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-Wednesday. January 10. 2001
It's
very late and I was lying in my bunk, all is quiet here on the row.
Thoughts were running through my mind as I replayed the day in slow
motion. For the most part, today was uneventful. I spoke to Ron Travis
and Dave Sprout. Ron is my friend and lawyer; Dave is Ron's legal
assistant and my friend. After our call, I spent hours and hours
handwriting a series of letters and documents to end my appeals again. I
went so far as to have them notarized. I cannot tell you why exactly
that I'm once again wanting to end all of this. Having contemplated it,
I've now destroyed the documents. I
tried to sleep but a nagging feeling compelled me to get up and jot down
this entry. You see, my New Year's resolution, at least one of them, is
to make a daily entry of one page into this journal. Having failed to do
so brought on feelings of guilt, of unfinished business. So here I am
with pen in hand. I
feel much confusion, restlessness, and uncertainty. It's as if my mind
is mired down in quick sand. I long for relief from my situation--a
lifetime of nothingness! Perhaps what I long for doesn't even really
exist. How can I know? December
2001 The
past eleven months seem to have passed by very quickly for me. I suppose
when a person knows that his time on earth is more accurately measured
in months as opposed to years, then 'time' takes on a whole new meaning.
Trust me, I plan to accomplish as much as possible in the time which is
left. This
month will likely be a busy one, and of course there are the holidays to
contend with. These can be joyous occasions or times of depression and
loneliness. That's true no matter where we happen to reside, whether in
a prison cell, or a mansion somewhere. These
thoughts come to me as I contemplate my own journey ahead. To be really
honest I'm not looking forward to this month.
Today
marks the first Sunday of advent and as I was reading, I came across the
following passages that I feel are most appropriate, so I'd like to
share them here: 'Once
again, the season of Advent comes to us with its own set of blessings:
rejoicing, awakening, wondering, awaiting in hope. No matter how
troubled our time may look, no matter how remote deliverance, justice
and peace for everyone appear to be, we are now summoned to look ahead
and allow every beam of hope to illuminate our lives.' - Jean-Piere Prèvost
I
know for a fact that it isn't always easy to hold out hope. During a
recent interview with an author writing a book on capital punishment I
was asked 'David, what do you hope for?' My first response was that I
don't hope for anything. Upon further reflection I said that I hope that
eventually there will be an end to capital punishment and until then
that its use will be in a fair and even handed way (not that I believe
the death penalty can ever be fairly administered, because it can not). I
also hope that I can be a better person and make a small amount of
difference in this world.
I
slept well last night, got up early this morning and am ready to face
the day. My plans include sending out my laundry to be washed, making a
legal call and dealing with whatever else may come up. My
past due correspondence stack is slowly, but surely dwindling down to a
manageable size. I'm thankful for the time to respond to these cards and
letters. That's the up side of being on phase I, and not having a T.V.,
more time to accomplish the important things. I've
also been addressing Christmas cards and getting them ready for mailing.
I almost always write inside of them. There's something that doesn't
feel quite right when you receive a Christmas card just signed and no
greeting. Sort of as if someone felt obligated to send you a card. In
order to avoid making anyone feel that way I take the time to write
something. I do love sending and receiving cards, especially at
Christmas time. This is something which I picked up from my mother.....she
was big on sending them, and sending them by December 5th. I'd best
hurry to meet that requirement.
I
am amazed to awaken each day and to realize that the world still exists.
With the constant state of chaos depicted on the covers of magazines,
newspapers and television news programs one would expect an end to
civilisation as we know it to come at any time. Today I learned of the
twenty year old, white, American kid who's been fighting with the
Taliban troops in Published
reports claim that he may be charged with treason. If convicted he could
be sentenced to death! That ought to make for quite a circus
environment. I support our country and our troops. If this man is guilty
of treason, then by all means punish him, but, not with death. The
President (Bush) wants terrorists and such tried by a Military Tribunal,
however, his executive order only applies to non-citizens of the
It's
a sunny and spring like day, not a typical December day in Other
than that I'm doing fine. I try and tell myself not to sweat the small
stuff. In life we all have some challenges to endure and overcome.
Talking / writing about issues often times provides me with the strength
to take a deep breath and say 'onward through the fog'. In
the over all scheme of things my situation could in fact be far worse
than it is. I try and remind myself of this fact often. It isn't always
easy
Yesterday
was the final class of this semester for those students taking the
criminal justice course on capital punishment which several of us here
on the row have been involved in. I hope that this endeavour was a
success. From all accounts it seems to have been worthwhile for all who
participated. I
spoke to the class by phone for fifteen minutes yesterday. I'd love to
be able to spend hours discussing and / or debating criminal justice
issues with young people. They are so full of ideas, opinions, hopes,
dreams. This must be the attraction for men and women who devote their
lives to teaching. They have my admiration and my respect. I
remember several of my teachers from my school days who made a major
impact upon me, my mom also insisted that I learn to read and write.
Without these abilities I would be in a prison far, far worse than the
physical facility that imprisons my body. "It
is the supreme art of the teacher to awaken joy in creative expression
and knowledge" - Albert Einstein
Last
night as I peered out of my cell window from the second tier of the unit
I spied the unusual sight of a bright five pointed star affixed to the
prison water tower which stands some distance away. I assume this must
be a way of celebrating the holiday season with lights. It has cheered
me up a bit and I talked with Jeff about it. From
the other side of the unit one can view Christmas lights / decorations
on homes across from the prison property. Brightly lighted Christmas
decorations have always held a special place in my mind. When I see them
it conjures up memories from so long ago. Good memories for the most
part. My
parents would often drive us around the city or town where we happened
to live at the time, to view the Christmas lights. For me the sparkle
and glitter of the lights were magical and spell binding. Christmas time
almost always brought out the best in my mom and during these periods we
would be almost a real family. I say almost because even then the dread
of what lay ahead was never far from my consciousness. A boy knows
things.
Today
was a productive one for me in the sense that I prepared a lot of
Christmas cards and letters for mailing. This process has been ongoing
for the past week. So far I've sent or have ready to send 83 cards and /
or cards with a letter. I actually love sending and receiving Christmas
cards. It helps me to feel in a small way as if I'm actually
participating in the holidays, as opposed to watching from afar as they
pass me by. I'm
also finishing up a couple of long term projects which will hopefully
free up some of my time so that we (my editor an I ) can concentrate on
the final stage of this blasted autobiography that I seem unable to
complete. I am proud of the progress we have made in the past few months
and the end product is definitely within sight. I find that I did spread
myself a bit thin (time wise) this past year. That comes from wanting to
accomplish as much as is possible in the amount of time I have left. I
must remember 'Quality, not Quantity'
This
has been a rather long day for me. It began early and ended late. My
sleep habits are off and that sort of sets the stage for me I think. I
spent nine hours writing up a legal document to be filed in my civil
rights law suit. Something strange has happened with mail sent to me
from the court. I never received it! My law suit names attorney general
John D Ashcroft, former warden Harley Lappin and Federal Bureau of
Prisons Director Kathlene Hawk-Sawyer as defendants. In August I filed
certain documents via the mail sent from the prison...these filings
never made it to the court in In order to starve off this dismissal, I wrote up a brief and attached copies of the previously mailed documents; a sworn affidavit; and a copy of the legal mail log showing I had sent mail to the court previously. This I mailed out tonight by certified / priority mail. It's
no coincidence that my legal work never made it to the court for filing.
The Federal Bureau of Prisons has a long history of trying to hamper
inmates access to the courts in civil rights litigation. The most common
device is one called 'diesel therapy' (as in fuel used to run the prison
buses). An inmate is not allowed to take any property when he is
transferred. So, inmates who file law suits are regularly placed on a
bus and transferred from one institution to another, an inmate can be
'in transit' for any amount of time. He has no access to legal materials,
funds, etc as he isn't in any one place long enough to file documents
with the courts. The legal cases are dismissed for failure to prosecute.
In recent years, the Federal courts have imposed injunctions to prohibit
Federal authorities from using this play. In my case diesel therapy isn't an option because I'm on death row. So it's 'lost in the mail'. My
old granny taught me way back long ago, that there are no coincidences,
especially these kind.
I
have a friend who made my heart smile yesterday. Brad was my cellmate
for a long time. He came to prison in his early twenties serving a 15
year sentence. He had a 5 year consecutive sentence to serve. In all
Brad served over 17 years in prison, and was released two years and two
months ago. With the help of a mutual friend, Brad moved to Brad
has bought a previously owned home, and is very proud of it. He and Mary
haven't had an easy time of it financially with the recent economic slow
down, but they are getting by. This shows that a man can change if he is
willing to make the extra effort. As I write this entry I'm looking at a
picture of this precious little boy and am reminded of the many
conversations Brad and I had.....his dreams of a home, a wife, a son.
Some dreams come true. Hard work and dedication. Oh, what I wouldn't
give for such an opportunity.
After hours of restless sleep where I tossed and turned, I decided to get up. The sun won't be up for hours, and the silence of the row is creepy. The place has a dead feel to it. The only sounds I've heard were those of the officers doing their count, flash lights beamed into cells of sleeping convicts, nothing appears amiss so they move on, and then out of hearing range. The only noise to alert me to their presence is the steady jingling of keys as they climb the stairs or walk the tiers. All is quiet now. I stood at my cell window watching nothing but the dead of night. Only a few feet from this unit is the top of the building housing the prison commissary. The roof of that structure is covered with stones the size of golf balls, all shapes and colours. In the pale yellow glow case by the security light these rocks seem to glow. Razor sharp wire in coils are affixed atop the roof's edge to prevent anyone from climbing onto the building. The silver coloured wire glistens, silent in the night, but, ready to cut you into bloody ribbons should you venture too close. Alone in the early morning hours my mind screams. There's no escape from the reminders that surround me. Prison...my home... I'm
tired and weary and my burden is a heavy one to bear. At times it all
seems too much. Nevertheless, I take a breath, look deep inside, call
upon the reservoir of strength within and continue on for I am a
survivor and cannot surrender or allow my life to be extinguished, at
least not without a fight. Welcome to my world. I often do wonder, 'might
not this be hell?'
Today
was sort of a special one for all of the employees of USP/Terre Haute.
Warden Keith Olson and his executive staff hosted and provided a festive
holiday meal for all who work here at this facility and the Federal
Prison camp located outside of the prison proper. By
all accounts (the officers working on the unit talking amongst
themselves) it was a good meal. My mouth watered as I heard a
description of the fare provided, trust me, we never receive foods
anywhere close to the quality of what was served at this affair if the
descriptions are accurate. The
holiday meal was held at the prison training center. Some of you may
recall seeing that facility as news conferences were held there prior to
the McVeigh and Garza executions. I assume it must be an all purpose
building. The staff here on our unit were relieved a few at a time for a
two hour period so that they could go and partake of the food and
socialize with others there. In my opinion this was good for them and
helped to improve staff morale. Perhaps some of this kindness might
trickle down, I mean in the spirit of Christmas and all, anything's
possible right? Miracles have been known to happen, tis' the season and
all that!
Will
miracles never cease? My toilet and sink have been repaired after only
having to wait for fifteen days. I guess that holiday meal yesterday did
motivate the trusty plumbers here. Thank you Mr. Olson and Executive
staff for feedin' these workin' men. There's
an officer outside my door with handcuffs and a waist chain waiting for
Jeff to wake up enough to go down to see the unit manager so that a call
can be placed to his parents. The staff are going to apologise for the
violation of policy during the Paul's visit (which caused us more than a
few problems, not the visit, but staff misconduct at the time of the
visit). I'm glad for Jeff and his parents. We are told that such
mistakes / errors will not happen again. Funny how things work, they apologise and that settles it. We apologise and are punished for a year. Something doesn't seem to be quite right about that. We are told this action is separate and apart from the ongoing investigation initiated by the warden into staff misconduct. Time will tell.
As
I looked around this drab stark prison cell that is my home, earlier
today, I started to feel sad. It's Christmas time but for the most part
one could never tell it from the surroundings here. Well,
now I have added some colour to my domain, Christmas decorations have
been hung with care and my spirits are much higher. We are prohibited
from placing anything at all on the walls of our cells. No pictures,
posters, drawings absolutely nothing. So, I hung my Christmas
decorations from the top bunk frame. Each
cell here on the row is designed to hold two people. The metal bunk is
on top of a frame bolted to the wall. At the end of the bunk there is a
steel ladder for climbing on the top bunk. My
niece Jasmin (who is five years old and of no blood relation, just my
niece via my family of friends) sent me strips of a foil type, to make
bright colourful paper chains. I assembled these and hung them along the
bed frame and ladder. I also hung a Christmas tree shaped Christmas card
which I received from someone I do not know named Jessica. My
decorations may be meagre by most standards, but they have cheered me up.
I also have an alter with a photo of a supposed likeness of Christ.
These simple items all help me to remember how fortunate I am. This is a
special time of year.
I'm
steadily working on this legal brief, but also sending out more
Christmas cards. A total of 119 cards, many with one or two page
letters. I guess it would be easier to write up one letter, have copies
made and then insert it in the cards, but, that seems so impersonal. I
was thinking about Chaplain Bill Lang who was the supervisory Chaplain
here at Terre Haute until this past summer. He is a good man. During
Christmas of 1999 he spent a lot of time here on the row with us, first
talking, counselling and doing his best to cheer us up. In December of
2000 he was banished from the row by Warden Lappin for an alleged
violation of BOP policy. His crime was accepting donations of music and
putting it into the religious services library where it could be checked
out and listened to on portable C.D. players. No one knows how or why
this violated some rule or regulation. I miss Chaplain Lang, I trusted
him and could talk to him about my problems. I hope he and his family
will have a Happy Holiday Season. Your kindness to those of us here on
the row hasn't been forgotten
As
a child many things left an impression upon me. In the Christmas Season
of 1966 we lived out in the country in a farm room shack with no
electricity or indoor plumbing. We were poor and the holidays only added
to the misery. Several
days before Christmas, a car pulled up the path which served as a drive
way from the county road to our shanty house. Two
women came to the door and introduced themselves. They were from the
first Baptist church and had come to deliver some food and gifts to us
on behalf of their church congregation. I remember how very happy we
were, Mom had tears in her eyes, Dad was away at work dealing with the
live stock for a local farmer. The
kindness of strangers brightened our lives that Christmas. I can
remember i as if it happened only yesterday. I mostly remember the food
and clothing, not the toys although there were some. I'd remember going
to bed without being hungry. For me that was a Christmas miracle made
possible through the generosity of others.
I
have been admiring a drawing which I received from a young boy whose
name is Christopher. He is only five years old. After his Mother
explained to him as best she could who I am and where I am he decided
upon his own to draw me a picture. Seldom has anything so special made
its way to me. The drawing depicts a bright yellow sun, with a red smile
and green eyes. Beside the sun there is a colourful rainbow and below in
a child's print it says 'To David from Christopher' and his Mum added 'age
5' Tears
came into my eyes at first when I considered the kindness of this boy so
far away who took the time to touch my heart. Children are so very
special, precious beyond words. Thank
you Christopher, and thank you Christopher's Mother and Father. My
Christmas has been made so much better because of this gift from y'all. May the simplistic and pure love of children remind us all of what's really important in this life.
Father Ron Ashmore, from St. Margaret Mary's Catholic church here in Terre Haute came to visit me today. Our time together always passes by quickly. Father Ron was previously a volunteer here at USP / Terre Haute prior to the arrival of a Catholic priest as a chaplain. That's how we first became acquainted. He is also the priest of the parish in which this facility is located. So, he is my priest and my friend. Our
visit was cut short today because of a scheduled power outage. Every few
weeks the power is turned off, so that repairs can be made to the power
station here. So, all visitors must be out of the institution for this
event. During a visit with Sister Rita several months ago she didn't get
out in time, so we sat in the visiting room in total darkness and talked.
These
shutdowns usually last less than an hour so, we just continued to visit
until the power came back online, then she was escorted out. I believe
that experience was more stressful for her than for me. All
in all this has been a good day. I've spend this evening in the law
library working on this darn legal brief.
After
seven days of ten, twelve hours a day working on this legal brief, it is
now finished and on the way (via the U.S. postal service) to my friend
Barbara for typing. She works for one of my lawyers and on her own time
she does some typing for me. So, Barbara if you are reading these words,
then thank you, and Dave thank you too for everything. I'm proud of how
this legal brief turned out. I spent enough time in the law library,
researching and reading case law to ensure the court has enough prior
decisions in front of them. In order to prevail in court I must be able
to not only show how my rights were violated, but, that there is legal
precedent to support my position that the acts were illegal. I must set
forth in detail all of this information in my brief. Prisoners are held
to less stringent standards when preparing legal documents than are
lawyers. Nevertheless, I try and do my best with legal work. I take
pride in a job well done. I'll
feel even better if I win in court, but, if not at least I have the
satisfaction of knowing that I fought as hard as possible to right a
wrong.
It was cold here in my cell last night and I like cold weather, but, this was a bit much even for me. I left the window open and my fan on low, sitting on the top bunk in order to circulate the air. At 5:00 am when I got up, I stumbled around trying to put on my sweat pants while shutting the window. The steam heater was hissin' at me like a snake ready to strike. Through the yellowish tinted light coming through the window I could see my breath. I kept thinking David you're crazy. As
a youngster, we often lived in old houses with no heat except for a wood
burning stove in one central location. My younger brother, sister and
myself shared one bedroom. On cold winter nights we all slept in the
same bed in order to stay warm. I often wonder if this may be one of the
reasons I like to sleep in the cold. Back then I had no choice, now I
do, at least to some extent. Only
four more days until Christmas. For us it means little in the way of
celebrating. I'm trying to stay focused and to keep a positive outlook.
It's real easy to become depressed during these holidays. I wish that I
felt just a little stronger mentally.
It's
a cold, gray and overcast day here. I was watching out of my window as
cold air blew in. Through the bars, screen and steel mesh, past the tops
of roofs I can see a gun tower and bare trees in the far distance. As if
consumed by a mesmerizing trance I travel back in time to a cold winter
day. I'm
walking the tree line of the shelter belt surrounding the now barren
fields, just me and some mongrel pup who lives up the road. With my .22
rifle held at waist level in case I see a rabbit or squirrel. I don't
really like hunting, I'm not very good at it, but we need food. The
ground is carpeted with leaves, but the ground is hard and cold. The
sounds are all natural, a crow flies away and startles me. We stop and I
squat down to pet the dog. I remove the torn and tattered pair of socks
that are on my hands, a poor kids gloves. Time passes as I dream of a
better life, the warmth of the dog's body next to me. After
a time, we walk out of the woods, onto a small farm. Ever so quietly, I
remove my coat, sneak into the hen house and snatch up a chicken, hiding
it inside my coat. I run back into the woods and retrieve my rifle. I
know it's wrong to steel, but the hunger in my stomach tells a different
story. As I remove my coat from covering the chicken the smell of chicken shit is overpowering, I try and wipe it off and it smears. It's cold so I put the coat on and walk back to our house. Mum and Dad don't say a word when I return with the dead chicken. I'd stopped along the way to snap off its head. A ten year old boy doing what he knows is wrong, but................
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