Of Mule and Man

by Mike Farrell

  This is actually my second time at Book Passage—Shelley and I were here when the book came out in hardcover over a year ago—and the enthusiastic embrace offered today makes it feel a lot like coming home.

  The event is cosponsored by Death Penalty Focus and my friends Lance Lindsey and Stefanie Faucher, respectively the Executive Director and Program Director of DPF, are there to provide support, answer questions about our work and offer opportunities for people to become involved. These two are truly the dynamic duo of DPF. Lance is that wonder of wonders, a blindingly intelligent, soft-spoken, dedicated, kind, graceful, and completely self-effacing man who does this work because his principles demand it. He’s become a true and trusted friend. Stefanie, far too young to have the grasp of issues and organizational genius she demonstrates daily, simply astounds us all with her energy and commitment. Along with another ally, Natasha Minsker of the ACLU of Northern California, Stefanie was named Abolitionist of the Year by the National Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty. When we end this blight, she will have been one of the primary reasons why.

  A large and enthusiastic group has gathered and Elaine, already a regular and generous supporter, introduces me and kindly announces that ten percent of any sales during this afternoon’s event will be donated to DPF. The presentation itself seems to go well and, in short, we have a ball—might even have recruited some new members.

  In the evening, DPF board member Elizabeth Zitrin and her husband Clint host Stefanie, Lance, his wife Ruta and me for dinner at Ristorante Milano, a wonderful little Italian place on Russian Hill in which they share part ownership. Elizabeth, an attorney and a fountain of energy, serves not only on our board but is also Death Penalty Abolition Coordinator for Amnesty International, on the board of the ACLU of Northern California, on the advisory board for the Northern California Innocence Project, and represents DPF on the steering committee of the World Coalition Against the Death Penalty in Europe, where she chairs the USA Working Group. As said, a fountain of energy.

  After a wonderful meal, Mule ushers me gently through the streets of San Francisco and back to the Rex Hotel.

  DAY THIRTY-ONE

  Monday, June 9, 2008

  CITY OF ORIGIN: SAN FRANCISCO, CA

  CITY OF DESTINATION: OAKLAND, CA

  MILES TRAVELED: 15

  VENUE: BARNES & NOBLE—JACK LONDON SQUARE

  EVENT COSPONSOR

  Death Penalty Focus

  It’s an odd sensation to wake up in the same city I woke up in yesterday without someplace to rush off to. So I decided to check something out.

  One of the people who came to the event at Book Passage yesterday was Nan Sincero, who is on the staff of Centerforce, a San Rafael–based nongovernmental organization that provides support, education and advocacy “for individuals, families and communities impacted by incarceration.” In other words, they offer help, education and direction for prisoners, ex-prisoners and family members of both. You know, the kind of assistance you’d think the government of a civilized country would provide its citizens.

  Centerforce works to bridge the yawning gap between the society that punishes people by shutting them away in “animal factories” and forgets about them, and the society that expects them to behave like thoughtful, productive citizens when they come out.

  The dissonance makes me think of Ernie, a tough former drug addict I once knew who worked with people who were trying to get their lives together. Someone used the word “rehabilitation” in reference to the work he was doing, and Ernie said, “Rehabilitation, bullshit! These people have never been habilitated in the first place.”

  Like Ernie, Centerforce understands that too many in our society haven’t had either the education or the life experience needed to provide them with the tools—and the self-esteem—necessary to build a productive life. When they run afoul of the law and end up in the system, they’re seen as “wrongdoers”; they become things—not people—that need to be punished and controlled. Instead of human beings without hope, in need of education and habilitation, they’re miscreants to be handled, usually in ways that are demeaning and dehumanizing. And when released they’re thus likely to be more lost, angry and antisocial than when they went inside. But thinking of them as humans in need of attention doesn’t play well with the “tough-on-crime” crowd, so politicians preen and growl and spend our money building more and bigger prisons rather than providing the programs that will actually help people straighten out their lives.

  Politicians having failed, Centerforce has picked up the fallen flag. And Nan Sincero, who works with them, stopped in to say hello and pass on some information. We had met earlier this year when I spoke at a conference she organized, and she presented me afterward with a beautiful wooden box that had been made by a convict in San Quentin. It is truly a work of art, carefully crafted and delicately detailed, and shows extraordinary talent on the part of its creator, a man named Brad Benito, who has developed what is clearly a valuable skill in the prison workshop.

  Touched by the gift and thrilled at its beauty, I told her at the time that I’d like to go up to the San Quentin gift shop when next in the area to see about buying some more boxes. They’d make wonderful presents and their purchase would mean some money—and perhaps, most importantly, some attention and appreciation—for the artist who did such fine work.

  Her purpose in seeking me out at last night’s event, Nan said, was to let me know that if I did want to go up to the gift shop, I’d better hurry. They’re shutting down the program. At first I couldn’t believe my ears. They’re shutting down a program that offers inmates the chance to learn a craft, to develop a skill, to begin to believe they’re capable of doing something worthwhile? Why?

  She’d asked the warden, she said, and was first told it was a matter of money, then that it was a lack of teachers, and finally that it was simply a directive from the top of the Department of Corrections and there was nothing he could do about it.

  What it is, of course, is a crime. Not the kind one goes to jail for, but rather the kind those with power inflict on those without it, especially the ones about whom no one cares.

  So this morning I drive up to San Quentin to buy some more of these creations by the talented men who make them before the program is ended. But when I get there I find the prison gift shop closed. Despite the sign on the door saying that this is the time for it to be open, it’s closed. And the guard at the gate has no information about why it is closed and when it might be open.

  Standing there at the east gate of this awful place, where I’ve stood too many times protesting the killing of one of its inmates, it is exactly as I described it in Just Call Me Mike: “San Quentin, a dreary leaden lump, sits like a turd on the north shore of picturesque San Francisco Bay. Standing with your back to this house of misery allows in the unalloyed beauty of the bay, but to turn and face it brings back with a cold slap the depressing reality of our failed system.”

  Mule carries me quietly back to the city, neither of us having much to say.

  In the evening we go over to the Barnes & Noble on Jack London Square in Oakland for another event. Barbara, the events manager, says that from reading my book she is sure I’ll appreciate one she recently published and gives me a copy. It’s a collection of poems written by middle school kids in Oakland, a heartbreaking series of cries from young people yearning for a chance, some attention, a reason to hope. It’s wonderful that someone listened and printed their cries, and inspiring that these kids were willing to so bare their souls, yet I can’t help but wonder how many of them, if not heard, will end up where I stood, so frustrated, earlier today.

  A nice group shows up for the book event and most of tonight’s discussion, interestingly, is about social justice issues, particularly the death penalty. Two people in the group, while not unpleasant about it, just felt strongly that some people don’t deserve to live. I explain that I’m not suggesting that my morality is higher than theirs—they have every right to bel
ieve as they do—but at a minimum, it seems to me, if you give the state the right to kill, it becomes your responsibility to see to it that the system used is just, fair and incapable of error—of mistakenly killing an innocent person. A rational look at our system exposes it as unjust, unfair, corrupt, and wracked with error. So before the killing begins, one supporting the right to kill has the responsibility to fix the defects that have created a racist system that is only used against the poor, is bankrupting state budgets and encouraging base behavior on the part of police and prosecutors. Once those things are sorted out, the only remaining questions become, Are we helping or harming our society by stooping to the level of the least among us at his or her worst moment? and its corollary, Do we deserve to kill?

  Brian Copeland, the radio talk show host who interviewed me yesterday, comes by as promised, and after the talk we go out to dinner. A very nice man, a new friend.

  DAY THIRTY-TWO

  Tuesday, June 10, 2008

  CITY: SAN FRANCISCO, CA

  VENUE: THE BOOKSMITH

  EVENT COSPONSORS

  Death Penalty Focus, Human Rights Watch

  Up and out this morning for an interview on KCBS radio down on Battery Street. Nice couple, Stan and Holly; they cover all the high points and it’s quickly over. As Stan said, “In news-talk radio nothing gets more than five minutes and then we’re onto the next subject.” He is very sweet, though, and when I’m leaving, he gets up, shakes my hand, and says, “Keep on with the good work you’re doing.”

  These little grace notes mean a lot.

  I had taken a cab down to the station because I’d been warned that parking might be hard to come by, so since it is a lovely morning and I have nothing on the schedule until the event at The Booksmith later that evening, I decide to walk for a while.

  Ambling up the street with nowhere I have to be provides a rare moment of freedom, taking me to a fantasy about a trip on my motorcycle, going “where the front wheel takes you,” as another rider once said to me while we boarded a ferry from England to Norway. What an incredible feeling that is.

  I’m brought back to the present by the ringing of my cell phone. I keep it on in case Shelley needs to reach me, but it rings so seldomly it’s always a surprise. This particular surprise is my friend Blair, from Las Cruces. After I missed seeing him back on Day Four and we caught up by phone, he’s taken to checking this tour diary once in a while and dropping me a line via e-mail. Blair and I have known each other since high school and our recent communications have centered on learning that another friend from the old days is quite ill. It’s an odd thing to take in, this realization that the circle of friends you’ve known since childhood has reached the age where disease and too often death is the subject that puts you back in touch. Fortunately for me, this awareness has caused some of our old gang to be more respectful of the passage of time and more inclined to reach out once in a while just to check in, make sure things are okay, and let each other know we care. I’m deeply touched, then, when after a brief and, with Blair, always funny conversation, he signs off by saying, “Love you, Mike,” words I’m happy to return. And then I continue my stroll through the warm San Francisco morning, a very rich man.

  HUMAN RIGHTS WATCH

  Human Rights Watch is one of the world’s leading independent organizations dedicated to defending and protecting human rights. By focusing international attention where human rights are violated, Human Rights Watch gives voice to the oppressed and holds oppressors accountable for their crimes. Human Rights Watch’s rigorous, objective investigations and strategic, targeted advocacy build intense pressure for action and raise the cost of human rights abuse. For thirty years, we have worked tenaciously to lay the legal and moral groundwork for deep-rooted change and have fought to bring greater justice and security to people around the world.

  Human Rights Watch has offices in many countries and investigates and exposes human rights violations in more than eighty of them. Each year, our staff members conduct more than a hundred fact-finding investigations on pressing abuses and then issue reports to publicize their findings. Human Rights Watch shares its reports with journalists, who often publish the reports’ revelations in local and international media. This publicity embarrasses abusive governments in the eyes of their citizens and the world, and spurs leaders to bring abuses to an end. Human Rights Watch meets with government officials, the United Nations, the European Union, the African Union, the Association of Southeast Asian Nations, and other influential actors to advance humane policies and increase pressure for positive change.

  In 1997, Human Rights Watch shared the Nobel Peace Prize with its partners in the International Campaign to Ban Landmines, which fought for the creation of the Mine Ban Treaty, now signed by 156 countries. Human Rights Watch is now working on a similar campaign to end the use of cluster munitions. In May 2008, more than 100 countries adopted a treaty banning these indiscriminate weapons. Human Rights Watch created an international coalition to ban the use of child soldiers; after six years of negotiations, governments adopted a treaty prohibiting the use of children as combatants.

  Human Rights Watch has blazed a path for international justice, pressing the United Nations to establish the International Criminal Court; calling for the creation of the international war crimes tribunal in Yugoslavia and working with prosecutors to get Slobodan Milosevic indicted; providing expert testimony to the international war crimes tribunal set up to try those responsible for the genocide in Rwanda; and documenting abuses in Sierra Leone’s bloody civil war, which helped lead to the creation of the war crimes tribunal that is trying Charles Taylor and other alleged war criminals.

  A nonpartisan organization, we do not accept funding from any government.

  Once past the strip clubs and topless bars, walking through Chinatown is interesting. If you stop for a minute, watch and listen to the passersby, breathe in the odors and let your eyes move slowly over the signs all around, you can easily be transported far, far away. This is quite a country we live in.

  Turning on Powell, I head up to the Fairmont Hotel, wondering if the cable cars are running this early. They are, I learn, so I wait at the corner of Powell and California, in front of the Fairmont, for a ride down memory lane. This is the corner where, as we were leaving a CBS function twenty-six years ago, I asked Shelley—who I really didn’t know very well but somehow knew I didn’t want to let escape—if she’d like to take a cable car ride. After a brief hesitation, she said yes.

  Long story—much too long to go into here—but, trust me, it’s a good one. And the cable car ride in her honor is just right. For some reason, as I’m getting off, the conductor won’t take my money, saying, “Free ride today.” Maybe he knows.

  Back at the Hotel Rex I decide to try the San Quentin Hobby Shop once more. But rather than just drive out there cold again, I try calling to see if I can find out if it will be open. I don’t know if you’ll ever have occasion to call San Quentin, but if you do you’ll find it’s a pain in the ass. Everything is robot voices and answering machines. One could easily come to the conclusion that there are no human beings at work there. Well … I didn’t mean it that way.

  Anyway, nothing. Finally, I try Nan Sincero at Centerforce, who apparently knows all the secret combinations. She finds out that the shop is closed again today, though no one seems to know why, except for the possibility that there’s been a lockdown at the prison. She’ll call me tomorrow morning if she finds out it’s open. I have to head out of town tomorrow, but maybe …

  The Booksmith is out in The Haight, as it’s known—or Haight-Ashbury when it was the center of the hippie movement in the ’60s. Another independent bookstore trying to survive under the onslaught of the big chains, it’s a great place with a wonderful selection. When I arrive, Thomas, the manager, takes me into the back room and asks me to wait awhile even though a number of people are already there, ready for me. Parking is tough here, he says, and—of course—this is The Haight, so h
e likes to delay the presentations just a bit.

  When he comes back to get me it appears he was right, the crowd has swelled considerably. Thomas’s introduction is quite complimentary, the kind that’s hard to listen to because you’re standing right behind him with your face hanging out and it’s so embarrassing you want to crawl into a hole somewhere. But he is gracious about it and the crowd is generous in response, so we start on a high note and it seems to sustain.

  The areas of interest expressed and the questions asked are “a great mix,” as Thomas puts it later, and the time passes swiftly. In trying to bring it to a conclusion, I say, “I don’t want to keep you here all night,” and one woman calls out, “Oh, we don’t mind.”

  It was that kind of a night. The book signing and picture taking goes well too, with a very enthusiastic young woman from Tennessee topping things off by presenting me with a large, knitted something—I could see this girl and her friend busily working away at it during the entire session, needles flying. It’s big, whether a “throw” or a “lap robe” or a knitted poster, I don’t really know, but as she unfolds it, the message comes clear: it says MASH in yellow letters on a green background. And it’s not quite done—hence the furious knitting during the presentation—so she says she’ll have to mail it to me. It’s all a bit nuts, but she’s so charged about it that there’s nothing to do but laugh and say thanks.

  Back at the Rex, a call to Shelley tells me the Lakers won, which is very good. The Celtics are beginning to scare me.

  To bed.

  DAY THIRTY-THREE

  Wednesday, June 11, 2008

  CITY OF ORIGIN: SAN FRANCISCO, CA

  CITY OF DESTINATION: LOS ANGELES, CA

  MILES TRAVELED: 382, VIA SALINAS