Volume II - The Life of an Outmate

November 17, 2004

LUCKY GUY

This is how lucky I am. Andrea, in whose apartment I’m staying, used to work in a mattress store. She has one of the deluxest mattresses on earth, laden with fluffy, luxuriant pillows. Holy contrast, Inmate Man! (Although now I think I may christen myself an "Outmate." How does that sound?")

I was still up at 5:30 am, acclimated to 10 months of that wake up time. Every day, with no fail. 7 days a week. Actually my head is so full that I don’t think my dreams can contain it all. I needed to write.

I was up rather late just re-reading the blog. I had forgotten so much of what I had written, it was a fascinating experience to read ones own words as a member of the audience. I have to say I must have channeled some of that, because it felt almost like someone else had written it. And the work of my sister, and later on, Mom, was positively prodigious. Anyway, at the very least I know that there is NO one else in the entire prison system who has a sister who would go above and beyond the call of all duty for a writer brother in the slammer as she did. I can be sure of one thing if/when I try shopping this baby –no one will say, "oh, no, not ANOTHER prison blog!"

To recount a little my last day at Chino:

Poor Merle. It is very, very rough to be left behind, especially by your gay bunkie in a depressing environment. Luckily he will be out in April, and he is fairly popular. He gave me a big hug and turned away fast and didn’t look back. I left him my walkman and showed him where NPR and Pacifica were. That will ease his pain considerably. (If I could afford it, I would send flowers to each and every one of the staff members at both stations. They literally saved my life).

Jimmy, to whom I bequeathed my dictionary, came to say goodbye. He’s here till 2006 and I still find it hard to reconcile this charming, witty guy who should have been an LA actor with someone who had to have done some pretty bad things to have spent so much time in prison. He gave me a big hug too and I promised to send him segments of the blog and interesting letters. I’m thinking of posting the letters I receive from the inside in Volume II. Maybe, by sending them stuff I’ve already posted, I can stimulate their competitive juices and improve their writing skills. I can also send them back what they wrote after it’s posted, as my sister did for me, and they can feel a bit connected with the outside world. Maybe readers will write them and they can develop a semblance of a support system, that makes all the difference whether one makes it on the outside. I’m feeling dislocated and disoriented, and I was only in for 10 months.

I did hang out with an old buddy from County Jail, Skip, who happened to be on the grounds crew outside where we waited., I did what I could to encourage him, as with Jimmy, to rewrite his personal "story." Skip has been "down" (in prison) for the better part of 10 years for armed robbery and a parole violation. He spoke to me of resigning himself to the likelihood of life in prison. This guy is bright and personable and frankly, should be a Hollywood dialogue coach. He’s got that pitch-perfect urban ethnic voice that’s half-Italian and half-Puerto Rican that would lend such authenticity to any villain role your up-and-coming actor would want to land.

I had of course been fearful of a final hitch, so was very grateful when I saw my name on the official "getting-out today" list. But my presentiment was not completely unfounded. Someone who had been my neighbor in Redwood for all of two days interrupted my conversation with Skip. Kenny, to put it charitably, is "country," as in bumpkin. He manages to irritate the hell out of anyone of any race and is always arguing, trying to explain that all his "mama have to do is get on the phone and straighten these people out." When I explained, for the nth time, that Texas and California did not have an agreement to exchange parolees, and nothing his Mama said could change that, his stubborn refusal to absorb reality led me to ask him to leave Skip and me alone, as this was our last talk before I went home. Kenny said: "I see. You wanna be with your friend. But I’m your friend too." And I said: "Sorry Kenny, we are not friends, you irritate the hell out of me just like you irritate the hell out of everyone else.(He has moved three times because he creates so many problems for himself). To which he trotted out: "Well obviously, you just don’t like me because you don’t like black people."

I really had to watch myself because I could have seriously hurt this bozo and been in there for another year. Not to mention it wouldn’t have shored up my case if I expressed the utter ridiculousness of his accusation with my fist down his throat. Luckily, I was saved by a Sargent who told Kenny to come back after count and summoned us soon-to-depart inside. I bid farewell to Skip and promised to write.

Two hours later, after all the perambulations involved in the exit process, I was greeted by my most excellent buddy Nick, who had been through exactly what I was going through 4 years ago (I joke that we switched lives). I also noted with pleasure it was the first time we’d ever been together completely sober both, and the friendship, though forged under the influence, survives quite well without it, thank you very much.

For any of you out there who think you have a busy day ahead, I swear I got you beat. But I couldn’t disappoint my faithful readership. One note: Be skeptical of all these mainstream media reports describing the "clean-up of insurgents in Fallujah." Anyone remember Vietnam? All those "Vietcong" who were really civilians? There is a terrible massacre of non-combatants going on in Fallujuah. In L.A., listen to KPFK, 90.7, elsewhere find your Pacifica station. And make no mistake about it , there was massive fraud in Ohio on November 2nd.

The corporatization of the mainstream media has come to roost my friends. Inform yourself through the alternative press. (Their reports from Iraq are right off the ground, not through embedded (in-bed-with) media).

I suspect you’ll be hearing from me tomorrow. Let’s all say a prayer for the soul of Margaret Hassan.

MCO 2004