A Week Before Christmas

Friday, December 18, 2020  6:02 pm

This may be my last dispatch from Protective Custody/lockup before Christmas, so I want to wish my family and friends a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I’d hoped Libby and I would spend Christmas Day together, visiting at a table with a clear plastic screen separating us, but that doesn’t seem to be possible. No phone calling either. instead of typing this on my tablet and emailing it to Libby to post (my tablet’s battery is down and can’t be charged back here in lockup), I’m using my old-school hieroglyphic handwriting and snail mail, trusting Libby to decipher it. Without her, I’d be lost.

I wanted to bring you up to date on my situation: this morning, they took me out of my one-man cell to talk to prison inspectors Waren and Hoffman. They are investigating the stabbing incident and the officer, T. Redding, who put the “hit” out on me. They are taking it seriously, and want to take their findings to the Volusia County State Attorney’s office for “outside” charges. T. Redding hasn’t been caught with anything illegal and her inmate contact is also locked up. She is still at work in a different dorm.

My biggest issue is the deprivation of my legal work, preventing my being able to finish my court appeal deadlines 12-30. Since the FDOC is the defendant, it doesn’t look good to have their employees deny my access to the courts. They kept everything — gave me only my Bible, shampoo and soap. The property sergeant brought another man (new) a large stack of legal work today, but refused to bring mine.

This “protection” wing is the noisiest, most disrespectful bunch of inmates I’ve ever seen. Wednesday — midnight — at least a dozen fools were screaming at each other down the hallway, arguing and accusing each other about stealing each other’s drugs, bad debts and lies. No sleeping. Louder than the zoo. At other prisons that level of noise would provoke guards’ actions, but not Tomoka.

Something that amused me, wing 3, 19 cells, 37 inmates, they were yelling and insulting each other, another dozen or so idiots, about who was the worst drug addict.

One man on the wing said, “Everybody on this wing is a junkie and does drugs, except for Mr. Norman.”

I laughed. Something everyone can agree on, I’m different.

I am 30 or 40 years older than most of them, and they give me a lot of respect, As usual, I am the final arbiter of their senseless arguments. Lots of misinformation. I have to bite my tongue.

“Ten years ago the Russians landed on Mars and are building a city.”

No.

“Bill Gates and Steve Jobs put chips in the Covid-19 vaccine, and a secret government satellite is tracking everyone.”

No. Steve Jobs died long before the virus appeared.

And on and on and on. (No TVs in “protective” custody).

I’m writing this on Friday. They won’t pick up the snail mail until Sunday night, won’t go out till Monday, so perhaps I will pick this back up tomorrow. Hopefully, Libby will get my letter Wednesday or so, and you’ll get this by Christmas Day. Good night, sleep tight, pray that the fools go to bed early.

 

Sunday morning: 9:37 am. All quiet on the E-Dorm, Wing 3 Front.

The boys are disappointed. No drugs for sale. Inmates from other dorms, not in lockup, walk by the outside of wing 3, and the ones inside yell at their friends outside: “Send me some soap.” “Call my mom.” “Tell so-and-so to yell at me.”

You can’t help but hear — they yell. Yesterday the big topic on the yard was that it is “DRY” — there are no drugs to be purchased on the whole compound. I can’t help but think that rogue officer T. Redding has had to suspend her smuggling activities — big heat they’re watching her; consequently, the compound supply has taken a hit. At the same time, the “Donald Trump” $1200.00 stimulus checks are hitting, and the dopeheads have money to burn.

The prison inspectors are investigating, but she is still working. They haven’t been able to catch her. A sergeant told me last month, “We know who is doing it, but we can’t catch them. They have places to hide drugs that we can’t search.”

So, it was a quiet Saturday night. I felt pensive — it’s Christmas. Last year I got several Christmas songs on my tablet and listened to carols for weeks, but not this year. A couple of guys recite crude rap verses down the hall. You can hear everything — people talking in a cell down the hall and we have a couple of country boys who try to sing George Jones and others. I wondered how much of “Jingle Bells” I could remember so I took my turn , “Dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open sleigh, o’er the hills we go, laughing all the way…”

I didn’t realize how quiet it became until I got to “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way, oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh…hey!”

First one voice joined in, then another and another. I repeated the Jingle Bells chorus, and more of the wing joined in, laughing like crazy, yelling, but not about drugs.

“Yo, Mr. Norman, you know any more?”

Did I!? Of course. I wondered if anyone knew “O Come All Ye Faithful.”

“O come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant, o come ye, o come ye to Bethlehem…Come and adore him…” Then the junkies joined in and started clapping. It was fun.

“Silent Night” came next. “Silent night, Holy night, all is calm, all is bright…” It got quiet. I was surprised at how many knew most all the verses.

Later on two men down the hall were talking about the lack of drugs. One commented on how good he felt to be “clean,’ no drugs for a few days. Hooray. It’s too good to last. Too much loose money around. Someone else will pick up the slack, and the air will stink, people will overdose. An evil place.

‘Nuff said.

Please accept our best Christmas wishes for you and yours.

Peace, joy and love,

Charlie and Libby Norman

GOOD NEWS/BAD NEWS

 

November 25, 2020

 HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

Good news -- they resumed restricted visits, three hours, Saturday or Sunday, 12 inmates, three visitors each max, per session. Visitors must sign up on the prison website in advance. Everyone wears a mask. Bad news — no contact visits — they've mounted clear plastic screens on each table — look don't touch. Last week a mother reached under the plastic to hold her son's hand. Visit terminated, visits suspended for six months, prisoner received a disciplinary report ( D. R.), and confinement. Don't touch!

Libby signed up for a Thanksgiving Day visit, and is on the standby list for other days. Everything is in limbo, however. Last week at least one prisoner at the work camp, next door, was placed in isolation, possibly infected, and this week three dorms have been placed in quarantine. Everyone knows the only sources of Covid-19 virus infections are prison employees. No way can they blame it on visitors. No certain news —no test results back yet, but if any other dorms are quarantined they could cancel visits. Even with the restrictions, having a few hours together, to look into each other's eyes, to hear our loved ones' voices, to SEE each other, live, after so many months apart, is crucial to our relationship's health.

Other good news — A federal judge ruled that ''every person'' is to receive a $1200 stimulus check, including two million prisoners nationwide, along with 80,000 Florida prisoners. Bad news — 80,000 Florida prisoners are eligible for $1200 stimulus checks. That's $96 million statewide, $1,440,000 at Tomoka C.I. How many millions will be spent on drugs?

The contraband tobacco and drug smuggling has been rampant inside prisons since the pandemic shut down visits last March and widespread quarantines went into effect. I've written about the ''K--2'' insect spray overdoses and deaths. It's everywhere, and they can't blame it on the visitors. How much of that stimulus money will go to unscrupulous employees profiteering?

Someone is getting rich. Cigarettes are sold for as much as $10 each. Do the math. Check the employee parking lot for new BMW's and Ford F-150's.

No telling how many overdose deaths will result.

Let me turn left for a few minutes and tell you about how this prison drug issue affects nonsmokers like me.

There are eight toilets in my dorm bathroom for about 70 men, all in a row against the wall, separated by three-foot high dividers. The first three commodes, by consensus, are reserved as urinals, leaving five toilets for their original purpose. There are no cameras in the bathroom, so that's where the smokers congregate, sitting on the toilets, ducking their heads, smoking tobacco or chemicals, passing around the joint, polluting my air.

I walked in the bathroom with my toilet tissue, only to see five stalls occupied by smokers, billows of toxic smoke rising and spreading throughout the bathroom. I stopped, very upset.

For those prisoners with no money to buy contraband, there is something called ''drip rip.'' Many employees dip snuff or chewing tobacco, Copenhagen, Red Man, and other brands. When they've sucked most of the juice and nicotine out of their ''chaw,'' they spit it out on the lawn. Sharp-eyed prison hustlers, lurking at a distance, mark the spot, and when the guard moves on, they scurry quickly to snatch the chewed wad. Sometimes fights result from disputed ownership of the droppings.

Returning to their dorms, the smokers separate and spread out the drip rip to dry, preparing it to smoke. Several of them may chip in to pay for smoking rights to the rolled, dried out snuff or chewing tobacco. They congregate in my bathroom and light up. It smells terrible.

Yesterday I'd had enough with the smokers. I began yelling, ''selling out,'' they call it in prison, ''I'm risking lung cancer just to use the bathroom. Get your sorry asses out of here. Now!''

I added more colorful language that I won't repeat here.

They took off. I waited several minutes for the exhaust fan to draw out the smoke. A sympathetic friend began waving a towel, helping.

''You put the fear of God in those dodos, Norman,'' he said.

''I'm trying to survive this life sentence,'' I said. ''Lung cancer is not part of my plan.'''

We laughed.


Notice — On the news they said the Florida prison population had decreased to 80,000 people in November, down from 95,000 a year ago, blaming Covid-19. The counties have curtailed trials and hearings, resulting in fewer people going to prison. Meanwhile, thousands of ''short timers'' had expired their sentences and been released. Almost none of the 4,000-plus parole-eligible ''old timers'' have been released, a class of prisoner virtually guaranteed not to reoffend and return to prison.

Charlie

2020 — A Bad Year For Dying

 

November 12, 2020

In March, shortly before the virus struck, shutting down the country, my old friends, Jack ''Murf the Surf'' Murphy and Bernie DeCastro, arranged a conference call in the Chaplain's Office to talk to me about jump starting my ongoing parole efforts. Jack had recently met with our mutual friend, retired State Senator John Grant, of Tampa, who pledged his continued support. He and Bernie wanted me to brief them on where I stood with the parole commissioners before they went to Tallahassee. We had a great talk.

Much happened over the next few months. The virus hit hard. My mother's brother, Jim David Walker, passed away in Texas. My mother, Lucille Walker Norman, fell and broke her hip, eventually leading to her death. My mother's surviving first cousin, Lethea Myles, passed away. I recovered from the Covid-19 virus. Family visits were shut down in prisons across Florida for seven months.

I heard nothing from Murf or Bernie. Murf never answered texts or emails, and Bernie's emails were returned. We reached out to Senator Grant, who told us Murf had died September 12, five days before my mother's passing. Then we discovered that Bernie had died in April.

We'd never heard a word from the Florida media, which was strange, considering Jack's notoriety from the infamous jewel heist he had participated in in the 1960's, the movie, and his prison ministry career after he was released from prison in November, 1984, (not 1986, as most media incorrectly cite). A Google search turned up obituaries that mostly focused on the thefts of the Star of India, the Delong Ruby, and other priceless jewels, but said little about the man I knew well for forty years.

For four years before he was freed, I heard every Jack Murphy story so many times I could recite them. Now that he is gone, perhaps I will. For now, I'll tell you a prison story few people know.

Murf spent most of the money he once had, and supported himself in prison selling an occasional watercolor painting. As a prison celebrity, he became expert at fending off hostile comments from a few prisoners and guards who sought to provoke him.

One day a particularly nasty guard approached him outside his dorm.

''Murphy,'' he said, ''You walk around like a rich bigshot, but you're just another fake. You might 'a stole millions of dollars, but I checked your inmate bank account, and you ain't got shit now.''

Jack, like most people who've done hard prison time, was expert at hiding his emotions. He never let on to the guard that his comments had affected him, but they had. As we walked away, Jack mumbled under his breath, already scheming how to get back at the nasty guard.

Murf may not have had much money of his own, but he still had some wealthy friends. During his shadow career as a jewel thief, he had made more than one fence wealthy selling the valuables he had stolen from the rich. No one ever labelled Murf as a Robin Hood, but he viewed himself that way, relieving the unjust of their own ill-gotten gains.

Jack called a particularly successful friend in Miami who would always be grateful that Jack had never revealed his identity after his arrest. He asked the man for a favor. Of course, anything. He asked his friend to loan him $10,000 for a few weeks, to send a cashier's check to his inmate trust fund account, he wanted to prove a point.

''Jack, if you need the money, keep it,'' his friend said.

Jack said no, thanks anyway.

A short time later, Jack got a receipt showing he had a $10,000 deposit to his inmate account.

If you want to send money from your prison account to someone in the free world, there is a form to be filled out, included with a letter in a stamped envelope. The letter and form then goes to the business office, where a check is issued and mailed. Jack filled out the form and a letter to his girlfriend, Kitten, in Gainesville. In this case Colonel Jackson got the letter first. He summoned Jack to his office.

''Murphy, what stunt are you pulling? ‘Please deposit this check in my secret bank account in Yeehaw Junction.' How'd you get a secret bank account anyway?''

'' I can't tell you, Colonel, it wouldn't be a secret,'' he said.

 

Soon everyone had heard about the ten grand.

Of course, there was no secret bank account in Yeehaw Junction. There wasn't even a bank. Jack had never been there, but he'd heard the name and liked it. The last time I'd been through Yeehaw Junction, all it had was a Stuckey's and a gas station.

Years later, Jack sent me a photo of him standing in front of a green highway sign, ''Yeehaw Junction.'' On the back he scribbled, '' Going to the bank.'' No one knew the inside joke but us.

In ''LIFE IN PRISON — A PHOTO EXHIBIT,” there are a number of photos of Jack and me. I've asked Libby to include six pages of those photos in this brief memoir. Perhaps we'll share more in future memoirs.

Jack Murphy was 83 years old.

Charles Patrick Norman

 

 

LIFE IN PRISON — A Photo Exhibit

1978 — 2015

Union Correctional Institution 1981

 

 

 

 

 

This is a rare photo of GOLAB prisoners with outside supporters at the December, 1981, GOLAB Growth Community Christmas Party, held in the Union C.I. visiting park. Charles Norman stands at center, with attorney, Delia (Dedi) Anderson to his left. University of Florida Professor John (Jack) Detweiler and his wife, Pat, stand behind Charles and Dedi. Jack “Murf the Surf” Murphy is at far left, dressed in a T-shirt and prison cap, three years before his release on parole. Rick Strassner, to Murf’s left, worked in GOLAB at Florida State Prison (FSP) and Union C.I. for years, until his release.

Marjorie Spence , third from left, was the GOLAB state director. Terry, next to Margie, wearing the red-striped top, had been a GOLAB instructor at Lowell Women’s Prison prior to her release. Pat M., second from right, wearing a white blouse, had been released from Lowell that same day, into Margie’s custody, to the Gainesville Women’s Work Release Center, arriving at Union C.I. for the GOLAB Christmas party hours later.

The legendary brick steam plant tower can be seen behind Charles’ assistant, Jim Vick. Long-gone now, for decades the steam whistle echoed across Union and Bradford Counties three times a day, morning, noon, and night

 

 

 

 

LIFE IN PRISON — A Photo Exhibit

1978 — 2015

Zephyrhills Correctional Institution   1983 — 1987

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

November, 1984

 

Charles in the back, with sunglasses; Jack Murphy is on the right; friends Gary Toth, left, and Juan Acebo, center front.  All the men in this photo were released and have been free for decades;

except Charles.

 

This area was the result of a “Jaycees” beautification effort, a fish pond and stone waterfall, a wood bridge and tropical plants, all built by prisoners. This area became the backdrop for the Jaycee Photo Project on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. Sadly, the Jaycee pond and wooden bridge are gone now, eliminated by some later, less enlightened officials. Prison officials no longer allow group photos of prisoners.

 

 

 

 

 

LIFE IN PRISON — A Photo Exhibit

1978 — 2015

Zephyrhills Correctional Institution   1983 — 1987

 

A number of photos in this exhibit include Jack “Murf The Surf” Murphy with Charles. Charles and Jack worked together for years, beginning with GOLAB and KAIROS at Union C.I., and later at Zephyrhills C.I.

Having been freed over 30 years ago, Jack Murphy continues to lobby for Charles’ release.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

November, 1984

 

Charles, left, the week before Jack Murphy, right, was released on parole, standing in front of the horticulture area where Charles was allowed to raise thousands of flowers.

         Charles and Jack posed for this photo at Zephyrhills C.I. wearing T-shirts they had silk-screen printed with the “Sonshine Adventure ‘84” logo. They made over 900 T-shirts. Over 200 Christian volunteers from churches in Orlando, Lakeland, Dade City, Tampa, and Clearwater attended, as well as divinity students from Trinity College and Southeastern College.

In his last months in prison, Murf was inspired to work with the flowers, getting his mind right for freedom. As a result of his efforts beautifying some areas around the chapel, the warden reduced Murf’s custody and put him “outside” the fences for the first time. He told Jack to fix up the flower beds around the administration building like he’d done at the chapel.

 

 

LIFE IN PRISON — A Photo Exhibit

1978 — 2015

Zephyrhills Correctional Institution   1983 — 1987

ABOVE TOP: Charles Norman, 3^rd from left, and Jack Murphy, 3^rd from right, and friends pose with a banner painted by Charles for his niece’s 12^th birthday.

ABOVE BOTTOM: Charles Norman, kneeling at left, and Jack Murphy, kneeling at center, with fellow Christian prisoners, pose with an encouraging message to a friend in free society.

     

LIFE IN PRISON — A Photo Exhibit

1978 — 2015

Zephyrhills Correctional Institution     1983 — 1987

 Charles, with the ball cap and sunglasses, Jack Murphy, to his left, and three friends on the Jaycees wooden footbridge the week before Jack went home  in November, 1984. The friends were clowning around that day, something that is not allowed now. No group photos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On October 19, 1985, Jack Murphy returned to Zephyrhills C.I. for the first time since his release. Tommy Lloyd and John Garcia, the two men wearing white shirts at left, baked the special cake, with the “Sonshine Adventure” whale logo, commemorating his return.

On the morning of Murf’s release, November 20, 1984, seventy fellow prisoners stood in a circle around the Jaycee fishpond saying prayers for his success. The prayers were answered. As CBS News and  ABC News helicopters circled overhead, Jack’s last words to Charles were, “I’m coming back for you, brother.” He has kept that promise, although Charles remains imprisoned.

 

The cake was delicious.

LIFE IN PRISON — A Photo Exhibit

1978 — 2015

Wakulla Correctional Institution Annex   2010 — 2012

 

PAROLE HEARING  MARCH 21, 2012

 

 

                            

  Rev. Dennis St. Lawrence, decorated veteran, Chaplain, prison volunteer, journalist/photographer,  and long-term supporter     of Charles Norman.

 

 

                              
                                                                                                                                                          

LEFT TO RIGHT:  Matthew Kachergas, Esq., Jack Murphy, William Sheppard, Esq., Rev. Dennis St. Lawrence at Charles’  Parole Hearing October 11, 2011 (postponed from September, 2011). The October hearing was continued to March 21, 2012.