Sandy Spring Friends
Prison Journal
by Paul Taylor
Published by:
Sandy Spring Friends Prison Committee
17715 Meeting House RD
Sandy Spring, MD 20860
Vol 1
No 1
The Prison Journal grew out of the Sandy Spring Friends Prison Committee’s visitation at
Patuxent Institution. All material in this publication was produced by persons currently
incarcerated. Prison ministry has long been important to Quakers. The Sandy Spring Prison
ministry has been active for about 30 years. Most people won’t have the opportunity to step
through the prison gates and talk to the inmates. We hope this Journal will bring some
understanding of prison inmates to people on the outside. All of us who have had the
opportunity to go inside the prison have been touched by the spirituality of the prisoners. We
are sorry that space limitations do not allow us to publish more of the works we have
received. Several plays were submitted; there were many letters, and one inmate sent
extracts from several books; due to space constraints, however, we were not able to publish
these longer works.
We plan to publish a second edition of the Prison Journal in late 2006, or early 2007. We
are seeking contributions by current inmates. We would be especially interested in
contributions which help explain the changes that the writer has gone through. We reserve
the right to edit for clarity and abridge any works that do not fit our space limitations. These
submissions could include essays, poems, drawings, short stories, etc. We are only seeking
works by current inmates; however, we are not limiting our search to inmates in any
particular geographic location. With each submission please include prisoner name, inmate
ID, and address. A printed copy will be mailed to each inmate whose submission is
published. Submissions should be sent to:
Prison Journal
Sandy Spring Friends Meeting
17715 Meeting House Rd.
Sandy Spring, MD 20860
We would like to hear from you. Please send any questions or comments
to us at the address above or e-mail to:
[email protected].
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
When the Gavel Falls by Joseph Evans
1
A Winter Dusk by Paul Inskeep
1
October Fireflies by Paul Inskeep
1
INJUSTICE by Telly R. Royster
1
TRUE JUSTICE by Randall Nijee Martin
2
W ISHES FOR MOM AND DAD by Randall Nijee Martin
3
I HAD ARRIVED by Antonio Howard
3
MEMORIES by Edward Clark
4
HOLDING ON with illustration both by Jeffery Ebb
4
W HOSE PROBLEM? by Scott Sechrist
5
GOD ANSWERS ALL PRAYERS by Charles Hopkins (A.K.A. Mansa Musa)
5
THE IRONY OF PRISON LIFE
by Howard Lieberman
8
A SHEET OF PAPER by Brandon Harland
9
COMPLETE? by Bobby Mallett
9
LOOKING THRU HER EYES by Benjamin Sanders
9
LOVE, MIRACLES AND FORGIVENESS by Lloyd P. McCaskill
10
NO BETTER TIME by Stephen Bloczynski
10
THE GIFT AND THE CURSE by Bobby Mallet
11
W HY? by Paul Taylor
11
LET’S LEARN TO LOVE OURSELVES by Mustafa Williams
11
W HAT WILL YOUR LEGACY BE? by Charles Hopkins (A.K.A. Mansa Musa)
13
NIHILISM EVERYWHERE (EXCERPTS) by Arlando Jones, III
13
LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS (WITH ADDRESSES)
15
ILLUSTRATIONS ON COVER, PAGE 6, 9 & PAGE 14 by Paul Taylor
iii
SANDY SPRING FRIENDS PRISON JOURNAL
W HEN THE GAVEL FALLS
By Joseph Evans
OCTOBER FIREFLIES
By Paul H. Inskeep
When the Gavel falls
As hard as the time
A young man stands,
He can’t believe his eyes.
How did it go so wrong?
A young son sighs.
We are all October Fireflies,
Drifting through the dusk,
Toward unknown,
Private ends.
Eventually,
That last long night
Will be upon us.
No more day to dawn.
He’s never been here before.
Does any one even care?
It takes strength to be strong.
Will life mean forever?
When the Gavel falls
When the air grows chill,
And the shadows long,
Let us not cower or
Curse our fate.
Let us rise and feel
The night wind beneath our wings,
For it’s only at night,
That we can see the stars.
A WINTER DUSK
By Paul Inskeep
The fields are glazed white,
In the early morning dew.
Let us kindle our little lights;
Let us shelter them.
Let us savor the sunset,
Until divine’s end.
The trees are touched,
As with an artist’s brush,
In shades of brown, red, and gold.
A light breeze brings a mass of
Floating, sparkling leaves to earth.
Beneath the trees,
The ground is a wine-red,
With the leaves of bearberries.
INJUSTICE
By Telly R. Royster
Just yesterday,
The fields were a lust jade,
Soaked in a still, August heat.
The trees stood tall,
Proudly displaying rich green shades.
1 YEAR AFTER MY BIRTH IN 1978 WOULD
PROVE THERE IS NO JUSTICE, AND
LIBERTY IN AMERICA IS ONLY FAKED!!
A CONVICTION OF MOVE 9 OF A
CRIMETHEY DIDN "T COMMIT IN A
COURT
WE LABEL KANGAROO WHERE THE
BEST LIE IS WHAT WINS.
EIGHT YEARS AFTER MY BIRTH IN 1985
INJUSTICE REIGNS SUPREME; 11 MORE
Tomorrow,
The fields and trees will be bare,
A charcoal shade,
Against a gray, cold sky,
Whirling in a Winter Dusk
1
every man has the capacity to exemplify
every attribute of The Great God, the truth in
man. Justice is manufactured in the very
double helix strands of our DNA and because
we are strangely mixed with falsehood we
also posses injustice.
PEOPLE DIED
OR BETTER YET THEY WERE KILLED BY
DROPPING A BOMB OUT A HELICOPTER
THEN SLAUGHTERING THE SURVIVORS
WITH GUNS WHO TRIED TO ESCAPE
THE BURNING HOUSE.
26 YEARS AFTER MY BIRTH THE YEAR IS
2003
A TIME WHERE WORDS LIKE FREEDOM,
EXEMPTION, IMMUNITY, LIBERTY ARE
SPOKEN OF BUT NEVER SEEN.
THE STRUGGLE IS STILL STRONG,
RECRUITMENTS ARE MADE DAILY.
“ONA MOVE” IS THE SLOGAN OF
OPPRESSED PEOPLE,
SOLIDARITY.
WAR WITH THE OPPRESSORS, VICTORY
FOR OUR SIDE
EQUALITY IMPLEMENTED, PEACE FOR
EVERYBODY!!!
Injustice is the opposite of justice, just as the
lower self if the opposite of the Higher self.
What we must know is that the lower self is
emphatically constant in seeking to devour
the Higher self (read Job 1:7 and 2:2). It is
the lower self of man that is in opposition to
the laws that govern our nature. Law is a rule
of conduct prescribed by authority for human
action. Nature's laws are innate in man but
we were blessed with a will to think and
choose. Nature is the essential character of a
man and is synonymous with natural, which
means present in or produced by nature.
The first law of nature is self-preservation. It
is in your natural nature without being versed
or educated to exemplify the characteristics
of The Great God, to protect self and to seek
truth. In following the law of self-preservation
we are provided with the means to live up to
our fullest human potential, while at the same
time preserving our life and being consistent
with what is morally right. So the question is,
where else but from the Higher self can we
find True Justice?
TRUE JUSTICE
By: Randall Nijee Martin
"No justice - no peace! No Justice
no peace! No justice - no peace!"
That statement is so, so true, if
there is no justice there isn't any
peace. But many chant the
saying/slogan to express forms of
discontent with no understanding
as to why it is true. So many of us
do not know or understand what justice really
is, and the peace of society is dependent on
it.
Justice is the quality of being equal and
rightness. It is the upholding of what is just,
especially fair treatment and due rewards in
accordance with honor and standards of the
law. The root word of justice is the word 'just'.
Just means to be honorable and fair in one’s
dealings and actions, being consistent with
what is morally right. In a nutshell it is an
action word that many are not acting out.
Justice is the Truth in action.
Five of the highest principals known to man
are Love, Truth, Peace, Freedom, and
Justice, justice being the fifth. The number
five (5) symbolizes meditation, balance and
perfect justice. The number five (5) is the
median integer between the number one (1)
the beginning and the number nine (9)
completion. The entire universe, including
man is built upon the power of numbers. So
therefore we must understand that in order to
be just; we must have balance to the weight
of our vanity against the weight of our
spiritual self. Then and only then can we
expect to have peace and equality in this life,
because vanity blinds the eye and hides the
heart of a man from himself, from what is
just.
To have a clear-cut understanding and to be
distinctively sure as to what justice is and
means, we must know self because therein is
where justice resides. Remember that man in
The Truth (Higher self) and falsehood (lower
self) are strangely mixed. And believe that
There is no justice in these days and times
because there are no just individuals, due to
the lack of true knowledge of self. If we knew
self, we would know The Great God. And by
knowing The Great God we would know that
we have the ingenuity to be God-like and do
2
minimize their behaviors by regulating the
number of words used to describe them. But
it was easier to limit my ability to speak
audibly than to control the expansion of my
vocabulary. I read somewhere that sound
travels at 1,120 ft. per second. But whoever
measured it failed to factor in the attenuative
effect of a swollen lip, broken spirit and the
unforgiving nature of a trembling mandible
that often betrayed my emotion.
God-like things. Jesus, a man known by
many names, was one of our greatest
examples of being God-like and doing Godlike things. The name Jesus itself comes
from the east and means Justice, and Jesus
has commanded that all that he has done all
men can do and do better. So what are we
waiting for? The peace of society depends on
True Justice.
I resented my abusers and their methods. I
resented their indifference toward my
feelings and opinions. If I had to compare
myself to someone, I'd say I felt like Kunta
Kente in the movie "Roots." I recall my first
time watching it and thinking, "Why would
those people allow them other people to treat
them that way?" Not yet old enough to
choose my own bedtime and already I was
making declarations about what I would and
wouldn't have done if I was a slave: "Aint no
way I woudda let dem call me Toby." But
Toby wasn't much different from the name
given to me at birth-- Toby but with an 'n' pronounced Toe-Nee as in Tony, short for
Antonio.
W ISHES FOR MOM AND DAD
By: Randall Nijee Martin
If I had but one wish I would wish that my
dad would be glad; the oldest son he had
was once blind but he, I mean me, I can see.
He taught me that education was the key to
free the captive minds of humanity. He
instilled for me to be the best I could be in all
that was presented to me.
If I had but another wish, I would wish my
mother, the woman that I love more that any
other, would know that The Great God has
her son's cover.
Extension cords were the whips of my era. In
their absence my masters used switches thin branches meticulously braided together
with the skill and care of someone truly
convinced they were preparing me for the
future. Of course I didn't see it that way. I
couldn't, I wasn't tall enough to see the view
from their perspective. I tried climbing trees
and once even stood on the hood of my
grandmother's car to get a glimpse. But no
such luck. Not even a hint of the kind of
future I was being prepared for. I figured it
had to be something exciting - something
interesting, like forensic science. If my
assumption were true, knowing the difference
between a bruise borne of blunt force trauma
and lacerations inflicted by switch — like
objects would prove to be beneficial.
She taught me to love via being the greatest
example of the word itself. A love that is filled
with unconditional principles and ideals.
If I had but just one more wish I would wish
that all of the world could have exactly what I
have:
A loving Mom and Dad!
I Had Arrived
By Antonio Howard
There's an old saying: “When I was a child I
thought as a child and if didn't I got a beating
for thinking too grown.” That's not actually
how the saying goes but that's how I
experienced it.
Whatever I was being prepared for kept me
in heavy rotation among my trainers. They
were always arguing, one claiming to be
better qualified for the job than the other.
"See, the reason he ain't learned his lesson
yet is 'cause you ain't beatin' 'em right."
That's how it always started. Two slavers
debating the best method for breaking my
will. I never even knew what will was until I
Back then it wasn't called abuse. Convincing
me Santa Claus existed wasn't considered
lying either. That was one of the benefits of
being an adult. They had the authority to
3
Going no particular place.
Sometimes I try to forget the pain,
But without those pains,
What would have been my gains.
I search within to find that the
pain still remains.
A part of me still cries.
I know now it never dies.
But without the memories,
I would not know from whence I came.
I do not know who to blame.
Sometimes it hurts, just the thought.
In an instant your mind can take you back.
To relive a moment in the past.
Not even a second can be replaced.
Once it’s past.
It’s past.
Even those happy memories make me cry.
Those times when just the thought makes
you smile.
But…along with the smile come the tears.
I guess that’s the part of me that
wishes to go back there.
Life keeps moving along.
The memories you hold are
the memories you made.
Memories can be so sweet, yet so sad.
But without memories, what would we have?
recognized the need to write one. And I did,
the year of my arrival.
In 1991 I arrived at the doorstep of fate. 4 ft
3 inches later, at the age of 15, I was finally
able to see what they saw so far off in the
distance: My future. Unfortunately it had
nothing to do with forensics. It was my future
as Toby with an 'n'. Where being called a
ward of the state was my first indication the
warden was my new owner and the deed to
my destiny had once again changed hands.
But my past had prepared me well.
The days spent confined to my room
deprived of human contact and solitary
confinement were just like home. Being hogtied and beaten suddenly had a relevance.
Inflated phone rates, mail tampering and
censorship all shared a striking resemblance
to limits placed on my ability to speak
audibly. I had arrived. Despite the wretched
nature of this new environment, it was
familiar to me. I.....HAD.....ARRIVED!
Knowing it would only be a matter of time
before I became visible, my trainers had
been working against the clock. They'd been
awaiting the day my name would appear on
the short list of imaginary hobgoblin's used to
justify the next tougher-than-the-last-time on
crime bill. Alas, the ruffians had taken me by
surprise. They'd been lying in wait, recording
my thoughts during those times I'd been
thinking too grown and using them to prove I
was. They'd appraised the workforce value of
my field-negro physique and measured the
rate of expansion of my vocabulary. This had
been the closely guarded secret among
adults. Prison is the place my grandmother
had alluded to as my fate. This is what they
were trying so hard to prepare me for manhood. In a world that doesn't believe I
have the right to be one.
HOLDING ON
By Jeffery D Ebb Sr.
It’s times like these that
I could really do without
wanting activity of the
sort which
I’m incapable of
experiencing.
My refuge is within.
I can be or do whatever
I desire in thought.
It is fun for awhile to be
absorbed with
thinking about nothing in particular.
Frustration sets in when I need to
“Feel” the experience.
Will this madness ever end?
Or must I forever be confined?
I have to remain resolute and not allow
circumstances to overwhelm me!
MEMORIES
By Edward Clark
Memories can be so sweet, yet so sad.
But without memories, what would we be?
I reminisce about times past.
Sometimes I cry, sometimes I laugh.
Even just the presents of a day,
Can make me remember those of yesterday.
My mind seems to drift away,
As I stare into space.
4
GOD ANSWERS ALL PRAYERS
By Mansa Musa
Charlie woke up to the sounds of the traffic
coming from the busy street in front of his
house. It was always noisy in his
neighborhood and mainly in the summer.
They had no air conditioner, or electric fan.
The windows in his room stayed open all
summer.
W HOSE PROBLEM?
By Scott Sechrist
Rick, the next celly over, had a
mind incomplete,
Just a poor soul, his celly found
as weak.
. We shared the same vent,
no secrets in jail;
Everyone knew of his despair.
. When lights went out after count,
I’d hear him scream, “No!”
Then I’d clench my fist
and hit the pillow.
I kept telling myself he’s not my
friend,
this is prison, not my problem.
He got up and knew he would have to
compete with his sisters to use the bathroom.
This was a ritual that they went through daily.
He could smell the aroma of his mother
cooking breakfast in the kitchen. The sound
of pans banging and gospel music coming
out of the radio was a Sunday tradition in the
Washington Projects where he lived. Mahalia
Jackson was singing "Precious Lord take my
hand... "Charlie!" Charlie! "Boy get down
here, I need you to take my number to Mrs.
Robinson. Lead me on to promise land..." He
came down the stairs, after he’d barged his
way into the bathroom.
My heart was relieved when the day
finally came;
someone spoke up. Rick’s celly had
been named.
Both were taken for investigation;
then
I was asked many questions.
No, I lied, didn’t hear a thing,
headphones on and reading.
Rick stood alone,
just his word against another;
meanwhile, their cell was
filled by two others.
"Boy take my number to Mrs. Robinson."
Don't lose my dollar, or let no one take it from
you, you hear me boy?" His mother said.
"Yeah." He replied. "What you say boy?" - I
said, “Yes Momma." “Don't you be getting
smart with me boy. Now gone. You kids
come down here and eat," she yelled. “Dale,
tell your father his breakfast is ready." His
mother started ranting and raving as if she
was a short order cook in a fast food
restaurant. As he was leaving he heard her
say to no one in particular - "Lord knows I
need to hit that number." He stepped outside
into the heat and the smell of the project and
thought another prayer that would go
unanswered.
Time passed on, I still lived alone;
any thought of Rick’s problem long since
gone.
Then Saturday came, as two weeks had
past;
my door buzzed and clicked open, a celly at
last?
Here he came, two boxes in hand;
my old neighbor, not Rick, the other man.
It seems Rick’s problem was mine after all;
I just didn’t see it until after the lull.
He was waling with his hands in his pockets
looking down when he heard someone call
him "Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, my man." It
was Kevin. He lived a few doors down from
him in the same court. "Hey man, where you
going?" He asked. He wondered why Kevin
always asked him this when he already
knew. "Mrs. Robinson." He replied. "Yeah,
me, too." Everyone played the numbers in
the projects. For 25 cents a person could win
$100 dollars if they hit the number. And most
people played the same number religiously.
"Man you know we got a baseball game
5
today." Kevin said. "Yeah, I know." He
replied. Every Sunday they would play
sandlot baseball against other courts in the
projects. He liked playing sports in general,
but wasn't exceptionally good in any one
particular sport. So he would only get to play
if they needed him. Still he enjoyed the sense
of community that came from the courts
competing against each other.
by Paul Taylor
other team also had a good pitcher and some
big bats. All in all it was an even matched
game.
Charlie was counting players to see if he
would be playing when he heard Boo Boo
say - "Where's Butch?" "He spending the
summer with his cousins in Southwest",
someone said. "Damn!" Boo Boo replied.
Butch was their biggest batter and had the
strongest arm for an outfielder.
"Man, you got some ice cream money?"
"Naw, man. Maybe we can find some empty
soda or milk bottles and cash them in." This
was another ritual in the project scavenging.
They would go through all the trash dumps,
knock on doors, and search any and every
place for soda bottles or milk bottles. After
about four hours of scavenging, they would
end up with five dollars, to split up,
sometimes 5 to 8 ways. Man he thought
"God let me get some ice cream today." He
hated the sound of the ice cream bell ringing
when he didn't have any money. And if he
didn't have enough to buy everyone in his
house ice cream, he couldn't buy any. He
never understood this. His mother took his
ice cream from him one time because he
didn't have enough for his sisters.
"Where is Chris?" He asked. "I don't know."
Someone replied. "Man, I thought you cats
wanted to play baseball." Boo Boo retorted,
"To hell with it. I ain't playing," he said. Boo
Boo wasn't very patient and knew they didn't
stand a chance to win without him. However,
he always threw a tantrum before they
played. Everyone came to believe it was his
way of psyching himself out before they
played.
As usual they begged him to play and he
eventually gave in. It was decided that they
would play with the team they had and
substitute someone when Chris came.
They played the numbers and returned
home. After he ate his breakfast and cleaned
up his room, he went outside to play
baseball. Everyone had gathered around the
make shift baseball diamond - a dirt field,
with cardboard boxes for bases, and gloves
of all sizes, mostly right-handed. They had
two bats that had seen better days.
Sometime they played hardball, but today it
was softball. No umpire was used. Either you
hit the ball and get on base or you struck out.
It was a common understanding that each
batter had to swing his bat. Calling balls and
strikes didn't exist. Boo Boo was one of the
best pitchers in the projects and he played
with the court where Charlie lived. The
"Alright." He said as he began to delegate
positions. "Kevin, you got shortstop--head
third base. Lit' Timmy you got second base,”
he said as he surveyed the remaining
players. Charlie wanted first base; he could
catch and had a strong in field arm. "Paul you
got back-catcher until Chris comes. Joe you
got first base. Charlie, you got left field -Tony, center and John right. Charlie, don't let
the ball get behind you," Boo Boo said as
Charlie walked over to the gloves to search
for a left hand glove. He picked up a lefthanded glove and went out into the field.
They had the field first. In sandlot ball things
move quickly. Not a lot of scoring or
mistakes. After about 6 innings the score was
tied 2 to 2. Charlie was up at bat; he was
having a so - so day. Three up at bat, two
strikes out, one single. This was his fourth at
bat; they had one man on second and he
was told to bunt. Everyone in the project
knew he was going to bunt. Sandlot baseball
in the projects required more heart than
skills. He was a fast runner and if he could
get the bunt down he could beat the throw to
first. The back catcher was Long Nose Tony
and he had more heart then anyone. He
6
brushing the only spot of grass with his feet,
when he heard the sound of the ball coming
in contact with the bat- "SMACK!!!" The ball
was coming his way, how was this? All day
and not one ball was hit in his direction, and
now it was going over his head.
wasn't afraid of getting hit with the bat, and
could throw you out if you tried to come
home on a close throw. Paul was on second
and a mirror image of Long Nose Tony. The
count was two strikes. No balls were called in
sandlot baseball; if you got hit by a wild pitch
and survived you got a base. Swoosh, the
ball came, "Man, if we had an ump this
bamma would have been out”, the back
catcher said. Swoosh, came another pitch.
"Man,hold up", Boo Boo said. He called
Charlie over to the makeshift batters box.
"Bunt the damn ball," he said while making a
bunting motion with an extra bat. Charlie dug
in, took a few test swings. The pitcher wound
up and threw the ball. Charlie bunted the ball
about three feet, in-between the pitcher and
the back catcher, and took off running to first
base. "Run! Run!" He heard being yelled.
Were they talking to him or Paul he thought?
With only two feet to go, he could see the
first baseman holding his glove out for the
throw as he ran past him, tagging first base
and getting ready for the argument he knew
would come from a close call. As he turned,
he looked towards home plate-- everyone
was hugging Paul, who was covered in dirt.
Charlie had laid down a perfect bunt. The
pitcher and catcher had became confused as
to who would do what, and no one did
anything--the ball was still in the middle of
them.
"Play it off the wall, off the wall," he heard
someone yell. If he caught it off the side of
the house it would be a single; if it bounced,
it would be whatever the runner gets.
"Smack" - the ball hit the side of the house
and popped up - "CATCH IT" He had to run
and dive to make the catch and if he missed,
it would be a homerun, no doubt about it. He
dove with the glove extended in front of him.
He felt his knee hit the sidewalk, but jumped
up immediately to show he had caught the
ball. He threw the ball to the relay man and
looked down to notice his pants were torn
and his knee was bleeding. "Are you alright?"
Kevin asked. He wanted to quit, but couldn't
because they would lose - it was no way
seven people could win playing eight "Yeah" he responded, "I'm ok." He mumbled.
He heard Boo Boo shout, "Play deep, by the
side walk and grass." As he was walking to
the area, he thought, “My mother is going to
kill me." He kept looking down at his knee
and thorn pants; he wanted to cry. “Smack!”
the ball was popped up, one out. “Whack”
runner out at second. All this was a blur to
him. He just kept looking down when all of a
sudden he heard "... off the wall, play it off
the wall..." The ball was coming in his
direction; he wasn't going to play it off the
wall and tear his pants again. It wasn't going
to hit the wall, he thought, just run, he told
himself.
"Run to second Charlie!” someone yelled,
and off he went. The catcher wasn't having
any of this. He scooped up the ball, and as
Charlie slide into second, the tag was made.
“Safe! Out! Safe! Out! - He's out Boo Boo, "
said Aaron - the other team’s pitcher. “But
the run counts,” Boo Boo said, "Yeah man,"
Said Aaron, but we get the next close call.
The honor system was something else that
came with sandlot ball. As they took the field
Boo Boo said to Charlie, "Man you run like a
girl." Forgetting his bunt was the reason they
were winning - "And don't let the ball get
behind you." Charlie looked at him and
thought - "This cat is crazy."
As the ball declined, the wall was getting
closer. Maybe he made a mistake, he
thought, he should have played it off the wall.
As the wall came closer and closer, he ran
up the little hill. Now he was sure he should
have played it off the wall. He threw his body
and gloved hand up in one motion --crashing
into the trash cans, wall, and falling to the
ground on the little grassy hill. The
momentum from the impact of hitting the wall
caused him to ricochet off the wall, roll down
the little hill and back onto the sidewalk. God,
he thought, my mother's is going to kill me,
as he heard his pants tear again. He didn't
even remember what he was doing, why was
he on the ground -- then it came to him, the
ball, he forgotten about the ball! He would be
As fate would have it this ending would be
the last and it would be long. The losing
team, in their last at bat, would normally take
a lot of pitches in hopes of tiring the
pitchers’arms out. It never worked; sand lot
pitchers have big egos and if the game
rested on him, they wouldn't lose it. Charlie
was out in left field, daydreaming and
7
This is the 4th time I’ve been
sentenced to do a prison term-- the first 3
times from 1984- to-2000. The “time” I did
inside felt the same—it was in the same
prison with the same staff and the same
“routine”. The prison did not change and
unfortunately neither did I!
in bigger trouble if it caused them to lose the
game.
As his head cleared, he heard a lot of
laughing and yelling - "Did you see how he
bounced off the wall? Man, what a catch."
Followed by more laughter. He'd caught the
ball. They won the game. He got up to
examine the damage done to his pants and
legs. Time seem to stand still. By his left foot
was something green, a green piece of
paper; money, it was money! He picked it up
quickly and put it in his pocket. "I told you
boys not to play baseball in that field." It was
Mrs. Green, Glen's mother. “Boy, you look a
mess and that knot on your head isn't helping
any. Look at my trash can!” He ranted. "I'm
sorry Mrs. Green," he said, as he was about
to straighten up the trashcans. “It's ok boy,
you go home and get cleaned up. Glen will
straighten this up."
Funny thing is—I went to prison all 4
times for the EXACT same thing—I stole
other people’s stuff to get money to buy what
I hoped and believed would fill the hole in my
soul, and emptiness in my heart—DRUGS!
So although each time I was in
prison I “covered the hole and hid the
emptiness.” I convinced myself I could go
live a full life—without drugs. But it was “the
PRISON LIFE” that was my covering – HAwhile inside I had no FEAR of being
ABANDONED, I had no ANXIETY of being a
FAILURE…But the fear and anxiety was
always there—in the hole, filling the
emptiness…just behind the covering.
As he ran towards the crowd gathered by
home plate, everyone was stilling laughing at
him and talking about the catch. He wouldn't
hear the last of it. He had to go home. As he
was running home he heard the ice cream
truck and thought about the money he had
found. How much was it? He stuck his hand
in his pocket and ran home. As he was about
to pull the money out his pocket, he heard his
mother’s voice - "Boy look at you and look at
those pants. Lord, look at that knot on your
head, come in here. Take those dirty clothes
off." “Momma, Momma” - he said as he
pulled the money out his pocket. "I found this
playing baseball." He gave her the money as
the ice cream bell rang. He heard his mother
say - "Twenty dollars. Lord my prayers have
been answered.” And he thought - So have
mine."
So although I never had the
desperate need to use drugs while INSIDE, I
soon realized I was paralyzed without them
outside! The fear and anxiety grew and grew
and each time I got arrested, I was relieved!
I’d be safe soon!
The hole in my soul grows…The
emptiness in my heart gets deeper and my
hope for that drug-free life diminishes every
day, bringing despair and a new
desperation…
I now use laughing and joking as my
covering to hide the “pain” and failure of my
pitiful life! I do not want—I mean I am afraid
to allow people to see behind the covering.
To find out I was an UNWANTED child-- and
have run and worked all my life ONLY to hide
that fact!
I give up—I am out of JOKES, and
I’m tired of hiding—I am a failure, and will die
a coward! I’m in a new state—a different
prison—with different staff and a different
routine…
But the “pain inside” is the same—
the hole and emptiness are the same, my
fear and anxiety are the same—my present
and my past are the same—despair and
sadness masked with laughing and! JOKING.
THE IRONY OF PRISON LIFE
By Howard Lieberman
********************
8
enough. So I place the pen down and sit
back in my chair, as these feelings within me
slowly build back up.
COMPLETE?
By Bobby Mallett
I feel as if my life has been complete
because I have loved. Not just once in
my life but three times have I found someone
I could give myself to as a
whole. Why have I been so blessed? I could
not say, for many men have not
found true love. They say opportunity only
knocks once. It may only knock
once, then I may ring the doorbell or throw a
rock at your window. There are
many ways at which love can come. So
always remember, just because you missed
the first knock, don't give up and pay
attention. Love can always come back,
just in a different way, so keep an open
heart.
by Paul Taylor
A SHEET OF PAPER
By Brandon Harland
LOOKING THROUGH HER EYES
By Benjamin Sanders
Lines cross on a sheet of paper, waiting
for the pen to express the feelings and
emotions that the writer feels within himself.
Silently waiting for the writer to cry out his
heart, like a psychiatrist sits and listens to
their clients. With knowing this I just sit and
ponder while gazing at the sheet of paper
and this pen which lies on the table. Slowly I
reach for the pen with my fingers slightly
quivering. I remove the top, in the process of
letting the pen speak what my heart feels. I
then pull the sheet of paper in close with my
fingers, sliding it against the table. Suddenly I
find myself crying out my heart, expressing
my deepest thoughts and feelings to this
sheet of paper which is eager to listen. Line
after line, word after word, phrase after
phrase, letting out the frustration which
resides in me, trapped inside of this cage.
I wake up in a new state, in a new city, in
a new apartment, in my new bed. I slide into
my new slippers and put on my new bathrobe
and walk into the bathroom and look into the
mirror, and that's where all the new things
fade away and the past comes to me
instantly as my reflection reveals to me a
scar running across my neck.
A constant reminder of that night and a
man that said he would never injure me in
any way, and I thought it to be true because
on almost every occasion his love for me
seemed to be sincere without anything to
deceive me.
Almost, and it seemed, are the words
that stand out in my mind now because when
he was high or drunk, he was an entirely
different person. He was mean and violent to
me, always picking fights with me for reasons
unknown to me. Those now are the things
that keep me from getting close to new
people in my life, afraid that they will do the
same things to me. It makes me uncertain of
my true feelings, always questioning myself
on things that used to come so naturally to
me.
While in this state the sheet of paper
never wanders off, becomes bored, or even
agitated by what I say. It just lies on the table
with open arms, eager to let me in. The pen
in my hand, the voice in my heart, continues
to speak words which are so sincere--always
ready to stand up and speak out for the hand
behind it which causes it to move.
Before I realize it, every line is filled, maybe
the sheet of paper is telling me it's had
9
this to happen. To all the parents out there,
never give up on the Lord. Stay faithful! It's
hard to put into words what it means to me to
be forgiven by Ms.Rhonda and her family,
and I know only that kind of love comes from
Jesus.
Love and the Miricle of
Foregiveness
By Lloyd P. McCaskill
This is a testimony of love, miracles,
and forgiveness that has happened in my
life. One of the first things I want to say
is that Jesus is still doing miracles. I have
three wonderful sons, Zachary, Elijah and
Jeremiah. Elijah was a special child. He
could not hear or talk. Now the Lord has
opened his ears and loosened his tongue.
Praise the Lord! Elijah is behind children
his age, but I know the Lord will help
him catch up. Zachary has been blessed
with great intelligence and is in gifted
and talented classes and is a member of
the Junior Honor Society. Jeremiah is
very smart from what I hear.
Ms.Rhonda told me in a letter some
of her friends and family thought she was
crazy to contact me, but she knows there is
no possibility of true happiness until we
forgive others. Because of her life with Christ
she can forgive. I honor and respect her
immensely and love her. I pray that this
testimony can help others who are hurting
and wonder where God is sometimes. And
for those who do not want to forgive, I pray
that the Lord will touch your heart and follow
the example of Ms. Rhonda and her family.
Only when you forgive can you be forgiven! I
also ask the brothers and sisters of the Lord
to pray that I get to see my children Zachary,
Elijah and Jeremiah and that they write
sometime. I also ask for prayer for the Lord
Jesus to take a lot of my time away when I
go up for modification of my sentence. Thank
you, Jesus, for all the blessings I have now
and for the ones to come. In Jesus' Holy
Name.
When I was incarcerated, Jeremiah
was six months old. He is now four years old.
Zachary is now a teenager of thirteen and
Elijah is six. I have not seen any of them
since my incarceration. I pray to see them
sometime soon. The other miracle the Lord
has done in my life is that at Christmas '04
my mother-in-law, Ms. Rhonda, sent me
money and pictures of Elijah and Jeremiah
and for my birthday, Father's Day and Easter,
and she has sent me money just because
she thought I could use it. She sends me
papers that Elijah and Jeremiah do at school,
church and daycare. Some may think as they
read this "What is the big deal about that?"
but the deal is that four years ago I took the
life of my wife (who is Ms. Rhonda's
daughter.) I know only through our Lord
Jesus Christ that she could do this. She is a
true Christian, full of the Holy Ghost and
saved. I thank the Lord for His mercy and
forgiveness and for Ms. Rhonda, for her
forgiveness of what I have done.
NO BETTER TIME
By Stephen Bloczynski
My life is at a standstill, sitting in this
prison cell. Because on the road of
life, I stumbled and I fell.
What is it, you ask, that got me in
this mess?
I tried to self-medicate to relieve
some of my stress.
I got heavy into drugs and thought
my problems would disappear
By smoking them all away, and
chasing them with a beer.
Ms.Rhonda and Mr Garry take care of
Elijah and Jeremiah. Now Ms.Rhonda wants
to come visit me sometime. I have prayed for
the Lord to make us a family again and the
Lord is doing this quicker than I thought it
could happen. Our time and God's time is so
very different. Only Jesus Christ could allow
For the last nine years of my life I've
been under this curse,
And only now have I realized I only
made my problems worse,
10
Why let evil rule your hearts? Call on the
Power and Mercy of our CREATOR, let Him
in, and evil will be cast out. The love and
peace of our CREATOR will dwell in your
hearts and minds.
So now I turn to God, in my time of
despair,
To lift me to my feet again, except in
times of prayer,
For that is when I kneel to Him, and I
do repent,
There would not be room for evil to influence
you. The Power and Grace of our
CREATOR’s mercy is unsearchable; it will
surmount your evil desire. Trust in the one
who gives His love freely, to them that call
upon His name. Why stay away from this
precious LOVE, that can, and will change
every evil thought of your natural minds?
Stop before you strike, call on the wonderful
Grace of our CREATOR.
Because I know now, there's no
better time than present.
THE GIFT AND THE CURSE
By Bobby Mallett
Why am I mandate to carry this burden?
Many a man wishes to know what love is. It's
a hunger that can consume the strongest of
men—a need to surround yourself with the
person, to join souls and become one with
them. Love can be a great thing, but it can
also be the destruction of many. The
heartbreak never fades – it's a part of you
forever. Over time the pain may lessen, but
there will be a wall up over your heart to
guard against such pain. The heart is a
fragile thing. Some that have been broken
have never healed. There is hope for some.
It can be mended over time with the love of
another, but it must be gently put back
together. Me, I have withstood three of these
heartbreaks, and each time I feel my love
slipping away. Will I eventually run out of love
to give, I'm not sure. What I have left is but a
question: was the love I had worth the love I
lost?
Why? Why hurt us? If there’s a perfect way
to change your ways, open your eyes and
especially your hearts and see and feel the
pain that comes from Sexual Violence on the
ones you love and the peoples that are loved
by others...STOP!
LET’S LEARN TO LOVE OURSELVES
by Mustafa Williams
If one was to go around and do a survey and
ask people if they loved themselves, it is
almost assured that 99.9% would say “yes”
and those who won’t would be shown as
being mentally ill. Nobody in their right mind
would say that they didn’t love themselves,
but daily we do say this in our actions and for
the most part we don’t realize it.
W HY?
By Paul Gamboa Taylor
If we looked at the lifestyle of the same
people we surveyed, we will see that, for the
most part, through their actions they don’t
love themselves. Sure their words say one
thing, but their actions show another. We will
see people that smoke, use drugs, eat
harmful foods, over-eat, don’t exercise,
stress themselves out, learn, teach, and
promote poison philosophies, put themselves
in harm’s way in play or in life, when there is
no true need to and the list can go on and on.
If we are truthful with ourselves, we cannot
say that we love us and we are engaging in
all of these harmful things and we are helping
others, who we say we love, to engage in the
same things as well.
Why hurt your TEMPLE? Did not the
CREATOR take a rib from man to make a
woman? Why hurt us, man! Why bring us
down to this ungodly evil, "Sexual Violence"!
Without us where would you be? STOP the
violence against us. We want a world without
Sexual Violence for all, especially our young
children. Why bring this pain to us? Open
your eyes and see all the beauty that our
CREATOR has made in us both, then you
will know that Sexual Violence is not the way
of the children of our CREATOR.
11
or any of that; you need the love that God
gave you, which is the air, land and water.
If we look at the high divorce rate in this
country, the high incarceration rate, the high
immorality rate, the high death rate by every
thing from smoking to homicide, all of this will
show the lack of love. With the wars that are
going on and soon to be started, it seems
that we continue to spread and promote hate,
not love, and that is because we hate
ourselves. Sure, we can turn around and
show all these reasons why this and that is
happening and we got all these committees
for this and that and all this money is being
spent on this and that problem, but the
bottom line is we lack love of self. I can sit
here and say I love me, but if I am smoking
cigarettes, knowing it will kill me, is this loving
me? If I know that by hanging with John Doe
I can only get in trouble or killed and I still do,
is this an action of one that loves himself?
You see as long as we hate ourselves then
we will continue to engage in harmful things,
continue to be around harmful people and
continue to practice harmful ways.
Today, with all that is going on in the world,
it is a time that we start a love movement—a
movement where we start to live and
promote loving ourselves. For when we do,
then we will start to be around people who
love themselves and that will help us to love
everybody else and love what God has given
to all of us and we will preserve it. We will
stop getting caught up in what divides us and
start to realize that if we truly love ourselves
then we will live in harmony which each
other. It starts with one person—you. Start
to love you and your whole life will reflect this
love and your happiness will make others
want it and start to do it. Let’s stop
complicating things and just start with
ourselves. When we love us, we love life,
and that is simple. Pure love is manifested in
how you set proper examples for yourself,
your children, family, friends and those in the
community. When you love you, you won’t
continue to do things that will destroy your
family, your community, your country, your
world.
I remember an old Beatles song that says,
“All you need is love”, and I remember
hearing a saying that says, “God is love”.
When I sat back and thought about both of
these statements, I realize these powerful
statements are ones that have a pure
direction. If you believe that God is love and
that all you need is love, then you will be
successful if you transfer it into action. You
see, God loved you so much that you were
given clean air, clean water, clean land and
clean bodies, but through hate, you polluted
all of that. So, if you understand that all you
need is love, then you will accept God’s love
and apply it in your life and you will start
solving your problems. You will learn that
your relationships will be ones built upon a
pure foundation that will be able to weather
storms, as what is love will always eventually
stomp out hate.
So, you may say, how do I start; how do I
learn to love me? It starts with learning you,
learning who you are and purifying you.
Learn how your bodies function and then you
will know what you need to keep it healthy
and then you will do it. You will stop doing
things that you learn are harmful to you, and
you will only engage in the pure. Take that
one step at a time and then you will stop
hating you and start to love you.
Stop making things so complicated and
depending on others to tell you what you
need to do. Don’t just go with the norm;
challenge it. Don’t just say, “I’m going to
drink 8 glasses of water a day” because they
say it’s healthy; find out why your body needs
water and go from there. Lov
When you love, you will then show this
by taking care of you, eating right, drinking
right, thinking right, loving God right, and
loving all of life right. However, it all starts
with you and if you learn how to love, you will
then truly accept God in your life. It matters
not what religion you profess; God gave all of
us the same air to breathe, the same water to
drink, the same food to eat. We need all
these things to live. It matters not whether
you are a Christian, Muslim, Jew, rich, poor
WHAT WILL YOUR LEGACY BE?
by Mansa Musa
What will your legacy be?
Will you be eulogized or generalized?
Will it be standing room only at your funeral?
12
In the parking lots, coliseum, stadium, or
church
With speakers blaring a sermon of your
greatness?
What will your legacy be?
When your name is evoked will it conjure up
memories of: “Having a dream, by any
means necessary, blood in my eyes, eyes on
the prize”?
NIHILISM EVERYWHERE (EXERPTS FROM)
by Arlando Jones, III
Folks may assume that the greatest
challenge that face a man in prison is of a
physical nature. This is the nihilistic threat:
the belief that traditional values are of no
worth, that existence is so useless that life is
not worth living, and that the future is
doomed.
Will the fact that anyone who knew you,
would be considered like you?
Because of who you were, what you
represented and what you stood for has a
collateral effect.
And people never want your memories to
fade—so they absorb your life through your
friends, associates and loved ones.
I am not a heretic; I honestly believe that all
religions and/or traditions have wisdom and
value. So do the profound teachings and
wise guidance of Epictetus and Nietzsche.
But no ideology, religion, or philosophy is of
greater value to the individual man than the
one he has developed for himself.
What will your legacy be?
Will your name be synonymous with
freedom, sacrifice, and purpose?
Will people rush to memorialize you, make
your birth a holiday, posthumize you?
Clenched fists raised high in the air, sing
freedom fighter songs about you,
Tell heroic fables about you, emulate you,
and often quote you—
King said, Malcom said, Comrad George
said, Nelson Mandela, Assata Shakur said.
It should not have taken me more than thirty
years of trials and tribulations to come to the
conclusion that if I don’t have a life plan for
myself, I will fall into someone else’s plan.
And who is to say that that plan will have my
best interest at heart? I know for certain that
the drug-dealers from my former
neighborhood didn’t have my best interest at
heart when they convinced me to be a part of
their plan.
What will your legacy be?
Will you be legendary in the minds of
generations?
A shining star…
Like the North Star…
Guiding a people to freedom?
My paternal grandfather was the
neighborhood’s number-runner, my
legendary father was a stick-up boy (which
means he robbed people with a gun) and the
other folks who I really respected and
admired were thieves, drug-dealers, numberrunners, or some other type of hustler.
Will you be eulogized or generalized?
Will words be hard to find to describe you?
‘Cause nothing good can be attributed to
you?
So the preacher searched the Old and New
Testaments: The Books of Genesis to
Malachi, Matthew to Revelation,
Trying to find the Lord’s words or any
generalization of good
While never once evoking your name in the
same sentence with good?
Moreover, the folks who represented the
criminal element spoke in a language that I
simply adored. It seemed as if every word in
their vernacular rhymed; they walked with
rhythm and lived an elegant life. Woody was
the slickest one of them all. He always wore
a Stetson brim, Al Packer’s silk and wool
suits, and alligator shoes. He drove a sky
blue Lincoln Continental, Mark V, gangster
white walls and silver rims. The whole nine!
He had at least a dozen dime chicks (pretty
women).
What will your legacy be?
What will it be?
Will your legacy be deceit, trickery and
sleight of hand?
What will it be?
13
incumbent upon each man to fight whatever
forces that will reduce him.
I am able to testify now that the old adage:
“Truth is not eloquent, and eloquence is not
truth” is, indeed, true. I bought totally into the
falsehood of criminality. Its eloquent
language and pseudo-appearance of an easy
life convinced me beyond a shadow of a
doubt that gangsterhood was my destiny.
Nihilism brings men to prison, and it keeps
them there. Imagine being sentenced to life
in prison. Every appeal you file is
categorically denied, your loved ones are
dying off in the outside world or, worse,
simply abandoning you. Every single day of
your life is identical—uneventful. You see
the same folks, do the same things, and go
to the same places. No change – ever –
each day of your life. How do you, under
those circumstances, bring meaning to your
existence? How do you look to the future
with hope? Everyday, the same misery.
Most importantly, how do you attribute any
worth to the traditional values? In prison, all
you see and hear each day is someone
being mistreated—brutalized. Everyone lies,
fellow inmates and prison officials alike. All
that is present to a man in prison is nihilism
in its ubiquitous splendor.
Alas, I languish in the state’s maximum
security prison regretting the horrible choices
I made. I pray to god for forgiveness and
meditate upon glorious matters as a method
of keeping bitterness and resentment from
coming into my heart and settling into my
soul. I put considerable effort and energy
into encouraging the younger men who are in
a similar situation to mine to read and study
philosophy, psychology, economics, and
other vital subjects. I tell them to broaden
their horizon and go beyond where they are
intellectually and spiritually. I let them know
that prison, by virtue of its very nature, is
designed to produce social degenerates. It
demands that a man rely upon others to feed
him, tell him when to recreate, when to go to
the bathroom, when to go to bed, and when
to eat. Prison totally robs a man of his
independence and self-respect. It renders
him a social degenerate. Therefore, it is
********************************************************
by Paul Taylor
14
List of Contributors
Stephen Bloczynski
#322279 Patuxent
P.O. Box 700
Jessup, MD 20794
Joseph Evans
#162725 MCIH
18601 Roxbury RD
Hagerstown, MD 21746
Paul H. Inskeep
#211-806 MHC
P.O. Box 534
Jessup, MD 20794-0534
Edward Clark
#190-054 MCIH
18601 Roxbury, RD
Hagerstown, MD 21746
Brandon Harland
#300819 Patuxent
P.O. Box 700
Jessup, MD 20794
Arlando Jones, III
#179-799 Annex
P.O. Box 534
Jessup, MD 20794
Jeffrey D. Ebb, Sr
#192-431 MHC Annex
P.O. Box 534
Jessup, MD 20794
Antonio Howard
#BY3387
1100 Pike ST
Huntingdon, PA 16654
Howard Lieberman
#321-053 Patuxent
P.O. Box 700
Jessup, MD 20794
Bobby Mallet
#311000 Patuxent
P.O. Box 700
Jessup, MD 20794
Randall Martin
#274-704
P.O. Box 700
Jessup, MD 20794
Lloyd McCaskill
#312-700 Patuxent
P.O. Box 700
Jessup, MD 20794
Charles Hopkins
#124-403 MHC Annex
P.O. Box 534
Jessup, MD 20794
Telly R. Royster
#EL-2245
SCI Fayette
La Belle, PA 15450
Benjamin Sanders
#312-652 Patuxent
P.O. Box 700
Jessup, MD 20794
Scott Sechrist
CQ-0981
1 Kelly DR
Coal Township, PA 17866
Paul Taylor
#BT 2525
175 Progress DR
Waynesburg, PA 15370
Mustafa Williams
#DT-6828 SCI-Dallas
100 Follies RD
Dallas, PA, 18612
Prison Journal
Sandy Spring Friends Meeting
17715 Meeting House Rd.
Sandy Spring, MD 20860