Friday, May 30, 2014


Saturday, May 24, 2014, in Crestview, Florida, began as a sunny, mild day of cloudless blue sky with a light, refreshing breeze. Lucille Norman, Charlie’s mom, Alice Walker, Charlie’s aunt, Justice Catrina Carroll, and I were ushered  through the gates to the accompaniment of smiling faces and friendly wishes. In just moments Charlie came through the door, we all gathered together in the visiting room, and our wedding began.

The ceremony was brief and basic: will you Charles, take Elizabeth…I do;  will you Elizabeth take Charles…I do; an exchange of traditional Irish Claddagh wedding rings, a brief first kiss as husband and wife, and here we are: Mr. and Mrs. Charles Patrick Norman!

It may have been brief and basic, but the ecstasy, love, and God’s presence were intense. 

God’s divine intervention has been quite visible from the very beginning, fourteen years ago when Charlie and I first began our friendship and intensifying over the last several weeks. 

Prayers are being answered, miracles are emerging, and all of it thanks to our many friends, family, and supporters who have been praying for us and sending out their best. Now we continue the struggle as “one,” and we ask for your continued prayers and support. 

We are grateful, and we continue our prayers for you, too.

In love,
Libby and Charlie

          Mr. and Mrs. Charles Patrick Norman, May 24, 2014
            Libby and Charlie May 25, 2014

            Alice, Libby, Lucille, and Charlie   May 24, 2014

Sunday, May 18, 2014


Editor’s note: Once again, a flower has bloomed in spite of the storms and darkness: here’s a new poem from Charlie, written while he was in solitary, and it’s a beautiful blossom. I hope you like it as much as I do.

Thanks for your support.


When I die sprinkle my ashes
On a river that flows to the sea.
Let my words live on in this little book,
No earthly monuments for me.

I’ll say what I say to you now, my love,
And trust you will know it’s from me.
Never regret the love we both shared,
Nothing more, nothing less, could it be.

Tell them about my life, if you will,
How I faced evil with bravery.
Tell them of two things I sought, I gained,
I found a great love, now I’m free.

Say what you will from your heart, sweet girl,
Tell them about you and me.
Tell them I loved them all, always,
Till even eternity.


Saturday, May 3, 2014


Dateline: Saturday, April 19, 2014

Today marks numerous momentous days in American History, from April 19, 1775, Concord, Massachusetts, the Ruby Ridge -ATF -Weaver shooting, and the Oklahoma City bombing, among others. Politics aside, for some Karmic reason, April 19th has been a flashpoint commemorating the struggles of outcast underdogs against repressive governments or their heavy-handed agencies.

Coincidentally, today marks my seventh day of solitary confinement, facing a fabricated disciplinary charge of “disrespect” from a bullying prison guard known to be a liar, seeking to “pad his résumé” by locking up unsuspecting prisoners for little or no reason, in hopes of advancing his chances of promotion to sergeant, ten percent pay raise.

At the time that he took out his anger at being “chewed out” by his supervisor against me he obviously wasn’t thinking. Instead of selecting some brow-beaten, intimidated, uneducated prisoner who would take the abuse without a defense, fearful that any challenge would “make them mad” at him, correctional officer one Patrick Walsh mistakenly chose someone who is NOT intimidated by authority, who knows the rules and laws regarding prisoners, and who had the presence of mind to notice and recall the names of inmate and staff witnesses, and remember it all in his defense. Bad move, Pat. This is not a game, and his tantrum could have far-reaching consequences, jeopardizing my release date. I have to fight for what is right.

I want to share a revealing, spontaneous statement made by the confinement sergeant last night, as he and another officer were escorting me in handcuffs for a shower. We are allowed a brief shower Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. I’ve written about this before, but my policy and standard behavior when dealing with guards, prison officials, “free persons,” teachers and other prisoners is to be open, honest, and respectful, polite and courteous, to “hold my tongue” unless asked a question or have something to say, to smile, to maintain eye contact with my audience, whether it is one person or one hundred. The way I speak and the way I write are similar. First impressions of me generally describe an intelligent, open, well-spoken, friendly person. As part of that persona, many people, staff included, address me as “Mr. Norman,” which I find amusing, since I always think of Mr. Norman as being my late father, Eugene Norman.

As they cuffed my hands behind my back and opened my cell door, taking hold of my arms and walking me across the floor to the tiny shower, the sergeant said, “Now here’s Mr. Norman, never gives anybody any trouble. You know what he’s in confinement for? The officer got mad! He got mad! Do you know how many people I’d lock up if I locked up somebody every time I got mad? We don’t have room to hold them. Mr. Norman can tell you, he was there. One night I snapped on the whole chow hall. But I didn’t lock anybody up. That’s ridiculous, Mr. Norman.”

I agreed, but I was the one in handcuffs.

I appreciated that man’s comments, which speaks for itself. Since I’ve been locked up, a parade of officers on different shifts have stopped by my cell door, looked at me through the little glass, and asked, as one did, “May I ask what you’re doing back here? You don’t get in trouble.”

I keep my response brief. “I asked the dorm officer a question, was Officer Walsh going to call B-dorm to the canteen, since we were the only dorm he didn’t call on Saturday. She called Captain Teboe, he chewed Walsh out, apparently, and Walsh took out his anger on me. I did nothing wrong, but he wrote a phony d.r., said I used profanity toward him.”

One officer shook his head in disbelief, and said, “I don’t believe you’d ever cuss out anybody. That’s what stupid people do. You’re too smart for that,” and walked away. He was right.

Meanwhile, it seems suspicious, if not curious, that they took all my legal work, facing legal filing deadlines, my envelopes and my pens. How can I write or mail out papers to my lawyer without envelopes? I can’t. It took four days and great effort to obtain this pen, which is almost dry.

There is much more to tell of this test. I’ll keep you posted.