CRAWLING OUT FROM UNDER THE PRISON ROCK

 

The past few weeks I have been fairly incommunicado with the outside world, which is not an unusual circumstance for the majority of those serving life in Florida prisons, but it is for me. For most prisoners, imprisonment is a deep pit, a sinkhole from which nothing escapes. My main focus has been on legal issues pertaining to my imprisonment, researching in the law library for an upcoming court case which I would rather not go into at this time, since the Florida DOC is one of my most loyal readers. Instead, I will tell you about my recent experience with the first Kairos program at this prison, a  three-and-a half day Christian weekend that occurred July 18 – 21^st.

I went through the Kairos program in May, 1982, at Union C. I., Raiford, after several friends pestered me for two years to sign up for it, saying it would change my life. It did. A considerable portion of my survival in prison over the past thirty-plus years I owe to my commitment to reaching out to others, something that was demonstrated and learned by the good people who came in and brought Kairos into prison so many years ago.

There are so many lost people in prison, so much negativity and evil, so little hope, that when dedicated people from “free society” volunteer their time to enter these fences to “love the unlovable,” oftentimes it has a life-changing effect. Friendships and relationships that I formed over thirty years ago have continued to the present day, and still impact my life. I could go on and on.

Once you’ve gone through Kairos, you can volunteer to work subsequent weekend programs, which is how I found myself at the first Kairos held at Okaloosa C. I., an otherwise godforsaken place. Thirty men were signed up to participate in this program, and another dozen or so graduates from previous weekends at other locations volunteered to work.

Although one of the big draws of Kairos weekends is the “outside” food brought in, the participants quickly discover that the Kairos volunteers from the community bring something that is otherwise unavailable in prison — unconditional love. The “free men” are dedicated Christians associated with various local churches, but one’s religious persuasion does not dictate the prisoners’ selection to participate. Some are not Christians.

Men give a series of talks about various aspects of spiritual life, group discussions ensue, and the men have a lot of time to reflect on where their lives went wrong, and what kind of people they want to be in the future. A lot of singing and prayers lift the men’s spirits and focus their attention on higher things than the day-to-day confusion that dominates prison life. For about twelve hours a day, all day Friday, Saturday and Sunday, men are able to leave the “normal” prison life behind, and aspire to a more positive existence.

Along with two other men, my “job” over the weekend was in the “prayer room,” converted from the small chapel library. Before each talk, the person giving the talk would come to the prayer room, and several men would pray that God’s will would be done, and his words would touch the men’s hearts. Never underestimate the power of prayer! It has a great impact on those who are praying, for sure. I needed the rare opportunity to focus on spiritual matters for a few days, to become re-involved in my prayer life, and pray for my family and other friends and loved ones. The opportunity gave me a needed boost.

In the meantime, I saw noticeable changes for the better in a number of the thirty men enrolled in the program. Hardcore convicts broke down and cried, and asked forgiveness for those they had wronged. Will it last? I hope so. For some of the men, it is a life-changing event. For others, they will succumb to the slippery slope and slide back into the pit. It is a fact that over time, Kairos changes life in prison for the better. It develops a community of positive role models in the prisons that affect others for the better.

It is too early to expect many noticeable improvements in this prison after just one Kairos. In the week since Kairos ended, there have been several instances of gang violence, assaults, and stabbings. Certain housing areas have been locked down in an attempt to cool things off. Time will tell.

In the meantime, I will continue what I’ve been doing, walking the straight and narrow, striving to improve myself, and seeking freedom from this unjust imprisonment. I am deeply grateful for the help of those who believe in me. God bless you all.

Charlie

Here is the link to the Kairos International web site:   http://kpmifoundation.org/index.php

The people of Kairos have been called by God to bring the light of Christ to the darkness of hearts that have been hardened and hurt…

We believe in bringing the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ to all incarcerated individuals, their families and to those who work with them inside and outside the correctional institution, and that our ministry experience develops in ourselves, inmates, their families, and those that work with them the desire to continue one’s personal growth in Christian community…

BAREFOOT

Summer is well upon us, so here's a new offering from Charlie.

We hope it brings you some happy memories.

BAREFOOT

By Charles Patrick Norman

Those unfortunates whose lives began in cities,

whose mothers strapped sandals and shoes onto

their pudgy little feet before they could walk,

to protect them from contact with the floor,

As their world expanded to sidewalks and parks,

keeping their tender toes insulated from the ground

upon which they sought to run and play and live,

have never known the country joys of running barefoot.

The first steps on a cool hardwood floor connect

the child with its Earth Mother, sensations flowing

freely to the tactile centers that say it is safe,

no shoes could convey the thrill of morning dew

on grass washing bare feet before the rising sun

dries them, replaced by the warm earth’s caress

on tender feet that quickly toughen with use,

or the ouch, ouch of noonday sand that urges them along.

No child shod with Nikes or Adidas will ever

feel the embrace of creek mud between their toes,

or the relief of wading ankle-deep in running water

as curious minnows tickle their feet

with tiny mouths, then scatter as the child wades deeper.

Wet tennis shoes will never dry in the sun

like bare feet on a grassy river bank, communing

with nature, awaiting their Maker, who we meet barefoot.

Another dear friend and longtime supporter passes on

 

I was saddened to learn from the Gainesville Sun that my old friend, Dr. Jack Detweiler, Professor Emeritus at the University of Florida, passed away recently. He was 82. I met Jack in 1980 at Union C, I,, Raiford, where I ran the GOLAB prisoner self-help program. Jack brought in a group of college students to visit the GOLAB classroom and meet prisoners up close.

When they first walked in, the students were like frightened bunnies in a room full of greyhounds, but after half an hour of talking and listening to the prisoners, their attitudes completely changed. Most found that there was little difference between themselves and prisoners serving life, but for circumstances.

Dr. Detweiler organized criminal justice seminars in which legislators, state senators, judges, prosecutors, professors, and other experts came into the prison visiting park and took turns with select prisoners addressing the gathering on various topics. One of my proudest moments was debating a noted juvenile psychiatrist and professor and having him concede my solutions to juvenile crime and delinquency made more sense than his.

Jack Detweiler brought his wife, Pat, and their daughter to numerous prison events, and was one of the founders of the Kairos Prison Ministry. We became good friends, and he gave me good advice and encouragement over the years. I went through several years of being transferred back and forth to prisons all over Florida, and Jack and I lost touch for some years. Then in 2001, I helped organize and institute the first Kairos at Columbia C. I. in Lake City, and who should appear, working on the volunteer team, but my old friend, Jack Detweiler! Over the three-day weekend, we took advantage of  a great opportunity to renew our friendship. We continued to correspond up until his death.

At my first parole hearing in Tallahassee in 2001, Jack led a crew of Kairos men to appear on my behalf. He wrote letters lobbying for my release, and spoke up for me in front of the parole commission. When I went to Tomoka C.I. in Daytona Beach, he came for the Kairos program there, driving from Gainesville.

Jack Detweiler was a good man and committed Christian who put his beliefs into practice everyday. He and Pat were together 60 years. He was a role model and mentor, a constant encouragement to me and a true friend. Many will sorely miss him, especially me.

As this life sentence reaches 35 years, I look back at all the good people, family and friends, who have passed away while I do this time. The few who were there with me at the beginning, in most cases, have grown old waiting for my freedom. Now, most of those who are with me, who are hanging in there despite all the setbacks, are friends I’ve met along the way, by the grace of God, and who have seen something in me that they felt was worthy of their attention and concern. My prayer is that this living nightmare will end soon, I can rejoin society, and meet those kind souls without razor wire or gun towers in the vicinity. I’ve outlived my staunchest supporters, it seems, but also some of my enemies, the evil, corrupt ones who conspired to put and keep an innocent man in prison for their various reasons. A few of the “old-timers” remain, and I am grateful to God for our mutual longevity.

Godspeed, my dear friend, Jack. I remain blessed by your life and friendship.

Charlie

This photo was taken at Union C.I., Raiford, in 1981, in the visiting park, at sunset, with the infamous steam plant tower in the background. That’s me in the center (with the head full of hair, between the women). Pat Detweiler is immediately to my left (right in the photo), and behind me. Dedi Anderson is next to me on my left (in the flowered blouse), and Jack Detweiler is to her left and behind her. Jack Murphy is at the extreme left, with the cap and tee-shirt.

LIVING IN EXTREME POVERTY IN PRISON

“Could you live on $1.50 a day? For a week? Ben Affleck is joining Josh Groban, Sophia Bush, Debi Mazar and other stars to take the 2013 Live Below The Line challenge issued by the Global Poverty Project. They will live on $1.50 worth of food and drink a day — which means no Starbucks! — from Monday to May 3 to raise awareness about poverty. The $1.50 figure is the equivalent of the global figure used to define extreme poverty. The celebrities hope to encourage others to support the cause and do the same.”  (USA Today, Wednesday, April 24, 2013)

I didn’t realize that I was living in extreme poverty until I read the above blurb in the USA Today newspaper. What does that really mean? The Global Poverty Project defines extreme poverty as living on $1.50 worth of food and drink per day. In Florida, the state budgets $1.54 a day (down from about $2.80 a day 30 years ago, equivalent to perhaps $6.00 in today’s inflated dollars) for each prisoner’s food, three meals, which is four cents over the global figure, but surely a dollar-fifty goes further in Haiti, Sudan, or Bangladesh than in high-cost Florida.

Since Ben Affleck probably doesn’t have much experience living on such a meager food budget, with his multi-million dollar a year income taking good care of his superstar wife, Jennifer Garner (“Alias,” etc.), and privileged  children, I thought I would offer a few tips gleaned from my 35 years of prison food background.

First, Ben, get ready to eat a lot of bread. The traditional prison diet consisted of bread and water, but times changed somewhat. No pumpernickel, rye, or sourdough! Buy a lot of cheap flour, mix up a pan of biscuits, let them get hard, cold, and stale, like ours, then eat two each meal. Drink a lot of water to wash it down and fill you up. You can also use the flour to make bread variations for breakfasts several days a week — two pancakes, or make a pan of “coffee cake,” and cut two little squares for Saturday AM. Share the rest with Josh Groban, Sophia Bush, Debi Mazur and the other celebrities. Don’t feed any of these meals to your wife, Ben, or Jennifer might pack up the kids and walk out in a huff. To add some filling food value, buy a big bag of oatmeal, boil a few ounces down to the consistency of wallpaper paste, add no seasonings or flavorings whatsoever, plop a sticky spoonful next to the pancakes, enjoy. Bon appétit!

A bag of dry corn meal grits will alternate with the oatmeal a few mornings a week. Don’t waste a penny on any kind of seasoning.

Next — potatoes! A big bag will suffice for servings up to three times a day, a spoonful each time, for pennies a serving. Again, bland is the key. Don’t squander a dime on butter or sour cream. Not in the budget.

Don’t forget beans — the cheapest ones you can find. For years we lived on white beans and pinto beans — don’t overcook — leave them half-boiled like ours. But for the past six months or so, the prison system has been buying tons of black beans, or frijoles negroes, as the Latinos call them. Some suspect Florida may have made a clandestine deal with the Castro government, shipping oranges to Cuba in exchange for black beans. We certainly aren’t getting them! Oranges, and all fresh fruits, for that matter, have been off the prison menu for years. A couple of weeks ago, fifty of us were lined up outside waiting our turn to enter the chow hall. A guard standing by took  banana from his “Little Debbie” lunch cooler. A hundred eyes focused on him as he peeled and ate the banana, smiling, taunting hungry wolves.

Forget the fruit, Ben, it’s not in the budget. Boil the beans, spoon a few ounces on your tray, no more than three or four — serve the same to the other celebrities — try to find some salt if you can, otherwise, get used to it. The beans will serve for two meals a day, along with the all-purpose potatoes.

Using that cornmeal again, Ben, you can alternate the hard biscuits for little flat squares of cornbread for a few meals a week.

Perhaps you can get a deal or some greens, collards or turnips in season, boil them to death, don’t concern yourself with washing them very thoroughly, the tasteless sandy grit adds a certain je ne sais quoi to the gastronomic process of prison realism.

I hesitate to mention the word, meat, Ben. You’re probably better off going vegan, but they do serve sort of pseudo-meat-type products at times, an indecipherable ground-up gray substance that I call “possum” — it’s certainly not beef, pork, or chicken, in the form of a “patty.” Once a week or so you can serve  two thin “poultry dogs,” they call them, but probably not “poultry,” and hopefully NOT “dog.”

Once a week — a chicken leg and thigh with a real bone in it — our only clearly-recognizable animal product, is served, Ben, but rumored to be replaced soon by a “zesty patty,” “southwest patty,” “country patty,” or “Salisbury patty,” composed of the above-mentioned “possum,” patties that differ only in their names, an unknown soy/meat combo squashed into squares or circles.

Ben, I hope these hints help you stay within your budget, and you make the best of raising the world’s awareness of extreme poverty. Alternately, you could invite your friends down here to Okaloosa County, to the prison, and share our meals with me. Don’t worry, most of the prisoners will behave like perfect gentlemen, although they will desperately stare at the “womenfolk.” They don’t dare act up, or risk going to lockup, where they have to live on the meager trays shoved through the slot in the steel door, deprived of coveted access to the prison canteen, where one can buy a cheeseburger (two bucks, far more costly than the three prison trays, $1.54 per day)  if he has funds sent from home.

Trust me on this, Ben — extreme poverty is not a condition you want to extend beyond a week, especially if you’re in a prison and forcibly separated from your loved ones.

Charlie

A New Poem

THE BLUEBIRD OF SADNESS

By Charles Patrick Norman

The prison bus, the Bluebird of Sadness, greets us

inside the fenced sallyport gate with rear door open,

beckoning like the black maw of the Beast, trudge now

up the three flimsy metal steps to your fate.

Fifty men pack into the Bluebird struggling with our

mesh bags of meager belongings: hopeless trial transcripts,

Dear John letters, flip-flops, empty deodorants, Gideon Bibles

given out by do-gooders like magic protective talismans,

stacking ourselves in broken seats, rusted shelves without

upholstery, steel grates bolted over windows, no escape,

shipped like UPS, boxes with leg irons, signed for,

except UPS deliverymen don’t pack pistols and shotguns.

The old diesel wheezes, the guard/driver grinds gears,

stomps the brakes, laughs at laws of inertia staggering

those left standing, catching their balance on seat backs

and shoulders, bracing themselves for the eight-hour

transport to another anonymous fenced-in pasture, a prison

not unlike the last one, or the ones before, or after.

The heaving, rocking Bluebird of Sadness groans, complain

up the incline interstate entrance ramp, melds into

a racing river of rubber and steel cans filled with

citizens traveling in parallel lives, staring straight ahead,

talking on cell phones or nodding their heads to silent

music beamed from satellites, oblivious to their destinies,

Or the Bluebird of Sadness packed with lost souls on

their way to Purgatory, different destinations, yet the same.

We dread/desire the crash, the out-of-control Bluebird

of Sadness tumbling along the highway, scattering speeding 

citizens to the Four Winds like ninepins or dandelions,

the blue-clad, chained sacrificial rams rotating like plaid

shirts, socks, blouses, trousers inside the clothes dryer,

padlocked, unable to escape the inevitable flames.

We plant our heads against window grates to get a better look

at cars ad citizens zipping past us to the left, an occasional

glimpse of legs and thighs that generates hoots and catcalls from men

whose only solace comes from their imaginings or other men.

Bladders fill and men form lines in the aisle to a metal funnel

mounted waist-high at the back of the bus, connected to a tube that

drains through a hole in the floor, dribbling noxious urine

onto the pavement at sixty miles per hour, Lexus, BMW, Benz,

Nissan, Kia and Chevrolet plowing through yellow mist unaware.

Swerves and surges tumble one lost soul from his attempted

perch over the funnel, spraying others, curses, shoves,

and fists swinging, grumbles, buttons up his wet trousers

(no zippers allowed in prison), staggers past other full bladders

in the aisle, takes his rusty, broken seat, awaits the coming fences,

open gates drawing in the Bluebird of Sadness and her

load of flesh, to feed the monster, Moloch, once again.

WELCOME VISIT

On the weekend of April 13 and 14, Charlie was blessed with a visit from his mother, Lucille Norman. She had taken a few days of her vacation from her full-time job at Walmart, to make the arduous journey of over 400 miles one way, thanks to the welcome assistance of her friend, Phil.

Lucille was able to visit Charlie on both Saturday and Sunday. It was a warm and joyful  visit for both, full of plenty of talk about goings on and catching up with family and friends. The last time they were able to visit prior to this weekend was 2 years ago.

Charlie continues to be awed and inspired by his gracious mother and is grateful for every opportunity to see her. It would be much better for both if he were moved to a location closer to her home in Tampa, so that visiting him would not be such a hardship on her. No one is guaranteed a tomorrow. Such a move for Charlie would apparently take an act of God to accomplish.

If you are so inclined, prayers for both of these good people would be appreciated.

Wishing you good times with your treasured family members,

Libby

12,787 DAYS: 35 YEARS OF WRONGFUL IMPRISONMENT

April 5, 2013, marks the 35^th anniversary of Charles Patrick Norman’s wrongful arrest, prosecution, conviction, and imprisonment for a murder someone else committed.

A Message from the Editor:

I am continuously amazed at the strength of character and integrity exhibited by my dearest friend, Charlie Norman, in the face of incredible official oppression and retaliation for his unyielding commitment to the truth, against all odds.

Men of such determination are rare; indeed, I have never met anyone like Charlie. It seems that others reaction to him are in the extremes, either they love him or hate him, hold him in high regard, or totally dismiss him,   with little in-between opinions. Anyone who actually knows him, who reads his written thoughts and words, self-revelatory poems, plays, short stories and essays, comes away with a profound feeling that this is an extraordinarily talented and creative person who expresses truth, who has stared into the faces of evil and not flinched.

I’ve read all the reports and attended every hearing over the past 13 years and have been shocked and offended by the vitriol and lies put forth by the corrupt state attorney, Mark Ober, of Tampa, who wrongfully convicted Charles Norman of murder based upon false testimony of convicted felons who were actually the perpetrators involved in the 1975 crime, desperate, dangerous men who were paroled from prison and let loose on society by this evil man.

Not a scintilla of forensic or physical evidence connected Charlie with the crime. In fact, Mark Ober withheld evidence that proved that Charlie was nowhere near the scene that night. He was blinded by his political ambitions.

How could this travesty of justice have gone on so long? It is a long, sad story that needs to come to an end. There is only so much that Charlie has been able to do on his own. Now it is time for good people to come together to right this terrible wrong. Every week, it seems, the news comes out of people being freed after serving decades in prison for crimes they did not commit. Charlie is one of these falsely imprisoned people.

How can you help? As it is with most campaigns in our society, it is a matter of money. If his family had been wealthy, this never would have happened. Larry Wingate, the actual triggerman in the shooting murder of Steve Bluffstone, bragged that his millionaire father paid off crooked cops and prosecutors  who fabricated the case against Charlie. Wingate, a drug addict and dealer suspected of other murders, never served a day in prison for the Bluffstone murder.

The Norman Partnership, a 501 (c) (3) non-profit corporation with the mission of wrongful imprisonment education, operates a web site, www.freecharlienow.com where more details of Charlie’s case and information about him can be found. There is also donation information  for anyone wanting to help with a tax-deductible contribution.

Charlie Norman deserves to be free and to be heard, and for that to happen will require the help of many more people than the handful who rally around him now.

Please spread the word and pass it on.

God bless you.

Libby