The Unknown Mongol 2

by Scott Ereckson

  Standing in silence, I stared at the empty locker that was once full of canteen and the stripped bed I’d slept in only hours earlier. Like a wild fire, the word had quickly spread throughout the dorm. Now sitting on my bunk, I was approached by two Christian inmates, one carrying a Bible and the other holding a brand-new toothbrush.

  I’d seen them on the yard but had never spoken or knew their names. I listened while the one with the toothbrush spoke; “Hey brother, can we pray with you?” “Nah, I’m good.” “That’s cool, we thought you might need a new toothbrush, you know God has a plan for everyone, though you may not see it now, what just happened to you is part of a bigger picture, there’s a reason you’re still here, and only he knows why.”

  “Hey, thanks for the toothbrush, but I really aint in the mood for the preaching stuff right now, so why don’t you guys take a hike.

  CHAPTER 24

  Like always, word of my misfortune had quickly spread throughout the yard. I was no longer known as the guy that got fired from R&R but now the guy that lost his date at the gate.

  As TWEETY, Dooby and I strolled the yard, people from all races approached to give their condolences. They came not out of respect, but out of fear, the fear of reality, the fear of what had just happened to me could happen to them as well.

  As we strolled, not much was said between us, what could be said? TWEETY broke the silence; “So what are you gonna do now?” After I minute of self-contemplation, I replied; “Ya know brother, I’ve always wanted to write a book.”

  At the moment, all I could think about was talking to Dee, I wanted to hear her voice and explain what happened. I was sure she probably thought somehow, I was to blame for the mishap. With a 3-hour ride home ahead of her, at that minute a phone-call was futile.

  Luckily, Dooby’s connections in the watch office helped to secure my same bunk, another hour and the next shift would have issued it to someone else, leaving me no choice but to start all over from the gym. With help from a sympathetic friend, I was able to get a phone-call the following day.

  “Hello?” Her tone was noticeably different; “How you are doing?” “Not too good” she replied. As we talked, she never once asked how I was or what happened, it was all about her, what would she do now, and with the sudden change, how would she make ends meet? The more I listened, she made me feel as if I were nothing more than a source of income and the sudden change of my release date (like I thought) was somehow my fault. The excitement and joy I’d heard in her voice only 2 days earlier, had suddenly dissipated like a fart in the wind.

  “Shit Dee, its only four more months, after all we’ve been through, that aint shit.” After a brief pause she replied; “I don’t know, maybe I just need some time to figure things out.” “Need some time to figure things out, what the hell’s that mean?”

  I was starting to get pissed but I wasn’t about to get in a screaming match over a damn dorm phone. “Okay, you need some time, fine.” Trying to understand her sudden self-centeredness, I began to second guess myself, maybe it was me who was being insensitive.

  Just as mine, all her hopes and dreams had suddenly been crushed, or at least temporarily. I knew one thing, I had to quit the pity-party shit, and somehow put the next 120 days to work in a positive way. This is when I made a conscious decision to write my first book “THE UNKNOWN MONGOL” (at the time nameless).

  I knew the only way to stay focused, was to change my daily routine. Immediately, my days became consumed with extensive exercise and after dinner with only a yellow legal pad and golf pencil, a mandatory hour of writing.

  With my new routine, the days seemed to move quickly and before I knew it, 2 weeks had passed since my last phone-call to Dee.

  She said she needed some time, surely 2 weeks was long enough. Anxiously, I waited while the phone rang but to my dismay, the call wasn’t accepted. My heart sank, there must be a mistake, I was sure I dialed the right number, frantically I redialed, and again my call was denied. What the hell is going on here, I’d just lost my date and now my wife too? Maybe she just needs a little more time.

  As weeks went by, my 1-mile jogs turned into 3-mile runs, my evening hour scribbles became 2 hours of intense writing, I had to keep focused and my brain occupied.

  ◆◆◆

  The first week of September 2004, we were again visited by the New Wine church and the Peacemakers. As I watched them line up at the gate preparing for entry, I couldn’t wait to enquire about Dee. It had been over a month since I’d spoken to her and I was sure my friends at the New Wine church could bring me up to date on her wellbeing.

  After the normal lengthy security procedure, the gate slowly opened, and the thundering pack of bikes entered the yard. Watching the bikes line-up, I looked for R.J. and Sharon and quickly spotted them. As they dismounted, instead of the usual joyful greeting, the atmosphere seemed dark and clouded.

  “How’s Dee?” Looking at the ground R.J shook his head; “You need to talk to Pastor Bob.” I turned to Sharon and saw her eyes began to well. “What’s going on, what’s wrong with my wife?” “Go talk to Pastor Bob.” As I began to look for Pastor Bob my anxiousness suddenly turned to anxiety, something was wrong, the first thing that came to mind was Dee must be sick. In my search for Bob, I came across a couple of the girls that were in Dee’s group; “How’s my wife doing?” The faces that always smiled were now filled with pity; “Go talk to Pastor Bob.”

  At the far end of the bikes surrounded by a crowd of people, I saw Pastor Bob. As I approached the small crowd our eyes locked. Stepping away from the group, he greeted me with a hug and a whisper in my ear; “We need to talk.” As we strolled alone Bob broke the news. “I had to ask Dee and Jack to leave the church.” A knot instantly began to form in my stomach, I knew what was coming next, and I listened for the the details.

  As time went on, Dee was spending more and more time with the Cramer’s especially with Jack. Though they tried to keep their affair under wraps, it couldn’t be hidden. Dee had been spotted outside the church riding on the back of Jack’s Harley, as Jack was often seen driving my Dodge truck. Though Jack and Dee denied any wrong doing, Jack’s parents, Joe and Lilly came before the church to ask forgiveness for their acknowledgment of the affair and because of their honesty, were allowed to stay.

  The sudden impact of this news made me sick to my stomach, I was angry, but more embarrassed. After thanking Pastor Bob for his time, I B-lined for the dorm and immediately maneuvered a phone-call. My last attempt to contact Dee had been a month and a half earlier and to no avail, but surprisingly this time she picked up. “Hello?” “Hey Dee, you’ll never guess who’s here at the prison today.” Before she could speak, I said; “The New Wine church!” She began to scream; “They’re liars! They’re all liars!” “No Bitch, you’re the liar.”

  I gotta admit it hurt, but it was only my pride that was damaged. I’d always been the one to end the relationship, now the shoe was on the other foot and it sucked.

  Though embarrassed, I returned to the yard and did what any real MONGOL would do, acted like it wasn’t shit.

  The end of the day came quick, I shook hands with R.J. and gave Sharon a hug, she smiled and said; “Don’t worry JUNIOR, when you get out we’ll find you a good Christian girl.”

  CHAPTER 25

  By the middle of October 2004, I found myself again counting down the days. With a new E.P.R.D. of 11-10, I was only a month from my 2nd but this time accurate release date.

  Things seemed to be going well, the initial anger and humiliation I felt over the Dee incident had subsided to feeling of relief, especially after finding out from Lenore (Dee’s friend), Dee and Jack’s affair had been going on months before my bogus July parole date. Yep that’s right, Dee was already sleeping with the guy when her and Josh came to pick me up. What the hell was she thinking? Did she plan on telling me on the way home? You’re guess is as good as mine.

  With a mixture of persistence and dedication, I’d completed 10 chapte
rs of my book. One of the pros of living in a dorm is you’re always surrounded by avid readers. In prison, good books are a delicacy and are traded from hand to hand. Books by authors like Steven King, Dean Koontz and James Patterson were hot commodities and could only be had by waiting lists.

  Needless to say, the dorm was full of self-proclaimed book critics so, I had no problem sharing my memoirs for some feedback. After lending out chapter 1 to a friend, word had spread throughout the dorm and others would ask to read it next.

  The feedback was good, I loaned out chapter 2 and so forth. Within a week, every night after yard lockdown, a group of inmates and convicts would gather at my bunk hoping to get a glimpse at the next chapter. This is when I began to realize I might really have something.

  One evening it dawned on me, the bigger picture that the Christian inmate had mentioned had suddenly made perfect sense. Now I knew the reason I was still here. Like that day alone in my cell when I fell to my knees and screamed for help, again my prayer had been heard but in a different context.

  A greater power had relieved me of a deceitful wife and a disastrous situation and enabled me to fulfill my dream of writing a book. I can only thank God for not releasing me on that hot July day. Most assuredly I would have already returned on a third strike and never started my book.

  ◆◆◆

  With only 2 weeks until my release date, on a cool afternoon, word of the largest Tehachapi scandal consumed the yard like a wild fire. On that day, all the R&R employees I had worked with months earlier (including Ernie) were rounded up and removed from the yard in handcuffs. Only later would the unbelievable details be revealed.

  In each dorm day room was a T.V. and numerous playing tables. Along the wall opposite from the windows were also 4 individual mini rooms (closet size), referred to as “the hobby rooms.” Equipped with lighting, a small work station and a locking door, these rooms could only be had by privileged inmates holding current and up to date hobby cards. The rooms were in such high demand that once on the waiting list, it could take up to a year or even longer before there was an available vacancy.

  It happened that one of these hobby rooms (located in a different dorm) was occupied by an inmate named Jamal. Jamal was popular throughout the yard mainly from his job, (lead inmate in R&R). Though Jamal and myself had worked together months earlier, few words were ever said.

  Besides Jamal’s obvious R&R hustle, he was also known for his quality leatherwork. His hand tooled wallets, belts and women’s purses were in high demand and sold for top dollar. With everything handmade in his tiny hobby room, when not at work you could always find him there. But here was something a little odd about Jamal’s hobby room, “the traffic.”

  Black inmates and convicts were always huddled around the tiny room often taking turns going in and locking the door then coming out minutes later. After weeks of this odd activity, not only did it draw the attention of other inmates, but also with staff.

  On a late October afternoon, Jamal’s hobby room was raided by the prison’s S.S.U. (Special Service Unit) also known to convicts as the Goon Squad. Let me put this way, when the Goon Squad was involved, it meant someone’s in deep shit and part of an ongoing investigation. Upon a search of Jamal’s hobby room this is what they uncovered.

  It turned out Jamal’s leather works was nothing but a front for a lucrative pornography business. You gotta remember this is 2004 and any form of porn is considered contraband (illegal to possess).

  Somehow through his R&R connections and most likely with the help of staff, Jamal had acquired a 7-inch widescreen high resolution portable monitor with a built in DVD player and an assortment of DVD porn movies to go with it.

  Now all the traffic made sense, he was using the hobby room for black inmates to watch porn movies and charging big money for it. You gotta admit, it was pretty freakin clever. The only problem was the greedy bastard got caught, not only him but also everyone else involved that worked in R&R.

  Needless to say, getting fired from R&R months earlier over those freakin Fila’s ended up being a blessing. Though I was momentarily detained and interrogated, enough time had passed assuring investigators I wasn’t involved, saving me from a trip to the hole with the rest of those suckas; “That’s right, who’s the dumb-asses now?”

  CHAPTER 26

  On Monday night November 8th 2 days before my parole date, I received a ducat to see my counselor the following morning. Early Tuesday I reported to his office and was told my parole custody had been upgraded to (High-Control) meaning, I must report to the parole office within 24 hours of my release. “So, what’s the big deal?” It so happened that the day after my release date was Veterans Day and the parole office was closed. Yep, they did it again, my parole date was changed from the 10th to Thursday the 11th (Veterans Day) so I could report to an open parole office on Friday the 12th.

  At 12-noon on Thursday 11-11-04, with 150 hand written pages of my first book in hand, I walked out of Tehachapi State Prison and to my surprise was greeted by April and my kids Jeremy and Bonnie.

  Leaving the town of Tehachapi, I stared through the window in silence reflecting on the past 6 years of my life. Who’d a believed it, with help and dedication from others and a desperate cry to God, I was one of the few to beat the system by only doing a total of 6 years on a 14-year sentence.

  Once a millionaire on paper and now with only 200 dollars of gate money to my name, I was encumbered by family and freedom, feeling richer than I’d ever been.

  ◆◆◆

  On Friday morning November 12th,2004 I reported to the parole office and was informed Dee and Jack “because of my club affiliations” had previously given a written statement to the parole department stating, “they were in fear for their lives.” “You gotta be freakin kiddin me!” Now I knew why I’d been upgraded to a (High-Control) parolee.

  My conditions of parole were strict. No drugs, no bars, no leaving the county without permission, no affiliation or contact with any members of the MONGOLS and absolutely no contact with Dee oh, and not to mention unexpected visits from my parole agent and pissing in a cup on demand.

  Living with my parents and working fulltime at Perkins Iron left me with no social life, not to mention I’d been a MONGOL since I was 20 years old, leaving me with no friends or acquaintances.

  Feeling as if I owed R.J. and Sharon for their friendship and support while incarcerated, I decided to attend a service at the New Wine church and was greeted with open arms. The comradery the church offered substituted for the MONGOL brotherhood I so deeply missed so, I began to attend on a regular basis. Within a month, Sharon made good to her promise and introduced me to “a good Christian girl” (Lisa).

  In an Orange county divorce court, after forfeiting my Dodge truck and agreeing to pay off 6-thousand dollars in credit card debt accumulated during my incarceration, the 120-pounds of dead weight I’d carried for the past 4 years was finally lifted.

  On December 16th, 2006, at our home in Yorba Linda California surrounded by family, friends, and my best man RED DOG, Lisa and I were married.

  The Orange County division of state parole did their best to violate me but to no avail. During 3 years of constant harassment, pissing in cups and 8 different agents, on 11-11-07 I was finally discharged.

  Working for Perkins Iron was good. At 26 bucks an hour and a company truck who could complain but having to pay 2,100 a month rent for the Yorba Linda house was making things tough. Then out of the blue, I received a phone call from my childhood friend Curt who now lived in Salt Lake City Utah.

  A lot had happened since Curt and I fished at the lake in 1974. After taking different paths, we both had risen to the top of our trades. I had climbed to the top of the MONGOL NATION serving 4 terms as National President and 2 terms in prison and he had climbed to the top of the largest glass company in Utah to the position of project manager and after 33years, again we were in contact. With a 4-year contract coming up in downtown Salt Lake City, they desperat
ely needed welders and offered me a job, but with a move to Utah came a lot to consider.

  The pay was considerably lower but so was the cost of living, and there was Lisa’s 13-year-old son (Trucker), did we really want to take him out of school? After many discussions, I decided to take the job. With the housing market 50% lower in Utah, the possibility of owning our own home was in reach, unlike California. There was only one thing, I wasn’t leaving California without my MONGOL patch.

  It was a MONGOL policy that any member who was incarcerated must leave his club colors with his chapter for safe keeping until his discharge of parole.

  At the time of my incarceration, I was National President of the entire club and also the president of Mother Chapter, who I proudly gave possession of my colors. Now discharged from parole, I wanted them back.

  At this time, Doc Cavazos was the reigning National President and had possession of my club colors under lock and key.

  Doc’s unorthodox style of dictatorship and constant theft of club funds in my mind, was not only unacceptable behavior but forbidden by our MONGOL constitution and I had no problem being outspoken on the subject. With my sudden return as an active member, I quickly became Doc’s adversary threatening his power and source of income. Other long-time members who had confronted Cavazos on this issue were unfairly labeled as traitors, beaten and expelled from the club “put out bad.”

  Upon asking Doc for the return of my colors, he demanded I attend a Mother Chapter meeting before handing them over in which I agreed so, a date and time was set.