129. Earning Freedom (8.1) with Michael Santos
Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term, with Michael Santos.\xa0
Chapter 8: 1996-1998
Months 103-127
As I cross through another holiday season and into January 1996, I look through a few birthday cards I received from my family.\xa0 It\u2019s hard to accept that I\u2019m turning 32 in prison, but I\u2019m not a stranger to these milestones passing.\xa0 Not anymore.
For years I\u2019ve been climbing toward 1997, hoping that the end of my first decade would mean something special to me.\xa0 Now I\u2019m closing in on that milestone, but it no longer seems significant. One year feels the same as the next and I don\u2019t yet foresee any break from the monotony.
I rely upon clearly defined goals to stay the course. By studying, writing, and working to earn credentials, I\u2019ve hoped to define myself as something more than a prisoner.\xa0 The effort, I believed, would help reclaim my humanity from this so-called system of corrections.\xa0 Now I\u2019m not so sure.\xa0 It is a system that strikes hard, like a wrecking ball, further dehumanizing me with every passing day.
The Bureau of Prisons extinguishes my aspirations of earning a doctorate degree and the pardon attorney has dismissed hopes for a sentence commutation. Accepting that I won\u2019t reach the goals I set for my first decade disorients me. I need to create a new aspiration and redirect my attention toward new goals that are in harmony with my commitment to restoring my dignity.\xa0 In time I must show the world that I\u2019m a man, something more than a prisoner, but I don\u2019t know how I\u2019m going to create an identity that separates me from the bad decisions of my early 20s.
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\xa0\xa0\xa0\xa0\xa0\xa0 Without the continuous demands of an academic schedule, I accelerate my daily exercise routine, running seven miles each morning, following the run with a thousand crunches and a thousand leg lifts. In the afternoons I work out with weights, training for strength and size. I take advantage of the library, reading for enjoyment, though I\u2019m simply passing time. By the spring of 1996, I feel my physical strength peaking, but my spirit feels empty. When I was working toward my academic degrees I had a solid link to the real world. Similar to my correspondence and visits with mentors, every paper I submitted provided a tangible outside connection. Now, without clear objectives, my sense of meaning or relevance as a man fades away, disappearing like a ship sailing over the horizon. I don\u2019t have a woman to love. I spend my days working out, eating, reading, and sleeping, mirroring the meanderings of other prisoners around me.
My frustration increases when I see university students, legislators, attorneys, judges, and other citizens touring the grounds and buildings. FCI Fairton is within driving distance of major cities. Tour groups from Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Wilmington frequently walk through the prison. Guards flank these tour groups, ensuring that prisoners don\u2019t interact with the visitors. I\u2019m completely alienated from society as I watch them gawking at the fences that have held me for the past 3,000 days. I imagine the inaccurate spiel guards recite to the visitors:
\xa0
\u201cThis is a modern correctional institution, and our professionally trained correctional officers provide numerous opportunities for the inmates to prepare for law-abiding lives\u2013\u2013blah, blah, blah.\u201d\xa0
I fixate on the women in the tour groups, wondering what it would be like to know them, for them to know me. To them I\u2019m not a man but prisoner in a cage, or worse, an inmate, that dehumanizing term I\u2019ve been hearing for far too long. I have to get out of here.
\xa0
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\xa0
\u201cThere\u2019s a mistake in my classification,\u201d I say to Ms. Dobson, my case manager. We\u2019re alone in her brightly lit office and I\u2019m doing my best to ignore the light floral fragrance of her perfume. \u201cI should be classified as a low- rather than medium-security prisoner.\u201d
\u201cLet\u2019s see what the computer says. What\u2019s your number?\u201d She\u2019s competent and totally professional.\xa0 As such, I wonder what draws her to work in a prison instead of working in a more honorable profession, as a nurse, a teacher, a journalist, or anything other than a functionary of this wretched system.
I give her my registration number. She\u2019s fast on the keyboard, clicking my number with the speed and precision of an accountant on a ten-key. When the appropriate screen appears, she studies her computer.
\u201cWell, you don\u2019t have a history of violence, and no prior incarceration, so your security points are low enough, but your sentence is too long.\xa0 It gives you an automatic management variable that keeps you as a medium-security inmate.\u201d\xa0 Despite her assessment of the information on the screen, I know it\u2019s wrong.
\u201cYou know how much time I\u2019ve already served, don\u2019t you?\u201d I ask.
\u201cYou\u2019ve served 104 months, but in order to transfer to a low, you need to be within 18 years of your release date. Sorry.\u201d It\u2019s disconcerting to hear how much time I have remaining to serve, but she has miscalculated.
\u201cI am within 18 years of my release,\u201d I clarify.
\u201cThe computer shows that you have 247 months remaining to serve, that you won\u2019t be released until August, 2013.\u201d
\u201cOkay, it\u2019s April, 1996. If you do the math, I\u2019m 17 years, four months to release. That\u2019s only 208 months, not 247 months.\u201d
\u201cAre you sure?\u201d Ms. Dobson is looking at the monitor, wondering. She writes out the number of months on a BOP notepad, multiplies, and smiles when she confirms that my numbers match hers. She then clicks a few more keys on the keyboard. \u201cHey, you\u2019re a \u2018low\u2019. Congratulations!\u201d
I laugh.
\u201cYou know what that means, don\u2019t you?\u201d
\u201cThat I\u2019m going to a low?\u201d I venture.
\u201cThat\u2019s right. I\u2019ve got to submit you for transfer. Where would you like to go?\u201d
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The guards tell me it\u2019s a short drive from Fairton, New Jersey to Fort Dix, New Jersey and I appreciate the smooth ride in the white van as we maneuver through city traffic. From an open front window I feel the breeze and smell the fragrant, blooming cherry blossoms. Children carrying colorful lunch boxes and wearing backpacks meander on sidewalks, savoring their time until school bells ring. I hear horns blasting, dogs barking, and I take in the kaleidoscope of city life. Someday I\u2019ll return to a city, but for now I\u2019m chained and strapped to a bench seat. Nevertheless, I\u2019m filled with optimism that my transition to the low-security FCI in Fort Dix means new opportunities as well as respite from the inescapable pressure, stress and volatility of higher security.
In four months I\u2019ll complete my ninth year. I\u2019ve walked through puddles of blood in high- and medium-security prisons. I\u2019ve carefully navigated and deliberately avoided problems that complicate the lives of so many other young prisoners. Still, as eager as I am for life in a low-tension environment, I\u2019m still wrestling with the enigma of figuring out what society expects of me. I wonder what more I can do, given the restrictions this system places on me.
Guards roll open the gates and the van drives inside. I\u2019m untroubled by the cyclone fences, by the coils of glistening razor wire, and by the white cars slowly patrolling the perimeter.\xa0 I\u2019m desensitized to the ritualistic processing and I shrug off the forms, the fingerprinting, the mug shots, the strip searches, and the staff interviews. I grab my bedroll and walk to building 5702 on the east side of the prison.
Despite the fences surrounding Fort Dix it doesn\u2019t feel like a prison. One reason may be the friendlier temperament of the population here. In place of intimidating glares and scowls I see smiles and nods. Even the layout differs, as I walk on what once was an asphalt road, and the long, rectangular-shaped, brick buildings on either side of me have windows without bars that are large enough to pass a sofa through.
Fort Dix is part of an active army base. Military jets land on a runway only a stone\u2019s throw away, and the acrid smell of jet fuel lingers in the air. Before the Bureau of Prisons erected fences to enclose the FCI, these buildings were part of the base, serving as officers\u2019 housing and soldiers\u2019 barracks. Military personnel currently live just outside the fences in buildings of the same design.
The buildings were erected before World War II and the age shows. As I walk into my housing unit I notice that decades of foot traffic have worn the checkered-pattern ceramic tiles down to the cement on the hallway floors. Without air conditioning, or even a ventilation system, humidity turns the housing unit into a sauna. The guard tells me I\u2019m assigned to room 217, on the second floor.
I sweat as I climb the concrete stairs. When I open the steel door on the second-floor landing, the long, narrow hallway reminds me of a low-rent apartment building with concrete-block walls and unadorned wooden doors on each side. I pause at room 217, tap the door twice as a courtesy, and then walk into the 12-bunk room.
A man sits at a table against the wall of windows on the far side of the room. He\u2019s writing, but looks up as I close the door. He\u2019s probably in his late 50s, with reading glasses resting halfway down his nose that give him the cerebral look of a professional.
\u201cI\u2019m Michael Santos,\u201d I introduce myself. \u201cI\u2019ve been assigned to this room, bunk two, upper.\u201d
\u201cPaul Murray,\u201d he stands and walks over to shake my hand. I appreciate the genuine handshake rather than a fist bump. \u201cThis is your bunk,\u201d he shows me. \u201cI\u2019m right beneath you. This is your locker.\u201d
The metal locker is six feet tall, three feet wide, and two feet deep. He opens the double-door, revealing a spacious interior that is easily four times as large as the lockers I\u2019ve used over the past several years. I\u2019m astonished by the amount of storage I\u2019ll have.
\u201cI can\u2019t pick up my belongings until tomorrow, but at least I\u2019ll be able to store everything in here.\u201d
\u201cWhy can\u2019t you get your property?\u201d he asks.
\u201cThe guards who processed me said it was too late to inventory.\u201d
\u201cI\u2019ve got some things that\u2019ll hold you over until you get your belongings,\u201d he offers, and then he opens his locker to hand me a pair of sweats, a tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush, and a bar of soap.
\u201cThanks. This helps. I\u2019ll get it back to you when I shop.\u201d
\u201cNo problem. Where\u2019re you coming from?\u201d
\u201cI was at FCI Fairton for the past few months. Before that I was at FCI McKean, and USP Atlanta before then.\u201d
\u201cOh, so you\u2019ve been down for awhile.\u201d
\u201cI\u2019ll finish my ninth year in August.\u201d
\u201cNine years! My God, are you almost out?\u201d
\u201cI wish. I\u2019ve still got more than 17 to go.\u201d
\u201cMonths?\u201d
\u201cNo, 17 more years.\u201d
\u201cWhoa! I don\u2019t think there\u2019s anyone here with that much time. What\u2019d they get you for?\u201d
\u201cI sold cocaine.\u201d It\u2019s always the same question and I always qualify my answer. \u201cNo violence or weapons. It\u2019s my first time in prison but my judge sentenced me to 45 years.\u201d
Paul shakes his head. \u201cThese drug sentences are ungodly. I never realized how bad they were until I got here. The sentences seem more severe than the crimes warrant.\xa0 Murderers serve less time.\u201d
\u201cHow about you? How long have you been here?\u201d
Paul shakes his head. \u201cI\u2019m embarrassed to say after listening to you. I\u2019m serving an 18-month sentence for health-care fraud. I\u2019ve been here for nine months.\u201d
\u201cAre you a doctor?\u201d
\u201cNo. I was a lawyer, but I resigned from the bar. The felony would\u2019ve resulted in my disbarment at some point anyway.\u201d
\u201cSo why does a lawyer serve time for health-care fraud?\u201d
\u201cLong story. My practice represented medical clinics and testing labs. Billing problems tangled me up with the law and here I sit. I call it my sabbatical.\u201d
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I settle into the Fort Dix community, grateful for the lower volatility levels. My housing unit is one of six on the compound, each holding 400 men. Most prisoners serve time for drugs, but many others like Paul serve short sentences.
Thoughts about how I\u2019m going to spend the rest of my time continue to trouble me, especially when administrators confirm that they won\u2019t permit the university library to send me books.
\u201cOur policy provides for you to receive hardcover books from a bookstore or a publisher, not libraries.\u201d The supervisor of education doesn\u2019t leave any room for special circumstances. \u201cAnd I\u2019m not going to make an exception. If I make an exception for you, I\u2019m going to have to make one for everybody.\u201d
\u201cReally? How many prisoners do you have here who are candidates for a Ph.D.?\u201d I ask.
\u201cThat\u2019s not the point. Our policies reflect the need to preserve the security of the institution. If you wanted to pursue a Ph.D., you should\u2019ve thought about that before you came to prison.\u201d
It\u2019s the same admonition I\u2019ve heard repeatedly and I don\u2019t see much upside in trying to press for permission. Prison guards find it easy to hide behind the shortsighted \u201csecurity of the institution\u201d mantra. Frustrated, I search for an activity that will sustain me, something I can pursue on my own without the need for permission from authorities.
My exercise regimen continues, though it\u2019s not nearly enough to ease the sense of hopelessness I\u2019m struggling to suppress. I exercise until I exhaust myself physically, running longer distances and lifting weights. In search of something more, I join a therapy group that Dr. Warren, a psychologist, sponsors. She calls it the Long-term Prisoners Group and I agree to attend the two-hour discussion each Wednesday afternoon.
Afro-centric art decorates Dr. Warren\u2019s office. Portraits of Malcolm X and Marcus Garvey hang on her wall. I\u2019m curious whether she\u2019s met resistance from BOP colleagues who consider such leaders revolutionaries. Sitting in Dr. Warren\u2019s group is as close as I can come to sitting in a classroom and I admire the soothing way she manages the group. Although I want to emulate her compassion, I have a hard time tolerating the self-pity and hypocrisy expressed by other group members.
Eight people participate in our group and we all sit\xa0in chairs that form an oval circle in Dr. Warren\u2019s carpeted office. Bored, sometimes I drift into my own thoughts, trying to get a feel for Dr. Warren\u2019s interests by reading the titles on the spines of books that pack her wooden shelves. I see works by Toni Morrison, Cornel West, Henry Louis Gates. I\u2019ve continued coming to the meetings because I learn from listening to her. Even though she allows the prisoner participants to rant, I admire the nonjudgmental patience I hear in her questions. Regardless of how frequently some men in the group shift blame for their actions, she kindly nods, indicating agreement or understanding.
Despite Dr. Warren\u2019s efforts to engage us, I don\u2019t connect with the other men, and I can\u2019t conceal my contempt when they whine about their circumstances.
\u201cI\u2019m only in prison because my best friend snitched me out,\u201d says Eric.
\u201cDidn\u2019t you have anything to do with getting caught?\u201d I ask.
\u201cHe\u2019s the one who got busted. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut and no one would\u2019ve knowed about me.\u201d Eric doesn\u2019t like my challenging him.
\u201cBut you said you pleaded guilty.\u201d I point out.
\u201cOnly \u0313cause the snitch was gonna testify\xa0 \u0313gainst me. I\u2019m servin\u2019 10 years even though the DEA didn\u2019t catch me with nothin\u2019.\u201d
\u201cAren\u2019t you serving 10 years because you sold cocaine, and because you stood in front of the judge and admitted guilt?\u201d
\u201cYeah, but if the snitch wouldn\u2019t \xa0of said nothin\u2019 I wouldn\u2019t of even been charged. Them conspiracy laws ain\u2019t right, they just ain\u2019t fair.\u201d
In an effort to advance the discussion, Dr. Warren suggests a creative exercise. \u201cBefore we meet next week,\u201d she instructs, \u201cI want you to think about what you value most in life. I\u2019d like each of you to come prepared to discuss what you consider your highest value. And remember, what we say in the group stays in the group.\u201d
I know exactly what values drive me, and when I return for our next meeting I\u2019m hopeful that the discussion will advance beyond complaining about sentence lengths and unjust prosecutions.
\u201cSo why don\u2019t we begin with you, Jim,\u201d Dr. Warren begins. \u201cHave you been able to pinpoint your highest value?\u201d
\u201cYes, I have.\u201d Jim responds. He sits to the immediate right of Dr. Warren. He\u2019s 35 and has served four years of a nine-year sentence, his second time in prison for distributing methamphetamines. Jim shaves his head, but he grows long, red whiskers from his goatee and he\u2019s always twisting them when he talks. We\u2019re in a room with standard lighting, but he insists on wearing sunglasses because his eyes are sensitive, he says. The words \u201clove\u201d and \u201chate\u201d are tattooed on the knuckles of his left and right hand. \u201cMost important value to me is my relationship with Jesus Christ, my personal Lord and savior.\u201d
\u201cAmen!\u201d another group member exclaims, voicing his approval.
Dr. Warren nods, encouraging Jim to continue. \u201cAnd how does your relationship with Jesus help you through each day?\u201d
\u201cWell I\u2019m very spiritual,\u201d Jim twists his whiskers as he slouches in the chair. \u201cI hardly ever miss services, and every night I say my prayers.\u201d
\u201cWhat do you pray about?\u201d I ask.
\u201cIt\u2019s personal.\u201d
\u201cGenerally, I mean,\u201d prodding him further.
\u201cDo you want to share with the group what you pray about, Jim?\u201d Dr. Warren turns her head from Jim to cast me a warning look. \u201cWe\u2019ll all understand if you\u2019d prefer to keep your prayers to yourself.\u201d
\u201cMostly I pray that I\u2019ll get out early, and that my ol\u2019 lady don\u2019t sell my Harley \u0313fore I get home.\u201d
Dr. Warren nods.
\u201cThat\u2019s very spiritual,\u201d I chuckle.
\u201cMichael, do you have something you\u2019d like to share?\u201d It\u2019s clear that Dr. Warren doesn\u2019t approve of my sarcasm.
\u201cSorry, I\u2019ll wait my turn.\u201d
Jim glances my way, but he doesn\u2019t say anything and I can\u2019t read his eyes through the dark shades.
\u201cBob, would you care to share your values with the group?\u201d Dr. Warren turns to another prisoner.
\u201cI\u2019d like to pass.\u201d He folds his arms and stares at the floor.
Dr. Warren nods. \u201cIs everything okay, Bob?\u201d
Bob shrugs, \u201cI just don\u2019t know what to say.\u201d
\u201cWell, if you feel like talking, we\u2019d like to listen,\u201d she tells him. The room is quiet, except for the tick of the second hand on a wooden clock carved in the shape of the African continent. \u201cTom, how about you, are you ready?\u201d She encourages him, smiling. \u201cWould you go next?\u201d
\u201cThe most important thing in the world to me is just gettin\u2019 through this time. I hate bein\u2019 locked up.\u201d Tom is serving his fourth prison term for drugs. He wears an orange cap over greasy hair, and tattoos of three falling tears blemish his face.
\u201cHave you thought about anything you can do to ease your way through?\u201d Dr. Warren probes, trying to gauge how constructive he\u2019s being with his time.
\u201cThere\u2019s nothin\u2019 to do,\u201d Tom opens his hands. \u201cI done finished my GED. Ain\u2019t no college classes. I been sleepin\u2019 a lot, readin\u2019, watching\u2019 TV.\u201d
\u201cWhat do you like to read?\u201d she asks.
\u201cI like lookin\u2019 at the Maxim, People, car magazines, anything that lets me know what\u2019s goin\u2019 on in the world.\u201d
\u201cDo you ever read books?\u201d Dr. Warren queries, trying to engage him.
\u201cNah. I get bored too easy.\u201d He looks up at the ceiling, stretches his neck from side to side.
\u201cAnd you don\u2019t have any interest in tutoring others or participating in religious services, like Jim?\u201d
\u201cI like sleepin\u2019 mostly. When I\u2019m \u0313sleep, it\u2019s like I ain\u2019t even in prison.\u201d
\u201cSteve, have you thought about what you value most in life?\u201d Dr. Warren moves on.
\u201cI\u2019m like Jim. God\u2019s most impor\u2019ant to me. I be readin\u2019 my Bible, goin\u2019 to services. I been in a Bible study group for like two months now and I\u2019m learnin\u2019 a lot. Jesus is helpin\u2019 me get through this.\u201d Steve braids his hair in cornrows and wears a goatee, neatly trimmed.
I look at the floor, shaking my head.
\u201cI think it\u2019s commendable that you\u2019ve found peace, Steve. We all need to find strength to get us through tough times, and it sounds as if you\u2019ve found yours through religion.\u201d Dr. Warren nods as she compliments Steve.
\u201cAmen,\u201d Steve says.
\u201cPraise God,\u201d Jim twists his whiskers, nodding in unison.
\u201cBill, how about you? What do you value most highly?\u201d Dr. Warren smiles, inviting Bill to share.
Bill is assigned to the room across the hall from me. I see him frequently because he sleeps in the bunk above Al, a guy I sometimes tutor. Bill is in his late 20s. He\u2019s active on the compound, always sitting at a card table, playing dominos, running a gambling pool.
\u201cI dunno. I guess I value my wife, and God too.\u201d
I slouch, massaging my forehead with one hand.
\u201cWhy you be hatin\u2019 on the Lord?\u201d Steve challenges me as he tilts his head and scowls.
\u201cIs something bothering you, Steve?\u201d Dr. Warren prods, pushing Steve to express himself.
\u201cYes,\u201d I invite him to open up.\xa0 \u201cSpeak your mind, say something, get us away from the BS in here.\u201d
\u201cI\u2019m just sayin\u2019, we\u2019re up in here givin\u2019 praise to Jesus, and he\u2019s all slouchin\u2019 in his chair,\u201d Steve points at me, \u201clike he\u2019s bored or ain\u2019t wanna hear it.\u201d
\u201cMichael, do you have anything you\u2019d like to say?\u201d Dr. Warren asks me.
\u201cEverything said in the group stays in the group?\u201d I ask, welcoming the confrontation.
\u201cOf course. You can speak freely in here,\u201d Dr. Warren confirms, glancing at everyone in the group.
The length of time I\u2019ve served has numbed my sense of empathy. I\u2019ve grown less tolerant of listening to whiners week after week. I sit up in my chair. \u201cOkay. It bothers me that Dr. Warren gave us all an opportunity to learn from each other. We\u2019re all serving time, locked inside the same fences, going through the same struggles. She asked us to think about our highest values, what\u2019s most important in our lives, but instead of speaking honestly, talking about what you really feel, you\u2019re talking about what you think she wants to hear. This isn\u2019t an application for parole. No one\u2019s getting a time cut for this. I was hoping something more substantive would come from our meeting today. Instead, it\u2019s the same as always.\u201d
\u201cWhat makes you think you be knowin\u2019 so much?\u201d Steve asks.
\u201cI know that God isn\u2019t the highest priority in your life, I know that much.\u201d
\u201cHow you be knowin\u2019 what I feel?\u201d
\u201cBecause if God was the highest value in your life, you wouldn\u2019t be whining in here each week about how you don\u2019t belong in prison, about how it\u2019s all a snitch\u2019s fault that you\u2019re here. If God were the highest value in your life, you would accept that you\u2019re exactly where God wants you to be. That\u2019s how I see it.\u201d I turn to Bill. \u201cIf your relationship with your wife had the highest value to you, would you really have slutty magazine pictures taped all over your locker? Come on, fellas. Why are we doing this? Who are we trying to impress?\u201d
\u201cThat\u2019s quite a tirade,\u201d Dr. Warren says. \u201cWhat the others said really bothered you.\u201d
\u201cHe ain\u2019t even said what his values is, but he be tryin\u2019 to say that we ain\u2019t bein\u2019 real,\u201d Steve directs his comment to Eric.
\u201cMy highest value is simple. What I value most is liberty, and I don\u2019t have it. All I\u2019m thinking about is what I can do while I\u2019m in here to make sure that once I get out, I\u2019ll never lose it again.\u201d
\u201cOh, and you ain\u2019t think we wanna get out?\u201d Steve challenges me.
\u201cIf you want to get out, if that\u2019s what\u2019s most important to you, then I want to hear what you\u2019re doing to get out, and what you\u2019re doing to make sure that once you get out, you never come back.\u201d
\u201cBut there ain\u2019t nothin\u2019 we can do! Besides, what you doin\u2019 that\u2019s so diff\u2019rent? You sayin\u2019 we be whinin\u2019, but you\u2019s in here ever\u2019 week complainin\u2019 \u0313bout how no one\u2019s lettin\u2019 you finish school. Shee-it, you be whinin\u2019 just like every\u2019n else,\u201d Steve says.
\u201cYou know what? You\u2019re right. I\u2019m changing that, starting now, as of this minute. For 10 years I\u2019ve been trying to build a record so the world would consider me differently from other prisoners. Now I\u2019m finished. Going forward, I\u2019m doing what\u2019s necessary to ensure that when I walk out of here, I walk out as a man with dignity, ready to stand on my own. This system may hold me for 16 more years, but I\u2019m not going to let it condition me for failure and ruin the rest of my life. I suggest you guys do the same.\u201d
\u201cSo what\u2019re you going to do? What changes are you making?\u201d Jim leans back on the chair, twisting his whiskers.
\u201cI\u2019m enrolling in law school.\u201d
\u201cShee-it! You\u2019s in prison yo! Can\u2019t be goin\u2019 to no law school from here. Even if you could, what good it gonna do? Ain\u2019t no one gonna hire no lawyer from prison.\u201d Steve flicks his hand in the air, dismissing my comment.
\u201cHe has a good point, Michael. Have you thought about the ways your felony might influence a lawyer\u2019s career?\u201d Dr. Warren asks.
\u201cI didn\u2019t say I wanted to be a lawyer. I said I\u2019m enrolling in law school. Instead of thinking about what I can\u2019t do, I\u2019m going to think about what I can do. I know my strengths and weaknesses, and I know I\u2019m going to serve 16 more years. I may not be able to become a member of the legal profession, but if I earn a law degree I\u2019ll be able to help other prisoners who want to file their own legal motions.\u201d
\u201cSo you want to be a jailhouse lawyer?\u201d Jim nods his head, still twisting the whiskers.
\u201cNot just a jailhouse lawyer. I\u2019ll study and become the best jailhouse lawyer in the system. It\u2019s one way I can make myself useful in here.\u201d
\u201cThat\u2019s a plan,\u201d Dr. Warren agrees, smiling.