WARNING: The following (lengthy) report of events will probably only serve to increase your seething frustration with unjust government bureaucracies, specifically, the Texas Department of Criminal Justice (a misnomer if there ever was one.)Six months after I was supposed to leave for a rehab program and more than a year after I originally received my parole answer, I am finally at the unit where the program takes place. This entire week has been nuts so far because of the trip and all the unknowns through the process.
At 1 a.m. Monday morning I was wakened and told to pack my stuff. I was on transit. No one could tell me where I was going, just that i was leaving. I could be going straight home, to an evaluation and back to Venus, or to a four-month rehab program. Or I could be going anywhere because TDC does whatever they want. I quickly got a nervous, sick feeling in my stomach and was constantly drinking water to keep dry mouth at bay. I hate dealing with unknowns like this.
I packed my stuff into three plastic mesh onion bags - one that would go with me filled with hygiene products, books, and legal paperwork; the second to be picked up by my family filled with old letters and card games I can't take with me; the third filled with the rest of my property that didn't fir into the first bag to be sent to me in a few weeks via TDC truck mail.
Around 4:00 a.m. the cell doors were opened for breakfast and West came out to talk for the last couple of hours before I left. We kept trying to figure out what was going on and where I might be going. No progress was made.
As we talked, people kept coming to the table and wishing me luck, some that had never said a word to me before. When we went to breakfast, I saw a few friends and asked them to pass on the news of my departure to guys in other parts of the unit.
The call came at 6:30 a.m. for me to grab my mattress, pillow, and clothes and to head for the chain room. The chain room is where all incoming and outgoing inmates are processed into or out of the unit, exchanging TDC clothes for MTC (the private company that runs the unit that I am leaving) clothes. "Chain" is prison for "transit" due to the chains of handcuffs we are put into for each trip.
While in the chain room my friends Omar and OJ dropped by. It was probably wishful thinking that told me I was simply going to an evaluation to decide whether I would be put in the rehab program. Since professionals in the past have told me that I am the lowest risk for re-offending that they have ever seen, I figured that it would be quickly determined that the rehab program was unnecessary and I would be sent back to Venus until a parole address was approved. With this process in my head, I told Omar and OJ that I would be back in a couple of weeks. When the mailroom lady stopped by and asked if she needed to find a new Elvis for the talent show (see blog entry Friday, December 3, 2010), I told her the same thing.
At 8 a.m. all of us on chain were shackled individually - hands to waist and feet together - and corralled onto a small bus that looked like it belonged to an assisted living center. Three hours later we reached our first drop off in Huntsville, then hit the second near noon. I wasn't scheduled to get off until we reached the Huntsville unit in "downtown" at 1:30 p.m.
The Huntsville unit, also called the Walls, was one of the first prisons in the state, going back to the mid-19th century. This is where every execution takes place and the red brick walls have many stories to tell. The corner of the unit where I came in contains the crumbling state prison rodeo stadium where it is said that inmates would attempt to pluck $100 bills form the horns of a bull. The rodeo is lone since defunct and I overheard the officers say that the winning bid to tear down the stadium was just over $40,000. Despite the nation's progress toward newer prison operations, the Walls' outdated form of incarcerations lives on in Texas.
After arriving at the Walls I had to wait outside in a cage (a common theme of the trip - I felt like a head of cattle) until being ushered past the industrial buildings of the unit and into a converted gym. The industrial building was built in 1949 and was dedicated to the governor at that time, Shivers. The gym's side walls had closed in like a trash compactor and the floor had a series of six cages where inmates were being stripped, inventoried, and sorted. This process took a couple of hours with lots of standing around waiting. After being sorted, I was given a cell assignment on the sixth floor of an old-school cell block overlooking the gym floor.
The cell already had one occupant, a German who had been there 33 days. That doesn't sound very long until you realize that this cell was the smallest I've encountered yet - just six feet by nine feet - and had most of the space taken up by the sink, toilet, bunk beds and property we carries. The walls were covered with scribblings of departure dates (the Walls was also where everyone was released until a change last year), Scripture and artwork. The art varied form portraits of family or Christ to sexual images and gang symbols. It felt like the most cramped and unclean place I had seen yet. I was grateful to know that this was only an overnight stay.
Dinner at the Walls came at 8 p.m. and we walked through a courtyard where we could see where executions take place. I was told that two executions were held a few weeks ago - probably one of the Jasper "truck draggers" - and the bodies were wheeled out as guys walked past on their to dinner. Creepy.
After dinner I read a few pages before going to sleep. I only had one hour of sleep before being wakened for chain that morning, and I was exhausted physically and emotionally. Unfortunately, I was wakened at 10 p.m. to begin the departure process, which was the same process done earlier that day, only backwards and we a had two-hour break for breakfast around 2 a.m. From the cages inside, we headed to the cages outside to wait for our transportation to arrive. At this point I still did not know my final destination and was still hoping to do a short trip then back to Venus before going home.
While waiting in the cages outside, rain began to fall around us. We were protected from above by a corrugated tin roof, but collecting rainwater on the ground threatened to soak our property, so I was forced to hold mu bag of books and such off the ground. This same storm hit Venus as we were leaving the day before and I would see it again getting off the bus at my current unit.
My bus arrived at 6 a.m., two hours after I came out to the cage. I headed to Hightower, the unit in Dayton where I spent a month over two years ago. My heart sank. No evaluations are done at Hightower, just the rehab program. If I start the program as soon as i arrive there, I will get out in April or May with only a month or two before discharging my entire sentence.
I was upset that I wasn't picked up last May as scheduled and more upset that my lawyer and nearly every other official involved in my case had told me that I would only be incarcerated for two or three years at most. If I had been picked up for the program on time I would have been home with family and friends now for the holidays. Instead I'll be sharing the holidays with me, myself and I over a tray of poorly cooked prison food. I may still have a chance at trying to the administration that I don't need the program, but that chance is very slim.
We arrived at Hightower in the rain and had to wait in another cage outside. I kept my back to the wind and held my property close to my chest so the driving rain didn't get to it. Hours later, our stuff was inventoried, the guard told us to carry our property into the rain and to strip to be searched. All my effort was for naught as my legal paperwork, letters and books got soaked. I was angry and in disbelief, but far too sleep-deprived to do anything. Once we entered the unit we were made to wait in yet another outdoor cage to see the warden, classification and. I was given a job as a nighttime janitor, the same job I had last time I was here.
When I got to my cell around 12:30 p.m., I unpacked everything and laid it our on my bunk to dry. It wasn't until after 3 p.m. that I received dry clothes and a mattress (no pillows here). About five hours in wet clothes. After dinner at 4:30, I crashed out. I'd had only four hours sleep in the last 58 hours, so I was knocked out quickly.
This has been a long and crazy week so far, but I'm one step closer to coming home. Too bad I'm nearly 300 miles form home and back to the authoritative arms of TDC. I just hope this time flies by and I'm home before I know it.
Last October I received a parole answer saying I would be enrolled in a rehab program in May 2011 and released on parole in September 2011. Obviously, neither has occurred. I sent a letter last month to both the parole board and to the director of programs for Texas Department of Corrections asking what the delay was and what I could do to speed up the process.
I just received as "answer" from TDC tonight in the mail, two weeks after my initial letter. The director of programs thanked me for writing and stated that she would forward my letter to a manager. Thanks for passing the buck!
Lately I've been getting impatient. I received a parole answer last year that said I would be picked up in May for a four-month rehab program and get out in September. Like most things around here, I expected everything to come together later than scheduled but here it is almost August and there is still no sign of me even starting the program.
I think it goes without saying I am pumped to be home soon. Though most of my friends have moved on and away, I still look forward to spending time with family, I can't wait to get this institutional structure off my back and out of my head. These things - and more - I have anticipated for years but last November the jets were turned on.
Last month I began my process of detachment from this place. First, I found an extra coworker for the library and showed both he and the other coworker the ropes. That backfired. Both guys are no longer there and I'm back to only one coworker. I tried to step away but now I'm back in the thick of it, working and training the next guy.
Second, I pulled back my extroverted self. I used to interact with a broad spectrum of guys but, since I'm laving soon, I don't want to invest in relationships that I'll just snap in half in a short time. I'm pretty much just hanging out with West and Le now that Shane is gone.
Third, I'm getting rid of physical stuff I don't want to carry with me and I'm preparing my mental stuff for when I get out. I gave away my role-playing books and sent home a load of literature to empty my locker a bit. I'm holding on to about a dozen books to read during transit and at the program. I've been planning a budget and studying business to try to ready myself for starting a small venture on the side. Through all of this I am keeping focused on the Lord, knowing He has plans for me but clueless as to His schedule.
And that's what has been getting to me lately. I'm ready to leave, was ready a month ago, years ago, but I'm still here waiting. I feel like I am at a restaurant waiting for the lighted buzzer in my hand to go off with no results. I wish they had not told me I made parole if they were not planning to uphold their end of the bargain. They are three months behind and the waiting is killing me.
I got a very good sign of imminent release today: my blood was drawn. This is usually done 90 days before release, which could mean that my day is coming up soon. Needless to say, my excitement is running high.
This morning I was called out of work in the library to the infirmary a few doors away. Sitting in the sparse waiting room (no magazines, cushy chairs or gross posters on the wall here) I spotted a friend who got the same parole answer as me at the same time I did. While we were chatting about what we are looking forward to upon release, my name was called. We call this "being sucked by the vampires" because we often come out with several holes and a transformed attitude.
In the infirmary I sat on a chair and laid out my right arm to be tied off with a rubber tourniquet. The nurse, a young blonde that everyone has warned me about, asked polite questions about my plans for release. As I answered, looking away, I felt the prick in the bend of my elbow.
"Uh oh, you rolled," she said.
After a few moments of feeling a weird sensation in my arm, I looked down and saw the needle twirling in my arm making circles as she tried to find my rolled vein.
"You know, that is petty uncomfortable," I told her.
"Yeah... okay, let's try the other one," she replied. "You have great veins, they just roll."
ON my left arm the nurse missed again, blaming another rolling vein. This is what I'd been warned about. Little did I know I would be assaulted for my blood so Texas Department of Corrections can run tests for AIDS and Hep C. The nurse decided to call in a substitute who drew blood on her first poke. I did not foresee the necessity of performing as a pincushion but, if it means going home, I will ride a flaming motorcycle while juggling monkeys blowing bubbles.
Yesterday I moved out of my old cell in to a situation that is an improvement but not by much. My cellmate isn't bad: he just talks nonstop, keeping me up to all odd hours of the night when I have to get for work fairly early. The main problem is that I share the dorm with the guy who stole a book of none then tried to fight me last year. Yeah, non other than Ereman is in my new dorm.
Because of his toxic attitude I have avoided Ereman as much as possible and will continue doing so until I move out of this dorm. Yes, I'm trying to move again. It was stupid of the administration to put us in the same dorm and I don't mind telling them as much. I'm going to try to have a say in it this time. I only have a few months left before I leave on parole and just want a place to do the rest of my time in peace. Sounds silly, I know. This is prison; get over it.
Really, you would be surprised at how different each dorm is. Some are deathly quiet, while others are as raucous as a NASCAR race. I have the benefit of knowing which dorms are which due to my many book cart runs. Hopefully, my pleas for a move will fall on compassionate ears.
One of my best buddies, Cameron, left the unit a couple of weeks ago to go to a rehabilitation program before going home. I met Cameron in county jail when I saw that one of his letters came from a familiar family name. It turned out that he was dating the sister of one of my old soccer teammates. After that initial connection we found that we shared many nerdy interests like Warcraft and computer hacking (not the bad kind.)
He arrived at this unit several months behind me and we got to know each other better. We have shared both good times and bad (see November 24th entry). While we have very different views of life - he is an atheist while I believe in a living, breathing God - we got along like coffee and cream. He could be bitter, but we always had good conversation.
He just came back to the unit with great news. He took a psych test at the other unit and was told that he did not need the rehab program after all. As soon as he received approved address to parole to, he would be headed home.
This news bodes well for me, too. I am scheduled to do a rehab program this summer and go home in the fall. With this new option I could be outside these walls eating real pizza by mid-May. That outcome would be a definite positive answer to years of prayer from hundreds of folks. Anything to speed release is welcome and I'm happy for Cameron's upcoming release, too!
Last night I received a surprise when layins were handed out. I was scheduled to have my second parole interview today. Whoa, this is very early. I didn't expect it to come until late next month at the earliest. I guess this just further proves that there is no rhyme or reason to the Texas parole system.
So, after getting prayed up and pumped up, I went to see the unit parole man this morning. I don't even know why they even want another interview. I never see anyone who actually votes on my parole and the guy I did see does nothing more than ask if anything has changed since the last time I was interviewed.
Yeah, stuff has changed. I'm a little older, wiser and more anxious to go home.
In truth, I hate going into these interviews. I feel like I'm going into a test that I've studied hard for, sitting down to fill out all the answers correctly, knowing I should pass with flying colors. then walking out having no idea how I will be graded. If there were a million things wrong with the Texas judicial and criminal justice (misnomer) system - and there are - parole is definitely one of them. I've seen guys with zero disciplinary problems and a zillion self-improvements go before parole and get shot down, while crooked a troublemaker who has been put in higher custody since coming to prison gets to leave. There's no logic to that. If they cause problems in here, aren't they more likely to cause them out there among the community that the system is supposedly trying to keep safe? It's as if the system is trying to justify its existence by showing the community their dangerous criminals while holding back those that can be positive reflections of the system's results. It's beyond me.
I just want to go home.
After a month of wrestling with his local parole office over his address, my coworker finally left this morning to be released tomorrow morning. His steps to his mother's car will be his first outside in nineteen years. Yes, he has been incarcerated during the Gulf War; OJ's "innocence"; Clinton's impeachment hearings; the rise of the Internet; 9/11, Playstations 1, 2 and 3; iMac, iPod, and iPhone.
The world is a much different place then when he left it. I hope he finds a guide who will show him a safe and successful path through his foreign lands.
Last week my close friend and cellmate, Alan,
found out he had made parole. Hallelujah! I know he is anxious to get home to his family, especially his kids. He genuinely wants a righteous life for himself and to be good example for his kids. He's been nervous all week, but he is excited and ready to get out of here.
Almost from day one when I moved into the cell we hit it off. We formed a friendship based on Christ, often praying for each others' hardships. It has been nice to be able to have a cellmate with whom I confide in and talk about all kinds of issues - mundane or complex. I don't know how much of an encouragement I've been to him, but Alan is often able, on those few down days, to lift me up in a short time.
There are not many people here that I just click with, but Alan has been one of those people.
He left this morning to be released later this week from Huntsville, down near Houston. I don't know who will replace him in my cell, but I pray it will be someone I can share life with in a similar way. I wish Alan the fortitude to say "yes" to the things he needs to be involved in and "no" to those he must avoid. I hope to never be his cellmate again, no matter how great it is to have him around.
After my time in discussion with my parents and prayer I've decided to turn down the parole board's offer of eighteen months of treatment followed by parole. There are a number of reasons for my denial and I've tried to meet with the parole guy and warden here to talk with them about my decision. Because I haven't been able to talk with them,
I went ahead and drafted a letter to be sent to many different officials (to make sure it gets into the right hands) denying the parole offer.
I had some great supporting material for my decision sent to me by my mom. These letters from counselors and fact sheets from organizations helped back up most of my reasons, putting credentials behind my words. Without those references, I would have a hard time convincing anyone that I had made a sound decision and may have seemed a fool, but God knew I needed help.
Once I finished the letter, I shared it with a friend to get his reaction. "I guess you're serious, huh?" he remarked after reading the letter. " After seeing all that, I probably would have done the same thing if I was in your shoes."
Now I pray that the people who receive the letter will be prepared and open-minded to my decision and that no ill effects come of it.
Sunday morning at church I saw a face I didn't ever expect to see again. My friend, Heinz, left for INS (Immigration and Naturalization Services) court last week to hear whether he would be allowed to stay in the U.S. or be deported to Germany, where he hasn't lived since the age of five. INS decided to let him stay and we praised God together.
After the service, I told him about my parole answer and asked him to be praying for me to have guidance on my decision to accept it or not. He said that he would definitely be in prayer and asked if I would like to fast with him. I said yes and that it would be for Monday and Tuesday.
So, over the past two days I have fasted, acknowledging God's sovereignty over the situation and asking that my decision would be in accordance with His will. I chose Psalm 5 as my prayer. Both days were spent in prayer, reading and singing. I'm glad my cellmate is gone during the day because the solitude was great to have.
This was the first fast I've done since high school that I can remember. There were a few guys who asked why I was giving away my food at all the meals. I did get hungry and was lightheaded during my light workout. But the time with God was awesome.
Now, after eating with Alan and Chris to break the fast, I don't feel like I was given a direct answer on what my decision should be, but I do feel a peace in my leaning toward turning down the treatment. And I know I will have Him with me along either path.
"Twelve bottom! You have a lay-in!"
As I signed my initials on the lay-in sheet to acknowledge my reception of the lay-in. I saw the word "parole" beside my name. Earlier than expected but hopefully I'll get an answer instead of the delays I've seen with some guys.
Talking with Alan a few nights ago, I remarked that I wouldn't even mind getting a year set-of. I've definitely been growing in this place God prepared for me, physically and spiritually. I'd rather be home, but I could be comfortable here close to home, learning so much.
I went down to the parole office this morning and waited in line for a few minutes for my turn to see the unit officer. There was a weight on me as I saw several men's futures told to them bluntly through the windowed steel door. A few guys couldn't hide their reaction and their faces told the story upon exiting.
My turn. I walked in, sat down, and answered the officer's question of how I am doing today with nervous , excited anxious and hopeful.
"Don't be nervous," said the officer. Yeah, right, I thought. You're holding my future in your hands right now.
I handed him my lay-in and he searched the stack of parole answers for the one with my name on it.
"I don't know how you're going to take this," he said as he passed the sheet across his desk to meet my hands. "You got an FI18. I think you should be happy, but some guys aren't."
In my head I did a fist pump of triumph. I made parole.
I figure you can make parole when the justice system was heavy-handed to begin with. But even now I was given an F!18 parole on condition that I complete eighteen months of treatment. After a quick calculation while I was walking back to my pod, I realized that not only would I be getting home only ten months early, but the eighteen month is longer than half of the time I've completed. The excitement drained faster than a frat boy's keg. How am I going to handle this?
My coworker, Matt, left to go home on parole tonight. He had to wait about six months from the time he was supposed to leave because it took forever to get an approved address to go home to. It seems like the system does go out of its way to make things difficult sometimes. He has had a lot of anxiety about his release and how difficult it will be to find work and a good social group. He feels like he is too old for college and his record is too much of a stigma for employers to look past. His past experiences with betrayal aren't an encouragement, either.I've talked with him about my own positive experience and those of other guys I've encountered. While I was on probation, I was encouraged and accepted by friends I made in college group at my church and had a petty good job for a guy my age. I've met guys with felony records that managed apartment complexes, worked as investors ans started their own businesses, I think that if a person wants a successful life and they do the research to find out how to get where they want to be, with proper effort they can get there. Of course, there are some areas a felon can't go into without having their record expunged.
I hope Matt finds a nurturing community that will continue to encourage him to productivity. I think he'll feel better after he's been out a few months. Now I am left to work alone, which I prefer unless I have a good coworker like Matt.
Well, my parole packet is complete and has been sent off to the parole board. I've been working on it for a little over a month with my parents' help typing it up and sending it back for edits. Since I came to prison, I've been writing to the board every couple of months on the advice of some older guys who had done time in the past. I want the parole boardvto see my progress, penitence and desire for release. As they say, the squeaky wheel gets the grease.
My parole packet has a cover letter, table of contents, and the most recent letter I wrote to the board. After that I included my version of my offense and each disciplinary case I've received to make sure it's consistent with what they have and that the whole story is told.
Then I have a list of awards and accomplishments that I've received here and also prior to incarceration. I also included copies of certificates I've received.
Next is my parole plan outlining where I will live and work, how I will get around, plans for school and the different groups or individuals I have for support. Next I listed strengths that will help me complete my parole successfully, followed by a list of all the books I've read. Last are a few handpicked letters to the parole board written by family and friends.
Hopefully the board will see how much I have going for me, but at least I know I have done all I can do. God has been with me from the very beginning and nothing I've done toward parole has been done without the help of the Holy Spirit. Now all I do is wait for my interview in the next couple of months and continue to pray for God's wisdom to be with the board as they review my case.
Thank you to all all who have sent letters to the parole board on my behalf. That evidence of support could make the difference in their decision. Please continue to pray with me that the board would find good reason to release me so I can thank y'all in person with a big hug and tears of joy!
About a month ago I asked one of my supervisors for shower crew if he was allowed to write a letter of recommendation to the parole board on my behalf. I've heard of it being done at my previous unit but not from anyone here. He said that he didn't know but to send a request form to the captain to find out. After a week, the captain wrote back saying he didn't know the policy and to ask the warden.
Last week I received the warden's answer: a firm NO.
Despitethe parole board's statement that supervisor's recommendations are accepted, apparently the warden would rather root out all chances of collusion to the detriment of those of us inmates who have performed well and developed a healthy rapport and sense of respect without supervisors. There really is no reward for working hard as an inmate in this system.
Today marks two years of my being incarcerated. By no means have those years been easy, but I owe a lot to family and friends for making my time here more comfortable with letters, visits, commissary, books and prayers.
I've also done as much as I can to make this time productive by reading, taking college classes and researching schools for when I get out.
I spent five months in county jail before boarding a bus in chains to be herded like cattle at an intake facility. I moved from cage to cage for twelve hours answering surveys, getting my head shaved, showering ina crowd, receiving clothes, and finally going to a dorm. I stayed at the intake facility for about two weeks as the system took blood, did physical and psychological testing and interviewed me.
Next I went to a unit in east Texas where I was in the "hoe squad", doing the farmwork outside. I liked the hoe squad because we worked outside and with our hands, even if we didn't really have a purpose for working most of the time. That unit is where I started my heavy reading. I ended up finishing 60 books in 2008, far more than I could have ever read outside or even imagined reading in one year.
In March of last year I arrived at my current unit. I moved around to four different dorms in my first four months - one because of a fight, one because the dorm became a kitchen workers' dorm, and one move for a job change to my current job on the shower crew. Here I could play soccer and run every day and in August I started college classes, which has been the best use of my time so far. I should receive my associates of arts degree this summer.
Now I look forward to possibly seeing parole this fall. I have extreme gratitude for everyone who has written letters on my behalf to the parole board. I'm hopeful for a positive answer and release this winter. Until then, I stay in the Word and continue to try to impact the guys around me for the better. Thank y'all for your support and prayers for me and my family!
* Who forces time is pushed back by time; who yields to time finds time on his side. ~The Talmud
Last night I found out that my friend Will is leaving the unit. I don't have a clue where he's going but he had a parole interview a month and a half ago, so I hope he is headed home. I wanted to talk with him before he left but I was cleaning my usual spot in cell block for shower crew and couldn't trade locations.
After I finished cleaning cell block I just walked down to Will's dorm. The guard on the hallway knew we were friends and didn't care if I was there. He let me into Will's dorm and Will was surprised to see me. I offered him encouragement and told him to write from wherever he ended up, then we prayed together for a bit. I'm going to miss having him around.
I put in a request for the electrician job two days ago. However, Will told me tonight that the boss isn't looking for new guys right now. Apparently the recession has hit here, too... ha, ha.
I had a great visit with my mom today. I don't know why, but in one-on-one visits we usually talk about different stuff than when we would with others. The same is true for everyone else, too.
I found out today that I do not have a chance for an appeal at all. The lawyer at the juvenile justice non-profit foundation who was looking at my case said that, because of the agreement I made in the court judgment, I gave away almost all chances for appeal. The only appeal I could do would not fit my situation. She suggested filing a grievance with the state bar association for the ethics violations and continuing to pursue commutation and parole. I am hoping that she can write a recommendation now that she is familiar with my case.
I kind of figured there wouldn't be a shot at an appeal so it wasn't a huge letdown. It certainly wasn't good news, though. I chase commutation and parole even harder now that the favored option is gone. I really want to go home and put this prison life behind me, and I will explore every legitimate route to see if I can get there faster.
WARNING: The following (lengthy) report of events will probably only serve to increase your seething frustration with unjust government bureaucracies, specifically, the Texas Department of Criminal Justice (a misnomer if there ever was one.)
