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Leavenworth, Redemption and Johnny Cash
Now that I'm in livejournal I've drawn a blank, what to write, what to write...
Johnny Cash died today. So did John Ritter. Ritter shocked me. Johnny Cash just made me feel oddly wistful. I love Johnny Cash - even though I only have one of his songs on CD. In Your Mind...
"Somebody Said What is Truth"...that's the lyric which grabs me from the song which is a combo of blue-grass and blues, makes you want to tap your feet in tempo. Raspy melodious voice half-singing/half speaking the words so that they are clearer than most. And the song? It makes me think oddly enough of Spike and Angel and myself..."one foot on Jacob's ladder and one foot in the fire and all goes down in your mind..."
Have you ever been in a prison? The steel walls press in on you. There aren't bars, at least not in Leavenworth, so much as windowless steel walls that close and lock. I remember sitting in the rotunda on a stormy day in July 1992, I was 26 years old. Sitting next to a 45 year old bank robber with salt and pepper hair, orange pajamas. We sat in the semi-darkness, since the only light came from the rooms that bordered the rotunda hall and the skylight above us. Lighting and thunder occassionally broke the dull silence. There were maybe six pairs of us waiting to appear before the three person parole boards. A licensed attorney/supervisor went into the rooms with us to assess our performance and ensure we made no mistakes. The prison was silent because it was under a lock-down. Anyone know what a lock-down means? It's basically what happens after a prison riot or incident. Three days before there'd been a knife fight, two guards wounded, one killed, and a prisoner dead. So they locked down the prison. They considered cancelling the hearings but since none of our prisoners were involved they changed their minds. My guy had sort of seen it. He tells me in a voice warmed over like chocolat that it's not the walls or bars or the wardens, but the people you share your time with that make it hard. For every prisoner - there's someone in the room with him who is far worse. He lists a few and I find myself cringing at the descriptions, not the crimes so much as the realization that the people he is describing aren't that odd - it's not like their crimes are stamped to their foreheads or they have pointy teeth or ridges...if anything they look like that harmless little guy you used to know in high school. But the most disturbing thing about our conversation is the realization that my supervisor and Crim law prof is right..."There But for The Grace of God Go I".
My guy has been in Leavenworth Pentientary for more than 20 years. He's in for felony bank robbery. Felony bank robbery is basically robbery with weapons and someone getting shot. He didn't shoot anyone, but that doesn't matter - all that matters is someone in the group did. Why'd he do it? Cocaine, Crack Cocaine addiction. He would do anything for the fix. Has two kids and a wife in Ohio. Leavenworth is in Kansas. Hasn't seen them in 20 years. He should have been out in 15, his time was 10-15, so getting his parole shouldn't be too tough. I'm still nervous though. He's worked hard to redeem himself. Taking all sorts of rehabilative classes while inside. Has written a book for kids on avoiding drugs. Counsels other drug addicts. I list these things in my report to the parole board. You have to prove the prisoner has a good track record inside, can be a constructive member of society, is remorseful, and has worked to better himself. He tells me that prison isn't about rehabilitation - it's about punishement, vengeance. I didn't believe him back then, I do now.
We stare up at the rotunda. And I wonder aloud how one would escape. My first thought upon entering that prison is how does one get out? (Confession - I'm just a wee bit on the claustrophobic side...this is partly due to the fact that I'm 5'11 in bare feet and over 180 pounds, not a small person by any stretch of the imagination - so space? Important.) When you enter Leavenworth you go through four or five series of gates. It's out in the foothills of Eastern Kansas (very rolling green wooded land, not at all what people expect - everyone thinks Kansas is flat - actually Eastern Colorado and Arkansas is flatter, always shocks folks), small town next door, but mostly farm land. It's concrete and barbed wire. When you enter - you show your id, go through all sorts of electric security checks and electric gates which believe me are bit unnerving during a thunder storm - with lightening flashes every five minutes. Doesn't help that we spent two hours in the waiting room, before entering the checks and going to the rotunda where we met our clients. In the lounge - I got into a debate with one of the prisoners families who accused me of just being a college student who didn't care - I could leave at any time, this had no deep meaning to me, the woman insisted, I didn't care if I got a man off or not...it wasn't life or death to me. Odd...that was so long ago now and I can still make out the woman's tear streaked face and dyed blond hair and I can still feel the righteous indignation - "you're wrong!" I tell her, "Of course I care - a prisoner's rights are important! The law is important..." I can't remember all that I said...except it was full of what I believed life should be, the law should be.
Underneath the rotunda, my prisoner follows my eyes to the sky-light. I wonder aloud if one could climb out through the rotunda and escape. He nixes it. "Assuming you could get up there without being seen, how would you get past the barbed wire? or the guards posted outside in the towers?" He asks me. And it suddenly strikes me how incredibly absurd this discussion is and inappropriate. I wonder how he stands the claustrophobia. He says one gets used to it, that yes he's pleased to be out of his cell today, been locked in since the middle of the week due to the lock-down, but the cells aren't the problem it's the other prisoners. That knife fight the other day is just one example. He explains that you work hard to stay unnoticed. (The cells are about the size of a small walk-in closet, with a toilet. A tiny slit of a window and a steel reinforced door with a slit in the front.)
He asks me if I think he can handle himself on the outside. If I think he has a chance. Can he be redeemed or is he doomed. I sit in silence for a moment, contemplating his question. Finally answer honestly. "I don't know," I say. "I can't begin to understand you're situation and I honestly don't know what I would do if I were in it." Which is true enough. He's a black man, from the inner city, no money, kids, a wife, addictive, and fell in with bad friends. I honestly can't imagine the choices he's had and feel uncomfortable judging him. The parole hearing doesn't take long. I shake through most of it, to my complete and utter embarrassment, my supervisor chides me on my nervousness and emotion (not the first person to do so or the last) but the prisoner compliments me and argues with the supervisor, telling him that my report tinged with emotion probably helped him more than the supervisors calm resolve. Two weeks later - I learn he got his parole from Leavenworth - but has to go back to Ohio on the detainer. The detainer basically means once the federal government is done punishing him, the state gets it's chance. He tells me that he really appreciated my defense of his rights and wonders if I can help with his detainer. Unfortunately my license, limited as it is, does not extend to Ohio, so I can do nothing. He needs to contact lawyers there. My surpervisor tells me not to get too upset over it - I can't save them all, I did what I could and that's enough. More than most. Now...twelve years later, I can't help but wonder what became of him.
I think of him today, because of Johnny Cash and having just watched Angel two nights before. Johnny Cash did time in jail. He served for drugs and other related crimes. He was wild and dangerous before it was the cool thing for rock stars to do, not that it was ever really cool. And he wrote songs wondering about such things as redemption. Angel? Well he's the most vicious vampire in the history of the Buffyverse and now ensouled, he wonders if redemption is possible? Maybe it is if he can just forgive himself?
And I wonder - is it really as simple as that??
I also think about that prisoner...because defending prisoners or legal aid is a path I did not choose to pursue due to various factors not worth going into. I wonder if the woman in that room was right - was I just another self-righteous law student? Forgetting these people once I graduated or my internship ended? Did you know that my career counselor suggested I leave the negotiated parole off my resume b/c employers would look negatively at it? Because people in this country believe if someone is in jail they deserve to be, whether or not they claim to be innocent. And should never be released. It makes me angry when I hear that. Because I know deep down that those people are one step away from jail themselves and part of me wishes they could step through a twighlight zone cloud and feel it for themselves. Just a little nudge...or a wrong button pushed...but for the grace of god go I, those words haunt me. And sometimes...I wonder if anyone of us is truly worthy of redemption and if it really is, as Johnny Cash sings, "in your mind".
Odd...I was going to write about doctors and I write about lawyers instead.
Johnny Cash died today. So did John Ritter. Ritter shocked me. Johnny Cash just made me feel oddly wistful. I love Johnny Cash - even though I only have one of his songs on CD. In Your Mind...
"Somebody Said What is Truth"...that's the lyric which grabs me from the song which is a combo of blue-grass and blues, makes you want to tap your feet in tempo. Raspy melodious voice half-singing/half speaking the words so that they are clearer than most. And the song? It makes me think oddly enough of Spike and Angel and myself..."one foot on Jacob's ladder and one foot in the fire and all goes down in your mind..."
Have you ever been in a prison? The steel walls press in on you. There aren't bars, at least not in Leavenworth, so much as windowless steel walls that close and lock. I remember sitting in the rotunda on a stormy day in July 1992, I was 26 years old. Sitting next to a 45 year old bank robber with salt and pepper hair, orange pajamas. We sat in the semi-darkness, since the only light came from the rooms that bordered the rotunda hall and the skylight above us. Lighting and thunder occassionally broke the dull silence. There were maybe six pairs of us waiting to appear before the three person parole boards. A licensed attorney/supervisor went into the rooms with us to assess our performance and ensure we made no mistakes. The prison was silent because it was under a lock-down. Anyone know what a lock-down means? It's basically what happens after a prison riot or incident. Three days before there'd been a knife fight, two guards wounded, one killed, and a prisoner dead. So they locked down the prison. They considered cancelling the hearings but since none of our prisoners were involved they changed their minds. My guy had sort of seen it. He tells me in a voice warmed over like chocolat that it's not the walls or bars or the wardens, but the people you share your time with that make it hard. For every prisoner - there's someone in the room with him who is far worse. He lists a few and I find myself cringing at the descriptions, not the crimes so much as the realization that the people he is describing aren't that odd - it's not like their crimes are stamped to their foreheads or they have pointy teeth or ridges...if anything they look like that harmless little guy you used to know in high school. But the most disturbing thing about our conversation is the realization that my supervisor and Crim law prof is right..."There But for The Grace of God Go I".
My guy has been in Leavenworth Pentientary for more than 20 years. He's in for felony bank robbery. Felony bank robbery is basically robbery with weapons and someone getting shot. He didn't shoot anyone, but that doesn't matter - all that matters is someone in the group did. Why'd he do it? Cocaine, Crack Cocaine addiction. He would do anything for the fix. Has two kids and a wife in Ohio. Leavenworth is in Kansas. Hasn't seen them in 20 years. He should have been out in 15, his time was 10-15, so getting his parole shouldn't be too tough. I'm still nervous though. He's worked hard to redeem himself. Taking all sorts of rehabilative classes while inside. Has written a book for kids on avoiding drugs. Counsels other drug addicts. I list these things in my report to the parole board. You have to prove the prisoner has a good track record inside, can be a constructive member of society, is remorseful, and has worked to better himself. He tells me that prison isn't about rehabilitation - it's about punishement, vengeance. I didn't believe him back then, I do now.
We stare up at the rotunda. And I wonder aloud how one would escape. My first thought upon entering that prison is how does one get out? (Confession - I'm just a wee bit on the claustrophobic side...this is partly due to the fact that I'm 5'11 in bare feet and over 180 pounds, not a small person by any stretch of the imagination - so space? Important.) When you enter Leavenworth you go through four or five series of gates. It's out in the foothills of Eastern Kansas (very rolling green wooded land, not at all what people expect - everyone thinks Kansas is flat - actually Eastern Colorado and Arkansas is flatter, always shocks folks), small town next door, but mostly farm land. It's concrete and barbed wire. When you enter - you show your id, go through all sorts of electric security checks and electric gates which believe me are bit unnerving during a thunder storm - with lightening flashes every five minutes. Doesn't help that we spent two hours in the waiting room, before entering the checks and going to the rotunda where we met our clients. In the lounge - I got into a debate with one of the prisoners families who accused me of just being a college student who didn't care - I could leave at any time, this had no deep meaning to me, the woman insisted, I didn't care if I got a man off or not...it wasn't life or death to me. Odd...that was so long ago now and I can still make out the woman's tear streaked face and dyed blond hair and I can still feel the righteous indignation - "you're wrong!" I tell her, "Of course I care - a prisoner's rights are important! The law is important..." I can't remember all that I said...except it was full of what I believed life should be, the law should be.
Underneath the rotunda, my prisoner follows my eyes to the sky-light. I wonder aloud if one could climb out through the rotunda and escape. He nixes it. "Assuming you could get up there without being seen, how would you get past the barbed wire? or the guards posted outside in the towers?" He asks me. And it suddenly strikes me how incredibly absurd this discussion is and inappropriate. I wonder how he stands the claustrophobia. He says one gets used to it, that yes he's pleased to be out of his cell today, been locked in since the middle of the week due to the lock-down, but the cells aren't the problem it's the other prisoners. That knife fight the other day is just one example. He explains that you work hard to stay unnoticed. (The cells are about the size of a small walk-in closet, with a toilet. A tiny slit of a window and a steel reinforced door with a slit in the front.)
He asks me if I think he can handle himself on the outside. If I think he has a chance. Can he be redeemed or is he doomed. I sit in silence for a moment, contemplating his question. Finally answer honestly. "I don't know," I say. "I can't begin to understand you're situation and I honestly don't know what I would do if I were in it." Which is true enough. He's a black man, from the inner city, no money, kids, a wife, addictive, and fell in with bad friends. I honestly can't imagine the choices he's had and feel uncomfortable judging him. The parole hearing doesn't take long. I shake through most of it, to my complete and utter embarrassment, my supervisor chides me on my nervousness and emotion (not the first person to do so or the last) but the prisoner compliments me and argues with the supervisor, telling him that my report tinged with emotion probably helped him more than the supervisors calm resolve. Two weeks later - I learn he got his parole from Leavenworth - but has to go back to Ohio on the detainer. The detainer basically means once the federal government is done punishing him, the state gets it's chance. He tells me that he really appreciated my defense of his rights and wonders if I can help with his detainer. Unfortunately my license, limited as it is, does not extend to Ohio, so I can do nothing. He needs to contact lawyers there. My surpervisor tells me not to get too upset over it - I can't save them all, I did what I could and that's enough. More than most. Now...twelve years later, I can't help but wonder what became of him.
I think of him today, because of Johnny Cash and having just watched Angel two nights before. Johnny Cash did time in jail. He served for drugs and other related crimes. He was wild and dangerous before it was the cool thing for rock stars to do, not that it was ever really cool. And he wrote songs wondering about such things as redemption. Angel? Well he's the most vicious vampire in the history of the Buffyverse and now ensouled, he wonders if redemption is possible? Maybe it is if he can just forgive himself?
And I wonder - is it really as simple as that??
I also think about that prisoner...because defending prisoners or legal aid is a path I did not choose to pursue due to various factors not worth going into. I wonder if the woman in that room was right - was I just another self-righteous law student? Forgetting these people once I graduated or my internship ended? Did you know that my career counselor suggested I leave the negotiated parole off my resume b/c employers would look negatively at it? Because people in this country believe if someone is in jail they deserve to be, whether or not they claim to be innocent. And should never be released. It makes me angry when I hear that. Because I know deep down that those people are one step away from jail themselves and part of me wishes they could step through a twighlight zone cloud and feel it for themselves. Just a little nudge...or a wrong button pushed...but for the grace of god go I, those words haunt me. And sometimes...I wonder if anyone of us is truly worthy of redemption and if it really is, as Johnny Cash sings, "in your mind".
Odd...I was going to write about doctors and I write about lawyers instead.