by Hanley, Don;
As I was returning to my group, Dan called from the infirmary and informed me that the prison physician determined that Mike did not need to go to the hospital but needed around the clock observation for at least 24 hours. "He is well enough to beg me to let Sonia stay because she is prettier than me. That's a good sign that he's okay. I'm sending Sonia back to you. I'll come up at the lunch break and I'll tell you what he told me about why he did what he did. And we'll talk about where we should put Mike tomorrow evening."
When I got back to my team, I announced, "Mike has regained consciousness and will stay in the prison infirmary for at least 24 hours. Sonia will be back with us shortly. So please, carry on."
I sat down and listened. At the first lull in the conversation, Jake said, "Jerry, we did discuss what happened and we believe that this incident emphasizes our need to get to know one another better. None of us have a clue what is going on in Mike's head. It would have helped if he had opened up to Jose or to any one of us. Maybe we could have helped." We continued to explore ideas and exercises. The other teams did the same.
Sonia came back to our room and I joined her at the door. She confided to me that Mike had told her, "I got a letter from my wife, telling me that she was filing for divorce and marrying some dude who would be a good father to our children. First, I was so damn angry, I wanted to blow up the whole stinking world and kill the bastard and my wife and then myself. Then this morning I thought I'll just get one of the big guards to kill me."
"I told him that was a chicken-shit way of handling it and that he could kill himself if he wished but that he would be better off to get in touch with his own inner strength and to overcome this terrible traumatic news and, damnit, definitely not to bring anyone else into some shitty suicide scheme. He then said he would do that if I would marry him. I said, 'In your dreams.' He did grin, so I think he's safe for the moment."
I decided to go ahead with some exercises we had planned to unite the men and help them get to know one another better. First on the agenda was to lead the group in an exercise in which we all would mill around the room in silence and make eye contact with one another. While making eye contact, I asked them to think that we are all connected in the force-field of human consciousness. We were to do this until we had made contact with everyone. Before we could get started, Jim Modell, a short, chubby, young black man, approached me and said, "I ain't gonna do that kind of stupid exercise, as you call it."
I called out to the men, "Okay, get going you guys, we'll join you soon." I pulled Jim over to a corner of the room and asked, "So, Jim, what's the problem with this exercise?"
"It's just stupid, that's all." He looked defiantly at me, like I had asked him to jump off a high cliff.
"Come on, man, it's more than 'that's all,' and you know it. You've been okay with a bunch of other exercises that seemed more difficult than this one, so what is it?"
Modell looked down at the floor and seemed to be trying to come up with something. I thought back to my few encounters with him and realized that he seldom made eye contact with me or anyone else.
After staring at the floor he finally admitted, "Mebbe it has to do with my pa, I don't really know."
"Jim, most of our fears like this come from our childhood. Are you able to tell me what happened with your pa that could have something to do with this?"
"Yeah, when I was five, sometime before I started school anyway, my pa was glaring at me and he says, 'Don't you look at me like that, you stupid little shit, or I'll beat the hell out of you.' I didn't know how I was looking at him, so I just said, 'Yes, sir.' And I ain't been able to look anyone else in the eye ever since."
He had looked at me about half the time he was talking, so I said, "Jim, you've looked at me several times since we've sat down here, and it looks like you've done real fine. Were you afraid?"
"A little, but I've gotten to know that you're a kind sort of guy ... like Jack Carroll. So, I ain't scared of you like I was my pa. I think that I might make somebody really mad, if I looked at them wrong, so I just better not."
Everyone in the group had plenty of time to make contact with everyone else, maybe twice. I called out, now, for everyone to find someone they don't know too well and tell that person what this experience was like for them. I yelled, "Now, find someone."
"Jim, you want to find someone else to talk to or do you want to stay with me?"
"I'll stay with you if that's okay." I agreed, so he would tell me more about his family growing up. He said his pa was a drunken tyrant and beat his ma and the other kids almost every day. I encouraged him to practice making eye contact as often as he could during the coming week.
As we were heading to the lunch room, J.J. asked me if she could meet with Rebecca and me sometime over the upcoming weekend. I immediately called Rebecca and she suggested Saturday evening and a restaurant we both liked and in which we wouldn't be bothered by children. We set a time.
During lunch, Sonia said that she had asked Mike Castro if he would give us permission to discuss his family situation with the rest of the men. He asked why, and I told him, "It is a real life situation many men, and women, often face and that maybe we could learn how much trust we need to have in order to tell such a heavy experience to another team member, inmate or guard. I told him that I bet most would have a hard time trusting others. Then, I would ask them what they thought of you, Mike, after what happened this morning." He said okay, if I would tell him what the men said about him. If they were really critical, he would like to get out of our project. I said, I would check with you, Jerry. I called and you thought it was a good idea. So Mike gave us permission to discuss his situation. So, let's do it, okay?"
I brought it up to my group and the first question was what was Castro's crime and how long was his sentence. His crime was second degree murder of a deputy sheriff and his sentence was 30 years to life. Everyone agreed that was a big deal because if he was going to get out in a year or two, he would be more upset with his wife than if it looked like she were going to have to live without him for the rest of her life. No matter what, everyone thought it would be a really difficult and emotional event. Two inmates in my group are facing long sentences and thought that they might not live long enough to ever get out of prison. They had thought of suicide but had never thought to doing anything like Mike did; but in a way, it was clever but also 'chicken-shit' to involve someone else in their own suicide.
"So, Doc, we're talking about the meaning of life, aren't we? If life doesn't make any damn difference, then who gives a shit whether I live or kill my fucking self?" Mark Schwartz, the guard in my group asked.
I had somehow gained the moniker 'Doc' as did Sonia and J.J. We didn't fight it, but let it be - like 'Doc Carroll' had done.
Several others in the group nodded their head in agreement. I added, "Yes, Mark, I agree, we do need to have a sense of meaning in our lives, to continue living and especially when someone we love dearly tells us they no longer want us to be in their lives. I, personally, have been thinking about this ever since I began working here in the prison. Especially for those of you who have long sentences, it has to be extremely tough. I don't believe any of you have life sentences, is that correct?" They all nodded. "So, before I tell you my ideas about the meaning of life, I would like to hear yours. Mark, would you please start? I'm sure that, as a guard who is here voluntarily, your view of life is a bit different than the inmates who have to be here."
Mark took a deep breath and slowly exhaled and looked around and bravely made eye-contact with everyone. "Wow, now I wish I hadn't opened my big mouth. First, I have to admit that I have really changed my thinking since I began meeting with you all for the past few months. I used to think that I lived in a completely different world than the rest of you. And I admit that I felt kinda superior to you. 'Kinda,' my ass, I definitely felt superior as I hadn't committed any crime that would put me behind bars. I was a 'good' guy and you all were 'bad' guys.' Now that I've gotten to kn
ow you as persons, I don't think that, but I definitely feel good every day when I go home to my wife and two kids. So, the meaning of my life is tied in with my family—with the people I love most. So, I really do feel sorry for Mike Castro when I think about him being cut off from his wife and kids forever." He began to choke back tears and have a hard time talking. We could all tell that he was telling us his honest thoughts and feelings.
"Thanks, Mark. I also feel for Mike and everyone who is cut off from their family. So, for you and me, family and love are definitely part of the meaning of life, right?" He nodded. "Who's willing to go next?"
Earl Salman volunteered: "First, Mark, I thank you for telling us how you feel because I felt you guards were kinda kin to the devil. Now, I'm beginning to think of you all as more human than I used to think. When we were doing that making eye contact this morning, I noticed that other guards were really trying to make easy contact with us. I did see two of them kinda looking a bit standoffish or maybe shy but none tried to look angry. I liked that." The other men nodded in agreement. "And, Doc, I want to thank you for giving me that book, Man's Search for Meaning. I had never given a whole bunch of thoughts to them Nazi bastards and what the people in their concentration camp felt like. What impressed me most was his thinking each morning that no one could take his attitude away from him."
One of the fellows said, "Yeah, man, now every mornin' you wake up and thank the lord for being in this nice hotel, right?"
"You know that's not what I mean, you little weasel. Watch yer mouth of I'll make you look at the world crooked." Jake went on, "I don't know what I'd do if my missus sent me a letter like Mike got. I know I would really feel hopeless and helpless. But I do hope that I would have the strength to tough it out and make it through the years I have left here. A couple of things that come to me about life now. One, is I got to write to my wife and two daughters every week and be cheerful and kind when they come to visit. And second, I want to connect with as many people here as I can and who are willing to connect with me. So, I guess I'm believing like the Bible says—God is love and I gotta choose to love every day. I still have a hard time sayin' 'I love you,' to anyone except my wife and girls. It sounds so sweety-pie to say it to anyone else. Oh, and one more thing; I had a helluva time looking at the two women in our group. They are, as you all know, really good-lookin'. Now I can't help thinking how much I'd like to get in their pants." Jake looked a bit sheepish as he looked around.
"Amen to that, brother." One shouted, another added, "Oh man, I surely do love them ladies. But I also like the way they look at me and everybody, like they were our friendly sisters and not some kind of future girlfriend or hooker or a tough teacher or mother." This was followed by a bunch of "Yeahs," and "That's right," and, "They are really sumpin'."
Jake summed it up well, "Doc, I am sure glad that you've included the two ladies. They make the whole deal more like the real world."
Mark began clapping for Jake and everyone else joined in.
Bruce Leland jumped in, "Damn, Jake, you sound like a helluva good preacher—and I ain't never thought much of preachers before. But to hear them words from a big, tough hombre like you, I may change my mind. And thank you for lending me that book on meaning too. I never have given it much thought before, but now I'm thinking about it all the damn time."
Someone shouted, "Hey, Bruce, mebbe you can become a preacher. You'd be a damn ugly one, but if you keep developin' that meaning stuff, you might be a nice fella." That brought a few chuckles.
Bruce ignored them. "When I was back with the gang and selling drugs, my meaning was to be a real bad dude. I wanted to have all the damn money I could get, do whatever I wanted, and if anyone got in my way, I'd do whatever it took to get them outta my way. I ain't never killed nobody but, I had me a best buddy—about as big and strong as you, Jake, but not as smart. Anyway, if I had a problem with anyone, I'd ask Little Eddy to take care of them. Honest to god, we called him Little Eddie. I really like hearing you guys talk about loving your women and kids ... I would really like to have that. God, I hope, if I ever get outta this place, I can find me someone who'll love me, too."
"That would take some kinda miracle, dude." The talker shut up when Bruce began to shed some tears.
I made a mental note to tell Mike about the tears he inspired. Leland was the last guy I would expect to see tears. A quiet black man named Simon Bretton and a Mexican-American called Rosario or Rosy Sanchez shared a bit of their stories. Simon was in his late twenties and single but felt close to his two brothers and parents. Rosy was far from rosy, but did manage to smile a few times as he described his wife and two young children. Both men put their meaning into their families and were definitely compassionate toward Mike. All six of the fellows wished that Mike had confided in them before he took that desperate attack on Paul Minor.
With only thirty minutes left before we had to stop for the afternoon, Mark and Jake insisted that I, at least, begin to share my ideas on the meaning of life and what I would do if I were in Mike's shoes. I started by telling them that I grew up believing in a terrible and sometimes lovable God who magically ruled the world like a mighty, dictatorial puppeteer. That God gave meaning to everything and we had to keep His commandments and His Catholic Church's rules and teachings or we'd spend eternity in hell.
"Then, when I was in the seminary, I changed my thinking and began to really study the Bible and liked the messages that emphasized that God is love and that we are all capable of becoming lovable people. Before I was ordained, all of us who were up for ordination were asked to write something special for our commemoration cards.
Most of my classmates copied a saying from the Bible. I wrote this; 'No matter what great things a man may do in life, unless he becomes a loving person, his life is a failure.' That was sixteen years ago, and I still believe that. So, I like what Sonia told Mike Castro: 'Get in touch with your inner strength and make it through all this.' I hope I could find my inner strength, keep working to be a loving person, and to truck through whatever challenges come up. I think we'll have to do some more talking about all this."
We broke for the day and everyone except our team of four headed for the exits. I was feeling very positive about how our group had come together in the afternoon. I also looked forward to sharing with Mike Castro some of the fellows' thoughts about him and his situation.
Dan McGuire came into the room and showed me a letter and a small package. He said, "These are things we found in Mike's cell." I took one look and muttered, "Oh, shit!"
I re-read the note that Mike Castro hoped we would see only after he was dead. I asked Dan, "Where in Mike's cell did you find this?"
"It was under the pillow on his bunk. I don't think he was really trying to hide it because the corner of the letter was sticking out and the packet of powder was right next to it. So, I'm sure he expected us to find it after he was killed. Of course, we'll need to talk to him."
"May I share it with the team?"
"You mean Jack, J.J., and Sonia?" I nodded and he said, "Yes, sure. They need to know."
The three were putting on their jackets and preparing to leave when I asked them to stay a bit. I motioned to the chairs and Dan joined us. I said, "Here is a note that Dan found on Mike's bunk, along with a packet of crystal-meth." The note was printed by hand in block letters, and on yellow lined paper. It read:
MIKE: WE NEED YOU TO INCREASE YOUR SALES THERE IN YOUR LOVELY HOTEL. DON'T GIVE IT TOO MUCH THOUGHT—JUST THINK OF MIKEY IN KINDERGARTEN AND HIS PRECIOUS LITTLE FACE—WE STILL HAVE A PICTURE. WE ARE SURE YOU WANT TO CONTINUE TO SEE IT UNMARKED. WE KNOW THAT YOUR BITCH OF A WIFE IS PLANNING A DIVORCE, BUT DON'T LET THAT STOP YOU FROM DELIVEREING THE GOODS, AS THEY SAY. YOUR STUPID PARTNERS HAVE RATTED OUT A FEW OTHERS, SO YOUR SERVICES ARE NEEDED EVEN MORE THAN THEY WERE BEFORE. SO, THINK OF MIKEY, SUSAN AND KEEP US GOING. WE ARE STILL IN BUSINESS.
I handed the note back to Dan and looked around at each member of the team. I didn't know what to
say, so I didn't say anything.
"Damn, that complicates things a bit," Jack said. "I imagine Mike received both notes around the same time and panicked."
Sonia nodded, "I'm wondering if others in our project were also involved. He and Jose are both in my group and I really liked both of them, especially Jose. I hope Jose is not involved. How do we find out? And, of course, what do we do with Mike? He can no longer be in our project, so ...?"
I added, "I liked Mike, too. I thought he carried himself well despite his incarceration and long sentence. We had a long talk about finding meaning in life like Dr. Frankl suggests. I'm so damned disappointed."
"Me, too, "Jack said. "He was one of my first choices for our team. Damn! I'd like to wring his neck, but I'll settle for talking to him as soon as possible."
Dan spoke up, "The State Police will want to talk to him real soon, too. I'll call them this afternoon. The two idiots you shot on the highway, J.J., revealed the names of three other inmates. Mike was not one of them. We don't know if they didn't know about Mike or just decided to withhold his name. We'll do our best to find out. I'll let you talk to Mike in the morning, before the police do. We want to make sure, as best we can, that no others in our program are involved. I hope Jose is clean, but ."
The State Police took it out of our hands and so we did not see Mike again. We were told that his sentence was automatically extended to life without parole. He was on around the clock suicide watch. He revealed the names the police hoped were the authors of the letter. The police did their best to find out if Jose Mendoza was involved but they were fairly certain that he was clean.