134. Earning Freedom (9.3) by Michael Santos
Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term
Chapter 9.3
1998-2002 Months 127-180
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It\u2019s September 11, 1998. I\u2019ve been in Miami for a week and since my counselor hasn\u2019t yet given me a PIN code, I haven\u2019t been able to use the telephone. The staff isn\u2019t giving me any information about my transfer and I don\u2019t know if Bruce and Carol have made progress toward getting me out of here. Ty and I are resigned to the likelihood that we\u2019re both on our way to state prison, knowing that we\u2019ll leave whenever officials from the Florida Department of Corrections arrive to pick us up. We exercise together, doing pushups, deep knee bends, and stomach crunches.
After our early morning workout, I glance at the dorm\u2019s television screen, appalled to see President Clinton and his media machine.\xa0 He organized a nationally televised prayer breakfast, assembling Billy Graham, Jesse Jackson, and other distinguished clergymen.\xa0 They pray for forgiveness of Clinton\u2019s indiscretion with Monica Lewinsky.
The irony is not lost on me. President Clinton scandalized the country. He told lie after lie to the American people and to Congress about \u201cnot having sexual relations with that woman.\u201d
Anyone else would serve prison time for telling such lies to Congress. Although I was young and uneducated, my own sentence was extended by two years because I lied during my trial. It angers me, because the president should be held to a higher standard. After all, President Clinton is a graduate of Yale law school, a Rhodes scholar, and a former attorney general.\xa0 Yet he gets a pass for his offense by saying he\u2019s sorry.
I\u2019ve been working to atone for 11 years, not with televised speeches but with measurable actions. It infuriates me to see the inequality as I sit in an orange jumpsuit, knowing that my acts of atonement mean nothing while the president can exonerate himself with a simple prayer meeting.
\u201cSantos!\u201d The guard yells into the housing unit as he steps out from his station, interrupting my mental rant. \u201cRoll up!\u201d
\u201cWhat about Moreno?\u201d Ty asks.
\u201cI said Santos.\u201d
\u201cCan you tell me where I\u2019m going?\u201d I feel queasy, my legs weakening. \u201cFTD.\u201d
I recognize those initials as the BOP designation for Fort Dix. My face immediately broadens into a smile.
\u201cFort Dix?\u201d I ask to confirm.
\u201cAll\u2019s it says here is FTD. Pack yer shit.\u201d
\u201cHow\u2019d you\u2019 pull that off?\u201d Ty looks at me, disappointment in his eyes.
\u201cI don\u2019t know. My family must\u2019ve gotten through to the right person.\u201d I say carefully, suddenly aware of the impact this news has on Ty. We\u2019ve only known each other for a few days, but through exercise, chess games, and talk, we\u2019ve bonded and had hoped to see it through as a team. Now I\u2019m deserting him. Although the news elates me, I don\u2019t compound his loss by gloating over being spared a tour through a Florida state prison.
*******
My support network really came through for me, and I\u2019m thrilled when guards lock me in a holding cage on the main floor of FDC Miami to process me out. I\u2019m grateful, optimistic, and eager to begin the return trip to Ford Dix. My spirits are dampened, however, when I notice a woman sitting alone in another holding cell directly across from me. She\u2019s crying.
I step to the front of my cage, wrap my fingers around the bars, and she looks at me. The guards who patrol the corridor prohibit us from talking, so instead we communicate with our eyes. In hers, I see such sadness that it pains me. She tilts her head as she opens her hands in a gesture of helplessness, as if to say \u201cI want to talk to you, too, but we can\u2019t.\u201d Her smile is modest, but I see a dimple in her cheek. She has long brown hair, and even in the green, oversized jumpsuit I can see her slender figure. Her eyes are blue, or maybe green. It doesn\u2019t matter. We\u2019ll never meet. I hope she\u2019ll find the strength to sustain herself through the loneliness. I look away as guards come to fasten her in chains.
My return to Fort Dix takes me on a 30-day detour through USP Atlanta. It surprises me to feel some nostalgia at my first sight of the high walls. While locked in a holdover unit I see several staff members I used to know. One of them sends a message to Lynn Stephens, my former work supervisor. After receiving news from her colleague that I\u2019m in the holdover unit, Lynn walks over to see me. More than four years have passed since my departure from USP Atlanta and seeing her feels almost like a reunion. She had such an essential role in my early adjustment, allowing me to study in the office we shared, providing sanctuary from the penitentiary madness that destroys the lives of so many young prisoners. She\u2019s barely aged but tells me she\u2019ll be retiring in another few years, and she updates me on her family while asking about mine. Since she knew me in my 20s, naive to prison life, Lynn is amazed that I\u2019m now nearly 35 and comfortable in my surroundings. Our unexpected reunion helps me measure how much I\u2019ve matured since beginning my term.
I talk with prisoners I knew when I served my sentence in Atlanta, but after a month, I\u2019m glad to leave the penitentiary behind. Ironically, Fort Dix feels like home and I look forward to my return.
After several hours our plane lands briefly for a prisoner exchange in Manchester, New Hampshire. From my window seat I look at a dense growth of trees with leaves that flutter in the wind and appear to change colors before my eyes. It\u2019s a spectacular natural display of orange, yellow, red, and green, and I realize that during the two months I\u2019ve been locked inside Oklahoma, Miami, and Atlanta prisons, summer has turned to fall. The plane takes off again, and a few hours later, on Thursday, October 15, 1998, I\u2019m processed in and admitted back inside the gated community of FCI Fort Dix.
My friend Carol Zachary is responsible for my return. She met with a high-ranking decision-maker in Washington, and that meeting resulted in the reversal of my transfer order, immediately blocking my move to a Florida state prison.
I walk back onto the Fort Dix compound, and my friend Gary welcomes me with a white mesh laundry bag full of commissary items.
\u201cWelcome back,\u201d he laughs, embracing me.
\u201cI can\u2019t tell you how good it feels to be back.\u201d
\u201cDid you hear the news?\u201d Gary asks.
\u201cWhat news?\u201d\u2028
Gary smiles, knowing that financial news interests me. \u201cThe Fed lowered the interest rate and the market\u2019s on fire. I hope you didn\u2019t sell.\u201d
\u201cSell? Are you kidding? I\u2019m a buyer, not a seller.\u201d
\u201cThe prices for Yahoo! and AOL are almost back to where they were before you left.\u201d
\u201cDon\u2019t tell me you\u2019re hooked on the stock market now, too.\u201d
\xa0Gary laughs, telling me that he needed something to pass the time.
*******
As we approach the transition from the 20th to the 21st century, fears spread throughout the business community that many of the world\u2019s computer programs will fail. Every day, pundits on CNBC discuss the upcoming \u201cY2K\u201d problem, hyping up the calamity that would befall the world if computers crash. As a market speculator, I\u2019m paying attention to these stories.
To ease worries about how the markets will react at midnight on the last day of 1999, central bankers from around the world take action by lowering key interest rates in the fall of 1998. Their objective is to provide more liquidity for business, thereby averting panic. An offshoot of their strategy is rampant speculation, and I\u2019m one of the euphoric participants.
I follow the flow of easy credit and hot money by subscribing to a dozen financial publications and studying them daily. I\u2019m fascinated with the technology sector, as I perceive companies with an effective Internet strategy as having the most upside.\xa0 Understanding the risk, I concentrate all of my stock holdings in speculative Internet stocks.\xa0 That approach proves a winner, and I revel in watching my equity increase, sometimes by tens of thousands each day. I tap that equity by using it as collateral to leverage my holdings. I\u2019ve got 100 percent of my holdings in Internet stocks, and by using margin I\u2019ve got double exposure to the market swings.
\u201cYou know, I really think it\u2019s time you diversify,\u201d Jon, another prisoner, advises me. \u201cThis market bubble can\u2019t last forever. Perhaps you should sell now, put your money in fixed income.\u201d
\u201cI can\u2019t sell. All my gains have been short-term. I need to hold on to my positions for at least one year, otherwise I\u2019ll owe too much tax.\u201d
Jon shakes his head. \u201cAll wise men diversify.\u201d
I\u2019m reluctant to sell any holdings for two reasons.\xa0 On the one hand, I don\u2019t want Julie to incur short-term capital gains taxes, and on the other I\u2019m convinced the market euphoria will last longer than a year. Each evening, after the market\u2019s close, I chart my day\u2019s progress, read my industry news, and then I walk outside to tell Gary how we did.
\u201cHow was the casino today?\u201d
\u201cI bought Cisco, Real Networks, and At Home Communications.\u201d
Besides being a Grand Master at chess, Gary has tremendous musical talents. We sit under a maple tree in early March 1999, bundled in our green jackets and orange knit caps. Spring is in the air but it\u2019s still chilly. Gary strums an acoustic guitar and practices while we talk. As a child, he played for weddings and parties in Russia. I test his talents by asking him to play music from China, Spain, Japan, Italy, or Greece and in an instant his songs transport me to those countries.
\u201cSo, what\u2019s in the account now?\u201d
\u201cWe\u2019re holding $600,000 worth of stocks, and we\u2019ve got $300,000 out in margin loans. Equity\u2019s at $300,000.\u201d
\u201cYou\u2019re a winner,\u201d he says, strumming his guitar.
The value of Internet stocks surge through the spring, and I continue using margin to leverage a bigger position with all of my holdings. On April 12, 1999, when the bell rings closed on Wall Street, the 4,000 shares of AOL, 2,000 shares of At Home and a scattering of other high flyers have a value that exceeds $2 million. With $1 million out in margin loans, the account\u2019s equity surpasses $1 million. I\u2019m tempted to tell Julie to sell, but if I do, the short-term capital gains will incur a tax obligation of nearly $400,000. One year ago I didn\u2019t have commissary money, but now greed rather than a principled position prevents me from feeling satisfied with what I have. I\u2019m determined to hold on until my equity reaches $1.6 million. That will generate a million dollars after taxes, and if I sell at that level, I\u2019ll be able to put that cash in the bank. I\u2019m shooting for a two-comma cash balance. Until I hit it, I\u2019m determined to continue swinging for the fences.
The value of my account doesn\u2019t change my status in prison, of course. I still stand for census counts and strip naked for searches whenever a guard commands. I\u2019m scheduled to serve 14 more years, yet the time now is just something I tolerate. I don\u2019t need school or library books as I\u2019m living vicariously through the market, a phenomenon the BOP is powerless to stop.
*******
Two brutal trading days in April wipe out more than $400,000 from my account\u2019s equity, causing me to change strategy.\xa0 Rather than holding on, I pull the trigger, calling my sister with instructions to sell. That move eliminates my margin debt, allows me to return the money Gary advanced, provides the resources to pay off the IRS, and leaves me with a cash-balance measured in six figures.\xa0 It\u2019s far lower than the peak value, but far higher than where I began with my trading career.
\u201cRemember one thing,\u201d Gary says, trying to cheer me up as we walk around the yard on one of his last days before authorities deport him to Russia. \u201cMoney doesn\u2019t make the man; the man makes the money.\u201d
\u201cI know, but I can\u2019t stop thinking about what we could\u2019ve had if I would\u2019ve sold sooner.\u201d
\u201cWhat\u2019s the big deal? You started out wanting to finish law school, to work for 15 years to earn a lousy hundred grand. Now you\u2019ve got that in the bank and you didn\u2019t have to hustle with any of these schmucks. No one else in here earned what you did.\u201d
He advises me to forget about the market and to use the rest of my time in prison to do something else with my life, assuring me that I need to prepare for the endless opportunities that will await my release.
*******
When we move into the new century, I know that I need something new to occupy my time, some project I can work on independently, without interference from the prison system. In August I\u2019ll finish my 13th year, meaning I\u2019m halfway through, with only 13 more years until release.\xa0 I must find a way to make them productive.
Carol Zachary and Jon Axelrod bring Zachary and Tristan to visit for Thanksgiving and as we sit, side-by-side in the brightly lit and crowded Fort Dix visiting room. Carol inquires whether I\u2019d like to renew my petition for clemency.
\u201cI can\u2019t bring myself to go through all that again,\u201d I tell her. \u201cIt\u2019s too much of an emotional roller coaster. I need stability, something I can work toward.\xa0 Instead of waiting for someone else to make a decision that will determine my future, I need to find something that will allow me to chart my own course.\u201d
\u201cHave you spoken with Tony? What does he have to say?\u201d She asks about Tony Bisceglie, the prominent lawyer she persuaded to spearhead the legal effort to free me in 1997.
\u201cTony is honest. He said that my chances of the president commuting my sentence are less than one in a million. Besides that, I\u2019m no longer indigent. If I were to move forward with the petition, Tony\u2019s fee would start at $50,000.\xa0 I\u2019m not willing to part with the resources to pay that fee.\u201d
\u201cMichael, you\u2019ve got to do it,\u201d Carol urges me.
\u201cDon\u2019t you think you could earn that money again once you were released?\u201d Zach, a sophomore in high school now, asks. He\u2019s a student athlete who looks forward to studying business and economics.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. \u201cThe thing is, I\u2019ve been living inside prison walls and fences for my entire adult life.\u201d Although I feel their love and concern for me, I want them to understand why I perceive my situation differently from others who haven\u2019t lived in confinement. \u201cWhen people leave prison, they have a hard time finding employment, and financial pressures block them from making a new start. I see it every week when prisoners return after failing in society. If I thought we had a better chance at commutation, I\u2019d take it. But when one of the top lawyers in Washington spells out the odds, I have to weigh the costs. The truth is, I\u2019m more afraid of going home broke, into a tornado of financial uncertainty, than I am of serving another 13 years.\u201d
Carol folds her arms across her chest and nods her head sympathetically. Jon observes silently, and then says, \u201cYou\u2019re going to have options when you come home, Michael. People love you and will stand by to help you.\u201d
I shake my head. \u201cI need to build more support. If I could persuade 1,000 people to support my petition, then I\u2019d feel better about moving forward with it.\u201d
\u201cToo bad you can\u2019t use the Internet,\u201d Tristan states. He\u2019s in eighth grade and an aspiring musician. We have an ongoing chess game that we play by sending our respective moves through the mail. \u201cYou\u2019d be able to find 1,000 supporters on the Web easily.\u201d
\u201cI\u2019ve got some friends from school who\u2019re pretty good on the Web,\u201d Zach suggests. \u201cMaybe I could help.\u201d
\u201cI\u2019d like to invest my time and money into an idea like that. Why don\u2019t we start a Web business? I\u2019ll write and type the content, then you guys coordinate putting it online,\u201d I suggest.
Jon looks at Carol. \u201cWe could buy a scanner to convert the typewritten pages into digital files. It might be a good project to give the boys some business experience.\u201d
\u201cI could be the CEO,\u201d Zach lights up.
\u201cWhat about hockey, baseball? You can\u2019t fall behind with school,\u201d Carol admonishes, taking in the scope of this possible business with more caution.
\u201cMom, I can do it,\u201d Zach asserts.
\u201cThe business could earn revenues by charging a fee for prisoners to publish their information, giving them a platform to build support,\u201d I say.
\u201cAnd once we build enough traffic, we could charge for advertising space,\u201d Zach is on the edge of his seat, already chapters ahead in a business plan.
\u201cHold on a minute,\u201d Carol barks, throwing up her hands in a \u201ctime out\u201d move, speaking as the voice of reason. \u201cWe\u2019re talking about a project to generate support for Michael, to get him out of here. Let\u2019s not distract ourselves with how much money we can make.\u201d
\u201cI could really use a project like this, one that would take my mind away from here. I could work on it every day. If I build support, then we can explore the possibilities for clemency.\u201d
Carol nods her head. \u201cOkay it\u2019s a deal.\xa0 We\u2019re after a thousand people.\xa0 Then we\u2019ll move forward with a new clemency petition.\u201d
*******
\u201cI\u2019ve been following your writing on the Web,\u201d my friend George tells me during our visit. \u201cIt\u2019s very good.\u201d
Dr. George Cole is the author of American Corrections, the leading textbook used in universities to teach students about America\u2019s prison system. He\u2019s been my mentor for nearly a decade and he led the push for my acceptance into the doctoral program at the University of Connecticut. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you write a book about your prison experience? I\u2019ll present it to my publishers as a supplemental text to sell alongside my textbook.\u201d
It\u2019s the most exciting proposition I\u2019ve had since I began in the stock market and I ask George to advise me on how I can start.\u201d
He tells me to write a proposal for Wadsworth-Thompson Publishers to consider. The suggestion presents me with a new opportunity to turn the page, inspiring me with the confidence to launch the next chapter of my life. With my responsibilities to write for the Internet project that Zach coordinates, and the hours I invest to write the new book proposal, the outline, and the sample chapters, I have new reasons to wake before dawn and work 12-hour days.
Unlike studying toward advanced degrees, writing doesn\u2019t require me to seek permission from small-minded administrators. The activity is like a respite, freeing me from spending time with inmates who whine about the injustice of 12-month prison sentences.\xa0 Further, it doesn\u2019t require me to read a dozen financial publications, it cuts my CNBC ticker addiction, and it provides a new challenge of learning how to express myself more fluently.
To write, all I need is a pen, blank pages of paper, and a dictionary. Still, I know where I am, and I ask for written clarification from the BOP legal department on the rules that govern prisoners who write for publication. That inquiry brings confirmation from a BOP staff attorney who says that as long as I\u2019m not inciting others or being compensated for my writing, I\u2019m within my rights to continue.
Working to write for publication becomes a goal I can pursue with gusto, and I welcome the challenge of persuading publishers to work with me.\xa0 To succeed, I must work to become a better writer, and by doing so, I\u2019ll transcend prison boundaries, connect with readers everywhere, and build support. I go to the library in search of more information.
\u201cDo you have any books on the shelves about the publishing business?\u201d\xa0 I\u2019m hopeful that the librarian can steer me in the right direction.
\u201cAll we\u2019ve got is an old-edition of The Writer\u2019s Market.\u201d\u2028
\u201cI\u2019ll take it,\u201d I say.
The reference book shows the difficult odds that beginning writers face. Fewer than one in 1,000 authors sign publishing agreements. Those who succeed frequently toil for years, writing many manuscripts before they see one of their books in print. I perceive an edge because of the mentor relationships I\u2019ve nurtured over the years, and because I\u2019m writing about a unique subject matter.
After I write my proposal for About Prison, George advises me to send it to Sabra Horne, a senior acquisition editor at Wadsworth-Thompson.\xa0 She responds with a publishing agreement, and I write the manuscript that described my first decade as a prisoner.\xa0 The academic publisher will package the book as a supplementary text for university professors who teach courses in criminal justice.
With that project behind me, I write to Dr. Marilyn McShane, another mentor who, in addition to teaching criminal justice and authoring books, is a senior editor for Greenwood-Praeger Publishing. She offers to publish Profiles From Prison, my second book, which describes backgrounds, adjustment patterns, and future expectations of 20 prisoners.
The thousands of hours I spend writing, typing, and editing the manuscripts gives me the feeling that I\u2019m doing something more than simply serving time.\xa0 It\u2019s as if I\u2019m making a societal contribution, living a life of meaning and relevance. If readers find value in the books once they\u2019re published, perhaps more people will see the need to think smarter rather than tougher about America\u2019s dysfunctional prison system.
As the final months of Clinton\u2019s presidency approach, I\u2019m at ease with my decision to focus on writing. The book projects, together with weekly contributions I\u2019m making for the Web site, provide readers with a prisoner\u2019s perspective of confinement, and the work connects me in ways that make me feel almost whole. I\u2019m leading a useful life, feeling legitimized as a citizen. After more than 13 years I no longer feel the \u201cpunishment.\u201d Writing counteracts the \u201cisolation,\u201d neutralizing the stated goals of imprisonment.
*******
I\u2019m alone in the visiting room on my work assignment, buffing the tile floor and thinking about what I\u2019ll write the next day when my friend Tom walks in and taps my shoulder.
I release the lever that powers the machine. \u201cHey, Bud, I didn\u2019t hear you come in.\u201d
Tom shakes his head. \u201cDid you hear the news?\u201d
\u201cWhat news?\u201d
\u201cClinton commuted the sentences of about 20 people, two from Fort Dix.\u201d\u2028
\u201cWho\u2019d he let out?\u201d
\u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter. Sorry, Pal. It should\u2019ve been you.\u201d
I made my choice of not pursuing the clemency application, so I\u2019ll live with it and move on, even though I\u2019m disappointed to accept the reality that I missed a genuine opportunity for liberty.
Tony had a clear plan for pursuing my commutation. He intended to use endorsements from my network of mentors and supporters to persuade my former prosecutors and judge that I had earned freedom.\xa0 If he succeeded in getting that support, he was going to lobby his Washington contacts to bring my petition to the attention of the White House. In light of the president granting clemency to so many, I sense that Tony\u2019s strategy might have succeeded. I may have been freed. Thirteen years of imprisonment have institutionalized me, blinding me to the possibility of liberty. With the controversial election of George W. Bush, I\u2019ve missed my opportunity.
*******
On late February of 2002, I\u2019m standing shoulder-to-shoulder with two hundred prisoners in the television room, listening as the guard shouts out names to distribute mail. My mentor, Bruce, and I still exchange weekly letters.\xa0 As I work to improve my craft, he\u2019s my first reader, one of several who challenge me \u201cto show rather than tell\u201d through my writing.\xa0 It\u2019s a lesson I struggle to learn.
\u201cSantos!\u201d The guard shouts my name.
\u201cBack here, by the microwave,\u201d I yell over the noise of the crowd.\xa0 I\u2019m waiting for an envelope that I expect will include Bruce\u2019s comments on one of my manuscript drafts.
The guard continues hollering names, but I tune him out and watch the envelope that works its way back toward me, passing from one man\u2019s hand to the next. The envelope looks too small to contain my manuscript, and when I take it from the prisoner who stands in front of me, I look at the return address. It\u2019s written in a woman\u2019s graceful penmanship, though her name isn\u2019t one I recognize.
I open the envelope while still standing amidst all the other prisoners, and I pull out an artistic postcard. It features a print by Henri Lautrec that I admire. Bruce works at infusing my life with art and artists and I smile, knowing he would be proud of my new cultural awareness. When I open the card, curious to know who wrote it, I see that the sender is\xa0Carole Goodwin, a former classmate of mine from Shorecrest High School, class of 1982.
Carole and I grew up in Lake Forest Park, Washington, attending school together from the time we were in fifth grade. We spent our summers at the same beach club on Lake Washington. Carole and I were not close but I have a clear memory of walking with her, holding hands, and kissing her once during the celebration following our high school graduation.
Ten years earlier in my sentence, I corresponded with Susan, Carole\u2019s younger sister.\xa0 From Susan I learned that Carole married someone after high school and that she had two children, Michael and Nichole. But my correspondence with Susan came to an end many years ago and I didn\u2019t know anything more about the Goodwin sisters.\xa0 I\u2019m surprised to receive this letter from Carole.
I\u2019m even more surprised by what I read in the card and in her accompanying letter. She\u2019s scolding me, telling me how she knows people who became substance abusers, and how as a mother of two children, she abhors drugs, saying that she thinks it\u2019s awful that I sold cocaine.
I read Carole\u2019s letter again. Apparently, while she was coordinating our 20-year high school reunion, she received an unsolicited e-mail from an anonymous writer asking whether the reunion was for the same graduating class as mine. When Carole requested more information from the sender, he simply wrote that he\u2019d come across my website and was curious. Carole searched the Internet for my site.\xa0 Reading about my crime and sentencing prompted her to send me her thoughts.
\u201cHey, Marcello,\u201d I say, nudging a friend who was standing next to me as I read Carole\u2019s card and letter. \u201cCheck this letter out and tell me what you think.\u201d
I pass Marcello the letter.
\u201cShe sounds angry,\u201d he states flatly, handing it back.
\u201cThat\u2019s what I thought.\u201d\u2028I fold the letter from Carole back into its envelope along with the card. \u201cI don\u2019t get it. If it were someone I didn\u2019t know, maybe a law-and-order fanatic, or a prison guard, I\u2019d get it. But this is a woman I grew up with. I kissed her in high school.\u201d I shrug my shoulders. \u201cI\u2019ve been in prison for more than 15 years. Why do you think she\u2019d write to scold me now, after all this time?\u201d
\u201cShe\u2019s probably a Republican.\u201d
\u201cMaybe,\u201d I laugh, \u201cbut I\u2019m going to write her back. I\u2019ll bet I can change her mind.\u201d
\xa0
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