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Sunday, August 31, 2014

Disruptions of Communication -- July 12, 2014

Prisoners have little ability to communicate with people outside as well as inside the penitentiary. They are trapped within prison walls and largely confined to their cells. For security reasons, convicts are kept segregated and mostly only have regular interactions with those on their gallery. This is commonly why they will yell to one another in the cell house, the chow hall, or in various movement lines. To interact with the outside world, prisoners are reliant on visits, slow mail service, and an increasingly restrictive collect call phone provider. Over the 4th of July weekend, Securus has prevented outside calls to anyone who does not have a prepaid account with them. The new policy has abruptly cut ties many incarcerated men have with friends and family. I am not a social person, however, I have also been greatly affected. Not only have I lost the ability to talk with family members, but reach out to lawyers and private investigators.

The last I heard, my attorney was on vacation in Thailand. It does not bother me that she has taken an excursion on the other side of the globe. She may as well have been in Southeast Asia for the last 5 years because she has yet to finish my appeal. However, her trip has reinvigorated my efforts to find legal help. On Sunday, I wrote a few more law schools and made an inquiry at the University of Illinois in Springfield. Their law school has been reviewing my case since the beginning of the year and I have not heard anything from them in months. It was a stark contrast to my dealings with the University of Chicago.

When the University of Chicago began their innocence project, I immediately wrote them. Within several months they had reviewed my case and lawyers contacted me. Mail service at Stateville is very slow and after just a few exchanges of letters, I was visited by Tara Thompson. Initially she came alone, but then I met with one of their private investigators. She and others at the school wanted to represent me on appeal, however, the father and son team at Loevy & Loevy make the ultimate decisions. Apparently, one or the other, for reasons undisclosed to me, said no. In any event, the entire process occurred in under a year and there was regular communication via mail, phone, or in person.

Along with finding legal help, I am desperately seeking out a private investigator. Last month, I submitted additional phone numbers to be approved by the warden and entered into the phone service provider's data base. Prisoners are only allowed 20 numbers at any one time to be on their list and it can take a few weeks for them to be registered. If a number is dialed which is not in the system, the call will not go through. Inmates can check to see if a phone number has been approved by entering their PIN (prisoner identification number) and another digit which will then begin an automated listing. On Monday I did this to find out if the phone numbers for a P.I. I had written were permissible for me to call. The automated voice sped through numbers without identifying the person's name and it was difficult ascertaining who I could call. However, after several times, I discovered all three numbers I requested were added.

While I was playing with the phone a prisoner came by to ask me if I would send it down to him when done. Psycho is a kitchen worker who had just finished working his shift. He related a strange story of how security personnel marched into the kitchen and demanded all the plastic milk crates be collected for removal. Milk cartons are delivered to the penitentiary in one foot square baskets and are not only convenient transport containers but storage. Their confiscation was apparently due to an incident in Menard C.C. where a prisoner struck a kitchen supervisor and a couple of guards with one.

The ridiculous safety precaution reminded me of the one which was just announced by the TSA. All passengers boarding U.S. flights with phones must turn them on to demonstrate they are in working order. Phones that do not work will be confiscated. The new rule was created in response to an Intel source which claimed an Islamic terrorist group was working on a bomb that could be placed inside a small electronic device. Does it not occur to government security officials that an explosive could be put inside a working phone or various other electronics which would not be easily recognized? The knee jerk safety precautions employed by the TSA have the same redundancy and impracticality as those at maximum security prisons in Illinois. Even the least sophisticated prisoner can find a hundred other objects to hit someone with.

Before I called the private investigator, I wrote down a number of topics I wished to discuss with him. However, it was for naught. After dialing his number, I received a recording stating to stay on line while they sought to gain "acceptance information." This recording was repeated several times with intermittent music before I heard that the party I had called disconnected. I had never heard a message by Securus stating they needed to gain acceptance information. Already, I had filled out a form with the person's name, relationship, and address. What more did they want? As for the call being disconnected, I did not know if that meant the P.I. hung up the phone or his answering machine or voice mail terminated the connection. I assumed the latter because I wrote him a letter saying I would call as soon as I was able.

Since I had the telephone in my cell already, I decided to call my sister who I have not spoken to in months. I received the same recording. Possibly, my sister had mistaken the call for a telemarketer or was outside. For some reason, since Securus took over the collect call service for the IDOC, the person called is shown a number similar to that used by people trying to sell one product or another. I have been incarcerated over two decades before caller ID and telemarketers became pervasive. I am told they are rather annoying and many people do not answer their phone if they know it is a sales pitch. Thus, I called again and again. Then I tried calling my parents. There was no difference and I continued to get the same recording. Somewhat upset, I pounded on the wall to get my neighbor's attention. When Gavin did not answer, I yelled out, "Hey, pedophile! Pass this phone to Psycho." The child molester was either asleep, playing opossum or ignoring me. Psycho is in a cell near the stairs where there is a lot of traffic and he simply asked a passerby to get the phone from me.

During the evening, mail was passed out to prisoners and I received a few letters. At least I still receive mail service I thought as I opened the first envelope. Inside I was amused to read an Internet article by Gwendolyn Knapp at nola@eater.com about an Italian restaurant in Louisiana. Actually, the amusing part were the comments where my former friend Brian Palasz was mentioned and disparaged. One comment claimed the restaurant was taken over by Brian when his partner Leonardo fled. As the sole owner, he then ran the business into the ground while running an illegal gambling operation. My friend always loved Italian food, extortion, and gambling. Things never change.

The highest demand for the telephones in the cell house is at night and I was not surprised to hear Shaky yelling to our self-appointed phone manager that he wanted it. Shaky is always running his mouth. He has no TV and he will continually occupy his time by conversing with various prisoners or playing games of chess with them. He is extremely annoying and the only time he seems to be quiet is when he is asleep or talking with someone on the telephone. In any event, Shaky seemed to be going through withdrawals and yelled louder and louder. "Triple O.G.! Send me the phone!" Triple O.G. is prison speak for a super old gangster. Well, the black convict who has been incarcerated for over 3 decades was in no mood to deal with the hyper babble-mouth and told him he was shut down for the night. After some objection Shaky quit yelling.

I almost never yell from my cell and save whatever conversation I may have until I am with that person. For a little while I spoke with Bone and Horse on the yard Tuesday morning after completing my workout. We sat on one of the rusted steel tables put on the concrete walk leading to two basketball courts. From them I learned D House was off lockdown but B House was continued to be punished because of how they greeted the warden the previous week. The two quarter units were on lockdown due to various suspicions Internal Affairs had mainly derived from a snitch. One of the things purportedly said was that there were bullets inside the penitentiary and Horse rolled around two AA batteries in his hand with their wrappers off making them almost appear to be bullet casings. Some incarcerated men speculated that guards must have lost a few casings from their rifles while in a gun tower or on the cat walk.

When the Rec period ended, I had some fun with a guard on the movement team. Instead of coming onto the yard as he usually does, he stood just outside the gate. I asked him why and then if he was scared. He jested it was because the administration thinks he can only be assaulted within the perimeter of the yard and he was safe just a step outside of it. Later when I was returning from the chow hall, I saw a prison worker carrying a tray cart with a milk crate on top. The guard happened to be nearby and I yelled, "Watch out! Milk crate!" He just laughed at that one.

After taking a mid afternoon nap, I made myself a cup of hot coffee to go along with some waffles and peanut butter. The snack was to tide me over until dinner, but also to eat while watching the World Cup Soccer semifinals. I had not watched any of the games because the sport of soccer generally bores me. However, this game was anything but boring. Within the first 30 minutes, Germany had scored 5 times. Three of them occurred almost consecutively. I was hoping Germany would go on to shut out Brazil, however, in the second half they scored once. The final score was 7 to 1 and the people of the host nation began rioting in the streets. Brazilian police even had to be called in to attempt to quell the mayhem.

Oddly, a Hispanic prisoner who lives a couple of cells down from me was cheering excitedly for team Germany during the game. Most Mexicans had quickly lost interest in the World Cup Soccer games after their country was defeated in the preliminaries. However, Vargas has a twisted love affair with Germany and their women as well. He brags to numerous prisoners that before his arrest he had a German wife. What he fails to mention though is that he killed her. Often I will notice the pervert stalking fair complected Caucasian women who work at the penitentiary. He is a little weasel and I have little concern he will assault female staff, but none-the-less, I loathe the convict. After the game, a cell house worker on the ground floor tossed up some instant coffee in front of my cell and told me to pass it to Vargas. Loudly, I said, "I'm not passing shit for him!" and left the coffee sitting on the gallery. My cellmate, however, reached out of the bars and gave the bag to Hooch who then gave it to the man. Convicts often feel an obligation to assist one another because they may need a favor in the future. I do not share the universal reciprocity and generally only speak to a few prisoners.

Steve also purportedly killed his wife. However, he is not a pervert and the motives in his case are very different. Furthermore, he is an educated man from the northwest Chicago suburbs. At dinner I spoke with him regarding my concerns that the Illinois Innocence Project may not want to represent me and my inability to contact them. The last I heard from the university was a few months ago. Steve confided in me that the IIP had rejected his case. I inquired how long it took them to make their decision and what was the reason given. He said after submitting the questionnaire, it was only a few months. Their stated reason was simply that they already had too many cases. I hope that my case was distinguished from his and all the others.

Wednesday morning, a cell house worker brought me a birthday card. This was the third birthday card during the week I had been asked to sign. Many prisoners do not receive any mail from friends or family. If fellow convicts did not make birthday cards with messages, they would never get one. This birthday card had a vicious looking pit bull wearing a studded black leather collar on the cover and was for a prisoner who goes by the name Little Man. Before signing, I read some of the commentary. One person wrote, "You are an old fart, but a good shit," and then went on to say how he hoped Little Man would not be flushed any time in the near future.

I skipped lunch to again try calling the private investigator while the noise level in the cell house was lower. Once again, I received the same recording, "Hold while we attempt to gain acceptance information" and then "Your call was disconnected." I tried another office number of his but the result was the same. When my cellmate returned from the chow hall, he said other prisoners were having the same problem getting through to people, even those they had no trouble reaching the previous week. There was a message printed on a TV station a month earlier that said Securus wanted to bill people directly if their current phone service provider did not forward the money to them. Furthermore, I knew the policy for most people with cell phones was that they pay upfront. However, I was calling land lines and previously there was never a problem with billing.

Later I went on a visit with an escort from a guard who serves on the SORT as well as movement team. He was in the unit with another SORT member searching cells. They confiscated a radio as well as a bag of miscellaneous other items including a photo album. I assume the radio did not belong to the prisoner and the photo album had pictures of people throwing up gang signs, but I did not ask the guard. A prisoner walking with us was talking incessantly. A small bee hive had been removed by a maintenance crew and this got him very excited. Honey bees are very docile, but he thought they were an immense danger.

The visiting room was very crowded and it made conversation difficult. I almost had to shout for my mother to hear me. She, my father, and sister were aware I had tried calling them. However, every time they pressed a button to address the issue of "account information" they were disconnected. She went on the Securus website to see what the problem may be. Securus clearly stated people did not have to set up a direct account with them if their current phone service was billing for them. My family had AT&T and the collect calls I made to them in the past were always listed on their monthly bill. Despite this, she also called a customer service number. She was never able to get a real person on the line but an automated voice said she did not have to prepay or have a separate bill sent to her house.

Thursday, prisoners in the quarter unit again had Rec. Generally, I avoid the small yards because there is little to do. A short pathway leads to two concrete basketball courts. To preoccupy men, a couple of tables, one bench, and two barbells were added. Mostly, I did calisthenics which I could have done in my cell. For a cardio workout, I thereafter ran sprints on one of the courts not being used. I felt like I was in a human dog run running back and forth. Eventually, I quit and pursued my real purpose for coming to the prison yard.

None of the small group of inmates I acquainted with had any information about the phone system. They either had long ago lost contact with friends or family or were having the same problems as I was. Instead of getting any useful information, I listened to Bone tease Trigger if he "got any money" from a female guard he went with on a court writ. Trigger had been transferred out from a different penitentiary because he was suspected of having an affair with a woman who worked there and now he gets plenty of jokes. Despite how Bone was just kidding, Trigger immediately became upset. He denied even being the least bit flirtatious and claimed the guard was a "mud shark" with two black children.

Friday morning, I was determined to get through to someone on the telephone. Fat Jimmy had recently been given a cell house help job and while he was mopping the floor I told him to bring down the handset. Once again when I called my parents and sister I received the same recording before being disconnected. It did not look good for getting in touch with the PI, but I took out the notes I made earlier and made the call. Surprisingly, I finally was connected, however, just for 10 seconds. A recording then told me that was my free sample call and if I wanted to talk longer, the person I called had to set up an account with them. This made me furious. Because the cell house was so loud, I had only had enough time to confirm it was the P.I. who answered. Furthermore, from what I gathered during the week from prisoners, Securus was demanding people prepay $25. A 30-minute call costs $3.50 but to open an account they wanted 7 times this amount and they also will not let the inmate set it up. How am I going to reach out to lawyers or investigators if this company forces them to prepay a minimum of $25?

Later in the day I spoke with Steve in the chow hall. He told me if the investigator I was attempting to call did not set up an account, he knew someone else I could contact. Big John had given him the name of a man who not only investigated cases but had a law license. The person had come to visit him at the penitentiary and seemed like an ideal investigator to have working on my case. I asked him why he did not then hire him himself. Steve said he wanted a $15,000 retainer. Well, even if I had full trust in the man, I did not have that kind of money to front.

Communications at a maximum security prison in Illinois are very restricted. Information and messages are largely passed through the penitentiary by word of mouth. To reach people outside these walls, prisoners are dependent on the phone or letter writing. Letters, however, have become an almost obsolete mode of communication in modern society. Snail mail has been replaced by emails, texting, or the use of cell phones. Phone calls in prison are considered a privilege that can be taken away at any time. Regardless, IDOC's phone system, Securus, has effectively shut down many prisoners' phone access, at least temporarily. Disrupted phone service will likely strain relationships with friends and family if they still exist. For me and possibly others, my ability to secure a P.I. will become an even greater task. Increasingly, I find myself alone in a cell with only pen and paper to reach out to the world.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

The Death Knells of a Great Nation -- July 5, 2014

As time passes, Americans seem to have fewer reasons to be patriotic on Independence Day. Repeatedly, this week I was reminded of how the values of the early nation have been usurped or undermined. Freedom so valiantly fought for has been lost by Big Brother government and a judicial system that keeps millions of people in prison, jail, or on parole and other forms of restricted release. The rugged individualism where men succeed and fail by their own merits is gone. In its stead, collectivism is pervasive and a nanny state has nearly half the population on the government dole. The strength of the elite republic has warped into a universal democracy where diversity and equality triumph over virtue and excellence. The inner decay and weakness within is projected abroad, inviting enemies around the world to fill the power vacuum left behind. A couple of small U.S. Supreme Court rulings and a stock market soaring to an all time high gave hope that America was not descending from its former greatness, however, even this news masked the immense fundamental problems with the country socially and fiscally. Even if I was not wrongfully convicted and condemned to a lifetime in prison, I would see little to celebrate on the 4th of July.

Last Saturday, a guard passing out legal mail stopped by my cell. She had a large envelope in her hand and I thought possibly the attorney my parents hired 5 years ago had finally written my successive post conviction appeal. Instead, it was the petition for executive clemency I had sent to the Illinois Innocence Project to review. The petition describes my case in great detail and provides extensive documentation of my innocence. I had asked the university to return the plea to the governor because it was my only copy. Enclosed, I expected a letter telling me if they had accepted my case, but there was nothing except a stick-on note saying, "Return to sender," leaving me with the impression they did not want to represent me.

America flaunts itself as being a land of freedom and justice, however, I have found otherwise. Laws and regulations abound depriving men of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Approximately 1% of its citizenry is incarcerated in prisons or jails and I can only speculate how many more are on parole, work release, probation or have tracking devices bolted to their ankles. Amazingly, one quarter of all incarcerated people in the world are in the U.S. The criminal justice system sucks up both the guilty and the innocent stretching an already vast prison network to its limit. For 21 years I have languished in maximum security facilities with no hope for parole. Despite my innocence, I have been unable to exonerate myself. I struggle just to have my conviction brought before a court for review.

Sunday I missed chow and for lunch ate a couple of peanut butter sandwiches. Not being able to read or write while I ate, I turned on my television. A news channel reported about Chicago's gay pride parade. The event was being attended by the current governor as well as the one who hopes to succeed him. Governor Quinn was Catholic but desperately needed the support of the staunch liberals and LGBT community in Chicago. Bruce Rauner was opposed to homosexuality but he also could not afford to offend any voters and defended himself from a large billboard which attacked him as opposing gay marriage. He wanted to keep the focus on fiscal issues which was probably politically wise, although demonstrated how perverse social norms have become. Homosexuality was an abomination and yet it is gloried. The tiny deviant sexual minority was also given special rights and political clout over the rest of society.

I did leave the confines of my cell to attend dinner. The Snowman was working on the feed line and was apparently still on some kitchen supervisor's "shit list". Typically, he is in the back of the kitchen doing less monotonous and unpleasant work. The Snowman was my cellmate for a couple of years long ago at another penitentiary. I rarely see him anymore and take the opportunity to say a few words while he is unhappily scooping out slop onto prisoner's trays. On this occasion, I told him I want service with a smile. He retorted that I needed to go to McDonald's. The Snowman was sentenced to natural life without parole for the robbery and murder of a gas station attendant. The only remaining evidence against him is the very questionable testimony of jail-house snitches. I can see that the conviction and time in prison weighs heavily on him.

On the way out of the chow hall I had a brief conversation with a lieutenant who has a love affair with socialism and President Barack Obama. For weeks now, I have been telling him all the Central American immigrants should be sent back to their countries of origin. He thought it was appalling that I did not have any sympathy for the children. However, whether it was Mexicans, Guatemalans, or the children from any other 3rd world country, the U.S. is not a global refuge. There are not enough resources to subsidize all these people along with the crime, drugs, and infectious diseases they bring with them. Already the government is subsidizing many Americans leading to enormous deficits. The country has also radically changed from a Caucasian, homogeneous nation to a cosmopolitan state lacking cohesion and identity. It may sound harsh, but large internment camps should be erected until all the illegal aliens can be removed. Laws bestowing citizenship on any person born on U.S. soil also should be changed. America has the weakest and most cockamamie immigration system.

Prison operations did not begin until late Monday morning. B and D houses were on lockdown and I thought this may have expanded to include the rest of the quarter units. I heard a rumor that a prisoner was violated by his gang and while being questioned by Internal Affairs he made a number of accusations. The administration always paranoid about conspiracies seemed determined to conduct a full investigation. This included talking to various prisoners and searching the cell houses. From what I was told by inmates who went to chow, a small group of Orange Crush went from B House to D House. I was not certain what they were doing, but later the vents were searched from the plumbing aisle behind cells. Then in the afternoon, 3 SORT members climbed a ladder to look on top of the sergeant's office. They pulled up some old plywood amongst other things during their search, but nothing was found.

From 11 a.m. to 2 p.m., I listened to the Rush Limbaugh talk show on my Walkman. Two U.S. Supreme Court rulings were the topic of discussion. The most politically charged case pertained to whether the government could force incorporated businesses to provide contraception to employees. Companies such as Hobby Lobby argued the Affordable Care Act, aka Obamacare, violated their 1st Amendment rights: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof..." The White House and various liberal and feminist groups countered the Bill of Rights only applied to individuals. They also claimed women would be denied access to contraception or bear a great financial burden. The Supreme Court rejected those claims in a 5-4 decision. Nothing prohibited women from buying their own birth control devices/pills or the government paying their cost without infringing on the religious rights of others. Oddly, the court relied in part on their ruling on a law signed by former President William Clinton in 1993 called the "Religious Reformation Act" which reinforced Constitutional religious protections from being usurped by government.

I was disappointed the ruling only applied to closely held family corporations and the court stated the government could cover the costs of contraception. The widespread availability of oral contraception in the 1960's is one of the major causes of the debasement of Western civilization if not its demise. Average family sizes have shrunk below replacement levels and if it were not for illegal aliens flooding across the southern border, America's population would be declining like many countries throughout Europe. Demographics aside, contraception has led to moral decay and disintegration of the family unit. Casual sex and single parent families abound to the detriment of not only children but society at large. Incredibly, the government encourages this destructive and irresponsible behavior by forcing health care insurance providers and employers to pay for contraception. It also does so by providing welfare and various other financial support to single parents and children that are a product of broken homes.

Monday was a hot and humid day, but I was pleased guards kept the blower on. Almost directly across from my cell is a large fan mounted to the wall which in the winter heats air from hot water pipes. These pipes have been turned off and now it just acts like a ceiling fan circulating the air. However, what I like about it most is the whir of noise it makes drowning out all the yelling and other clamor in the cell house. Without my headphones on, I read a couple of newspapers at the front desk including parts of my cellmates Marine Corps Times.

Military veterans have been very concerned about the lack of or delay of medical treatment and I am very sympathetic to their complaints. The government has a strong obligation to these men who served their country and I do not believe they are adequately compensated. However, the fact that nearly half of these veterans are on some form of disability and that includes many with purported post traumatic stress disorder is ridiculous. The system is being abused and overburdened. Only veterans with combat or service related injuries should receive the greatly discounted medical treatment from the VA. Furthermore, PTSD and other ambiguous maladies should not crowd out those veterans with serious medical needs. I am reminded of how General Patton visited a medical unit behind the front lines in WWII. He slapped a soldier who was crying hysterically because of the psychological trauma of war while other men were clinging to life. This man was just a coward and taking much needed attention away from soldiers that had severe combat injuries.

The article I read in the newspaper was a good compliment to the segment on 60 Minutes I had watched the previous day about social security disability. S.S. was created by President Franklin Delano Roosevelt in the aftermath of the Great Depression which left many elderly Americans penniless and unable to earn an income. It was an incredibly small government program because very few people ever lived long enough to receive benefits. However, entitlement spending now makes up the largest portion of government expenditures. People are living much longer than they did nearly a century ago. Furthermore, like most socialistic programs, they have a tendency to expand and create greater public dependency. In 1974, S.S. was amended to include various other welfare programs including disability. The subject of the 60 Minutes program was the enormous fraud and growth of disability stipends since the beginning of Barack Obama's tenure as president. Numerous people after exhausting unemployment benefits seek disability and it has grown over 20% in the last 5 years.

At night I turned on my clear plastic television wedged between a cross beam and the upper bunk to watch the FOX hit show "24 Hours: Live Another Day". In this episode China's new aircraft carrier is torpedoed by a U.S. submarine. The submarine's commander had been given false orders from a rogue Chinese official with backing of the Russian government. Both sought a war between the U.S. and China. I wondered how the U.S. president in the TV show would handle the matter and speculated what Barack Obama would do. He has followed a policy of disengagement and pacifism in the world.

Tuesday morning, the entire prison was on lockdown. For a moment, I thought it may be due to the strong thunderstorms which passed overnight. From television news I learned 300,000 homes in the Chicago metro area were without electrical power. Before I went to sleep, the power went out briefly, but there were not any further disruptions. I speculated Internal Affairs was expanding their investigation or the Orange Crush was conducting a larger search. Prisoners in C House were angry by the unnecessary lockdown and men screamed from their cells demanding Rec and commissary which were supposed to be run the previous day but were cancelled. I did not plan to go out anyway and exercised in the cell as I customarily do. While working out, I noticed Rob walking down the flight of stairs and gave him a look of puzzlement. It was a low level lockdown, however, almost all movement had ceased except for visits and some details. Later, I learned the skinhead checked himself into protective custody. I am not certain why but speculate he is trying to be transferred.

When I went to dinner, I learned the cause of the 1st shift lockdown was O.C. searching parts of the Roundhouse. Hooch had been permitted to go to his detail of scraping paint around the penitentiary and noticed the SORT dressed in their orange jumpsuits entering the building. It took a long time for chow lines to be run because there was a shortage of kitchen workers. Fewer than half of them were let out of their cells and there was only one serving line rather than two. Leprechaun expressed disappointment there was no pork being served as many prisoners were looking forward to. Instead, distasteful turkey-soy Sloppy Joes or what men call "Sloppy Soy" was dumped onto convicts' trays. The lieutenant who often gives Barack Obama credit for some reason when more edible food is served was not reciting K.O. or "King Obama" praises on this occasion. I told him as I left the chow hall that slop is representative of what the socialist tyrant wants to serve up to the American people. It may be free but is hardly good. Under his politburo, people would be standing in long lines for soup and stale bread.

Wednesday I awakened to find a sausage, two slices of bread, and still more potatoes on my breakfast tray. For three weeks, prisoners have been served the little spuds. I am not certain if they were donated or bought in bulk for a cheap price. However, I have grown tired of the food and dumped my tray into the nearby toilet which often acts as my garbage disposal unit. I did save the bread and made myself a peanut butter sandwich to eat while watching the first 20 minutes of news. The first news segment was about the U.S. losing to the Netherlands and being out of the World Cup Soccer Tournament being held in Brazil. Personally, I did not care and was not a big fan of soccer. Furthermore, the team the U.S. fielded did not strike me as quintessentially American. I actually identified more with the German soccer team and hoped they went on to win the cup.

I was glad to see a Polish nurse had returned to work this week after a short vacation. She was one of the few medical personnel at Stateville who did her job competently and had a strong work ethic. Many foreigners come to America with no skills and looking to sponge off government. They cross the border illegally and have no respect for the laws, culture, or founding principles of the republic. They are rather a growing multitude that seek to plunder and take down this country. When the nurse from Poland first began working at the penitentiary, I would question her why she would choose to work at this dump. Then I began to sarcastically ask her if she was having fun yet. Oddly, she would tell me she liked her job. However, finally she told me she was not having fun anymore. This is what happens when a few ants do all the work for the lazy and freeloading grasshoppers.

On Thursday, the Dow Jones broke 17,000 for the first time on a good jobs report bringing the unemployment rate down to just over 6%. However, behind this figure was a string of bad economic data largely ignored by investors. Although 288,000 jobs were created, there has been a rise in the number of people with part time work who are seeking full employment, almost 8 million. Then those who do have jobs have found wage growth stagnate or below the rate of inflation for the last 5 years. The labor force participation rate is also at a 36 year low at 62.8%. Interestingly, this coincides with another liberal president, Jimmy Carter. According to an analysis by Terrence P. Jeffrey, there are 86 million full time private sector workers in the U.S. paying taxes to support the government and its excesses, including 148 million Americans who receive some type of public aid or benefit. In retrospect, I wager a lot of people who voted for Barack Obama would rather now have Mitt Romney in office.

In this economy things do not look good for another public official. Governor Pat Quinn is losing in polls to businessman Bruce Rauner. In the last five years the governor has the stellar accomplishment of making Illinois have the highest unemployment rate and debt in the union. A court also just ruled that legislation passed last year to curb pension costs was in part unconstitutional. The state must abide by contracts with unions to pay for agreed upon health care costs. This will add $58 billion back onto the state's liabilities and give it the same credit rating as Kazakhstan. Good grief if the entire pension reform bill is scraped as a breach of contract. However, tax and spend Democrats will still have the support of unions even without the $20 million from dues they were collecting from non-state workers in Illinois.

On the prison yard, I heard convicts talk about how Internal Affairs was investigating some of the most preposterous claims of snitches. Men said they were looking for a hand gun and/or bullets purportedly brought into the penitentiary somehow. Another convict said they were following very questionable information there was an impending hit on a corrections officer. Trigger had in fact been brought to I.A.'s office along with some other gang or suspected gang members to be questioned. It did not surprise me they were pursuing such thin conspiracy theories. The guards union had successfully pressured administrators for an excess of security personnel and now with nothing to do they had to justify their existence periodically. At least the entire penitentiary was not locked down and harassed needlessly, although this was little comfort to those in B House who were on lockdown. They clamored for the warden so loud we could hear the pounding and yelling from the yard. The warden who actually showed up to listen to their complaints was thanked by a barrage of food and garbage being thrown at him. I am told he was even hit by a flying sausage.

Yesterday, on the 4th of July, I went out again to the yard. Occasionally prisoners would hear the explosions of M-1,000s or quarter sticks of dynamite. However, there were no firework displays in the sky. It probably would have been ironic anyways if we had seen them over the 30 foot high maximum security walls. Since I had lifted weights the previous day, I finished my workout early and played a game of penalty kicks with Fat Pat on the lawn within the quarter mile track. Each of us took turns trying to score with the other acting as goalie. It was difficult getting the soccer ball past the fat man with a net the size used in hockey. Afterwards, a Mexican who barely speaks English asked me who won and to razz him I exclaimed, "USA 3, Mexico zero!"

In the confines of my prison cell as night fell and it became dark, I brooded about the irony of Independence Day. Mainly, I stared out the bars but occasionally I turned to look at my cellmate's television. He was watching some live show called "The 4th of July Jam Fest". I noticed an array of hip hop, R&B, and pop musicians playing music to the backdrop of fireworks and the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia. That may be where the Declaration of Independence was signed, however, I doubted modern America was what the founders of this country had in mind. Nearly all the values they so vehemently believed and fought for have been corrupted and usurped. The European culture and its people which settled the new world and created this uniquely exceptional democratic republic were also at a point of extinction. Many a night I go to sleep bitter and sad about my own injustice, but this time it was for the death knells of a once great nation.


Monday, August 11, 2014

Potatoes and Paranoia -- June 28, 2014

Prisoners at Stateville have been served potatoes for breakfast every day for the last two weeks. Storage rooms must be stacked to the ceiling from truckloads of the tuber. In addition to the excess of potatoes, there has also been an excess of paranoia at the penitentiary. Administrators from Springfield are snooping around and reviewing various operations. Their presence has put greater pressure on staff to over react to potential dangers. Prisoners in D House are on lockdown for dubious suspicions and mass pat downs during large movement lines are occurring. Guards have also been instructed not to go onto the yards to lessen the likelihood of an assault. Inmates, for their part, are spreading rumors about the cause of the lockdown and the new security measures. There is an abundance of paranoia and oddly potatoes at the prison, but I am trying to keep both in check.

Last Saturday, I began to notice an increased attention to security when at the Health Care Unit. All protective custody inmates were seen by doctors before those in general population. Prisoners in PC are kept separate, but it was odd they halted operations altogether at the H.C.U. While I was waiting for nearly two hours, a few prisoners had property taken from them at the door including a Walkman, a novel and a water bottle. A prisoner with a deformed face (caused from shooting himself after he committed a murder) complained about the matter. Thomas Miles said men can be locked in holding cages for long periods of time and may not come directly from their housing units. The guard working up front replied that prisoners are supposed to be sent back to their cell house and then brought to the H.C.U. despite how impractical this may be. Also, men should not have any property on them even if left with nothing to pass their time. He did return the items prisoners had brought with them, however, but not until they were leaving.

I was at the H.C.U. for a regularly scheduled appointment to see the psychiatrist. I will usually meet with the doctor once every other month and she evaluates how prescribed medications are working. I was going to thank her for prescribing the melatonin which was helping me sleep much better, but nurses have chronically been failing to stop by my cell at night or do not have the pill. She brought me over to the nurses' station in the E.R. to inquire what the problem was. Nurses said there was no melatonin and possibly she had to renew the order every month because it was "non-formula". Non-formula simply meant it had to be specially ordered through the pharmacy.

On Sunday, I did not leave the confines of my cell; however, my neighbor told me an interesting story when he returned from lunch. Prisoners are sporadically patted down to and from the chow hall, but on this occasion, everyone was. The movement team, along with guards who work in the cell house, had the entire line of men stand facing the cyclone fences which follow the walkway. Prisoners with their arms and legs spread were then frisked. Initially, I thought the guards were looking for men who had brought juice back with them. Recently, the administration has been trying to stop the making of hooch in the cell houses. However, I was told that staff confiscated everything prisoners had. When they left, water bottles, napkins, cookies, and various other harmless items littered the concrete walk.

My neighbor's cellmate was given a special work detail to tide him over until he was permitted to have his cell house help job again. Many work details at the prison had a year on year off rotation to give other prisoners a chance to have a job. The intermittent job Hooch was given was not very pleasant, in my opinion, and consisted of scraping off peeling or chipped paint around the penitentiary. Possibly, later he will be asked to prime and paint the surfaces. While he was gone, the sergeant as a practical joke sent him 10 trays of meat balls. Hooch hated the turkey-soy balls containing chips of bone and gristle. When he returned from work he was not very happy to find all the balls, but his mood changed when he won the NASCAR pool. The race was one of the few I watched because it was a winding road course rather than a track where cars went in circles.

Monday morning, I awakened to find yet again potatoes in my breakfast tray. It seems the prison has a never ending supply of them and they are now served daily in combination with some other food such as sausage, a waffle, or a pastry. Initially, some men liked the miniature potatoes that are sliced in half with part of the insides cut out. However, after two weeks, they are now complaining. My cellmate gives me his portion because the tubers are regularly undercooked. I will save them for later in the day or toss them in the toilet. The potato skins if prepared properly can make a good lunch. I happened to fill a bowl of potatoes with sardines in hot sauce and a little cheese when the director and the warden were touring the unit. A prisoner shouted out, "Director on 4 gallery!" and I thought I may joke with Tony Godinez and ask if he wanted some hors d'oeuvres, however, he never passed by my cell.

For dinner, I went to the chow hall to see what Stateville's version of mostaccioli was. When I returned to the cell house, the sergeant spoke to me about my medications. Recently, nurses have repeatedly failed to bring my medications. He seemed to be under the impression they were intentionally singling me out and spoke to health care staff. Some of them were under the impression I was to go out with medical lines and he informed them they were mistaken. There were a number of new nurses filling in for those on vacation and I tended to believe this was the cause of the problem. I thanked the sergeant and he said if they continue to skip me to let him know. Since my conversation with him, nurses have come to my cell, but they did not have any melatonin until later in the week.

Despite not sleeping well, the following day I went to the yard in the morning. Oddly, the lieutenant and guards on the movement team ordered everyone to put their hands up against one of the two cyclone fences. They then went about frisking everyone. Prisoners are permitted to take water bottles, a Walkman, and various table games with them to the yard or gym. The guards did not take any of these items and this time seemed to be just looking for weapons or contraband. None of this was found and prisoners were permitted to go on the small mostly concrete yard. Within its premises, I heard men speculate about the extra concern for security.

The following evening, prisoners in D House were placed on lockdown just after their yard period. In fact, it was purportedly cut short leading inmates to think something happened. They speculated there was a fight and or a weapon was found. This seemed to be corroborated by the fact that blood was seen on the walk leading to the two small yards. The stains looked recent, but I could not tell how long they had been there.

While lifting weights, I occasionally spoke with Trigger. Trigger was a white inmate who I knew from the distant past at a different penitentiary. Just last week, he was moved into a cell with "KY". He knew about me telling other prisoners that KY was a homosexual and asked me to not say anything regarding him being in PC at one time. I did not know why he wanted to keep that a secret or even if it was one. It was not like he was in PC for being afraid or some other issue that I was aware of. Despite this, I said I would keep the information to myself.

On the other parallel yard was Rob and he wanted some advice on a pen pal. He was writing a woman from Oregon and they had developed some type of behind the wall, long distance relationship. The woman seemed to have many financial and emotional issues. She was contemplating moving to the area so she could visit Rob, but was also writing another prisoner in a different state. The skinhead had ceased writing other women and was angry that she was still corresponding as well as sending money to someone else. What should he do? I felt like I was some "Dear Abby" columnist giving relationship advice. I told him to grow a pair, and cease living in a fantasy world. A pen pal was not a real relationship.

The last time I had been at a prison with Rob, I had posted a few personal ads. I was writing a number of women romantically, although what he failed to realize was that I ceased writing them after a period of time when I thought they could no longer be faithful or before the correspondence became too serious. I was searching for a wife or long term committed relationship if I happened to win an appeal or a clemency petition. When these failed, I cut off all my courtship except for one Scandinavian  girl who was exceptionally pretty and promised to be faithful until I was released, whenever that may be. I held onto her for over four years until I realized I was being delusional. The next step was for her to move to the U.S. and complete her masters at a nearby university while living with my parents. However, where was this ultimately going to lead if I remained in prison as I have?

Rob asked if I was currently writing anyone and I mentioned a girl I went to junior high school with had recently contacted me. He asked if she was pretty. I told him I did not know because I had not seen her in about 25 years. At the time she had long dark hair, brown eyes, and a slender figure. She reminded me of the part American Indian girl in the move "Pale Rider" with Clint Eastwood. The skinhead disapproved and I said, no, she was not the Nordic-type of girl I was attracted to, but this did not matter. She was special to me because she came from the distant past, a time period I greatly value. I wish more people I knew from before my arrest contacted me.

Prisoners were taken from the yard directly to the chow hall where meat balls were being served again. It was a humid day and in my sweaty clothes I wanted to return to the cell to bathe. However, inmates were left in the chow hall for a long time and then stopped on the way back to the cell house. Once again, we were all frisked. Guards had a small pile of cookies and even a bag of meat balls. I thought it was odd and amusing that a prisoner would want to take back a bag of balls. To my cellmate I said, "They (guards) took someone's balls. That was cruel and unusual punishment."

Wednesday there were few people in the visiting room. I assume this was due to prisoners in D House not being allowed visits and it being the end of the month. Inmates are only allowed 5 visits per month at Stateville. Despite being able to converse easily without the noise, I did not enjoy talking with my mother. She brought up how she learned online that Robert Mueller was in his late 30's when he had sexual relations with not one but two girls at Hinsdale Central High School. She was under the impression he was in his 20's and there was only one 17-year-old. I told her Bob disputed when that relationship turned sexual and never mentioned a second girl to me. As for his age, it may come as a surprise to her but I am now in my late 30's and still find girls in their late teens to be attractive. Regardless, 8 counts of criminal sexual assault run concurrent for a total of 32 years was ridiculous. At least my mother agreed the punishment in no way fit the crime.

When I returned to the cell, I was exhausted and lay down with a cloth over my eyes to take a nap. Not long after, my cellmate put his knee on my chest and his hand around my throat. I could not see him, but reached out to poke him in the eye and when I failed, I punched him in the balls with my other hand. Cringing in pain, I was able to take off my blind fold and kick him off me. We were just play fighting. After the incident with KY, I told Anthony I still could not put my guard down. Realizing he could not square off with me, KY may wait so he or someone else can attack me while unprepared. I must be continually vigilant and I told him about the movie "The Pink Panther" where comedian Peter Sellers has an Asian man attack him periodically when he least expected it to keep him on his toes. After rough housing with my cellmate, I told him it serves no function to attack me in my sleep. Even the goofy eccentric detective played by Sellers had some ground rules.

At night, I watched the last season episode of "Dual Survivor" with my cellmate. During commercial breaks, we questioned how real the program was. In a previous episode, Matt Graham caught a wild turkey with his bare hands after sneaking up on it. In this episode filmed in New Zealand, Joe Teti killed a buck with one shot through the heart. I am certain the former Special Ops soldier could do this, but he was using a rifle that had purportedly fallen down a rocky embankment and because he only had one bullet was unable to align the scope. I doubted the scenario presented in the show and assume Teti was given a perfectly aligned rifle and the camera crew may have done retakes or editing.

Thursday morning I awakened to another breakfast of miniature potatoes sliced in half. I noticed my cellmate had dumped his onto my tray also. I put them in a zip lock bag and thought I may eat them later. Along with the potatoes, there was something unfamiliar in the breakfast tray. Upon closer inspection, it was a cinnamon pastry. Prisoners at Stateville have not been served one of these in numerous years and I wondered what the occasion was. Perhaps the donated food was being served this week because IDOC administrators from Springfield were present. I did not know but was going to eat it until I discovered the carton of milk was spoiled. Since the cell house was going to be fed first for lunch, I just went without breakfast.

Later in the day I left my cell to attend a health care pass. While waiting in the holding cage for an escort, I spoke with Fat Pat whose cell is across from the cage. Ironically, Fat Pat shares a cell with Fat Jimmy. Jimmy had gone to yard, but Pat stayed inside to enjoy some time alone and draw. Usually, Pat would be at his work assignment, but during the week the prison store was closed for inventory and to be scrutinized by Springfield auditors. There was a great deal of theft at the commissary and their books never add up. Fat Pat seemed to think auditors would have a lot of questions but ultimately nothing will change. Stateville is and always has been the most corrupt and dysfunctional penitentiary in Illinois.

At the Health Care Unit, I waited almost an hour before I was told my pass had been cancelled. In fact, my doctor had not even come in for work. I told the guard I had just seen the medical director walk by whereupon I was told my appointment was not for the doctor but a medical practitioner. This news puzzled me because my pass clearly had a check mark next to the letters "M.D."  I came to the conclusion my appointment was not to address my lower back injury, but the requests I had made over a month ago when I was sick with a cold. Whoever filled out the pass made an error. I was able to return to the cell house quickly, however, I missed a pleasant sunny day on the South Yard.

My cellmate had gone to the Rec period and informed me of a new rule. Prisoners, before being let onto the yard, were told by a sergeant that guards will no longer come out on the premises to gather them to the gate. The guard in the gun tower will notify convicts when their time is up and they will have a certain amount of time to leave or will be given a disciplinary ticket. One prisoner yelled out, "That's bullshit, sergeant!" and later various men talked about why there was a change in policy. Some people speculated a weapon was found on the yard that D House was on earlier in the week and administrators did not want guards wandering about on the yard where they may be attacked. I told my cellmate the policy was not actually new and before the turn of the millennium, guards never dared to go out on the prison yards.

At 4 p.m., I made some hot coffee to go with my breakfast cinnamon pastry while watching Wolf Blitzer on CNN. On the show was the IRS chief defending the government agency from targeting Tea Party and other groups. Congress was conducting an investigation and it seemed apparent there was a coverup. Emails and servers important to the investigation had been "lost" and six IRS computers just happened to all go down at the same time. Paul Ryan, a congressman from Wisconsin, did not believe the coincidence and called the IRS chief a liar. In a secondary story, Republican Chris McDaniel accused Thad Cochran of intentionally undermining the senate primary. Cochran who has held the Mississippi senate seat since 1978 was going to lose the election to the Tea Party candidate, but had his campaign target black Democrats to submit Republican ballots for him. It reminded me of how the union sought to defeat Bruce Rauner for the Republican nominee for Illinois governor by having many Chicago Democrats vote for Kirk Dillard. The union was unsuccessful, but Cochran won by a slim margin.

Yesterday and early today, I watched Wimbledon tennis while eating breakfast potatoes with fish and some trimmings. Two matches were of interest to Stateville prisoners. Venus Williams played Petra Kvitova of the Czech Republic and then her sister, Serena, played Alize Cornet of France. Black convicts cheered loudly for the two black female tennis players. They were very unhappy both of them lost. Contrarily, my cellmate and I were pleased by the outcome. Possibly, it is the end of the Williams sisters' dominance in professional tennis.

I recently spoke with Psycho who works in the kitchen. According to him, potatoes are likely to be served for breakfast daily. There are still enough spuds piled up in storage to feed 2,000 prisoners for a couple more weeks, if not longer. He also mentioned that there were now two quarter units on lockdown. Earlier today, kitchen workers prepared Styrofoam lunch trays to be brought to both D and B Houses. There were various rumors floating about to explain the expanded lockdown of the institution, however he could not be certain of their validity. It seems the only certainty is that potatoes and paranoia will continue for some time.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Preparing for War -- June 21, 2014

Sunday, blood was found splattered on the floor and wall of the shower room. There was speculation that someone was beat to a pulp or possibly bludgeoned with a weapon. No one was taken to the prison hospital that I am aware of. However, it was a reminder to me of how violent and brutal a maximum security prison can be. I was in the penitentiary when it was a gladiator school and fighting often with crude weapons was a regular part of life. Menard was nicknamed "The Pit", Stateville "The White Man's Graveyard", and Pontiac "Thunderdome" after the Mad Max movies popularized in the early 1980's. Fortunately, I was mentally and physically conditioned for the concrete jungles I was to enter. Times have greatly changed since then, but I continue to be vigilant. During the week when faced with a violent encounter, I was not taking any chances and prepared for war.

On Tuesday, prisoners on the lower galleries of the quarter unit were permitted to shop. At the commissary building, I sat by Bone in a holding room. He spoke almost incessantly about an appeal he filed which was dismissed by the state courts. The issue revolved around an improper criminal indictment. Certain procedures are supposed to be followed when the grand jury is impaneled which prosecutors regularly do not bother to strictly abide by. It is a technicality many desperate prisoners who have lost all their regular set of appeals are challenging. They hope some court will eventually overturn their conviction, however, I knew this was not going to happen. They were going to die in prison.

Before I was sentenced, I knew the judge was going to give me the maximum amount of time. Rather than spend decades suffering and languishing in prison, I attempted to kill myself in various ways. By fluke and a strong instinct to survive, these attempts failed. I ended up in a holding cage waiting to be transferred to the IDOC with a single black man. While I stood there sulking, he paced excitedly. He asked eventually how much time I was sentenced to and where I was headed. When I told him, he said I needed to own it and say it with pride: "You're going to the Thunderdome and when people ask you, tell them you have a natural ball!"Having not committed suicide, I chose a fate of never ending strife and hardship which I had to embrace.

When I returned from store, I noticed property boxes in front of the sergeant's cage. The prisoner who people simply called "Big" was being transferred to a medium security penitentiary. For a moment I wondered if he was not the same black man in the holding cage with me 19 years ago. However, that convict told me he was sentenced to 50 and under the old statute, he would still need to do another 6 years before he was eligible to leave maximum security. I also recall Big telling me he was arrested in the 1980's and would not have been in the Cook County Jail when I was there. Despite having a hulking muscular build, I doubted he would live to see freedom. Like Bone and many of us at Stateville, we were doomed to die in the penitentiary.

At night, I watched the brutal, vigilante movie Law Abiding Citizen. The main character played by Gerard Butler is the victim of a home invasion where his family is butchered and he is left for dead. An assistant states attorney concerned only with his conviction rate makes a deal with the killer to testify against his co-defendant. The result is lopsided with the man who merely committed a burglary getting the death penalty and the murderer getting a 3 year sentence. Incensed by the injustice, the sole survivor kills him along with his attorney, those in the prosecutor's office, and the judge. The actor Gerard Butler also stars in another violent film called 300 where he is a Spartan king who holds off a million man Persian army with only 300 soldiers. He knows it is a mission which will ultimately lead to his death, but not before all of Greece is united to defeat the eastern invasion.

The following day, the chow hall was packed for lunch. My cellmate and I ended up sitting at the only remaining table where an old deformed man sat. The prisoner, from what I am told, killed his wife in an act of mercy before putting a shotgun in his own mouth. Amazingly, he lived, but half his face is missing including an eye. I tried speaking to him, however, he is largely deaf and is unable to pronounce words. Later, I asked my cellmate, "What are the chances of surviving a shotgun blast at point blank range to the skull?" If guards gave me the weapon and just one slug after my conviction, I would have gotten the job done right.

Upon returning to the cell, I made myself a pair of shorts from sweatpants I had purchased the day before. The prison commissary sells shorts, but they are made for short fat people. I needed a pair with a smaller waist and longer legs. Cutting the fabric with toe nail clippers and hemming it with reused threads to a professional standard was not easy. I spent a few hours on the project and then another hour sewing fabric on my shoe which was tearing apart. After I finished, my cellmate told me I should sew up his torn gym shoes as well. Apparently, his needle was too small and thin. I replied that it sounded like a personal problem.

While watching the DVD 3 Days to Kill, I almost missed the male nurse who was passing out medications. When I yelled out to him, he kept on walking and ignored me. However, a guard told him he needed to come back to my cell. Later, he eventually returned. I asked him who was responsible for not filling my prescription. Other female nurses are usually friendly and will apologize for making an error, but this man gave me some attitude which upset me. I was thinking of grabbing him through the bars and yanking him into the cell bars, yet he moved away. Repeatedly, new hires in the H.C.U. were bungling prescriptions.

Thursday lunch lines were run at 9 a.m. I was not hungry, but because I heard kitchen workers made the spaghetti with sliced pepperoni instead of turkey-soy, I went out. Although I am not a fan of pepperoni, the meal was an improvement. Upon my return to the unit I noticed Big John had been moved in the cell vacated by Big. He waved and gave me a happy greeting. He had been moved out of cell house a year ago and seemed glad to be back. My cellmate made fun of all the prisoners who went by the name "Big", but we both got along with John. By happenstance, I encountered him again later in the day.

While I was waiting to gain an escort to the visiting room, John was placed into the holding cage with me. He acknowledged how he had repeatedly requested to be moved back to the unit. Now, he was hoping he could regain his former cellmate from F House. Puzzled, I said I did not think he would get along with KY. Stunningly, he claimed KY was the best cellmate he ever had. I asked him if he knew he was a homosexual whereupon he looked like the one shocked. Immediately, he said I did not know what I was talking about and should keep my mouth shut. A couple of other prisoners in the cage who were nearby also defended KY and scolded me. For a moment, I thought a 3 on 1 brawl was going to erupt in the crowded holding cage. A guard opened the locked gate, however, to let me out for my visit. Before leaving I told John that I had known his former cellmate for two decades and he was definitely as I said.

On my visit, I did not want to mention the subject with my mother, but I had to tell her I may be in Segregation or transferred to Pontiac in the near future. Of course, she wanted to know why. I told her I may have caused a chain of dominoes to fall that inevitably would lead to a fight or worse. This was not an adequate explanation for her and thus I explained what happened. What I had said was eventually going to get back to KY and with his reputation at stake he would have no choice but to retaliate. The odd thing was that I was telling the truth and thought most everyone already knew. My mother wanted to know why the matter had to lead to violence. She did not understand prison and this was not something I could explain to her.

After my visit, I took a nap and refreshed I exercised for an hour. My workout regimen was even more intense and deliberate than usual. I emphasized speed and explosive force with mixed martial arts keeping in mind my most likely opponent. KY was a large stature Caucasian man who was once very violent in the 80's and early 90's. He had wicked tattoos over his entire body, even over his bald dome. However, he was now in his 50's. Muscle had turned to fat and he was slow. Without a weapon, I would quickly overtake him. Despite this, I was not taking any chances and pretended he was the UFC's heavyweight champion. I also trained for having more than one attacker.

My cellmate came back from the chow hall saying Big John had said, "What's up with your cellie?!" Anthony told him I had known KY for years, yet he only knew him for one. He also commented that he saw no reason for me to lie about the matter. I had no ax to grind and am always brutally honest with him, maybe a little too honest for my own good. When my cellmate related his conversation, I was in the back of the cell bathing out of the sink. It was humid and after my workout, my sweat actually rinsed off the suds before I filled the basin again with water. I kept on hitting the cold water button, but it only momentarily changed the temperature. For over a month, the sink has been broken and slowly dribbles hot water.

When KY was moved to the cell house, I had told Anthony about him. In the 80's and 90's, prisoners were largely judged by how violent and powerful they were. It did not matter if one of these men had sex with a sissy or was a sexual predator. Convicts did not abide by any traditional ethical codes and the gangs had a Lord of the Flies mentality. I always thought KY was a sexual deviant as I am sure others did, but in this environment particularly when white prisoners were outnumbered 10 to 1, he was accepted if not respected. There was only one time when I had a problem with KY and that was when he got blitzed on moonshine and psychotropic drugs. He lost his marbles and tried attacking me. When he sobered up, he barely remembered the psychotic episode, but strongly apologized. To Anthony I said with emphasis, "Never trust someone drunk and on psychotropic drugs. They are capable of doing anything." I was being serious, but also making fun of his own criminal conviction.

Friday morning, I ate a makeshift breakfast while watching the news. The president was finally sending 300 Special Forces into Iraq. They were to assess the situation on the ground and possibly help assist the Al-Maliki government. Barack Obama was continually too late and too little when it came to using military force. Did he not realize he left a huge power vacuum in Iraq when he pulled U.S. troops out? All of Iraq was in chaos due to him being aloof or asleep at the wheel. It is always better to be continually vigilant and prepared for war than to let it sneak up on you.

After the news, I wrote a "kite" to Big John. A kite is prison slang for a brief letter. In it I told him I was glad he was back in the unit and looked forward to making him look foolish again on the basketball court. Then I repeated what I said to him in the holding cage and if he wanted to talk further about it he should come out for lunch. Big John did go to the meal and sat next to me. Speaking lowly, I told him how I knew KY was a homosexual. He never made a secret of it 20 years ago and had a sissy as a cellmate. I was about to tell him a story when he stopped me and said he heard enough. He asked why I had to announce to the entire bull pen that he was gay. Had I told him privately there would not be a problem, but now the word was already repeated back to KY and he would be forced to respond.

Big John hated homosexuals and regularly would express this to KY when they were cellmates. Oddly, I told John that KY does not think of himself as gay. He thinks that only the man who is playing the role of a woman is queer. Even if he realizes his conduct is homosexual, he believes it is acceptable, or not sexually perverse. Numerous times when I would be with KY on the yard or elsewhere and he would comment that since he cannot have a woman, he had the next best alternative: a man who acted like one. Of course, while this reasoning may have been overlooked decades ago in the Thunderdome or other maximum security penitentiaries, it did not have any merit today. Homosexuality may be more tolerated in society outside these walls, but inside almost a reversal has occurred  particularly amongst certain segments of the inmate population which KY belongs to.

Back in the confines of my cell, the plumber finally came to the cell to fix the sink. He was in the tunnel behind the cell and made his presence known by hitting some pipes with a wrench or other tool. Anthony ducked down to the vent to talk to him. After a moment, the hot water stopped dribbling out and he yelled to push the button. The water ran briefly and still had little pressure. I told my cellmate to tell him to raise the pressure and timer. When he did, the plumber remarked, "You're asking for steak on a hamburger budget." However, he did as we asked him to.

It was nice to have both sink buttons working properly for a change, though I did not know if I would be able to enjoy it. Friday evening, the lower galleries of the cell house had yard and I knew KY would be there to confront me. I packed up a Seg bag which is basically a few things prisoners are sometimes allowed to take with them immediately to segregation. It included a bar of soap, toothpaste, toothbrush, towel, wash cloth, and some underwear. I told Anthony that I did not know if they would do so, but to ask a guard if he would bring the bag to me. They had no obligation and many prisoners will be in Seg a week or longer without any property. I also told Anthony that if I happened to be transferred he should keep various things of mine I knew would be taken. KY, knowing he cannot take me one on one, may attack with a weapon or with the help of others. In prison, the administration does not make a distinction between aggressors and those simply defending themselves. Regardless, whatever KY starts, I planned to finish.

Before going out to the yard, I practiced various strikes and self defense techniques. It was important they became instinct and not requiring any forethought. Furthermore, I went over specific movements which were meant to inflict the most bodily injury in the least amount of time. Unlike a boxing match or the UFC, points were irrelevant. Also, there were no rules and rendering your opponent incapacitated with strikes to the knee caps, genitals, and throat were all fair game. We both had protracted death sentences, and although I hoped one day to have justice, I had to own this life without parole. As the black convict told me before I was sent to the Thunderdome, I had a "natural ball"!

I was one of the first prisoners to go through the gate onto the yard. I rushed to the other side where I undressed until I was only wearing my gym shoes and shorts. I tied my t-shirt around my forehead tightly like a bandanna. In a brawl, a fighter wants the least loose fabric. They also want their body slippery, and along with sun block, I glazed Vaseline on parts of my skin. Then, I grabbed a handful of sand which was going into the eyes of my first attacker. If I had wanted, I could have secured or crafted a weapon. However, this was unnecessary. I had faith in my physical abilities unless I was caught off guard.

KY approached me directly while I was on the basketball court. I was thinking sand to the eyes and then take down or a kick to the balls. Actually, he left himself open to numerous attacks. However, I was going to wait until he made the first move and he started by saying, "Hey, Paul, let me talk to you for a moment." I walked back with him whereupon he asked, "What is this about you calling me a homosexual?" "Are you telling me you are not?" I replied, and thus began the most ridiculous conversation I have had in some time.

I noticed a lot of eyes upon us as well as some convicts who may want to get involved and thus I told KY to walk the track with me. Many people walk around the track and it is inconspicuous as well as private. KY tried convincing me he was not a homosexual despite living with a sissy and telling me he had both anal and oral sex with various men. He even had the gall to ask, "Did you ever see me?" and of course I had to say no. "Well, there you go then," KY replied. I said, "Just not long ago you told me a man sucked your dick." "No," KY said. "I said I saw that man suck dick." Finally, I said to him that I did not care if he wanted to be in the closet. I will agree not to speak of it again to anyone in the prison. However, it will be his task to try to put the cat back in the bag.

Later, I spoke to Big John and told him we came to an agreement. I see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Oddly, John seemed happy about this arrangement. He told me when we were on the basketball court he really thought I was going to romper stomp KY and was concerned when we went out on the quarter mile track. There was no one to break up a brutal beating and the gun tower did not have the range to be dissuasive. I said that was in part why I did this, but I also wanted to diffuse the situation. There was no need for the matter to go beyond me and KY and hopefully this is the end of it.

For the rest of the yard period, I worked out while KY and his cronies stood talking by the showers. KY is respected and well liked in the prison. He has many more friends than I have or probably ever will. It was much more important for him to preserve his reputation than for me to impugn it. Actually, I never cared. Almost two decades have passed and I have been largely indifferent if prisoners knew he was a homosexual. The problem is I am not the only one who knows and there are no secrets in prison. Indeed, at the end of the Rec period, a worker came out on the yard to collect the ice buckets. He was totally oblivious to what had occurred earlier and yelled out to prisoners, "I'm surprised you let KY stand by the showers!"

Monday, July 28, 2014

Adolescence -- June 14, 2014

After my arrest, the news media printed an extraordinary amount of sensationalistic innuendo shaping public perceptions long before my trial. Television reporting was much worse given its greater viewership and inflammatory impact as well as their willingness to run with stories which had little to no merit. Foremost were the insinuations that I committed the Palatine Massacre, however, there were other false and misleading rumors that went back to my early teen years. All of this played into the prosecution's hands to gain my conviction and sentence to natural life without the possibility of parole. Despite not being permitted at trial, jurors were most likely prejudiced by the heavy slander by the news media. Furthermore, while very dubious testimony was allowed at my death sentence hearing to impugn my character, it was hardly believed by the judge. I did not get an indefinite prison sentence because of my purported behavior as an adolescent, but in spite of it.

Sunday morning, prisoners were treated to farina, biscuits, and turkey-soy grease gravy as is customary. However, no juice was passed out with the breakfast. Starting last week and continuing all this week, the 4 oz. cartons of apple, orange, or grapefruit juice has been missing. The change is the result of administrator's attempt to reduce the amount of hooch being made in the cell houses. The fruit juice is often what incarcerated men at Stateville and probably those at most other penitentiaries use to ferment and create a very nasty tasting, pungent wine. I never liked even the finest quality wines I sipped a couple of times before my arrest, however, hooch is extremely popular in prison. Men will drink bottles of the rotting juice to get drunk despite how diarrhea and vomiting often will accompany it.

This week I have been able to overcome the cold virus which has swept the penitentiary. Feeling better, my exercise regimens are again at 100%. I took advantage of my renewed energy and cellmate's absence to do various martial arts including various kicks. Apparently, I looked like a mad man because Anthony told me later that our neighbor commented I was crazy. I noticed Gavin standing outside the cell bars looking for a moment as I pounded the wall with my feet and elbows. In prison, I do not have a punching bag or any other equipment to stay fit and must improvise. I have been lifting weights and cardio training since I was in high school. Although my methods may have changed, my intensity has not varied much. In fact, I was much stronger and more athletic in my late teens than in my late 30's, and it was not from doing lackadaisical work outs.

I went out of my cell for dinner and while in the feed line a kitchen worker asked me who won the NASCAR race at Pocono. There are several pools in the penitentiary and the Snowman seemed disappointed when I told him Earnhardt Jr. won by a fluke to Brad Kozlowski who had a much better car. Later when walking back to the cell house, a couple of prisoners asked me who I thought was going to win the NBA finals. I told them the San Antonio Spurs were favored to win the series, however, I did not have any advice for them on day to day games. I do not even watch pro basketball or keep up with the latest news. Prisoners, though, seem to think of me as some type of sports guru. Even before my arrest when I helped my friends' bookmaking operations, I was never great at picking teams, just hedging, odds, and accounting.

While black inmates cheered and jeered while watching the Heat play the Spurs, I was bored and flipped stations with my remote control stick. Eventually, I looked to see what my cellmate was tuned into and saw a parade of women. The Miss USA pageant was being broadcast and having nothing better to do with my time, I thought I may as well critique them with Anthony. From the women remaining, I told him the most attractive seems to be Miss South Carolina. She was a 6 foot blond of Polish descent and had a pretty face as well as a nice body. Of course, she lost to a Mexican woman which seems appropriate considering the flood of immigrants south of the border that continue to alter the country's racial demographics.

When mail was collected from the cell bars, I was glad to see a guard had shaved. Last week, I had been making fun of his thin mustache. "Did you pencil that in? Are you going for that Mexican look?" I asked. Many Hispanics trim their mustaches to just a line above their lips because they think it looks stylish or perhaps just out of necessity. The guard, proud of his Italian background, acted insulted, although he knew I was simply joking with him. I inquired why he did not grow it out thicker or grow a beard. Oddly, he told me he could not. "Before my 16th birthday, I was able to grow a beard," I said to my cellmate after the guard left the gallery with the mail. Anthony replied not everyone was a "man-child" whereupon I retorted, "Bold Character" after the motto of an amusing Dr. Pepper commercial that extols a bearded man who lives in the wilderness catching fish with his bare hands and wrestling bears.

On Monday, I was surprised the prison was placed on lockdown. Nothing had occurred overnight to my knowledge to warrant it. When I spoke to a gallery worker, he had no idea. Instead, Bucky gave me a "hard sell" about trading my Korn cassette tape for his Iron Maiden. Live After Death was a good album that I listened to during my teen years. It was the classic genre of heavy metal I preferred over the alternative 90's. Had Bucky had the original and not a poorly made copy, I would have quickly made the trade. To make the deal more appealing to me, he said he may be willing to give me an additional tape. I told him to let me think about it.

With time in the cell and few distractions, I set upon giving myself a haircut. It was a challenging task to cut one's own hair let alone with beard trimmers and a couple of small plastic mirrors. My cellmate watched me struggle and he jested why I did not grow my hair out and put it in a pony tail. As a teenager and for a couple of years in my mid-20's, I did in fact have long hair which I brushed tightly back and bound in a hair tie. It was easy to cut and maintain. However, in my 30's, my hair line has receded and the top front has thinned. I was not going to try holding onto the past like Steven Segal. Short tapered hair now looks the best, in my opinion, and after I labored for over an hour with the sides and top, my cellmate gave me some assistance with the back.

On the 2nd shift, the prison was back to normal operations except for the Roundhouse. The building has been on a level 1 lockdown since a fight between a guard and a prisoner. During the day, it was being searched by the SORT. When the Orange Crush is assembled, generally, there is no movement and I assume prisoners whose cells were tossed were placed in the chow hall preventing any lunch lines from being run. A guard insinuated something dangerous or serious was found, however, later I learned it was just more hooch, albeit a lot of hooch. From sources, I heard an inmate had an entire large property box filled with juice, bread, and sugar. If that was not enough, there were two more large garbage bags in the back of his cell. I suppose if you are going to produce prison wine, you may as well go big. The punishment is the same if you have just a bottle or a few barrels.

I do not normally watch the local Chicago area news, but I tried to find out more information about a law just recently signed by Governor Quinn. According to the FOX ticker tape, legislation passed in Springfield automatically expunging the records of juveniles upon their 18th birthdays. Before this, people had to petition the respective court and judges had discretion to remove criminal files. Adults should not have to carry their adolescent delinquency around with them for the rest of their lives. What a person has done as a minor does not define them or who they will become later in life. Unfortunately, I believe the law only applies to cases which were never adjudicated. The evening news never mentioned the bill signed by the governor and I was unable to get any specifics.

Mail was passed out and I lost interest in trying to find information on Chicago's local television news. In one of my letters was a forwarded email from a private investigator I wrote. Stunningly, he claimed he had already worked on my case with Jenner and Block before my trial. I do not have much of the law firm's papers, but never did I see the name of John D. Rea. In fact, I was not even aware any investigation was conducted by my trial lawyers. Because I largely blame William Von Hoene for dropping the ball if not outright sabotaging my case, Rea said I may not be interested in his services.

On Tuesday, I missed yard to attend a health care pass. The psychologist seemed pleased that the melatonin prescribed to me was working well. She said it also helped her 10 year old son who has Aspergers. I inquired what other medications, if any, proved beneficial and was told that she could not compare us. Not only was everyone with ASD different, but her son had ADHD as well. From what I can surmise with my two meetings with this doctor, her son is not a quiet introverted child as I generally was unless aggravated, but he was very hyper. I imagine he is quite a handful.

On the way out of the HCU, I was stopped for a "code 3" or medical emergency. A prisoner from the Roundhouse was being brought in on a stretcher and was in a neck brace. Ironically, he was in leather restraints which I thought was unnecessary even if his unit was on lockdown or he was in segregation. While I waited for him to be wheeled through, I spoke with a nurse who formerly had passed out medications in the evening, but rarely does anymore. I did not realize how short she was until standing next to her. She had to be at least a foot shorter than me.

Upon returning to my cell, I called my father to ask him if he ever heard of John Rea before I replied to his email. He said no, and I did not bother asking him to assist me in the search for a PI. None of my family cares to help me in regards to my case anymore. It is not that they do not believe I am innocent, but because they are stubborn, frustrated, or so much wrapped up in their own lives.  Instead, my father told me about a woman he met from Russia in South Carolina. She has a daughter he thought may be interested in writing me. The idea of a Russian mail order bride has intrigued me, but it seems premature.  I do not know if I will ever be released. Furthermore, even if I did have a close out date, few people are interested in writing anymore. They text and email, neither of which I can do from prison.

I did not go out for dinner and instead made burritos from commissary food. The DVD "Godfather III" was scheduled to be played for prisoners, and I wanted to finish making the meal before it began at 6 p.m. My cellmate was initially not going to watch it until I told him there were some brief sex scenes and nudity. The Godfather movies were classics and although the third one was not as good as the previous two, I still thought it was entertaining. While standing at the counter spreading cheese on flour tortillas, Anthony asked if I should not be making some Italian food. I said if the commissary sold it, I would. Prodding further, he told me one of the main actors had an Italian restaurant in L.A. where Chicago style pizza was served. I said I doubt I could get take-out even from a local restaurant let alone from one on the west coast but I could do a good impression of Tony Mantegna: "If you will not give, then I will take!" This quote from the disgruntled mafia don was the favorite of my co-defendant and it was symbolic of his attitude toward the Italian syndicate in Chicago.

The DVD was never played, and instead I watched CNN's coverage of a Republican primary election in Virginia. Stunningly, the House majority leader was defeated by Dave Brat, a Tea Party candidate with almost no money. I was pleased with the outcome because I did not care much for Eric Cantor, an establishment Republican Party member who was taking positions on immigration and other issues I found disagreeable. Readers may find it remarkable that I was greatly interested in politics before my arrest and voted in the 1992 election when I was 17 years old. No one bothered verifying my age or even if I was an American citizen eligible to vote. After supporting Pat Buchanan in the Republican primary, I voted for Ross Perot, although pundits claim his independent run for president allowed Democrat William Clinton to win.

Amazingly, despite the repeated scandals of the Clinton era, his wife is once again touted to be the Democratic presidential candidate in 2016. Personally, I do not believe she will run and is leaving the question open to sell more books. Hillary Clinton has been on various TV shows promoting her book "Hard Choices". Regardless of how many liberals adore her, she is less of an idealist than an opportunist. Book sales and paid speeches that earn her sometimes a quarter of a million dollars are much more important than having the office of president. Amusingly, Hillary Clinton was caught in an interview with Diane Sawyer complaining about being dead broke and unable to pay for the 10 mortgages she had on mansions. She did not mention the $12 million debt was due to lawsuits against her husband "Slick Willy" or that since that time they are once again multimillionaires. I do not mind politicians being rich but running a class warfare campaign is hypocritical. Furthermore, I think her service as a senator and as Barack Obama's Secretary of State was horrendous and incompetent.

On Wednesday, I was not looking forward to a visit with my mother. After 21 years, there is little to say. My life in prison remains miserable and I do not like to speak about it. Occasionally, talk will go to the times before my arrest which I find much more enjoyable except because she is so judgmental and religious, they become argumentative. This time I spoke about the girls I dated in high school and how I was sifting through them to find a mate to take with me to university. One, I broke the commandment of premarital sex. Two, I was not supposed to be even thinking about being a father at such an early age. Three, how did I expect to pay for tuition and the expenses associated with my plans? When I spoke of the money and property I had accumulated, I was criticized for having criminal associates. Finally, I broke cardinal rule 4 when I said if I had better parents, I would not have moved in with the Faraci's in the first place. As the saying goes, I could not win for losing.

Thursday morning, I awakened to a breakfast of uncooked sausage, rice cereal, and milk spoiled so badly it fell out of the carton like cottage cheese as I dumped it into the toilet. Having nothing to eat, I decided just to wait until lunch and in the meantime read as well as watch the morning news. Aaron Toppen, a 19-year-old from Mokena, Illinois was killed in Afghanistan. He lived just a few miles from my parents and went to Lincoln Way East High School which I would have attended except for a strange zoning district that sent me to Lincoln Way Central in New Lenox. Topper's death was in vain because he was accidentally killed by friendly fire. In fact, a U.S. B-1 lancer dropped a bomb on him. Often I feel like a bomb dropped on me when a teenager myself and I would gladly forfeit my life in exchange for his.

Due to the Obama administration, it seems many of the wars the U.S. has fought were in vain. Advantages after the cold war are lost to Russia retaking parts of Ukraine. The situation in Afghanistan seems to be precarious and I would not be surprised if the Taliban eventually was back in control. Then there is Iraq which is being taken over by ISIS. The group which seeks an Islamic state of Iraq and Syria just acquired the 2nd largest city after Bagdad and a vital oil refinery. Regardless of the reasons given to justify the war, it is very important that America has access to oil and dominates the geopolitical center in the Middle East. Only a strong authoritarian state backed militarily by the U.S. could have kept together the splintered region.

In the afternoon, I went out to the South Yard to lift weights and run the track. While working out with the bent and rusted iron barbells, I overheard a black prisoner speak about how he was hopeful he would be paroled soon. Keon, now 39, was 17 years old at the time he committed a murder and due to an Illinois Supreme Court ruling his LWOP sentence had to be reevaluated. To me, I thought how I wish my indefinite prison term could be set for a new hearing. In fact, I wished that I had a fair hearing in the first place. I have noticed some readers have read old newspaper articles available online, however, what they can never ascertain from these excerpts was the credibility of witnesses and that the entire proceeding was a fraud.

Well before I went to trial, Judge Sam Amirante told my lead attorney, off the record, that he did not want to decide the case. Although the evidence did not support a guilty verdict, he wanted to play the role of Pontius Pilate. Furthermore, if the jury by chance found me guilty, he would give me what the public wanted: the most severe penalty. Knowing this, I waived my jury for the death penalty because I preferred it over any term of years in prison. I also knew I would have a much better chance on appeal if on death row. The judge was perplexed and asked me a couple of times if I really wanted him to rule on capital punishment. "Yes, your honor" (what a joke), I responded.

I think the most news reported testimony at my sentencing hearing came from two students I went to high school with. Scott Anderson was an 18-year-old senior and a member of a clique of Stoners I frequently fought with. On the way to a bus stop during my freshman year, I was confronted by the punk. I was tired of his threats and just wanted to beat his ass and scare him silly, both of which I succeeded in doing. However, his claims that I attempted to stab him were ludicrous. It was only by accident that I cut him when brandishing a knife. I did not even realize the blade glanced him until well afterwards. The small cut to his arm was covered with a little Band-Aid, seen by one of my mother's friends at the news stand where she worked. Scott was laughing and bragging to his friends about how much trouble he got me in.   I was arrested and plead guilty and was given a year of probation.

As for Melanie Speiss, contrary to her testimony, she was obsessed with me (think Jodi Arias). I dated her along with other girls at Lincoln-Way, even a couple of her friends. I made no secret we were not going "steady," but she became furious when I told her she was not Mrs. Right and began to fade her out of my life. Years later, she was still vindictive and at my sentencing hearing she accused me of breaking into her house and stabbing her dog. I was never prosecuted for the incident because the police knew a person by the name of Harry Adams had committed the crime. He not only bragged about it to undercover ATF agents but plead guilty to making harassing phone calls where he taunted the girl about her dog. Similar to the evidence discrediting the interrogating officer at trial, it was not submitted by my attorney but in this case I really did not care.

I will be the first to admit I was no angel during my adolescence, but all of the people who testified against me during my sentencing hearing lied and told half truths. It was so apparent, even the judge remarked how questionable they were. However, as a scapegoat in the Palatine Massacre, it did not matter. The fix was in. To spite me, the judge even gave me a sentence worse than death: life without parole.

Monday, July 21, 2014

Excessive Force -- June 7, 2014

The Roundhouse was placed on lockdown last Saturday after a guard and prisoner fought each other. Because those confined within the large domed building are isolated, news about the incident was slow to filter out. According to inmates, a belligerent guard provoked the fight and excessive force was used by responding staff. Excessive force and retaliation in the IDOC is pervasive and I was not surprised to read about a lawsuit filed by a former Stateville inmate in Prison Legal News that made similar claims. Along with guards, police also often use excessive force and violate the rights of criminal suspects. Recently, the warden posted news of a wide investigation of convictions tied to former Chicago Police Commander Jon Burge along with his subordinates at two police departments. I also was a victim of excessive force and police abuse during arrest and interrogation. However, unlike these prisoners, I never gave a confession. A detective from the Cook County D.A.'s office simply fabricated an incriminating statement. His testimony, despite being uncorroborated and conflicting with evidence, was never contested by my trial lawyers. 19 years later, I remain in prison based on his lies.

After being prescribed Melatonin, I have been sleeping much better. However, I continue to be sick along with the majority of inmates in the cell house. Early Sunday morning, I could hear a chorus of coughing and I could not help but be a part of it. Until my cellmate awakened to take a shower, I coughed into a small towel to muffle the noise I made as well as to prevent germs from being airborne. As soon as Anthony got down from his bunk, he began coughing himself. I filled out yet another medical request slip and asked if he wanted to do the same. No, he did not care to bother and said he will wait to see what I am diagnosed with if I ever do get to see a doctor.

Some inmates at Stateville have a subscription to Prison Legal News. The publication is printed by a human rights advocacy group in Florida but is distributed nationwide. It covers a myriad of topics of interest to prisoners and occasionally I will peruse it if my cellmate is given a copy. The May issue was passed to him and when he went to the shower room he told me to check out page 20. An article by David Reuther described an incident that took place at Stateville in 2008. In the chow hall, a prisoner was yelling to men in a dining room from the inner chamber. A lieutenant told him to shut his mouth and get in line. After an argument, the prisoner punched the lieutenant in the face. Guards quickly wrestled Eduardo Navejar to the floor and handcuffed him behind the back. Despite being subdued, he was stomped on and pepper sprayed.  Then he was dragged out of the chow hall and the lieutenant pepper sprayed him again before he was tossed into a Seg cell without any medical treatment. Navejar filed a lawsuit which was initially dismissed, but later the 7th Circuit Court of Appeals remanded the case and the IDOC is currently discussing terms of settlement.

When a prisoner acts violently, only sufficient force to subdue him is supposed to be used. Furthermore, once restrained, a prisoner cannot continue to be struck or retaliated against. However, the law is regularly disregarded by guards who have their own code of conduct and justice. They usually use overwhelming force particularly now that they have excessive amounts of manpower and have little to fear from gangs. Also, if the inmate assaults one of their own co-workers, there is often a desire to retaliate if not an obligation. Guards want to stand united even when they see something they find disagreeable. Being isolated in a Seg cell with limited property for 6 months to a year or longer is not always thought of as adequate punishment. Thus, there is regularly misconduct involved when staff assaults occur even when it is instigated by staff.

For lunch turkey-soy burgers with French fries were served. Fries are a rare treat for prisoners and nearly everyone went to the chow hall. I sat at a full table with 5 other men. One of them was Steve and I made fun of him for having Grey Poupon mustard. I told him he was now in a maximum security penitentiary and his pampered life of luxury was over. "Let it go," I said before other prisoners began to chime in with jokes from the old commercials where a man drives up to a traffic light in a Rolls Royce and says to another driver, "Excuse me. Would you happen to have any Grey Poupon?" Later, Steve told me he did not buy it. "The Dentist" did. He said the reason why he befriended the old, disheveled black man was because he saved up a lot of money before his arrest and continues to get $600 a month from a pension trust. I asked what he spent the money on considering his clothes have holes in them and he comes to chow implying he is not buying any food. Steve did not have an answer but finally said, "Grey Poupon".

Walking back to the cell house, I saw the lieutenant who I had just read about. If I were alone, I would have asked him what he did to get punched in the mouth. Was he again rambling on about his idol Barack Obama? Instead, I just said that I saw he made the paper. He did not know what I was talking about and I was not going to explain in the presence of prisoners, although some may have already connected the lieutenant to the article in Prison Legal News. Already there are convicts who do not like him and have commented to me that they do not understand how I can get along with the lieutenant who can be hyper and petty with the enforcement of certain rules. Just being friendly with a high ranking corrections officer can raise eyebrows because there can be an "us vs. them" mentality. However, I refuse to lump everyone together and I have not taken sides in the incident I read about. Stateville can have a crazy, zoo-like atmosphere and there is a lot of ethical ambiguity. Indeed, I often feel like striking obnoxious prisoners yelling in the chow hall.

The movie "The Town" was on TV Sunday night. The film is about a crew of Irish criminals in Boston and a member who wants to start a new life. The character played by actor Ben Affleck is resolved to get out when during an armor truck robbery a security guard is killed. The group's leader, however, threatens to kill him and his girlfriend if he does not partake in yet another even more dangerous job. Everyone in the race track robbery is killed by police except him and he returns to the crime boss to shoot him and his enforcer before fleeing. In my teen years, I acquainted with a similar group of men. In fact, my co-defendant sought to be in the mafia. However, this does not mean I participated or condoned what they did. In regards to the murder of Dean Fawcett, I was not even aware that Robert Faraci was going to kill him and did not find out until months later when I saw on television that my former roommate had been arrested.

Monday morning, I had the pleasure of going to the commissary building. It was incredibly noisy in the holding area where prisoners talked loudly to each other. They also coughed openly, snorted snot, and spit phlegm on the floor. A large fan was set up and inmates jockeyed for position around it until someone passed gas whereupon they dispersed. I sat in the corner by a card game waiting impatiently for my name to be yelled out from the locked gate. Occasionally, those playing cards sought out new players as men left to get their store orders. They glanced at me, but knew better to ask. I was not happy and wanted to leave ASAP.

After returning from the commissary building, I read most of the day dropping newspapers as I finished them in my neighbor's cell. Amusingly, the thud of one roll of papers startled Hooch to such an extent that he smacked his head on the bunk above him. The newspapers were from the previous week and I quickly went over the old news including the scandal at VA hospitals. The corruption and delay of health care made me think about a conversation I had with my father the day before. My father began his career in real estate working for the Dept. of Veterans Affairs. He regularly became embroiled in arguments with top administrators about the pervasive cover up of bonuses given to people who did not meet quotas or other efficiency standards. Because of this, he was passed up for promotion to other employees who kept quiet and kissed ass.

The VA scandal has been swept from the news by the release of Sgt. Bowe Bergdahl who had been held captive by the Taliban for 5 years. Initially, the White House gloated in their triumph and ability to reverse the political damage particularly amongst veterans. Susan Rice even was again in the media with her spin giving Bergdahl glowing praise for serving the U.S. with "honor and excellence". However, quickly, sources came out that he was hardly a hero. In fact, he was a private, only promoted to the rank of sergeant after he deserted. Furthermore, many Republicans and even some Democrats were aghast the president without congressional authorization or even notice swapped the U.S. soldier for 5 senior Taliban leaders being held at Guantanamo.

On Tuesday, my cellmate went to the gym and while he was gone, I washed the floor, counter, and table before exercising. A gallery worker came by pushing a bucket of ice and I stopped momentarily to get a bowl of it to ice a bottle of water. At commissary, I purchased a dozen due to rumors the tap water was unsafe to drink. I doubt it will make a difference, however, because I drink about a gallon of water a day and drinking a little 17 oz. bottle periodically will probably not prevent any health issues. After working out, I guzzled the water before bathing out of the sink and washing clothes out of the toilet. Being sick, I was very tired and was back on my bunk a little past noon.

I did not stir from sleep until my cellmate awakened me by flushing the toilet and the foul smell of his excrement. However, that was life in maximum security prisons and I could not expect him to hold it until I was awake. I went to the cell bars to get some fresh air. The windows are now open, but unfortunately the flow of air mainly comes from the vent in the back of the cell. When my cellmate got up from the commode he told me about his time in the gym. After he quit playing basketball because of petty arguments, he wandered around listening to his radio. In his meandering, he was approached by someone trying to sell him drugs. Oddly, they were pharmaceutical rather than marijuana, heroin, or crack.

For dinner I left the cell for baked chicken. Some inmates refused to eat it because it was not fully cooked. I took a chance eating the pink meat but not the donated bread. The buns had green mold growing on them. My neighbor, who was not eating, spoke to me about where he lived before his arrest. I was surprised he lived in Frankfort, a few miles from where I once lived with my parents. I was also surprised he was at Joliet CC for a time when I was there. I did not remember him and asked if we ever spoke. Leprechaun said, "Hell, no." Apparently, I looked mean and unapproachable. Some staff, I recall, would even intentionally mispronounce or spell my last name as MADrowski. Staff at the Stateville Health Care unit also will do this and I was reminded of this after a guard searched my cell and asked me why all my sheets of prescription medications were made out to Madrowski. I told him they did not know how to spell, but knew it was just them having some fun. Amusingly, a nurse recently brought my sleeping meds and asked if my name was Madrowski. She was new and did not know the joke other nurses play.

In the evening, I watched a PBS documentary about an ancient Egyptian Pharaoh while waiting for the prison DVD "Dirty Harry" to repeat. For readers who have not seen that movie, it is about a cop who does not mind breaking the law to get the bad guy. The detective would beat murderers until they confessed or take evidence without a search warrant. The character played by Clint Eastwood also commonly used excessive force and would even kill a murderer rather than let him go free or be sent to prison. In one of the final scenes, he taunts a serial killer to go for his weapon before blasting him with his 44 caliber Magnum revolver. I like these old Dirty Harry movies and with my voice raspy from a cold, I gave my cellmate a couple of my best Clint Eastwood impressions including "Go ahead. Make my day."

By midweek, prisoners in G.P. were hearing news from what occurred in the Roundhouse. A lieutenant claimed a guard working in the building was punched, however, other sources were telling a somewhat different and more detailed story. According to it, the guard was regularly looking for trouble and eventually an argument between him and an inmate led to a fight. The two men exchanged punches until a large group of responding staff brought the prisoner down hard. That was not the end of the matter, though, and he continued to be struck before being tossed into a Seg cell.

Most guards do not come to work with a hostile attitude and seeking to provoke convicts with no out dates. Furthermore, although there is strong solidarity among correctional officers particularly when it comes to physical conflicts with inmates, they will not always stand lock step with their co-workers. In fact, this week I was told a guard defended a prisoner who was being scolded and wrongfully accused of misbehavior. After entering the quarter unit, the prisoner went to where a rack of food trays were and took several to pass out to others who were not able to attend lunch. This upset the guard at the front door because she was a new employee who was not familiar with common procedures. Furthermore, she had an obsession with securing all gates and inmates despite how impractical it can be. When another guard told "the Gatekeeper" it was OK, the rookie accused her co-worker of siding with inmates. This caused the senior correctional officer to become enraged and go into a tirade which could be heard across most of the cell house. Afterwards, many prisoners in the unit applauded.

Thursday morning, the pedophile who lives next door returned from the hospital. He had been gone for two days and I was hoping he stayed there until someone else was moved into his cell.  From what I am told, the child molester had lymph node cancer but it was cut out before spreading and now he just gets occasional check-ups. While he was gone, I also heard more about his case and prior offenses. Apparently, he had molested other children before he abducted a 10-year-old retarded girl walking home from school in Brighton Park. He will never again be able to get his hands on another child with the 120 year prison term he was given. The sentence was ridiculous and I thought a sentence of 12 years with periodic caning was more appropriate and practical. Human rights advocates may object, but I think Dirty Harry would have approved.

Later in the day, I was annoyed to hear news of the president calling the surge in illegal immigration across the Texas border "an urgent humanitarian situation" requiring billions of taxpayers' money to care for their needs. He did not mention he is largely responsible for the exponentially growing Central American border crossings. When Barack Obama's so called "Dream Act" was rebuffed by Congress, he decided to act on his own through the DACA or Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals. The executive decree allows millions of illegal aliens brought to the USA as children to stay. When those in countries such as Guatemala heard this, they put their kids on buses and in many cases, they were unaccompanied by adults. While there was only approximately 10,000 apprehensions per month of Central Americans in 2012, this figure has increased fivefold and officials expect close to a half million to pour in this year, most of whom will be released. Children or no children, they should all be deported. Instead, they are used as pawns in Obama's push to get amnesty passed in the legislature.

Also on television news was a humiliating video of the U.S. president lifting weights at a gym in Poland. Was he trying to buff up before a possible encounter with Vladimir Putin at a French dinner party? Lifting those tiny dumbbells leisurely was symbolic of his weak and apathetic foreign policy. It was not reassuring to NATO allies and definitely did not earn the respect of Russia despite how their military has seemingly backed off a full invasion of Ukraine. More comical was a liberal pundit who claimed Obama was not demonstrating weakness abroad but being thoughtful like John F. Kennedy during the Cuban missile crisis. The only similarity I found there were both presidents created their own problems by not using military force. Kennedy failed to back the overthrow of Fidel Castro before the USSR set up nuclear missiles and Obama failed to build up military forces before or during the Ukrainian revolution which gave the new Russian state the opportunity to seize Crimea.

Before night yard yesterday, some prisoners were amazed the warden posted a bulletin on the cable system which addressed pending litigation that could lead to overturned convictions. One convict even yelled out from his cell, "Now that's love!" although the information provided was probably court ordered. Circuit Court Judge Paul Biebal had appointed a "special Master" to identify any additional victims of former Chicago Police Commander Jon Burge who were convicted based on coerced confessions. The investigation was broad in scope and sought out any prisoner who was arrested by the commander or detectives under his authority between the years 1972 and 1995.

I am certain Burge and Co. were responsible for some innocent men being convicted. However, not everyone interrogated by them was tortured, beaten, or had their rights violated. Furthermore, even those who were coerced to give confessions are not necessarily innocent. Cops will often use unscrupulous tactics to get evidence. It is probably pervasive when it comes to serious or high profile crimes. Many prisoners have admitted to me over the years that they were guilty but the police, prosecutor, or even judge usurped the law in order to gain their conviction. Sorting out the truth from fiction is probably going to be impossible with so much corruption. It may be best just to throw out all the convictions that are tainted to make sure the innocent are released and to bring some integrity to the system.

It is unfortunate with so much attention being paid to the misconduct of Jon Burge, other suspect interrogations are not being scrutinized including my own. The Palatine Task Force used excessive force to arrest me. Between 10 and 15 gun wielding police surrounded me in my car at a traffic light. With laser scope beams trained on my body, I was roughly handcuffed and thrown into the back seat of an unmarked squad car. Neither I nor any of the occupants in my car were armed, but this did not matter to police. Offhandedly, an FBI agent told me I was lucky to be alive, inferring they were more than willing to shoot me dead. I was then taken to a secret location and held incommunicado for two days during which not only my Miranda rights were violated, but I was intimidated, threatened, and struck many times. Unlike other prisoners who had their convictions overturned, I never gave a confession. In fact, no amount of abuse by police was going to pressure me into doing so. The only way my interrogator John Robertson was to get an incriminating statement would be if he made one up, which he did. Oddly enough, his uncorroborated claim that I admitted to lending my vehicle to Faraci remains the thread condemning me to an eternity in prison.