114. Earning Freedom (2.2) with Michael Santos
- Earning Freedom with Michael Santos
Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term (1.2)
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I\u2019m reading from chapter 2 of my book, Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term
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For more information, visit PrisonProfessors.com
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Podcast 114: Earning Freedom 2.2 \xa0
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Following the chapel service I return to my cell where I catch the guy assigned to the rack below me. He\u2019s in his 40s and not particularly intimidating, standing barefoot in boxer shorts splashing water under his arms; it\u2019s a birdbath in the tiny sink. Still, I feel awkward as I stand outside the open gates of the cell.
\u201cYou the new guy?\u201d he asks, sensing my apprehension about walking in on his personal routine.
\u201cYeah, got in last night.\u201d
\u201cWell, you\u2019d better come in. Count\u2019s about to start and you don\u2019t want to be out on the tier when those gates roll closed.\u201d
\u201cMichael,\u201d I offer and stretch out my hand to shake.
\u201cBuck,\u201d he responds and closes his hand into a fist. I realize he prefers to knock knuckles in greeting. \u201cWhere you headed?\u201d
\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d
\u201cNext stop? Where you going?\u201d
\u201cDon\u2019t know, here I guess. I\u2019m just starting out.\u201d
\u201cYou might be starting out, but it won\u2019t be here. This here\u2019s Oklahoma unit. Every swingin\u2019 dick in here\u2019s in transit, on the way to the next prison. If you were stayin\u2019 here, you\u2019d \u2018a been in one \u2018a the permanent blocks.\u201d
\u201cWell I don\u2019t know where I\u2019m going then.\u201d
I set my Bible on the top rack as the cell gate rolls closed and locks us in. We hardly have any floor space. Buck sits on the lower rack.
\u201cHave a seat,\u201d he gestures to the toilet. \u201cCount won\u2019t be for a while. Where\u2019d you come from?\u201d
\u201cSeattle.\u201d The quivers in my stomach settle when I realize that he\u2019s friendly. \u201cI\u2019ve been in jail going through trial for the past year,\u201d I add.
\u201cYeah I can see that you\u2019ve got that jail skin color. No sunlight.\u201d
\u201cThis\u2019s been my first time walking outside since last summer.\u201d
\u201cYou might \u2018a liked it this mornin\u2019, but by afternoon you\u2019ll be wishin\u2019 you was still in Seattle. Gets to be over a hun\u2019erd degrees here, humid as a swamp.\u201d
\u201cI felt it last night.\u201d
\u201cThe nights ain\u2019t bad. It\u2019s the late afternoons that\u2019ll bake you.\u201d
Buck and I pass the day together exchanging stories. He\u2019s serving a 20-year sentence for armed bank robbery. It\u2019s a crime that surprises me as I associate bank robberies with old westerns rather than crimes that people engage in today. He has spent the past four years at the United States Penitentiary in Leavenworth. The parole board has taken his good behavior into account and agreed to release him in two more years. Buck is transferring to a medium-security prison in Memphis where he expects to finish out his term.
\u201cYou can find out where you\u2019re going tomorrow,\u201d Buck tells me. \u201cThere\u2019ll be a counselor holdin\u2019 open house in the office downstairs. Tell him you\u2019re new and you want to know where you\u2019ve been designated.\u201d
\u201cWhere\u2019s the best prison to serve time?\u201d
\u201cThe best spot is them prison camps, but with 45 years you ain\u2019t going to no camp. Forget about that. You might go to an FCI since you ain\u2019t never been locked up before but there\u2019s a good chance, with a sentence like yours, you might be headin\u2019 to a USP.\u201d
As I lie on the top rack listening to Buck talk into the night I feel like a kid listening to ghost stories by the camp fire. The lights are out and a large fan at the end of the tier makes a rickety noise while it stirs the air. \u201cWhat\u2019s the difference between an FCI and a USP?\u201d
\u201cGonna see a lot more blood in the USP. Lot \u0313a the guys inside them walls ain\u2019t never gettin\u2019 out so there\u2019s pressure, somethin\u2019s always cookin\u2019. Ain\u2019t a week gonna pass without some\u2019n gettin\u2019 stuck, or some head bein\u2019 busted open with a pipe. Bloods always flowin\u2019 in a USP.\xa0 FCI\u2019s is more laid back, like here.\u201d
\u201cThis place doesn\u2019t seem so laid back to me.\u201d
\u201cWhat do you mean? What\u2019s not to like about this spot?\u201d
I tell Buck about the morning encounter with the guy in the gym. Although I walked away, the remembrance of what was implied still unsettles me. I\u2019m consumed with trying to figure out what to do if a predator approaches me again. A violent altercation isn\u2019t what I want but circumstances may force my hand.
\u201cI wouldn\u2019t worry about anything here.\u201d Buck yawns and rolls over on the bunk beneath. \u201cYou probably won\u2019t be here but a minute. When you get to your next stop, that\u2019s when you need to act.\u201d
\u201cHow so?\u201d
\u201cCan\u2019t be lettin\u2019 the bulls come at you. Not less you want to start suckin\u2019 ever\u2019 dick in the pen.\u201d He laughs as if such a thing could be a joke. \u201cGotta take a stand. First thing you\u2019re gonna wanna get is a piece. Someone comes at you wrong, put holes in him, send him away leakin\u2019. Do that once an\u2019 fellas\u2019ll get the message that you ain\u2019t no punk.\u201d
I know that I\u2019ll do what it takes to survive, but the penitentiary wisdom Buck dispenses doesn\u2019t sit well with me. \u201cDid you have to stab people when you were at Leavenworth?\u201d
\u201cI had to get my respect, but things is different \u2018tween me and you. You ain\u2019t barely 20. I\u2019m just sayin\u2019, that ain\u2019t but a baby in the pen. Guys is gonna try you more readily than they gonna try an older dude. Bulls is gonna try to get over on anyone that\u2019ll let \u2019em, but the younger guys who ain\u2019t got no backup gotta make \u2019emselves known quick.\xa0 The gangs is getting real fierce in these parts.\u201d
\u201cHow\u2019d they try to get over on you?\u201d
\u201cCouple \u0313a young dudes came at me thinkin\u2019 they\u2019s gonna get me to pay rent for livin\u2019 on the tier. I wasn\u2019t havin\u2019 it. I didn\u2019t have my piece with me at the time, so I just slow played like I was gonna pay. When they come to collect on store day I was ready. After I laid one out by smashin\u2019 him in the face with a mop ringer, they both got the message that they\u2019d better find someone else to play with. Didn\u2019t have no more trouble after that.\u201d
\u201cWeren\u2019t you thinking about your parole date or what would happen if you got caught?\u201d
\u201cShit. When you\u2019s in the penitentiary it\u2019s livin\u2019 day by day. Better not be thinkin\u2019 \u2019bout no release date or parole board or what the man\u2019s gonna think. All I\u2019m thinkin\u2019 \u2019bout is one day at a time, gettin\u2019 through. A man\u2019s gotta do what a man\u2019s gotta do. You\u2019ll see.\u201d
Before drifting into sleep I think about Buck\u2019s advice. I\u2019m hoping the counselor will tell me that I\u2019ll begin my term in a Federal Correctional Institution, an FCI, but my intuition tells me that I\u2019m on my way to a USP, a high-security United States Penitentiary.
A few hours later I wake when a guard rolls the cell gate open. I\u2019m hoping that he has come to take me on the next phase of this prison journey. No such luck. The guard calls for Buck. We wish each other luck, then he walks out. After the guard slams and locks the gate I lie awake for a while longer, intrigued by the roaches racing across the wall without apparent purpose.
Buck\u2019s advice troubles me because I can\u2019t see myself serving my sentence day-by-day. Living for the moment may be the conventional adjustment pattern but I don\u2019t want to forget about the world outside. There\u2019s got to be a way for me to make it through my sentence without violence. Join a church group? At least then I wouldn\u2019t struggle with loneliness, vulnerability. I hate this weakness that seizes me, and I\u2019ve got to do something about it, but I don\u2019t know what.
Instead of getting up when the gates open in the morning, I doze on my rack. The solitude of the cell gives me space to think. I read the Bible while I wait for the counselor to arrive.
The Bible encourages me, though some of what I\u2019m reading doesn\u2019t make sense with what I\u2019ve come to believe about a forgiving God. The concepts of eternal damnation and one path to God aren\u2019t beliefs I can embrace, so I pray for guidance, acknowledging that neither Bible groups nor religious programs are going to carry me through this term.
I see the counselor and receive the confirmation I\u2019ve been expecting. I\u2019m on my way to the United States Penitentiary in Atlanta. I\u2019ll deal with it because I have to, because I don\u2019t have a choice.
\u201cCan I make a phone call?\u201d
\u201cThree minutes,\u201d the counselor says without looking at me. \u201cWhat\u2019s the number?\u201d
The counselor dials the number I give for Lisa. When she answers, the counselor tells her that she has a phone call from a federal inmate.\xa0 Then he passes me the handset and fixes his eyes on me. I want to wipe the phone clean, as if I can wash off the filth of prison.
\u201cHi, Baby.\u201d
I feel awkward talking to her with the counselor looking at me as he sits across the desk.\xa0 To him I\u2019m not a human being.
\u201cMichael! I\u2019ve been so worried when you didn\u2019t call. Are you okay? Where are you?\u201d
I tell her that I\u2019m on my way to a prison in Atlanta and that I\u2019ll be able to use the telephone once I\u2019m there. When the counselor taps his watch, I tell Lisa I love her and promise to call again when I\u2019m able.
Sadness makes me sluggish as I walk aimlessly from the counselor\u2019s office, thinking of Lisa\u2019s voice and remembering how wonderful it felt to hold her in my arms. I\u2019m lost, without a clue of how I\u2019m going to keep our marriage together. Not wanting to dwell on home, I head toward the law library. Feeling sorry for myself makes me vulnerable in a predatory population, which isn\u2019t good. I need a toehold and the strength to climb out of this hole.
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The law books serve a purpose. Although I want relief from my sentence, the reality that I\u2019ll spend a long time in prison has begun to settle in. A year has already gone by since my arrest, so I\u2019m not a beginner, and I know that many more years will pass before anything changes. I need a plan to make it through. The law books begin to help me understand more about the system that traps me. Like an endless riddle or puzzle, each paragraph I read steers me to other books for clarification.
Studying the law distracts me from misery. As with the philosophy books that helped me through the months in the county jail, the main lesson I learn from these studies is the depth of my ignorance. I berate myself for not having continued my education after high school.
\u201cLooking for anything in particular?\u201d
I don\u2019t know whether the man who stands beside my table is a prisoner or a staff member. He\u2019s in his thirties, trim, with thinning blond hair, and I notice that he missed a spot shaving. He wears the khaki pants and white t-shirt of all prisoners, but he has an authority about him that confuses me with respect to his position or status.
\u201cJust reading,\u201d I answer.
\u201cAre you designated here or are you in transit?\u201d
\u201cI\u2019m in transit, on my way to USP Atlanta.\u201d
\u201cMy name\u2019s Brett.\u201d He extends his arm with a clenched fist.
I introduce myself and tell Brett about my sentence. I\u2019m trying to learn more about the system and about the Continuing Criminal Enterprise charge.
\u201cHave you filed your appeal yet?\u201d
\u201cI have a public defender in Seattle who\u2019s putting the appeal together.\u201d
\u201cIf you\u2019ve got a 45-year sentence you\u2019d better get more than a public defender to write your appeal.\u201d
\u201cWhy? What\u2019s wrong with the public defender?\u201d
Brett shrugs his shoulders. \u201cIt\u2019s not that there\u2019s anything wrong, it\u2019s just that they\u2019re overworked. They\u2019ve got so many clients to worry about that they can\u2019t give too much attention to one appeal. You need someone who specializes in convictions like yours.\u201d
\u201cWhat I need and what I have are two different things. I don\u2019t have any money to hire specialists. Besides, the last specialist I hired took me through the trials that got me my sentence.\u201d
\u201cI\u2019ve got a guy you should contact. He\u2019s a law professor in Indiana and he writes appeals for these kinds of cases. Once you settle in Atlanta you ought to write him. Tell him about your case and that you\u2019re on appeal. He might be able to help.\u201d
Brett\u2019s concern for my predicament seems genuine but I\u2019m burned out with legal procedures. I don\u2019t even care about the appeal. The philosophy books I read helped me accept my guilt. Thinking about an appeal might put me on an emotional roller coaster. I don\u2019t want to live in denial anymore. My focus is on living the lessons I\u2019ve learned from those great philosophers. I want to acknowledge that I\u2019m responsible for what I did, and for what I am, and for where I am, and I want to begin to make decisions that will improve my character and my life.
\u201cWhat about a Rule 35? Do you know anything about that?\u201d I ask.
Brett laughs when I ask about a legal motion that I want to file for the judge to reconsider my sentence. I\u2019ve read about the motion in the law books. Under the old law, defendants may file the motion after the conclusion of all appeals.
\u201cRule 35 is a joke,\u201d Brett tells me. \u201cWith a sentence like yours you better have something more up your sleeve than a Hail Mary.\u201d
\u201cSo you\u2019re saying no one ever gets relief from the Rule 35?\u201d
\u201cRule 35 motion goes before the same judge who just saddled you with 45 years, Bud. Think he\u2019s going to reconsider the sentence? Better think again. If he wanted to give you less, he would have. That motion doesn\u2019t carry any weight. This system\u2019s about finality, and the only way to change a sentence is through the appeals court where three or more separate judges review the proceedings at trial.\u201d
The meeting with Brett is discouraging but I walk away with my resolve intact. I\u2019m okay. I\u2019m going to live through decades in prison, I tell myself, so I better accept it\u2019s reality and prepare my mind for what\u2019s ahead.
I\u2019ve already made it through the first year since my arrest.
A Rule 35\u2013the legal motion that will petition my judge to reconsider my sentence\u2013may be a \u201cHail Mary,\u201d as Brett mocked, but a prayer might be all I have. Before I can file the motion I must exhaust all my appeals. I\u2019m not thinking about reversing my conviction. In fact, my experience through the judicial system has been misguided and I feel a little dirty because of it. I\u2019m not going to contest my guilt any more. What I want is a do-over, an opportunity to accept responsibility and express remorse. Forget about winning on appeal, I tell myself. The only way to purge this overwhelming guilt is to atone.
Since procedure dictates that I can\u2019t file the motion for the judge to reconsider my sentence until my attorney exhausts all appeals, I write a letter to Justin, the attorney assigned to my case by the public defender. I urge him to focus on stalling for as long as possible. The object for me is not to win through some legal loophole, I explain. Instead, I want time to distinguish myself in prison. I don\u2019t know how I\u2019m going to do that, but if Justin can succeed in delaying the process for a few years, I expect I\u2019ll find opportunities to demonstrate my remorse and my worthiness for reconsideration.
From what I\u2019ve read of the law, timing is a critical factor. The established procedure requires that I file the Rule 35 within 120 days of the time that the final appeal affirms my conviction and sentence. After 120 days, the law precludes the judge from modifying my sentence. Before that time limit expires I need to show significant progress toward redeeming my crimes. I don\u2019t yet know how I\u2019ll reconcile with society, but I know the clock is going to start ticking when the appeals court makes its decision. I\u2019d better be ready by then.
Returning to my housing unit, I notice a schedule for college classes posted on a bulletin board. The signs announce courses in English, math, history, and other subjects that could lead to a university degree. Earning a university degree would provide the kind of clear, compelling proof of my commitment to change, and with the news of its possibility, I find hope.
Judge Tanner would probably resist a motion to reconsider my sentence if nothing changes. Earning a college degree, however, would provide tangible evidence, showing discipline, character, and commitment. The choices I made that led to my conviction suggest such virtues were absent in my life, but earning a college degree might alter and soften the system\u2019s judgment against me. I don\u2019t know whether the penitentiary in Atlanta provides opportunities for collegiate study but the possibility encourages me.
*******
I have a lot on my mind, and sleep isn\u2019t coming easily. The prison is a population of more than 1,500 men and I haven\u2019t crossed paths with the predator who tested me in the gym.\xa0 Still, I know that confrontations will be a constant in prison. How am I going to handle them? If I\u2019m to invest myself fully in building a string of accomplishments that will persuade the judge I\u2019m worthy of reconsideration then I can\u2019t allow a single blemish on my prison record. Not one.
The trouble isn\u2019t with me.\xa0 I can control my actions and behavior. Regardless of how I choose to serve my sentence, the real threat comes from how others choose to live in a high-security penitentiary. I won\u2019t be able to control the ways that others serve time, but as I experienced in the gym, the decisions of others could have an immediate impact on my life.\xa0 I\u2019ll have to learn how to manage in this twisted environment.
But it isn\u2019t only my early adjustment and assessment of my environment that bothers me, as Lisa\u2019s predicament is still unresolved, troubling me. Her sentencing isn\u2019t scheduled until the fall, but the possibility of her imprisonment isn\u2019t something that I can totally dismiss. Everyone has a breaking point and her imprisonment could be mine. I\u2019ve got to put this out of my mind, at least until her sentencing date comes closer. It\u2019s just too much to worry about for now.
The gate to my cell rolls open. \u201cSantos!\u201d
\u201cYes,\u201d I sit up from my rack instantly.
\u201cRoll up!\u201d the guard orders.
I\u2019m on my way, with new anxieties. While locked in the county jail I read Homer\u2019s epic The Odyssey, describing Odysseus\u2019s 20-year journey home. My odyssey might take longer. I don\u2019t know. Moving forward helps, even if my fear of the unknown accompanies each step.
It isn\u2019t concern about conflicts with other prisoners that drive my anxieties. I\u2019m 24 and I\u2019m strong\u2013confident that I can give as good as I get if it comes to fighting. But I don\u2019t want an altercation. I want to turn this page of my life, to start writing a new chapter. I need to think about how others will judge me by what is written from now on. Every decision I make will have more than immediate consequences, but those decisions will also dictate where I stand in months, years, and decades to come.
After marshals yank on my chains and manacles, I fall into line with others and hobble up the stairs into the airplane. It\u2019s already packed inside and by the time we take flight every seat is filled with hundreds of prisoners who deal with the crisis of imprisonment in his or her own way. Doubting whether any of them have a sentence as long as mine, I close my eyes and rest, wondering how many real killers are on board.
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My ears pop as the plane descends and lands in New Orleans. We pass by hundreds of private jets and I realize that the airport is busy because the Republican National Convention is in town. President Reagan\u2019s second term is approaching its end and the news reports I\u2019ve read suggest that Vice President Bush will prevail over Michael Dukakis in the fall election.
A massive dark plane catches my attention. The words \u201cForbes Capitalist Tool\u201d decorate the plane\u2019s tail in large, bold letters, distinguishing the jet from smaller, white, sleeker models. The centers of corporate power and wealth have converged upon New Orleans to celebrate the anticipated new leadership of George H.W. Bush.
Only a few years ago I came of age and pulled a voting-booth lever for the first time. I considered myself an up and coming businessman, proud to vote Republican, for the party of business, for Ronald Reagan. That was before I considered selling cocaine, before the television series Miami Vice, or the big screen hit Scarface. Now I realize those glitzy shows influenced me. The fast boats, exotic sports cars, designer clothes, and incredibly seductive women presented an exciting image of cocaine trafficking.
As the marshals call names for prisoners to disembark I continue watching the fleet of corporate jets. Conservatives have won the marketing campaign of the 1980s, convincing me that they were the party of elites, the ruling class, and the group I wanted to join. Not understanding or caring about the broader implications of governance, I bought into the campaign propaganda painting \u201cliberal\u201d as a pejorative term, as a party of losers.
Although I\u2019m not a scholar by any means, the concepts of liberalism and conservatism mean something different to me now that I\u2019ve read essays by John Locke and Thomas Hobbes. Those essays convinced me that political parties and political thought dictate the direction of society. When I bought into the Republican theory of conservatism, without even knowing what it was, I rejected the liberal philosophy of John Locke that makes so much sense to me now. Yet as I stare out the window and look at those symbols of power, it\u2019s clear that the conservative philosophy of Thomas Hobbes prevails in the 1980s. I\u2019m an outsider, no longer a man or citizen. I\u2019m a prisoner, stripped of the delusions and pretensions I had about taking a shortcut to a life of comfort.
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