Prison Professors With Michael Santos

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term by Michael Santos   Chapter 15.3 *******      It’s Wednesday, April 18, 2012 and I received the most amazing book during mail call.  It’s so impressive, The Oxford Handbook of Sentencing and Corrections, edited by Professor Joan Petersilia, who is the Adelbert H. Sweet Professor of Law at Stanford Law School, and Kevin R. Reitz, who is the James Annenberg La Vea Professor of Criminal Procedure at the University of Minnesota Law School.  The 764-page book includes contributions from many authors who wrote individual chapters on various subjects pertaining to sentencing and corrections in America’s massive prison system.  My face beams with pride when I turn to chapter 25 and I see the words I wrote more than three years ago, describing the life I’ve lived since 1987. I don’t know how to describe the honor I feel that Professor Petersilia invited me to write about my experiences.  I’m a prisoner, after all, and yet by including my work I’m in the company of some

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term, by Michael Santos Running, getting ready for release. Transferring to Atwater and getting ready for release.   It’s Christmas, 2010, my 24th Christmas morning as a federal prisoner.  I’ve now served eight thousand, five hundred, and thirty-nine days, but today is a very special day and I’m excited to call my wife.  For the first time that I can remember, I’ll be giving her a magnificent surprise. I’ve been awake since 2:17, writing her a letter while I wait for the phones to turn on.  Now it’s nearly six and I expect to hear a dial tone soon. She received the envelope that I sent her, but we agreed that she would not open it until I called her this morning.  While waiting for the phone to turn on, I’ve been writing a letter to her, describing the joy that I feel at crossing into 2011.  We will begin making final plans for my release from prison, my return to society, and I am ready. “Merry Christmas honey,” she answers my call at precisely 6:01 am.” “Merry Ch

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term, by Michael Santos Chapter 15.1 Podcast 148 / 25 minutes   Forming nonprofit, Carole becoming a registered nurse, meeting Greg Reyes, starting to write Undefeated. Epilogue: 2009-2012 Months 260-300          It’s May 20, 2009 and my friend Justin Paperny is being released from prison today.  We work well together and I’ll miss his companionship. For the past several months Justin has been joining me in a quiet room where I write each morning.  One early morning session began with an idea for launching a nonprofit organization.  Undertaking such a task would assist us in raising financial resources that we could rely upon to create products for the purpose of reducing recidivism. Our reasoning is simple, just an assessment of the facts. High-recidivism rates challenge our society in numerous ways, influencing the lives of citizens who don’t grasp how America’s commitment to mass incarceration influences their everyday lives.  Whereas taxpayers want safer commun

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term, by Michael Santos Episode 14.2 Months 233-266: Life in Taft Federal Prison camp with Justin Paperny and teaching and writing for Joan Petersilia ******* It’s June 11, 2008. I stand in front of 30 other people who are serving time with me in Taft. We’re sitting sitting under dim lights on cushioned chairs in the corner of an industrial warehouse. It’s one of the few buildings at Taft Camp without air conditioning. The summer heat, together with swarms of flies, keeps us pulling at our shirts and swatting air. We’re here because it’s the only room large enough to facilitate a series of self-help classes that I enjoy teaching. The warehouse has high ceilings with exposed pipes, wiring, and metal walls supported by thick steel beams. If it had a grass floor, the space would be sufficient for indoor football. But the floor is concrete. Except for the niche carved out for our class area, we see stacks of wheelchairs in various stages of repair. My roommate, David,

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term, by Michael Santos Chapter 14.1 Arriving at the Taft Federal Camp and settling in Months 233-266          Early on the morning of June 21, I learn that I’m no longer designated to FCC Lompoc. Two guards from the Taft Correctional Institution arrive.  They lock six of us in chains, and then they load us into a white van. We’re on our way to the Central Valley of California, leaving Lompoc behind for good. Lompoc Camp was already a memory after 65 days locked in SHU, but I’m a little sad when the van exits the main gate and turns left toward the highway. I’ll miss running long distances in the shade of Lompoc’s majestic eucalyptus trees, enjoying the fragrances of the pines mixed with breezes from the nearby Pacific Ocean. I’ll miss my friend Lee and the nearly private space I enjoyed in the powerhouse office. The two-lane road climbs east through low mountains, drops into the San Joaquin Valley, and it finally whips through high desert.  It’s a landscape of blo

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term, by Michael Santos Reading Chapter 13.2 Episode describes being in the hole at Lompoc Camp, and getting charged with disciplinary infractions, advocacy, prevailing. Months 232-233 ******* Confinement in SHU, “the hole,” is intended as further punishment to imprisonment. It is constant deprivation, leaving a person without access to phone calls, commissary, or recreation yards. The forced segregation can last for days, weeks, months, or years. Some men flip out when authorities send them to the hole. They retaliate by kicking on the doors, banging fists or heads against the walls, or becoming delusional.  But I’ll be okay, regardless of what this system does. During the decades I’ve served, guards have locked me in the SHU several times, but never for a disciplinary infraction. I’ve been through enough transfers and holdover cells that the close quarters don’t bother me anymore. I block out the screaming and noise from other cells. Carole sends me subscriptions

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term, by Michael Santos Chapter 13.1 Going to the SHU at Lompoc Federal Prison Camp   2007 Months 232-233   It’s Wednesday, April 18, 2007 and our family is making excellent progress.  While Carole studies for the final exams to complete her first semester of nursing school, I’m finishing the writing projects that I began with Lee Nobmann’s sponsorship.  Despite the six years of prison that I have ahead, I’m making progress, living a productive life, and that makes all of the difference in the world. While work at my desk, the door opens. I see Mr. Dorkin, a guard who joyfully equates harassing men in minimum-security camps with protecting the homeland. It’s 2:00 in the afternoon when he interrupts my typing.  Dorkin’s a guard I avoid, and I don’t like seeing him in this space that I consider my sanctuary. He has a reputation for annoying prisoners, and now he is annoying me with his glare. Mr. Brown, my supervisor, stands behind Dorkin, and I get the sense that so

Lompoc Federal Prison Camp / meeting Lee Nobmann / Writing books in prison. Chapter Twelve: 2005-2007 Months 209-231 ******* Mr. Smith is the camp guard on the evening shift. He likes war books, particularly those about World War II and the Third Reich. Generally, I avoid guards, as instinct tells me they’re out to score points with their superiors by writing disciplinary infractions. But someone told Mr. Smith that I’m a writer.  He likes to talk to me about my work and his career, especially about his time as a soldier in Iraq. Smith once told me that he likes violence, and that he’s “good at it.” He’s also disappointed that a reprimand for using excessive force on an inmate blemishes his employment record; that record, together with low scores on aptitude tests, hinders his chances for a job with the Highway Patrol. He dresses the part, riding into the camp each afternoon on his Harley, wearing a black, chrome-studded bomber jacket, a white helmet reminiscent of a Prussian soldier, and mirrored sunglasses

Earning Freedom, by Michael Santos Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term Chapter Twelve: 2005-2007 Months 209-231: Discussing adjustment in Lompoc federal prison camp, descriptions of housing, job details, writing projects. ******* The SIS interview alerts me to my high-profile status at Lompoc and I walk out of the meeting expecting resistance from the staff. I can deal with that. Inside is in publication and St. Martin’s Press is launching an international release that will put my work before tens of thousands. I’m willing to pay whatever price the system exacts so long as I leave prison with more skills and resources that will contribute to my family’s stability. But I also need to coast for a while, to lower my visibility and to consolidate my gains in preparation for my next project, whatever that is. In the meantime I pay attention to two factors that influence peace in prison, a bunk assignment and a job assignment. In Lompoc’s warehouse-style living, we’re packed in. When I sit up on my top rack, all I see

Chapter Twelve: 2005-2007 Months 209-231   “What’s this scumbag here for?” The guard on duty barks as we enter the closed corridor inside the Special Housing Unit. Since he doesn’t know me I surmise that his obvious contempt extends to all prisoners. I stand silently, both hands still locked behind my back. “One for SHU. Captain’s orders.” The transporting guard uncuffs me and walks away. “Strip!” The SHU guard commands. I unbutton and remove my green shirt, then I pull my t-shirt over my head and drop it on the floor. The guard stands close, too close, staring as I take off my sneakers, my pants, my underwear, and my socks. “Take everything off.” I stand in front of him, naked, and I unfasten the rubber wristband of my Timex wristwatch, dropping the watch into his outstretched hand. “Give me the ring.” “I don’t have to give you my ring.” “What did you say, Inmate?” He takes a step closer and his breath hits my face. I hold up my left hand. “This is a silver wedding band, without stones. BOP policy says I can

Earning Freedom by Michael Santos Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term Chapter Eleven: 2003-2005 Months 190-209     It’s the spring of 2004, and even at our 5,000-foot elevation, the snow has stopped falling. The Rocky Mountains are right outside the window, close enough that it looks as if I could reach out and touch them. I have a wonderful view from this prison cubicle in Florence. Carole studies full time at Pueblo Community College and her schedule helps me mark off the weeks. We visit three hours every Friday evening, six hours on Saturdays, Sundays, and federal holidays. The more time I spend in Carole’s company, with my fingers locked around hers, the more I feel as if I’m a part of something more than a prison population. While we sit beside each other in the burgundy plastic chairs of Florence’s visiting room, she tells me that we need to generate more support for my clemency petition. It’s been almost a year, and we haven’t heard anything. I squeeze her hand. “I told you, President Bush isn’t going to

Earning Freedom by Michael Santos Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term Chapter 11-2-Pod 139 Months 190-209   On my way to Colorado my plane lands at the Federal Transit Center in Oklahoma. Five years have passed since I was here last, but the process is familiar. I even recognize faces of staff members, like the Native American guard with the long braided ponytail. Our procession of prisoners marches single file through an efficient processing system. We stand on milk crates in groups of seven. Guards sit behind us unfastening our leg irons while another row of guards stand in front of us unlocking our handcuffs, pulling them from the metal chain around our waists to free our bodies. Guards talk among themselves, ignoring the noise of banging metal as they unlock and drop our chains into boxes. When mine come off, I note that my hands are filthy with metallic grease from the chains I’ve gripped for the past 12 hours. With the news of where I’m going, I don’t mind the annoyances. I’m on my way to camp, and for a

Earning Freedom by Michael Santos Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term Chapter Eleven: 2003-2005 Months 190-209 Chapter Eleven: 2003-2005 Months 190-209   Officer Ruiz grips the handcuffs that secure my wrists behind my back as we walk across the lawn. He’s a rookie in his early 20s, slight, and wearing a uniform that looks two sizes too big for him. The lieutenant’s office at Fort Dix is a single story, red brick building, only 20 yards away from the visiting room. Ruiz pulls open the heavy steel door and steers me inside the narrow corridor. We walk past an open office on the left and I see Lieutenant Nesbitt. He’s the embodiment of BOP cruelty, with his faded blue eyes and crooked nose, intoxicated by power. “Lieutenant, I’ve got Inmate Santos,” Officer Ruiz’s polite voice cracks as he announces our arrival. “I’ll get to him when I’m ready.” I hear the lieutenant call from the office. “Have him face the wall.” “Yes sir.” Ruiz leaves me with my toes touching the wall. While closing my eyes and resting my fore

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term by Michael Santos Reading Chapter 10.3 Months 180-190 ****** When I enter the visiting room on New Year’s morning, the large room feels empty. I appreciate the relative silence. Other than the whir of the vending machine, there’s nothing else to distract us. Carole and her daughter sit beside each other in the maroon plastic chairs. Carole looks lovely in her heavy wool coat, long blonde hair contrasting beautifully against the navy blue. She stands to greet me as I walk toward her. Nichole sits calmly, showing none of the distress I see in her mother. At 11 she resembles Carole, but with dark hair curling in natural waves around her heart-shaped face. A light sprinkle of freckles dot the bridge of her nose. Her hazel-blue eyes look directly into mine as I kneel in front of her chair and greet her. “You must be Nichole. I’m Michael, and I’m very happy to meet you.” “Hi Michael. This place is huge.” “Yes, and we’re lucky that it’s not filled with people already

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term, by Michael Santos Chapter 10, Segment 2 Months 180-190 ****** Five extraordinary days with Carole lead to the preliminary plans for the rest of our lives. We pledge to build our relationship, growing together through the challenges I’m certain will come because of my imprisonment. Carole wants to marry me now, but I explain the reasons why she should understand more about the prison system’s stranglehold on my life before rushing into marriage.  Although I want to marry her, it’s necessary, I think, that she prepare herself for the unrelenting controls of the prison system and the strain it places on families. Her love comforts me, inspires me, and gives me a sense of belonging. Whether we marry now or not, I’m no longer alone. I stare at the walls, trying to contemplate ways that I’ll be able to provide for her.  I aspire to live as a worthy partner for her while I climb through the remainder of my sentence. Carole returns to Oregon, leaving me with an ache

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term by Michael Santos Episode 10.1 Months 180-190   The first time I see Bob he’s carefully selecting items from the salad bar. He expertly manipulates the stainless-steel tongs, piling the freshest tomatoes, radishes, chopped iceberg lettuce, and spinach leaves on his plastic tray. He’s oblivious to the growing line of angry men standing in line and the other 500 prisoners in the noisy chow hall. Bob stands taller than six feet, with glacial blue eyes and a full head of blond hair that he combs neatly. I know he’s new to Fort Dix, and I suspect he’s in his late-fifties.  He’s trim and clean-cut.  As I watch him from a nearby table, I can’t help but wonder why he’s here. I’ve read of professionals and businessmen who’ve run afoul of the law, but those offenders don’t generally serve time with us inside double fences laced with coils of razor wire. Bob looks like the type of man who sends people to prison, not one who serves time in prison. Other white-collar types

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term Chapter 9.3 1998-2002 Months 127-180     It’s September 11, 1998. I’ve been in Miami for a week and since my counselor hasn’t yet given me a PIN code, I haven’t been able to use the telephone. The staff isn’t giving me any information about my transfer and I don’t know if Bruce and Carol have made progress toward getting me out of here. Ty and I are resigned to the likelihood that we’re both on our way to state prison, knowing that we’ll leave whenever officials from the Florida Department of Corrections arrive to pick us up. We exercise together, doing pushups, deep knee bends, and stomach crunches. After our early morning workout, I glance at the dorm’s television screen, appalled to see President Clinton and his media machine.  He organized a nationally televised prayer breakfast, assembling Billy Graham, Jesse Jackson, and other distinguished clergymen.  They pray for forgiveness of Clinton’s indiscretion with Monica Lewinsky. The irony is not lost on me.

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term Chapter Nine, Section Two 1998-2002 Months 127-180                              Gary’s deposit solves my first problem of the day, but within hours, a crisis of a different sort erupts. I’m staring at the ticker, watching the Dow drop more than 500 points, worrying that the sell-off will accelerate as the trading day proceeds. I’m frozen to the TV when Al, another prisoner, delivers a message that snaps me out of my zone. “They’ve been pagin’ you to R&D all mornin’.” At first I think he’s joking, but we’re not close friends so I doubt he’d play a practical joke on me. I don’t understand why the Receive and Discharge department would be paging me. I look at the red arrows on the TV one last time before leaving the television room. Outside, the warm temperature heats my skin as I make the quarter-mile walk across the compound to R&D. Fumes from the adjacent military base pollute the air, and I plug my ears to block the sound of screeching engines as t

Chapter Nine: 1998-2002 Months 127-180   The summer of 1998 advances me into my 11th continuous year of imprisonment, and I’m coming to the conclusion that it’s not so bad. Human beings can adapt to any environment.  As crazy as it may sound, I’m now used to imprisonment.  It has become the only life that I know, and I really know Fort Dix, the low-security prison where I’m serving this portion of my sentence. Fort Dix is a big prison, with three separate compounds.  About 2,400 other prisoners share space with me inside this low-security facility, and an adjacent facility of the same size is on the other side of these fences.  A few hundred men serve their sentences in a minimum-security facility outside of the gated perimeter. My studies and preparations for the future keep my thoughts focused on where I’m going, not where I am. Law school was an important step toward my pursuit of financial stability, as the population of prisoners on this compound could have provided me with sufficient business opportunit

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term by Michael Santos. Chapter 8.3   Julie and Tim agree to finance my tuition and book expenses with the understanding that I’ll reimburse them from my earnings. When the mailroom delivers my coursework for first-year law, the stack of textbooks reaches halfway up my thigh. As I fan through thousands of fine-print pages optimism surges through me. I’m making progress, feeling a renewed energy, convinced that these books will change my life. I create a new daily schedule, committing myself to wake and to begin studying after the guards complete the 3:00 a.m. census, allowing myself three hours of reading and note-taking before I exercise. Then I can study again from 9:00 a.m. until 8:00 p.m. By the end of 1998, I’ll finish my first-year courses. The self-imposed structure brings the illusion that I’m back in control of my life. A scandalous affair between President Clinton and a young White House intern dominates the news, but I barely notice. I have tunnel vision