Corey John Richardson, MPAS, MBA: Prison Healthcare, Corrections, Rehabilitation, Politics..

Mr. Richardson is a Guest Speaker at The National Legal Aid and Defender Association's Centennial Conference 2011.

2011-12-11T06:22:00.000-08:00

Mr. Richardson, along with a government official and a NLADA board member, spoke at the prisoner re-entry workshop as part of NLADA's Centennial Conference. His talk was well received and he was approached by the State of Texas Indigent Defense Commission Executive Director, among others, to assist in some various projects for the new year. This is quite a feat - not only did Mr. Richardson try to engage hardened veterans in the field.... he has just completed a grueling year of cancer treatment. His talk focused on a prisoner's personal responsibility in the re-entry process. A Blue Print for Re-entry was created and offered to NLADA for approval as part of its corrections policy. This was a rewarding experience overall for Corey and this opportunity is only the beginning of trying to effect change with respect to an egregious system, which includes facilitating successful prisoner re-entry into society.

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Kennedy Center honors prison writers in competition - including Mr. Richardson

2011-09-23T01:21:00.000-07:00

GUMBO:

The Adaptation.

Screenplay

by

Corey John Richardson

former prisoner

PO Box 92
Deep Gap, NC 28618
828-750-4254
coreyjohnrichardson@gmail.com

Characters:

Frankie Hart Male Prisoner (Alphons Dupart)
Etta Marquis Female Guard (Ms. Calhoun)

The stage is pitch black.
BANG!
The gunshot echoes as Frankie startles from sleep with an animal cry.
“Hey, keep it down.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Piece o’ shit.”
A panoply of voices comes from up and down death row along with a few men banging on the bars.
“Dammit, Frankie… Every night?” comes from an adjacent cell on the block.
A light opens on the center stage where Frankie in his prison cell on death row sits up on his metal cot. He coughs roughly. He is behind bars and there are cells on either side of his.
“God, I need a cigarette,” Frankie mutters as he seems to try to rub his face off of his head, exhausted and frustrated. He coughs again, this time deeply as if he were ill. “AAhhh, Fuck!”
A white female guard eases up to the cell, then suddenly taps a bar with a large key. “So, Frankie. Hard time?” Silence. “Getting to ya.”
“Listen rat, I …”
“Watch ya mouth.”
Frankie wonders how far to take this. Does he want trouble? “I hear ya.”
“What ya looking at Dupart…” asks the guard. The man in the next cell has moved near the bars and is filling his sleepy eyes with the female’s body.
Both men pull up against the bars so they can talk as the guard walks away. She knows they are watching her leave. They continue to stare down the hall as they talk.
“I hate that bitch,” mutters Frankie.
“Yeah, there is something she hates about you, but I love that ass.”
“Yeah,” Frankie chimes in sincerely and mostly as an afterthought. “Ya gotta cigarette over there? Al, I know you do.”
“No, man. Hitting bad.”
“Al, I smell smoke last night.”
“No, Frankie, I’s hitting bad. But catch this. See how’s she lookin’ in my cell like that? She may just wanna slip into the ol’ shower one day when Dupart is sudzing up the anaconda. No, I mean it. I watches her check me out. Don’t be su-prised none if Ms. Calhoun has a nice brown baby boy in 9 months.”
“It’s too early Alphons.”
“She seems to hate us, but those tha ones – I tell ya, those tha ones…” Dupart lies back down and Frankie weaves his fingers around the bars to face the audience.
“They do hate all us – no, not hate – despise. Look down their trailer park noses at our poor asses sitting here, year after year. Us hoping for a funckin’ miracle – hoping to just stay alive a few more years. But me…. Yeah. They get to dog hate me for real. They love to say I murdered some poor ol’ woman who never done no body no harm. Yeah, to these rats I’m a special treat. I’m no baby raper, but it takes a real special piece of shit to murder an ol’ defenseless woman.
“Even my public pretender as’d me, ‘Frankie, son, why?’ Why? Why what? That what ever’body in the whole wide world always as’: Why we here, why you do that, why not, why now?” Frankie scoffs. “Well, I always had to make my way. That’s why I did ever’thing I ever done. I got no breaks like the rest of these muthafuckas. Like you in ya nice comfortable seats, an’ ya full bellies, an’ya fat wallets. Sittin’ there while I scrapped each day to get by, and now sittin’ here year after year waitin’ to die.
“See, I had to claw my way up an out since the day I fell out of tha snatch. That’s why. Every dime, every red cent, they been hard to come by. First, I was a door shaker with my ma’s boyfriend when I was just thirteen. I ‘member I just got out of juevie for stabbing a boy in the eye - making fun of my shoes. We’d run ‘round to hotels and such, apartments, find an unlocked door and go to town taking all we’s could carry. ‘Fore long got caught and then right back to jail. By then I was on junk, oh sorry ya nice people...heroin.
“That first time back to the county was a bad time coming off the shit. Me, sweating and twisting and junk sick, an’ a bunch of old men looking at me like I was dinner… (mock tone) ‘Yeah, Sal, ain’t she sweet’ and such shit. So, from then on, I knew I was on my own, learned to spot the right places to hit, an’ always tried to keep a small bag of smack under my nuts ‘case I gets caught.
“‘Oh, ur a thief?’ Yeah. Most have more than they ever need anyway, and half don’t know it when it’s gone, no how. Sitting in a shed or dragging it round in tha back of their car year after year. An’ they just as crook’d as me. They wheel an’ deal an’ don’t pay their share, and know they can charge more than ya got. Then they talk interest, and fees, and some such shit – Well, I takes it. Now what? There’s ya interest.
“Yeah, it could have been sweet for ol’Frankie Hart. They could have treated Frankie like a man. Gave a little respect. But they kick ‘im ‘round and treat ‘im like a dog, then wonder why he robs. But ya don’t give a shit about that. Ya wanna know ‘bout tha ol’ woman. Well, I didn’t murder that ol’ woman. She was a good woman who gave, and gave, and gave, and didn’t ask for nothin’ but some kindness. No, she was nice lady. I would’ve kilt for that woman. I would’ve give my life for her.” He thinks about what he has said with a reflective pause.
As Frankie is about to move back to his bed to lie down, “Etta. Etta Marquis. What a name. That’s a showgirl name, not somebody’s gran. She had that sparkle still under all those years of living.”

Not far from the cell block, a light opens on an old woman. Prim in her Sunday Best blue gingham covered by a pressed white apron. She is rocking slowly by a table with a pill bottle. She seems at peace and yet there lies a spark in her – a secret smile. A laugh about to come forth. He voice is very polite and proper, but still creole, as she has a conversation with the audience:
“I always thought the same about my name. A little too flashy for me. I was no showgirl. No liquor runner’s wife. The boy said that and a mess ‘o nonsense that day, but he knew better. Sweet nonsense. And some sad nonsense too.
“Well, as a girl I was too careful to live it up. I married the first decent boy who asked me – that’s Marion, Sr. – and we lived a nice quiet life. Raised our children in the church, though like most today ya can’t tell none. Then, I buried my husband and waited for my time to come. An’ waited. But is was a long time a comin’. A real long time. I kept the house, ‘tended socials, kept the grandbabies, and still it didn’t come. Well, who woulda thought.” She smirks, “I wondered if I would go at all. It was such mighty long time.
“Then that last storm come. Ms. Katrina. Pretty name for such a mean storm. I was feelin’ so bad then. Well, it felt like Ms. Katrina was comin’ from inside ‘a me. Life had got so black and dark, an’ I goes to church an’ sing His praises, but it’s someone else be singing. My joys left long ago. Well, that storm come, an’ I knew my boy would come ‘round, an’ I thought, ‘Well, I won’t go. I seen storms my whole life. But this was a mighty bad storm an’ I knew they would make me. They’d go on an’ pack me up, an’ we’d go on up north a bit.
“But after I says no, well, that was that. They gone an’ left with the rest, an’ I knew it deep down in my bones, I got nobody. I don’t even have my boy no mo’.
“Well, child, I had ‘nough. Oh, I was mad. I saw ‘em drive away an’ I walked ‘bout the place a bit. I didn’t even know if I could sit down in my own home no mo’. Then I knows all I needs to. I put on my coat an’ went straight down to the drug sto’. That man at the counter don’t care none what he fills anyhow. I tells ‘im, ‘I want that strong stuff the young men get who wear their pants down low. He looks at me with this look, like ‘I know what you want, Ms. Etta.’ He knowed me all these years and knows I don’t play none with his kind, and jus’ said, “Yes ‘em. Pills or liquid?”
“I calmed down some, but the weather, she didn’t. I thought, ‘Etta, you don’t need to worry none ‘bout that bottle. No, the Lord’s done gone an’ seen a solution for all ya problems. No more loneliness, no more bills, no more worries none.’” She laughs a little harder than she should.
“But I weathered it like always. The water rose right up an’ covered the folks’ place ‘neath me. All the way up to where I could touch it from up right here.” She points to the window next to where she sits. “But then it stopped. I always told Marion, Sr., the stairs were no bother none. Up’s here keeps out the thievin’, but it keeps out that water too.
“So, here I is. It real quiet now. Never in all my days had this neighborhood been that quiet. I’s the only one here. I might hear a helicopter go over at night, but it’s just Etta now. An’ it gets so heavy on me. Why was I here? Not here in this house. But here in this world.” She draws a deep sad breath. Then near tears, she says with a quiver, “I pulls out a piece o’ paper an’ writes it all down. Let ‘em know why.
“An’ then I feel free. I says, ‘Etta, you is free now.’ Freer than a bird. Like how ya feel after a long day’s work done. It washes over me that day like Gulf out there washin’ on tha shore. I went ‘bout fixin’ my home jus’ right. Even though I had no water comin’ out tha faucet, I fixed myself up as if I had company a comin’ on Sunday.”
She takes a thoughtful breath, “An’ I figure I did in a way. I’s a good woman and the Lord would still come for Etta. He’d overlook my a leavin’ this way. Then I sits right here and hummed a few bars of hymns. My heart was right, an’ I had those pills all set. I was ready. I was just waiting for, well, I don’t knows what. A sign, or courage to say goodbye, or maybe my boy to come back in that door.
“Then I heared a noise coming in, an’ I thought, ‘Oh Thank God, It’s my boy come back for me,” she smiles, “an’ me ‘bout to take these here pills like an ol’ fool.
The face pinches up once again. “And there he was. Draggin’ the mud in on my clean rugs. Goin’ through my things. Takin’ my dead husband’s clothes even. I seen it ever’ time. The hurricanes come an’ tha power goes, an’ then they come out like roaches. Theiving ever-thing in sight. I says, ‘Etta, he’ll be gone in a minute, an’ you can get on with your bidness.”
In the back ground the light opens behind Etta onto Frankie in his blue jumpsuit. He is rummaging through a room in the old woman’s apartment. Under the mattress, the drawers, the closets. He finds a bright yellow Walkman. Apparently dissatisfied, he places it in his back pack nonetheless. He finds some men’s clothing which he puts on, though they are ill-fitting. The lights dim on that room as he moves to the next room. Etta’s room. He searches the room with no luck. Disappointed, he moves into the living area to where Etta sits with her eyes closed. He is quietly startled and looks to make his escape.
“Don’t need to be quiet now. I heard ya when ya opened the door,” she says calmly and with the authority that comes from age.
“Hey, gran, you heard me, huh? Ya hear pretty good for someone so old. Now, I’m not gonna hurt you or nuthin’. Just here to look ‘round a little, and then I’ll be gone.”
“Wastin’ your time, boy. Ever’body’s done gone but me, and there ain’t nuthin’ here worth takin’. Was I you, I’d on down to Magazine Street maybe where the water didn’t get in. Ya fit in better over there. You so lily white, the cops see ya down here they gonna know ya up to somethin’.”
“Look, Gran, I don’t mean ya no harm. I just… “
“You a thief, boy, and theivin’ always means harm, so don’t go lyin’ to me like that. I’m too damn old, and I’ve heard all tha stories from people a lot better than you. So, why don’t ya go ahead and take what ya want and get out of here and let me be. I got things to do.” Her eyes turn toward the table with the pills and the envelope.
Frankie edges closer to the old woman and then grabs the pill bottle, studies it. “Goddamn, Gran. I don’t know what sickness ya got, but it must be a monster if they give ya straight reds for it.”
“This is my house, boy. And I won’t hear the Lord’s name taken in vain. You hear me. Ya do what you want to me, but ya watch your tongue.” She pauses as the man takes this in. “Ya probably going’ to hell anyway, but I don’t wanna hear that kind of talk. An’ don’t ya worry none ‘bout what’s wrong with me.”
“Okay, Gran. I’m sorry. I just got outta jail, and I’m not used to bein’ ‘round people yet. I haven’t seen any of these here in a long while.” He places the bottle back on the table and quickly snatches the envelope as Etta makes a feeble attempt to prevent him. With a tinge of sarcasm, Frankie asks, “Ya got a little cash in here, Gran? That it? That why ya got so grabby all a sudden.”
Impatiently, Etta replies, “Ain’t got no money in here, boy. I done told you. What ya got there is private ‘tween me an’ family. That’s all.”
“Let’s jus’ see what we got. Old as ya is, you might have stuck a few dollars in here and forgot all about it.” Frankie pulls out the letter. Slowly the lights dims on all but Etta.
Her harshness softens as she speaks to the audience with a half smile, “Rotten that boy. Wanderin’ in here, an’ then all of a sudden I felt like he needed a momma. Maybe I needed a son. Well, anyhow, Lost. That’s what he was. An’ I don’t mean he need directions none. His soul was lost. Just plain lost. Now, there’s a good heart in there…if ya can find it.” The old woman lightly chuckles. “But I could tell that he cared. Tha way he read that note I left to my boy about wanting to go ahead, leave this world. Well, that thievin’ boy even cried a tear. Sure ‘nuff, that tear was for his self, but it started with Etta.”
From off stage, Frankie’s voice reads, “I am tired and alone and I feel like stranger on this earth.”
Etta sits quietly looking at the window as her own words wash over her.
Me too, Gran. Me too.” Frankie now asks, “So, they just left you here all alone?”
The light fades on Etta as she sadly looks out the window.
The light opens back on Frankie in his cell again with his jumpsuit on by the bars. “I can’t believes I cried that day. It touched me. I’s this horrible person out there taking from ever’body, spent most my life in jails and prison, and there they are, these fine, upstanding folk who abandon this poor sweet woman like she was a dog.”
Frankie’s voice grows more agitated as he continues. “She wipes their asses, feeds ‘em, clothes ‘em, work hard all her life to make a way for ‘em. And what for? To be dumped like trash. And I’s the bad guy? There’s the crime for ya, and still out there like they tha victims. Ha!”
Frankie quiets. “Yeah. That old woman. Heart of gold. If I had had a granny like that growing up, my life woulda been different. I wouldn’t ever leave her like that. An’ they call me trash.
“How ya ‘member a day like that for always. It stays with you. You can’t wash it off. Ya go ‘bout your day and ya act the same. And maybe ya is the same. I don’t know. But ya changed too. It’s inside ya. That one day changed ever’thing. It marks ya.
“Ahh. I don’t know what I am saying. I guess I’m saying I ‘member that day all the time. It became more me than my own name.
“And that woman, she didn’t just say – Get out, boy – she weren’t scared none. She was lonely. She wanted me there. I heared it in her voice. An’ she kept talking to me like I existed. Well, shit, nobody talks to Frankie Hart like that. Nobody decent. It’s been ‘Stand here, Hart.’ Or ‘Where you goin’?’ or ‘ Hey, boy, what you up to?’
“Yeah, only one other person ever wanted Frankie ‘round: Mrs. Nagel. She was the best teacher in the world. Cared for a boy, didn’t whip ‘im or talk down to ‘im like some poor bastard. Yeah, I screwed that up too when I stabbed that little fucker for laughin’ at me.” Frankie takes a sigh. “Hope some S.O.B. stabbed out his other eye.”
“Chow!” The guard rolls the trays down the walk stopping at each cell to pass the meals. Alphons and Frankie wait at the bars. She fills their juice cups as well. After giving Alphons his juice and moving toward Frankie, her demeanor grows a little harder. Her face pinches and her voice gains an acidity to it. “Hart. Got ya favorite. Liver. Yeah, knows ya love liver.”
Hart is motionless as she fills the juice cup.
“Come on, Hart. Take it.”
“What’s your problem with me?” Hart barks as he grabs the bars.
“What? What’d ya say?” She talks to Frankie like she would a child. Clearly the guard is ready for this fight. Itching to tell Frankie what she thinks about him, though it breaks all the rules.
“Your problem?” Frankie asks again.
“I got no problem with you.” She quickly gains some control of herself now confident that she will finally get to tell him what she thinks - if he will only pull it out of her.
“Yeah, ya do. Everyday you gotta say something to me. I’s no different than any other man on this walk.”
She jumps on these words quickly. “Yes, you are. They kilt for somethin’. Not you, Hart. Actin’ so high an’ mighty behind these bars when ya’s nuthin’ but a piece of scum. Yeah. I gotta problem with ya. We all got a problem with ya. I knows ya case. What ya did to that poor woman.” She pauses and begins again.
“Ya kilt that ol’ woman for nuthin’. Nuthin’ at all, but to kill her.” Then her voice grows cold and sarcastic. She has waited years to tell Frankie what she thinks. Had it all planned out. Now is her chance. “What kinda man kills an ol’ defenseless woman? We all thought we knowed you all these years. In and out of prison, year-in, year-out. Sure, we knowed ya no good like the rest. Worthless, just like tha rest. Yeah, you a thief. Thievin’s wrong, but just an’ shiftless thief.
“But, no. We had ya all wrong. You is dirt, Hart. Dirt. Kilt an ol’ woman fer nuthin’. That’s a special low-down. Now, keep it up. Say somethin’ else to me. Go on. Jus’ one more word, an’ so help me I will have back-up run in on you so hard that ya won’t a tooth left in ya mouth.”
Frankie doesn’t say word. He knows that she is dead serious about having him injured by the male guards. They both stand motionless on either side of the bars.
“Ya want this liver or not.”
“You eat it.”
As the guard wheels away, Alphons jumps from the shadow of his cell. “No. No. No. Frankie grab that shit and give it ta me. Ahhhhh, damn, my brother. My stomach’s on my back.” Alpons finishes a bite of bread in his hand.
Alphons continues, “So, Frankie. Why did ya do it? I always wanted to know. I bet that old woman was sittin’ on a stack of money an’ wouldn’t give it up. It’s buried out there. I’s right, huh?”
“No. No money.”
“What? Jewelry then? Somethin’?”
“No. Alphons. Nuthin’.”
“Ya mean ya murdered that ol’ woman fo’ nuthin’?”
Angrily and suddenly Frankie barks back, “I didn’t murder that woman – ya hears – I didn’t murder her.”
“Oh. Was it an accident then? Gun just went off?”
“No. No accident.” Frankie is obviously still irritated, but calming down as he sees the guard look up from her table.
Alphons drops his voice. “Nobody kills an ‘ol woman fo’ no reason.”
“Yeah, you’re right. There’s always a reason,” but the words are barely a whisper.
““Well, is it something else?”
“Fuck off, Alphons,” Frankie says dismissively.
“The word is ya told ‘em you done it when tha got ya. I mean, ya hardly denied it. Now, ya here on death row with the res’ of us. I mean, we gotta chance, but Frankie… ya time is up.”
“I know it. I wished I cared more. Ya see,… no reason to go on anyway. I mean what’s the point. I got no life. Never had. Never had love. Not even from my momma. Some just knows that there’s none of it for ‘em, and see it’s best to move on.”
“Man, what’s you talkin’ ‘bout? That’s crazy talk. Love. I could always buy love, and in the mornin’ just keep movin’. ” Alphons walks back to his rack, his voice fades as he weaves some lie about his sexual conquests. Frankie looks over at a light opening upon Etta in her rocking chair.

“Love did move on, and Ol’ Etta wanted to moves on also,” the old woman chimed as the light begins to fade on Frankie’s cell. “Seemed like ever’ passing year, I growed more and more tired, likes I coulda just lied in bed all day long, but couldn’t get no real rest to ease this soul of mines. I always said, ‘Etta, you’s still got your family, an’ that boy of yours. He’s a good boy. You gotta be here in this world for ‘em. Well, when they left, it was done.”
From out of the dark, Frankie’s voice begins again as he walks toward Etta and then sits in a ladder-back chair opposite her dressed in her husband’s clothes. “They just left ya here all alone? Your own son just packed everybody up and hauled ass and left ya here, with no money, no food, no nothin’?” He embarrassingly wipes a tear from his eye.
Etta nods, now eager to tell her story to someone – even this thief. “Day after tha storm hit. As’d me once if I wanted to go, but I said this was my home and I wasn’t leavin’. Marion, that’s my son, he threatened to carry me down the stairs, buy Jeanette, that’s his wife, she told him to just leave me be. Said I was old and tough enough to do what I wanted. Took the children and drove off on Monday.”
“And they left, just like that?” Frankie looks down again at the letter. “And drove up to Baton Rouge?”
“Guess so. The phone ain’t been on none since.”
“But they promised to come back for ya.”
Etta sits back now and folds her hands in her lap. “That’s what they said. But I could sees somethin’ else in they eyes. They ain’t gonna come back. Don’t matter now anyhow.” Etta’s voice hardens, “‘Preciate it if you’d just put that back where ya got it and go on with your stealin’and leave me alone.” Etta closes her eyes and lays her head back on her chair’s cushion.
He spies the ring on her finger and drops the letter on the floor. “Goddamn, gran,” he says softly as he eyes the simple gold wedding ring on her finger. She opens her hand for him to take the ring.
“The ring’s all’s I got left.”
Frankie is checking the inside of the ring as the light fades on the two and opens onto Alphons’ cell.
“Hey. Frankie. Keep it down over there. Ya hear me. Ya doin’ it again. Makin’ all that noise. Some of us tryin’ to get some sleep ‘fore they stick tha needle in.”
The light widens a little to show Frankie’s cell also. “What time is it?” asks Frankie, but we can’t see his face yet.
“Hell, I don’t know. About five or so in the morning. I heard the chow cart down on the other walk. You been going all night. Thought you had a whole mess of folks over there, the way you be talkin’ to yourself. I can’t sleep no ways. Gotta visit from my girl today.”
“Yeah. Must be nice.” Frankie eases up to the bars.
“Don’t ya have nobody?”
“No. Have no idea where my ma is.” Frankie wipes his eyes and awakens a little. “She wouldn’t come see me if she were ‘round no how. Never came to see me even when I’s in juvie.”
“My people like that too. Couldn’t spare a nickel when I got locked up, but sho’ nuff when I’s out there, ‘Alphons, boy, help ya mamma with this, help ya uncle move again, come take care ‘a that boy next do’ bothering, ya po’ mamma .’ Oh, yeah. Everybody need somethin’ then.”
Frankie weakly smiles.
“Now, this one I gots now. She a winner. Oh, man. She got an ass on her. Let me tell ya. She got a mess ‘a snotty kids, one half-white. Still she brings ‘em all down. They run all over and dirty up the glass, drop food on tha flo’. Tha guard always tell her, ‘Maam, quiet those kids. Keep them off those chairs. Miss, we can’t have none of that.’ Ha. I love to see it, but I can’t talk to my girl much over the noise and a runnin’.”
“Never met a girl I’d keep no how, an’ no chance now.”
“Well, you never know. Appeals go through sometimes, even in Louisiana.”
“Not mine. You know it and I know it.”
“Man, Frankie. Ya didn’t try to cover it up none. I mean ya did it, didn’t ya?”
Frankie looks up suspiciously. Although Alphons can’t see his neighbor, the pause in the conversation says it all.
“Never mind. I don’t mean ya have to tell me nuthin’. Hell, we all innocent, right?”
“Listen. I tol’ ya. She was a fine ol’ woman and I woulda never have hurt her. I mean, she showed me a little kindness and she deserved more than this world gave her.”
The guard is nearby with a pad of paper writing down something, but as she overhears the conversation she abruptly interrupts. “You mean she deserved more than you gave her. Don’t play games and expect the res’ of us to buy it. Ya murdered that woman for a cheap ring and some old clothes. I know it, her family knows, and you know it. The papers told it all. Alphons here may buy this – I cared about that woman nonsense – but we know the truth. Don’t we, Hart.”
“Listen, you don’t know shit about it.”
“I know enough. I know they didn’t offer you a deal because they had you. I know the papers said you had her wedding ring and her husband’s clothes. The bullet was in that poor woman from a gun you stole. Still had the gun when they caught ya, didn’t ya? I know that. Say you’re not a murderer. Well, you’re a liar. Ya murdered her.” The guard, disgusted, turns her back and walks away.
“No. It wasn’t like that,” calls out to her.
“Yeah. Ms. Calhoun. I have been talking to Frankie fo’ months now. I can tell. He liked that ol’ lady. It’s not just loose rap.”
Now, she is getting visibly irritated as she turns back around. “I know exactly what he is. Jus’ another man ‘fraid a’ dyin’ an’ trying to save his skin. I seen it, again and again. All this innocence and regret and I’m such an angel. That’s how ya are on death row. Writin’ people all over. I’s innocent as a babe. Done nuthin’ to no one. You this way the first day on the death row an’ ya this way on tha last. An’ your last is comin’ soon, Hart. I bet that poor old woman was ‘fraid when ya took her life. But she don’t get no second chances now like you want. Do she? Big man with a gun. Made ya feel like a man to kill that poor thing. Didn’t it?”
Frankie is visbly shaken. “Ya don’t know the first thing ‘bout it.” The words creak out like an old rusty door.
“Oh, don’ I? I work here goin’ on near fifteen year, and I seen it all. Tears, and ‘I’s sorry’, and, ‘Why can’t I have a few more minutes to say goodbye to my people.’ Well, none of ya feel bad. Ya got caught’s all.” She pauses and adds sarcastically, “Got ya Bible handy in that cell, do ya? Found God, all a’ sudden.”
Frankie bursts out, “No, I ain’t found God. And He ain’t found me. All’s I found in this world is worthess sons-o-bitches like you who live off misery and see bad wherever ya look. That’s all I’s ever seen in this world. And you don’t know shit about me. I didn’t murder that woman – her family did. The people about her who saw her every day and left her to die. They did. People like you, did who think they so perfect, but don’t care a bit about no one but themselves.”
Alphons confused tries to break in. “What ya mean, Frankie? Someone else kilt that ol’ woman after ya left? Ya found her dead.”
The guard practically spits at Frankie. “Her family??? I heared many a story of innocence, but never this one. Her family? Her neighbors? They kilt her? People like me? That supposed to save ya?”
“I don’t wanna be saved.”
The guard overwhelmed, leaves.
“Ya didn’t kill her. I knows ya didn’t. Everyone knows Frankie. Railroaded. I knows it. Railroaded ya, huh? Probably beat the confession outta ya.”
Frankie doesn’t respond to Alphons, but stares off toward the area of the stage where Etta has been. “I knows what I did. Look at us now, Gran.” The light opens on her as it fades on the walk, but Frankie can still be heard talking. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, Gran, what’s the use? I mean, you bust your ass all those years, raisin’ kids and taking care of ever-thin’. Ya ain’t got much of a house here, but at least it’s yours, and ya made it nice, and then off they go, leavin’ ya like ya were dirty laundry and promisin’ to come back when they knew it was a lie. It’s like nobody really cares what ya think ‘bout nothin’.”
Frankie steps out of the dark in the ill-fitting clothes once again and places his hand on Etta’s rocker. “When I was in school… well, I didn’t last too long, but I ‘member this one teacher I had, name of Nagel. Well, all the other teachers I had used to tell me how dumb I was, always getting’ in trouble and not doin’ my homework, stupid shit that I knew I’d never use in the real world. So, Ms. Nagel she pulled me up and didn’t tell me nuthin’. She asked me what I thought ‘bout things and what I wanted to do. Ya believe that, Gran? A teacher who actually asked and gave a fuck what a kid thought?
“’Scuse me, Gran. Didn’t mean to cuss. All the jail time, you know. Plus, I ain’t used to bein’ ‘round ladies.” He takes his seat on the ottoman beside Etta. “So, that’s what ya are for me, Gran, believe it or not. Right now. Sure, you’re nearly dead and all, but ya showed me somethin’, an’ in your way, ya asked me somethin’, too.”
“Didn’t ask you nothin’, boy. Already knows all I needs ‘bout white trash like you.”
“Don’t know, do ya? Well, I’ll tell ya. Ya sorta as’d me the same question ya as’d that no-good ‘scuse of a son: why bother to keep on goin’ if ya life ain’t nuthin’ but a big, black sinkhole that’s suckin’ ya under all the time like some undertow out there in the Gulf, and it’s all ya can do to grab onto the edges with ya goddamn fingernails to keep from fallin’ in? That’s what ya as’d me. And ya know what, Gran? Ya gonna show the bastards, by God. I mean, ya got them pictures a King an’ Jesus in ya bedroom, but when get right down to it, just like we are now, ain’t neither of ‘em gonna help either you or me. Ain’t no damn body gonna help us, an’ that’s why we gotta do things for ourself.”
Frankie picks up the pill bottle and examines it again. “Yeah, you gonna show ‘em, alright. Ya show ‘em, people like us, we don’t need nobody, an’ when we’s get ready to check out, cain’t nobody stop us. This’ll give ‘em somethin’ think about.”
Etta just stares at Frankie as she continues to ever-so-slightly rock. Frankie picks the letter off the floor, places it back in the envelope, and with the pill bottle puts it back on the table beside Etta. He then walks to the kitchen, finds some liquor and two shot glasses in a cabinet, and brings them back into the living room. Frankie sets one glass on the table beside Etta and fills it, then sits on the ladder back chair across from her. He then reaches into his back pack and pulls out the thirty-eight.
“I like your style, Gran, but there’s a problem. Wouldn’t work your way, the way ya got it planned right now. Goin’ out like that wouldn’t make ya kin hurt tha way they need to hurt for leavin’ ya like this. They figure ya ol’, and killin’ yourself was tha natural thing to do, sorta tha way they expected when they pulled out.”
After reflecting, Frankie continues, “That’s what ol’ people do, ya know? Like they don’t wanna be a burden. Leaves tha family with a clear conscience, like they really didn’t have nuthin’ to do with it. But there’s another way, see? How I sees it, this other way means they gotta live with leavin’ ya here all’s by yourself. That’s the difference, Gran. Ya got the right idea about makin’ ‘em hurt, but ya just didn’t go far enough.
“What happens if ya didn’t do it yourself, but somebody else did it to ya? Ya see what I mean? That will give ‘em the right knda hurt for the rest of their lives, because tha papers and tha TV and everybody who knows ‘em won’t ever let ‘em forget , ‘specially when they catch me and I tells ‘em ‘bout how I found ya by yourself and helpless and all after ya family done run off and left ya.”
With seriousness, Etta points at the gun. “What about you and what ya got to live with?”
Silence. And then from Frankie, a whisper. “It’s so bad now. I could tell ya ‘bout that time over in Mobile, tha time I really needed some money and what I had to do to get it, but it don’t matter none what I did. Not now.”
“It always matters, boy,” Etta softly pleads. “You sayin’ it don’t change it.”
Frankie dismisses the comment with a look and a slight wave of the hand. “Ya know, Gran, me and you got a lot in common. Bet ya never stole nuthin’ in ya whole life or shot dope, but we still kin in a way. See, I got nobody who gives a good goddamn ‘bout me neither, and sure ‘nuff wanna make some people hurt in this world.”
“Ain’t ‘bout somebody else’s pain, boy,” Etta softly offers. “It’s ‘bout your own. That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell ya. It’s about bein’ alone with everything behind ya, an’ nothin’ in front o’ ya. You the one got it wrong.”
Frankie shrugs. “Maybe. Seems to me like you and me both pretty much fucked up. I got nuthin’ and nobody ‘cept this gun, and nuthin’ to look forward to ‘cept getting’ dope sick and lookin’ for somethin’ to steal or sell.
“Here’s to you, Gran, I owe ya one,” Frankie says a little too cheerily as he drinks a toast. Etta ignores her drink and continues to look at Frankie expectantly.
Frankie continues, “I’ll always ‘member that part ‘bout havin’ nuthin’ in front o’ ya, an’ nuthin’ behind. [You and Mrs. Nagel best teachers I ever had.]” Frankie raises the gun and aims directly at Etta. The lights go out and the gun blasts and then echoes.
The sound is quickly followed by a smattering of angry voices on the death row walk and some banging on the bars.
“Hey!”
“Fuck, Hart, keep it down!”
“Goddamn it, Hart!”
Alpons calls over, “You a’right, Frankie. Hey, Frankie, you a’right?”
The light opens on a shadow of man in Frankie’s darkened cell with his head in his hands.”

The End

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Throwing Stones... For Anonymous

2011-08-02T22:55:00.000-07:00

Throwing Stones
“What in the world were you thinking?” “Looking what you’ve done now.” “How could you?” “What is wrong with you anyway?”
Does any of this sound familiar? I heard these and many others far worse. All lobbed at me from friends, family, that little voice inside my head which may have been a conscience, and, yes, the Law. Each morning, year after year, as I would pry one eye open and survey the damage - and not always from the vantage point of my own bed - I would try to put all the pieces together. Some years were worse than others, but inexorably I would pile wreckage upon wreckage. With each new day, I would muddle through till that first evening's drink gave the illusory clearing away of my past, every problem, and all my shortcomings. I couldn’t see that every drink I threw back was just another brick used to wall me into my own prison of guilt and shame.
Eventually, beaten and broken, physically and spiritually, I had enough. Early sobriety required a bit of focused self-concern. I had been a self-absorbed jerk for the majority of my life, therefore I thought I could handle it... until the Pink Cloud of new sobriety dissipated and my vision cleared enough to see the truth of my life. That hurt like never before. Worse than any hangover. This is the time when many of us decide to head out to the liquor store, but by some miracle a voice inside said, “Stick it out.” I figured that "just this one time" I would do what I was told by those in the program who seemed to have pulled their lives together. They said, and you already know the drill, “90 in 90, then regular meetings; sponsorship; read the Big Book; service; and work the steps with complete honesty, especially the inventory. I began this simple plan over a decade ago and try to work it the same way today.

The Inventory: Sobriety isn’t just the story of one person’s journey. It is a trek that implicitly includes everyone around us. Those we’ve harmed directly or indirectly, as well as those we love. How many inventories have I done over the years? Well, I couldn’t begin to count, but I remember that I had to be corralled that first time by my “Old Timer” sponsor. The place was set: a local coffee shop. I arrived with my hurriedly scribbled inventory in hand loath to review the chaos of my past. It was a lousy attempt, but I showed up and I got through
it. Though I didn’t understand why this was such a pivotal part of my program at the time, the years have opened up to me a new appreciation for this essential aspect of sobriety. Today, I am the one trying to corral my sponsor for a little bit of time to go over my inventory. My sponsor and I still meet over the “time—honored” cup of coffee, but for years it was at a literal prison in its visiting room; not the figurative prison that held me years ago before sobriety.
I believe the change that I’ve seen on my sponsor’s face over the years during our “mini—AA meetings” has something to do with me. Her face seems to say, I think he is getting it. As the years have passed by I felt a certain depth to my sobriety. The program became part of whom I am, and imperceptibly it gave to me a life of fulfillment that I could have never expected. This I carried away from the meetings, and yet it is always inextricably woven to the 12 steps and our AA community. It allowed for a maturity and a peace of mind to flourish in me in the seemingly worst of circumstances. It was a few years into my prison term when I realized the most important truth of my life: The worst day in prison sober is always better than my best day in the “free world” drunk — every single time, no doubt whatsoever. This is not a testament to me, but to the power of this simple program.
As you can imagine, there is a special place on my gratitude list for the inventory. An inventory shines light on one’s alcoholic past and yet in doing this, it gives direction for a sober future. Don't think that after you complete one you can simply bundle up all of your past mistakes, toss them into a cardboard box, and store them in the attic. You must keep them in your heart at all times. These discoveries and reflections become a guiding light for the road ahead. A North Star.. And just as ancient mariners had to constantly look up into the night’s sky to guiding constellations in their journeys across the dark seas, the inventory must be reviewed periodically as it guides us forward as well.

Today, I know that I am truly sorry to those that I have harmed. No one can turn back time and change the past, but I do hope that in sobriety I have been able to help a few others like myself while attempting to right my own life. It certainly is never too late to take “the next right step.” After you get and stay sober people may still “throw stones” at you and any good you try to accomplish. I know. They throw plenty at me still. Stones from only yesterday, and some from many years ago. In my mind, they have every right. They could never know, nor would ever believe, the remorse that I feel. How could they? I have tried to amend my life as much for them as for myself. These stones which they throw are not empty accusations; they are in large my past wrongs and numerous shortcomings, and they guide my inventory work. I call these Inventory Stones. I have gathered many. Most do when they get honest with themselves.
These stones which cut, also heal. These stones I have gathered weigh me down for awhile, but also strengthen my legs for the journey ahead. These stones though painful have prodded me onward when the road became steep and tortuous. Through rigorously working my program, I have continuously worn away these rough and varied stones as a labor of love. A love which I am only just beginning to understand. They have become companions to me as real as any others in my life, and have given to me new meaning to the words “touch stones.” As hard to bear as some may be, I never let one out of my sight. They have come to me at great cost. In this way, these stones have been transformed. They have been worn smooth and polished into precious gems and for me they are much more valuable than actual gems, such as diamonds or rubies. As you see, it was in this process of changing them that I was changing myself the entire time.

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A Modest Proposal - An Example for Us Today

2011-05-21T06:04:00.000-07:00

In the early Eighteenth Century, the poor of Ireland endured crushing depredation and humiliation. Jonathan Swift’s essay of 1729 is one of the most powerful pieces of English literature with its use irony. With a few short pages, he calls on the British people to look at themselves and how they treat their fellow man, but he does so in such a striking way that “A Modest Proposal” remains unsettling even today.
He quickly alludes to the problem known by all of Ireland: The Poor. A problem which lingers with us today. One can imagine that the reader is at once in agreement with Swift’s estimation and then more than ready to hear of his “fair, cheap, and easy method” of correcting the problem.
In paragraph three and later asserted again in paragraph thirty—three, he assures the reader that this proposal holds not only for the beggars on the street, but also for the farmers, cottagers, etc., “who are beggars in effect,” and in need of assistance. This enlarges the later effect of the proposal and its utility. In paragraphs four through seven, Swift relates many computations, as a scientist might review undisputed facts, thus bolstering the modest proposal to come. Within these same matter—of—fact paragraphs, he injects obvious biases of the time held by the upper classes.
The proposal: A “healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most nourihing, and wholesome food,...” The essay outlines how this idea cou1d be performed and how it will facilitate many positive outcomes. The lengthy descriptions of how one might enjoy eating the young children of the poor, and how the poor themselves will benefit, not to mention the country, are extremelY unsettling.
Dialogue about older children and the elderly or sick adds to the completeness of the theme, but what strengthens the paper most is the use of many of the commonly held prejudices about Catholicism, marriage and family of the poor, etc. offered beside the despicable plot to eat children, or rather the offspring of “savages.”
Swift’s essay is far too replete with examples to begin relate them all, but they worked together beautifully to support his claim that all would be better if we decided to eat the young of the poor. Paragraphs twenty—one through twenty—six recap succinctlY the overall positive effect from nourishing meals, decreasing the burgeoning Catholic population, improve the nation’s stability, offering the rich a fine “new dish” for their tables, and improving the lives of the poor by offering them recompense for what would be otherwise a burden and also inducing greater familial harmony through the profit.
Lastly, Swift warns not to offer him the same old remedies of “honesty, industry, and skill,” taxing absentees, “parsimony, prudence, temperance,” and so on. He has been promoting these virtues for years and no one has given them anything but lip service, and the “perpetual scene of
misfortunes” has just continued.
It may be that the final paragraph truly summarizes the exact sentiment of the paper best, yet in a unique and oblique manner:

I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, that I have not the least personal interest in endeavoring to promote this necessary work, having no other motive than the public good of my country, by advancing our trade, providing for infants, relieving the poor, and giving some pleasure to the rich. I have no children by which I can propose to get a single penny; the youngest being nine years old, and my wife past childbearing.

This could easily have been offered today in our own Capital Building on the Hill in the usual implacable way offering newer and more formidable techniques to alleviate problems and benefit society as a whole - and it is yet not in such grotesque terms. Behind such cool, calculated words lie the hard, cold truth that what we do truly affects the lives of people, and the misuse of words can perpetuate continued suffering by those who can least protect themselves. Listen BEYOND THE WORDS of our politicians and their innumerable soultions and see the effect of their votes on our lives.

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Running Fox

2011-05-20T09:03:00.000-07:00

As we examine the writings of Harry Crews once again, we quickly recognize the artistry of writing. Previously in excerpts that we have read from Mr. Crews, we have observed deeply psychological imagery that was even disturbing, but in this piece we find one of the author’s favorite tools of the trade: The Southern Dialect.
In his interview, Mr. Crews expressed much concern for what he felt was the dying language of the South, In this piece, the author’s desire to keep the language and the culture it represents alive and well can be seen from the very first line to its closing.
“I known from the start I didn’t Have no show, but I sure woulda liked to feed in her lilies.” The line says worlds about Buck, the colorful character of the piece. It is direct and unadorned and from what I can tell, the author respects this immensely. Not many authors can master the use of dialect in writing, but it flows freely and comfortable, not forced, from the numerous passages.
Phrases like “solid as bone” and “honing for a woman” weave the entire story together. Often the technique when poorly used will keep the reader at bay, but Mr. Crews pulls us in with each line. It is not so removed that it cannot be understood, nor is it contrived. We can imagine these very words at a truck stop or backwoods saloon.
The language itself tells more about these men than those words which merely tell us about the structure of the story. Mr. Crews demonstrates how much language, the very words we use and how we say them, influences thought. Also, it is clear that who we are affects what we say and how we say it. The drunk—a—log and late night “war stories” take on new meaning when described through Southern words and phrases.
In doing this, I see the men running like dogs chasing a fox, that is to say a woman, under the full moon’s light. I see the men comfortably ensconced in their way of life with the bars, hunts, fights, and dogs. As crazy and care—free as Buck seems, he and his drunken friends still seem balanced and stable in juxtaposition to the college kids. The late night with the dogs and his friends was just what Buck needed to find relief from rejection. His comfort is palpable and infectious. None of it could have been truly conveyed without the excellent use of dialect. Mr. Crews has yet again painted for us a vivid Southern scene that we can enjoy at least for a moment.

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Simple Lives of Quiet Beauty and Tragedy. Sherwood Anderson's Winesburg, Ohio.

2011-05-15T11:44:00.000-07:00

A few years back, I had to dig into the books and prepare for a postgraduate exam to gauge my intellect and knowledge. I felt that I was more than prepared and qualified for the doctoral program for which I was applying at Spalding University (Louisville, KY). They felt I, like every other applicant, needed to take the exam.
It encompassed absolutely everything that this world has to offer: chemistry, physics, the arts, history, analytical reasoning, and much more. I ordered the usual Kaplan study guides and had a few months to get prepared. When I began reviewing the literature section, I realized that I was not as well—read as I thought I was. So, I made a mental note to try to read the books on the long lists of books to memorize for the exam. Sherwood Anderson’s book Winesburg, Ohio was on the Kaplan review as one of the most important works of our time. I tore through the novel immediately after the exam and discovered why it is held in such high esteem by the literary community.

The novel intricately weaves the seemingly quiet lives of those who dwell in small town America. It was written at a time when America was just discovering its writers and finding a place in this world separate from the wealth of literature just across the Atlantic. It was so well written that one goes from story to story in a seamless flow.

The first of these demonstrates the teasing way that Anderson relates the lives of his characters to us through an old writer and his bed. Anderson enjoys layering details upon details, like a carpenter’s stay in prison, but not in a way that is distracting. Each small detail seems to only add to the novel and the reader’s perception of Winesburg.
Another technique that Anderson employs can be seen in the next chapter, Hands. The author takes one rather seemingly inconsequential attribute and allows it to greatly affect a character’s life in a remarkable way. The nervous hands of a well—meaning teacher damn the rest of his existence in the most horrible of ways. Anderson forces the reader to ponder how many misunderstandings or small, incidental traits have actually come together to create the very destinies we live today.

The writing is so incredibly subtle that we nearly miss the genius. The novel continues and continues as a beautiful latticework pulling together the lives of Winesburg residents. Anderson greatly desires that we see as he does that every life holds a poignant story full of beauty and meaning. Clearly, Sherwood Anderson and Winesburg, Ohio help define American literature, our society, and us as people. It should be on everyone’s reading list, whether you are being tested or not.

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Sherwood Andersen and Mothers, family members, and various suspects. (Winesburg, Ohio)

2011-05-08T11:01:00.000-07:00

MOTHER
The very word itself evokes the essence of what is good and true. It has been this way from the beginning and not just in what is written. Just try saying something disrespectful about someone’s mother and you will find how truly sacred we hold this idea. Yet, Anderson’s novel shatters many of our preconceived ideas. Imagine how the readers received Anderson’s work upon its release. Nothing about this “small town” novel is what we tend to believe about small town life. The same holds true for Anderson’s characterization of George Willard’s mother. As the title broadly proclaims her sacred name, the reader expects to read a rosy, blessed description, but finds something quite different.
The author begins by describing her physically as “gaunt” and “marked with smallpox scars.” Not the quintessential mother we would expect and then goes on to write that she slaves away as the “chambermaid” of the hotel. This description is in stark contrast to the father who seems to be a dandy of sorts, who spends most of his day wandering about dreaming of an important life in politics. Removal of our preconceived ideas goes beyond the physical characterizations.
The relationships within the family are equally important to the chapter and further reflect Anderson’s ability to remove the veil from Middle America family life. Tom Willard holds no loving feelings for his betrothed, but considers her and the dilapidated hotel “as things defeated and done for.” The relationship George holds with his mother demonstrates more of the critical differences we begin to see between our
conceptualization of family and what might actually exist. An example of this taken from the text is described as an “outwardly formal thing without meaning.” The feelings that lie beneath are muddled and inextricably tied to self—absorption. The desperation can been observed easily enough when Elizabeth Willard clings to the belief that her son has that “special something” within him still. She knows it is that thing that she let be killed in her long ago. The image of the mother kneeling by the door of her son’s room, listening, and thinking these despairing thoughts is quite unsettling.
The author ends one of the chapters painting these relationships with much of the same sad ambivalence. The twist is that this can be an accurate portrayal. Nothing is as clear cut as we would like, but instead has much gray area. Many relationships between members of a family are not the Leave It To Beaver or Father Knows Best variety that we are spoon fed, but can be mixed with much of the painful emotions that are replete in Anderson’s characters. It is within this dynamic that I believe Anderson’s true writing acumen comes forth most clearly.

Wikipedia Article about the author:
Anderson was born in Camden, Ohio, the third of seven children of Erwin M. and Emma S. Anderson. After Erwin's business failed, the family was forced to move frequently, finally settling down at Clyde, Ohio, in 1884.

Partly as a result of these misfortunes, young Sherwood found various odd jobs to help his family, which earned him the nickname "Jobby." He left school at age 14.

Anderson moved to Chicago near his brother Karl's home and worked as a manual laborer until near the turn of the century, when he enlisted in the United States Army. He was called up but did not see action in Cuba during the Spanish-American War. After the war, in 1900, he enrolled at Wittenberg University in Springfield, Ohio. Eventually he secured a job as a copywriter in Chicago and became more successful.

In 1904, he married Cornelia Lane, the daughter of a wealthy Ohio family. He fathered three children while living in Cleveland, Ohio, and later Elyria, Ohio, where he managed a mail-order business and paint manufacturing firms.

In November 1912 he suffered a mental breakdown and disappeared for four days. He was found wandering around in nearby cornfields. Soon after, he left his position as president of the Anderson Manufacturing Co. in Elyria, Ohio, and left his wife and three small children[3] to pursue the writer's life of creativity. Anderson described the entire episode as "escaping from his materialistic existence," which garnered praise from many young writers, who used his "courage" as an example.

Anderson moved back to Chicago, working again for a publishing and advertising company. In 1914, he divorced Lane and married Tennessee Mitchell.

Novelist

Anderson's first novel, Windy McPherson's Son, was published in 1916, followed, three years later, by his second major work, Marching Men. However, he is most famous for the collection of interrelated short stories, which were published in 1919, known as Winesburg, Ohio. He claimed that "Hands", the opening story, was the first "real" story he ever wrote[4]. Although his short stories were very successful, Anderson felt the need to write novels. In 1920, he published Poor White, which was rather successful.

In 1923, Anderson published Many Marriages, the themes of which he would carry over into much of his later writing. The novel had its detractors, but the reviews were, on the whole, positive. F. Scott Fitzgerald, for example, considered Many Marriages to be Anderson's finest novel.[5]

Beginning in 1924, Anderson lived in the historic Pontalba Apartments (540-B St. Peter Street) adjoining Jackson Square in New Orleans. There, he and his wife entertained William Faulkner, Carl Sandburg, Edmund Wilson and other literary luminaries. Of Faulkner, in fact, he wrote his ambiguous and moving short story "A Meeting South," and, in 1925, wrote Dark Laughter, a novel rooted in his New Orleans experience. Although the book is now out of print (and was satirized by Ernest Hemingway in his novel The Torrents of Spring), it was Anderson's only bestseller.

Another remarriage

Anderson's third marriage also failed, and he married Eleanor Copenhaver in the late 1920s. They traveled and often studied together. In the 1930s, Anderson published Death in the Woods, Puzzled America (a book of essays), and Kit Brandon, which was published in 1936.

Anderson dedicated his 1932 novel, Beyond Desire, to Copenhaver. Although he was much less influential in this final writing period, many of his more significant lines of prose were present in these works, which were generally considered sub-par compared to his other works.

"Beyond Desire", set during the 1929 Loray Mill Strike in Gastonia, NC, resulted in yet another satirical mention by Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway included a minor character in his 1937 novel To Have and Have Not who is an author. This character is working on a novel of Gastonia.

Death

Anderson died in Panama at the age of 64 while on a cruise to South America. An autopsy revealed that he had accidentally swallowed a toothpick (presumably in a martini olive), which had perforated his colon and caused a fatal case of peritonitis.[6] He was buried at Round Hill Cemetery in Marion, Virginia. His epitaph reads, "Life, Not Death, is the Great Adventure."

Anderson's final home, known as Ripshin, still stands in Troutdale, Virginia, and may be toured by appointment.

Works

Novels
Windy McPherson's Son (1916)
Marching Men (1917)
Poor White (1920)
Many Marriages (1923)
Dark Laughter (1925)
Tar: A Midwest Childhood (1926, semi-autobiographical novel)
Alice and the Lost Novel (1929)
Beyond Desire (1932)
Kit Brandon: A Portrait (1936)

Short Story Collections
Winesburg, Ohio (1919)
The Triumph of the Egg (1921)
Horses and Men (1923)
Hands and Other Stories (1925)
Death in the Woods and Other Stories (1933)

Poetry
Mid-American Chants (1918)
A New Testament (1927)

Drama
Plays, Winesburg and Others (1937)

Nonfiction
A Story Teller's Story (1924, memoir)
The Modern Writer (1925, essays)
Sherwood Anderson's Notebook (1926, memoir)
Hello Towns! (1929, collected newspaper articles)
Nearer the Grass Roots (1929, essays)
The American County Fair (1930, essays)
Perhaps Women (1931, essays)
Puzzled America (1935, essays)
A Writer's Conception of Realism (1939, essays)
Home Town (1940, photographs and commentary)

Published Posthumously
Sherwood Anderson's Memoirs (1942)
The Sherwood Anderson Reader, edited by Paul Rosenfeld (1947)
The Portable Sherwood Anderson, edited by Horace Gregory (1949)
Letters of Sherwood Anderson, edited by Howard Mumford Jones and Walter B. Rideout (1953)
Sherwood Anderson: Short Stories, edited by Maxwell Geismar (1962)
Return to Winesburg: Selections From Four Years of Writing for a Country Newspaper, edited by Ray Lewis White (1967)
The Buck Fever Papers, edited by Welford Dunaway Taylor (1971, collected newspaper articles).
Sherwood Anderson and Gertrude Stein: Correspondence and Personal Essays, edited by Ray Lewis White (1972)
The "Writer's Book," edited by Martha Mulroy Curry (1975, unpublished works)
France and Sherwood Anderson: Paris Notebook, 1921, edited by Michael Fanning (1976)
Sherwood Anderson: The Writer at His Craft, edited by Jack Salzman, David D. Anderson, and Kichinosuke Ohashi (1979)
A Teller's Tales, selected and introduced by Frank Gado (1983)
Sherwood Anderson: Selected Letters: 1916–1933, edited by Charles E. Modlin (1984)
Letters to Bab: Sherwood Anderson to Marietta D. Finely, 1916-1933, edited by William A. Sutton (1985)
The Sherwood Anderson Diaries, 1936-1941, edited by Hilbert H. Campbell (1987)
Sherwood Anderson: Early Writings, edited by Ray Lewis White (1989)
Sherwood Anderson's Love Letters to Eleanor Copenhaver Anderson, edited by Charles E. Modlin (1989)
Sherwood Anderson's Secret Love Letters, edited by Ray Lewis White (1991)
Certain Things Last: The Selected Stories of Sherwood Anderson, edited by Charles E. Modlin (1992)
Southern Odyssey: Selected Writings by Sherwood Anderson, edited by Welford Dunaway Taylor and Charles E. Modlin (1997)
The Egg and Other Stories, edited with an introduction by Charles E. Modlin (1998)

References

1.^ Anderson, Sherwood (1876–1941) | St. James Encyclopedia of Popular Culture Summary
2.^ anderbio.html
3.^ Sherwood Anderson
4.^ Anderson, Sherwood. Sherwood Anderson's Memoirs. New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1942.
5.^ Howe, Irving. Sherwood Anderson. New York: William Sloane Associates, 1951. (pg. 254)
6.^ Sherwood Anderson: A writer in America, p. 401

Sources
Cox, Leland H., Jr. (1980), "Sherwood Anderson", American Writers in Paris, 1920–1939, Dictionary of Literary Biography, 4, Detroit, Mich.: Gale Research Co.
Rideout, Walter B. (2005–2007), Sherwood Anderson: A Writer in America, 1–2, Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press
on Mr. Anderson:

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April Fools All Over Again

2011-04-23T11:09:00.000-07:00

April Fools, All Year Long
On April 1, 2009, CNN reported that the felony conviction
of former Alaska senator Ted Stevens, meted out on the eve of
his re-election loss, would be voided due to prosecutorial
misconduct. A man who clearly used his elected position for
personal gain - the word "bribery" is the only one that comes
to mind - and got away with it.
At first I thought, This must be some April's Fool
shenanigans by those pranksters at CNN, but of course it is
the American criminal justice system which is a perpetual
laughingstock throughout the world. On April 7th, his conviction
was thrown out. Clearly, American justice is not about fairness
or proportionality in meting out retribution for misdeeds -
it is about power and money. One standard for those who have
it, and one for those who do not.
Prosecutorial misconduct is replete in our criminal justice
system. Black's Law Dictionary describes it best: A prosecutor's
improper or illegal act (or failure to act), especially involving
an attempt to persuade the jury to wrongly convict a defendant or
assess an unjustified punishment. Poor and minority accused
witness it everyday. Threatening defendants and their witnesses,
suppressing exculpatory evidence, inflammatory grandstanding
in front of the jury, improper manipulation of the press, and
numerous other means are so commonplace that they barely raise
an eyebrow as they are used to fill our jails and prisons. Using
practically any means necessary to gain a conviction is taught
to hungry young prosecutors with an eye on an important career,
though they would hardly admit it.
Of course, when it is an elected official with high-priced
defense counsel, the game changes. Unsurfacing these
indiscretions on the state's part brings a voided conviction
and freedom. With those of the lower classes, the convict must
appeal to the higher courts which invariably rule that the
prosecution's misconduct can be equated to only one thing:
"Harmless error." Yes, the courts say, this or that may have
been improper, but we can see all things, and this discovery
would not have changed the jury's decision. These harmless
errors, no matter how criminal, have landed many on death row,
and no one is moved until it is his or her own son or daughter.
"The Exonerated" is a production that has woven together
interviews with numerous members of the wrongly-convicted class.
Famous (or infamous) actors such as Danny Glover do an excellent
job of expressing the confusion and pain of these victims of
the criminal justice system. In one scene, Susan Sarandon
offers a superb performance as she recounts one woman's heart-
breaking story. Prosecutorial misconduct led to the wrongful
conviction of her and her husband, and to his unforgivable
state execution. When the truth finally surfaced of this
miscarriage of justice, the only apology which was offered by
the state was a commutation of her death sentence to Life and
immediate parole.
Shouldn't the prosecutors who used criminal means to execute
an innocent man now be prosecuted for murder? Of course they
should. Why the double standard? The answer: Only in America.
The American landscape is full of similar accounts of injustice,
but few are interested in the uncomfortable truth. Scott Turow,
who wrote Presumed Innocent, is one of the few, as is John
Grisham, who wrote a scathing account of "small town justice"
in The Innocent Man. And though these and a few others hardly
make an impact on how the general public perceives our criminal
justice system, they do offer the blatant dichotomy: The fair
system which Americans believe punishes the criminal and
exonerates the innocent versus the dirty truth that there exists
one system for the poor and one for the rich; the ideal that
permeates prime-time cop shows which holds that the bad guy
goes to jail, and the reality that we merely are packing the
poor and ethnic minorities into our ever-growing prison systems.
When Harlem Representative Charlie Rangel was investigated
by private news organizations for numerous criminal activities,
which include tax evasions, improper use of his office, and
improper use of campaign funds, among other things, his
constituency rallied around him, as did Alaskan Republicans
who voted for Stevens on the eve of his felony conviction. It
reminds one of the loyal minions who prop up Third World despots
despite the murderous acts perpetrated against the citizenry.
These constituencies collude with these despicable characters
who preach Law and Order and virtue in government, and yet use
their trusted positions for criminal activity.
In March 2009
Fareed Zakaria invited former NY governor
Eliot Spitzer, the ersatz paragon of Law and Order, on his
Sunday talk extravaganza mere months after his disgraceful exit.
Mr. Spitzer built his political career by prosecuting
prostitution rings and those, particularly on Wall Street, who
used their positions of trust for wrong-doing. After being
elected governor, he then used his own position and its resources
to surreptitiously buy sex, even across state lines. By inviting
Mr. Spitzer to espouse his various political opinions, Mr.
Zakaria colludes with a corrupt- system which allows the rule
of law to only apply to mere citizens, and not to the likes
of Mr. Spitzer. Only one question need be asked of Mr. Spitzer:
"Why aren't you sitting in jail?"
U.S. prisoners who see their numbers drawn from the poor
and growing exponentially, are baffled by the dichotomous system
of American justice where elected officials seem to pay enough
for their criminal acts simply by experiencing the shame of
being caught, while those of the lower socioeconomic stratum are on
the fast track to prison for low level property crimes and
personal drug possession. And with our nation's love affair
with habitual offender laws, the poor should expect to experience
not mere years, but decades or the remainder of their lives
behind steel and concrete.
Congressmen like Rangel (NY-D), Doolittle (Calif-R), Hunter
(Calif-R), Renzi (Ariz-R), Weller (Ill-R), Fossella (NY-R),
Jefferson (LA-D), and others being investigated or who have
been investigated seem to get a pass. Is it self-interest on
the part of government? Definitely. “My Friend – Tom Delay or Charlie
Rangle… I might be next.” And voters who clamor to elect any "Tough
on Crime" politician that they can, and then they wilt when "their
guy" gets caught. The worst that happens to the bulk of these
crooks who bilk the system which their offices have sworn to
uphold and protect is that they may not get re-elected,
The politicians are not the only ones who get a pass. Let
us not forget the everyday citizen, "Joe Six-Pack." When we
question the general public about their own "foibles" (because
they don't commit crimes), attitudes change. The middle- and
upper-classes may "fudge" on their taxes, smoke a little
marijuana at a Sunday barbecue in the suburbs for old times
sake (just don't let the kids see), take a few odds and ends
from work, a little price-fixing "to help stay competitive,"
inflate insurance claims (heck, I've paid enough over the years
- it's my money), or commit any number of criminal offenses. The
general public does not equate these crimes as criminal at all
although they carry a much heavier societal burden than the number
one index crime (i.e., "street crime"): property theft. Not only
do attitudes about these crimes act as protection, these offenses
are also difficult to detect.
Equally important, low level government employees seem
immune to arrest, prosecution, and incarceration. When a police
officer is observed committing a criminal act in the commission
of his/her duty, the usual solution is a quiet resignation. When
a prison guard is caught bringing drugs into a jailor prison,
he or she is simply asked to not return to work. The prisoner
receiving the drugs can most assuredly expect outside charges
which will be prosecuted to the fullest extent and another conviction
with more time in prison. The list goes
on and on. The majority of Americans believe in the Tough on Crime
mindset when it is the poor, who are made up predominantly
of racial minorities, but not themselves.
Old Ted Stevens had the audacity to tell the waiting press
that he had a renewed faith in the system. I bet he does as
he sits in his home newly refurbished with bribe money. But
what about the millions of America's poor who will be convicted
using the very same illegal methods which snared slippery Ted?
If what we so foolishly call "misconduct" is' a "harmless error"
in their situation, should it not be a harmless error for all.
Or rather should we not stop these illegal tactics to win
convictions, and prosecute the prosecutors who trample our civil
rights to further their careers and reassure the voting public
that the "bad guys" (Read: the poor) are put away for good.
We must stop claiming that we are a nation of laws, or
we should become one. If stealing a twenty from a convenience
store merits prison, so does cheating on your taxes, employee
theft, smoking pot in the dorm room, or misusing campaign funds.
Crime is crime, and fairness in prosecution applies to all
equally. When prosecutorial misconduct frees a senator, yet
causes men like Thomas Martin Thompson to be executed (Thompson
v. Calderon, 120 F. 3d 1045), we must admit the harsh truth:
we are using America's criminal justice system as America’s "Final
Solution" to address the issue of our poor and racial minorities,
and we have done so for decades - arguably much longer. With a new
political psychology in America today, let our voices and votes
be heard and let us wipe away the travesty we have endured for
far too long. Until we do, one of the oldest truism in our
culture shall remain: "American Justice: The Best Money Can Buy."

P.S. April 2011 – and it’s the same old story. Eliot Spitzer ended up with

his own talk show on CNN. All I can say is WTF?

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Surrounded by Prayers

2011-02-20T13:24:00.000-08:00

As I sit here, a former Roman Catholic turned atheist, absorbing yet another Buddhist text, I call to mind one of those seemingly
inconsequential and pithy adages thrown about at AA home groups all over the world: “Take what you need, and leave the rest.”
Before entering AA, sadly, that was my philosophy of life, but in a negative way. I took and took and took what I thought I needed and disparaged the rest. I was a bottomless pit of need (and drama). I shutter when I look back at the damage that I caused and still, after 13 years of continuous sobriety, I am supremely grateful to this program for giving me my life back. So, when I think back to those first couple of “24 hours,” I remember being surrounded by all of those plaques with what seemed to me either inscrutable or merely irrelevant words painted on them — and not too artfully I might add.
“Let Go and Let God.” “One Day at a Time.” “KEEP IT SIMPLE STUPID.” I not only did not appreciate them. I quite resented them.
Back then, I was trying to get through the next five minutes without a drink and the last thing I felt that I needed were these smug catch phrases and these AA’ers who I thought were trying to impress me with their memorization skills, not to mention give me some kind of a recovery lobotomy. Fortunately, I was so completely down and out that I had nowhere else to go, and if the truth be known - my brain could use a little washing.
So, I gave up my opinions for awhile, accepted that my best intentions kept getting me in a deeper and deeper mess, and started listening. Eventually, I began to accept a new way of living. I allowed it to flow into me. Over time, I began to see the world differently. And it took long periods of time. Sobriety came for me in bursts and sputters, and long staid periods, but my way of seeing people and situations all changed. All of these ideas offered by AA started to make sense; not just in an intellectual way, but also on a gut level. The way I perceived myself changed as well. This all happened because I worked the Program.
I did not like much of what was said early on or how much it was said, but these were seeds that grew on good soil. I guess I embraced those things that appealed to me the most and necessarily did not focus on the other stuff. Over time, more and more of what was said in these rooms made sense to me – even the stuff I didn’t like before or thought was irrelevant. Then I started to feel a lot of what other AA’ers were describing. I forgave more readily. My prejudices lessened. I loved more freely. And some things that would have never appealed to the old know—it—all me are now becoming things that are important in my life.
“Take what you need...” Now as I hear those words, they seem the most generous on the planet. When I was drinking my life could not embrace such an idea. I was a closed fist. My entire life was pain, confusion, disappointment, and regret. I could not grasp onto anything healthy and loving until time passed in the Program. The concepts and the ideas of the AA as expressed through our books, meetings, catch phrases, sponsorships, and so on slipped in very slowly as that closed fist loosened. Years into this, I had this overwhelming feeling one day: The Program of Alcoholics Anonymous was truly working in my life. I didn’t know why it was working or where it would take me. I just trusted.
Now, am I not saying to the Newcomer to run out to the local library and scour the shelves for ancient religious texts or take up a cooking class rather than go to your home group? I am even saying that all of what is said in AA it will apply to you. I am saying that over time all that AA mumbo—jumbo makes sense. Then other aspects of our lives open up too in miraculous ways. It has been said that this program is not meant to be our lives, but give us our lives back. And it does with dividends.
You’ll look back as I have and see that the program has been guiding you to a beautiful, full life we could have had no other way. I am also saying that when other wonderful things start sneaking in because of sober living, don’t be surprised. This program truly is a miracle. I could never have imagined the joy and happiness that could be mine and how I could learn to accept pain and disappointment today as also an important part of everyone’s life —- even the Alcoholic’s.
So, as you sit waiting for the next meeting to begin, or even feel a little rushed to end the meeting and get on with your day — take a moment ponder the plaques around you. Then imagine this: All those catch phrases and adages are prayers, meditations, or simply road signs on this journey. They are carrying us even when we do not realize it to a wonderful life of sobriety. A life not constrained by the limits of our imaginations or even by our past. These sayings on the walls surrounding you came to AA through much sorrow, but offer much joy. They welcome the Newcomer and still guide the Old Timer. Don’t just throw them at each other haphazardly either. Offer them to each other and to yourself with love and respect. They bind us together. They contain some rather complex tenets of our program in a very down to earth way. For me, they remain sacred and truly understanding them did not come cheap.

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Kentucky Parole Board Member Verman Winburn Attacks Another Board Member...Again. Last Time He Reportedly Used A Knife. Still No Felony Charges. And He Judges Whether Others Are "Rehabilitated"?

2011-02-04T07:26:00.000-08:00

And this is not the first time the honorable men of the Kentucky Parole Board have physically fought each other. The last time Mr. Winburn fought another member, he brought a knife into the mix. This man, as the others, will grill you relentlessly over breaking the most minor of the prison’s rules: ID on the wrong side of your shirt, being in an area when you didn’t have a pass, too many legal papers in your cell, etc. You will get no mercy from these men, and they take VIOLENCE of any kind seriously – even if you were just arrested on suspicion and the case was dropped. YOU DID IT, and you better not say otherwise. If you do, then you are not taking “responsibility for your actions.” BUT THAT IS DIFFERENT IF THEY ARE THROWING THE PUNCHES OR WIELDING A KNIFE. Any fight, even to protect yourself from a lifer with nothing to lose will be read by these men as YOU ARE STILL A MENACE.
So, they have been asked to consider anger management? The fall-out may have cost them their cushy positions (over $60,000/year). All they have to do is drive to prisons and talk to men like they were dogs – and then tell them that because they missed curfew on the streets by five minutes their families can forget about them coming home any time soon. So what did they do, they re-created the incident. The one parole board member now says that he may have colored his statements to an investigator? The governor couldn’t care less.

The parole board’s code of ethics states that board members “shall refrain from engaging in any conduct which offends the dignity or decorum of the board.”
But beyond that: WHERE ARE THE FELONY CHARGES FOR ASSAULT AGAINST MR. VERMAN WINBURN? THE NEXT TIME HE COULD TRULY HURT SOMEONE.
Had it been anyone else??????
Most telling is a statement from a member of the Kentucky legislature: “…we must have a parole board known for its maturity and integrity, because those are the qualities they’re looking for in the inmates they’re deciding whether to release.”
I can’t understand this country.

Parole board chairman, member fight over door color
Backgrounds
Verman Winburn
is chairman of the Kentucky Parole Board and lives in Shelby County. He is a graduate of Eastern Kentucky University and has a bachelor of science degree in police administration. He has served as a corrections officer, probation and parole officer/district supervisor and a member of the Kentucky Parole Board.
Thomas Whetstone
is a member of the Kentucky Parole Board and lives in Louisville. He has been a crime scene investigator, a police patrol officer, sergeant, instructor and educator. He has a doctorate from the University of Illinois, has done research on justice issues and is an author. He recently served as a civilian police educator in Iraq, where he provided executive-level training for the Iraqi National Police.
Kentucky Parole Board Chairman Verman Winburn fought board member Thomas Whetstone in their Frankfort headquarters last month after arguing about whether Whetstone, who had painted his office door red, was going to repaint it.
The Dec. 27 altercation led to a sprained wrist for Whetstone, a workers compensation claim against the state and a recommendation that both board members get counseling, according to interviews and public records.
The Justice and Public Safety Cabinet, where the board is based, investigated the fight after Justice Secretary J. Michael Brown learned about it.
It is unclear why Whetstone painted his door red and removed the lock in October. Building managers had asked Winburn about it. When Winburn confronted Whetstone, a profanity-laced argument ensued.
The nine-member parole board, which decides whether prison inmates are ready for early release, is appointed by the governor. Gov. Steve Beshear named Winburn and Whetstone to their current positions.
Speaking to cabinet investigator Steven Potts, Winburn and Whetstone blamed each other for provoking the violence. They did agree Whetstone pushed Winburn in the chest, and Winburn grabbed Whetstone’s right hand and twisted it.
“Dr. Whetstone was actually raised up onto his toes by the force applied by Mr. Winburn. Dr. Whetstone estimated (that) Mr. Winburn twisted his arm for five to 10 seconds,” Potts wrote. “Dr. Whetstone has a severely sprained wrist which he is currently treating with an Ace bandage, ice and ibuprofen.”
Whetstone filed a workers comp claim the day after the fight. He stated in his injury report Winburn “became physically confrontational and assaulted me.”
In follow-up e-mails to state officials, Whetstone expressed concern about the confidentiality of his claim. When one official told him his claim would trigger an investigation, Whetstone said he had provided more information about the incident than he intended to.
“I think I should have been a bit more circumspect regarding the cause of the injury,” Whetstone wrote to a Justice Cabinet official on Jan. 3. “Not fabricating, but being more general in terminology. My bad, lesson learned that I hope will never be needed.”
Whetstone dropped his claim on Jan. 4. “I find, upon examination, that there will be no need for the provided services,” he wrote in an e-mail.
On Jan. 6, in response to the fight, Brown gave Winburn and Whetstone identical, hand-written notes suggesting they seek counseling through the state’s employee assistance program. Brown included a one- page handout for the program.
“I suggest that you take advantage of this resource as soon as possible,” Brown wrote to the men.
In an interview, Winburn confirmed the fight and said he followed Brown’s advice to seek counseling through the program. Winburn said he considers the matter closed.
“I’m really ashamed to even talk about it,’ said Winburn, a former probation and parole district supervisor first appointed to the board in 1997, who makes $67,811 a year. “We dealt with it less than an hour later, and we were friends again after an apology.”
Whetstone declined through the cabinet to comment. A criminal-justice consultant and former police sergeant, Whetstone makes about $63,000 a year and joined the board in 2009.
Beshear plans to take no action against his appointees, spokeswoman Kern Richardson said.
“Secretary Brown notified the governor about the incident between Mr. Winburn and Mr. Whetstone and advised that he had recommended counseling,” Richardson said. “We expect Secretary Brown will continue to monitor any other issues related to the board and handle them accordingly.”
The parole board’s code of ethics states that board members “shall refrain from engaging in any conduct which offends the dignity or decorum of the board.”
Colleagues say Winburn was involved in another altercation with a fellow board member last year.
In May 2010, Winburn and then-board member Joey Stanton got into a heated disagreement while dining with colleagues at The Lady and Sons, a Savannah, Ga., restaurant owned by celebrity chef Paula Deen, then-board member Patricia Turpin said this week.
The board members were in Savannah attending the annual conference of the Association of Paroling Authorities International.
“There was a scuffle between Mr. Winburn and Mr. Stanton. Mr. Winburn picked a knife up off the table,” Turpin said.
Winburn did not use the knife, and nobody was hurt, Turpin said.
“They finally calmed down,” Turpin said. “I separated the two of them. It was resolved when they both kind of apologized to each other. They had been playing around with each other or something, and it just got out of hand.”
In a brief interview this week, Stanton said his term on the board expired after the Savannah incident and he preferred not to discuss it. Winburn declined through the cabinet to confirm or comment on the earlier episode.
The Justice Cabinet is unaware of the out-of-state incident, spokeswoman Jennifer Brislin said.
The parole board plays a big role in sweeping penal code changes being proposed for the 2011 General Assembly, which resumes Tuesday. Lawmakers are looking for ways to safely reduce the state’s prison population.
Rep. Kelly Flood, a member of the House Judiciary Committee, said she was disturbed to hear about altercations between parole board members.
“This is a very serious matter,” said Flood, D-Lexington.
“Two things come to mind. One, it’s important for me to know that Secretary Brown is aware of any problematic employee who is not behaving properly, especially if he’s in a position of importance and influence,” Flood said.
“Two, we must have a parole board known for its maturity and integrity, because those are the qualities they’re looking for in the inmates they’re deciding whether to release.”
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Martin Soto-Fong's Recent Letter to Corey Concerning His Case, The U.S. Supreme Court Ruling on juvenile offender executions, and The Death Penalty.

2011-01-25T11:48:00.000-08:00

I was sitting in a prison years a few years ago reading The New Yorker, and I came across an expose’ about Martin’s case. I was feeling pretty low about my own situation, but that changed as I read about the injustice perpetrated against this young man. Innocent men and women do get wrongly convicted and some have been executed. It confirmed my worst beliefs about our justice system and of course its use of the death penalty. You must read the article if you get time and support Martin. Below is his recent letter to me verbatim (he is a very articulate man) and an abstract for Toobin's excellent 2005 article about Martin’s case is below as well. The blogosphere is full of great articles and information on Martin's case. Spend some time reading them. It will get your activism fired up to do something to push for real justice in this country. Martin needs your support.

January 19, 2011

Corey John Richardson
PO Box 92
Deep Gap, NC 28618

Dear Mr. Richardson:

I recently received you letter and the article regarding innocent men executed which is to be published in Spotlight on Recovery this spring.

I sincerely thank you for taking a moment of your time to reach out and share with me how your case has made an impact on your life. You mention having learned of me from reading The New Yorker article on what happened in my case, it is very encouraging to me that though is has been several years now since the article was first published it still continues to win someone’s attention on the miscarriage of justice which has happened in my case.

Fortunately, I am no longer on death row due to a U.S. Supreme Court decision abolishing juvenile executions, which gives my attorneys more time to present my claims on appeal and win my freedom.

Much more has developed in my case since the publishing of The New Yorker article, which I am confident that my case will be won and will also have a positive impact on the movement to end the death penalty.

Thank you once again for your letter and article you’ve sent.

Take care and God Bless,

Martin Soto-Fong

ABSTRACT: ANNALS OF LAW about Arizona prosecutor Kenneth Peasley who was disbarred for presenting false evidence in death penalty cases… Writer tells about Peasley, who was for years the most feared prosecutor in Arizona’s Pima County. Discusses Peasley’s compulsive streak and his appetite for trial work. “I was something of an asshole,” Peasley said. Describes the 1992 murder of three people at the El Grande Market in South Tucson and the investigation of the murder by Peasley and Joseph Godoy, a detective with the Tucson Police Department. Tells about the arrest of Chris McCrimmon and Andre Minnitt for a similar crime at a pizza parlor and Peasley and Godoy’s search for their prime suspect in the Elm Grande murders, Martin Soto-Fong. Using the testimony of a paroled criminal, Keith Woods, Peasley brought charges against McCrimmon, Minnit and Soto-Fong for the El Grande murders. In 1993, Peasley won convictions of McCrimmon, Minnit and Soto-Fong. It was in these trials that he started bending the truth about evidence. Tells about the Arizona Supreme Court ruling that a juror had been coerced in the McCrimmon and Minnit joint trial. In 1997 there were separate second trials of McCrimmon and Minnit. Tells about lawyer Richard (Rick) Lougee who defended McCrimmon in the second trial and who argued that Godoy committed perjury in the first trial. McCrimmon was acquitted and Lougee filed a complaint against Peasley with the state bar. Peasley hired James Stuehringer, who had represented Soto-Fong in the El Grande murders, to defend him. Discusses whether this was a conflict of interest. In 2002, Minnitt’s conviction and death sentence for the El Grande murders were overturned by the state Supreme Court. In 2004, Peasley was ordered disbarred… Writer visits Soto-Fong on death row. He says he believes that Peasley and Godoy know he is innocent. Lougee took up Soto-Fong’s case and has been trying to get his conviction overturned. Tells about Lougee defending Carole Grijalva-Figueroa for her role in a 2004 fatal shooting. As part of a religious awakening, Grijalva-Figueroa told Lougee of her role in the El Grande murders which, she said, were drug-related. She said she did not know McCrimmon, Minnit and Soto-Fong. Discusses ongoing troubles in the Pima County prosecutors offices. Writer visits Peasley at his new offices where he works as a consultant and paralegal. Godoy is now an investigator at the same office. Peasley plans to apply for readmission to the bar in about four years.

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An Unexpected Gift, and a book review to boot.

2011-01-08T04:17:00.000-08:00

I received a rather large quantity of books from a new friend. Thirty-six to be more precise. The prison did not appreciate this, but I agreed to donate most of them. So, they relented. There are strict limits on the amount of paper we can keep in our cells — and we must follow the rules.

Many of the books I would never have ordered for myself. Some I definitely would have. Some, I knew that I would have liked but would probably have opted for more food instead. Slowly I have been reading these books and have found some to be simply extraordinary: Elie Wiesel’s “Night” took my breath away with his heart-wrenching memories of Nazi Germany and surviving a concentration camp. Raw, naked honesty. Even better than Viktor Frankel’s account or that of Corrie ten Boom.

“Into The Arms of Strangers” was also a rewarding but heart-breaking read about the kindertransport program which tried to get many children out of Germany, Poland, Austria, etc. prior to the Holocaust. These books put my own small trials and tribulations into perspective and caused me to wonder, How can I begin to contribute to the Greater Good, How can I prevent the evil in the world. Odd questions to some from a convicted felon sitting in prison, yet utterly sincere. (Can a man truly allow the time in prison change him for the better? I believe so.)

Some of the books were ones I have not read in a few years: Maya Angelou’s “I know why a caged bird sings” I loved reading it again and I was able to share it with a number of prisoners. I ended up sharing several books with other prisoners, mailed some to friends, and donated some to our pitiful library.

Books. Words. They allow us to express our thoughts, our feelings, recount our lives to people throughout the world, throughout time, that we would never have touched before.
Words. Now, some just try to make a little money off the venture. Sad. And they express little worth reading. Funny what people will publish and what people will endeavor to read. Choose wisely, I say.

This single spontaneous gift from an unexpected friend has given much to me and countless others, now and for years to come. These books will give again and again to men who the world has given up on, tried to forget, has scorned, and deemed worthless, less than worthless... but for me and others this small gift is a great gift and has inspired me to be a better man, to try one more time, against all odds, to make this a better world. This small gift may change a convict’s life forever and possibly open a part of him so he may never return to drugs or violence as a solution. Or prison. Help him to be a better father or son or husband. At times, it takes just a small effort to a make a huge difference.

What small act can you do today for no reason but to help another who can never return the favor, who doesn’t even know how to thank you, who probably doesn’t even deserve your kindness. (Though don’t we all deserve some. Haven’t we all fallen short and wish for second chances.)
One last book to tell you about: I am much more of a non-fiction reader, but of the numerous books I read, “Life of Pi” by Yann Martel, a Canadian author, was a fun read. It is the story of an Indian boy who sails with his family to Canada, but Fate takes a turn in transit. His family is pointedly non-religious, but the young boy, who chooses to call himself Pi instead of his birth name of Piscine, grows into a devotee of Jesus, Vishnu, and Muhammad. Pi’s father is a zoo keeper and animals play just a much a part of this story as does the deeper spiritual components — both woven together seamlessly.

In the middle of the voyage, the great ship sinks. Sailors grab the young Pi alone on the deck and throw him into a life boat already lowered into the water. He comes to find out that the sailors where hardly concerned for the safety of the boy, but were trying to draw out a Bengal Tiger - yes, a Bengal Tiger - already on the ship.

Not to give away more than I have and hardly more than what is on the book’s cover, two separate passages struck me and I hope they find something in you:
I was giving up. I would have given up — if a voice hadn’t made itself heard in my heart. The voice said, “I will not die. I refuse it. I will make it through this nightmare. I will beat the odds, as great as they are. I have survived so far, miraculously. Now I will turn miracle into routine. The amazing will be seen every day. I will put in the hard work necessary. Yes, so long as God is with me, I will not die. Amen.
My face set to a grim and determined expression. I speak in all modesty as I say this, but I discovered at that moment that I have a fierce will to live. It’s not something evident, in my experience. Some of us give up on life with only a resigned sigh. Others fight a tiren lose hope. Still others — and I am on&ofthose— never give up. We fight and fight and fight. We fight no matter what the cost of battle, the losses we take, the improbability of success. We fight to the very end. It’s not a question of courage. It’s something
constitutional, an inability to let go. It may be nothing more than life—hungry stupidity. (p. 148)

and later, Pi goes on to discover something I have also found true for myself:
It was Richard Parker, the Bengal Tiger, who calmed me down. It is the irony of this story that the one who scared me witless to start with was the very same who brought me peace, purpose, I dare say even wholeness. (p. 162)

Martel’s novel is reminiscent of Hemingway’s “The Old Man in The Sea” or even Honore de Baizac’s “Passion in The Desert.” It struck me though while reading it that all literature via perception and conceptualization transform even the most base and material aspects of this life into something sublimely transcendent, timeless with mere words.
Martel offers us a story filled with metaphor and allegory: namely,.. self-exploration via the perfect plans for our life, our loves, sinking to the bottom of the figurative ocean; the lifeboat and the precarious sojourn we take post-disaster (that I call “reality”); the tiger — our deeper nature; the struggle that ensues, and so on... Circumstance: the sinking and survival and awakening in the midst of it all. Awareness, can be applied to, say, infirmity, vanity, pride, betrayal, illness, or prison. Circumstances are as varied as people, but the journey is the same for each. I found my own journey in his words, just as I find it in The Psalms, and many other authors. Read slowly and with some clarity and you will find yourself in these pages.

Let me know what you think.

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How did I get to prison???

2011-01-04T07:59:00.000-08:00

Committing an unlawful act in the U.S. is NOT highly predictive of incarceration - being from the lower seocioeconomic stratum or from an ethinic minority is. As you read much of this blog, ponder the phenomenon of MASS INCARCERATION in this country. We often overlook the multitude of other factors contributing to the problem. What effect does private business have on sentencing laws, parole, etc. What happens when different ethnic groups commit similar crimes? What happens when the Middle Class commit crimes compared to those of impoverished communities?
This is covered in these pages, sometimes in short articles, such as Plantation Industries or the House That Three Strikes Built, or in rather involved criminologic papers, such as The Comprehensive Review. Please enjoy the reading and leave a comment.

Convict Activism

2011-01-01T06:53:00.000-08:00

The Convict Activist / The Convict vote

I'm angry. No, I'm furious - and it's been stewing, brewing, and percolating for years. It's not because of deeper cuts in Amerika’s already sub-par education, health care, and other social services due in large part to the continuous expansion of the prison system. Not because more and more evidence of rampant prosecutorial abuse surfaces all the time. Not because of the disproportionate application of the death penalty against minorities. Not because of the clear and unequivocal fact that we have two systems of "justice" in this country: one for the rich and one for the poor. Not because the majority of those funneled into our prisons are overwhelmingly from impoverished communities and that they in large portion serve decades for predominantly non-violent/non-sex crimes. Not because private industries which profit from incarceration affect sentencing laws due to their political contributions to lawmakers. Not even because prisoners who survive decades of incarceration and its violence, humiliation, systemic institutional abuses, poor nutrition, counter-productive rehabilitation, isolation, dissolution of the family, lack of medical attention, and increased risk of disease - all sanctioned as "justice" - and then are released onto the streets unhealthy, traumatized, under-educated, and marked with the stigma of Convict ... allegedly as "free" men and women. I loathe all of the above obviously, but who I am truly disgusted with is us.
We, the prisoners, who get out and do absolutely nothing to change the egregious laws which have allowed for· the prisonization of America, nor do anything to improve the dehumanizing system of "corrections" that many of us have endured for much of our adult lives. When I entered prison I quickly realized what people meant when they said to me "Stay out of the way." The way most of us prefer to do time is trouble-free with the guards and
administration far away from our cells. So, when asked, I always say "Lay down," and I mean stay away from the prison drama and do something positive with the time that you have to serve. In this way, I found that I actually have more to accomplish in prison than I ever had as a free man, and I couldn't achieve all of the goals that I set for myself from segregation – I plan that many of them. I stay out of their faces and I hope that they stay out of mine. I have had to pick my battles carefully with this policy. I know that I will aggravate the warden or the commissioner when they see their names at the top of a lawsuit, therefore I make certain that what I am fighting for is 1) justified, and 2) makes a real difference to those of us serving time.
Of course, not all prisoners sees it this way. They feel they have to take advantage of the weak or perpetually scam those around them. As I see it, this is not your life around. And I'm disappointed with the way to turn
those whom limit themselves to chow, cable TV, basketball, and walking the loop every day bumming cigarettes and sharing the same old war stories for years when they could be taking back their lives. It's hard not to impart this without sounding fake or preachy. I try to just do my best through my own life as an example.
Quite separately from all of this, I've grown to resent prisoners whom ingratiate themselves to the prison administration and staff by means of supporting a venal system, whether it's snitching, voting against a prisoner grievance with merit while serving on a “committee,” obstructing in any way a prisoner's lawsuit or demand for policy change, or simply being a "Yes-man" to the guards. But these "rats" mean very little in the scheme
of things. Those that make me truly furious are those of us who make it home.

“What???” you say Don’t get me wrong. I want to see my friends, and even those that I don't like, go home. I
have photographs on my locker door of many of my friends that made it out there. The caption emblazoned above them reads "Free at Last!!!" It's sheer insanity how we've acquiesced to having entire communities of people locked-up and my greatest desire is to see that all of the prisons are emptied out, thus putting the guards, caseworkers, and wardens in the unemployment lines. (God knows that they are unfit for any real job.) But the sad truth is the fact that we get out there and do nothing to change the system. Most just keep corning back to this place. When we leave prison behind we seem to focus solely on getting back to our loved ones and finding a little creature comfort. After only a few weeks, it is as if we were never even in prison and that we've gone back in time to a life that looks exactly like the one that brought us to prison in the first place. When we do end up back on the prison yard, it is as if we are experiencing the same bad dream all over again. “Damn, how did I get
back here again?"

When I help a buddy carry his property up front, I always hope that I never see him again on this side of the fence. I always want to believe that he has left this craziness behind. He says he has. Unfortunately, it takes only a short time in prison to witness the revolving door phenomenon of prison. I'll admit it. It disheartens me. The same old faces return. The back-slapping, all of the catching up, and the “gotta get my T.V. money together.” They are on the basketball court almost as if the returnee only sat out one or two games. Then invariably comes the same old complaints: the disgusting slop they call food; the abusive guards; the ungodly cost of collect calls; how unjust the entire U.S. criminal justice system is; all this time for nothing; the missing the kids; and on and
on.

Now, nearly every single state in the union returns one's voting rights upon discharge of parole/probation or serve-out. Only a handful require some filing process and approval. With literally tens of millions of us with felony records, it is undeniable that our vote could change this country for the better. We could easily affect the outcome of local, state, and national elections. With this power, politicians would have to listen to our demands, which don't just include equity in the courts and proportionality in sentencing, but include reform in prisons and sufficient programs in our under-served communities. It came to me as I watched this last election cycle where I
heard much explication about the Women's Vote, the Black Vote, the Gay Vote, the Pro-life Vote, the Hispanic Vote, the White Male Vote, the Blue-Collar Vote, the ... and I thought, "Where's the CONVICT VOTE???" Our sheer numbers would seem to necessitate some consideration. Aren't we a formidable political force? No. It is not that we cannot vote, but it is that we do not vote. If as one body we chose to vote to address our very real concerns which come from our valuable life experiences, then we could affect change in this country to correct some of the most dire social ills that have led millions to prison and left them now victims of the most inhumane, abusive system in America today.

So, there you have it. Each of us must immediately register to vote as soon as it is legally possible and recruit all whom share our ideals to do the same, be they convict or family and friends. We must check websites like "house.gov" and "senate.gov" to see whom these so-called representatives are. We must find out what their voting records are and what their views are on the issues that matter the most to us, our communities, and
our friends still locked-down behind concrete walls. Are they just a "Tough on Crime" advocate or do they see the necessity of good public education, quality health care for all, diversion programs, free and effective community drug rehab, sentencing with proportionality, etc.? If they are willing to sacrifice so much good and progress to merely lock-up those whom they perceive as "undesirable" in this growing cancer called The Prison Industrial Complex, then we must fight against them. Our one vote is not enough either. We are called to an activism which demands that we become involved at every level. We show up at town hall meetings and local political rallies.
We write to the editors of our local papers about our concerns. We become fully active with organizations like the National Death Row Assistance Network and the Innocence Project. These and many other organizations have been fighting for us - and now we must fight as well for ourselves - politically. We can change our communities, our laws, and this travesty of prisonization. We can give our kids and grandkids a land that is truly free.
Is this all "Pie in the Sky" thinking? No, it is not. Just read your history. Ancient history. American history. Just look who is in the White House today. That says it all. Change – real change – is possible. If a determined people led by those with a clearness of purpose can affect earth-shaking changes time and time again in the course of history, then so can we, Convict Activists, as long as our will is fortified and our ideals are honorable. I for one crave change. Change in our communities, in our courts, and in our prisons. I will leave these concrete walls in a few years and I won't be coming back except to fight from the outside. I am going to my damnedest
to work with others to see that this country looks a little brighter without the blight of mass imprisonment.

One day, social scientists will look back on what the Tough on Crime mania has done with a "Tsk, tsk, what could they have been thinking?" Just as we look back with abhorrence on slavery or a woman’s inability to vote.
Yes, get home in one piece, but when prison is behind you, it is time to use the strength found while incarcerated to lift up your voice. Many believe that because you are now marked with the label Felon you must put on sack cloth and ashes, only to lie in a ditch. They believe this is true for a heinous crime as for a lesser offense. Do not believe the lie for either. It is never too late to make a positive difference. You do not have to stay out of the way ever again upon your release. Through your activism and your vote, you can now make a way.

Mass Incarceration is the social justice issue of this era.
I am going to become a Convict Activist, and you can also. Start
with the following related issues: a crumbling education system,
lack of effective and free drug rehab, police corruption, police
brutality, racial profiling, criminalization of addiction,
unnecessary physical violence against prisoners by guards, stop the
building of new prisons and find better uses for old ones, an
arbitrary parole system, malicious parole officers, scarcity of
diversion programs, the death penalty, a two tier justice system,
insane habitual offender laws - the list goes on. Start locally and
then move to national forum, but this time do something.

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Dear Kentucky Parole Board

2010-12-30T14:09:00.000-08:00

Dear Members of the Kentucky Parole Board:
A few years back, you interviewed me for parole. At that time you informed me that I was “served-out.” You may or may not remember my case. That’s okay. I am like many. You merely decided to adjudicate me once again – without judge or jury. The real judge ruled I could go home many years ago – that my crime was such that after only a few years in prison I could return to society. My co-defendant never spent a day in jail, but he had a better attorney. Money walks. Still, you helped me, through that difficult interrogation - a retrial, if you will - place the guilt of my crime squarely on my own two shoulders and also helped me to appreciate the perspective of my victim. What you did not do though is tell me the rest of the story:
You did not tell me that my life is not over, that there is some good that I could do from within prison, that I should not just give up. Still, I discovered all those things for myself with the help of my family and a few close friends. I made a list of the things that I have done before and inside prison, and one of those things I still want to accomplish. They are enclosed. I have even had an article or two published about what my life has been like during these long years and what this place is really like. I hope that you enjoy them; they’re enclosed too. I wanted you to see that much good can be done while in prison. We do these things not just to prepare for you, but because our lives just don’t stop when we get locked up. We can still make a difference. Prison has changed me and for the better, in spite of the system and despite your unqualified opinion of me. It is not because this is a place of “rehabilitation,” but for a few of us it does happen on our own terms. And remember this: the work that I have started will not end when I leave these gates behind, but will surely continue out there. More importantly it will continue by others who I must leave behind these walls, but not forget. Those unnecessarily doing time for minor offenses, those who have thought about what they have done to others and amended their lives, my lifer friends who showed me how to live each day no matter you are and to never give up...
So, keep doing what your doing until we have just as many locked up as free and no more money for education or social programs exist. Keep it up until you break the entire state budget – only then will you see the error of your ways. Maybe the next generation will judge you less harshly than you have judged everyone else.

(I actually sent a version of this letter (and others). I got a few form letter responses. I am sure after my lawsuits - one of which is still pending - and my publications they had enough of me and wished they had kicked me out of the state earlier. I even won a precedent-setting case being hotly used used now for suits which address Abuse of Power by the Kentucky Dept of Corrections. I never knew I had it in me. Encourage those you know and love on the inside to never, never, never give up.)

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Tom Delay and Reaction Formation

2010-12-29T13:23:00.000-08:00

Tom Delay suffers from an insidious condition. His smiling face and cool exterior do not reveal the sickness and the particular diagnosis, but it is there once a closer look is taken.
Reaction Formation stimulates an outer response diametrically the opposite to the internal workings of the psyche and acts as a Defense Mechanism against psychological pain caused by the inner dissonance. Sigmund Freud, the great physician, neuroscientist, and Father of Psychoanalysis, proposed the theory early in the Twentieth Century and used it extensively in a clinical setting. It has stood the test of time and facilitates our discussion.
Tom DeLay, the former hard-drinking, womanizing, “Good Ol’ Boy” from Texas, transformed years ago from bug exterminator to politician after being “Born Again.” His political platform consists of the usual anti-abortion, anti-gay marriage/rights, etc. rhetoric: What some Americans fondly call Family Values.
The use of words like ethical, morality, God, and so forth shine forth from every single speech. He flaunts his religiosity for the adoring voters, who can feel good about themselves and their vote for a Christian voice in government.
The confusion lies with action not corresponding with deed. With Reaction Formation, the inner workings become so painful that the antithesis is demonstrated to assuage the psychic stimulus. Tom DeLay is textbook material. Plagued by a sordid past obviously driven by money, liquor, and sex, DeLay has created a persona which relieves the psychological burden. This persona not only acts as a defense mechanism, but it facilitates the powerful political career that had taken DeLay to the top.
Sadly, not having dealt fully with his past, these drives raise their ugly heads. DeLay was known for harsh, even duplicitous, tactics on the Hill and even his friends called him “The Hammer.” A moniker he allegedly loved – until it fell back on him in a corruption scandal. All donations to politicians go through the Ethics Committee to fight corruption. Corporations should not be allowed to buy votes – at least not directly via our elected officials - and this process sets up a road block to such activity. All politicians know this and all of their aides do as well.
Tom DeLay had through the usual machinations accepted trips and money without reporting the corporations nor their representatives. These violations and his associations with those recently indicted back in Texas under similar circumstances directly oppose the platform on which he had built his career.
When the next person takes center stage rabidly promoting some strict standard or doctrine of ethics or morality irrespective of any particular circumstance, then take a second, closer look. What they propose may hide a deeper problem — like the one observed with Tom DeLay. These moral avenger politicians who practically guarantee our entrance into heaven by voting for them, like our fire and brimstone preachers and their vitriol sermons against lifestyles or belief systems which are different, seem to hide some deeper impetus to their red hot convictions. Fortunately, the Tom DeLays, Eliot Spitzers, Ted Haggards, etc. always get caught. Maybe we can begin to see through them next time before they cause too much harm.
Oh, yeah...That is Ol' Tom smiling for his ARREST MUG SHOT.

Innocent Men executed by the government in the U.S.

2010-12-21T08:48:00.000-08:00

And we call this Justice?

What do we do to people that purposely kill innocent men and women? In the U.S.,we kill them back – excuse me, we execute them and those that help them to murder. We are the only Western society left which clings to the death penalty and some believe that this is called Justice. Since DNA testing began, we have strong evidence that innocent men and women have been executed on death row. But who should pay for their murders? The judges, the juries, the prosecutors, the involved police? All were “convinced” of the defendant’s guilt, or so it appeared –or were they just doing their job? What about you and me? We sit by and wish to comfortably believe that if they sit on death row, then they must be guilty… of something and that the system is fair.
I contacted Ms. Elaine de Leon of the Death Penalty Information Center (DPIC) about how many innocent men and women have actually been executed in this country. She said, “There is not a lot of information concerning people who have been proven innocent after being executed - in part because once the execution occurs, officials stop investigating the case. We do have several accounts of people who were executed despite serious doubts of their guilt.” She went on to say, “There is no way to tell how many of the over 1,200 people executed since 1976 may also have been innocent. Courts do not generally entertain claims of innocence when the defendant is dead. Defense attorneys move on to other cases where clients' lives can still be saved.”
DPIC did offer nine cases of executed men with strong evidence of innocence. Several of these cases have been splashed over the airwaves. In particular, ABC news’ Dan Rather and Chicago Tribune reporters Maurice Possley and Steve Mills uncovered shocking evidence of Carlos Luna’s innocence (executed in 1989). Several years ago I watched a heart-breaking documentary on Luna’s’ sister’s fight to save her brother and her attempts to have his case overturned. Luna was executed though a man that looked remarkably similar to Luna was in the area at the time, had committed similar crimes over the course of his life, and had actually confessed to the crime. Similar investigative work has brought to light bedrock evidence supporting the innocence of eight other men (See deathpenaltyinfo.org/executed-possibly-innocent.) Shockingly, the case of Claude Jones points to another innocent man that was executed in 2000. Crucial hair “match” evidence which was used to convict Jones – the only evidence linking him to the murder and the very reason cited by an appellate court to affirm the decision to execute - was never DNA tested. A reprieve was denied by then Gov. George W. Bush. After 6 years of litigation where the state fought against testing the hair, the DNA results proved that the hair actually belonged to the victim – not the executed man. Still, a proposal in Texas to help stop flawed prosecutions and prevent wrongful executions is doubtful to gain ground. DPIC also lists several executed persons that have been posthumously pardoned.
Attorney David Dow who fights death penalty cases on appeal writes in his book, The Autobiography of an Execution, that he feels the numbers of innocent men and women convicted is much higher than we suspect and cites grossly ineffective counsel as being one of the reasons why. Some public defenders fail to perform even the most basic duties. He also found judges to be indifferent, public officials to be cowardly, and a system which upholds the letter of the law while ignoring a real concept of justice.
Now there have been over 130 exonerated from death row since 1973, many languishing on death row for decades, thanks to the hard work of organizations like The Innocence Project, The Center on Wrongful Convictions and others – not by due diligence of the government. But that is only part of the story. Often the shoddy investigative work performed by police actually benefits the prosecution’s case in that inculpatory evidence is truly secondary to the prosecutor’s courtroom grandstanding. Juries desperately want to “right a wrong,” protect their communities, make the bad guy pay, and there is only one person in the courtroom to satisfy this desire for swift and heavy justice. They also want to trust their system of government without reservation. “Surely, they would not have arrested the wrong man.”
Keep this in mind for a moment as you consider the death penalty: The death penalty is disproportionately applied to the lower socio-economic strata, particularly minorities. DPIC offers some very disturbing statistics on the death penalty in this country. Most disturbing to me was how race is tied to the death penalty. I could offer all of the statistics (deathpenaltyinfo.org), but, put bluntly, blacks convicted of murder overwhelmingly face the death penalty more than whites and when the victim is white, the chances of being executed for the crime drastically rise. Now in the case of interracial murders (white on black or black on white), I must give these numbers to you: While there have been only 15 whites executed for killing blacks, there have been 246 blacks executed for killing whites, while actual murder by blacks against whites is only 8.5% as compared to white on black murder at 3.5%. In other words, these are race-based prosecutorial decisions. Note that 98% of chief district attorneys are white and 1% is black. As wrong as the death penalty is – it is overwhelmingly applied to those who least can fight to save their lives. On the government’s side, the immense wealth of the state’s resources is applied, all the while putting another notch on the D.A.’s belt while building his or her career all the way to a judgeship, attorney general, or one day maybe the governor’s mansion. Prosecutorial misconduct by prosecutors is rarely punished and after conviction may not help a death row prisoner. As in the cases of Delma Banks, Jr. (TX) and others, they remain on death row although serious misconduct has been unearthed in their cases. In the Arizona case of Martin Soto-Fong, the prosecutor was actually disbarred for presenting false evidence and Soto-Fong narrowly avoided execution due to a U.S. Supreme Court ruling baring executions of juvenile offenders. In a recent letter to me he stated that now his attorneys have more time to exonerate him, but he feels that his horrendous ordeal will help to finally end the death penalty in this country.
For many of the above reasons, support for the death penalty is waning. As stated earlier, no other Western society applies the death penalty. Even if one has murdered, these countries cannot advocate killing, even in retribution. So, we are in bed with countries like Iran, China, Burma, and the like which execute their citizenry. Countries like Canada and Britain will not permit extradition back to the U.S. if the death penalty is on the table. Even when we remove the ethics of the death penalty for a moment, it costs every state millions of dollars for each death row prisoner beyond the cost of holding a prisoner for life. The L.A. Times reported that California alone pays $114 million per year over the usual costs of keeping convicts locked up for life and $250 million for each of its executions (March 6, 2005). Statistics for other states are similar where the financial costs of executions far outweigh life without parole. And while popular support for the death penalty has fallen with about the same percentage of Americans supporting it as against it, our government clings to it throughout most of the U.S. with only 15 states no longer continuing the death penalty. Even Justice John Paul Stevens, who voted to re-instate the death penalty in 1976, wrote that recent “judicial activism” had created a system of capital punishment that was that was skewed toward conviction, shot through with racism, infected with politics, and tinged with hysteria. (See The New York Review of Books, Dec. 23, 2010 issue.) The question remains: Can we tolerate as a society the unjust application of the death penalty and, more importantly, how many innocent people can we tolerate murdering to maintain an unjust system?
Some are fighting the Good Fight. Take Claudia Whitman, the director of the National Death Row Assistance Network, a non-profit which she founded in 2000 and for which I am proud to advocate. We are an organization which focuses on saving people's lives on death row by fighting wrongful convictions. We work with prisoners, families, attorneys, and activists around the country. We use a number of mechanisms: Training of capital defendants and death row prisoners, families affected, and lawyers fighting wrongful convictions; investigation of old innocence cases and preparing the cases for innocence projects or pro bono lawyers; support for advocacy experts seeking to limit the use and eventual abolishment of capital punishment; and related advocacy and activism in addressing the unjust application of the death penalty.
Our work has branched due to need. We fight “Life without Parole” for juvenile offenders as well. We publish Cell Door Magazine and distribute thousands to prisoners across the nation (See celldoor.com). We also address prison and criminal justice issues in general through our publications and advocacy working closely with affiliates to compel significant necessary legislative changes to address the obvious defects in the criminal justice and prison systems. We provide a multitude of support services to prisoners upon release. We are part of CURE, a highly-respected U.N. affiliate fighting for prisoner rights.
You may be never personally be affected by the death penalty – but how can you live in a society that permits its use, particularly when it is applied in such an unjust manner? The rest of the modern world sees America today and its criminal justice system as what it is: Insane. But there have always been those who led the fight in our country. Once it was slavery, women’s rights, Jim Crow laws, and so on. We are called today to take action – even though there are still those who are unmoved by the needless killing of innocent men and women on death row. Help fight the death penalty: Contact legislators, donate to non-profits, know the statistics concerning the death penalty and understand the dynamics behind it. Talk openly with others. They usually have an opinion, but they too often do not know the facts surrounding the use of the death penalty in this country. Please support our work with your tax deductible contributions at ndran.org or write to us at NDRAN, 12200 Road 41.9, Mancos, CO 81328.

This article to be published in SPOTLIGHT ON RECOVERY this spring…

Mass Incarceration and Prison Healthcare: A System in Crisis

2010-12-20T12:10:00.000-08:00

Our U.S. prison healthcare system is in a state of emergency. A recent federal investigation of California’s system found that one death per week is due to medical neglect. Similar findings are being unearthed across the country where disease, abuse, and neglect are rampant within our jails and prisons. A separate congressional investigation found that the system could only be called a “production mill of disease and disability,” and with the number of state and federal prisoners rising each year and corrections budgets shrinking, the crisis can only get worse.
Our country desperately needs a new direction to address this shameful situation. What is needed are researchers who are familiar with ethnographic tools and methods. My paper, “Looking from within: The use of ethnographic tools and methods to improve prevention of disease and delivery of healthcare in U.S. prisons” offers this via a variety of insights only gained from living within this system. My comprehensive review of incarceration also
offers much to one interested in fully understanding the essential causes of mass incarceration in the U.S. and its damaging effect on our society. There are numerous other papers and essays which cover the waterfront as well. As we ponder the above points, keep this in mind: How we care for prisoners directly affects the health and well-being of our most vulnerable communities in America’s “free” society.

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think.

Delmar Partin in Kentucky: An Innocent Man or Guilty? You Decide.

2010-12-14T10:00:00.000-08:00

During my sojourn in prison I met many men whom I knew should not be there, and many I knew were right where they needed to be. Of the former, some were guilty of something – though not exactly what they were convicted of. Others though, and there were only a few, I thought were innocent. One such man was Delmar Parting. Read the following by the people involved and a news report, and then decide for yourself.

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Rioting in The Kentucky Prison System Once Again

2010-12-14T09:15:00.000-08:00

Only a year ago we reported that riots had broken out at Kentucky’s North Point prison due to living conditions, namely the poor quality of food distributed by Aramark. Now, riots have broken out again. This time it was at the state’s maximum security facility which also houses death row prisoners. Reports from within the prison by prisoners have supported the administration’s stance that a “disturbance” occurred on December 2nd. A single altercation between one black man and one white man in the gym led to a number of whites and blacks fighting on the prison courtyard. Medical attention was needed for several involved. As of this week, the entire prison remained on 24 hour lock-down, which includes no outside phone calls, no showers, etc. Tensions remain high.
While the direct cause of this may be fighting between prisoners, it is yet again a consequence of a broken system. With Kentucky being this country’s #1 INCARCERATOR, it has seen an incredible growth of its prison system. Sub-standard living conditions, crowding, and the like will only result in more of these disturbances over the next decade. So, a criminal justice system which destroys families over non-violent drug and property offences and continues to lengthen prison sentences with habitual offender laws can expect nothing but this - leaving tax payers to foot the bill and seeing its social programs and education continuing to plummet.
Hold on Kentucky… It is going to be a very bumpy ride.

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Vegans, Vegetarianism, and Animal Rights

2010-12-08T20:37:00.000-08:00

“Where’s the Beef???”
That silly advertising slogan by Wendy’s fast food restaurants caught on like wild fire back in the Eighties and most Americans can agree on one thing when it comes to
mealtimes, Meat, chicken, or fish is a must. On closer examination though, a vegan lifestyle, one that does not include the consumption or the use of animal products, is a healthier and more ethical choice.
In this country and similar Westernized societies, certain are farmed by large corporate farms. These farms work on a profit margin and over the last fifty years, the routine use of antibiotics and growth hormones negatively effect the product
and human health. With processing and cooking, growth hormone and antibiotics
do not simply cook away. Humans consume them. The routine use of antibiotics produces dangerous resistant bacteria. Growth hormone in the food supply, per recent studies, contribute to obesity. The over—production of livestock worldwide has allowed for recent pandemics of Mad Cow Disease and Avian Flu and represent very serious public health concerns. Even the fish supply in recent years adds to the problem of unhealthy food sources. Absorbed by the fish are toxic levels
of carcinogens and metals via the pollutants dumped into the world’s oceans
and streams. In some areas now, reports are issued to limit the consumption of certain fish due to health concerns.
After the slaughter of these animals for consumption, the problem continues. These animals are “processed,” which means that chemical colorings, preservatives, etc. For the products going into cans and bags in the grocery freezer section, dehydrated into other “easy to use” packaging, the addition of fats, salts, sugars, preservatives, and numerous fillers is more dramatic. Nutritionists have known for many years the negative health outcomes due to a diet based on these foods (i.e., an American diet). These outcomes include many forms of cardiovascular disease, such as heart disease, stroke, peripheral vascular disease, etc. Also, studies have linked these diets to many forms of cancer. Still, the food industry promotes these foods as part of a “healthy” diet.
The problem is not just health, but ethics. Striking is the fact that most Americans do consider this large scale production, the manner in which it is done, and the consumption of these animals as perfectly natural in today’s day and age.
Cows, sheep, pigs, poultry, etc. live the entirety of their lives in small pens where they cannot move. The filth between the different pens intermingles or, in the case of poultry, falls directly onto to other animals. Any objection, even with respect to the propensity of these conditions to spread disease, is dismissed as fanatical rhetoric! Yet, when cruelty laws are passed and enforced to protect particular non-human mammals that we call “pets,” like cats, dogs, and horses, these actions are necessary, reasonable, and ethical for the protection of animals — animals we have chosen not to eat.
Somehow when we name something, anthropomorphize it, and allow it to endear itself to us, it then, and only then, becomes necessary to protect it. One would be arrested if “Spot” or “Fluffy” were penned up ten or twelve high, prodded with hypodermics, over-fed, and then eaten. For many Americans (nearly 50%), their primary relationship is actually with a household pet and most Americans consider a family pet is an integral part of the family unit.
"Rational" people cannot explain why the disparity exists in the treatment other than the fact that Fluffy is my pet and does not deserve to be between two pieces of bread. Most of Asia on the other hand do not see cats, dogs, or horses — insects, snakes, etc. for that matter — as anything, but a possible meal. They throw live cats into boiling water, skin them, fillet and eat them without a qualm. While I was traveling with other Americans in China, we accidentally observed this on a trip and my fellow travelers considered it completely barbarous - even the ones who admitted that they did not particularly like cats.
It is known that fossil fuels are the primary problem
contributing to the depletion of the ozone layer, but few know that cows, or rather the overproduction of cows, has been studied and the findings show that “by-products” (i.e., flatulence from the millions of cattle around the world) and the clearing of land for grazing have contributed greatly as well. It may be odd to consider that the nitrogenous gas produced by these large mammals could be a culprit. Recently, the study as reported on the Rush Limbaugh Show drew much laughter, but it is cause number two after fossil fuels. In a few years, it may not be a laughing matter and efforts like the Kyoto Accord may be too little, too late.
World hunger is never a laughing matter. With reference just to cattle alone, some important facts can elucidate just how overlooked points could make a very large difference to the starving, here and abroad. A single cow feeds just so many people. Using the grain and resources that went into fattening that single cow, one can feed between seven ten times as many people, if we remove the cow from the equation. Similar research has looked at poultry and other livestock as well with similar findings.
“But we use the cow’s skin for leather products!” Just as Americans see the luxury of “meat” as a necessity, they see leather as a necessity as well. Leather is part of a billion dollar industry of fashion and clothing with products as diverse as shoes, jackets, key rings, briefcases, belts, and so much
more. Still, these products even with the best of care wear away and most buy more due to change in fashion, not necessity. Quality synthetic products last much longer and are more affordable, but like the meat industry, an image is propagated with a profit in mind.
These direct improvements to health, to society, and to the ecology are clear, but there are other positive that may occur indirectly. Many with healthy diets seek healthier lifestyles which include cessation of smoking and excessive drinking, as well as increased exercise. Some of these changes may open people’s awareness to serious problems, such as hunger or the ecology, affecting their communities and the world at large. Awareness and sincere concern promotes activism and positive changes.
So, as many Americans dig into their quarter-pounder with cheese and disparage those concerned as mere “Tree Huggers,” consider for a moment that they may be improving their health and the world by opting for a vegan lifestyle.

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Progressives, Liberals, and Prison

2010-12-08T10:54:00.000-08:00

Progressives, Liberals,and the like claim to fight for many causes,
but are they truly interested in the poor and ethnic minorities
once they end up in prison? Committing crime in this country
is not highly predictive of incarceration, but being from the
lower socioeconomic stratum is. Progressives have sat by for
decades as Center Right goverments (Dem and GOP) have dumped
millions of our nation's poor into these production mills of
disease and disability we so flippantly call "corrections."
Sadly, we expect such hate-mongering, retribution-filled rhetoric from the Right which can send a man to prison for 10 to 20 years for stealing a lawnmower or for a rock of cocaine. Read my articles on bringing sanity to sentencing or on the nation's habitual offender laws, such as California's Three Strikes. Or look at other posts, such as Plantation Industries/Prison, Inc. which examines one aspect of commerce's effect on "criminal justice" and its roots in the post-slavery South or
Back to Attica which responds to The Left's neglect of prisoners issues. These articles may open your eyes.

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Reaction Formation, Projection, and The Psychology of Conservatism

2010-12-03T16:25:00.000-08:00

Isn’t it a fascinating phenomenon we have witnessed these last few years within American Conservatism: Those who wave the banner of morality and ethical standards most fervently seem invariably to be caught in some violation of those very same tenets they purport to believe. Forgive my Biblical reference, but “Live by the sword, die by the sword.” From Reverends Jim Baker and Jimmy Swaggart and Ted Haggard and , to Eliot Spitzer and Jim Wright, to Bernard Law, and so on, to Tom DeLay. I imagine that it represents some infectious type of Reaction Formation in our American milieu. The thin veneer of moral certitude is mere symptom. I am not so jaded to believe that these politicians were simply using what appears to be an effective means to win and maintain control of the three branches of our government. Or maybe that is exactly what it is — e.g., infamous “Schiavo Memo.”) But from where I sit, it would be amusing if it were not so destructive to our society. The endless conservative rhetoric which appears like so much smoke and mirrors: “Look at the Family Values — pay no attention to the Big Business and small-minded bigotry behind the curtain.” One man’s impeachment is another’s misunderstanding, or better yet, sin to be quickly "forgiven" so that we can get on with the business of governing. And yet, maybe all of this demonizing of the Democratic Party and “Liberals” and gays and... in general is a case of Projection on a national level. As such, our country is in need of much psychotherapy, or at least a little bit of reflection about what we truly stand for and what we say we stand for.
Now, I must admit as I quietly revel when yet another ultra—conservative congressman squirms, ducking and hiding behind Terry Sciavo, or Gay Marriage, or Tough on Crime, or the next conservative cause celebre. Sadly, I know he will wiggle off the line. Just look at Sen. David Vitter; did he even miss a day of work? The good God-fearing people of Louisiana couldn't vote Our Man Dave back in fast enough. Tom DeLay had the master plan of damage control: step up the amount of office prayer meetings (“God will see us through these difficult times against the Liberal Conspiracy.. .“), help to pass laws which further enrich Big Business and further marginalize the less fortunate, and smile-smile-smile-"Folks, this is a Liberal conspiracy." Ironically, these holier-than-thou types do all that they can to lengthen prison sentences and cut funding for rehabilitation for the truly horrible sinners: the drug—addicted, the mentally ill, and the marginalized poor and minorities. Eliot Spitzer was less interested in Tough on Crime when he was caught, wasn't he? They sound the call the loudest to condemn from the pulpit those whom do not tow the Christian line and yet are they temselves found in some of the most bizzare sexual and financial scandals.
As the conservative sheep gather around their current congressional and religious shepherds railing against the immorality of others and striving to theocractize America, we are granted ever so often the joy of luxuriating in that uncomfortable Right Wing smile molded unto the next fallen angel's plastic face. Surely, knowing the conservative machinations as we do (even Trent Lott and Eliot Spitzer can rise like Lazarus, just ask the Washinton Post), these jokers will be around to amuse us for awhile and many more are own their way to amuse us for some time to come. Thank your conservative friends for this circus and enjoy!

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Eliot Spitzer, Kentucky Governors, and Unequal Justice

2010-12-03T13:30:00.001-08:00

Another One Bites The Dust...
And down went NY Gov. Eliot Spitzer, Mr. Law and Order. Not only did the Crime—Fighting Crusader cheat on his wife, but he used his government position and its resources to conceal his repeated purchases of women’s services. He learned more than a little about how to hide these activities over the years as he vigorously prosecuted prostitution rings, but apparently not enough to get away with it himself.
We see this hypocrisy all the time, and the usual response is, “How tragic. The poor (rich) man has suffered enough (by just getting caught). He has lost his reputation and his position.” What truly tragic is the abuse of power and the age—old double standard. We don’t see Mr. Average American on CNN LIVE, his wife beside him (“poor thing”), apologizing for being caught with crack cocaine or for stealing a lawn mower, nor will you. The average American will be demonized as a criminal and will serve a long prison sentence, while the rich and well—connected, as well as the usual government official, will walk. So goes the War on Crime, also known as the War on The Poor.
Over the years that I have been locked—up in Kentucky, I have had the privilege to watch two prior KY governors (Patton and Fletcher)involved in corruption scandals. Despite overwhelming evidence of abuse of power and criminal activity, not one spent one day in jail. The newest governor, Beshear, was immediately investigated for corruption related to the gambling industry. I am never surprised when they get caught; I am never surprised when they get away with it. The American Justice
System: The best that money can buy.
Many prisoners see this kind of double standard all the time. I cannot count the number of times that I have seen a guard get caught bringing in dope for an inmate to sell. The guard is told merely not to return to work. (They usually can find a job in corrections elsewhere.) The prisoner? He gets thrown in the hole, losses good time, losses his visits, and faces outside criminal charges. Sounds fair, right?
I could wax on forever and give you innumerable examples, but I will leave you with this: What prisoners and ex—prisoners must do is become involved through letter writing campaigns, blogging, participation in politics and activists groups, donations to appropriate organizations that promote our ideals, VOTE, and encourage friends and family to do the same. For example, recently a Tampa cop purposely and maliciously and without provocation dumped a paraplegic man out of his wheelchair
onto his neck and face. This occurred in a police station with numerous cops laughing at the spectacle. It made their day. The man was hauled in for an minor unpaid fine. CNN played the video. I took my anger & directed it in a positive way (and not just on the weight pile). I sent typed letters home for my friends and family to sign and distribute. I asked them to make phone calls about the abuse of power. The cop that assaulted the man resigned without a hint of remorse or apology, and charges were filed, though I doubt she’ll be convicted. I can see her having a brilliant career in corrections now.
These and similar situations are the ones that we must pursue. I can’t get mad at the injustice and complain all day, and then just do nothing. And I know that when prisoners get out, the thing we most want to do is put it all behind us, but who else will fight this fight? Now I always laugh a little when someone gets PV’d or gets more time for next to nothing, and comes back to only say how unfair the system is. What did they do when they were out to make a difference? Some people do care and I want to be one of those fighters for real justice in the world. The fact that you are reading this right now means that you care as well and are ready to say "Enough is enough.”
Now it’s our turn - prisoner and free. With quite literally millions of prisoners not only could we make a difference in our local communities — we’re a damn voting bloc and conceivably a force, that if organized, to be reckoned with. Bring along our friends and family and the we are talking about real political power. The Convict Vote and Convict Activism. Don't just think about it. Do it.

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Joseph Campbell Claims

2010-12-02T20:19:00.000-08:00

Claiming Hero: An Overview of Myth in Our Human Instititutions with Implications for Cognitive Reframing

Introduction
Within our desperate attempts to find meaning and purpose which offer true sustenance and inspiration, as well as fortify against a world filled with struggles and confusion, pain and suffering, and endless enervation, the necessity of a journey invariably surfaces. This Life necessitates it and this journey taken by all in one way or another has been present since Man first rose from the primordial. In this journey, there are leaders and followers; more often than not, most take a secondary role in their own lives and this creates a sense of helplessness and worthlessness. For the prisoner, hero identification facilitates positive cognitive reframing and promotes healthy behavior and engenders a sense of well—being via the concept of journey, even in the most dire of circumstances.
The concept of journey spans culture, society, religious ideologies, race, gender, and even thought itself. As such, it is truly universal. Given its centrality, the absence of a meaningful journey leaves one adrift on Life’s Great Ocean. Louisa May Alcott once wrote, “I am not afraid of storms for I am learning to sail my ship.” These brave words are a wonderful starting point for this discussion:
Each individual life is forged by way of journey with Self as hero at the helm of a magnificent ship called distinct human experience; for many, long ago, the hero was bound, gagged, and thrown in the galley. For those who have studied and written
about myth and the ancient stories of morals and ethics from the perspective of religion, philosophy, science, psychology, etc., they have done so usually within the narrow confines of their respective fields. Not so of Joseph Campbell, particularly with regard to its crowning expression: The Hero. Nor do they exhibit his matchless ability to draw out from life the running thread of myth and hero from such a varied and infinite number of examples with their tremendous influence. In his most pragmatic way, he presents the ancient as accessible and useful.
Campbell’s work, and the work of a select few within their respective fields, shall contribute to the necessary insight into myth and hero and elucidate its foundational role in human thought and civilization. At its core, myth is not an
explanation of the transcendent, but its expression. As such, in health and peak function, it finds a central role in all aspects of human existence through innumerable, mutable forms. Its absence opens a fathomless vacuum. Ancient stories pour into us in spite of our finite consciousness and many psychological defenses via the unconscious mind opening greater truths too difficult to comfortably grasp through mere formulaic laws, rules, and tenets of faith and other fields with similar religiosity. Modern society’s over-developed institutions have become dinosaurian. Campbell refers to this civilizing process as “Thou Shalt.” It is burdensome, it rejects us as we truly are, and is ultimately resisted by Self. Story through balance and harmony with Self presents Eternal Truth in all its glory, wonder, and infinite configurations in an easily digestible species. Our very beings thirst for a clear understanding of reality stripped of unnecessary complexity. Enter The Hero Myth:
Slaying a dragon can present and exorcise the prehistoric theme of greed, where pointed recriminations of Church, State, and other social institutions cannot. Within ancient myth, the tangible physical world is inextricably woven with the intangible spiritual one. Campbell said, “What we don’t know supports that which we do know.” This is a lifting of the veil of our material world to find the transcendent meaning, a peeling of the infinite layers of truth in the pursuit of Truth. This is our flesh and blood, as well as the known elements or, say, Quantum Theory, imbued with psycho-spiritual import. Within our growing materialism, this is a concept that we may claim to know, yet have been unable to comprehend, nor fully incorporate. Though Man is considered a “higher functioning” creation, lacking this, He is relegated to animal status with the appearance of civilization due to a few special accoutrements and mannerisms. He can be little more as He embraces the physical world as all that there is, our entirety, It is not; it is the vessel bound to the journey.
Let us examine myth and hero more fully in broad terms through the work of Campbell and a few select scholars as they are found in our human institutions. The following analysis offers historical and socio-cultural aspects of myth and hero that will aid in our discussion. The author will also present his own journey in discovering the usefulness of Hero Myth as a method of personal growth and as part of a therapeutic process that implements cognitive reframing. Social commentaries are a requisite part of any discussion of this nature, particularly as they relate to the current disintegration within our own westernized society and the rise of the anti-hero, the pale surrogates that floated to the top as so much refuse.
The Power of Myth
I first came in contact with the work of Joseph Campbell through his book, The Power of Myth, a year or so after I had entered prison. I had been sober only a few years at that time and had the unique experience of completely wrecking my life.., in Sobriety. My AA sponsor, Mrs. Mary Eckert Morrison, had watched the PBS interviews by Bill Moyers of Campbell, ordered the book, and found something in it for me. A little about her: She is a retired educator in chemistry and physics, who after retirement studied extensively in areas that seemed to me at the time elusive, remote, and, though scientific, mystical. Her favorites were Jungian Theory with all its deep, meaningful symbology and the study of personality types. Her wisdom and intellect supported me first in early sobriety and then in prison.
That first year of prison was the most difficult. I felt staggering loss. As I tearfully explained during one of Mary’s visits that Life had left me behind, she quietly listened. Men in prison call it “dead time:” The empty wasted years, an endless hunger for “the real world” or “The streets,” and an escape from the depredations of prison. Mary finally replied that Life was not passing me by, it was right then and there, though prison is hardly the prettiest corner of it. And now, I needed to grow up.
This was stated calmly and thoroughly and I doubt that I would have listened if it had come from anyone else, but we had been friends for so long and she never withheld love, nor pulled any punches. This was coming from Mary, my spiritual mother in AA, who I had heard so many sage bits and pieces of
wisdom, like an Impressionist painting slowly coming together on the canvas of my broken world. She was talking about that which Campbell called “a soul’s high adventure:” each person’s purposeful journey toward a greater understanding of their existential calling. My child-mentality had burnt itself out. I stood, figuratively, went to helm, and began for the first time to sail my ship in the midst of the stormy seas. A few weeks later, I received Campbell’s book, which became my North Star.
The PBS Series
PBS produced a series of interviews with Campbell in 1983 at George Lucas’ Skywalker Ranch shortly before the scholar’s passing in 1987. Though the media of television is limited and constraints on time on inevitable, the series offers a good introduction to the man’s work and allows us to witness his intellect and affable nature. Campbell leaves behind an amazing legacy, which includes twenty books on the subject of myth, starting with his critically acclaimed book, The Hero with a Thousand Faces.
Through his teaching and writing, he demonstrated the universal themes as they traverse Time Immortal. Campbell was a mystical wizard drawing out examples from all the known world and through his analyses of ancient stories, he pointed us toward Truth Eternal. Through the de-construction of the myth and hero, he contributes much that is useful in an accessible format.
Lucas credits Campbell’s work with the inspiration for his Star Wars series. The blockbuster movies, a notable instrument for story—telling in the post—modern world, are replete with ancient themes, but usually they have been so diluted through commercialism that they have lost their power to truly inspire on even the most diminished level. (“The medium is the message.” — Marshall McLuhan) Through Lucas’ work, age—old themes found in myth take on futuristic forms: Ideal Man journeys an Awakening prodded by Tragedy, He surrenders Ego via an ascetic process of purification, then begins an ethical mission against Evil for The Universal Good... Good Triumphs in the end.
I had the opportunity to watch the PBS series and reflected upon my journey toward personal development; I wondered if others could not benefit as well. The Hero Mythology remains central to my interpretation of all human endeavors, including those of my own life. So, before I outline my own particular journey through identification with and the appropriation of The Hero Dynamic, let us examine together the broader concept of hero and its key role as a function of civilization.
Myth as Function
Myth has a pedagogical function to pass on ethical and moral tenets within all human institutions, but also has a function to bind culture and society. It gives meaning to form and purpose to action. Yet, only as an afterthought. Myth at its core describes that which drives, and working upon itself, gives form to those very same drives. The universality is representative in each of us individually and as such is found on each socio-cultural page of history. We see these ancient stories aligned closely to each other: Jesus, Buddha, Prometheus, etc., as Suffering Light Bearer. As civilization has traversed Time, these archetypes have become impoverished and harder to discern as heroes. Recent leaders such as Mao, Lenin, Ghandi, Einstein, Freud, and so on have some aura of divinity, but less so due to their proximity. Today, with the continuing socio—cultural implosion over the last forty years, the psycho-spiritual condition of Modern Man has been exhausted, leaving in the wake diluted, feckless hero surrogates.
To begin, we must penetrate the core of our basic human institutions, the true culmination of human thought and behavior, to find Hero Myth and its centric position. The following analyses of religion, psychology, philosophy, and the socio-cultural are integrated and inter-related. The divisions are made for the facile examination of the Hero Dynamic, but they actually run together, weaving in and out beyond our conscious appreciation and within each of our individual existences. That which makes us truly and completely human remains the archetype of these institutions.
Religion
Even at its nascent beginning, religion has for many thousands of years held up beliefs for examination by means of the hero, either as god or godly representative. Even before Zeus, Moses, Jesus, or Buddha, ancient caves were painted for hero worship - before the most primitive names could even be established. These ancient images were called to be exemplars of the time and, as such, early leaders. Their later proxies, echoes of the former, continue to balance orthodoxy with the realities of the progressing times. Individual confusion, pain, fear, and desire, but most importantly, the need for meaning have been placed in these templates - Hero Images as a method for interpretation of individual existence.
Hero is infinitely expansive. It is the expression of the godless belief systems of Gautama Buddha and Enlightenment or Confucius and societal ethos, as well as with the Greeks and Hindus, by contrast, who had many gods of greater or lesser importance. Whether intellectually speaking, the clime gave rise to transcendent forms and these forms gave purpose to the individual and the community. This is as true then as it is today.
Though the polytheistic religions give many faces to Universal Truth, so do the monotheistic religions which rose from Abrahamic beginnings, though with more subtlety. Their beginnings are believed to have been seeded in part from that time when the nomadic Hebrews were in Mesopotamia and the faith of Zoroaster was preeminent - an example of myth and hero being transferred and assimilated between various peoples.
The Great Roman Empire was adroit at such things. The comfortable assimilation of cultures and religious beliefs has been credited with its rise and also with its fall. The Romans took Greek Mythology as its own changing little more than the nomenclature. Only a few hundred years after the death of Jesus of Nazareth, Christianity moved from “Enemy of The State” to Rome’s official religion. It is this ability of myth to invade, assimilate, mutate - even beyond an easy comparison to the former - and proliferate that demonstrates the ubiquity and utility of religion. It has allowed the local and temporal (e.g., our holy mount) to comfortably expand to the symbolic and eternal (e.g., The Holy Mount).
As familiar as these great, ancient faiths systems are, there still remains much controversy and speculation whether their true importance is extrinsic (i.e., political, societal, cultural, etc.) or intrinsic (i.e., an inner value irrespective of the extrinsic and individually determined). It is a resounding yes to both. Lesser known faith systems, as well as the great world religions, have been followed as hero or hero representative, as varied as the Dalai Lama to the Reverend Jim Jones, but individuals have also found solace in following unique personal belief systems of spirituality and inner conscience. Both are valid and both have an inherent capacity for utility. Both, even with the use of terms such as “formless,” form and describe myth and have at their apex the hero.
Psychology and Psycho-analytic Theory
In ancient times, religion could not be separated from government, culture, society, yet as Man marched on and civilization progressed, religion’s centrality fell away. It was an over-burdened branch and could no longer be expected to bear all the world’s truths for Modern Man. Where a vacuum was created by this, science entered with all its own particular religiosity. Though all science has characteristics of religion, it is psychology and psycho-analytic theory that most closely align themselves with myth by the very nature of the fields, which attempt to draw out meaning from Man’s inner psychic recesses. These fields have employed much from the ancient themes of myth and hero.
Freud, the Father of Psycho-analysis, extensively used particular heroes of myth to describe concepts related to neurosis: Narcissism, Oedipal, Hysterical, and so on, all derived from characters found in myth. Even the name for the field of psychology began with myth: a beautiful maiden named Psyche is visited each night by Love and after her attempt to illuminate this god, she is forced to endure many trials. The word Psyche is Greek for soul, but also butterfly. The story, critically examined, elucidates the direction and focus of the two fields more so than any definition or formulaic discourse could. It describes the deep, innate need for meaning at an unconscious level. Thus, science, as in these examples, begins to present innumerable overlappings of human institutions with myth at is foundation.
The journey from childhood to adult lives is a calling to find, in the words of Ernest Becker, “cosmic significance.” Becker writes in the first chapter of his book, The Denial of Death, “how natural it is for man to strive to be a hero, how deeply it goes in his evolutionary and organismic constitution,...” Becker continues through the words of William James:
“[M]ankind’s common instinct for reality...[has made the world] a theatre for heroism.”
Similar views from the great minds of Freud, Adler, Fromm, and others identify our basic drive as one toward self-worth, a journey into the realization of Self. This is something Campbell refers to as the “transformation of consciousness.” Neurosis is this journey derailed; psychosis, the journey in retrogression; psychoanalysis, psycho-therapy, and individual reflection on one’s life story, journey no longer rudderless; psychic health, the hero returns home, such as the journeys of Odysseus or the Prodigal Son. The importance of this raising of consciousness equated with Christ’s Ascension into Heaven, The Assumption of Elijah, and Buddha’s entrance into Nirvana.
Interestingly enough, furtherance of our understanding of the unconscious mind has not only been facilitated by hero mythology, but it has created heroes: Freud, Jung, Adler, and so on have grown to mythologic proportions. Their adherents worship at the altars of Repression, Collective Unconscious, and a plethora of theories. This is true for all fields: Marx and social science; Max Stirner and Nihilistic Egoism; Ayn Rand and Objectivism; Einstein and physics; Bertrand Russel and mathematics and Individualism; Darwin and evolution; Martin Luther King, Jr. and Mahatma Ghandi for civil rights; etc. It is not only the apotheosis of these great persons that have us heroes within this physical world, but more so they have come to represent the transcendent. Not dissimilar to religion, science and intellectual thought offers heroes as well to illumine and guide.
Philosophy
Juxtaposed to science and religion, philosophy covers the gamut in its examination of all things to find substantive meaning in the world. It does so by stripping away illusion found in the supercilious facades of human institutions and by uncovering the heart and life’s blood of each system through critical and penetrative analysis.
Philosophers are cognizant that it is Man via thought, then behavior, that has created these institutions. Subsequently observed, these great monoliths turn with a greater imposition upon the individual. In this search for Truth, they have not so much usurped the ancient archetypes found in hero and myth, but merely begun with them - to begin at the beginning as it were. As we pursue Hero Myth and its relevance in the post-modern world, exploration of some of the work of the Existentialists, such as Kierkegaard and Nietzche, whom through their work expose
each human being as hero and each individual journey as epic. Philosophically speaking, identification with, attachment to, and vicariously living within the hero dynamic is the pinnacle of myth - conceptualized stories presenting universal truths that take unique shape within each of us. Existentialist thought takes the external hero worship found in all its forms and place the individual as the lead character. Now, the specificity of the individual’s life takes precedence, the age-old themes remain foundational. Thus, we create a superimposition of the two, Creator and Created.
As a method, existentialists examine the uniqueness of individual human experience and the isolation of that experience. This revolutionary idea can be summed up best by Joseph Conrad in his novel, Heart of Darkness: “We live as we dream, alone.” Existentialists purport the importance of acting with free will in what for the most part is a hostile, or worse, indifferent world. One must be fully accountable and liable for all of one’s own actions and accept their necessitative consequences. Campbell’s summation of this as it relates to hero myth is succinct, but encapsulates the concept completely: “Participate.”
As “participants” in this great cosmic drama, we each have the lead. It is within this dynamic that Man finds distinct place, predominant purpose, and specific meaning individually, yet still collectively. Making “The Way” of so many great religions, scientific fields, etc., now internalized, personalized, and transformed by taking grand meaning and making it more grand still, or rather fully realized, through individual identification of unique human experience to the transcendent.
This is the life of the individual conceptualized as hero; individual life as heroic; individual existence as a personal, yet epic, search for meaning; and individual journey made paramount. Though clearly Man Glorified as a utility for personal awareness and growth, it is accessible to believers, agnostics, and atheists alike. Kierkegaard, a devout Christian, and Nietzche, a stout critic of Christian thought, were both forerunners of Existentialism as defined today, and yet both were able to exalt each person’s unique journey, as did Sartre, Camus, Heidegger, and the others who followed. These great thinkers of the late Nineteenth Century and early Twentieth Century opened the doors widely with much hope for human expression and advancement. Though technologically, we have made tremendous progress, in more relevant ways, we have fallen short, if not regressed.
Socio-cultural Order
At society’s earliest inception, primeval and brimming over with raw struggle to sustain life, early Man started to form communities, packs if you will, seeking shelter together in caves, hunting as groups for sustenance, and establishing lineage. The nascent beginnings of inner life have been made visible on ancient cave walls in rural France. The pictorials, though crude by today’s standards, still represent the pinnacle of unabashed self-expression. As those great hunters and providers for the clan died, their lifeless corpses returning to nothingness, into the dark unknown, their images on the cave walls, conceivably, took on a sacred nature.
First, the leaders of the earliest civilizations, archaeologists approximate at seventy—five thousand years ago, then followed by the great rulers of such kingdoms as Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece, Rome, and so on, these men were glorifies and deified by the masses and lost any taint of human fraility. Such greatness, for instance Alexander The Great of Macedonia, creates a phalanx with the socio-cultural hero at its point and appears to be a necessary component for a civilization’s advancement. At a time when religion was inextricably tied to politics and goverance, the deification of rulers by their very status seems self-evident today and obviously allowed for writings about Virgin Births and miraculous deeds that continued well after a ruler’s passing. As a particular civilization degraded and regressed, the people would wax poetically about the hero’s past glory and pine for a heroic return.
As civilizations have moved from hunting and scavenging, to agrarian, to industrial, and then to technological, we have witnessed a remarkable transformation of the concepts of the transcendent with its many visible representations. An interesting transition is easily observed from the ancient caves in France at Lascaux, Altamira, Niax, and La Pasiega to the Pyramids of Egypt, the temples of ancient Greece and Rome, the numerous Christian cathedrals and basilicas throughout Europe, and the other innumerable other edifices. Also, within theater, art, music, literature, etc., the hero’s many faces has been present and continues to the elemental socio-cultural form.
Campbell spoke of the “evolution” of hero and myth. Where once a civilization’s landscape was predominated by pagoda or church steeple. Today, one finds towering skyscrapers of business. I agree with Campbell’s idea of evolution if the intimation of “better” is removed and evolved can be reduced to change. Hero and myth have changed, dramatically so, but are fully evolved from their inception and as such are simply Protean in nature. As Western Civilization transmutated from Apollo, The Son of Zeus and The Sun God to Christ Jesus, Sun/Son of God, it retained the elemental form of illumination. From hunter to Wall Street power broker, the elemental forms also remain. As Confucius came from and appeals to the collectivistic cultures of the Orient, a “personal” relationship with Jesus is easily woven into the individualistic cultures of Westernized society, yet both at their core purport many of the same values. Any of the nuanced differences can be attributed to specific factors related to the respective culture. How could it be otherwise? Whether one is a native of Toledo or Timbuktu, we are human. Remove the particulars which separate us and it is easily demonstrated that all life moves in the same direction:
Toward existence.
Man’s attempts to represent that which cannot be represented, The Transcendent, what the Hindus call “beyond names, beyond forms,” are manifest within the rise of great, holy leaders and their edifices, but in these later times, a new phenomenon: the world’s temples have grown taller and taller, and the world’s leaders have steadily diminished. Jesus, Gautama, Mohammed, etc., represent the pinnacle of glorification; the attempts to de—Transfigure them have in large part been unsuccessful. Following these are the world’s great leaders, from Ghandi to Marx to Freud, The Founding Fathers of the U.S. to Churchill, and so on. Exemplars, yes, yet mere men and women
not to be sanctified. As we begin to examine the last half of the Twentieth Century, we see few examples of true heroism left. Actually, the opposite has surfaced
The Anti-hero and The Superstar
Heroism as described by Campbell is “moral objective through self-sacrifice.” Though we have seen diminished examples here and there in the Post-Modern world, under the closer scrutiny that is available in today’s age, society has been confronted with the numerous limitations perceived to exist in all individuals. The Realists, Surrealists, and Humanists have tried to elevate without raising up Man - through the close-cropped reality of existence with temples of their own sans god, priest, and edifice. In large measure, these attempts have paled next to transcendent glory.
With the great cultural implosion in the U.S. and Europe of the 1960s and the first televised war (Vietnam); the evidence of widespread political scandal that began during the second Nixon administration and left much antipathy, then apathy, in its wake; and an acknowledgment of the growing problems of the modern world (partly a reaction against the idyllic misperceptions portrayed in the media of post-WWII American Life, and partly a sincere claim to reality), the concept of hero was bound, gagged, and thrown into the dark recesses from which it came.
“The crisis of modern society is precisely that the youth no longer feel heroic in the plan for action that their culture has set up.” (Again, Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death.) From the disillusionment of the 1960s with its anti-authoritarian
and free-love rhetoric, to the Bacchanal 1970s, the ultra—conservatism and materialism of the 1980s (a reaction against the two former ideologies ), and so on, up to the beginning of the new millennium, there has been a continual impoverishment of the modern concept of hero. Where at one time we had epic representations of Life’s journey, take the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel with Michelangelo’s Hand of God reaching to touch Man, today we fill a veritable vacuum with the likes of Warhol’s Pop Art, the glorification of movie stars and sports figures, commercialism, and every other base form sensationalism.
“Without moral objective through self-sacrifice,” we are left with antithetical heroes: Monsters and Superstars. Both represent hero sans its transcendent import. It is the natural craving of Man for meaning via hero which allows these anemic and cancerous prototypes to enlarge so greatly and still they are unable to satiate the true psycho-spiritual hunger.
Within our American culture recently, men like Jim Jones, Charles Manson, and David Keresh filled the hungry yearnings of lost sheep. In April 2005, Brian Nichols, a convicted felon awaiting a rape trial in Atlanta, breaks free from a deputy of the court and kills several, including the trial judge, then escapes. Just briefly, convicts found a hero.
These are not isolated instances with spectacular villains and false prophets. The modern world has witnessed horrific examples: Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, to name only a few.
Socio—cultural cycles observed in retrospect through history allow for flux: formation of a new system; its propagation; its growth and acceptance; the ultimate failure of its ideals; then the reaction against with the formation of a new system
- an endless seeking of establishment with a concomitant tsunami of iconoclasm. The never-ending Yin and Yang: a duality where the spiritual expresses a Oneness that the duality seeks.
Our world seen in this historical light and the fact that our current leaders are of such close proximity, it is difficult to ascertain whether they are heroes or villains. We lack the historical objectivity, but this is true: Man seeks leaders or seeks to lead — the masses tend to follow. For myself, I believe that the current crop of leaders is nothing more than self-interested politicians and businessmen, and they lack the glimmer that attracts the attention of the modern world.
It is the superstar that truly has taken center stage in modern times. This is not exactly a new phenomenon. Every community has had them, but the thriving, “advanced”
civilizations carry them higher. The Roman senators of Julius Caesar’s day knew that to maintain control over the citizenry all that was needed was food and entertainment: “bread and circus.” The ancient heroes with their moral objectives and self-sacrifice slowly began to be crippled through insipid imitation. Glitz replaces transfiguration and the superstar comes to the fore - more so today than ever.
Our new saints and demi-gods are Madonna, The Rolling Stones, Shaq, A-Rod, and Tom Cruise; ascension is only one step away as seen with Elvis and Tupac. Hollywood and Nashville become new Meccas. People Magazine and Inside Edition become examples of modern worship. No longer do we believe in suffering servants selflessly bringing enlightenment, nor would that idea attract attention - unless glamorized in the Silver Screen with a tub of popcorn or the home altar of television with brief commericial interruptions.
These heroes shine with sensationalism and base sexuality - not dissimilar to ancient Greek gods, but add insatiable consumerism and subtract moral theme. Instead of lightning bolts and fire, our gods are adorned with Gucci, Polo, and Rolex; not chariots on clouds, but BMWs; not Mount Olympus, but the Hollywood Hills. No more palms thrown before a long awaited, but a red carpet at the next opening of a blockbuster movie. Vapid celluloid images of glamorous lives filled with excitement and luxury. Their rise and fall, their foibles and pettiness, all brought into our very selves ravenous for existential worth. They fall miserably short of the true mark. Epic heroes bearing universal meaning do not pose for the camera, vie for airtime, nor do they negotiate multi—million dollar contracts.
At the beginning of this phase of degradation, the drive for realism came from the innate desire for existential meaning, yet unable to bear the inward gaze, nor bear the labor of the journey, we find the the substitutes offered, such as The Jerry Springer Show or “reality” TV. This is the equivalent to giving the thirsty man grain alcohol to drink.
This new chapter bears the same over-exposure that stripped our heroes and yet magnifies the average and mundane. It does not however elevate. Humanity needs no elevation; at its root, all life realizes existence is a “gift.” A gift to embrace or throw away, but always to be returned. Reality in this form, over-exposure, attempts to elevate the base-ness of our humanity. Again, this represents a call to existence, but misses the mark.
A recent issue of a popular men’s magazine polled its readers: “Which of the following actors would you want to play you in the movie of your life: Brad Pitt, the hunk; Torn Hanks, the lovable average guy;” and so on. Sadly, my mind went immediately went to the indie film star, Gael Garcia Bernal. (I felt compelled to choose.) This too represents a drive toward existential meaning, but who can truly “play” me but me and is my life not bigger than The Big Screen.
So, where are the answers within this amazing distortion? U.S. senators and a recent president, even the late modern pope, all former actors carrying their thespian craft with them. In this new world, they adroitly wield political and religious power with each theatric wave, joke, posed facial expression — all for the omnipresent camera. Dull statesmen, though keenly knowledgeable and hold the greatest potential for leadership, are pushed to the side. We cry for “The Governator,” not wimpy, bleeding heart intellectuals who lack charisma and “presence.”
Even economists, arguably the driest of all academes, have draped themselves with the accoutrements of entertainment. Jeffersy Sachs has “star quality,” and the former president, George W., has his favorite too, Steven Levitt, author of Freakonomics, a comedic night stand read. Conservative pundits, such as Anne Coulter and Rush Limbaugh, deliver ideology for entertainment, as do Liberal comedic actors, like Al Franken, now Mr. Senator, and Jeanne Garafalo. Only in today’s world could Bono of U2 open his door to find Mikhail Gorbachev wishing to discuss the plight of the world. (True story, and the superstar forgot that the former Soviet leader scheduled the meeting well in advance.)
What are we left with? Endless television programming, rampant commercialism, insatiable consumerism, and lives bereft of authentic meaning. On the popular scene, books sell by the millions marketed for “The Purpose Driven Life,” or a little
“Chicken Soup for the Soul,” and every variety thereof for effective living.., with the requisite sales of related calendars, CDs, etc. But all is not lost. This demonstrates the resiliency, even today, of Man’s seeking for the transcendent - though marginally. Can it brought back into centrality?
The Life and Times of (insert your name here).
Every story has a beginning. Campbell said that every beginning has a story. “The Story” is true for us collectively and individually. The middle text of my life, in brief, and the process I discovered for “Claiming Hero” follows:
As I entered prison, I was stripped, literally and figuratively. I had misrepresented myself to patients for several years by the very action of working without my license. I am a former Physician Assistant. I was working under the direction of a licensed physician, who knew of my status; he received a probated sentence. My past was easy for the media to sensationalize; it held the wreckage of alcoholism. My marriage, too, was a fake - though legal. Though finally alcohol-free, my world came crashing down in mere moments for the evening news.
Many journeys to wholeness begin as such: cancer, arrest, rape, etc. A change in perspective allows these to be seen as they should be seen: epic morality plays of journeying heroes. Within this maturation process of difficulty and challenge with the pangs of growth, the child’s perceptions dies and the Self is reborn as adult. The passion and sacrifice followed by the tomb and resurrection. In hero myth, the manifestation of one’s true character, True Self, depends upon the readiness of the hero and the necessary push of circumstance or “Providence.” The individual is always hero - whether he has begun the mission or not. Jesus, Mohammed, Luke Skywalker, King David, or you. This method voids the particulars of a difficulty, so each of us as hero can discover meaning and purpose hidden in our own lives. Traversing the difficulty is journey, or process, toward wholeness. This clarity of vision propels the concept of victimhood, even of one’s own self-destructive nature, into a growing transformation.
With Campbell’s presentation of hero, I began at a very necessary time in my life to see myself and my world differently. It was a dramatically different vision, a spiritual awakening, a transformation of thought and it allowed me to perceive the trials and tribulations, the troubles and loss, mistakes and failures as a necessary journey to wholeness, not an empty meaningless waste, but life with great transcendent import. At first I could not claim the ideal heroes as my own, such as Christ or the saints, and equally eschewed their antitheses held in colorful characterizations of me as Hanibel Lector or Kevorkian. I did find great solace within the many faces of the tragic hero, like Odysseus, the misdirected adventurer attempting to return home.
Douglas Fairbanks and Leonardo da Vinci, melded together, represented the ideal hero for Campbell as “Model of Self” which he found as a young boy. In juxtaposition, my earliest memories of heroes were Stretch Amrstrong, a malleable toy action figure that I eventually vivisected to discover his inner goo, and
Herbie, The Wonder Bug, the magical car of Disney that carried its passengers anywhere in the world. One could posit that these facts hold the key to why I am in prison and Campbell will be remembered as a renowned scholar, but that analysis is far too simplistic. A child left to his own devices, as will Primitive Man, shall discover “God in all things.” In prison through extensive notes about my life, I found numerous examples of ancient templates within my journey. From this, a hero by my own name emerged.
As one truly comfortable with this transition, seeking a reflection of Self in the forms of Marx, Buddha, Darwin, or Batman, we observe over time that the hero as other is removed and the identification of hero as Self surfaces. I no longer find myself in them, but them in me. Eventually, Odysseus is removed from the helm altogether for that is where I stand. This journey was very much an individual one that required many years of journal writing and reflection, but the importance of a spiritual director, a therapist, or an AA sponsor cannot be discounted.
Nietzche wrote these words: “Becareful in casting out your devil. You may cast out the best that is in you.” Often disease promotes self—loathing behavior. As humans, we cannot merely throw away the canvas of our lives and start over, nor should we want to. The hero embraces all that is Self. In particular, the difficulty whether external or internal, though usually intertwined, are useful guides to core issues and growth. The ancient martial arts of the East allow a fighter to take an adversary’s strength and use it against him. This concept holds
true for using the hero method in cognitive reframing, whether individually or a therapeutic relationship. In cognitive reframing, these core issues are the starting point for discovering individual strengths. By recognizing these
personality defects, we begin to perceive ourselves as we truly are without the cognitive distortions.
Identification through cognitive processes is a powerful force in our lives. It is not the outer appearance that predominates nor the variety of environmental factors, but the internal perception to these that determines sense of Self and behavior. Action follows a label. Both society and individual work together to create labels, but the individual must be the one to claim it.
In 1971, Dr. Zimbardo at Stanford University performed an experiment using two groups of healthy, crime—free/addiction-free, college—educated, middle class American males of European descent. The scientific experiment randomly labeled one group “Inmates” and the other “Prison Guards.” The experiment, which was designed to duplicate the prison experience sans any physical violence, was deemed unethical after only six days. The transformation that took place within hours of starting the experiment was easily observed on video recordings. The sadistic nature usually attributed to prison guards quickly surfaced in those playing the role of guard. The psychological toll was clearly seen in the inmate population characterized later as demoralizing and humiliating. One participant had a psychological breakdown and had to be removed within the first few days. Without equivocation, the key to this phenomenon was identity.
For my own life, I felt that this new awakening resembled the Polynesian story of a man standing on the back of a whale fishing for minnows. Had I been standing on the back of my own great fish for so many years seeking each little one that swam by? As a drunk, I could not stay sober for more than a few months at best. I had summarily ruined my life. Yet, upon identification as a Recovering Alcoholic, not an easy transition, I could maintain years of sobriety.
Similarly by claiming the hero, I could begin to transform the many misperceptions I had of myself and the world. Life made new, but not into some fanciful “Never Neverland,” but into a life of meaning, particularly with respect to difficulties and challenges. This is very different than the wave of a magic wand to make it all go away, another manipulation of others to get “my way,” or a drink to take it all away; this is full acceptance of life as it is and the search for purpose and meaning with clues offered up in the particulars of individual circumstance.
As one reads The Odyssesy, readily found is this: the physical drama takes on psycho-spiritual import. I began to see myself as this journeyman. My physical world, too, propped up by transcendent meaning. As I started taking extensive notes on my life, a process that alone took nearly three years, I was able to divine the necessity of individual struggle and suffering. Epic in that it was immeasurably important
(existentially important) to my awareness and growth.
Schopenhaur wrote that as one looks back on one’s life, it takes on a meaningful plot where all the characters and events support the morality story. As I endured the hard years, I perceived that they were bereft of any meaning; purposeless except for the avoidance of fear and pain; amorphous; and hollow. Looking back through my notes, I saw with great clarity that the events of my life came together to support the morality play of my own existence. For many years I was rudderless or others steered while I did little but watch and wait. Through this process, I took my place at the helm, was back on course, and believe that I am a better man for it.
My prayer life, my readings in every conceivable field, the physical hardships, the austerity and sometimes violent world of prison, the love of my family and few remaining friends, those I met while incarcerated... All things spoke to me of this journey. I accepted my life in its entirety and all became the foundation upon which I built a new temple. The smallness of my life removed by way of a deep knowledge of the intrinsic worth of myself and my journey. The chains simply fell away.
Conclusion
“Transformation of Consciousness:” With hero as origin and guide, this psycho—spiritual journey that we each take toward individual transfiguration. It offers an awareness that each of our our lives are of paramount importance. Just as hero and myth are the foundation of all human institutions and give form to our inner selves, they are the vehicle for individual psycho—spiritual growth.
Within addiction treatment, various forms of rehabilitation, social work, psychotherapy and psychoanalysis, and pastoral care, this model can be effectively utilized as a method of cognitive reframing. It may also be effectively used in conjunction with medical, physical, or occupational therapies, where “spirituality” has been facilitated as an effective adjunct to traditional modalities. Aiding our patients' and clients' acquisition of the role of hero can lead to clear perceptions of self-worth, positively augment behavior, and give transcendent importance to Life’s difficulties and challenges. This method gives form to the deep psycho-spiritual world via ancient templates, which are easily accessible and can be developed over time depending upon the client’s/patient’s individual needs and cognitive functioning.
This process, though initially superimposing the individual over a template, is not a reductive method. It should not be limited by the previous structure, but is merely a starting point for self-actualization and a foundation upon which to grow. Hero myth allows for full expression of the individual not only by drawing out universal themes, but through deep personal identification through cognitive skills training.
In my own therapeutic process, my identification with The Prodigal Son, Saint Peter, The Phoenix, Narcissus, Proteus, Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde, the wandering Jew and those held captive, and others allowed me to examine my core issues previously impenetrable due to internal recriminations and lack of self-worth. This approach is accessible to many of the most resistant individuals in that it disarms defense mechanisms to treatment and inspires the process of therapy, either through self-exploration or as an adjunct to other therapeutic modalities.
While walking the prison yard with another inmate, I heard someone say, “The blood of a slave, the heart of a king.” The words took me by surprise as they spoke to my soul. “This is cognitive reframing,” I thought. Before much of this work, I would have ignored those words completely as nonsense, but they echo still and remind me of a quote from Dr. Maya Angelou: “1 can be changed by what happens to me. I refuse to be reduced by it.” I am reminded that everything speaks of God. Injured limbs, lost children, criminal convictions, failed marriages, and so forth, through a deep psycho-spiritual awakening, I have been given the ability to see my world with its transcendent import. Much of what I see rings true today of the necessary journey that all must take. It is an illumination of the existential import of each life lived as heroic epic. Whether from a prison cell, hospice bed, or palatial mansion, we are called to embrace life completely and interpret each and every experience from a psycho—spiritual reference point.
No longer victims, but heroes together in this pursuit. Our lives witnessed as art, literature, music, theater, science, as well as all other human institutions are: extensions of legend. Welcome to love and joy, and knowingly endure the necessary suffering for growth. All becomes sustenance, Manna fro Heaven. This new perception is reality fully realized through existential identification. It is rebirth. New creation dawning upon the infinite socio-cultural, historical, psycho-spiritual wealth of the millennia with its completely unique individual expression.
Each of us can finally claim the lead role in our own lives. I, myself, could no longer play a secondary role. Campbell calls
“claiming” of hero, or “This am I.” We, each alone and yet collectively, shall journey up that holy mount, brave that crashing sea, traverse that lonely desert, and sit in that empty cell, bravely searching with new eyes, until we too can say, “This am I.”

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