THE LAST ESCAPE – The Jim Cavanagh Story
Chapter 2 story from the book “Prison Chains Broken”.
Jim Cavanagh was a man with a mission - someone with a
sacred trust to uphold. There was someone out there who didn’t
deserve to be out there. Who didn’t deserve the freedoms the
outside world affords. He was scum; a lowlife, a man with no
code of honor and no respect for what was right or decent.
He’d turned his back on his friends, violated their trust, and left
them open and vulnerable to attack. He had not, as a combat
pilot might say, stayed with his wingman.
The man he was looking for was a snitch, an informant, a rat
sucker. He deserved to die. And Jim was going to do the honors.
He’d done the one thing you never do in prison - tell on your
fellow inmates. He’d betrayed his brothers-in- arms and
befriended the enemy - the guards, staff, and administration of
Dorchester prison. Jim didn’t know the man’s reasons - maybe
for better food, a nicer cell, a few extra cigarettes, or an early
parole. It didn’t matter. It was too late. The damage had already
been done.
Yes, the snitch was out, but he wasn’t free. He didn’t realize
the tentacles of betrayal stretch far beyond a prison’s walls. He
didn’t know that inmates don’t forget, that they keep score long
after the sentence is over with. He was out, and as far as he was
concerned, that was all over with. Jim and his buddies saw
things differently. There was one final act in the play, one more
scene before the curtain dropped and they were going to make
sure nothing stopped the show.
1
The informant was in Moncton, New Brunswick and Jim, just
released from Dorchester, was on his way there. He’d only
been out of prison a few days and already tried once to locate
his target - with no success. Now, it seemed, lady luck had
smiled on him. He had an address. Before long, he hitched a
ride with two men who were unknowingly escorting him to the
scene of a murder. Jim didn’t know how this man’s epitaph
might read - what those who’d bury him would choose as his
place in history. That wasn’t his concern. He just wanted to
make sure his eulogy was the thunderous blast of a shotgun
ripping his body in half. But something happened on the road
into Moncton that made him suddenly change his plans. On the
way into town, an RCMP squad car pulled in behind their
vehicle on a routine check. The sight of that car ignited a fury
inside Jim. He was in the backseat, with a gun, just released
from prison. He was a repeat offender. If the officers saw what
was going on, they’d arrest him and he’d be back in jail before
the day was over with. But that wasn’t going to happen. Jim
had seen enough of prison. He knew its horrors - days full of
turmoil, violence, and suicides; with nights ruled by fear and
hopelessness. For most of his life, that was all he’d known.
When he left the last time, he swore he’d die on the street
before he went back.
A fuse of anger, bitterness, and hatred was burning inside him.
Those Mounties represented everything he despised in life rules, authority, and the law. He wasn’t about to let two kids
playing cops and robbers in bright red coats and riding boots
steal the only chance he’d had in years to get out.
He told the driver of the car to pull over, but to keep the engine
running and the clutch engaged. Then, he told him to let him
know when the officers’ car stopped.
2
The driver couldn’t look.
He and the front seat passenger were petrified. Jim made him
look. When he did, he told him one officer was already out of
the car and approaching. Jim rolled the back seat window
completely down so the officer couldn’t easily tell if it was
open or closed. Then he started counting. When he reached
eight, he stuck the gun out the window. The officer was
looking straight down the barrel when Jim pulled the trigger.
Jimmy Cavanagh was born in Halifax, Nova Scotia on
February 4, 1948. His dad was a Navy Chief Petty Officer and
his mother, a homemaker. His years at home, by his own
admission, were fairly good. There was always food on the
table, clothes to wear, and a house to live in. There was even
love in the Cavanagh home - at times sporadic, but certainly
more than many cons had growing up. There was really just
one problem in that house, one thing that hung around the
family’s neck like a noose, and slowly but surely choked the
life from it. The fighting. Everything could be fine for days,
sometimes even weeks. Then suddenly, without warning,
Jimmy’s dad would start drinking and the yelling would start.
Soon his mother joined in and before little Jimmy knew what
was happening, he was in the midst of a brawl. One full of
vicious looks, angry words, and plates flying through the air
like Frisbees. It was like living in a war zone. Jimmy couldn’t
understand it. He loved his mom and dad, and they seemed to
love him. But when the yelling started, it was as if hugs and, I
love you’s, didn’t exist. The only thing that did was the stark
reality of two people screaming at each other, seemingly bent
on destroying the home they’d labored long and hard to build.
He hated it.
3
When the flare-ups began, he’d often scurry off behind the
couch to cry. But no one could hear him. His parents were too
busy trying to break each other with their words to realize they
were shattering their little boy’s heart.
By age six, he was a consistent runaway. He wandered the
streets of Halifax, sleeping in cars, apartment building
basements, or any other place he could lay his head. To survive,
he stole food, and money from milk bottles. By the time he was
ten, his parents and the police (who were constantly chasing
him down and taking him home) were totally bewildered.
Desperate for help, Jimmy’s dad took him to a psychiatrist. It
was a waste of time though - Jimmy wouldn’t answer his
questions.
One day, he was caught stealing from boxcars. It was the straw
that broke the camel’s back. Before the hearing in front of a
juvenile court judge, his dad pulled Jimmy aside and said, I don
t know what to do with you. I’ve tried everything - beatings, a
psychiatrist, everything! I give up!
Jimmy wasn’t the only person he said that to. He repeated that
to the judge. As a result, Jimmy was given an indeterminate
sentence at the Nova Scotia School for Boys in Shelbourne.
Most of us can remember a time in our life when, as children,
we experienced an unwanted separation from our parents.
Perhaps it was being left for a weekend with friends while they
traveled, or our first day at school, or being hustled onto a bus
headed for summer camp. Whatever the experience, many of us
remember what it’s like to literally be torn from our parent’s
grasp.
4
So you can imagine how petrified Jimmy felt the day Sheriff
Art Sibley arrived to take him away, complete with a German
Shepherd in the car to keep the boys company.
He cried. So did his mother. He wanted desperately to stay. But
his fate was sealed.
It was a long, lonely, somber ride to Shelbourne. Sheriff Sibley
didn’t help matters when he told Jimmy and the other boy he
was taking to the school that if they tried to run, he’d send the
dog after them. It was even lonelier when they got there. Nova
Scotia School for Boys wasn’t unlike other boys schools across
Canada in the late 1950’s. It was a spacious but simple campus
with two large, white buildings joined together by a corridor.
An imposing front door greeted each visitor. It is that door
Jimmy remembers. Looming large and ominous, it somehow
represented more than just passage from the porch to the entry
area. When he walked through it and heard it close behind him,
he felt as if something much more than a door had just closed.
With one swing of those giant hinges, he’d been shut off from
the only world he ever knew. He was helpless and afraid. He
and the other boy with him were quickly stripped of their
clothes and possessions. They were given new clothes to wear.
Next, they were marched upstairs and ordered to take a shower.
A stinging, irritating disinfectant was poured over their hair,
into their ears, and onto other parts of their body. Next they
went to the laundry to receive their bedding and toiletries.
The feeling was sterile and lonely - the counselors, for the most
part, were gruff and abusive. Young Jimmy didn’t like it at all.
5
There were four groups of boys at Shelbourne – the bantams,
juniors, intermediates and seniors, classified according to their
ages. Jimmy was placed in the bantam group. Soon he was
given a work assignment in the storeroom counting stock and
doing inventory. The job there was the first thing he found to
his liking.
Until a senior boy put a pair of scissors to his throat and forced
him into a sex act.
Shortly after that, he stopped working in the storeroom and
entered the school program. But he was hampered by a learning
disability (something his teacher knew nothing about) and a
growing distrust of authority. It didn’t take him long to decide
he hated learning. That wasn’t the only thing he didn’t like. He
hated the whole school. It was a cold, cruel environment, full of
unfeeling supervisors and counselors who did everything from
beat the boys to sodomize them. It was a little boy’s worst
nightmare - and Jimmy was living it 24 hours a day. During the
next few months, he tried to escape three times. He got further
away each time, but was always caught, brought back, and
reprimanded. Each time, he was told if he wanted to see home
anytime soon, he’d better straighten up.
Finally, he settled down and was allowed to return home. He
didn’t do well in his old school, so his parents moved to a new
neighborhood. But a change of location wasn’t what he needed
- he just wanted a Mom and Dad who could keep from turning
their house into a battlefield. But that wasn’t to be. He did
poorly in the new school, started stealing again, and ended up
back to Shelbourne. It was just more of the same. Each time he
had the opportunity, he ran away, only to be returned, beaten,
and confined for longer periods of time.
6
Once he even made it back to Halifax, stealing and causing
trouble until he was picked up by the police. By now, he was
fourteen and the school had done all they could. So, they
transferred him to the Nova Scotia hospital in Dartmouth - a
psychiatric care facility. But Jimmy had learned to view cells,
locks, and fences as nothing more than a minor inconvenience
on his way out of imprisonment.
Soon, he escaped from the hospital. He was picked up a short
time later, returned to the hospital, and placed in a more secure
area on the fourth floor.
But, if you get a buddy to help you, it’s not hard to knot some
sheets together, open a window in the recreation area, make
like Tarzan, and escape. Which is exactly what Jimmy and a
friend tried to do. Unfortunately, an orderly saw Jimmy’s
buddy about to go out the window and caught him. Despite the
fact that Jimmy scampered back up the sheets and was playing
poker with some others by the time the guards got to there, his
buddy fingered him as his partner. They were both placed in
maximum security - a detaining area for criminally insane
people who had committed serious crimes.
That was Jimmy’s first taste of living with hard-core criminals.
He was placed in a dormitory setting with four men, one of
whom had murdered his wife by cutting her head off. Each
night they were drugged so they’d sleep, but Jimmy always
kept one eye open until the drug took effect. He was nervous to
say the least.
7
After the hospital was convinced he’d settled down, they
moved Jimmy to a minimum security area. At that point, the
doctors tried to convince his parents he needed electro-shock
therapy. They told them it would alter his brain patterns so he’d
be normal.
But Jimmy knew the other side of the story. He’d seen more
than one patient wheeled back to his room after being shocked,
with a tube in his throat and foam coming out of his mouth.
He’d seen how disoriented someone could be after the
procedure - to the point where they couldn’t remember their
name or where they were at.
One day during a visit, he showed his parents someone who’d
just been shocked. He told them, if you sign those papers, don’t
bother visiting me anymore, because I won’t consider you my
parents. With that his Mom broke down and cried and pleaded
with his dad to get Jimmy out. Thankfully, his dad listened and
began working for Jimmy s release.
Eventually, the doctors consented and released him. It won’t be
for long, his dad grumbled. He’ll be right back in trouble. He
was right.
Soon, Jimmy was arrested for stealing family allowance checks.
He ended up back at Shelbourne, but nothing had changed. He
kept getting away, only to be hauled back again.
Finally, he and two friends managed to escape to Halifax, this
time in a stolen car from the school grounds. When they made
it to town, Jimmy and one friend stayed together, while the
other friend took off - but not before they made arrangements
to meet later in Dartmouth.
8
When Jimmy and the friend he was traveling with arrived in
Dartmouth, the police captured them, loaded them into a car,
and headed for Shelbourne. On the way out of town, Jimmy
spotted the third boy. He wanted to get out. So, he did what any
clear-thinking, level-headed teenager would have done.
He grabbed the steering wheel and tried to swerve the car off
the road.
Fortunately, no one was hurt, but when they arrived in
Shelbourne, the police decided enough was enough. They
threw Jimmy in the county jail. He escaped from there too. He
got out of his cell and hid in some pipes running through the
ceiling.
When the guard came in for a routine check, Jimmy jumped
him and ran through one of two doors he needed to get through.
He tried to bolt the door behind him, but couldn’t, and the
guard got him before he could make it through the second door.
From then on, he was placed in a special cell with a twentyfour hour guard.
Soon, he was taken to the courts in Yarmouth where he was
tried as an adult for the auto theft at Shelbourne. He was
sentenced to three, three-year concurrent terms at Dorchester
Penitentiary. He was fifteen years old - so much for his
childhood.
A chair has a lot of wonderful uses in prison. It can be used to
sit on, or as a footstool. It can be used as a ladder to change a
light bulb. You can steady yourself with it when you wake up
in the morning. You can stack books on it, or use it to keep
your pillow off the floor while you make your bunk. It can be
used to hold a book while you read, or a plate while you eat.
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You can hang clothes on it, prop your foot on it to tie your shoe,
and use it to hold your feet while you do sit ups. And, it makes
a wonderful noise when you crack it across someone’s head.
Which is one of the first things Jim found out about chairs at
Dorchester. From his first day there, he was determined not to
take any flak from anyone. So when another inmate in the
prison school made fun of him, Jim did what the law of the
prison said you did - he got even. That would be the first of
many times he was in trouble there. The year and a half he
spent at Dorchester saw him collect a whole list of offenses.
But that wasn’t the only list he assembled there. He also had
one that told him all he needed to know about robbing a bank.
The men who were Jim’s heroes at Dorchester were the robbers
and safe-crackers. Men who taught him how to peel, drill, and
punch a safe. How to get past alarm systems. And, how to pull
off an armed robbery. By the time he left, he felt like an expert.
But, there’s no such thing as a sixteen year-old expert. He’d
tried to go straight for awhile, but couldn’t land a job. So, he
started stealing and was bringing in pretty good money. But not
like the money you get on a bank job. So, it wasn’t too long
before he headed for Halifax to team up with some friends and
rob banks.
But it was over with before it began. His first night in town, he
was stopped by the police on a routine check. He fled the scene
in his car, was chased down, and then arrested when they found
a loaded .32 caliber automatic revolver and an envelope full of
money in his car. He was back in the slammer. This time, it
was the Halifax county jail. By now you should know he was
planning an escape.
10
One night, he dug through the ceiling of his second story cell.
At first, things went well. He tore through layers of plaster,
wooden slats, and concrete with very little trouble. But then he
ran into some good-sized cross boards - ones he couldn’t get
through before morning. He knew he’d have to finish the next
night. He spread molasses left from that morning’s breakfast on
some newspaper, put it over the hole, and waited until the next
evening. The next night, he broke through the boards and
crawled into the attic.
He made his way to one end of the building, only to find it
sealed off. But he scraped, scrapped, and clawed his way
through 2 inches of wood, and found a stair- well leading to the
second level, just off the jail corridor.
From that corridor, he found a room next to the kitchen and slid
out the window. He dropped two stories to the ground and ran
toward the edge of the compound. When he got there, he scaled
a fence, jumped to the first story of an adjacent building, and
escaped along an adjoining side street. Smart, wasn’t it? It’s too
bad, though, Jim wasn’t as adept at staying out of prison as he
was at getting out of prison. Not long afterward, the police
caught up with him in New Waterford, Cape Breton and
shipped him back to Halifax.
This time, the jail authorities were sure they had his number.
They put him in a cell on the second level by himself, in an
area where the ceiling had been sealed to prevent a similar
occurrence.
But that didn’t stop him. He quickly noticed the corridor
ceiling outside his cell had not been sealed. So, tore a hole in it
and followed the same route out.
11
Despite having to hold off two guards with a pocket knife
because they saw him fall past the kitchen window, he
managed to get over the fence and make a break for it. He
didn’t stop running until he got to Ontario. But Ontario was bad
news - literally. Shortly after he arrived, Jim found out his
second youngest brother had been killed in a car accident. He
was so distraught that his grandmother was able to convince
him it was time to turn over a new leaf. She persuaded him to
return to Halifax, attend the funeral, then turn himself into the
police.
She didn’t realize that was just treating the symptom, not the
problem. He was in a cell serving time, but nothing was being
done about the growing anger in his life. Inside, he was a
cauldron seething with frustration and bitterness, brought about
by years of neglect and abuse in prison. Now his brother was
dead. It seemed like too much to bear.
So, it’s no wonder that when it came time for his sentencing for
parole violation, gun possession and escape, he got an extra six
months for having started a riot inside the Halifax county jail.
He served his time in Dorchester, and when he got out, he was
determined to go straight. He went back to Halifax and landed
a part-time job on the waterfront as a freight handler. Next,
came a full-time opportunity at a dairy factory. It was hard
work, but for the first time in his life he was making an honest
wage and enjoying it. He stayed away from Halifax’s night life,
and started dating. Life, for once, was being good to him.
It’s too bad the police weren’t. They hassled him constantly.
Every time he drove somewhere, they pulled him over.
12
It seems a detective downtown was afraid he’d get a gun again
and wanted to make sure Jim knew they were breathing down
his neck. Then his boss found out he had a criminal record and
fired him. Suddenly, everything was just like it was. His dad
tried to encourage him - that there’d be other jobs, but Jim
knew it would be more of the same. Why go straight, he
wondered, when no one will give me a chance?
His dad finally convinced him to give it one final try in New
Brunswick at a barber school - at least that would give him
some kind of trade experience. But he earned no money while
he was there, so to support himself he hitched up with some exoffenders from Dorchester and started pulling armed robberies.
He pulled one too many. One of the guys he worked with was
caught and fingered him for a job they’d pulled together.
Before he knew it, Jim was back at Dorchester, this time with a
seven year sentence for armed robbery and stealing handguns.
For five years, he worked in the tailor shop, then put in for a
transfer to go to school.
With a fourth grade education, it was getting harder and harder
to read the schematic diagrams of modern day alarm systems,
and Jim wanted to be able keep up with the times. His request
was denied.
He was under psychiatric care at the time, for a mental disorder
brought about by the prolonged anger raging in his life. When
he received word of his denial, he went berserk. He climbed on
top of some construction scaffolding and started smashing
windows. He held guards and the warden at bay by threatening
to topple the scaffolding on top of them if they didn’t fulfill his
request. Finally, the warden agreed.
13
When he finished school, he was transferred to the prison’s
minimum security farm camp, Westmoreland. He planned an
escape there with another inmate, but his partner was
transferred there ahead of him and escaped without him.
So, he settled into the work routine, kept to himself, made a lot
of moonshine, and tried to stay out of trouble. Tried. One day, a
farm boss who was not directly in charge of Jim’s area asked
him to do something. Jim refused, then found out he’d
disobeyed his boss’ boss. He spent the rest of his sentence
inside the walls at Dorchester. By the end of the sentence, the
cauldron was boiling. So, when another inmate told Jim about
an informant living on the outside who had something coming
to him, he was more than happy to oblige. He headed for
Moncton with a gun in his hand and death in his eye.
Jim threw himself on the floorboard and yelled at the driver to
get the heck out there. As the car sped away from the scene, he
looked through the back windshield and saw that Mountie
frozen where he’d been just seconds before. That’s right. He
was standing there. Jim’s shotgun had jammed.
In short order, both the RCMP and local police were in hot
pursuit with guns blazing and tires screeching. Jim and the two
men in the car soon ditched their vehicle and fled on foot. Jim
shot (by this time his gun was working) and injured a Dieppe
town policeman and eluded escape until the next morning.
Before he knew it, he was back at Dorchester, serving two
concurrent fifteen year sentences for attempted murder.
Two weeks later, that turned into nineteen years, when Jim
escaped the guards escorting him to another court appearance.
He fled to a service station in Memramcook and took a 21 yearold college girl hostage at knife point.
14
He used her only to buy himself some time, released her
unharmed, and evaded police for two days before he was
picked up and sent back to Dorchester. He planned an escape
there, but an informant tipped the prison authorities and they
nabbed him before he had a chance to pull it off. That was it for
Dorchester. Like the Boys School years earlier, they decided
enough was enough. They wanted no more of Jim Cavanagh.
So, they transferred him to a place that made Dorchester, in
many ways, look like a Sunday School picnic. It was a brand
new prison called Millhaven.
In 1973, Millhaven Penitentiary was opened in Ontario for the
prisoners who’d been involved in the Kingston Penitentiary riot.
Yes, it was newer and much cleaner, but it housed a whole
different breed of inmate. It was a place of ceaseless violence.
A place where you knew a fight didn’t end when the last punch
was thrown. It continued the next day or the next week, and
might end with a knife in your back or a zip gun at your head.
It was a place where the guards provoked the inmates by taking
away their privileges, only to be countered by work stoppages
and smash-ups by the inmates - smash-ups Jim often took part
in. Gassings were common place, and often the inmates were
restricted to their cells twenty three and a half hours per day,
with thirty minutes allowed for exercise.
The only releases were booze, alcohol, and drugs. The only
hope was the chance of escape. But escape wouldn’t help.
Millhaven was a world full of lost men, trapped in a system
that squelched them on the inside, and allowed them no hope
for survival outside.
15
They were caught in a tangled web of hate, anger, and
frustration, with no hope of breaking out of the endless cycle of
release, crime, and imprisonment again. That certainly had
been Jim’s story. He spent a lot of nights alone in his cell,
staring hopelessly at the ceiling. Often, his only companion
was the lonely, disheartening question, How did I get here?
He also wondered how he’d been able to witness what happens
to men in prison - the desperation, vio- lence, drug and sex
abuse, and suicide - and avoid total insanity. But he had no
choice - the only thing worse, would be living in an asylum
somewhere, so he had to make the best of it. Killing another
prisoner isn’t the best way to do that. But that’s what happened.
In 1975, Jim and another prisoner were charged in the death of
another inmate. A third prisoner claimed he saw Jim and the
co-accused commit the murder.
But he didn’t see them - he wasn’t even there. Prison officials
and the police had encouraged him to lie, promising him a
parole if he cooperated. The evidence against the two men was
scarce, so they needed all the help they could get. His coaccused was acquitted which was just as well, because it was
Jim they really wanted.
They were convinced he was crazy, and wanted to sail him
down the river to Penetanguishine - an asylum for the
criminally insane. Which, come to think of it, might not be too
bad. At least that’s what Jim thought. Penetanguishine had far
lighter security than Millhaven, so an escape would be much
easier. He agreed to see a psychiatrist, in hopes he could enter a
plea of not guilty by reason of insanity when he appealed his
case. If it worked, he’d be on his way to a place he knew he
could get away from.
16
The plea worked, but the result backfired. Rather than send him
to Penetanguishine, federal authorities wanted him to serve his
time in the federal system which, in addition to his nineteen
years, included an indeterminate sentence by the Lieutenant
General Governor’s Office. Once his sentence was completed,
then he’d be released to the hospital and be held there for as
long as deemed necessary. So, he was to stay in Millhaven but
not in a regular cell block. This time he was placed in the SHU
Special Handling Unit. It was designed to handle the most
dangerous inmates - those considered high risks to other
prisoners, guards, and staff. The violence there was even more
pronounced and severe than in other parts of the prison. It was
a medieval dungeon of fights, gassings, smashings, and
stabbings. A place where you were more likely to lose your life
than find it. Unless you were Jim Cavanagh.
When Jim first entered Dorchester prison in 1963, he met a
man named Jimmy - someone he shared more in common with
than a first name. Jimmy was a bank robber and escape artist
someone Jim looked up to.
Jim got to know Jimmy pretty well there, and learned some
good things from him about how to pull off a successful heist
and get out of just about any prison ever made. Soon, they
parted company and didn’t see each other again until Jim was
sent to Millhaven in 1973. They renewed their acquaintance,
but only briefly. Millhaven was a big prison. As the years went
by, Jim lost track of his mentor. He became a forgotten face in
an endless sea of lost souls. So you can imagine his surprise
when, shortly after his return to the Millhaven SHU after his
trial, he discovered a Christmas card from a man sharing
Jimmy s last name.
17
In addition to his name, all it said was - a Christian witness. At
first, Jim wasn’t quite sure what to do. He figured the man must
have been Jimmy’s brother, had somehow gotten his name
from Jimmy, and sent the card. He wasn’t too fond of the
religious stuff, but he was glad to have had a card from anyone,
so he wrote a thank you note and asked the question, Are you
Jimmy s brother? I wrote back with, “Praise the Lord, no, I am
Jimmy. I’ve become a Christian – I’m a different person. I’m
married and have a family. For the first time in my life, I’m
really happy.” It’s not a misprint. I’m the guy who wrote Jim
back. Because the Jimmy he knew at Dorchester had a last
name too - Hollands. When God got a hold of my life in 1975, I
started going by Ernie. And Ernie Hollands, a new creature in
Christ, was the man who sent Jim Cavanagh that Christmas
card. Jim and I began to correspond regularly. My wife, Sheila,
sent him cards and letters as well. Soon, I received special
permission to visit Jim, so I loaded the whole family in the car
and we went to see him. Anyone who knows me knows I’m not
one to beat around the bush, so right off the bat I asked Jim if
he knew Jesus Christ. His response was surprisingly insightful.
He said, I don’t know about Jesus Christ. But, I do know
there’s a God. Anyone with an ounce of intelligence can look at
nature and see there’s a Creator. As we talked, I could tell his
soul wasn’t ready for harvest, so I just did the best job of seed
planting I could. As we left, I told him I’d pray for him.
Our correspondence and visits continued. One day, I told Jim I
was going to Bermuda to share the gospel with prisoners there.
I asked him if he’d do me a favor. He said, Sure. I asked him if
he’d pray for me during the trip.
18
He looked shocked, but I knew him well enough to know that
he was an old school inmate - the kind that follows through on
his word to another con, regardless. He said he would.
That night, just after lockdown, he got on his knees and prayed.
Lord, he said, please watch over my friend Ernie Hollands and
give him safe passage to Bermuda. Let him reach some of those
men in prison and then have a safe trip back. Amen.
The next night, he prayed again, but this time he prayed for my
family too. The following night, he included his family, his
parents, brothers, and sister. Before long, he was praying for
the inmates and guards in the SHU. Something else strange was
going on - something Jim knew nothing about. Before I left, I
asked some people I knew to pray for him - to pray that,
sometime soon, he’d place his faith in Christ for the
forgiveness of his sins and make Him Lord of his life.
Is there any doubt that God answers a prayer like that? One
night in June, 1978, Jim knelt after lockdown for his regular
prayers. But this time, he prayed for himself. He said, Lord,
forgive me of my sins. Give me the strength, wisdom, and
patience to get through each day. That’s when it happened.
Something Jim had never felt before…a wonderful, warm
sensation that bathed his entire body.
He wasn’t prepared for that. It shook him up. He sat on his bed
and tried to analyze it. A thousand questions raced through his
head. Questions like, Am I going crazy? Did I do that myself?
Am I imagining things? After a few minutes, he was skeptical.
He decided to shake it off and go to sleep. If that was real, he
thought, it’ll happen again tomorrow night.
It did. This time, Jim cried like a baby. He felt cleansed.
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But there was still something inside him that struggled against
what was going on. Again, after a few minutes, he was
skeptical. He wanted to wait and see if it happened a third time.
It didn’t. But despite his attempts to use that as an excuse to
dismiss what happened before, Jim just couldn’t deny
something very real had happened those first two nights. More
real, in many ways, than anything else he’d ever experienced.
He knew he’d had a special encounter with God. He started
reading scripture and praying. Before, he was afraid for the
lockdown guard to see him praying. Now, he was glad for him
to see. Prayer had become very special to him. He didn’t want
to hide it.
Word quickly spread through the SHU that Jim had accepted
Christ. Some of the inmates were curious, others jeered. When
he was laughed at, his old nature wanted to rise like a wounded
lion and attack. But there was a new nature at work in him one far more powerful. Inspired by God, he had a new
perspective on life - one that gave him the strength, courage,
and determination to walk away from conflict and pray about it.
Along with his new strength, God gave him a new heart. In his
words, I could care for others where I hated them before. I
could forgive others where I couldn’t forgive before. I had
compassion for others where I didn’t before. He was seeing life
from an entirely different angle, learning what it meant to
replace the devil’s vengeance with the Saviour’s love. God was
taking a troublemaker and molding him into a peacemaker.
God also gave him rich, wonderful insights into His Word. One
day, he received a Bible from a businessman in Ottawa. The
more he read it, the more God spoke to him in a myriad of
ways, often amplifying a passage’s meaning until they became
not just words on a page, but the fabric of his soul.
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More than once, those words sang a sweet song in his heart
until tears rolled down his cheeks. Despite his surroundings, it
was the best time of Jim’s life…a time when he grew, day by
day, in his faith and love for the Lord. All of that would be put
to the test.
One of the things Jim always told God during his prayer time
was how thankful he was for his health. Despite his miserable
circumstances, he knew his physical condition was something
he could genuinely be thankful for. But Jim found that health,
like just about everything in life, hangs in a delicate, fragile
balance. Sometimes, God allows that balance to be disturbed.
In October of 1979, he suffered an aneurysm in his spinal cord
that left him paralyzed from the waist down. Prison officials
thought he was trying to set up an escape. But he was admitted
to Kingston General Hospital, and suddenly everyone knew
this was no sham. An X-ray showed something on his spinal
cord between his shoulder blades. Exploratory surgery was the
only alternative. It left him paralyzed from his chest to his feet.
In the days and weeks following, a physical therapist helped
him gain control of his arms. But other than that, there were no
indications his condition was improving. The doctors told him
he’d most likely live in a wheelchair the rest of his life. Now he
was destined to face life trapped not only in a cell, but a
disabled body too.
That cold, harsh reality would be enough to push even the most
mature Christian to the breaking point. But God had been at
work in a mighty way with Jim. His only response to the
doctors was, well ... thank the Lord I can still see and talk and
hear and use my arms.
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Sometimes, God works in powerful, spellbinding ways in
which His power leaps into history in an instant and leaves
everyone who witnesses it spellbound with awe and wonder.
But there are also times when God goes to work, slowly,
almost imperceptibly, displaying His work not in miraculous
acts of healing, but through the character of people who suffer.
One is swift and decisive, the other unhurried and eventual.
One releases its captive in ecstasy - the other shackles its
prisoner in joy. One is a parade of God’s power, the other a
portrait of God’s strength. One is an epic, the other a poem each different but equally compelling displays of God’s
sovereignty. It was in this latter, more subtle way God chose to
work in Jim’s life.
One day, the big toe on his left foot moved. After days of work
with a therapist, he could lift his foot. Then, he slowly regained
partial movement of his left leg.
There was a long way to go and the doctors’ prognosis
constantly whispered words of discouragement in his ear. But
he kept at it and he kept praying. Lord, he called, please restore
me. I want a wife and family before I leave this earth.
One night he sat up in bed for a drink of water and felt a
strange rippling sensation up and down his spine. Suddenly, his
right leg flipped over and the big toe on his right foot moved.
Soon, he gained control of his ankle, and then his foot. Then he
could lift his leg. Eventually, he was able to walk a few feet
with crutches or canes. But that was all the hospital could do
for him.
They’d exhausted their resources and still held out little hope
for a full recovery. Instead of going back to Millhaven, he was
transferred to Collins Bay Penitentiary due to its greater
accessibility by wheelchair.
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Collins Bay had an exercise yard roughly one-quarter of a mile
in diameter. Over the next several months, Jim literally dragged
himself around that yard as a part of his rehabilitation. The first
time he tried, it took him fifty-five minutes to complete one lap.
He had to look down the whole time so he could watch his feet,
otherwise he’d loose his balance and fall. Slowly, as the weeks
progressed, he became stronger. One lap turned into two, then
three, and then four. Jim was making his comeback.
Like an injured athlete striving once again for days of glory, the
whole world was watching, or so it seemed. Men all over that
prison knew the story of Jim Cavanagh. They knew what had
happened and what he stood for - they knew he was an
underdog, that the odds were against him. But they were
pulling for him nonetheless. Each day they watched him, they
saw a living example of perseverance and faith. Yes, his body
was weak. But his spirit was strong. He was being constantly
nourished by as many bible studies and Christian small group
meetings as he could attend. While his progress around the
yard could be measured in steps, his heart for God was growing
by leaps and bounds. He’d never been more alive.
Yes, there were setbacks. Not as much with his physical
progress as with his attempts to get closer to life on the outside.
He was denied parole three years in a row.
When he was finally granted day parole to Sudbury, he found it
difficult to find work. No one wants to hire an ex-offender,
much less a disabled one. But God hadn’t forgotten Jim.
There was much of life to be lived on the outside. A lot of it
would revolve around Shoes and a Gal Named Shirley.
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While he was in Sudbury, an ex-law officer asked Jim to speak
to a group of juveniles about his new life in Christ. Naturally,
he was thrilled. On his way to the meeting, he stopped at a shoe
shop to drop off a pair of shoes for repair. On his way to speak,
the ex-officer suggested that Jim, on their return trip, tell the
shop owner about his experience in shoe repair (something
he’d learned in Dorchester in the 1960’s). It took some coaxing,
but Jim finally gave in. On their way back, they stopped and he
talked with the store owner.
After seeing Jim in action, the owner offered him a job. Not too
long after that, he opened a second shop, which Jim managed.
A third shop followed, which gave Jim the chance for extra
money earned in overtime. God had given Jim a good, steady
job. But he needed a wife. So God provided her too. Jim first
heard about Shirley through a friend he met while speaking at a
praise festival in Picton, Ontario. That friend was David
Cheese, a Christian volunteer who worked in the local federal
prisons. During the speech, God moved David’s heart to
arrange a meeting for them. A few months later, Jim met her
for coffee at a McDonald’s in Kingston. They were
comfortable with each other from the beginning and, to put it in
Jim’s words, “things progressed”. For two years, they saw each
other whenever possible, despite the parole officers’ hesitation
to grant Jim passes to Kingston, especially when the Sudbury
hospital was closer. They feared he was involved in something
illegal, and he was harder to keep track of in Kingston.
Often, Jim and Shirley would rendezvous during his trips to
Kingston General Hospital for checkups.
Shirley became quite a tour guide, showing him the tourist
attractions, parks, and museums in the area.
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He was delighted with the tours and thrilled with the company.
One day, he popped the question. She said yes. Both her
parents approved - a remarkable event given Shirley’s dad was
a retired Northwest Mountie. But he’d come to Christ as an
adult too and saw the spark of genuineness and zeal in Jim’s
eye that let him know that, regardless of his past, his future
son-in-law was a new creature in Christ. They were married on
December 6, 1986. God had answered Jim’s prayer. Back in
1979, if you recall, he’d prayed that God would give him a wife
and family before he left this earth. He gave him both. Shirley
had a daughter from a previous marriage, who is grown and, as
of this writing, expecting a child. So, in the last five years, he’s
known the joy of becoming a husband and father. Soon, he ll
know the thrill of being a granddad too.
In the years since his release God has, in Jim’s words, “brought
him through many valleys and many mountain tops”. He’s
known the frustration of not being able to provide for his
family only to see God grant him the opportunity to open his
own shoe repair business. He’s known the disappointment of
directing a Full Gospel Businessmen’s chapter that had to fold
because of a lack of member involvement, but two years ago he
knew the joy of being appointed director of the Kingston
chapter of Prison Fellowship - a post he still holds. He’s also
had the privilege of weekly participation in the chapel
programs of all the Federal institutions near Kingston. He’s
known the struggles and adjustments of living in society after
spending the majority of his life in prison, an experience that
gives him a wealth of insight and knowledge to share with
Christian prisoners trying to make it on the outside.
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The desire to help them has lead to his part-time involvement
in “Give Them A Break Ministries”, an organization dedicated
to helping Christian ex-offenders find jobs. He knows that,
outside of a relationship with Christ, a job is the most important
thing an ex-offender needs to make it on his own. It takes
patience and a willingness to keep trying to do that. Tragically,
he’s seen brothers and sisters in Christ give up too easily, fall
back into a life of crime, and end up back in prison. That
doesn’t mean, he insightfully says, they aren’t Christians - just
that they ran into hard times and made the wrong choices. Yes,
the Christian walk is hard - especially after prison. Old habits
die hard. But an ex-offender who yields his life to the Lord has
His strength to sustain him during that tough transition period.
Jim tells inmates everywhere, “If you’re not willing to make
that effort, the Lord will leave you with those hang-ups”. But
always remember we can conquer all things through Christ
Jesus who strengthens us. Someone asked him once if there
was anything society could do for a prisoner. No, the answer
came, there is nothing society can do until a change takes place
in his heart. But Jim is quick to point out that once that change
takes place, society ought to do all it can to help with the
transition to normal life.
He also wants people to realize that, while criminals should be
punished, just about every criminal will one day be returned to
the street. If they aren’t helped before they get there, they will
almost surely commit more crime and wind up behind bars
again. I know most of you have never even had a relative
who’s been to prison, he’s fond of telling church groups, but
what if you suddenly did? Wouldn’t you want someone there to
reach out to them? Jim now has the opportunity to share Christ
in prisons all over Canada.
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Each time he does, he’s blessed, because he has the incredible
privilege of watching men and women say the sinner’s prayer.
It s often a tearful time for him - not out of sadness, but out of
the incredible joy of watching others who were as hopeless as
he was, find the matchless grace of God. That’s something not
just the inmates need, he’s quick to remind people. Guards,
staff, and prison administrators need Christ too.
Little Jimmy Cavanagh sat in the back of Sheriff Art Sibley’s
squad car. He was a wide-eyed little boy looking out the
window, watching the only world he knew race past him. Each
passing mile took him deeper into a world he knew nothing
about. He had no idea he’d spend the next twenty-five years
there.
Now he was on his way back. He didn’t have to remember the
names of the towns between Shelbourne and Halifax like he
thought he would that day. Yes, he’d escaped, and yes, it was
from a prison but not the kind with walls, bars, and barbed wire.
He’d made his peace with that kind. He knew the only time
he’d walk back into one of those was when he wanted to.
No, the prison he’d escaped from was the one that holds the
human soul captive. It enslaves its inmates with sin, buries
them in a dark dungeon of hopelessness, and gives Satan the
key. It’s one no one has ever broken out of by himself. But no
one has to. There’s Someone out there with a wrecking ball,
one so immense it can disintegrate the walls of that prison with
one blow. All you have to do is ask for deliverance and watch
the walls come tumbling down.
Jim had done that. He was free, truly free.
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Now he was returning to where it had all started, to the two
people who, so long ago, had abandoned a frightened young
boy in a squad car hoping that somehow, someway, someone
else could straighten him out.
Without God, the trip back would have been one full of
bitterness, but with Him, it was a journey overflowing with
blessing. Long before, Jim had learned to join Joseph who,
thousands of years before him, looked compassionately upon
the brothers who sold him into slavery and said, “... you meant
it for evil against me, but God meant it for good...” Now he
was returning home to see his Mom and Dad and enjoy their
fellowship. When he arrived, the house was full of relatives
who’d come to see the prodigal son who’d come home. There
was laughter in the air and a smile on everyone’s face. Steak
and lobster adorned the table, complete with all the trimmings.
Busy chatter echoed through the halls as everyone caught up on
each other’s news. Jim was delighted to learn his parents didn’t
drink anymore and he was thrilled to see a sparkle in their eye
and glow in their faces that had never been there when he was a
child.
Everyone listened with great interest as Jim told them of his
experiences in prison and how he’d come to know the Lord.
His Mom and Dad seemed especially pleased he’d chosen to
reach out to men and women who knew the loneliness of life
without Christ. As they were leaving, Shirley overheard Jim’s
Mom say, “Bill, come to the window and watch our preacher
son as he goes.” They waved as he climbed into his car and
smiled as he drove away. Little Jimmy had finally come home.
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My prayer is that those who read this will take the opportunity
to seek God out in prayer and allow Him to come into their life.
Let Him change you. Let Him take you on a new path of
spiritual freedom. Remember, circumstances around you mean
little. As you grow in the Spirit, the Lord will comfort you no
matter what your circumstances may be.
For more information about the book “Prison Chains
Broken”, go to www.Hebron.ca .
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