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I\u2019m reading from chapter 4 of my book, Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term.

For more information, please visit PrisonProfessors.com

*******

A week later I\u2019m sitting on the lower rack when a guard flicks an envelope beneath my door. I lean over to pick up the envelope and read \u201cUniversity of North Carolina\u201d on the return address. For a moment I just hold it in my hand, tracing my fingers over the embossed lettering and the university logo. The wreath signifies academia, and a charge of excitement runs through me. I\u2019m a 26-year old man, yet I open the envelope with the same giddy anticipation as a child anticipating birthday money from his grandparents.

Dr. McPherson\u2019s letter expresses his enthusiasm to mentor me through my term, and he asks me to mail him the visiting authorization form. He also writes that I should soon receive a book he sent separately, from the university\u2019s bookstore. Wanting to share my good fortune I pass the letter to Windward for him to read.

\u201cWhat\u2019s the big deal?\u201d

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d Windward\u2019s indifference puzzles me. \u201cHe\u2019s a professor, and he wants to help me.\u201d

\u201cBig fuckin\u2019 deal! What can he do? He\u2019s probably a fag.\u201d

\u201cHow can you say that? He\u2019s an educator, he has his own life out there, and he\u2019s offering to help me. Why would you insult him?\u201d

\u201cDon\u2019t cry, little guy,\u201d he mocks when he notes my offense at his dismissive response. \u201cI\u2019m just sayin\u2019, what the fuck can he possibly do for you? You\u2019ve got to think about what people want, Dude. Why would he want to write someone he doesn\u2019t know? It don\u2019t make no sense.\u201d

Windward fits right in to the penitentiary culture. He not only accepts defeat for himself, he expects those around him to do the same. Nothing good comes with the prison experience. Therefore, any indication that someone may succeed in overcoming pessimism and despair threatens his belief in failure as the inevitable. Failure is comfortable to him, a real concept. Working toward anything different, or better, upsets his equilibrium.

\u201cGive me back my letter.\u201d I\u2019m learning that within this tenebrous environment my enthusiasm must be internal. Sharing victories, no matter how small, only breeds more sarcasm.

With the news of Bruce\u2019s interest in my life I instantly ascend ten rungs up my virtual ladder to freedom. If nothing else, his friendship will help lift me out of the caverns of ignorance where I dwell.

*******

When my counselor, Mr. Skinner, receives Bruce\u2019s completed visiting form he calls my office supervisor, Ms. Stephens, with a summons for me to report to his office.

\u201cDo you know a Bruce McPherson?\u201d The counselor sits at his metal desk in his cubbyhole office reading from the visiting form that he holds in his hand. With greasy gray hair and a stained white shirt, his appearance, like his office, is a disorganized mess. The office stinks of stale tobacco and his body odor.

\u201cYes. He\u2019s a professor and he\u2019s helping with my school work.\u201d

\u201cSo you sent him this visiting form?\u201d He flicks the form with his fingers.

\u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d

\u201cWell he\u2019s not getting in. I\u2019m not authorizing him to visit.\u201d

The dehumanization continues. Prisoners have to ask permission for everything, and I\u2019m accustomed to the apparent malevolent satisfaction some staff members get from denying requests.\xa0 Still, this denial is more of a slap to my dignity than most because I\u2019m convinced that I can grow through Bruce\u2019s mentoring.

\u201cCan you tell me the reason?\u201d I don\u2019t understand why the counselor won\u2019t authorize Bruce\u2019s request to visit.

\u201cYou didn\u2019t know him before you started serving your sentence. That\u2019s all the reason I need to deny him.\u201d

\u201cBut he\u2019s a professor and he\u2019s offering to help me, to teach me.\u201d

\u201cI don\u2019t care if he\u2019s the Pope. We\u2019ve got rules in here!\xa0 We don\u2019t know why he\u2019s coming to see you, what you\u2019ve got going on with him. Security of the institution, Son! In order to visit, rules say the relationship had to exist before your imprisonment.\u201d

\u201cCounselor Skinner, I\u2019m from Seattle. No one visits me. Bruce McPherson is someone who can guide me through my prison term. Can\u2019t you make an exception?\u201d

\u201cGo back to work. Give me your pass to sign.\u201d He\u2019s unwilling to listen any longer.

Dejected, I walk back to the business office.\xa0 I sink into my chair and hold my head in my hands. Our country goes to war over supposed human rights violations, yet it feels to me as if such violations occur within the federal prison system every day of the year.

\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong with you?\u201d Ms. Stephens straightens a stack of papers on her desk as she senses my despair. \u201cYou look like you just got 45 years.\u201d

She\u2019s trying to lighten the mood in her caring way, but at this moment I want to grieve over all the indignities of being a prisoner, of having to ask permission for friendship and then being denied.

\u201cPlease. Not today.\u201d

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d she asks again, giving me her complete attention. I know that she wrestles at moments like these with the awkward balance of being a staff member, a part of the prison machine, and her natural tendency to empathize with another human being. We sit in the same office every day. We relate like two \u201cnormal\u201d people, not as a prisoner and a staff member separated by some ridiculous ethos splitting our humanity.

Ms. Stephens knows about Bruce, and she has been totally supportive of my efforts to advance my education. The factory rules forbid prisoners from working on schoolwork, reading, or even writing personal letters during the workday, even though an efficient worker with good organizational skills can complete the daily responsibilities in two hours. She has intervened on numerous occasions to protect me from her colleagues who resent my studying on the job and using the office as my sanctuary. She nods her head when I tell her about Counselor Skinner denying Bruce visiting privileges.

\u201cI need you to step outside for a minute so that I can make a phone call.\u201d

I leave to pace around the outer office. A dozen prisoners sit at their desks, sipping from stained coffee mugs and passing their time discussing the story dominating the news. I saw it over the weekend. Some crazed leader from Iraq, Saddam Hussein, ordered his military to invade a neighboring country, Kuwait. Talk radio listeners can\u2019t get enough of the story although the entire episode strikes me as being bizarre.

I grew up during a time when the United States was at peace. The thought of one country invading another seems like something from the dark ages. Yet the talk shows buzz with conversation about our national security being threatened by Hussein\u2019s aggression.\xa0 Some commentators suggest that our country might go to war.

It doesn\u2019t make much sense to me, but a lot of the prisoners have been energized by this military action. They\u2019re speculating that if the United States goes to war opportunities might open up to parole prisoners into the military. Such a scenario seems plausible. I\u2019ve read that during previous wars, like the Vietnam War, judges frequently offered offenders the choice of either joining the military or facing imprisonment. I\u2019m not hopeful that changes will come for me, though this sudden shift in global events causes me to think about what else could take place in the world over the remaining 23 years that I must serve.

Shortly before I came in, President Reagan told Gorbachev to \u201ctear down the Berlin Wall.\u201d I didn\u2019t know much about global politics then, but a unified Germany seemed absurd because I grew up learning about two completely separate Germany\u2019s, an East and a West. Then, just last year, the Berlin Wall came down, and just like that, Germany was unified. Soon thereafter, the Soviet Union crumbled ending the Cold War. When it happened I remember thinking that maybe America\u2019s ridiculous Drug War would end too.

According to all the business office chatter, though, we\u2019re moving dangerously close to a very hot war in the Middle East. I don\u2019t understand it, but I must admit I\u2019m not nearly as interested in what\u2019s going on in the Middle East as the other prisoners. They\u2019re talking about the possibility of war with a lot more passion and enthusiasm than I can muster. Unlike most of them, I don\u2019t have a burning animosity toward the United States. In fact, I can\u2019t wait to leave prison and return to society, because where I\u2019m living right now feels about as far away from America as a man can get.

I circle around toward my office. The walk has improved my mood. I\u2019ve breathed, allowed my frustration to dissipate, and with all the speculation about war, I\u2019ve reminded myself to keep the bigger picture in mind. Bruce\u2019s friendship and guidance isn\u2019t contingent on us visiting, and whether I\u2019m allowed to visit or not, I\u2019m going to make it. Although I constantly feel the dehumanizing culture of corrections, my attitude and deliberate actions to redeem myself restore my dignity.

I slip into the office and see Ms. Stephens busy at her desk. She\u2019s not on the phone, so I presume it\u2019s okay to walk in. Just to make sure, I ask.

She smiles and nods. \u201cWhen you go back to the housing unit you\u2019ll see a new visiting list. I had a chat with Counselor Skinner and he told me that he would put the list on your bunk. Dr. Bruce McPherson has been approved to visit.\u201d

My face turns red as I thank her for her kindness, but I\u2019m uneasy. It\u2019s troubling to me that I have to prostrate myself with requests for special interventions in order to find a friend, someone who can help guide these efforts I\u2019m making to grow.\xa0 It\u2019s patronizing, dehumanizing.\xa0 Ms. Stephens saw that Skinner got to me, and it bothers me. After years in prison, these kinds of indignities aren\u2019t supposed to bother me, or at least I shouldn\u2019t let my aggravation show. \u201cSorry to have troubled you,\u201d I say.

\u201cDon\u2019t be. Sometimes I\u2019m embarrassed by this organization I work for.\u201d

I shrug my shoulders. \u201cIt is what it is, and by now I ought to be able to roll with it. But sometimes the pressure gets to me. Regardless of how hard I work, I\u2019m always going to be a prisoner, indistinguishable from anyone else in here.\u201d

Ms. Stephens\u2019 elbows rest on the desk with her hands clasped beneath her chin as she listens to me openly, sympathetically. \u201cLook. I can\u2019t imagine what you\u2019re going through inside, and there\u2019s not much I can do to help. I\u2019ve been in this job for 12 years and I do see how hard you\u2019re working. Others might not see it, but I wouldn\u2019t go out of my way to help if I wasn\u2019t convinced that you\u2019re sincere. That\u2019s what I told your counselor and I\u2019ll tell anyone else who asks. It\u2019s not right that you\u2019re in here for so long.\u201d

My eyes water as she comforts me. I know Ms. Stephens is taking a position that the system discourages. As a staff member she isn\u2019t supposed to be personal with an inmate. The BOP motto for staff members is to be \u201cfirm but fair,\u201d and that means she is first supposed to consider my status as a prisoner. Fairness requires strict adherence to prison policy. If the policy states that prisoners cannot visit with people they didn\u2019t know prior to imprisonment, then fairness requires counselors to enforce the policy across the board. That\u2019s Counselor Skinner\u2019s position. It\u2019s the kind of oppressive rigidity that threatens to suffocate prisoners, every day, and I\u2019ve endured a thousand days of it.\xa0 I wonder how I\u2019ll make it through nine thousand more.

Regardless, I want to walk over and hug Ms. Stephens. Her concern validates me, restores a spirit and energy that imprisonment so effectively crushes. I cherish this moment and I\u2019ll remember it as further evidence that God is with me, always strengthening me with what I need along the way.

*******

My schedule keeps me in the business office all day, in classes learning from professors in the evening, and on the suicide-watch tier late into the night. I\u2019m more productive than I thought possible. I enjoy challenging myself by setting goals, writing them out, and sending them to family and friends with encouragement for them to hold me accountable. Reaching my goals is one thing, but empowering myself to exceed them is quite another. I\u2019m obsessed with my personal records and with my daily journal, but only because I find them so effective in motivating me to reach milestones that others insist are beyond a prisoner\u2019s reach.

Not only am I accumulating university credits, I\u2019m working through a formidable reading list. My understanding and enjoyment of the classics, such as Plato\u2019s Republic, Dante\u2019s Divine Comedy, and Dostoyevsky\u2019s Brothers Karamazov, are clear signs that I\u2019m really learning. I summarize what I learn in book reports that I write and send to Bruce for his evaluation and comments. He returns them, bleeding with red ink, simultaneously broadening my education and awareness through his teaching and mentoring.

I didn\u2019t grow up in a home like Mark\u2019s, where both parents held advanced degrees and emphasized the importance of higher learning, but my parents taught me the importance of working hard. In an effort to demonstrate my commitment to making good use of my time inside, I\u2019m applying extra effort. The more knowledge and writing skills I can develop, the better equipped I\u2019ll be to succeed when I\u2019m released, to show that I\u2019ve conquered imprisonment, because this system feels like it\u2019s designed to perpetuate failure.

My vocabulary is improving. The index cards I keep in stacks of 50 now number 1,000. By mastering words and definitions, my spelling has also improved, and when I respond in class, I express myself in the language of the university rather than the penitentiary. When I listen to NPR or read The Wall Street Journal my confidence rises with my understanding of words and concepts that used to baffle me. And whenever I have questions, I have the skills to find the answers.

Since I\u2019ve charted the progress I want to make by 1997, the end of my first decade, I know exactly where I should be in 1992, at the halfway point. I also know where I\u2019m supposed to be now, in 1991, only a year away from earning my undergraduate degree.

I\u2019m exceeding my expectations with a schedule that keeps me racing to beat my timeline. Whereas the penitentiary rocks with violence and corruption scandals, I\u2019m so absorbed with my work that news of the stabbings, beatings, and investigations into staff corruption are of little concern to me. I know how to stay under the radar.

I\u2019ve determined that a bachelor\u2019s degree won\u2019t be enough to get me where I want to go. The judge\u2019s refusal to reconsider my sentence and the prosecutor\u2019s statement that 300 years of imprisonment wouldn\u2019t be sufficient for my punishment remains an ugly reminder of a judicial mindset that is unwilling to bend. I have to build a record that warrants consideration for a commutation of sentence, and the president is the only person who has the power to commute my sentence. I must work harder and achieve more.

When I conclude my shift on the suicide-watch tier in the hospital, I walk through the metal detectors, the gates, and the corridors that lead back to the cellblock. The guard unlocks my door and I enter.\xa0 Windward\u2019s snoring is undisturbed as the deadbolt slams into place behind me, locking me inside.

I grab my pillow from the bunk and set it on the steel chair to use as a cushion while I sit, staring at the concrete floor. While trying to think, I\u2019m distracted and I begin to count the beige concrete blocks that form the walls of my cell. Before snapping out of my reverie, I fantasize about bursting through these immutable walls.

\xa0