MJ-Way

My Spanish student was able to get reenrolled into my class, and I was glad to have him. His English had improved considerably, and he was eager to begin were he left off. After a two year hiatus he seemed relived to be here. I was curious as to why he had to go to Ryker’s Island and he informed me he had to go to trial over another criminal incident that included people he knew but that he wasn’t involved.. He was found not guilty and returned to Michigan to serve out his sentence on narcotic trafficking. He informed me that Ryker’s Island was dangerous for him. He had to pay for everything he received there, and the jobs offered the prison population were few and far between. It took him six months to get a hair cut, and taking a shower without paying for protection could get one assaulted. He was glad to be found not guilty and was going to finish serving his Michigan sentence here. He only had three years to go.

While working on the flower gardens I was approached by an inmate who looked somewhat familiar. He called me by my last name and emphasized the last syllables that made it sound phallic. I didn’t recognize him right away but I informed him that it was Mr. to him, and the proper pronunciation was not the way he said it. He laughed and wanted to know if I recognized him? Unfortunately for him, I finally did. He went to another high-school and hung out with a group of people who thought they were better than everyone else. I personally thought they were all spoiled, and cut ties with them. Graduating from another high school helped me keep my distance and going to college assured I wouldn’t run into them again. So I was shocked to hear that voice, and his disrespect for me was genuine. So much for being born with a “silver spoon” in your mouth I thought. To be convicted of a felony and put behind three barb wire fences didn’t speak highly of his character either. We all make mistakes but it seemed he was still as arrogant as I remembered him as a teenager.

I was speaking with my Spanish student in one of the larger gardens when he came walking up to us in an area clearly marked out of bounds to anyone not enrolled in Horticulture. He was also designated level 4 and was not allowed to be in the area. He began speaking Spanish to my student who winced, shook his head no, .and looking directly at him, began cussing him out. I informed him to leave or I would have to write him a major out of place ticket. He laughed and began to hurl all kinds of obscenities at me and my students working in the gardens. It didn’t take long for the officers to respond and take him to segregation. Unreluctantly, he followed their commands while continuing to cuss me out, and use my name profanely. I informed the officers I would write the ticket, and use them as witnesses. They had no problem with that. My Spanish student looked petrified. He explained later when we were in the classroom, one on one, that the “cussing man” was a lieutenant in one of the South American cartels. He was actually trying to intimidate my student to join. My student refused, and that began his obscene verbal attack on all of us., especially me.

I told him not to worry, Mr. Obscenity’s outburst, threats, and disregard for posted rules would boost him to a higher security level. This meant he would probably be sent to a higher security prison (level 5) in Michigan’s upper peninsula. He was the leader of a group of people I grew up with. They disrespected anyone not in their special group. I was shocked to see him again, but not surprised he was in prison. My Spanish student couldn’t believe I showed no fear of him. I had to explain to my student that my faith in God gave me my strength. I was here to give hope to the hopeless, and provide an opportunity for change to those compelled to do so. He may want to change in the future. I wasn’t here to judge him. I was here to provide that hope. That’s why the Warden wanted the green house. A new beginning for those who participated and contributed. This is what I was instructed to do as a prison vocational teacher. I would only have one more interaction with Mr. Obscenity and it would be memorable. TO BE CONTINUED… PSALM 62:5-8

Humpty Dumpty SLAVA UKRAINI GLORY TO THE HEROES

PROVERBS 3: 5-8

I ended up hiring my student who had received the forgiveness letter from his victims family. He was a work horse and had completed the Horticulture class in six months time. I let my students work at their own pace but they had to finish the course within in a year. This included 200 hours of working in the greenhouse and gardens. I called it “OJT,” their on the job training hours. All my students had to complete them. It guaranteed a hands on learning experience for them, labor to maintain the gardens, the production of about forty thousand vegetable plants, and another thirty thousand annual flowering plants. We had to grow plants for unit six which was a level one, minimum security prison, and the prisoners assigned there would be going home within a couple of years. We donated a lot of plants to the community as well. He would help with that effort.

I had another student who I had accepted in the class but could only speak Spanish. Between my tutors and I we were able to communicate with him quite effectively even though only knowing a basic level of Spanish. He was another work horse and would work long after my other students would return to the classroom. We were also trying to teach him English, so between his broken English and our broken Spanish we were told it all sounded pathetic by who ever stopped to listen. However, he did understand and was a fantastic student. I was shocked when they told me the following day he had been transferred. My students were to be held here to finish their programming. When I asked why he had been transferred, I was told he was sent to New York, Ryker’s Island. It seemed he had some unfinished business there. I didn’t think I’d see him again.

As the years went by my other work horse tutor had been transferred to level 1, the minimum security prison, and for the next two years he would help run a very successful garden program there. It also meant he would be going home within 5 years. I was able to accomplish much in the minimum security gardens with his help. We donated plants and vegetables to the community on a regular basis, and he proved to be a real leader. He was no longer the young 17 year old who had been incarcerated for Driving Under the Influence, committing vehicular homicide. He was reprieved from the victims family, and that meant the world to him. He would get a new chance. At the ripe age of 32 years old he was released from prison and would spend five years on probation. I got to say goodbye to him in the lobby of the prison and wished him well. As he was leaving, my Ryker’s Island student was returning, hand cuffed, belly chained and shackled. He was being led in by two New York Corrections Officers. He looked terrible. “I need to get back in your class.” he said it in perfect English. My reply in perfect Spanish, “tienes que ducharte”, (you need to take a shower). He smiled as he was led back inside the prison. TO BE CONTINUED…

A wanted man. Stay away from high-rise buildings and open windows. No rest for the wicked. Slava Ukraini Glory to the hero’s.

He was one of my brightest students, and he made a bad decision. Driving while intoxicated had landed him in prison. He caused a bad accident which killed the driver of the vehicle he hit. He was only 17 years old at the time and he killed a successful executive whose now large family had lost their father and wife, her loving husband. He was tried as an adult and the judge gave him the maximum sentence. Fifteen years for vehicular homicide, driving while intoxicated , and a minor in possession of alcohol, added up to roughly 20 years in prison. If he behaved himself while incarcerated, he could be paroled in fifteen years, and would be on probation for another five years. I respected that he took full responsibility for his crime and was trying to make amends .My students didn’t always share what landed them here. He was one of the exceptions. After he finished his Horticulture assignments for the day, he began working on the technical math programming I was able to get from our academic school, and load on my classroom computers.

While working on his math assignment he informed me that my student who was arguing with the level four prisoners was in a drug gang. I had heard the same thing from our yard sergeant who informed me they were “riding him out.” He would be sent to another prison to finish his sentence. Vocational programming would be off limits to him now that he’s been designated belonging to a gang. I felt the MDOC policy was short sighted, and guaranteed his membership. Education administrators felt it kept those really interested in rehabilitating themselves, (through vocational programming), from joining gangs once incarcerated. It was a dumb policy, and I had no problem pointing out its’ short comings. Once branded with gang membership, getting a GED was no longer an option either , and their incarceration would be about becoming a gladiator in prison to protect their members. This only increased gang membership, and assured violence. My arguments fell on deaf ears. In my 25 year career teaching I would not see this student again.

It didn’t surprise me that my students new more about their comrades than I did. I was trained not to look at inmate files. Seeing what they had done to land in prison might prejudice my approach to teaching them. I pretty much followed that percept. I didn’t have the time to look up their files anyways. I accepted what ever they told me about their cases. My feelings were they aren’t angels, their peers put them behind three barbed wire fences, and my job was to show them a better way. So I was surprised when my bright student shared with me a letter he had received from his victims family. They expressed the shock of losing their father, and husband in such a needless and senseless way, but after all these years, they had forgiven him. Ten years to the date of the accident, they had written him to forgive him. He informed me he would write them immediately and thank them. It meant a lot to him and with teared filled eyes he left the classroom, in a way, feeling redeemed, I’m sure. Something we could all use a little of. TO BE CONTINUED…

What popping a gasket looks like. Slava Ukraini God bless the heroes.

It had been over three weeks since my last interview and I continued to receive notices from the Civil Service for job openings for which I was qualified. I could pick and choose what interviews I wanted to apply for. I tried to do some research on the positions before making a choice. I had decided on interviewing for a position which would be stationed in a nearby county because I had a friend who worked there. He liked his supervisor, the people in the department, and the overall environment. It was a management position in the Secretary Treasurers’ Office overseeing vendor contracts. I made sure to clear my calendar so that I would be able to interview. When letting the principal know why I needed the time, he laughed, but said that it would be a good career move for me with my management back ground and degree. The day was set and I couldn’t wait. But sometimes this prison has other plans.

I was dressed in my best navy pinstripe Hart Schaffner Marx business suit. I wanted to make a good impression. I spent the morning completing one of my training requirements in the Administration building, and I would use the afternoon for the interview. At 9:30am in the middle of my training the “emergency siren” began blaring from the top of the chow hall inside the prison. This was not going to be a good day. From past experience, I knew something bad had happened or was happening right now. We already had our monthly emergency drill. This had to be the real thing. When the siren blows custody employees are in charge. We received directions to go to the lunchroom and wait for instruction. Our lunch room overlooked the prison grounds which were awash in color from over 20000 flowering plants grown in our greenhouse by my students. From the greenhouse they were then distributed to beds designated for them and prepared for planting. The officers felt the flowers made the prison look soft, and often referred to it as “Camp Candy Land.” Today the prison would earn a more sinister moniker.

From my window seat I watched as the yard cleared and prisoners returned to their respective housing units. Once cleared, I saw officers walking a prisoner backwards, hands cuffed behind his back, to our segregation unit. His face was expressionless. With the prison locked down I wasn’t going anywhere. Depending on the seriousness of what was happening or had happened, the prison could be locked down all day. On the sidewalk leading out of the administration building was the warden, three state troopers and what looked to be a detective. They were heading into the prison. Our trainer came into the lunch room and closed the door. He informed the class that it appeared an inmate had tied up his roommate, abused him, and then drowned him in the cells commode. The state police were here to evaluate the murder seen and gather evidence. The prison would stay locked down all day. I was aloud to make a phone call to the civil service letting them know I would not be able to interview today hoping I could reschedule. They were not sure, but would get the message to the Department Head I was to be interviewing with.

I waited to be reassigned. I felt overwhelmed and repulsed by the violence. Immersed in it, I now understood there would be no escaping the thought that I could be killed here. The unpredictability had me vexed. This was not “Camp Candyland.” In my head I said a prayer for the man killed, for the murderer. and for those working here. I also prayed for strength and protection. My colleagues and officers didn’t seem to care about the violence. Some had the attitude that as long as the violence was prisoner on prisoner, it didn’t matter. No staff person was assaulted. They were only concerned about the safety of themselves, their fellow officers and staff. Prisoners fighting and assaulting’ other prisoners was to be expected. This was prison, and things like that happened here. However, I was not prepared, nor do I think one can be prepared, for the unpredictability of the violence and depravity that can occur here instantaneously. Awash in this reality, I felt very uneasy working here, and again questioned what I thought I could accomplish. TO BE CONTINUED…

NATO getting stronger because of a “Russian Despot” SLAVA UKRAINI

I called the two contacts the officer had given me, and they gave me an earful on the “Napoleon Complex” the director displayed on a regular basis. He was just as the officer described, “a political hack.” They felt lucky to find other jobs in the state government, and felt the administrators’ job working for him was a big mistake on their part. They felt it could have been a “career killer.” They thanked God they could move into another position unscathed by any controversies. The director was cutting the department’s budget on a regular basis and expecting more from the employees each time he cut. The most controversial policy he implemented, denied what he termed “exempt employees” overtime pay, and that was headed to court. The employees were denied “on-call” pay as well. He ended losing both in court, and cost the department over a million dollars in back pay. These labor relations incidents were swept under the rug. They were not brought up in my interview. The state would hide the payout, and not reflect it in the department’s budget.

I returned the email to the nurses with a “thank you” but “no thank you response. ” I also explained to them my reasons, and I believed the director would not hire me anyway. He had final say on that decision. The response I received from them was heartfelt. They wanted me not to pull my application. They insisted I stay in the running. The committee would submit my name as the chosen candidate, and wait for the director’s response. They were under the impression, the committee’s decision was the prevailing one, and the director would only give them feedback on their choice. They asked that I just sit back and see how this develops. I had no problem with their request. In the meantime, I spoke with my boss about the interview process and what the state trooper had said about our warden. He agreed that our warden was a good person to work for, but he understood my wanting to get into management, and utilize my credentials. He also felt I could use my skills to enhance the Horticulture program in the prison school. He would support my decision either way.

I waited over two weeks to finally receive a response from the civil service about my application for the Administrator’s position with Community Health. It was a standard letter of appreciation for applying, and interviewing, but also informed me a more “experienced” candidate had been selected for the position. I sent a scanned PDF of the letter to the nurses who had asked me to wait so they could see how this played out. In a couple of days I received their response. They thanked me for my patience and not dropping out sooner. They informed me the committee agreed they would never again participate in the hiring process and felt they had been lied to by the director. It did not surprise me. I then informed them of what past administrators had said about him. They were shocked. The administrator he chose to hire now would be his third in a years time. No red flags? I thanked them for their support, and wished them well. I felt they were dedicated health care professionals and I would have enjoyed working with them. But that was not to be. I had worked for bosses who had “Napoleon Complexes” and played Machiavellian games. I would never make that mistake again. On to the next chapter. TO BE CONTINUED…

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2023/04/10/vladimir-kara-murza-final-statement-court/ His story needs to be heard.

My interview went well, I thought, and on the way back to the prison school I received a call on my cell phone. I let it go into voice mail because I didn’t want to answer it while driving. However, they were relentless and my phone kept ringing from the same number. I had to pull over on the expressway to answer it. It was the Director’s Executive Secretary. She wanted to know if I had turned in my interview questions sheet. That paper was not to leave the conference room. I didn’t care for the tone and informed her of it. “Are you accusing me of taking the question sheet with me?” She informed me that the committee couldn’t account for it and wanted to make sure I didn’t take it with me. Her tone changed to conciliatory after I informed her I did not take it. She apologized for interrupting my drive back and wished me well. I was getting perturbed thinking about our exchange and her accusation that I absconded with the interview question sheet, but just told myself to forget it. She seemed apologetic. I needed to think more positively. After all, it was a great interview.

I merged back onto the expressway and started to head home. I was on the road for about ten minutes when I saw a state police vehicle with its’ flashers on about a mile behind me. I switched lanes, left to right, and started to slow down. I thought that would give him the opportunity to pass me on his way to whatever emergency he was headed to. I was shocked when he changed lanes, got behind me, and motioned for me to pull over. Once I pulled over, I began to wonder if I was speeding, and I rolled down the window. The officer was polite and asked to see my license. He then questioned if I had just finished interviewing with Community Health. When I had informed him I had, he smiled and asked if I had taken any paper work from the interview with me. I told him I definitely had not, I had informed the director’s administrative secretary of the same fact not more than ten minutes when she called. I offered him to search. I opened my brief case, the trunk of the car and any other compartment he felt I would hide material from the interview in. He thanked me for being cooperative. When he came up empty he apologized.

He then informed me that the Director I had interviewed with was one of the biggest jerks in state employment. He was a political hack. If I was offered a position to work for him, I might want to reconsider. He gave me a few contacts to call if I wanted to know more about the director . I thanked him, and he laughed, saying, “why do you think we have cadets working in his building? No trained officer can can work for the imbecile.” Not finding any material from the interview, he informed me I was free to go and handed me back my license. He saw that the car was registered to my facilities Warden. He informed me that the Warden I was working for now, and driving his car, is one of the best Administrators working for the sate. You won’t find any better. I might want to reconsider my job search.

When I got back to the prison school my principal was waiting for me. He couldn’t stop laughing. He obviously had heard of my adventure. What was even worse, I had received an email from the nurses who interviewed me, and they informed me the committee voted to hire me. This wasn’t going to be easy but I would have to make a decision on how I would reply to them. My boss, ever the joker, couldn’t stop laughing. He had never heard of anyone having an “all points bulletin” put on them for a sheet of interview questions. He wanted to know where I stashed them I informed him I never took them. I left them in the conference room. I felt the Director was playing Machiavellian games because of his own insecurities. People in authority, who lack self esteem, have a tendency to act in ways they think bolster their self image, make themselves look strong and others weak. He was cut from that ilk, obviously. After thinking about that for awhile, and rehashing what the state trooper told me, I knew how I would answer the nurses’ email. TO BE CONTINUED…

Finland joined NATO. When you share a large border with an aggressive terrorist nation, and they threaten retribution if you join. Doesn’t leave you much choice. Welcome Finland.

Slava Ukraini

Dressed in my best pinstriped New York made blue suit, matching silk tie and shirt, this yuppie was on his way to an interview. I would not be wearing my levies, polo shirt or lab jacket today. It had been awhile since I had to leave healthcare at the university because of a failed coup-attempt by my boss, (as explained to me by his compadre-he thought he had all the votes to be the hospitals new president-except for the one that mattered most-the hospitals Medical Director!) So putting all that baggage behind me, and the negativity it entailed in my psyche, I drove towards my future. The interview would take place in the Administrative offices of the Michigan Health and Human Services building. Upon entering that building I was greeted by a State of Michigan Police cadet who asked to see my state identification. I was then directed to sign in and wait in the lobby. I was told someone would be here shortly and escort me to the conference room where my interview would take place. I waited in the lobby and within a few minutes I was greeted by an elderly gentleman dressed in a well tailored business suit.

He stretched out his right hand to shake mine. I could not help but notice he had a monogram on his shirt cuff and he was wearing a Patek-Philippe watch. We exchanged pleasantries, and he directed me to a small office next to a large conference room. He informed me that he was the Department’s Director. My interview would be conducted in the conference room next door which he would not be part of. He would leave the interviewing of candidates to the people most affected by the selected candidates leadership ability or lack of it. He would have the final decision on hiring. The selected candidate would report directly to him, as well as, write, and reinforce existing departmental policies. He queried me about whether or not I worked on our Governors’ campaign. I was surprised by the question but stated that with two young children at home and being involved in their activities, I had little time for political activity. Although, I was able to tie my students success with our garden community projects, donation of plant materials to urban gardeners, and efforts with the donation of houseplants grown by them in our greenhouse to senior citizen centers. The success of my program was a reflection on the current administration’s policies with the retraining of inmates.

He didn’t seem impressed and I wondered if he didn’t have another candidate in mind. Some one tied politically to our governor’s campaign. He got up, shook my hand, and led me to the conference room for my interview. The conference room was set up for a committee of about six people. They would be facing me and asking me questions. When they entered the room, they sat down and introduced themselves. They were an impressive group representing the many different facets of community health. They wanted to know about my past experience with Indiana University Medical Center, and the Detroit Medical Center. I was surprised to find out they had already called my references. They informed me that my references spoke well of me and my accomplishments. They had me speak on what I considered my successes, and how I managed failures. It was one of the best interviews I had ever been on and after sharing my experience I felt I could work well with this group. The interview ended positively and I was told they would be in contact with me shortly. Two of the nurses informed me they would email me the final decision, and thanked me for interviewing. I was glad to know the decision would be made quickly. I wasn’t ready for what was communicated in their email when I received it. TO BE CONTINUED….

Finland was accepted into NATO. When your neighbors no longer trust you.

Armed with my new classification, and being graded at the ninety fifth percentile on the Civil Service Administrative exam, I felt invincible. I had received a letter in the mail from civil service telling me about an open position, Bureau Administrator 18, and telling me I was qualified to apply. I couldn’t believe it. My hope soared. I checked yes on the enclosed card, indicating I wanted to interview for the position, and sent it back immediately. About a week had passed without me hearing anything back, and our school principal had asked me to step into his office between classes. Back then, I didn’t have a phone in my classroom or email. Usually he would just open the back door of the principal suite and yell down the corridor for me to see him when I got the chance. If I didn’t hear him, somebody else would and they would inform me he wanted to see me. He would also contact my colleague in the classroom across the hall by phone, and she would inform me he wanted to see me. In any event, I wasn’t hard to find if he needed me.

I thought it was a little unusual for him to request to see me between classes but I figured maybe we had company in the school and he was trying to be a little more professional. I liked him as a person. He had gone to bat for me and got my salary adjusted to what I had been promised it would be during my interview for the instructor’s position. It took three years and he was relentless. With his help and our union’s persistence, my pay was adjusted accordingly. He showed me he was a man of his word, and I respected him for it. When I stopped in to see him he had informed me that he was called about my work performance as an instructor. It seemed that the department I was going to be interviewing for an administrators position was verifying my employment. I thought that a bit odd. My boss just laughed and gave me some advice on the interview process. He basically informed me that all the department heads were governor appointments. Those appointments usually hired their own. The civil services job was to make sure the rules governing the interviewing of candidates and hiring were followed .

With my new classification status he thought I would be getting many interviewing letters, and that I should go on every last one of them. It was a good way to meet people in other departments and if the position wasn’t already filled by the appointees candidate, I could have a shot at it. So I had to laugh. Man, I was naivete. I thought the job was given to the most experienced, and qualified candidate through the civil service testing process. It was hard to hear that political appointees running the state departments had their own version of political appointee hires backed by the civil service. I appreciated his honesty and told him so. Because of his advice, I ended up interviewing at least three times a month for about three years.

With the amount of letters I was getting from the civil service for open positions I was qualified to interview for, it could have easily had been ten times a month. I actually had to turn many down and check not interested in this employment opportunity on the card to be mailed back to civil service. On the interviews I chose to go on, I got to meet a lot of interesting people all throughout the state of Michigan, and it gave me a new respect for the jobs they did. The stories they told me about their employment with the state were fascinating. When I shared them with my boss, he patted me on the back laughing, and called them “war stories.” I began to understand. Not all is well in this states’ departmental administration. This fact being told to me by the people who have to work in it. Political and family nepotism was rampant through out the civil service. All the years I spent earning my Bachelor of Science and MBA gave me the chance to interview for positions that were pretty much already filled. I tried not to let the wind blow through my sails but the tears were too many. I had to form a new plan. I would create my own “interviewing war stories.”

To Be Continued…

Mathew 18: 1-10

“Stop right now!” I gave a direct order to two prisoners, one in a wheel chair the other pushing, as they struggled to move out of the prison school garden and roll back to their housing unit. It was not the first time, and would not be the last time I would catch prisoners stealing produce from the garden. The disability didn’t prevent his thieving. Instead, he lashed out at his pusher to go faster. Unfortunately for him, two officers were waiting for them on the sidewalk next to the garden. This latest team of produce thieves were now caught. The officers wanted to know if they were my students and I informed them they were not. They were stealing produce in an area clearly marked “out of bounds.” They were then asked to produce identification and they claimed they needed to go back to the housing unit to get it. The officers laughed. The yard sergeant came over and identified them. The vegetables were bagged. They informed me they would take care of this. The culprits were pissed, and the wheel bound chair inmate claimed he would put a hit on me. The officers laughed again and informed him he didn’t know who he was threatening. “This instructor is nicknamed by the current education administration ” Godfather.” They were quite sure I didn’t get that nickname because I was a nice guy.

In all honesty, I don’t know when I was given that nick name but I had heard our new school principal call me that most recently in a staff meeting. When I questioned her about why she called me that, she informed me it came from my exploits in Lansing, and the current education administration new all about the way I interviewed for promotional opportunities. I did go on quite a number of employment interviews. I was graded into the first ring, 95th percentile, through the civil service administrative exam process. By civil service standards at the time, I had the right to interview for all open administrative positions grade 16 and above. I did take advantage of this and interviewed at least twice a month (if not more) for over two years. It was all futile. (The stories of the state’s interview process I’ll write for another time.) The disabled inmate, after hearing what the officer said about me, just huffed and asked if he could leave. At the same time the Housing Unit Manager came over and identified the inmates. She told them they were in big trouble and began speaking with the officers. All assured me that this situation would be corrected, and the officers took the evidence to the control center to be photographed. I went back to my classroom.

My academic colleague was in my room before lunch to go over the GED testing schedule. I was entering student names into the computer when my phone rang in the classroom. I put it on speaker phone and the captain told me the inmates are claiming the confiscated vegetables were not the ones taken by them. My colleague spoke up and asked, “there were more?” The captain laughed, “must have been.” I assured him the vegetables confiscated from the inmates by the officers came from the garden where they had been caught pilfering by me. They both were identified by the Resident Unit Manager and yard sergeant. They claimed they did not have their ID badges on them, and asked to go back to the housing unit to get them. A day or two had passed and while giving the GED exams in my classroom I received a call from the Resident Unit Manager. She informed me that both inmates had been transferred to another facility. She had found a large amount of produce hidden in their rooms and it appeared they were operating a market. Selling produce to other inmates. I thought, if the disabled are finding it easy to steal from the garden, the more capable (two legged deer as noted by my colleague) are having a field day. I requested a camera to be installed over looking the garden to our new school principal that same day. She informed me she would request one from our warden.

To BE CONTINUED…