It is official-they are now available through the IVP website You can also see the write up and promos on the Ahoodie site
Go to the WEBELIEVEGROUP website to see how you can get one for free while helping George at the same time
Every year, for the past 6 I believe, John has come to visit me on Christmas morning. He has come alone, he has come with my sister and niece, he has come with his mom. This year he made it even more special and brought my nephew Robert. I have not spent Christmas with him in over 20 years, thanks Robert. Visiting a federal prison is a “trip” in itself; but on holidays it is crazy. I tell John every year to skip it and come a few days after. Nope, he comes here to get me out of the “cage” for a while. Below are the pictures from this year’s visit. Hopefully this is the last year John and others have to come here for Christmas, it would be a whole lot nicer visiting them in St Pete next year.
Our then neighborhood is what movies are made of and for. Yes, of characters, there were many. Some are gone, some remain in name forever more. The two you see in the photo are of me, and my cousin, Steven Martorano.
He is famous today, famous for paying attention as a kid. He used to hang out at my grandparents, always in the kitchen, watching, learning. He learned to prepare Italian food the old way, a way that is lost from the homes of today, and even from the old neighboorhood.
Well, I did’nt hang around the kitchen; no, I loved the backstreets. I used to make fun of the younger Steven, there in the kitchen of that old warm house on 6th street in South Philly. Yes, while I rose to be a criminal of sorts, Steven, kept stirring the red gravy, and became famous. Me, after decades caged, I long for that warm kitchen of great smells. I long to be by my cousins side, tasting his world famous meatballs.
He worked, and works long hours today in kitchen whites–I used to travel everywhere in dark suits. Today, Steven is dressed very well, I wear only prison-garb. My nights are all long and cold of memory, hard to remember the best of it. Steve’s nights are filled with family and famous people. Am I mad?? Hell no, I am thankful that Steven has gotten to the top. Steven is there for me as others. Here I try to teach others to think like Steven did years ago. To learn something, to work hard and stay out of trouble. Even while caged, make the change.
Yes, we took two different roads; one led to the grave, his led to the gravy. Want to learn more about Steven and his famous recipes go to….CAFE MARTORANO
It’s funny how I enjoy the simple and plain things I come across daily while caged. Funny how I take time today to understand the little things. Plain colors, un-noticed flowers, fences, just to name a few… a few of the plain things.
This morning past, early, I sat alone, on the edge of my bunk with a plain black cup of coffee. Listening to the cheap simple radio I have. Pleased that I live, that I have lived so long, even if caged.
Today I have to lay to rest my plain old gray calculator. To some this may sound off, but it’s plain and simple. I have had this calculator for over 20 years, bought it for a couple of bucks in early 1989. It has traveled to many a different prisons with me over that time. It gave me sums for many years, but today it faded… died. I tried to bring it back to life but no luck. I even had a few others look at it to see if they could fix it. Again, no luck.
So today, think me mad or not, I will bury my little friend. I will wrap it in a small piece of purple cloth, place it in a plastic bag with a note, my final thoughts written, and find a spot in the “yard” to bury it. I am a man, truly believe that I am not mad. I believe that if I can feel for such a simple thing, a calculator, I must have changed. A change that is, shall we say, “plain and simple”.
PS… HELLO goes out to Catherine from Idaho-received word that she reads the blog regularly. Thanks
There are those, that are excepted, and taught to be a person of faith right from the start. Of which is very good-of which all should have a belief to worship by.
Christian, now my God-son, came to this prison ready for anything. Anything, of which was wrong. In fact he came here on a disciplinary transfer. He was nice talk to, but also ready to fight anyone, guards and inmates.
Low and behold, he walks into the prison chapel. He sees me and wonders to himself what I was doing there. George worshipping? Upon noticing that I noticed him, he left.
The next week I see him standing in the back, looking out of place. I wave him over; he stays for the service. I notice he does not completely involve himself in the service. Why? Most likely because he was never baptized.
Anyways, Christian is gone for a while, then shows up again. There is something in his eyes this time though.
“… you know a real man does not care what the other guy thinks. I kneel before the Lord because it pleases me” I say to him.
“Yea, but I ain’t baptized, so I don’t get all the benefits” he says back to me.
“Well, you want in?” I ask.
“…sure” he says after a short pause.
It took Christain two years of Bible study with staff and myself before he was to be baptized.
The photos you see are of the day Christian was baptized. What a glorious day, for him and me. I have been a Godfather to a few while caged. You don’t have to seek the Lord in a big fancy church-no, the Lord can be had right here, in a cold, gray cell.
