program, one must participate in various programs, some voluntary and
others mandatory. I completed one twelve-week program called “The Truth
Project,” conducted by two fine men affiliated with a local church, and a
“Money Management” class taught by a retired Air Force officer. I’m also
involved in a newly-formed voluntary art class, a computer class, and mandatory
self-esteem class taught by another dedicated outside volunteer. The class I
want to tell you more about is the Children
Who Need Their Fathers class, which I began attending this past week.
I don’t have any children.
It was a choice I made. I tell people, having children is the smartest thing I
never did, looking back on my life in prison, seeing all the sad stories of
children growing up visiting their fathers in prison, living messed-up lives,
and very often following the same paths to prison that their fathers walked
before them. As hard as it has been for me to survive these 35 years in prison,
it would have been much worse if I had children to feel guilty about, as so
many of my compatriots do.
I would not have taken the
Children Who Need Their Fathers course if it were not required. What do I need
something like that for? I don’t have children, for one. And for two, if I had
children, they’d be adults by now with children of their own to worry about.
Perhaps a Children Who Need Their
Grandfathers class would be more appropriate. Now I am glad I did take the
course. In just the first two classes, I’ve gained numerous insights that I
would not otherwise have gained and learned from.
This particular class is
fundamentally different from many of the “pre-packaged” programs developed by
“professionals” that are offered to prisoners. The greatest difference is that
the program is conceived and put together by prisoners, and prisoners conduct
or “facilitate” most of the class time. A security “captain,” a high-ranking
officer in charge of operations on his shift (evening) is the nominal
instructor of the class, and he does participate in the program, presenting insights
from his point of view. It is a rare, welcome opportunity for the participants
to have available a dialogue with someone in authority who they would rarely
speak to unless they were in handcuffs on their way to solitary confinement.
Communication between typically opposing groups changes attitudes and fosters
mutual respect, otherwise sparse commodities in prison.
From my years of working
in the Golab Program over thirty years ago, I developed an appreciation for
programs by prisoners. When their peers conduct classes for prisoners, totally
different dynamics are at work. In programs conducted by “professionals,” “free
people,” many prisoners behave completely differently from how they would act
when no free people are present. Oftentimes they will put on acts to impress
the outside instructors, not presenting their true selves. And Heaven help us
if an attractive woman instructs the class! You know how stupid men get around
pretty women. Magnify that stupidity several times for desperate men deprived
of female contact, putting on acts to curry favor and attention, mistakenly
thinking they are playboys.
When it is prisoner
leading prisoner classes, the dynamics change completely. Among ourselves,
prisoners are quick to pick up on phonies and falsehood. They are quick to say,
“Bulls—t!” And among ourselves, prisoners have opportunities to be honest with
themselves and speak their minds, revealing fears and failures they would never
share in front of outsiders, especially when given the positive examples of
their fellow prisoners conducting the class. More on that later.
I was alarmed at some of
the statistics presented in the first class of Children Who Need Their Fathers. Did you know that children from
fatherless homes are five times more likely to commit suicide? Or twenty times
more likely to have behavioral disorders? This is really a bad one — children
from fatherless homes are fourteen times more likely to commit rape.
Additionally, they are nine times more likely to be committed to a
state-operated facility, twenty times more likely to end up in prison.
An informal poll — there
were about thirty men in that first class — the prisoner leader asked, “How
many men in here tonight grew up in a fatherless home?” I counted twenty-five
hands raised. Twenty-five out of thirty! I couldn’t believe it, but there it
was. The statistics presented said that according to figures from Fulton County, Georgia, and the Texas Department
of Corrections, 85% of all youths in prison grew up in a fatherless home. In
our very small sample of 25 out of 30, that is about 83%. Too close for
comfort.
One man said his father
had been in prison, and he never saw him. Another man said he never saw his
father until he was thirteen years old. One said his mother lied to him for
years, told him his father was working in another state, until years later his
grandmother told him the truth, and took him to visit her son — his father — in
prison. He had never seen a picture of his father. He asked his grandmother how
would he know his father, since he had never seen him. His grandmother told him
to look for the man who looked just like him — that would be his father. Twenty
years later, he was going through a similar situation with his own children.
Growing up in a typical
two-parent family, I never experienced such disconnections as so many of these
men. But it only takes a short time of hearing their common stories, applying
the statistics presented to not only themselves, but also their children, and I
realize that our society is in serious trouble. Little is being done to break
the vicious cycles of crime, punishment and incarceration. Rather than spending
billions of dollars of scarce tax money confining damaged adults in prisons to
no avail, it would seem to make sense to divert some of that money to helping
millions of at-risk children avoid otherwise inevitable imprisonment and
destruction of salvageable lives.
When I arrived at the
Okaloosa Prison Colony in April, 2012, the result of a second punitive transfer
orchestrated by the corrupt Mark Ober, one of the first men I met was someone
I’d known at Tomoka C.I. in Daytona
Beach, Florida,
before my first retaliatory, punitive transfer to Wakulla in 2010. We had lived
in the same building — the notorious “B Dorm,” on adjacent wings, for about six
years, and we could not have been more different. Where I walked a straight
line, worked in my garden every day, painted in the art department, did legal
research in the law library, played in the prison tennis league, attended
church programs, and spent weekends in the visiting park, “Ray” was the
complete opposite. He was involved in every kind of prison hustle and negative
activity you could think of, and some you can’t imagine. I will not list them.
Suffice it to say that Ray was well down the road to perdition, with little
chance of getting out of prison for many years and no incentive to be a good
person.
Nevertheless, despite our philosophical
differences, during the several years we served together at Tomoka, we became
friends. I learned not to be judgmental. Judge
not lest you be judged is timeless wisdom. I did not approve of Ray’s
lifestyle, but we shared common interests in sports. Ray read some of the
articles and stories I’d written, and we maintained a level of mutual respect.
I lived my prison life as I always had, as a positive role model, and offered
Ray advice from a Christian perspective when he came to me with a question,
which was fairly often.
Despite the low average
educational level in prison — it is estimated that about 70% of Florida prisoners
are functionally illiterate, unable to write a letter — education and
intelligence are much admired qualities. A prisoner who is educated and
intelligent is usually well-respected. So it was with Ray and me. We got along.
Then Ray got transferred, and I didn’t see him for a few years. A lot can
happen in that time.
When I arrived at
Okaloosa, I’d barely gotten settled in before Ray greeted me. It is funny how
serving prison time affects people. Two men who barely knew each other at one
prison, who didn’t even know each other’s names, only recognized their faces,
when they are suddenly transplanted to a different prison, perhaps finding
themselves in the same housing area, they become fast friends, like they are
from the same neighborhood, having served time at the same place before.
Ray had something to say,
and sought me out. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but the gist of it
was that even though we were opposites at Tomoka, that he was strictly into “doing
dirt,” (being bad), he had admired and respected me, and my example had an
effect on him. His life had been screwed up, he realized he was lost, and had
made a life-changing decision. He had given up his evil ways, rejected all he
had been, had accepted Jesus as his savior, and had become a committed
Christian. That was quite a revelation, but I was not completely surprised. I’d
seen the same thing happen to men whose actions were more anti-social and evil
than Ray’s who gave up the dark side and embraced the positive life.
I was moved to hear Ray’s
testimony, although I took it with a grain of salt. I’ve also seen such
epiphanies fade after a time, and the
men return to their previous lifestyles. “Time will tell.” I’ve learned not to
let other men’s failures bring me down. I could only hope for the best. In Ray’s
case, it appears to be a sincere change. He worked as a chapel aide for awhile,
leads a Bible study in the dorm, and acts as a facilitator in several of the
re-entry programs. He also led the Children
Who Need Their Fathers class, and did a skilled job. I felt a degree of
pride that another of my “prison protégés” had gone on to successful mentoring.
I’ve seen several “awakenings”
in the class in the short time we have been there, men recognizing how the absence
of their fathers had major effects on their lives, and, knowing that, making
the decision to become involved in their own at-risk children’s lives before
the damage is done, and they fall into the same trap.
How can a man in prison
become involved in his children’s lives? Several ways. First, he must mend
fences and repair the bridges separating him from the children’s mother,
whether they are married, unmarried, separated, or divorced. I’ve heard so many
stories of betrayal and hard feelings between parents, resulting in the mother
refusing to have anything to do with the father. If she blocks access, little
can be done. Heal the wounds!
The best way, of course,
is to have the children visit their fathers, get to know someone who they may
have had little if any contact with. Writing letters, sending birthday cards,
and talking on the phone, offering love and positive encouragement are also
ways to make crucial father-child connections. From my position as an objective
observer, with “no horse in the race,” so to say, I’ve offered advice on the
above strategies based on what I’ve learned from 35 years of successes and failures.
Many success stories have occurred.
Time and time again, when I ran the Golab Program years ago, the best prisoner
self-help program ever, smiling men would tell me they had shared the lessons
learned in Golab — goal-setting, self-esteem, respect, personal inventories,
and others, — with their wives and children, and it had brought them closer
together. Hopefully, these current programs will have positive beneficial
effects on those who need it the most.
Charlie
