MJ-Way

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…

This was not going to be easy, but I was determined to be healed. Walking up stairs was probably the hardest, and most challenging. By the time I reached the top stair I was exhausted. I now realized I had some serious surgery. The hospital sent to my home a physical therapist 3 times a week, and a visiting nurse daily. I met with my surgeon every two weeks at his office in the hospital. Once I started gaining my strength, going up stairs became easier, and I was able to take walks outside with my therapist. My wife would walk with me bringing our dog Kasha who couldn’t understand why we weren’t going on our five plus mile hikes. The healing process seemed to go on forever but even though I lacked the patience at times, I was thankful God decided to keep me here. I was looking forward to going back to teach with my colleagues at the prison. I survived this. I had a zipper incision in the middle of my chest, and my chest plate was held together with American steel cable. World class technology kept me alive. My surgeon, Dr. Omar Habib, informed me that seeing the size of my biceps and chest, he made sure to use heavy duty medical cable to close my chest plate. I thanked him for that.

I began thinking about an experience I had working in one of the factories as a teenager. I was (supposedly) accidentally gassed to unconsciousness. As I got older and was working at the Detroit Medical Center, I received a call from a doctor who wanted me to go up to the power house on the roof of the Hudson building, and let him know of anything being on the ledge of the sixth floor. That ledge was only visible from the power house on the roof. The Medical Facility Maintenance personnel supervisors were the only ones who would have access to that power house. I made my way to the power house. Upon opening the doors of the power house and looking out at the ledge, I could see what looked like an old beat up tennis shoe. I called the doctor back and let him know what was on the ledge. I was curious on why he was asking about this? He was an accomplished surgeon and had begun tracking his patients’ near death experiences known as NDEs. He gave me the exact description of the tennis shoe on the ledge given to him from one of his patients who had recently been resuscitated. The patient claimed to have an NDE. Seeing the shoe was the proof. It was not visible from any area in the hospital they would have access to. I was intrigued by the phenomena and spoke with him in depth about his research.

The NDEs’ the patients talked talked about made me think about what I had experienced in the factory after being gassed. However, I was surprised I did not experience an NDE while being operated on this time. My heart was stopped and I was hooked up to a heart blood pump while the grafts were completed. The operation took 12 hours. I had no recollection of this surgery. I awoke on a ventilator a day later, with my hands restrained, and the nurses removing me from the ventilator. I do remember questioning them about my hands being restrained, and their knowing smiles. “You’re back on earth,” they chided after undoing my restraints and handing me an Italian ice to eat. I felt at peace, a real peace, I hadn’t experienced in sometime. I was now well aware of my mortality but was not fearful because of it. I had an understanding instead. If my Creator wanted me, that would have been prime time for Him to take me, and that obviously didn’t occur. Again, I felt relaxed and at peace. I knew that I had been shown every bit of kindness by the medical staff, my family, friends, and colleagues who wished me a speedy recovery. Most importantly, my relationship with God grew even stronger. My recovery would be imminent. I felt assured in His grace. That was my peace. I will continue to work on being the best version of myself I can be.

TO BE CONTINUED… If I was still teaching, this is Black History month and I would be showing the poetry of Maya Angelou to my students via her readings on you tube: https://youtu.be/NzQtGCw49uc Copy the link and enjoy.

I had an exceptional team of Doctors, Nurses, and therapists who brought me back to life. I stayed on the ventilator for a day, and when I awoke my hands were restrained. I kept falling in an out of sleep but my nurse informed me they will be removing the breathing tube. They wanted me to eat. She unfastened the restraints on my hands and another nurse removed the tube. It felt good to breathe. My voice was hoarse as I tried to ask why my hands had been restrained. She offered me some Italian ice and smiled. It seems I pulled all my wires and tubes and decided it was time to leave the hospital. A bad unconscious decision on my part. I wasn’t surprised. Sounds like something I’d do in a conscious state. I looked under my patient gown noting two tubes coming out of my chest and what looked like color coded electrical wires. All I could think of was that my heart is running on batteries, and the tubes were draining what looked like a zipper incision in the middle of my chest. I was wearing some kind of chest bandage with handles. I was instructed by my nurses to pull the handles together when I coughed or got up. This two handled wrap, that looked like a bra, was holding by rib cage together, and my surgeon completed closing my cracked open chest plate with a permanent sutured steel cable. Hence, a zipper. Wow!

While thinking about all the medical personnel who were working for my quick recovery, I couldn’t help vision them as a team of professionals each doing their separate jobs effectively and passing me on to the next professional so they could do their part. I was healing quickly and began walking the next day. That was my awakening. After about ten steps, I got very tired. The nurses assured me to keep trying and I would get stronger as I healed. They were right. Everyday I kept doing more and I did eventually grow much stronger. I could walk down the corridors and walk back without being tired. Before being discharged from the hospital my tubes and wires would have to be removed. I was asked by my surgeon if I wouldn’t mind surgical residents viewing the removal? It was fine by me. I was still a teacher and wanted to continue to contribute to education. My battery wires would be removed first and then the tubes. The process was completed quickly and I didn’t feel anything. Being numb with pain meds helped I’m sure. The only thing I was hooked up to now was an IV. A finger clamp monitored my vitals and could be removed easily for when I wanted to walk. I was amazed by how fast I was getting back my strength. It seemed everyday I could do more, and my surgeon had to remind me that even though he used a extra heavy duty cable to put my rib cage back together, I still needed to rest so it could heal properly

I was able to celebrate being married 37 years to my wife, August 1, 1981. There was a chance that almost didn’t happen. She’s unbelievable and stayed by my side the whole time. My surgeon set up appointments to see me in two week intervals, a visiting nurse would visit me daily, and a physical therapist would visit me two times a week. The surgeon informed me I was not allowed to drive, and when I was in a car traveling, I had to be in the back seat. Taking an air bag to the chest in an accident would be a major concern for me while my chest plate was mending. I thought about the team of medical professionals I was leaving and about the team of educators I someday hoped to return to at the prison school. I missed them all. Their jobs were no less glorious than the medical professionals I had just spent ten days with. They always seemed to give their best given the extreme stress of the prison environment, and looking back at it now, I was glad to be their colleague. It would take me a three months to recover fully, and I did eventually. Thanks be to God! TO BE CONTINUED…

Life for me comes what seems to be in triplet. The three unproductive employees no longer affected the decisions made in our school. The mismanagement and harassment was gone. I was informed by my colleague that there were only three Horticulture Instructors left teaching in the DOC and when Instructors left they were not being replaced. The curriculum my colleagues redesigned was a herculean effort and for the first time our students would be able to secure, upon passing the testing process, Michigan Department of Agriculture: pesticide licenses. In addition, our students could study and test through the curriculum of the Michigan Landscaping and Nurserymen Association. Passing the exams would guarantee them a credential once they were released from prison and they began working in the green industry. I had to give my colleagues credit. It was a huge effort on their part, they faced many obstacles because of the prison but their persistence paid off. However, there were only 3 instructors left to teach it.

The stress the prison environment had created for me over the years began taking its toll on my physical health. I started feeling tired after hiking a couple of miles with my dog and over the next few months I seemed to get a whole lot worse. I made an appointment with my doctor and he ordered a stress test. I flunked the stress test and was told to make an appointment with a heart doctor. I made the appointment but never made it. The day before my appointment I came home from work exhausted and had a strange pressure in my chest. I had coworkers help me make a donation of around 500 lbs. of produce grown from our prison gardens to our local food bank earlier in the day but I just seemed to be getting worse. The pressure in my chest was increasing and when I got home my wife took my blood pressure. It was very high and she called for an ambulance. I was feeling exhausted, by the time the ambulance arrived. I knew from experience this was not going to be a good thing, and made peace with my creator. I felt I gave life my best shot and if I was now cashing it in, I better make it right by him. So of course I prayed. Even this shall pass, and hopefully not me Lord.

When the medics arrived I was immediately treated and transported to Ascension St. John Hospital where I was kept on an IV of nitroglycerin. I was then sent to the heart lab where the Doctors determined three of my arteries were blocked at 98, 97, and 96 percent. I would not be a candidate for angioplasty. To stay alive, I would need triple by pass surgery. That news had me saying some immediate prayers. The Doctors informed me that the nitroglycerin was keeping me from having a heart attack. Had I waited one more day, my wife would have been widowed. I met the Doctor in charge of thoracic surgery, and he introduced me to the surgeon, his colleague, who would be doing the surgery. His name was Dr. Omar Habib. He explained that he would remove a vein from my leg, my arm, and my chest to by pass the arteries that were blocked. He also explained that it would be minimum 8 hour surgery. I would be put on a ventilator when the surgery was completed and moved to the intensive care unit where my healing process would begin. He shook my hand , and told me not to worry. I would heal well. I thanked him in advance and prayed a whole lot more hoping the three mined veins would be healthy. My life, prayerfully, would not end in a surgical attempt of saving it with triple by pass surgery. To be continued….

She thought she was protected. She had friends in all the right places. The department’s manager was her best friend, the Warden in charge of the other prison she reported to thought highly of her professionalism, and the new Warden at our facility was friends with our department manager. He too thought she was exceptional. So where did she go wrong? Why, after only a few short years, did it seem to all go southward? We are products of the relationships we nurture. I don’t believe she understood that. I was a student of administrations as long as she was old, but it wasn’t her inexperience that caused her failure. In part, it was the people she chose to listen to. Yes people. The incarnate weasel was now forced to work at his new job, and found a quick retirement. The slime-ball secretary was dismissed by the Facility Correctional Administration and our Warden secretly felt contempt for those who brought this to the attention of the IA. The Warden no longer felt our school principal was exceptional, and now her rocket seemed to be sputtering. She stayed preoccupied but not at our facility. Apparently, not at the other prison either. My colleagues there reported her missing on a regular basis.

She stopped attending the monthly administrative management meetings held in the Warden’s conference room. The department heads took immediate notice and questioned who ever she sent in her place as to her whereabouts. Especially, when the replacement showed up fifteen minutes late because they had just been notified by her to drop what they were doing an attend the meeting representing the school. I’m quite sure that didn’t sit well with the Warden either. Then the inevitable happened. The replacement she had scheduled to attend the next meeting could not be at that meeting. The facility administration was going to be discussing a new prisoner movement schedule and wanted her input on how it would effect the school. I was asked to fill in, review the schedule and give my input on how I thought this new movement might impact our school schedule. It didn’t take me long to find some problems the school would have with the proposal. I was wondering if our school principal had even looked at it.

Understanding the intricacies of prisoner movement in a multiple level security prison is not easy. The underlying goal is that the different security level prisoners will not meet or interact with each other. The school had exceptions. School prisoner tutors and clerks where allowed in the presence of supervisors to interact. The new movement schedule would not allow this and I raised an immediate concern. The Deputy Warden believed this wasn’t a concern of our school principal, and the Warden announced the school principal was on stop order. Her input didn’t matter! I was stunned by the open announcement. The Warden then directed the Deputy Warden to work out the school staff’s concerns about the movement. A separate meeting would be arranged. I was quiet for the rest of the meeting and when it ended I hurried back to the school building. The school staff had already been informed. An acting principal had been assigned to our school, and would be here tomorrow. All I could envision was a star exploding in the mist of dysfunction and a new one being formed out of the chaos to replace its orbit. In the DOC, one could go from hero to zero in a heartbeat. I wondered if that was her fate? To be continued…

He was picked by our new school principal to be our school secretary after they wanted him out of the Business Office in the Administration Building. I found out later that he wasn’t liked there because he was lazy and he lied about the work he supposedly had finished. They had deadlines in accounting and he lied that he had completed his work. Perfect credentials for our new administration. I found him doing the same thing here in a matter of days as the purchase orders I had processed for our new greenhouse he mysteriously claimed were never received. Luckily I had made copies of them. What usually took our past school secretaries a couple of hours to do, took a month for him to complete, and he rarely did it correctly. When I mentioned this to our new school principal she had informed me that she would look into it. Nothing ever happened, and over the years his lack of productivity became worse.

I had lobbied the new administration to have the same abilities as my Trades Instructor colleagues had but that fell on deaf ears. My colleagues did not have to rely on a school secretary to complete work for them. They did it themselves. My requests were ignored. After about six years our school principal was promoted to be the manager over prison education through out the state, and her replacement, (her friend) didn’t much care for our school secretary. Our school secretary felt that he didn’t have to follow her direction and continued to do whatever he wanted. Eventually his refusal to follow her direction was brought to a head by the new school principal, and our promoted new manager. Their cherished reunion in the school principal’s suite was referred to by our school staff as a “kumbaya” moment. From that day on, they agreed that from here on out, they would stick up for each other no matter what and the real enemy was our school staff. In particular, my colleague across the hall from me and myself. They would also target two of our academic teachers for special treatment. Anyone who spoke up would become a target.

The monthly reports we turned in to our office were often lost. We constantly had to resubmit them and I was lucky enough to send my reports through emails which showed a date and time. We were inundated with nasty gram emails. I enjoyed those because they became the evidence used in an investigation into our school secretaries activities. So after years of harassment, and stress from this management, I received an email from Internal Affairs. They wanted to speak with me about our school secretary. I had to respond within the time frame stated, and I was to say nothing to our school secretary about this. I later found out that all the teachers received the same email from IA. The investigation was started because of a complaint filed from support staff personnel against our school secretary. Our Personnel department turned the case over to Internal Affairs. After Two months of IA Interviews, it did not end well for our school secretary. IA recommended his employment with the DOC be terminated .We were informed the administration concurred, and acted upon it. We were also informed that the investigation was not over. I could only imagine who was under investigation now. TO BE CONTINUED… Colossians 3:23-24

The prison in Detroit was closed so after making sure he had a position at our facility, he loaded up the truck and began to move in. He made sure that everyone was made aware that he was on a first name basis with the department’s new director. He didn’t have a clue on where he would set up his Building Trades classroom, but since the director told him he was being retained, he could wait for further instruction. Waiting in the DOC could go on forever, and he was ok with that. What he didn’t realize was that he wasn’t making friends with the managers that would eventually lead this facility’s administration. For now it was all sunshine and lollipops for him as he began to move in. This Weasel Incarnate decided our school needed chairs, he began moving our old chairs out, and the new blue plastic metal weapon making chairs in. He had such an insight. A real intellectual. So when one of our academic teachers got fed up with his students making weapons from the new furniture and reported it to the administration, our new Weasel Incarnate blamed the teacher for letting such a thing happen in his classroom. He left out the detail about being the one who brought in the chairs. Our new school principal, and slime ball school secretary, sided with the WI. They blamed the teacher. How could he let such a thing happen?

The new WI felt empowered by his support from our incompetent management, and became the voice for the garbage they supported. Our new school principal proved her incompetence the two or three times a week she would make an appearance at our facility. She used our SB school secretary as her official mouth piece, and when he was ignored, she used the WI. They were known by the School staff as “dysfunction junction.” The moniker was befitting their unproductiveness. When issues arose in the school between custody staff and our education staff, we would be directed by this incompetent administration to ignore custody staff. This only caused friction. Especially, when the direction given to us by them was denied when “dysfunction junction” was questioned by custody administration. They would claim we misunderstood their direction. This game was played so often I found it easier to ask for written instructions. That never happened and because of my requests, I was beginning to be viewed by them as a trouble maker. This didn’t stop the WI from earning his moniker. When our new school principal wasn’t at our prison, he decided to make himself the heir apparent. He walked our school hallways and reported to the principal what was happening in our classrooms by email.

I loved the email game because I found it kept a good record of the direction or lack of direction we would get from our administrators. In his case, it proved he was an instructor without students. Unfortunately, that wasn’t acted upon until he had the time to disrupt our school operations. Because of his reporting, teachers had to answer emails that accused them of some wrong doing. When he found out the emails were making him look incompetent, he quit sending them. He decided it would be easier to call the school principal and she would then send a nasty email(nasty gram) to the perceived offender. When I would see him in the office, I made sure to ask him when was he going to begin teaching. He avoided me when possible but at one of our graduation ceremonies, where he had no graduates, he made comments on how the ceremony was conducted. Two of our teachers were disciplined because his comments were taken and acted upon by an incompetent administration. I let him know his days at this facility were limited and he let me know that he thought I was threatening him. I had the last laugh. He was told to report to another prison on the west side of the state a week after our conversation. I never saw him again. Our slime ball school secretary would be next as the dysfunction junction began to disintegrate under the weight of their created chaos. TO BE CONTINUED…

Psalm 103

This is where the Russian antagonists will be spending much time being tried for their war crimes against the Ukraine. Praying that day happens soon. Slava Ukraini Glory to the heroes

She was by far, the most talented, educated, and appreciative school principal I ever had the privilege to work for. She was only with our school for a short period of time, but with her as our school principal I could have worked much longer than I did. She was a great motivator and made the teaching staff know she appreciated their contributions. Our staff meetings were professional and she was informative. She had a doctorates in education but she did not make you aware of it. We called her “Dr. B” out of respect. A major shake up in our state capital and change in leadership would determine her fate, or how much longer she would choose to work for the DOC. The short time I worked for her I was elevated, and appreciated. She saw my passion for wanting my students to complete my class successfully. The job opportunities I had worked to get them, a fresh new start once released from prison, and for making the prison ground laboratories a show case for their work. She affectionately called me “the wizard.”

Our school secretary, who was out again on a stop order, she referred to as “slime ball”, was being investigated again and was not part of her administration. It was amazing how well everything ran without him. He wasn’t missed by us. She divided her time between our prison and a prison in a nearby county. She also brought staff that came with the closing of the prison in Detroit. Much needed, accept for an arrogant Trades Instructor, who secured his position by calling the director. He wasn’t taken seriously by staff. They thought he was a name dropping weasel. He thought this Administration and teachers saw his important contribution to prison education. He was delusional. He wasn’t able to get students easily, and the students he did eventually get made bird houses. He didn’t have a problem making items with team names on them and never was questioned about trade mark violations, or infringements. This was the perfect department for him. He reported to no one, acted like he was in charge, and did most of what ever he wanted. He even had the audacity to question teachers who had full classrooms, when he had no students, but was being paid an Instructors salary.

I questioned his reporting. As his colleague, I knew he was responsible for turning in monthly utilization reports. He wasn’t turning in utilization reports because he didn’t have students. It wasn’t long before he was forced to move to another prison where he eventually retired. I was glad to see him leave but changes in our department administration would mean the end of our current principal’s employment with us. She was asked to take over two prison education departments over 150 miles from her home in the city. Her husband had terminal cancer and she didn’t want to be that far away from him. I felt the new administration new this and forced her hand only to remove her. A real slacker was appointed by the administration to fill her shoes at our prison whom mostly echoed the current administration’s ineptness. She became friends immediately with our school secretary who was back to work after being on administrative stop orders. A school administration of pure garbage would follow. The good Doctor never knew how badly she would be missed. The new principal and school secretary would eventually be fired after causing much turmoil with our staff, our department, and custody staff, but that will have to be a story for another day. TO BE CONTINUED..

The Ukraine will find justice when this murderer is brought to the International Court of Justice, “The Hague.” His days are limited. Slava Ukraini Glory to the heroes

CL was my first African American Horticulture student and he was selected by me to be a potential tutor once he completed the class requirements. He was bright and non confrontational. Something he seemed to keep learning after killing a man over what he now called “a bunch of nonsense!” He would spend the rest of his life in prison over it. No parole. After interviewing him for the class, I was surprised to find out he had been working for a demolition company we had used at the Detroit Medical Center before “catching his case,” as he referred to it. I thought what a small world I live in, and how interwoven relationships are. The DMC was my family. I had grown from a young college student into a responsible adult earning an Associate of Arts, Bachelor of Science, and a Master of Arts degree using their tuition reimbursement program. The company he had worked for helped in the demolition and expansion of the Detroit Medical Center. I had a great respect for him. He acknowledged he messed up and accepted his fate. .

He completed the requirements for my class and earned his certification. I hired him for a tutor position in my classroom. By hiring him I was able to attract younger African American students to Horticulture and hopefully give them the skills they needed to be successful once they left the prison. It was always an uphill battle for my students involved in the drug trade. I had seen it first hand when I worked at the DMC, and I was seeing it here at the prison. The greenhouse, garden and grounds were viewed by my critics as nothing more than a plantation. Many imprisoned on drug charges viewed themselves as political prisoners, and my Horticulture class was the “man’s way of saying they needed to be back on the plantation.” This convoluted logic I worked to change through out my career. CL helped by being a positive role model and he brought integrity to my program. He explained as he recruited all the benefits my class could offer them, and the waiting list grew exponentially. I lost contact with CL as he moved on to pursue an opportunity in maintenance, and he was transferred to a prison in Detroit.

Towards the end of my career of 25 years I was surprised to run in to him again. He was now working as a monitor in our new psychiatric housing unit and couldn’t seem happier. The prison in Detroit had been closed and he asked to be transferred back here. He also explained that his sentencing judge had been out to visit him and he was shocked. That just doesn’t happen. He believed it to be an answer to his prayers. I had to agree. The judge was getting ready to retire and was looking at the prison records of all the inmates he had sentenced and he came across CL. He could not believe that in his 25 plus years of imprisonment, CL had nothing but good work reports, and evaluations in his file. He had been ticket free, and never given a bad report. The judge thought that was incredible and he wanted to know if CL was remorseful for killing the man he had been imprisoned for. CL explained that he was and that just recently he had to bury his father. That pain was unbearable. He now knew of the pain he created for the family of the man he killed and was very remorseful. He recognized it was a sin to murder, and he became a model prisoner as part of his repentance. Though he had to admit it was not an easy road to follow in prison.

He said the judge looked at him and shook his head. All he kept thinking was that this was impossible. For his sentencing judge to be talking to him in the prisoner visiting room and rehashing his case on an autumn Sunday afternoon was mind boggling. Most guys would be watching football games. He then informed me that the judge smiled at him and informed him that he would be recommending CL be released from prison at a public hearing at an undisclosed date. CL would be brought to that hearing by the DOC. They said their goodbyes and CL was still in a state of shock. Just like the judge had told him, CL was brought to the public hearing in belly chains and handcuffs. The judge reviewed his prison record for those in attendance, and made his recommendation that CL be released from prison as time served. His prayers had been answered when he received a letter from the judge’s office explaining that he would be released. CL was glad to have run into me 25 years earlier, and for everything I had taught him about life, but mostly ,for being a positive role model for him. I explained the feeling was mutual. He brought integrity to my program and for that I am grateful. I wished him well on his upcoming release, and we said our goodbyes. I am certain he is making a positive impact in his community. TO BE CONTINUED….

Putin’s war and invasion of the Ukraine continues. His propaganda is reminiscent of another who made similar mistakes and met a tragic end. I believe his fate will end in the same way. Slava Ukraini Glory to the heroes.