MJ-Way

“Everybody has to have a buddy working behind the fences of this prison”, said our school principal. He believed the teachers needed to check on each other between classes making sure we were ok. The academic teachers watched out for each other and the vocational teachers did the same. We still carried our body alarms, and were told to use them if we were ever threatened by prisoners, but we still made sure we could see each other while class was in session. Our classrooms looked like fish tanks, with the wall facing the corridors being made of tempered glass from about waste up to the ceiling. The students and teachers were all visible from the corridor. Later in my career, we received cameras in our classrooms as well, for added protection. The school officer could see what was happening in all the classrooms from his podium screen.

There were times when the officers would come intro our classrooms and make an arrest. That didn’t happen to often, but when it did, it raised a few eyebrows. The prisoners would comment between each other about the officers just protecting “their snitch” or things like that “dirty bitch finally got caught.” I never really paid much attention to it and filed it under things that happen in my prison-classroom. On one busy morning I was reminded that this was a prison and the violence is unpredictable. I was wrapping up my morning class going over with my tutors what we accomplished this morning, and what I was planning for the afternoon class. The classroom across the hall from me was empty, so I thought, and the lights were turned off. The door was opened to the hallway. As I was instructing my tutors, inmate students for another class had tried to enter the darkened room. They were immediately stopped by a table that had been dropped, with a bang, on its side blocking the door, and their entrance. Then I heard the words, “go any further and I slit this bitches throat.” No one was visible in the room with the lights out.

The student inmates began walking back down the corridor towards the officer station, and I asked my tutors to leave the classroom as well. My heart began to pump a little faster as I called our officers station letting him know what had just happened. I was totally surprised when one of our programs personnel, who had heard what had just happened, rushed to the room, pushed the table out of the way, and flipped on the lights. She started laughing, more like a sigh of relief, seeing that this was nothing more than a drill conducted by our administration, and her partner had not been taken hostage. I questioned her as to why she thought her actions would not have gotten her partner or her killed had this been a real hostage taking incident? Her response was awesome, and I knew her “appointed buddy” was glad to have her as his partner. “He’s my friend, and we have been through thick and thin in this environment. He was scheduled to teach a class in this room, and I thought he was taken hostage. The inmate would have to kill me as well, if we didn’t disarm him.” I was amazed by her bravery and dedication to her friend as my anxiety began to somewhat subside. I thought, what an awesome woman. ..TO BE CONTINUED .. JOHN 1: 16-17

One of the worst situations in prison is a full blown riot. I did not experience the riot at The Southern Michigan Prison in Jackson in 1981 but I had worked with colleagues who had. They had informed me that there was a big riff between the prison administration and the corrections officers, and that over a period of time it had gotten very bad. The officers felt the administration was being too lenient on prisoners and the administration felt the officers were being too hard. The officers started calling off and were not coming to work in protest of the prison administration policies. To balance the 1981 budget the Governor began giving state workers unpaid days off. (I had experienced quite a few of those in my 25 year career in MDOC) The combination of the CO’s calling off, and the States mandated unpaid off days, made for a skeleton crew on a Memorial Day Holiday weekend. The CO’s not feeling safe behind the walls of Americas largest walled prison, decided to lock it down, against the the prison administrations orders not to. The prison administrators would later call that decision “A Mutiny.”

The officers concerned for their comrades safety didn’t care what the administrators called it or what discipline would be issued. They locked the prison down. To do so on a Holiday weekend would rile the inmates and it did. Their visits would be cancelled, the yard would be closed, and they would not leave their cells. When an officer went to close one of the cell blocks he was stabbed by one of the inmates and his keys were taken. This action began the riot as the inmate began opening all the cells in that block. The prisoners emerged with clubs and home made knives, called shanks. They began assaulting other inmates, those deemed snitches, and anyone who tried to stop them. I have seen the cruelty of what men can do to men in this setting, and I would not have wanted to be at work that day. Once the riot began at the Southern Complex in Jackson, riots began in Ionia, and Marquette’s State prisons. With the help of the State police and the Corrections Officers, the complexes were brought under control. It took five days. The officers were blamed and fired.

Unfortunately, history has a way of repeating itself. In 2023 the MDOC is again rife with vacancies and can not fill the openings. They are once again short staffed. Officers now are mandated to work overtime, some 16 hours a day. It leads to more vacancies as staff leave to find other jobs. It would help if the state would give the same benefits to the Corrections Staff working inside the prisons that they give State Police Officers. I believe this would help in the recruitment and retention of good, qualified, Corrections Staff. I believe the prisons are much more dangerous than they were in the 1980’s. The technology is ever evolving, and as hard as it is to keep it away from inmates, they always find a way of obtaining it. Burner phones keep them in contact with gang members. Smart phones are used to search out addresses, harass witnesses, staff, and solicit murder. The shortages in staff make it all the more easier for inmates to get this technology, and use it. I believe the MDOC needs to make some major changes in Corrections staff benefits, as they are currently leaving to find other employment. Employment that isn’t quite this dangerous. The continued vacancies and prison violence should be a wanted change agent for a current apathetic administration. Let’s not repeat the past. TO BE CONTINUED…

Mayhem finds Putin’s cook Slava Ukraini Glory to the Heroes

Psalm 139: 23-24

I don’t know where he thought he was. He was in the middle of our garden just picking everything he could get his hands on and stuffing them inside his state issued prison uniform. The out of bounds signs didn’t register with him, the orange snow fencing that separated the walkway from the garden didn’t stop him and when I began to question him, he bolted back to the housing unit. However, he was met by two officers who stopped him as I was following right behind him. He was asked to produce identification by the officers and he claimed he left it in his room and wanted to go get it. “Not so fast slick, ” the officers stopped him from leaving and then found the unit manager who identified the inmate. Not having his Identification was an issue. The officers asked him to remove his jacket. When he unzipped it about twelve large bell peppers fell out of the front of it. “Oh boy look at that,” one of the officers exclaimed. I was asked if he was my student and I informed them he was not. I informed them that I saw him in the garden and when I began to question him, he bolted.

“Not good,” they exclaimed. They directed him to remove his coat, and when he did, about thirty wax peppers fell to the ground out of his sleeves. The officers shook their heads. “looks like you are going into the vegetable selling business here Mr. B, but these aren’t yours to sell.” They then directed him to empty his pants pockets, and one of the officers examined his coat. “Interesting'” the officer exclaimed. “This coat has sown in pockets through both sleeves, the back and front of it.” I was later told what the ramifications of that was. The inmate was then asked by the officers if he had removed everything from his pants pockets and he informed them he had. There were over 100 cherry tomatoes now laying on the ground. The officers began their frisk and they stopped immediately. “what’s this under your shirt tucked into your waist ban, ” they asked? I immediately thought it was a weapon and I was shocked to see him remove a watermelon. The officers couldn’t stop laughing. I wasn’t smiling, and neither was the thief.

The officers asked him one more time, “is this everything?” He reluctantly informed them that his pants have the same pockets sown into them as his jacket did and they were full of cucumbers. They weren’t going to strip search him here. Instead they handcuffed him and lead him to our segregation unit. They said they would get back with me and I directed my tutors to pick up the stolen produce. I had them put it all out on the tables in the greenhouse. When the officers brought me the rest of the stolen produce it was all photographed as evidence. I would write a theft ticket, as well as, and an out of place ticket for him being in the garden. I didn’t quite understand why he had to steal. I was sharing our garden produce with the prisoner chow hall and they were all getting fresh vegetables. My tutors informed me he had a serious drug problem and was using the produce to pay his bills. Drug addiction in prison was not a good thing, The officers brought us another five gallon pale of cucumbers. He must have a hell of a habit to steal this much, I thought.

Once my tutors left, the officers informed me that the clothes were altered not for stealing but for escaping. The prisoner could stuff that altered uniform with what ever he could find and make an attempt to climb over the consertina wired fences. That was probably on his agenda as well. Today that would not be the case for him. He would receive the tickets I had written him, along with the photographed evidence, and he would stay in the segregation unit. After his hearing on the tickets I had written, he would eventually be transferred to a higher security prison. I had made a note to suggest he be drug tested and I don’t know if that was acted on. I do know that he would not be the first inmate to steal produce from the garden, and he wouldn’t be the last. The garden was just too inviting, and hard to stay away from when the produce was ripening for unrepentant thieves. I informed our school principal that I was going to start writing attempted escape tickets when catching inmates stealing from the garden. I would say they were picking up provisions on the way to the fences. He laughed. He didn’t think that would fly with the prison administration. However, he didn’t tell me not to and I decided that if I caught another inmate stealing from our garden, that’s what I would do.

To BE CONTINUED…

War Criminal not getting what he wanted Slava Ukraini Glory to the heroes

ACTS: 1-12

A week had passed by since I wrote the tickets on Mr. Obscenity. I was working with two of my students in the flower gardens next to the healthcare building and the segregation unit. A corrections transportation van had been parked next to the segregation unit where they normally bring prisoners in for processing or take prisoners out. I wasn’t surprised to see Mr. Obscenity being led out in handcuffs, belly chains, and shackles. At the same time a sergeant was video filming his departure. Mr. Obscenity caught a look at us working in the flower garden and went into a tirade. He started a ballistic verbal attack and threatened us with, “he paid for us to be hit.” A hit in the prison was a very real thing. I was surprised he would threaten us while being video taped. It didn’t matter to him. He was led into the van and took his seat reluctantly. It was obvious he was very unhappy. I wondered if he had paid for the hits? My students were not concerned, and laughing told him, ” sit back, enjoy the ride.” This only infuriated Mr. Obscenity.

He once again lashed into a tirade directed at me, and what a “fuckin pussy I was teaching prisoners how to grow flowers!” The officers slammed the van door shut, smiled at us, as if in agreement with Mr. Obscenity’s comment, and began their long journey. After the van pulled through the sally port, the yard sergeant made his way over to me, and informed me of the following: Mr. Obscenity was not on his way to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula higher security prisons. He was being transported to the Federal Bureau of Investigations’ Office in Detroit where he would be met by two Federal Marshalls. He would then be transported by the Marshalls to the Detroit Metropolitan Airport. Waiting for him there would be two officers from Interpol, accompanied by two Malaysian field agents. He was wanted in Malaysia for drug and human trafficking, as well as Singapore. Mr. Obscenity wasn’t aware of this and would be in total shock. Both countries carried the death penalty for the offences he was accused of. If he didn’t know that, I was sure he would be made aware of it on his returning flight.

I would not hear about his case for many years. The violence he threatened us with never transpired, and my students informed me he was “full of shit.” They thought he was delusional. They believed he wasn’t at the prison long enough to establish himself as someone to fear. He was a name dropper who used names to intimidate other inmates or staff if necessary. That’s how he operated. I didn’t share with them what I knew about him, what I believed his fate would be, or what the yard sergeant had told me. My thoughts were on the first time I had met Mr. Obscenity and his friends in my youth. How I vowed to myself and God that I would never treat anyone as bad as he and his friends treated others not part of their group. Making fun of the way they dressed, talked, looked. and just not being cool enough. It didn’t surprise me that he would be involved in the crimes he was accused of. He was practicing for it in his youth. Although, it was the first time I had heard of an inmate being picked up by Interpol, I thought, he was now going to reap the fruits of his harvest. In his own alienating vernacular, back in his day, ”he’s way too cool for you.” TO BE CONTINUED…

Slava Ukraini Glory to the heroes On The Horizon : Revolution

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.