So the elderly mother drove through the night. Thought many thoughts as she stared straight ahead. Of him as a boy, as a man. What it must have been like for the past 30 years for him in prison. She thought, should I have brought others? No, no other sept the woman that bore him… and she drove.

Outside the prison she waited… he finally came out, head down. He got into the car, stared straight ahead… she at his profile. He aged and was not the same. She put it in drive and off they went.

At home, free, the son never ventured far. Mostly, just tilling the garden by their large country house. She would stare at him through the window, watching, weeping. Wondering what he had endured for 30 years caged… what, God only knows.

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Well readers, what you just read is from the long ago fiction novel, The Thornbirds. Great book that was made into a mini-series. When I came upon this part it stuck with me. I am coming up on 30 years shortly here. Caged for almost half my life. The man released here killed a man in a bar fight. Least the writer knew that to spend 30 years in prison someone must be killed.

I on the other hand killed no-one, no violence what so ever. I just wouldn’t “rat”, and for that I am expected to die here. I won’t, don’t, and will never give up hope that someday, someone, will take the long lonely drive to retrieve me from this living hell.

PS… HELLO goes out to Catherine from Idaho-received word that she reads the blog regularly. Thanks

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.

It is night now, and I have my back up against the wall as I sit on my prison bunk writing this. It is not easy, but knowing that when I finish and send this out, I can rest and hope that the free world will read and listen. Hopefully someone will see it for what I am.
I hope to be free one day. I hope to write one day from the desk of small room, with a view of a stream or brook, shade trees, and no fences or bars. I hope because that’s what I have; Hope and a Pen.

I try, as always each early morning, not to slam my steel door shut as I leave. Men, prisoners sleep very near. I try to ease myself and get some hot water for my black coffee-every morning-I try and start each and every morning alone. Just me, my coffee and my thoughts. Somedays it feels like that’s all I have.

This morn though as I walk, a voice called out to me from a cell…
“George, George, I’m dizzy and can’t hardly breath” He was holding his chest as well.
I put my cup down and went over to him. “Can you make it down the stairs Bo”? I asked
“I’ll try” said Bo
Slowly we went down, I could feel the sweat on his skin. At the bottom of the stairs, I placed him in a chair. I grabbed some old newspapers and started fanning him… two other inmates joined in.
“Guard, guard, medical problem, I believe it’s his heart” I said to the guard on duty. He quickly radioed for help…
TWENTY minutes later, still no help other than the fanning. Bo was getting pale and sweating quite heavy.
“Guard, he’s dying here” - the guard again radioed for help. Moments later a mobile cart with two staff drove right by. What is going on I ask, myself.
I run down a ways and get the unit stretcher. I, along with the other two inmates, who by the way are pretty sick themselves, load Bo on to it, and make the 150 yard or so dash to medical. Medical took him right in. We rested. I got the two some water, and we rested a little more before heading back. None of has seen Bo since… no word either

This is happening everyday in prisons across America. Is it abuse?? some say yes, some say no. I live it no matter. One would have to at least agree that no matter what you call it, it’s all due to the over-crowding. You can bet on that.
My advise, walk the line, else, you’ll learn about the this 4th world.

2009-ARRESTED FOR SEXUAL ASSULT AND KIDNAPPING-awaiting trial

WOW!!!!! I have been caged for 26+ years and can’t get a shot, but this idiot did–someone, anyone, explain ALL of this to me.