April 2009

Orlando is a man destitute of material goods, but who is rich in spiritual things. He loves God. He leads a simple life. Like me, Orlando has lived much of his adult life in prison.

Orlando is Hispanic, and he's in his late forties. He came to prison when he was twenty-one years old. A street corner and roof top drinker who lived with his mother in a New York City tenement, he stabbed a man to death. Orlando doesn't remember why it happened. He doesn't remember much about the incident or what led up to it, other than his being drunk, and the victim was equally drunk. Orlando told me he had gotten angry about something his drinking companion said, then out came the knife.

Orlando is not a violent person, however. Maybe he had a different personality when he would drink? But in the many years that I've known him and observed him, I've never seen Orlando act violently. For the most part, he's quiet and he minds his own business. He has no interest in gambling, drugs or gangs.

Like many prisoners, Orlando has only a limited education. He's also classified as having a mental illness and is presently undergoing treatment by the facility's Mental Health staff. He does, however, love to read his Bible and he attends many of our worship services and Bible studies. And every time he walks through the doors of the prison's chapel, he gets greeted with lots of hugs and handshakes from his fellow Christians.

Orlando is hyperactive and he loves to talk. Sometimes he would talk so fast that it becomes difficult to understand what he's saying. His words would get jumbled together. And when he does this, I'd have to gently ask Orlando to slow down and repeat himself. Oftentimes, when speaking about Christ, he would get so excited that, while moving his lips at such a rapid pace, spittle would begin to form at the corners of his mouth. When this happens Orlando would wipe the saliva from his lips with the sleeve of his shirt with one swift wipe. Then he would resume chatting away.

Orlando has very few personal items in his cell. His possessions consist of his prison issued uniform clothes, to include a green Department of Corrections issued sweat-shirt and a matching winter coat plus the standard issue or three pairs of white socks and underwear. I've never observed him wearing a personal shirt, as many inmates own at least one dress shirt. In addition, in his cell are a few Bibles, some writing tablets along with a handful of pencils and pens. His cell, which is located in the mental health cell block where I work on weekdays, looks like a monk's liar. Orlando chooses to travel light. All his possessions, if he had to gather everything together, would probably fit in a medium size suitcase.

He doesn't want anything either. I recall a time, several years ago, when I gave Orlando a few extra polo type shirts that I had. But he ended up giving them away. He likes being a pauper. When I offer him things like soap or socks he always turns me down.

Well today I was happy when I went to the recreation yard and found Orlando there. He doesn't go to the yard very often. And he seemed happy to see me, too. So Orlando and I spent approximately 90 minutes walking in circles around the yard's perimeter. In prison parlance, this is called "Taking a spin," or "Spinning the yard."

Of course Orlando and I spoke about our favorite subject: Jesus! He was his usual talkative self. Orlando's like a ball of energy that's perpetually in motion. His hands will fly every which way when he speaks. Sometimes I'd have to put a hand up to slow him down so he could catch his breath. And my ears need a few seconds of rest every now and then as well.

In spite of his quirks, however, Orlando is a nice person. I'll probably see him in church tomorrow, too. He attends almost every Sunday. And as one might expect, Orlando loves to praise the Lord with a loud voice. He worships God as excitedly as he talks -- with lots of energy and outward exuberance. His joy is evident. Orlando also likes to shout the word "Hallelujah!" while most other parishioners will sit in church looking lost and bewildered. Such are the ways of God. The Lord will often use the foolish to confound and humble those who are proud.

Orlando lives a simple life. In all the years he has spent in prison, Orlando has not allowed his circumstances to darken his spirit or dim his hope in Jesus Christ.

D.B.

I first spotted him a few weeks ago. Today, however, I was able to get a closer look at Talky (the nickname I've given him). Talky was in the prison's outdoor recreation yard walking by himself. His lips could be seen moving at a rapid pace as he conversed with his invisible friends. There was no one on either side of him. But Talky continued to chat away, oblivious to everyone around him.

I've seen this kind of behavior before. Talky is mentally ill and he lives in a world of his own. For the most part, men like Talky are lonely, confused and tormented. For them, as well as for him, they've retreated into their own private worlds where others are not permitted to penetrate unless invited in. I suppose, too, that such self-created places help to better insulate themselves against the pain and heartache which can come with relationships. There's no one to hurt you. And this seems to be the case with Talky.

I grew up in New York City. I have also spent more than thirty years in prison. Therefore having to observe these kinds of individuals on a regular basis, men who are ill, is no big deal. Such damaged souls can often be found on the streets of big cities like New York, jabbering to themselves or arguing with creatures whom only they can see. I recall, when I lived in the City, watching as passers-by would nervously walk by these disturbed persons, quickening the pace as they go, while trying to avoid eye contact at all cost. We're frightened by those whose behavior is bizarre, even if these people are really harmless.

Talky is a real thin black man who's about five feet, ten inches tall. He doesn't seem to own any personal clothing, so I must assume he only has his prison issued garments which consists of three pairs each of t-shirts, undershorts and socks. Plus three pairs of heavy green pants with matching green work shirts, two green hand towels and a pair of no frills black work boots plus a sweatshirt and one coat, both green. Dark green is the color of our uniforms.

Talky is highly energetic. His arms will flail from side to side or up and down as he talks to himself. He's probably in his mid-thirties but looks about fifty, which is fitting for a life lived in poverty and homelessness washed down with lots of cheap wine. Talky's face is prematurely wrinkled and wisps of gray in his close cropped hair. His facial features and taut skin around his jaw and cheekbones bespeak of one who has experienced many years of deep emotional pain and disappointment.

Walking with a friend, I suggested to him that we try to catch up to Talky, and I explained why. My friend is a Christian. So he knew I had my sights set on a soul. Then, as he and I caught up to Talky, I tried to appear nonchalant. I turned to Talky and said a polite hello along with a slight nod of my head and a simple smile on my face. For a few seconds Talky ignored me. I wasn't surprised. I could also tell in these brief moments of initial contact that Talky was not used to someone giving him a greeting, especially a stranger. And by now my friend and I were already a couple of steps ahead of Talky when, as something of an after thought, he said to me in a scratchy voice, "Hey, you got a cigarette?"

Hearing his voice I turned toward Talky and made eye contact. He repeated the question. But I told him that I don't smoke and apologized. He then shrugged his shoulders at his failed bid to get something to smoke and immediately resumed the conversation he was having with his invisible friends. I've seen and experienced this often in the prison setting. Many who are mentally ill can be momentarily aroused from their psychosis merely by dangling a cigarette in front of them. However, once they score a smoke for themselves, they will often retreat to an isolated location to puff it. In a correctional setting tobacco is the drug of choice. Its nicotine seems to soothe the mind. And Talky's charred and blackened finger tips tell of many a cigarette consumed to its fullest.

In any event, I am going to make it my business to get to know Talky. In time I'll ask him if he needs anything (besides cigarettes). I will invite him to church. I'll make myself known to him, and this is a good way to start. No doubt Talky is a street-wise survivor. But I believe that it was God who has kept him alive for a better day. And, for Talky, better days will come.

D.B.

They just don't seem to know what they're getting into. Maybe they don't care, but they should. I'm referring to young men who are coming to prison.

I've been locked up for more than thirty years. So I hail from a different generation. Yet here they come. The routine never changes. Every few weeks a fresh shipment of men enter the facility as those who've been here for awhile transfer on. Faithfully, a bus will arrive and out of it will stumble a new crop of swashbuckling, hip-hopping, head-bobbing wannabe tough guys who have thrown away their lives. However they just haven't realized it yet, but in time they will. For the moment, though, they don't have a clue that the choices each one has made have now embarked them on a journey which will result in many wasted years - years that should have been their most productive.

I see their faces. Fresh looking yet painted with a false bravado, and bodies with plenty of tattoos, too. Most are first-timers in the system. But these usually have a criminal record for prior but lesser offenses. It's the same self-destructive pattern. Start small, end big. It's the classic rising in the ranks from juvenile court and a short stay at a youth facility, to the ultimate promotion - a sentence to the state's prison system.

Of course older men arrive as well. Some of them are repeaters who've returned on a new sentence, or they have violated parole. In here, it seems, there is always room for more. The authorities will find the space. No convict will be turned away because the facility is full. Of this we can be sure.

It's a maze they've gotten themselves trapped in, and a big mess as well. After all, prison is a place for flops and lawbreakers. It's the truth. This isn't Yale or Harvard. It is the House of Pain. Yet, conversely, it is also a place for contemplation and reflection. In here a man can, if he is ready, face his demons and confront the truth about himself. But, like the crime he committed to bring him here, it too is a choice.

Yes, facing oneself. It happens. In the process of time many prisoners awaken to their situation. The realization comes that they're locked away from their families, and from society. Regret enters the scene, remorse and guilt for the crime, as well as self-loathing and a deep and growing hatred for what he has done. I know. This was and is me. And when a man is at this stage he is ripe for repentance. Because honest self-examination, while painful, can result in change. A man becomes sick of who he is and how he has lived his life. He comes to the end of himself, really. Then, at this point, deep in his heart, he knows he's through with the criminal lifestyle. This is a good thing. And, if anything, this is the better part of prison. A man admits his wrongs, is sorry for his actions, and he is now ready for a new beginning.

Still there is a bad side to prison, and I hope to write about it tomorrow. For not all of these men want to change for the better. Not all have remorse for their crimes. Some give up and they get worse.

D.B.

The fact is, that in a majority of cases, a man who is doing time is eventually going to one day be released. Yes, some will die in prison. While serving out their respective terms there will be men who die of natural causes like old age or sickness, or by other ways such as violence and suicide. Nevertheless, at some point, be it five, ten, fifteen, twenty or more years a man will get his chance to walk out of a correctional facility to rejoin society.

Therefore, the twofold question I want to pose is:
"Is he going to come out of prison a better or a worse person?" Because, as an old-timer who has spent several decades behind the walls, I know that prison is too much of an overpowering environment for a man to come here, spend years here, and leave the same as when he first arrived. My belief is that he will change in one way or the other. There is no neutral ground.

As I wrote in yesterday's entry, the better part of prison is when an inmate, at some point of his incarceration, enters a period of self-examination and reflection, leading to positive change. Whereas, at the opposite end of the spectrum, other prisoners become increasingly bitter. They've lost everything that was dear to them, which, of course, is one of the prices of engaging in criminal activity. And often these personal losses are permanent. All that's left for him are fading family photos and fading memories. Then, with all this comes the anger. And such anger can be directed outward, inward, or both. It's mostly both. It's always dangerous.

Unfortunately, some prisoners are in a state of continual denial. They accept no responsibility for their actions (assuming they're really guilty; not all inmates are). They refuse to bow their hearts and minds to the truth, and they try to escape their inner pain through such mundane activities as spending as many hours as possible playing sports, watching television, card playing, or hanging out in the recreation yard with their homeboys. In the yard they'll kill the time chatting with their homeboys and bragging about past exploits, be they real or imagined. This is all part of the unconscious game of pain reduction and denial. You could call it trying to deaden one's ever-speaking conscience. It's also the path of least resistance because, when a man admits his wrongs and seeks to change for the better, this requires hard work. It's an uphill climb.

Frankly, as for prison officials, they could not care less which road a man chooses to take, whether it is one of self-betterment or time wasting, just as long as a man keeps his mouth shut and stays out of trouble. For prison officials, they have a body that's been placed into their charge, and nothing more. Their main job is to keep felons confined, and occupied, and reasonably healthy. It's not their job to save souls or to make convicts into saints.

But, for the prisoner, like everything else in life, he has choices to make. Thankfully, some men become repentant and remorseful, and with God's help they want to change for the better. This is good, and there are indeed genuine transformations that occur. To me, this is what prison should be about beyond the basic purpose of punishment.

while, on the negative side, the harshness and overall hardship of incarceration, with all its personal and psychological pains, and even various spiritual factors, all converge together to cause some prisoners to give up and surrender to the vilest of impulses. They've lost all hope, and they seethe with a quiet, and sometimes not so quiet, rage. Sadly, they've become the proverbial "walking time bombs." They can be diffused by the power of God, I believe. But they don't want divine help.

As I said at the start of this entry, men doing time in prison either change for the better, or the worse. It's a fact of life. And, from my vantage point from within this maze called prison, I am able to watch each human drama as it unfolds. I'm a part of it, too.

D.B.

A short while ago I received a letter from a friend who lives on Long Island. He and his wife have a youth group which they run at a local church. He was telling me that just last week he shared with the teenagers in the group the story of Karla Faye Tucker. Karla was a former ax murderer who was on Texas's death row for many years until the time of her execution. However, before her death, Karla became a Christian and lived out her faith on death row until it was time for her to leave this earth.

I myself once watched Karla Faye's testimony on film in the prison's chapel. To me she appeared to be articulate, remorseful, repentant, and beautiful. Clearly Karla was a Spirit-filled woman. But the best part of my friend's letter was when he told me that after watching Karla's story, five of those kids received Jesus Christ as their Savior and Lord.

Karla Faye was once a criminal who later became a saint. She faithfully ministered to many hearts while she waited to die. Her life impacted them in a good way. And while the media has apparently lost all interest in Karla since her passing some years ago, her story continues to inspire people.

Frankly, Karla Faye Tucker is not dead. Her soul is alive and well in heaven while the story of God's bountiful forgiveness in Karla's life lives on giving people hope. Even now she's winning souls for the Lord. So I want to say, "Way to go, Karla! I'm proud of you."

D.B.

This morning we had our primary worship service in the prison's chapel as we do every Sunday. We also have Bible studies and other services throughout each week.

Before the service began, however, my Chaplain, Pastor Stiglich, asked brother Philip and I for help because he said he was feeling ill. Philip and I usually open the Sunday services, anyhow. But we did as we were asked. After greeting the congregation I made the call to worship and read a portion of Scripture. This was followed by Philip leading us in a corporate prayer and then giving the men an approximately ten minute exhortation never to allow discouragement to keep us from following the Lord.

The choir followed with a selection of songs and after about forty minutes, my chaplain signaled that he was ready. I noticed, as well, that his health seemed much improved.

As expected, God came through. My pastor gave a powerful and inspiring message about having the joy of the Lord. How that, when we know we are forgiven for our sins - to include all sins past, present and future - our lives should be full of joy. And this joy is to be like an always flowing river which blesses everyone who comes into contact with it. Meaning, all those who come in contact with a Spirit-filled Christian would be able to sense this joy, too. In Christ, he said, our sorrow over sin should now turn to joy at Christ's victory over sin. Amen!

D.B.

The world is fast becoming a spiritual wilderness. I believe, as well, that the stage is being set for the fulfillment of end time events. The Bible has much to say about this, too. As for me, my heart is set upon heaven and I live each day with the thought that it could be my last day on earth. The "blessed hope" for believers in Christ may soon come to pass. In a moment, in the blink of an eye, I could be gone. I could vanish from the earth and I will never know pain, sorrow or regret again.

Therefore my ears are open as my heart anticipates the joy at hearing the voice of Jesus as He shouts to His children, "Come up here. Come home!"

D.B.

I continue to serve the Lord, but I'm very weary right now. I'm exhausted, and I feel drained of energy. So I am trying my best to seek quiet moments where the pace is slower, and Christ's presence is more real. Thus I've been in the "prayer closet" more.

As a "Type A" hyperactive and oftentimes driven person, I must be careful not to become overly involved to where I lose myself in hectic church activities. I am learning, as well, that certain things can wait. Because if I am not careful I tend to overdo it. Then come the consequences of physical and mental tiredness, and a weakened relationship with the Lord. I'll find myself drying up spiritually, which is not good or healthy.

But these days I am doing better at delegating. I've been stepping aside more in order to allow other members within the congregation to "step up to the plate," so to speak, and do what needs to be done.

The Lord's key phrase for me is "Be still."

D.B.