All For the Right to Pray (21)

Part Five – Sweet Freedom

Chapter 21 – A Beautiful New Life

By Ghost Dancer

During these early days our two wolves came into our lives. It was a true blessing that they chose to stay with us and share their lives.

One day after I came home from laying brick for 15 hours, Cat told me that a friend of ours had called to let us know about a wolf that was needing a home. We immediately went to go see him. He had a troubled past and needed help health wise and emotionally too. I was warned that he would attack, but when the big boy saw me he literally jumped up into my arms. Wolves can sense your thoughts and intentions and instinctively, he knew I was a friend and would not harm him. He came home with cat and me that same night. 

He needed cleaning up; wolves don’t like to be dirty. They always clean themselves, but he had been sick and if people don’t truly know them, they can be a handful. I know wolves as I know most who live in our world. I have to, because we are all related and they all have so many things to teach us. All we have to do is pay attention. He sure didn’t like getting in a shower that was for sure. He clawed me up pretty good, but I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt me. Taking a shower was just something different to him. Something he never had experienced. It was late at night when we got home, and he really needed cleaning up. If I could, I would have taken him to a river or creek to bathe him.

Shungamanitou and Montaseetha

That night, I prayed and asked his spirit to speak with me and help me to understand him, so I would be able to help. I began calling him Shungamanitou Wakan Tanka (Big Wolf). He liked me calling him that and let me know it. I had to watch him closely because at this time, just after I got out of prison, we were living in an apartment in town until we found something else out in the country. This was no place for a wolf and a Native to be living, for sure. The town was small and had woods, swamps and places where he and I could run wild and free, so that became our practice. At night we ran for hours letting him have his fun. Yeah, he really kept me in shape. The key thing to remember is that Shunga was a free person. We didn’t own him because we didn’t create him.  He chose to live with us. We took him to the mountains and forests, and if he wanted to take off he could. Yes, he would run wild and have a ball, but he always came back wanting attention. He loved living in both worlds. I could understand him. I lived in three worlds.

Later, Cat and I were told about a female wolf that was being abused and the people wanted to sell her. We immediately started hunting these people. Legally I couldn’t just take the wolf, so we went to see how much they wanted for her. I was sickened in my heart by what I saw. They were trying to force her to obey by starving and beating her. Cat grabbed my arm and said we should try to get the money. We went to friends and borrowed the money to buy her, but I made sure these people knew what I thought of them and if I ever heard of them abusing or selling a wolf person again, I would not be a nice person. This scared little girl was shaking and wary of me as I gently talked to her and led her to my truck where big wolf waited. I told him to be easy and take care of her, that she has been abused. He stared at the people and I could feel his anger. She joined our family and we called her Montaseetha (Morning Star) for the beautiful white star on her forehead. It took a lot of time, care and love to heal the damage, but eventually she chose to stay with us and fell in love with the big wolf. 

Montaseetha

Cat was a real sweet heart. She immediately began gently working with her. Wolves have rules they live by. Even dogs have some remainder of some of the wolf’s instinctive rules.  Montaseetha had a loving heart and just wanted to have fun and belong to a pack. We became her pack. When we would all go walking at night, we all had a good time. I had trouble adjusting to sleeping on a bed, so once Cat went to sleep, I would lay in the floor with the wolves. Later, when we went mining or camping, I also slept outside with the wolves. In the morning, I always snuck back in bed and just watched Cat as she slept and let her snuggle until she woke up.

When we found a place out in country, the wolves had freedom to come and go as they pleased. They learned how to open and close the door. They sometimes lived inside when we were working or sleeping inside. Cat even had them eating at the table. I had never seen such, she even had the big guy spoiled, letting him eat watermelon, corn, and even ice cream. Running in and out of the house playing, they knew Cat would give them a scolding, but just like kids, they would take off back outside and forget about it. When Cat felt they needed a bath, she would tell them it was bath time and they knew they were in for a treat. She would take her time and give them a good grooming. Wolves love attention. It is in their social order to reaffirm their affections all the time.

At the time, I was working as a brick mason, building houses. I got paid by how many bricks I laid, not by the hour, so often I worked around the clock by putting up huge lights using 400-watt bulbs. Sometimes Cat would bring the wolves to stay with me at night while I worked. Sometimes she stayed too and helped me, especially when I needed sleep. To really make good money, the faster I could get a job done, the more money I would make. If it took me longer than two days to finish a 60,000-brick home, then I would be ashamed of myself. While I worked, the wolves would run free and check out everything, but all I had to do was howl and they would come back to me.

Sometimes Cat would work while I curled up in the sand and slept with the wolves. When it rained or was bad weather and I could not work, we stayed home and made Native arts and crafts to sell. When we were at home the wolves ran the woods and played in the spring and rivers. When we were on the road, wherever we stopped, they ripped and romped exploring. Big wolf claimed shotgun seat in the truck. That was his seat and no one else’s unless he wanted to ride in the back. Montaseetha always sat in my lap and wanted attention. When she got in the back of the truck, she had her spot on top of the tool box. If it was very, very cold and bad weather, Cat dressed them in hoodies with socks for their feet. Hey, riding in the back of a truck when it’s 30 below zero is not fun, even for a wolf.

Cat and I loved to play and had fun wrestling. The wolves were not going to be left out of this play time. They always helped Cat and would attack together, nipping and then grasping an arm or leg in their jaws and pulling me in opposite directions. It just wasn’t ever fair. And when Montaseetha had her pups, boy was I in trouble. I became a chew toy for all of them. Cat is strong and fast and when she and both the adult wolves and 9 pups were all attacking me, it sounded like a real war going on.

When wolves are puppies the females are more curious and assert themselves. As they get older the males take over that role and the females become sneak attackers. They would run full speed and try to knock the back of your knees out from under you, practicing their hunting techniques as they would hamstring a deer or elk. The pups would be battling, asserting themselves to determine their rank and order. Yes, they do that from the time they are born. It may sound like they are killing one another, but they aren’t. They all love to be loved and want reassurances every day; this is the wolf way.

Cat had her hands full with all these pups running around, so we made a fenced in enclosure so we didn’t have to worry about eagles, hawks or owls, dive bombing and snatching up one of them. This way they would be safe. We used chicken wire to go across the top. The house was open to them too, but they had to go by Cat’s rules.

The pups were 4 weeks old when we took them for their first visit to the vets to get dewormed and all their shots, the vet was honored to have them. The vet said we needed to wait until the pups were 6 weeks old to get their shots because wolves are different than dogs and tend to have more distemper and rabies. So after their deworming and physical we brought them all home. I had powdered and killed all the worms on the grounds, making sure this would help the pups as well and the adults.

When Cat and I had somewhere to go during this time, we left the wolves at home. We didn’t worry, the pups had very good parents and even if we were going to be gone for a weekend, we had a friend who came over every morning to check in on them. They knew he was a friend and allowed him to go to the house to get their food and run their fresh water twice a day. Al was his name and he always loved coming over and drinking coffee and visiting. Al had a bad cancer. He was retired; had been a Navy police officer for more than thirty years. 

Al lived down the road and when he needed some help around his place or on his vehicles, I would always go over and help him, just the way I believe and was brought up. Elders need help, you help them. You don’t charge them or anything, you just do it from your heart. It was sad that no one had been helping Al before we met him. Al lived all by himself and he loved Cat’s cooking. We were happy for him to come over and eat with us.

He also helped the cattle rancher who lived next to us by watching his cattle and watering them and such when the cattle rancher was gone. The rancher was leery about the wolves until we proved that they would not kill his cattle. Wolves are very protective of their territory and patrol it regularly. I just had to introduce the cattle as part of our pack, our territory and the wolves would now protect them. Needless to say, the coyote problem ceased in that area and he never had any more problems with hunters driving into the back woods and shooting at his cattle either. For the president of the Cattlemen’s Association in that area to be happy to have wolves around, sent a message to others. We made friends with our neighbors all around. That was an accomplishment.

Wolves are protective of little ones too. It is their nature to protect. If a baby was alone in the woods and the wolves found it, they would protect it. Not harm it. You can’t even scold a baby or child around them, they don’t like you doing that and will let you know it very quickly. When we took them to a school to visit autistic children, the interactions we saw that day were nothing short of remarkable. These wolves were our family and went everywhere with us. They had fun always and loved making us laugh as they loved attention. This is where we reenergized and healed ourselves.

Cat Dancing 1994

These first months were very lean times, but together we made it. We worked together and would take any kind of job we could find. Some were odd jobs, but mostly I worked at construction and historic restoration sites. Beyond this, we worked on developing a business working the circuits and selling our Native crafts at flea markets and powwows.

Though we were always busy, I still did my prayers and was always willing to talk to others about Native American religion. I had been warned that where we lived, many people were not open to people with different religious beliefs. They did not want any other religions other than their brand of Christian and I would have trouble if I said otherwise. I had just come from living in a dungeon, being punished for being who I was and standing up for my peoples’ traditional beliefs. I sure as heck wasn’t going to stop now just because I was out of prison. I would not bow down to the demands and attitudes of small-minded people who hated me for what I believed in. There were many Creek Indian heritage people living in this area of Northwest, Florida and we were open to serve and teach them or any others who seriously wanted to learn Native culture, religion and even crafts.

Working as a team, Cat and I reached out to young people through the schools. Working with all ages of students, we taught them the history and culture of our People and of other Native peoples as well. Many young people came to us to learn. They wanted what had been denied them by others: knowledge, traditional practices, crafts, and culture. I believed that the young must be taught so that these things continue and are not lost.

Springfest, Seville Square, Pensacola, FL 1994

During this time, I returned to my art which I had started teaching myself years before. Working primarily in pastels, my paintings were a significant part of our business. We participated in a weekly meditation group, working with others who wished to progress in their spiritual lives. All the work we did was a real blessing for us and for the people whose lives we touched, and we both looked forward to it. Most people knew that Cat and I would come if we were asked or needed to be anywhere. We trusted Spirit to help us in these things.

Springfest, Seville Square, Pensacola, FL 1994

We worked with the handicapped, disabled, and elderly, and frequently visited hospitals and nursing homes. Cat and I both loved our private lives and time to just commune with nature and Spirit, but whenever we were asked, we would go to the hospitals, nursing homes or any place to work with the ones we had been called to help. Some Sacred Heart Hospital staff were intrigued by the natural medicines we used to help the patients and the doctors there were opened-minded about our work with terminally ill patients. Even folks who were not Native began requesting help from us.

Springfest, Seville Square, Pensacola, FL 1994

I am also a reader of people; a psychic, as some call it. I love people and consider this intuitive ability to be a gift from Spirit. Everywhere we went, people would come to me asking for help with their problems. I’m a simple man; nothing special, but I could and did work hard to earn a good name and an honest living. My spiritual calling required me to follow Spirit, and to do so, many times it took the money from our crafts and jobs to pay for the travel and expenses to do what I’m asked to do or led to do by Spirit. We always made money as we traveled by doing readings, odd jobs, or by selling our crafts, gem stones or crystals. This way everything was as it should be.

Shunga hanging out at Springfest

I received permission from my parole officer to travel which we took full advantage of. We made frequent trips to work the crystal mines in Arkansas for beautiful crystals to sell. Mining is hard physical work, but working as a team, Cat and I found it to be well worth the effort. While I dug in the mine, Cat would sort and clean the crystals I brought out.

Talking crystals with Step-dad 1994

In addition to selling the crystals, I could trade or barter for other things we needed. Often, I traded for stones, some precious, some semi-precious, to make jewelry, or to inlay in wood or leather. Often, I gave away these treasures as gifts to the elders and holy ones when we started making trips to visit the reservations.

Our travels to visit the reservations took us through many states: Oklahoma, Arizona, Missouri, Illinois, Wisconsin, Oregon, Montana, Washington, Idaho, Nevada and more. We even travelled up through British Columbia, Yukon Territory, and Northwest Territory to Alaska.

Cat and Ghost with a friend made in their travels 1994

Everywhere we went, we always spoke to people and educated them on our Native American struggles and the history that is not taught in schools or colleges. We met with tribal leaders, spiritual leaders and members of tribes and traded with them. They shared ceremonies with us and we shared ceremonies with them. I was always taught it is proper to always bring gifts of tobacco and other items when going to someone’s home, lands, or meeting any respected person, or when asking for help. I still practice that and teach the youngsters this way of giving others their earned respect.

On our visits to meet with respected leaders, we always brought gifts of sabias (natural crystals), and handmade items such as obsidian knives, beaded crafts, and such that I felt they had no access to or they might need. We also brought fresh tobacco leaves, packs of cigarettes, shark teeth, alligator teeth or claws, water bird feathers, or shells as gifts from the heart. When Cat and I set up our crafts to sell, we made sure we educated people on what each item was for, what each color represented, and each symbol meant, because traditionally, there is a story in everything we made. Everything has a spirit, and when making these we were creating with love and beauty always.

Life was not without its problems with authorities. My first parole officer tried to extort jewelry and money from me, with reminders of how easily she could violate me. This woman was reported by someone who witnessed what she was doing, and I was appointed another parole officer. Local deputies were an ongoing annoyance, checking on my every move, showing up at my place of work. Several times I was approached by federal agents and told to shut up and quit talking about all the Native issues and illegal activities involving the government.  Several times they sent in people to try to set me up, trying to sell me illegal weapons or other things. I would tell these people to get away from me and I had no interest. While speaking in St. Louis, MO about Native issues and our struggles, I was approached again by federal agents and told I would be very sorry if I didn’t shut up and mind my own business.

White Buffalo Crystal

Cat and I, along with elder Ria Wolf made a trip to deliver a beautiful all natural sabia or crystal buffalo as a gift to a real life white buffalo calf, named Miracle, that had just been born in Janesville, Wisconsin. The ranchers where she was born gave us special permission to do a ceremony there and to even video tape Miracle. The Harpers opened their home to us and provided us with hot coffee and friendship. They told us that many wicasa wakan had told them we would be coming, and they had been expecting us. We told them that we had taken the stone buffalo to many different tribes first for all their blessing and prayers to be done and it took us longer to get there with all the snow. After we completed the ceremony I was allowed to introduce myself to Miracle who had been watching me the whole time. I introduced her to the stone buffalo and sang a Lakota buffalo song for her. We placed the stone buffalo at her fence. The mother was very protective but knew I would do neither of them any harm. 

While I was doing this, elder Ria Wolf was doing blessing ceremonies and protection ceremonies for the whole place and for the buffalo people there. Cat made a video of the blessing of Miracle to share with all the tribes.  What we didn’t know was that we were being blessed too. The two wolves that lived with us were there as well. Shungamanitou Wakan Tanka (Big Wolf), the male, and Montaseetha (Morning Star), the female, were dancing. Her dance was coming into season. The two mated, and months later, blessed us with the first wolf pup we named, Pejuta, which means, medicine. He was born all by himself and a day later, eight more pups were born.  All were so beautiful and so full of love. The mother pushed the pups out of her den and the father let us meet each one before he pushed them all back inside.

During those 15 months of freedom, I was happy as could be! I had my beautiful wife, and we had a beautiful wolf family living with us sharing their beauty and love. My family was so supportive and loving, and when Cat and I set up near my mom’s home selling native arts and crafts, my entire family was there helping; even my grandmother helped. We were living the beauty of our traditions, teaching and sharing with all.

But the government would not leave me alone. Soon I would be hunted again and thrown back in prison for crimes I did not do and never would have even dreamed of doing. There was absolutely no proof ever given that I was the guilty party, and plenty to show my innocence. Even the FBI forensic expert would be a witness in my behalf, and the key witness who identified me from a photo at the scene of the crime, was none other than the same parole officer who tried to blackmail me. But the lack of proof did not matter. If the government wants you gone, they get you gone, and that is exactly what happened.

All my family, my loving wife, Cat, and even the wolves’ lives were turned upside down and destroyed again. Why? Why did this keep happening? I had not hurt anyone. I had committed no crimes. I had made sure I had witnesses and kept records of all my movements. Then I realized that I had been warned by the feds to stop speaking out about injustices. Well, just as I told the judge, he could put me away, but I will not be silenced. I will only get louder in speaking out against injustice. I just wish all those I loved and cared about did not have to suffer as well. After I was sentenced, I told my sweet loving wife that she deserved a better life than with me. I told her to leave me, that she did not deserve this, and being with me would only cause her to suffer. So, I told this dear lady to go find someone to love and enjoy life. I have another battle to fight, but I will always love you.

Cat Dancing 2003

Though plagued by heartbreak and depression, Cat would continue the business she and Ghost started together. For the next seventeen years, Cat worked the circuit of powwow’s and festivals as a vendor selling handcrafts she designed and made.

Cat Dancing Native American Crafts 2003

The School I Wish I’d Learned From

Lights In the Distance. . .

Walks’ Outdate – 110 Days and Counting

By Steven Maisenbacher

Walks On The Grass

Well, we all know I want to go to school, and sometimes as I’m lying in bed thinking about the days to come once I leave this iron house, I imagine myself walking into the community college, on my way to a class in sociology. I’m deep into the semesters I need to get certified to mentor or counsel the youngsters or addicted people who need to know there is a way out of addiction, there is a way out other than spending 37 years in prison and walking out an old man.

It’s really simple, pay attention and I’ll tell you, crime don’t pay! No, actually it does, it pays the people who guard the people who commit the crimes. Period. You may think that it’s all good to make a thousand dollars on some dope, but if you get caught, divide that money into the amount of time you will get or the cost of the lawyer if you can get one, or the heartache to the mother, or wife or sister or whomever. See, that’s what you’re selling your life for, a couple dollars and a whole lot of heartache and shame to those that care for you. I feel positive that there is always someone who cares! Hell, I care! I care enough to want to spend the rest of my years going to school so that I am qualified (academically) to tell you what to expect and to offer solutions to the problems or the situations that are so fundamental in making people make the mistakes I made and thinking they are going to get a different result.

I see myself sitting in those classes, where the students are all 40 or more years younger than me, trying to make it to where I want to be, where I can make a difference, or at least try. I see me with a backpack full of books and a laptop after a full day of classes, knowing I’ve got to study for a big test to come, and an even bigger one in being able to help someone. That’s the biggest test, all my bit for these past 22 years since I decided I was going to be part of the solution, not the problem. And if I have to wrack my brain I’m willing to do that. If I’ve got to be looked at by a bunch of college kids as a weirdo old man in the class, ok there as well. I’ve lived thru the B.S. that causes us to end up in here, I’ve been thru it and I can sure as hell speak on the fact that nothing is worth a life in here!

I can see me standing at a bus stop waiting for the bus to take me to the college, and I can see me walking to the halfway house from the same stop at the end of the day, knowing I still have to take care of my personal things like laundry and a shower, and studying for the tests to come in the weeks to come. All these things I think into my life; I literally am living thru this to get to that. I’m walking thru each of these last days, considering the tasks to come and living their needs and planning for the eventualities that I can foresee. At the same time I know full well that there will be just as many speed bumps in the way, just as many trials and tribulations in getting to what I have set as my life’s goal. If I have to work part time in order to eat, so be it. I’ll go to school full time and work part time, but I will do what needs to be done in order to fulfill my dreams. These are the very things that have given me the will and the fortitude to go through the past decade’s worth of hell.

I have a dream as well as you; I have wants and needs and desires to succeed just as you do. I don’t know why I had to go down the road I went down in order to get here, but I am here and I am capable of speaking on what it means to be here at this juncture in life. I am capable and qualified to talk as an expert on the beauty of wanting and in doing the right thing, as well as the hell of being the horrible person I once was and how to NOT be that! I can speak about how to be a success and finally, give testament to just how resilient we as humans really and truly are. What we can accomplish is amazing! What we can overcome is monumental, and what we can see when we look in the mirror after it’s all said and done is someone the Creator has loved enough to help see the error of their ways and to change.

So yes, I’m afraid, and yes, actually, I’m scared to death of you and your world. I don’t know the problems I am facing, but I assure you I will prevail and I will be at that bus stop, in that class, and finally in the solution to someone else’s problems, because I care enough to face the fear and just get the hell on with it. No one can say I’m a coward; scared, o.k., but not enough to not make my dreams come true. I will help. I want to help, and I will do whatever it takes to do that, even 37 years in prison.

PS – Sure hope there will be a bench at the bus stop…

All For the Right to Pray (20)

Part Five – Sweet Freedom

Chapter 20 – Miracles, Cleansing, Healing

By Ghost Dancer

Unheard of parole granted on February 9, 1994

When my parole hearing came up in February 1994, I was already fighting my convictions in the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals in Atlanta. Then a miracle happened. I will share that miracle in Cat’s own words as well as my own:

Cat Dancing:

Cat Dancing

Ghost’s mom and sister, attended the parole hearing along with me and my mom. Ghost put me in charge of speaking for him, though by nature I am not at all comfortable with such situations. Until this day I still wonder who that girl was who got up and boldly made her case before the board. I had waited 11 years for this man I loved so much; for 11 years, we had written letters to one another. I came with positive thoughts and determination that he was coming home. To help bolster my self-confidence, I wore the most sophisticated dress I had and carried a brief case filled with everything I had prepared.

The 5-member parole board sat behind a high desk which I could barely see over as I stood to present my prepared statement and show photos of Ghost’s artwork and the property where we planned to build our home. So I walked around the desk to the person on the end and showed him all the pictures and talked about our plans for how we were going to live and make a living. I just spoke from my heart. I told them he was sorry for what he had done, but I never mentioned the pure hell he was going through, so I was a little surprised when I looked up to see they were all wiping tears from their eyes.

When I had finished, one of the board members came to us and asked, “If I can pull some strings, can you go pick James Johnson up today?”  Now we all broke into tears of joy! Yes! Yes! We can do that today! We drove from Montgomery straight to Holman Prison. We had been instructed to wait in the parking lot in our cars and watch for Ghost to walk thru the gate. What a beautiful sight to see! We all hugged him with tears of joy.

We decided to go to a restaurant to eat and visit a bit before his mom and sister headed back home and Ghost came with my mom and me back to Pace, Florida. I didn’t realize at that moment how very hard it was for him being around people when he had just been in solitary confinement for so long. Ghost came out with white hairs all through his black hair. He looked so thin and pale, and a little scary even. That’s what solitary will do to you. I think I colored his hair brownish black the next day. Wow! He was so handsome again!

Ghost Dancer:

At first, when they told me I was getting out, I thought they were lying to me and just getting ready to attack me some more. When Cat and my family came to the prison to get me and I walked outside, I thought I was hallucinating, but it was a good hallucination! I wanted to go kiss the ground, and hug some trees, but I couldn’t see; my eyes had been in total darkness for a long time. I didn’t want to go around people, everything was happening too fast. It was a shock to go from being in a tiny cell all alone to having people around me all trying to talk to me at the same time. Shock would be a better word than scared. Disbelief, doubts of my own sanity were driving me nuts. I was scared to even touch anyone least they just disappear, and I’d wake back up in my torture chamber.

When we stopped to eat, I was petrified. I knew I looked terrible and I could feel eyes on me everywhere. This was not real and any minute they would come and try to put me back in solitary. I just wanted to get out of there. I had gone so long without food it meant nothing to me! I was even scared of Cat! Yeah imagine that, scared that I would do something, say something, and she would run away from me. I was scared of people and what I could feel them thinking about me! I loved Cat so much and I had dreamed of her all those years in solitary, and when they tortured me I focused on what it would be like to have her in my arms again, to hold her. We had planned on this day and now it was here, and I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to be alone with my Cat, so I could adjust and get my head on straight.

Ghost & Cat 1994

This wasn’t happening; it couldn’t be, things like this just didn’t happen, ever. But they did! Thanks to Cat and her fighting for me, talking to the parole people, walking around their desk even, to show them where we would live, and showing them my art work, she got me released. Her spirit is what got me released! We went home to begin a new life. Spirit had opened the door for me. Now I must carry this walk and message to the outside again.

Finally free! After all these years, the world had changed a lot by the time my dear wife Cat, along with my mom and sister, Judy, all came and got me that fateful February day in 1994. I was just out on parole and the threat of being sent back for the slightest infraction still hung over my head, so there were many obstacles still to face. How does any human being pick up the pieces and begin to live after years of merely surviving in hell?

It is a documented fact that most prisoners suffer from shock when released from prison: cultural shock and emotional shock. People re-enter the world so mentally traumatized by their experience that most don’t even recognize that their inability to adjust is designed by the very prison system that is supposed to rehabilitate and prepare them to live responsible lives. The system takes away a person’s right to think for themselves or speak for themselves. Prisoners are told when they can get up, when they have to go to bed, when they must work, when they must eat, when they can visit with loved ones. Taking away all responsibility and constantly degrading the prisoner verbally is a pervasive form of abuse that programs the prisoner into believing that no matter what they say or do, it is wrong, or a lie and they will never amount to anything. When this self-defeating message is programmed into a person each and every day of their incarnation, little wonder so many fail on the outside.

When a person goes through solitary, the abuse is a thousand times more severe. I have seen strong men break down and go insane or commit suicide in a short time. It is a proven scientific fact that solitary confinement is, by design, a tool to destroy a person’s mind, body and spirit. Being tortured as I was, starved, kept naked and so much worse, goes beyond any decent person’s idea of how a civilized society treats its prisoners.

No one truly understands the problems such a person faces once they are released. I do! The key I learned, just to survive, was to keep a strong spirit and mind while you are still in. See beauty and love in all around you no matter how dark it is. This would be my focus on the outside as well. Yes, there were doubts, yes, there were fears even. The world changes while you are away, and so have you.

I had to adjust to being around people and things moving around me. I had been in solitary for so many years. I felt I looked like something from a horror movie. This is why a traditional Native Clean-up Ceremony was so important. But having loved ones around who understand that you have to adjust is so important. Encouragement, love, and understanding goes a long way.

I was truly blessed and protected by Spirit; they could not kill me, even when fire bombed, poisoned, shocked with electrical shock devices, scalped, and beaten so badly that no one could recognize my face because I was a renegade who refused to sign a piece of paper saying I was a Christian. Few people have any clue what it is like to be tortured and abused for years just because of who you are and your religious beliefs. It is a mind crushing experience and I had things within myself that I had to deal with. A clean-up ceremony had to be done. Most tribes have distinct types of clean-up ceremonies especially for warriors returning from war or battle.

My war, my battle, had been in prison, but just the same it was a war, and I had things that must be released and cleansed from me.  The traditional way to do a clean-up begins with a fast and purging with the black drink. During my years in prison and after my release I continued to visualize the old ceremony; a pit being dug, longer than me and 4 feet deep. The bottom is lined in clay and my naked body is also covered with clay. I lay down in the pit and a helper places wet palm leaves on top of me. A long section of bamboo is placed in my mouth as a breathing tube, and then dirt is piled on top of me. Last, fire wood is placed on the dirt and lit. The fire will be kept burning for four days. This simulates being back in my mother’s womb. While I pray continuously, the clay will be absorbing all the impurities from my body and the fire will burn up all the bad memories and pain that were trapped inside from my experience. My prayers were for complete healing: spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and physically. After four days the pit is dug open. The clean-up ceremony I did physically was simpler, but helpful. I did the fast and the purging. Then with Cat’s help, using an eagle feather, my whole body was smudged. I went to a spring, dove in and stayed submerged at the bottom, letting Mother take away my pain and help release the bad memories.

The emotional and mental release of all the inner pain, is always necessary. It is not natural for a human being to be violent, to take a life or hurt others. No, it is not natural, but sometimes it is necessary. Subconsciously these things are buried inside of us; things we see, or do, or have done to us, cause trauma deep within. So before we can go back amongst our loved ones and live right, these things must be released; we must be cleansed and healed of this pain. Otherwise our family and friends will all have this brought into their lives, not knowing or understanding what is wrong, what you are suffering, and they feel so helpless. You cannot do this alone. Only Spirit can help you release this pain or damage from within.

My loved ones all knew what was done to me too; family members, friends, children, and even neighbors. It was so important to me to spend time with all my family and those who stood by me and suffered with me. It was important to have alone time with Cat, so we could both heal! My Cat helped me to heal and gather my strength back. She needed healing too. The truth is, when a person goes to prison, they are not the only ones being punished. Every person connected to them suffers, especially when they know what their loved one is going through inside of prison. When they come to visit, they can see the cuts, bruises, and bandages. Receiving letters from other prisoners about what is going on keeps your loved ones anxious; never at peace.

Taking time to heal and adjust was not easy. By parole requirements and just to live, I had to go to work immediately. Cat and I started out with nothing; we worked hard just to get on our feet, but we always made time to spend in the woods with nature. This is where we truly came alive.

All For the Right to Pray (19)

Part Four – The Spiritual Warrior Awakens

Chapter 19 – Finally, My Day In Court

By Ghost Dancer

In 1989, after years of mental and physical abuse in the Alabama prison system, I filed suit in federal court in the Northern District of Alabama against the State of Alabama for the right to practice my religion. Now it truly made my day when the judge allowed me to represent the case in court myself because unlike any lawyer, I would not be nice to any of the government’s witnesses or defendants. I would be prepared to question them like they never ever had been. The judge ordered only law enforcement or government officials would be allowed in the courtroom other than my family. Guess he wanted to keep it quiet from the public. But the state had numerous attorneys, plus the attorney general, the Department of Corrections attorneys and all the wardens, prison officials and numerous staff who were all involved.

They brought their so-called experts who were chaplains, a high school history teacher and a college professor. I had Cat and all my family there. My dad and mom both came and testified for the first time of their true nationality and our family history. This was the first time ever that either one of them had admitted this publicly. Remember by law in Alabama and other southern states it was illegal for Native people to be living or working or owning any property in the state. Even today, this is still in the law books of some southern states and still in the law books that it’s legal to kill any Native.

Yet here was my dad and mom both testifying in federal court in Birmingham Alabama about who and what they were and how I was raised and believed. And  even though my maternal grandmother was not physically there she had done all she could. She had sworn an affidavit in front of the Morgan County probate judge and had it notarized to the effect of her marriage to my grandfather, Edgar Beavers who was a full blooded Native American and she knew my dad’s family as well that he was full blooded Native American. My mom had brought her Holy Bible with the recorded marriages and dates and who they were going back to the early 1800s.

My dad and mom both also testified as to me being different and living traditionally and practicing my traditional beliefs and religion all my life. They told how much it meant to me even as to how my medicine forbids me to eat any bird flesh or harm any type of bird. I presented all my disciplinaries and complaints that I had as evidence about my religious beliefs and practices. I also submitted to the court and before the court read all the documents I had received from various wardens from numerous other prisons. I took the stand myself and testified about all the abuses that I had received and had to endure because of my religious beliefs and race.

I read all the amicus curiaes that had come to me from all the expert highly recognized traditional spiritual leaders from various tribal nations and had submitted to the court as friends of the court. Numerous times the defense tried to cross examine me, trying to make me mad or say something wrong but that didn’t happen.

When I was done I rested my case. Then the defense put on their witnesses. After each one testified I was allowed to cross examine them. When I asked them what tribal nation they belonged to or was descended from, they would only say that they were citizens of the United states. Then I asked them what qualifies them to testify as having any knowledge of Native American religion. They could only say that they were qualified because they worked in prison and knew how prisons are.

As for the chaplains, they spoke about all their religious training. When I asked them where they went to get their license to be a chaplain, they were only given that job title by the prisons! I asked them what religion they practice and had they ever practiced or participated for any length of time in any Native American religion. They said they practiced the Christian religion. So I asked what made them think they had any expert knowledge or personal knowledge on Native American religion? All they could say was they didn’t understand what I was asking and their attorneys objected to my questions. The court overruled them and ordered them to answer. They said as chaplains they were testifying as to what is allowed to be practiced by the prisons. “So in other words,” I asked, “You can’t speak on anything you have no knowledge of so you have wasted this court’s time and mine too.

Then they put the college professor on and talked about all the degrees he had and how many years of experience he had. When he finished testifying, I got my turn. My questions followed the same line as before.

“What tribal nation do you belong to?”

“None.”

“What tribe are you descended from?”

“None.”

“Okay, what tribal nation recognizes you as an expert on their traditional beliefs and practices?”

“None.”

“Do you practice any type of Native American religion?”

“No.”

“Have you ever practiced or participated in any type of traditional Native American religious ceremony?”

“No.”

“So, on whose authority are you testifying today as an expert on Native American religion?”

He said he had a degree in Native American history.

“Is history a religion?”

“No.”

“Well, do you think it is fair to say that as far as being an expert on Native American religion you have no knowledge at all.

“Yes, that would be fair to say.”

I let him step down. Next they put the wardens and prison officials on the stand and presented them as experts in security and prison operations. When each was done I got to cross examine them. My questions were simple.

“Since you say that my religion is a security threat because of my long hair, or my ceremonial items such as a sacred pipe, cedar, sage, drum, rattles, tobacco, or snake root, and of course, a sweat lodge…do you have any experience at a prison where this was allowed?”

“No.”

“Okay, then do you have any proof of these things being a security threat or documents proving any incident where they have been a security threat or has  helped anyone escape or threatened the safety of anyone?”

They could only answer “No.”

I asked each one if it is policy that every single inmate must cut their hair. They all testified to the question with an affirmative, “Yes.”

Repeatedly I asked them why this is the policy? Each time they said it was for security reasons. Then I questioned what facts, incidents or documents from anywhere that long hair is a security threat. They had none.

“You only say long hair is a security threat, yet you can’t prove it in anyway. And just because you say it is doesn’t mean it is.”

And then I asked them each again, “Are you absolutely sure you are telling the truth that all prisoners must cut their hair?”

“Yes!” they were telling the truth.

Next they put the prison commissioner on the stand. Finally someone I had been really waiting for. He testified as to all his credentials and how long he had been in the criminal justice system, prison services. They questioned him about how violent all prisoners are and especially me. He testified about how I had attacked all his staff in the prison system and how I was causing chaos in his prisons. He said that every part of my religion was a security threat just as I was. That I had attacked and hurt so many of his officials, guards and I would not obey any of their rules or orders. He concluded that I could not be allowed to practice this religion. 

Then it was my turn. I asked him all the same questions I asked them all. And then I asked him to answer this as his position gave him the authority to answer. “Okay you said that all prisoners must cut their hair correct?

“Yes.”

“Do you and your staff and all the other government witnesses know what perjury is?”

He got pissed and said he knew exactly what it meant.

I said, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you all, including you, get on this stand and commit perjury?”

He said, “I didn’t and they didn’t.”

I asked again, “Are you sure all prisoners must cut their hair?”

“Yes.”

I then asked the court to please accept exhibits of affidavits and photos from the women prisoners at the women’s prison. The court accepted them into evidence. I handed a copy of the women’s grooming policy to the prison commissioner and asked him to please read the highlighted text.

“Women can wear their hair long or in any style they chose.” 

“But you just testified as did all your coworkers and co-witnesses that all prisoners must cut their hair.”

“Well that doesn’t include women.

“Why not, aren’t they are prisoners too?”

“Because they are women, and the Bible says they should not cut their hair.

“Now you admit that you are discriminating against me because of my sex?”

“NO!”

“Well then you are discriminating against me because of my religion. In fact you and all your staff and officials are discriminating against me because of my race, religion and sex.”

“No! It’s because of security threat.”

“Well long hair apparently isn’t a security threat with the women.

“Women aren’t as violent as men.”

I said I would like to submit some documents to the court. The court reviewed them and accepted them. I then asked the witness to please read the documents I put in his hand. He did and said they were from the U.S. Justice Department Bureau of Statistics.

“Now read the actual report on violence in prisons and say who are the most violent prisoners.”

He did and said, “Women”… that more women are in prison for violent acts of murder, attempted murder, aggravated assault, manslaughter etc. than men.

I asked him where the document said these figures came from. He read them and it said the figures were reported by each state. 

“So every one of you knew or should have known these basic facts yet you each got up here on the stand and committed perjury in this court.”

I asked the court to charge each one of these witnesses and to exclude and disregard all of their testimonies. I asked the court for a direct verdict. 

The defense objected and asked for a break.

When we came back the judge said he was making a ruling. As for a direct verdict, he granted my Motion for Direct Verdict saying that he only recognized one expert on Native American religion and that it was me, the plaintiff. All other testimony is only hearsay and the witnesses have no knowledge as they admitted. And it was evident to the court that I am entitled to practice my traditional religion and to be free from any and all retaliations against me because of my religion. He said he also recognized the state’s dilemma about what to do with me since this would cause a possible disruption or chaos in the prisons where I was housed. Never-the-less, my religious diet was ordered, my hair was not to be cut, and my freedom to pray according to my religion was won.

I was so proud of my family and my loyal wife, Cat, for all showing up. Even my dad took the stand before many people he had known for decades and shocked them by testifying that he was a Native American Indian and that I was his son. Now this was so uplifting to me. For all these years and decades most of my family had tried to hide who they were. Now on federal records and in public, they all testified on my behalf about me and about my practice of traditional Native American religion. Because of this, along with the letters from Native American spiritual leaders, such as Art Solomon, Lenny Foster, Big tree, Jake Strong, and so many others, the judge ruled in my favor.

Preparing for this case was no small task. I wrote numerous letters to organizations, publications and political leaders to help gather information. Among those who offered their knowledge and insights were Iron Shirt, a detective in California and a Catholic nun, Sister Connie DeNault, as well as the Red Bird Society for whom I served as a spiritual advisor.

Cat Dancing 1991

Now all along, Cat and I had been working to gather important evidence for court.  We legally founded a non-profit organization we called The Buffalo and Turtle Clan Medicine Society Inc.  Through this organization we quietly began gathering materials we would need. I would write letters and Cat would spend hours typing them up and mailing them out. All these materials would be sent back to a Post Office address for the organization.  

We gathered statistics from the U.S. Department of Justice for prisons all across this country and we sent letters of inquiry to wardens requesting copies of their institutions hair/dress code policies, religious groups, and activities provided for all prisoners asking for any and all photos, pamphlets rules etc. We sent out letters to women prisoners in many different prisons asking for their help by writing up affidavits and providing copies of their institution’s hair and dress codes, and religious scheduling at their prisons along with any photos they wished to share.

We wrote letters asking different prison commissioners to address any issues they had concerning safety and security pertaining to prisoners with long hair and asked for any studies, surveys, and documented evidence pertaining to any such security threats or safety issues. 

We also gathered help from spiritual leaders throughout the Native American tribal Nations and they wrote up amicus curiae affidavits or letters to the court as  experts in Native spiritual concerns and explaining the needs for meeting our different religious practices and ceremonies. These were offered as friends to the court with expertise in all these matters.

If it weren’t for Cat’s dedicated support my efforts to present my case in court could not have happened. Though she worked quietly behind the scenes, Cat’s contribution was just as important as anyone elses in our struggle for religious freedoms. There was lots of copy work to be done as well and we didn’t have much money. Cat found someone who had their own business and told him what was going on. This man listened and offered her the use his office equipment as much as she needed. He wanted us to win. We still cannot thank this man enough for his help.

Winning my case in federal court was a huge step forward, but the prison officials were not done fighting. “Officially” they allowed Native American religion in the prison population, but in retaliation, they placed me back in solitary confinement, claiming that I was a threat to security, the well-being and safety of all prisoners, staff and the prisons themselves. This did not discourage me. Spirit had given me strength to overcome all this and pave the way here in the south.

In 1992 I filed an appeal to the Eleventh Circuit against State of Alabama for abuses. Again I submitted the amicus curiae from Big Tree, Nan-ta-shay, Lenny Foster, Jake Snake, and Art Solomon along with my affidavit with exhibits.

Letter written in support of Ghost’s later 1995 federal case references their connection in 1992

By this time I was working almost alone, few other prisoners were willing to commit to the risks inherent in standing up for the rights of Native People. I continued my activist work, writing for many Native publications across the U.S. as well as Toronto and Alberta, Canada. Some that I remember may no longer exist under the same title include, Native Sovereignty out of Washington State, Eagle Wing Press, out of Connecticut, and Indian Country, out of South Dakota, before it was sold to the Iroquois or Mohawk in New York. I also wrote for publications aimed at Native prison populations: Prison Solidarity out of Utah, Coalition of Prisoners’ Rights, out of Arizona, Spirits Behind the Walls, a publication of the University of Wisconsin, working to help anyone seeking the freedom to practice their religious ceremonies. My goal was to help others learn about the Federal Civil Rights Laws and how to file a case in court and to understand the importance of always having a paper trail to show that they had tried to resolve the issue with the prison officials.

I had also been in touch with Senator Daniel Inouye and Senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell for years about prison issues. They both sent me inquiries about the loop holes that prison officials were using in courts. I had also been receiving help from the Native American Rights Fund in Boulder, Colorado. John and Walter Echo Hawk had helped me so much over the years. I sent all these people reports that the prison officials and courts were using their own interpretations of what the law meant or was referring to.

To counter this, I suggested the importance of including clear definitions as to the intended meanings of the laws and began by writing a list of definitions of what it means to be an American Indian so as not to leave anything to interpretation by judges and prison administrators. These changes were included in the Native American Free Exercise of Religion Act of 1983 (NAFERA) sponsored by Senator Daniel Inouye and Senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell.

NAFERA would eventually be passed in congress as The American Indian Religious Freedom Act Amendments of 1994 on October 6, 1994 and was signed into law by President Clinton.

“Listen or your tongue will keep you deaf” – Native American Proverb

All For the Right to Pray (18)

Part Four – The Spiritual Warrior Awakens

Chapter 18 – When Love Stepped In

By Ghost Dancer

Ghost 1990

What the prison officials didn’t understand was that by keeping me in this utter isolation, they were truly allowing me to tap into my inner spirit to find the strength and power available to me. When these tactics didn’t work, they eventually tried others. They placed me in a cell block. I noticed how everyone kept staring at me when I came in and went to my bed. I watched from the corner of my eyes as guards called certain prisoners to the cell block gate and talked to them. I felt them all looking at me. The guards opened the gate and passed in a box to these guys. They immediately left and went to their bunks. More and more prisoners gathered around them and I saw them turning their heads to look at me, all grinning and laughing. I saw liquor bottles come out of the box the guards passed to them and the prisoners all drinking and smoking. I was not stupid; I sensed what was to come.

While they drank, I casually prepared myself, softly singing my prayer songs and eventually my death song. If this was to be, it would be a good day to die. I would die as all my ancestors had died, as a warrior. After the lights were cut off for the night, I could hear them getting louder and drunker, building up their courage with the alcohol.  I would be on my own which gave me the advantage that I could strike without worry of hitting any friends or allies. I made my body armor, prison style, from magazines and books in my personal property, using Ace bandages to hold them in place around my body and both my arms. I filled three pairs of socks with radio batteries, so basically, I had a pair of very powerful weapons. I took my shoes off; bare feet are more comfortable and would help keep my balance. They would attack in groups. I could not afford to lose my balance or get knocked down. It would be over if I did. Neither could I let any to get behind me. So, in the dark, I studied everything, planned my strategy, and kept my prayers going. Why these guys would sell their honor to do dirty work for the guards I did not know, but it would cost them dearly.

My religious beliefs do not call for me to just lay there and be stabbed or beaten to death. When they came, I was ready. Out of the bed I rolled and charged them, swinging those socks full of batteries, and knocking heads and faces in. I never stopped; just kept going after all of them, screaming out war whoops, then singing a good day to die song. I kept swinging and beating until none were left anywhere around and screams filled the cell block. I was splattered in blood, but I didn’t think any of it was mine.

I found the two leaders laying there all messed up. I grabbed them by the hair and lifted their faces to look into my eyes. I told them they had sold out their souls for nothing and to be thankful I was sparing their lives. I told them to let everyone know that if they come for me, they better come prepared to die, because I was already ready for death. I slammed their heads back into the concrete floor and was standing there when the guards came and began trying to beat me down, so I fought them too. I woke up naked and back in the hole again. I knew my jaw and nose were broken. My ribs felt like they were broken too; I felt like I had been kicked and beaten from head to toe. I gave thanks to Spirit for protecting me and for my spirit helpers for giving me their courage and strength to battle.

This would begin yet another pattern of force the prison used against me. They started passing the word out to prisoners telling them I was a devil worshipper and all kinds of stuff to rile them up against me. They would beat me terribly and refuse to feed me, then when I was so weakened, they put me in cell blocks where they had made deals with prisoners to try to take me out. I came to look at it as a routine. I knew I would not have much energy or strength, so whatever I had to do, I did quickly to make my point very clear. When these tactics didn’t work, and prisoners began refusing to follow the guard’s orders towards me, back to solitary I went. While I had been out in population I had begun teaching what I had been taught and learned about traditional Native American religion. Guys out there were beginning to see for themselves that my religion was not something evil or anything like what they had been told or had seen on tv or movies. 

Many other inmates began respecting what I was doing, standing up for my people and our religion. I began doing ceremonies in my solitary cell, singing the songs, visualizing doing the pipe ceremony. I prayed for everyone, even the guards and others who had been beating me, and for those who were ordering these things done to me. This isolation and starvation gave me plenty of time to focus on my spirit quest, to find my inner spirit. This allowed me to become more and more connected to all my spirit helpers, by seeking visions and seeking deeper and higher understanding of myself and how everything is connected to us all, as being one with everything.

I reached out for outside help in every way I could and was so blessed to find many wonderful people who came to my aid and touched my life in one way or another.

Bo Lozoff

I heard about Bo Lozoff and the Human Kindness Foundation, so I wrote to him. Bo sent free copies of his books and put me on the list for the HKF newsletter.  Here was a person who for more than 30 years, shared his experiences, knowledge, and friendship with thousands of prisoners around the world. Bo was a practicing Buddhist and he shared with all of us the story of his life journey as he walked and learned his path, from his successes to his failures. His heart was pure and good and full of life. 

Many times, I would be down and so hurting from the beatings or so starved I was thinking of eating my own fingers or toes. I would pick up one of his books and read another teaching. Many times, people can read something and still not see the teaching or understanding what is truly there. For this you must open yourself up to receive it and discover profound lessons. This is what Bo Lozoff’s books did for me.

Bo Lozoff and his wife, Sita, started the Prison-Ashram Project with Ram Dass in 1973. Bo’s first book, We’re All Doing Time, is to this day widely referred to as the convicts’ bible and has been named as one of the ten books everyone in the world should read. I would encourage everyone to read it with the understanding that in some way or other, we all are bound by chains, even if you are not surrounded by walls, guards, fences, razor wire, gun towers, or bars. You are locked up just the same unless you free your own mind and set your true spirit free.

Bo came to see me once, even though I didn’t know it at the time. A guard later told me some Buddhist monk had come to see me, but they wouldn’t let him in, so he stood outside in the parking lot and chanted for me. I was not able to hear him since I was on the other side of the prison, but it meant the world to me to know he had come.

Bo’s books have touched the hearts and spirits of millions of prisoners around the world through the individual stories of people he has worked with. Bo had a gift of getting right down to street level and conversing with even the most hardened hearts in language they could understand. So many prisoners believe they are the only one suffering or experiencing these same thoughts and feelings, and think there is just no hope of things changing. When you read the words of so many others who are going through what you are, you realize you are not alone, that you aren’t the first or even the last who will feel this way. You still have power and Bo helped people see that what you do, how you think, how you see things, will be up to you. Each one has to decide what changes you can make in your own world, your own mind, your own spirit, your own heart. Bo’s words of encouragement to all of us, meant so much.

Bo died in 2012 in a motorcycle accident. His wife, Sita, still carries on their life’s work through the Human Kindness Foundation, now the largest interfaith ministry of its kind in the world. Bo’s spirit is still spread across the universe to help us all. I encourage everyone to read all of Bo’s books and to support the work of the Human Kindness Foundation.

Michio Kushi

Another beloved mentor was Michio Kushi, a man I had only heard of.  Professor Kushi was a Japanese scholar who introduced the concept of Macrobiotics in the USA in the 1950s. He and his wife, Aveline, founded The Kushi Institute in the early 1980s and he served as a director of the East West Foundation for Macrobiotics.

In response to my letter, Sensei (Elder or Teacher) Michio Kushi sent numerous books to help me in my time of need. One was called Budō. I began studying Budō, which is one of the martial arts, while in solitary. He also sent numerous books and instructions on other forms of martial arts and wrote letters of encouragement that helped to lift me. Even while I was being beaten, I could hear his words and block out all the pain and abuse.

Professor Kushi also put me in contact with other people who sent helpful books and wrote to me. None of these people judged me or ever asked any questions about my past or why I was in prison. They only talked to me about the present and the future and what I was going to do. They inquired about my interests and were all willing to provide materials to keep my mind occupied with studies. I devoured everything they sent. Some people may not understand how important this was to me, but let me tell you, when you are kept naked and alone 24 hours a day, seven days a week, week after week, month after month, year after year, in a filthy tiny cell with nothing to do but wait for the times they come to abuse you, this kind of support is life-saving.

These are the people who helped keep my mind busy and active. People placed in solitary who do not have mental stimulation literally go insane, suffer permanent psychological and mental problems, or attempt to commit suicide. My study of martial arts as a kid helped me understand the principles of all the different teachings that Michio Kushi shared with me. Even until this very day, I still practice and use these teachings that helped me so much.

There is no way I could ever thank Sensei Michio Kushi enough for all the help he gave so generously. He didn’t have to do any of this, but his heart was true to be a spiritual person and a real teacher. I recently learned that Michio Kushi passed in 2014, so all I can do is honor and share what he did for me and strive to live as he taught me.

Abused Boys

Sometimes society seems to think boys, teenage boys or even young men should be tough and don’t need that care, that love, that healing.

Often boys will strike out in some way because of the pain, sometimes even long afterward, at things or those around them though they do not mean to hurt those they love and those who love them. Many turn to alcohol, drugs, or become something they are driven to. These are pure cries for help. But no one sees that, no one hears the cry of the boy who suffers this way. Sometimes this leads to more problems, such as rebelling against their parents or society, doing things that could be dangerous, or just wrong. Why? Because they are hurting inside. You can never change a person unless the person wants to be changed . You can never help anyone unless they want help. It is like leading a mule to water but you can’t make them drink.

I knew a boy once who was a promising young mind. Gifted with almost total photographic memory, very talented, hard-working and strong as could be, an amazing athlete who loved to compete. When he was a young boy, he could have grown up to be almost anything he wanted to be. But circumstances and bad things happening, he fell into the habit of holding all his feelings about everything inside himself, becoming confused and injured in the head. Life changed so fast and he found himself cast into a world of concrete, steel and chains. Never again would that boy be the same.

That innocent young man, ripped from his family and life is just one of thousands in this world. He was a boy who lived in four worlds all simultaneously. Oh, but how could that be? Well the boy lived with his mom in one world. He lived with his dad in a different world. He lived in the harmony of nature with all the natural things. And he lived in the spirit world, in which none knew he traveled so easily. He knew things he should not have been able to know. He was given gifts that people would frown upon or point fingers at him if they had only known.

He was hit in the head with a sledgehammer and his worlds all went black. He began blending and mixing up worlds all at the same time and in this confusion someone he trusted came to him and asked for help. The boy who believed in honor, and family could not deny that request. He knew it was wrong – oh yes! he surely did – and it broke his heart to do it, but he did. And he did it again and again. He dreamed something was going to happen and it surely did. He knew it would be bad, but never could imagine so much as this.  How do I know? I know because I was that young boy, a boy who became a man, and suddenly faced life and death every single day.

That young boy was literally beaten, torn and thrown away by society. He was tortured because of his unwillingness to deny his beliefs, beaten and left to starve, naked, in darkness, having to stand in his own human waste. Still, this young boy would not break his faith. Driven by a promise he made when he was just a boy of 9 years old, to bring back to his family the things that were stolen from their lives: their history, heritage and ways of life. Subjected to every means of torture human evilness could dream, those inside the dark place were the only ones who could hear the terrifying screams. He screamed inside of himself, not letting those who were doing this to him win by seeing his pain. Never did a sound leave his lips so they could rejoice or proclaim they won.

The young boy’s mind let go; his body numbed to pain. The tears he let flow, no human would see. BUT SPIRIT SAW AND REACHED DOWN AND WIPED HIS FACE CLEAN. NO OTHER MAY KNOW WHAT WAS FELT ALL THOSE YEARS, BUT SPIRIT KNEW, AND THE BOY’S HEART WAS HEALED.

I share this with you all so maybe one day you will truly understand that all people in here are crying if you just listen and open your heart. In the lodge where it is totally dark, men, who are really little boys inside, can release their pain without fear of anyone seeing them or seeing their tears. We cry always for those in the world that no one hears. I empty my heart each and every time to the One who can heal always, every time. LOVE IS THE ONLY CURE I KNOW THAT WILL HEAL THE MOST BROKEN OF HEARTS AND SOULS.

I cannot speak for all the children who have been abused or done wrong. I can only speak from where I have come, what I have experienced, and what I have grown to be. From out of all that pain came a man who knows only love, who only wants beauty and harmony. In this world we all have hidden places inside ourselves, a place we retreat to and say, if only this could be, or if I had of done this or not done that. But let’s face the truth, we are part of all these things – the good, the bad, the future, the past.

Ghost 2022

We only have to feel love deeply to move on past all the painful memories and tortures within ourselves, to truly come to be more than we can imagine we ever could be! I know, I have done this each and every day for all these years, and so can everyone! Ghost

Beat The Dead Horse

Lights In the Distance. . .

Walks’ Outdate – 117 Days and Counting

By Steven Maisenbacher

Walks On The Grass

I hate to feel like I’m doing it, but as I sit here with less than 4 months left to serve before my release to halfway house, I am concerned, and every day of not having answers is even more concerning and stressful. See I have asked for a copy of the rules to the halfway house I am being sent to in Springfield, Illinois. (The Triangle Center) and they have not responded to the query of the prison’s administration or the personal/business letter I sent back in October requesting these rules so that I can be prepared and make a smoother transition.

The things I don’t know are myriad and yet, I’m told, “Oh, you’ll find out when you get there.” Well, that’s really not fair, it’s like trying to navigate your way thru your house in the pitch black of the night and not stubbing your toe on something that you couldn’t see coming.

I want to succeed, I will make it, but I don’t think I should have to try to “weave” in and out of a brand new set of rules within hours of release. I want to be able to know when I will be able to get a photo identification card, what all the department of motor vehicles is gonna need from me – money for sure, $250.00 to be exact at the minimum – then there is the “hearing” I will have to go to with the Secretary of State’s license violation bureau to contend with.

I need to know when I will be allowed to go to the Social Security Administration to start a process that may take up to 18 months to get approved, if at all. See, I have to go to them or the state’s Department of Public Aid, one or the other.  I am an insulin dependent diabetic and I have NO money for insulin, or insurance or a medical card.

All these things are weighing heavily on my mind. I mean it’s getting to the point where I’m going nuts trying to figure out what the possible answers could be. And on top of everything else, I have to apply for housing assistance in order to get out of the halfway house into a place on home confinement. It’s that or pay the rent for a full cost rental every month on top of everything else. I have to go to the local community college and beg for assistance in enrollment and tuition and any and all help I can get there, but still in all its back to this, I feel like I’m beating a dead horse trying to figure these various things out.

It’s not like I don’t need to know; some of these things are enough to affect my life. I know if I don’t get a driver’s license right away it won’t kill me; I can take the bus. I know if I have to I can find a way to pay for the insulin I need to stay alive, I know that I will be able to find a place to live, I have 364 days to do it after all, but if I can’t get assistance, I will definitely have to find a job, something that I can physically handle with my medical condition. Let’s face it, I won’t be up on any roofs doing shingles, I won’t be doing anything that is going to require respirators or whatnot, so painting is out. I won’t be standing 8 hour shifts on my feet. I don’t have the ability to do that anymore without excruciating pain in my lower back and legs the next day.

Now I have been doing everything I can to build up strength in my legs and lower back. I ride the recumbent bike 5 miles a day 5 times a week. That’s not bad really when you think about the fact that I’m an old geezer. Smile. Bottom line, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do to pay for all these things that I will HAVE to have. These are not wants, these are the basics, medicine, a roof over my head and a way to get to wherever I will need to be, whether it’s a bus (they still cost money last time I checked) or whatever. I dang sure know I won’t be able to afford a car and insurance and fuel, not for quite some time. It’s just that I will be better able to understand the world if I can find out in advance how I’m going to navigate in it and the parameters of my involvement.

Oh, did I mention the halfway house is going to want 25% of any earnings I get if I don’t get accepted as exempt from charge due to being “homeless,” and I don’t know how that is done other than it can be done so I hear. This is just another thing I’m going to have to step into blindly. Let me ask you, have you ever seen the movie, Shawshank Redemption? Well, there is a reason so many men don’t make it when they have served far less time than I have. It’s because they can’t. Everything in the world is stacked against us from the moment we walk out the door and though you would think we have paid our debt to society by serving our sentences, the real cost has just begun. The heavy weight of all these things that I have never had to manage before is weighing on me and I’m scared.

I just want to be able to say, “Debt Paid” and mean it but I feel like I’ve sung this song before to you. I feel like what I am saying can be seen as petty and minor, but it’s not to me! This is the biggest stressor I have ever been under and I’m trying to lessen the pressure on myself by telling you.

So there it is, these are the things that concern me, not this prison world. Here I know how to navigate. Sadly enough, it’s “home.” Prison is where I live and have lived for almost 37 years. Think about that! I am expected to just enter a world I know nothing about and virtually no one in. Say what you want, when I step out the door, even with all the well-wishers and the people who want me to do and be ok, I am still on my own, alone in an unknown existence. Everything you take for granted is alien to me. A 5 year old is more prepared technologically to be able to make it than I am. I know nothing about being free. So here it is folks…ready?

I’m so afraid it makes me cry at night. I’m not proud of that fact, but it’s the simple truth. I have weathered prison riots, gang wars, attempted knifings, stun grenades and tasers, bean bag shotguns and years in solitary confinement, and still talked smack to my oppressors – but now they have come up with a new punishment, they are letting me go in 117 days and I don’t know the first thing about how to be free. I’m scared and I’m afraid and it has brought me to tears to admit this to myself, and now to you.

I was once broken. Now I’m just afraid.

Nevertheless… I’m sticking with my exercise program. I’m up to 10 miles a day on the bike and man, I’m a monster! Yesterday I rode my first clip of 5 miles in 20:11, then 2 minutes standing muscle shock rest, and then did the second clip in 19:47. That’s cruising for real, that gave me 10 miles in 39:58, so that’s right under 4-minute miles, or right at an average of 15 miles and hour. I already got 30 miles in and it’s only Wednesday, gonna try for 50 this series of 5 days… My blood sugar is lovin’ it too and I feel so much better; my back doesn’t hurt as much now either!

“Go Team Walks!”

All For the Right to Pray (17)

Part Four – The Spiritual Warrior Awakens

Chapter 17 – Eleven Years in Hell

By Ghost Dancer

After my return to the Alabama Department of Corrections in 1984, they tried to use loop holes in the Religious Freedom Act to deny me my religious rights once  again. I wasn’t asking for much – the right to wear my hair long, certain restrictions on my diet, and the right to pray in my own way. When I insisted on my rights, the solitary confinement, beatings and torture began again.

Once when I was allowed out of solitary in order to work, while out on the yard, I did my own traditional Spirt Run. The whole time, I ran around and around the track praying for all those I loved. Simply for this I was sent back to solitary for practicing my religion.

Another time, again out on the yard, I sat down on the ground, drew a circle around myself and began to sing and pray. As I sang, flocks of birds came and sat down all around me. Everyone was amazed and the personnel were so frightened they sent me back to solitary. There were many similar instances all because of my activism, insisting on recognition of the religious rights of Native Americans. 

Despite this, by 1989 after a long process involving the help of many on the inside and outside, I took this issue back into court again. I filed a case in federal court against the State of Alabama for discrimination and not allowing Native American religious beliefs, practices and ceremonies in the prisons. This time I meant to make sure the court ruled on specific issues of my traditional religious beliefs and practices that had never before been addressed.

It is important to understand that Native American religions are diverse just as  Native Peoples in general are diverse. We are separated by geography, tribal nation, cultural history and numerous languages. Each is different in our spiritual beliefs and practices just as our dress, foods, tools, weapons, and housing are different.

Under the American Indian Religious Freedom Act of 1978, the law was vague on these differences and the court’s interpretations were left open to biased opinions which of course infringes upon our freedom to follow our individual beliefs and spiritual guidelines.  For instance, all Natives must seek their individual medicine which is found through fasting and seeking our spiritual helpers. This is where we are shown and told what we need for our medicine, what it consists of, and how we must follow it. No two people have the same exact medicine or guidelines they must live by.

During this time prison staff did everything possible to prevent me from pursuing this in court even to the point of beating me half to death, placing me in the house of pain, denying me access to law books, paper or writing materials. At one time I sent a letter motion to the judge written in blood with my fingers on toilet paper to let him know what was happening. I was given back writing materials.

Later when it was going bad for them they sent the chaplain in; he told me if I did not sign the paper he slid under solitary cell door he would not be responsible for what would happen to me. I refused to sign a paper stating that I was changing my religion to Christian and dropping all my cases in courts and the claims I had against all of them.

After that the warden and assistant warden ordered the goon squad to attack me. I fought back for a long time but eventually with all their numbers and equipment they beat me down in that tiny solitary cell. They began tearing up all my law papers, records, law books, court papers and documents that I had in the cell and began torturing me once again. This went on for months and months each day with no stopping in sight.

Then I was placed naked in an even tinier cell, in darkness with no bed, no toilet, no light,  no nothing, just me, a concrete floor and steel bars. They tried to cover up what they did by charging me with assault on numerous officers, disobeying a direct order, creating a security hazard, and disrupting the orderly operations of the prison. It doesn’t take a whole lot of common sense to figure out who was totally restrained, who opened the cell door and who attacked whom.

Being kept in solitary with no lights, no toilet, no clothes, no bed, and no food for any extended amount of time will truly test your spiritual strength. From time to time, the warden would come to my outside cell door and tell me that if would sign a paper saying I had changed my religious beliefs, they would release me. I refused.

Of course the authorities knew Cat had been gathering letters, information and typing up all my court motions. For this she too was made to suffer by federal officers and prison staff but Cat was very brave and determined to stand up to them. Prison officials came and told me that if I did not sign papers changing my religious beliefs and drop the court cases, something bad would happen to Cat. Yes, they even threatened her life! They said they knew she was helping me and she was always driving down lonely isolated roads and things could easily happen to her.

We had a visit coming up and when she arrived the warden pulled her into his office and tried to persuade her to stop helping me. I told Cat what they said and what they would do. She told me what they said to her and how she felt. She sat there looking at me like the true war woman she is and without even thinking about it, said, “You keep doing what you need to do. I will stay and help you no matter what.” Cat told me not to let these people stop me if this is what I wanted to do. “Don’t worry about me,” she said, “I will be very careful and I will let them know I’m not scared of them.”

That day it was getting dark when Cat left Holman prison on her way back to Florida driving on the back roads. It wasn’t long before a man wearing black and driving a black car pulled out and got on her bumper. He followed her on her bumper so she slowed down, allowing him to pass, but he would not pass. So she hurried on to the little town of Atmore, Alabama and pulled over in the Hardee’s parking lot. Cat drove slowly around Hardee’s and sat there for a while. When she pulled around she saw him across the road waiting for her. So she took off again travelling on down the road and sure enough, he came right behind her and got back up on her bumper.

Knowing she would soon be on an isolated highway Cat decided to pull into Barnes Store and just stay there. She was not going to go down that lonely road with him behind her. For the longest time Cat just stood there looking across the road at him. Finally he gave up and drove off in the opposite direction. Cat waited until he was out of sight, then jumped in her car like a good race car driver and got away. 

Yes Cat has been through hell with me and was just as important as any other who fought and struggled for our religious freedoms. They called me “Renegade” and Cat was a true War Woman! She paid a high price for this and few people will thank her or give her the respect she deserves.

Many people might think prisoners deserve to be punished severely when they deliberately upset the “orderly operation of a prison” by fighting for their legal rights under the law. Just so there is no mistake of what I mean by the word torture, though I do not like to think of it, I will give just a few examples of what was actually done to me by the State of Alabama for my activism – all for the right to pray!

Totally naked, leg shackled, chained with a waist chain, and handcuffed they hung me upside down from a fence. Prison guards used electric cattle prods on my body and a captain and chaplain, took a pocket knife and literally scalped me, saying they wanted an Indian’s scalp. They left me hanging like this in the winter for 3 days beating me every day. Still I would not sign any papers to change my religious beliefs or drop cases in court.

While I was in the solitary dungeon, naked, no bed, no lights, no windows, in total darkness, no sink, no toilet, just me and the concrete and steel. It was winter time with snow and frigid temps, and no heat. The guards used fire hoses to spray me with ice cold water so powerful it slammed me around with violent force. They left me half drowned and laying in water.

All the while I was starved so I wouldn’t have the strength to fight or resist them. My existence was a small piece of corn bread and small cup of water each day.

I was put in 3’x 5’ cell, so small I couldn’t even lay down or stretch out – day after day, month after month in total darkness.

I have been set on fire, had my testicles and penis beaten with a ball-peen hammer and squeezed with pliers trying to force me to sign papers that I would change my religion and drop my lawsuits in court against them.

They put me in the big yellow electric chair at Holman prison and hit me with 10,000 volts trying to get me to change my religion and drop my law suit.

They put me in a wooden chair, butt naked and chained, leg shackled, body chains and handcuffed to the chains and chained to the chair. Then they put alligator clamps on my tongue, eye lids, nipples, penis and testicles and had electric wires run to old wind up telephones hooked to batteries or electrical outlets and they repeatedly sent shocking electricity into me to break me and try to get me to sign documents to drop the cases in court and change my religion.

A bunch of goons dragged me naked and shackled out of my cell in the middle of the night, put me in a van and drove me out on an isolated road. I knew what they intended to do, so I fought for my very life by wedging my body in the van so tight they never could not get me out. If they had, I would have been shot on the spot and they could claim I had escaped thus justifying my death.

Cat Dancing, my poor sweet wife, heard and knew what was happening. My mom and family all knew this too. There was little they could do, but just knowing they stood with me gave me strength. How did they know? Other prisoners wrote to them, telling of the beatings and medieval torture they were doing to me. See, in those days there was a certain code of honor among prisoners in maximum security prisons, especially those on death row or held in solitary. We had many ways of communicating, like some of the ingenious things you might see in a movie like Shawshank Redemption are indeed based on real life. And all those around me knew who I was and what was happening to me.

I wish to say that I owe a lot of thanks to all the different prisoners who passed on my messages to my family, to Cat, all the Native resistance newspapers, Native organizations that I wrote for and sent updates to. They even sent information out to the courts for me when I was unable to. This includes all the guys on death row who risked themselves and their property and little exercise time or jobs to help get my info out or messages to the court or family or to my beloved Cat. For without them I would never have been able to work to get these laws passed and in courts.

These men helped me communicate when I was working with senators and congress people to get laws passed, even to communicate with foreign countries and United Nations personnel who were making our cause known before the United Nations. I was involved with organizations all around the world bringing forth our cause to them to gather support from their ambassadors to the United Nations Councils. The world needed to see the truth about our plight and how the justice system really was run here in this country. People in numerous countries held rallies and events to gather support for our cause. 

So yes, it is because of the guys in lock up and death row who stepped up and helped get these messages out and even back to me. Many times it took hours and even days to successfully get a message down to where it needed to get to, but what is time when time doesn’t exist in this world. 

These are things everyone needs to know. I have always had helpers. Spirit has always put people in my path who have helped me achieve what I was seeking and trying to do or learn. All thanks to Spirit for each one throughout my life.

All For the Right to Pray (16)

Part Three – The Legacy of Wounded Knee

Chapter 16 – Treachery in High Places

By Ghost Dancer

On the day of my arrest, August 5, 1981, I had just dropped my so-called wife off at her aunt’s house in Pensacola with a rental trailer loaded with her belongings. I had never been to this aunt’s place before, so she showed me how to get there. Only then did I tell Sandy I was leaving her. I drove away with a plan to go on to Ocala, Florida. Back on the highway, I stopped to gas up, then parked so I could stretch a bit to relieve my leg cramps before continuing on the long trip.

This is what I was doing when the police pulled up. The cop asked me for my identification, and I gave it to him. He asked me if I had I ever been in trouble with the law before. I told him the truth; that I had just been released from parole in Alabama the day before and was headed to Ocala where I grew up.

He then ordered me to turn around and he handcuffed me. I asked him what he was he doing. He told me I was under arrest for robbery. I couldn’t believe this. I am in shorts and a t-shirt and I have no shoes on. I have nothing on me but my wallet and car keys. Needless to say I was not a happy individual. I had no idea what was going on so had to wonder if it was the fact that I told him I had just gotten off parole from Alabama?  I told him then that I had just dropped my wife off and she could verify where I had been. I told him I didn’t know the name of the street, but it was no more than a mile or so away and I could show him the way. He refused to even try to check this out. Instead he made me stand there barefoot and sweating for a long time in the summer sun on hot pavement.

Eventually they brought a woman in a sheriff’s car and asked her if this was the man. Now I’m the only one there handcuffed and the only person she is being shown. She said she was not sure. At this point I thought, okay they will take the handcuffs off and I will be on my way. They kept asking her to take another look at me. She walked up close and looked me over from every angle. She could clearly see that I had short, brown, naturally curly hair and a dark, heavy mustache. She said she didn’t remember the guy having a mustache. The cops kept talking to her for a while and pointing at me. 

Finally they led her to a car, and she left. I figured I was going to be let go, but the cop put me in his car and said I was going to jail. I asked, for what? He said you will be charged with strong-arm robbery for snatching that woman’s purse. I said to him then that was not right, the woman said it wasn’t me and you still are arresting me? So, I stayed in jail until I could get the money from my bank account in Alabama because the bail bondsman would not take a check, nor would he accept a credit card.

This bail cost me a lot of money but I paid it. While I was on parole in Alabama I had been working as a mechanic and made good money. I had recently purchased a new Chevrolet Monte Carlo. I had money, a credit card and a bank account. Does it make sense to think I’m in this situation and I’m going to snatch some woman’s purse?

Once I was out on bond I got a job at Alterman’s Truck Lines as a diesel mechanic. My bondsman had no problem with me leaving the state to go to my mom’s in Alabama or anywhere else during this time. I made good money as a diesel mechanic. Now, while I was on bond, the prosecutor kept coming to me offering a misdemeanor charge to plea and only six (6 ) months to serve if I would accept it. I turned his offers down every time because I was not guilty of anything and I thought that would be shown in court.

Then months later when I finally went to trial, the same woman who had seen me standing there in handcuffs and indicated she was not sure, testified it was me who robbed her. There was no other direct evidence, no physical evidence linking me to anything or to having ever been anywhere near her.  I did not testify because my lawyer said the prosecutor would bring up the fact that I had been in prison before and that I had just gotten off parole. He said this would prejudice the jury against me, so I did not testify for that reason only. The jury simply took her word for it and found me guilty. I could not believe this was happening, but there it was and there was nothing I could do about it.

On December 30, 1981 I was convicted of strong-arm robbery in Escambia County, Florida. I did not know until the day of the trial that Sandy and the victim of the purse snatching were close friends. There they were together all smiles in the courtroom. I went to jail. Sandy got my new Monte Carlo loaded with all my tools, my credit card, all my savings, clothes – everything I owned – even the settlement from a work-related accidental injury before we were married.

Another coincidence, my wife’s brother, the FBI agent who first made a complaint about me having “dishonored his family” — his direct superior was the very FBI agent who would manage the investigation of federal charges against me in 1995. This man, Joseph Tierney, was well known for his perseverance in going after Native Americans.

~~~

After I was found guilty at that crazy trial the judge ordered that I be placed in custody and taken to the Escambia County jail to remain until sentencing. This even shocked the bail bondsman who was at my trial and not happy at what happened. Even the bonding company knew this was all wrong. The bondsman knew the judge very well and wrote him a letter recommending probation while I was in jail. He stated he knew that I had not committed any crime and that was why he allowed me to travel while on bond to any place I chose to go. He visited me in jail and urged that I should be staying out of trouble, that I would be granted probation pretty soon and I could get back to working. My lawyer also came and told me that he filed an appeal. He said I would win this appeal, but I would be getting probation more than likely, so I would be free soon and my conviction would be overturned while I was out on probation. So I surely wasn’t looking for any trouble.

The county had been building a new jail at this time and I was one of the first to be moved over to it. Only problem was, the work was not complete and hardly anything was working there at all. It was winter and there was absolutely no heat in the jail or at least not in the cell blocks. It was so cold in the blocks that people were getting sick. Now in jail we didn’t get to have any clothes except what they gave you to put on, which wasn’t very much. After weeks of nothing being done, food being ice cold, late or told they couldn’t give us that meal, with no change of clean clothes and still no heat, the guys in the cell blocks were very upset.

So finally one day after most of everyone was sick with fevers, coughing and still being ice cold things came to a head. The air conditioner worked very well and it was on full blast in the cell blocks and units. They claimed they couldn’t get it to turn off. The guys in all the units bucked and refused to go to their cells. See they only let us out of the cells to eat or shower, but there was no hot water in the showers so most weren’t bathing either. I still bathed even though it is ice water. This new jail had all kinds of faulty problems and should not have been opened till they got all the problems fixed.

Anyway I did not buck or refuse to go to my cell. I was the only one who did not; I did not want any trouble. I had my blanket, so thin and way too small to cover much of me, wrapped around my shoulders trying to keep my upper body warm. Apparently to the guards this was a violation and I was told to remove the blanket. I told them I was cold and needed the blanket to keep warm and asked to speak with the Lieutenant or jail supervisor. They came back later and told me to come on.

No one else had even obeyed them at all and refused to go to their cells. I was asked to come to the sally port;  I did and they told me to drop the blanket. Once again I told them I needed it to keep warm. I got down on my knees as they requested with my back to them at the doors made with steel bars; they reached thru and placed leg shackles on me. Then they put a waist chain on me, cuffed me and secured it to the waist chain. I was told to stand up which I did and they opened the sally port for me to step inside.

They closed that door behind me and then opened the cell block door for me to step thru. Two officers held me by my arms on each side. They led me outside the door and turned the corner, then a ball bat smashed into my face. Another guard struck me in the stomach with a night stick, point first. While the two guards were holding my arms and keeping me upright, more and more guards began to beat me. I fought back.

Using my body I smashed the guard on my left into the wall forcing him to let go of my arm. Then I head butted the guard on my right to get them both to let go giving me a better chance to protect myself. I kept telling them I was not wanting any trouble but they just kept trying to beat me with their sticks, ball bat and fists.  Finally I  got mad, really mad and I broke free from my cuffs. Yes, sometimes something will give you extraordinary strength and this was one of those times. Now I was fighting for my life.

Now more and more officers were coming at me with mace, pepper spray, and even a fire extinguisher to spray me and using their shields and sticks, the numbers were just too many. They got me down and began beating me till I passed out. They kicked in my face repeatedly with their boots, breaking my jaws; leaving their boot prints all over my face. They broke my ribs on both sides and damaged my kidneys so much I was bleeding inside. I was dragged down the stairs and thrown into the drunk tank where I lay bleeding on the floor till the next day when another supervisor came thru and had me taken to a hospital. At the hospital the doctor and staff were told by the guards that inmates had done this to me.

When the doctor got close to me I reached for his arm and pulled his paper from his hand motioning that I wanted to write. He handed me his pen and I wrote the truth – guards did this to me. He looked at what I wrote then looked closely at me and nodded his head. The doctor stepped away and was gone for some time; then returned with two hospital security officers and a camera. He took photos of me, my face and chest, ribs, wrists, hands, back and legs. He was talking the whole time describing into a microphone everything he saw and had the officers he brought in with him to witness all this too.

He spoke to the guards and told them there was no way inmates could have done these things. First it was clear with all the boot prints embedded in my face; no inmates had any shoes on their feet. He said he had worked there for years and inmates only wear tiny flip flops or a soft slip-on cotton loafer. Second, his exam clearly shows that I had been beaten with round objects striking me all over and whatever that was smashed my nose and broke it and my cheek bone. The guards tried to play it off and say they were only repeating what they were told. Again they were lying; they were there that day. I didn’t forget their faces. My eyes were almost swollen shut and gashed open but I could see them.

After all this was documented and I was given only what treatment they were allowed to give me, I was taken to the courthouse and officially charged with assaulting police officers. I pleaded not guilty and was returned back to the jail and thrown into solitary. A little later on I was taken to my sentencing hearing where I was supposed to be given probation while I was waiting on my appeal. But now the judge denied my probation and sentenced me to three years in prison based on the fact that I was now charged with assaulting numerous police officers. The judge said he could not allow this and my actions showed him that I had no respect for the law or his court. 

I was returned to the jail where I remained waiting for my trial on the charges of assaulting police officers. I went to trial and was found not guilty and the truth of who assaulted whom was proven. Yes I testified in my own trial and told exactly what was done to me. I was returned to the jail where the word spread by the news of me winning in court. No charges were ever made against the six officers who assaulted me. I filed a lawsuit against the officers and the jail while sitting in the jail. I won this lawsuit and was awarded $6000.  

A couple weeks later I was attacked again by the lieutenant officer. I was just sitting at a table bothering no one and he just walked up to me and hit me in the face with his handful of big steel jail door keys on a steel ring. Yeah it cut my face, but this time he really messed up. My hands were already free and I was not chained anywhere, so he got body-slammed on top of a steel table. Then other officers joined in and there was total chaos. Other inmates joined in then until there was a standoff between me and the other inmates against all the cops. The Sheriff came up and asked what happened. Others told him what they saw and what happened. His staff denied any wrong doing naturally. He asked everyone to just remain calm and he would go check into it. He went and reviewed the cameras and saw what we said was true and came back and said as much to us.

He asked me to please allow them to handcuff me. I told him no way was I going to fall for that again. So he allowed me to walk unrestrained back down the stairs to my cell block and go to my cell where they locked me in. Then they brought down the rest of the prisoners and they went to their cells. No charges were made against any of us. I began washing all the blood off my face from cuts made by the keys when he struck me. A medical staff person brought some ice and I was allowed to wrap it in a washcloth to put on my face. I later filed another lawsuit against these officers as well. 

I was then sent off to a Florida State prison with big bold letters on my jacket: LOVES TO ASSAULT OFFICERS. Now you can imagine what effect that had on the prison guards and staff when I arrived. While doing my time I received a letter from the appeals court that my appeal had been denied. I had never even seen or heard when my lawyer filed the appeal. I never heard a peep from him.

After I had served most of my time and had not received a single disciplinary write up, I was transferred to the Pensacola Work Release Center on S street at the Salvation Army Satellite Center. I was given a job and recruited by Charles Land, a former U.S. Marshal and retired magistrate to serve as his personal body guard in 1983. I stayed at his house. Charles Land felt like he owned me and treated me as such.

Cat Dancing 1983

Despite all the treachery, abuse and heartache, there was one shining moment during this short time of relative freedom. Spirit answered my prayer for someone to love who would love me in return. The moment I saw her, this beautiful, tall, shy girl with the long blonde hair, I knew I had met the love of my life. She became my Cat Dancing, the woman who stood by me through all the hard times to come.

Cat Dancing 1983

I did not like working for Charles Land so I told him I was quitting. He said I could not do that. He threatened me and even told my mom that he “owned me!” I told him no one owns me so I left his house and I never went back. I went back to the work release and told them I quit working for him and began going out to look for another job. A few days later I was told I could not quit that job and I had to return to working for him and staying with him. Charles Land clearly wielded a lot of clout.

I left and Cat took me to my mom’s where I explained everything to her and my family. My brother took me to a phone where I called the F.B.I. office in Huntsville, AL and told them my situation. They said there was nothing they could do. I went to see my dad and let him know what all was going on. He said he would talk to the police there. My dad was a fireman and worked at city hall right next to the police department so he knew them all and would see what he could do. In the meantime I needed to go back to the work release center and try to get them to do the right thing so Cat took me back to Pensacola. When I called they said no I could not come back there and that they were going to arrest me. I asked why and they said I was supposed to be staying with Charles Land and since I wasn’t, they considered it an escape. Once again I was arrested and placed in jail. 

While in jail I called my mom and my dad. My dad said I should call him back the next day. I did and he said he had talked to some of his friends at the police dept and that they would help get me out of Florida but I would have to play along with them and do as they said. He said not to worry they would release me once they brought me back up there.

When the police from Alabama came they told me what they had planned and discussed with my dad; they would be charging me for crimes in Alabama and I would have to confess to these crimes. Once I did they could get Florida to release me to them and they could take me back. They would drop everything once I got back and I would be free. I knew one of the detectives, Freddie Day, personally. I had known him for years and  played on the same ball team with him so I felt I could trust him and I knew he was a friend of my dad’s. 

So I did as he said, only Florida refused to release me as they said they would and they kept me for almost five more months before allowing Alabama to come get me. When they did I soon found out I had been lied to. I never saw the detective who first came to see me again.

In November 1983 I was taken before a Florida judge and was told all charges of assaulting an officer of the law in Florida were dropped against me and I was being extradited now to Alabama. I was then taken back to Alabama by Chief Roy Woods, and his brother, Lynn Woods, both of whom I knew. I arrived at the Cullman City Jail and later my dad was allowed to see me. I do not remember too much after that other than the fact that I was taken to a mental hospital for evaluation.

The people at the hospital started drugging me and asking me if I wanted to stay there forever or did I want to go to court. I couldn’t understand what I was even doing in this place and just wanted out of there. I don’t remember much of what happened after getting back to the jail either, other than I kept telling my lawyers to talk to Freddie Day and get him to tell the truth. They had promised me the charges against me would be dropped when we got back to Alabama.

But here I was and they kept me chained and in the cell with two other prisoners and they weren’t chained. They made the two prisoners sign waivers that they knew I was dangerous, so they could not sue the jail if I killed them or hurt them. Neither of the other prisoners was afraid of me or wanted to be moved. Yes, I was agitated and anxious about what was happening and had terrible headaches but there was no reason for them to believe I was going to hurt anyone. These men could see that.

Now these cops here all knew me and knew about my athletic/martial arts skills and training. No doubt they had also been informed of the altercations I had with prison staff while in the Escambia County jail – but of course not the part about who assaulted whom or the fact that I had sued in federal court and won. So for sure they felt they had reason to be afraid of me and perhaps justification for the illegal management of my case by all involved in the justice system.

This is the real reason why they kept drugging me with Thorazine up to the maximum 1600 mg as well as Mellaril and Valium the same drugs they had used to keep me in a chemical straight jacket back in the 70ies. (See Chapter 14) Even when I said no, they forced the drugs on me anyway.

I remember my lawyers saying I would be out soon; that everyone knew this and if I would just sign a piece of paper I would be sentenced for no less than 2 years but no more than 20 years. They said that since I was cooperating they would see that I got about half of that. I refused it! I wanted to go to trial and kept arguing with them! Later they had me taken to a room. I remember my dad and my Aunt Mary sitting there and they had a piece of paper they wanted me to sign. I refused. I don’t know what they said to my dad and aunt, but I kept saying no! I just remember being taken back to a cell and they kept forcing drugs into me. I was chained to the max and could not resist much. 

Again, sometime later, I don’t know how long, I remember sitting in front of my dad and he was saying, “Sign this, please sign this.” All I could remember was my attorney telling my dad, “See, the judge has signed this, the D.A. has signed this, we have signed this, and if he signs this we will send him to a hospital for medical help and this will happen today.” I don’t even remember signing it.

The piece of paper they kept asking me to sign was actually two plea bargains for the two attempted robbery charges against me. The first should have been federal jurisdiction, but the FBI declined to intervene. They knew the maximum federal sentence was 25 years; the sentence in Alabama was life in prison, so the feds didn’t even bother. They had me where they wanted me. In both cases the plea bargain assured me of no less than two and no more than 20 years in prison.

I have a vague memory of sitting in a room with the judge whom I knew, and my attorneys, all the cops, and the D.A. They were saying I would see my family soon and then go to a hospital as best I can remember. Then I was taken down stairs, and out to a car. My mom and family were there. I remember they were crying. I was placed in a car and taken to Kilby prison. When I got there they placed me in a mental ward, put me in a straight jacket and said the judge ordered me to be there.

Only then was I informed that I had been sentenced to life in prison. All in the same day I was drugged and coerced into signing the plea bargains and given a hopeless sentence with no jury trial ever! I later learned that Sandy was there and prepared to testify against me if there was a trial. I guess her mother really meant it when she told my Mom I would spend the rest of my life in prison if I ever left her daughter. Sandy got a divorce after I went to prison. By then she had already taken everything I had worked for.

Not long after, I was transferred to Holman Prison where I was kept on tranquilizer drugs for years. If I did not show up to take them, the guards would come get me and lock me up in the hole again! I steadily fought to get off the drugs. It took me awhile but I was finally able to just refuse them all together.

Footnote:

It would take more than 30 years with many attempts by my mom and other outside friends to ever get copies of the actual records in this case. Time after time they were told there were no such records. Finally, in 2015 a court clerk suddenly remembered where the old records were stored. One of my friends was able to secure copies of old jail records to prove that I was being drugged as well as the two plea bargain agreements listing my crimes as attempted robbery and the promise of 2 to 20 years in prison. With the help of my friends I was able to file a Rule 32 Petition against the two illegal cases in which I received two life sentences for these “attempted robberies.” In 2015 both of these cases and the life sentences were vacated by the state court in Cullman County Alabama.

Nearly 40 years after my 1981 conviction for “purse snatching” in Florida I found out about changes in the Florida law that would allow me to retroactively seek post-conviction relief for the original wrongful conviction. After learning this, I again asked my friends to help me get the right forms and records and filed for what is right and just. Since I did not do this crime but was badly harmed by the conviction and the prejudice the record still carries, I would argue that it should be vacated even though I had already served every day of the sentence.

On February 18, 2020 I filed a Motion for Postconviction Relief pursuant to Florida Rule of Criminal procedure 3.850 asking the court to grant me the justice I deserve in this case – to have it vacated and expunged from my record. After the court had made no ruling in nearly two years, I filed a Motion to Compel the court to make a ruling in January 2022. *To date the court has made no ruling.

I Won’t Miss It

Lights In the Distance. . .

Walks’ Outdate – 124 Days and Counting

By Steven Maisenbacher

You know it’s crazy when your time is almost up and you realize that you’re already trying to forget the stuff that goes on around you.  Like for me, I am trying to put my mind in the free world so I think about what I will do to make my way, the things I will have to do, all the questions and research, but I can’t seem to shake this damn prison crap. The more I try to focus on preparing for my freedom the more the administration seems to throw at me. There are all the petty little hoops and hassles of an average day, like the gauntlet outside the chow hall or the harassments about having on soft shoes, meaning anything without safety toes, when they know full well diabetics and people with orthopedic issues are exempt and can wear the medical shoes they give us or the tennis shoes we buy.

Personally I prefer the tennis shoes but I won’t spend seventy bucks on a pair of “seconds” that sell for $20.00 at any outlet and $69.95 is the cheapest they have. Yeah, they have them priced all the way up to 100.00 for better shoes but still “seconds.” Notice some of the other prices, you won’t believe them; just look at the list. It’s crazy, the Mp3 player they charge us $89 for, yep Walmart, $21.00.

Now they say they only mark up any commissary item by 30%, but I  know for a fact that this is BS. The 3oz bag of Keefe coffee they are selling for $5.35 is only $2.60 anywhere else. Ok, some places its $2.85-$3.00. but $5.35? No. That’s more like a 70% mark up. But that’s not really the whole of that apple. Let’s take a look at it from a numbers aspect.

If they have 800 inmates that spend $10.00 per week on commissary, that’s $8000 a week. So with the markup they are pulling in some serious bank. Now they used to try to tell the general public that these profits went into a trust fund for inmate programs, holiday prizes for contests, recreation equipment. movies, TVs, microwaves, ironing boards and irons and such. But in 1995 the inmate’s “trust” fund was appropriated by the DOJ and the BOP, to the tune of – get this – upwards of 6 (SIX) million dollars! They just took it, saying they needed it for “training facilities” to better safeguard the inmates and staff (again, more B.S.).

What they did was hit the mark in discovering they could gouge inmates and families for hundreds of thousands of dollars, then skim it off and steal from the proceeds. They systematically devised  plans and fancy sounding menus to seem as though they were feeding us adequately. But all the while they are basically providing the barest minimum of protein and far more starch and carbs than is healthy in any human diet. And even beyond that, basically refusing to provide a truly healthy diet for anyone incarcerated. That’s the reality and the prison won’t let you forget it. They will starve you on slighted portions then count on you to pay exorbitant prices for inferior products in the commissary, and let me tell you, as one who has eaten far more meals in prison than in the free world, this stuff we eat ain’t good for ya.

After years of eating crappy food, I am now a diabetic, requiring injections of insulin 2 times a day, and guess what? They do not have any such thing as a diabetic diet, in fact even the diabetic “snack” that they provide me at the evening meal to eat during the evening if my sugar levels go to low is wrong – a milk and some bran flakes. The several times I have mentioned this to the medical staff and or the wardens or health services administrator, my concern was met with aggression and negativity. Like I said, they won’t let you forget who you are.

Please believe, prisons are now big business in this country, where they can throttle every penny a person has while inside, then extort the taxpayers for what they call “cost of housing” with all these little variables based on inmates ages, medical conditions, levels of violent behavior, all sorts of made up fictitious add-ons to get more money.  It is also a fact that the money that can be saved from any department’s allotted budgets is split amongst the supervisors of said departments at the end of every single fiscal quarter. Pitiful. There is a special place in hell for these abusive corrupt “government employees” who have a license to steal your money and force you to comply with their every twisted corrupt plan.

One thing about being a long-timer, I have had the opportunity to witness changes over time. There was a time when although I didn’t like these cops, at least I did respect them for their integrity, or at least they faked. But as the years have gone by and I’ve lived these things I’m telling you I have found it harder and harder to have even the slightest semblance of respect for the staff at all levels. Basically they are liars, cheats, bullies, abusive, predatory and corrupt. They will play inmate against inmate just to see them fight then lock up all the inmates involved, scream institutional lockdown, all to wheedle yet more money in emergency operations funds and overtime funds from the region. They are pitiful and totally predictable.

so I’d like for you price some of these items on the store lists. You will see what I’m talking about. And get this: the 3 UNICOR units all have brand new microwaves, purchased by UNICOR for the inmates that live in those particular units, but inmates in the rest of the compound do not have working microwaves and are forced to use the 190 degree coffee water to get anything hot. This is wrong and discriminative, it shows favoritism by treating one group of inmates to better living conditions and standards, all because they are willing to go over to the factory and work for pennies (literally) on the dollar. it screams of favoritism, especially when the commissary markup is supposed to be for microwaves, TVs etc. etc. for all.

Now let me get back to this; I don’t want or need to be in prison anymore! I try to make a conscious effort to stay on positive things every day.

I try to work on my release plans and find out what I’m going to be facing when I walk out of these gates. But these animals in administration don’t recognize who I am and how far I’ve come. They just won’t let me do what I need to be doing. Every day they do something or say something to demean me or belittle me or take advantage of me, forcing me back into prison again, when I’m working on my freedom they are working on my captivity and oppression.

Kind of  sad when you think about it; how many decades is enough punishment? must I serve time up to the last seconds of incarceration?  Couldn’t it just be enough to know I’m here physically, for crying out loud. Let me plan a future, one where I can be a success, a benefit to society and mankind. After all, I never want to become the sick creatures that are my keepers. I just want to be all I can become, all I am and never, ever again what I was.

It hit me as I was riding the bike today on a beautiful sunny afternoon that I left out a few things the other day about the fact that before they locked us down over the Easter weekend, they ran us out to bring in the drug dogs, but first they strip searched us. Hopefully this will be the last time before I go home but thought I ought to mention exactly what “strip search” means. It goes like this:

“OK, strip, all of it!”  

You hand your clothes to the nice man (or woman), he/she feels em up good and thoroughly.

“OK, lift up your hair…open your mouth…arms up over your head…reach down and lift up your genitals… now turn around…ok squat and cough…spread your butt cheeks…OK get dressed…”

They make you do this every time you have a visitor too; makes me wonder if the guards ever have to go through this being as we all know how the drugs really get in here… humm…. Anyway, the funny thing is this doesn’t even bother me anymore, it’s crazy how I have become so desensitized and all natural modesty has been so debased it doesn’t even phase me. We all know exactly what this demeaning procedure is – by any other name, it’s still sex abuse – and it has been a part of my life for so long that it means nothing to me. In fact I believe I could crap in a glass bowl in the middle of Times Square at this point and after the paperwork, go right on about my business.

Crazy that I haven’t touched any contraband in so many years and here I am this close to getting out and I’m still being put thru this kind of humiliating abuse. Pitiful, but whatever, I refuse to let it bother me. I just have to laugh at them. They get all “prison guard tough” but the simple reality is all these years, I have stayed in prison because they made me with walls and fences and gun towers and such and they have left at the end of their shifts because I let them. I will never become the sick depraved sadistic animals that they so often are. I just won’t, not even butt naked and humiliated over a shakedown that has nothing to do with me.

By the way, I’m now up to 5 miles on the bike, first time today, jumped from 2.5 to 5 miles, and when I went to sit down on my bed afterward, gravity and spaghetti legs dropped me on my bunk. guess THAT shook me up a little. Smile.

All For the Right to Pray (15)

Part Three – The Legacy of Wounded Knee

Chapter 15 – Power in the Law

By Ghost Dancer

Only twice have I ever been allowed to represent a case in court during a trial. Both times I won. The first was on my right to pray, wear long hair, have a pipe ceremony, and my general rights to freedom of religion. This first case was started when I was 18 years old and being held in a mental hospital. They would not give me an ink pen, so I wrote my pro se motion to the court on a piece of plain paper with a stubby little pencil.

I explained to the judge why I was having to do it this way and he understood. By filing a pro se motion I did not have to be exact in my style and the court has to allow me lee way and must not apply usual court formats. In addition, the court must be very lenient in interpreting my claims. I remembered this from my high school days when I was studying business law, civil law and international law. Since this law suit was under civil law, then I knew I could do this. In civil law you don’t have to have as much evidence to prove a case. 

I filed this first in 1976 against the mental hospital for denying my religious rights. Later when I was placed in a mental hospital again, this case was already moving along and when I was transferred back to jail, I amended the case to include the Cullman County jail and the Alabama Department of corrections. The fact of the matter is, at that time prisoners in federal and state prisons had no rights to traditional religious practices or ceremonies. At first the court was not going to allow this but I argued that since I was already convicted I was in all senses a state prisoner and was just waiting to be transferred to prison.

My inspiration and guidance to proceed with my lawsuit came through people I had come to know during my summers with AIM. At that time the publication, Indian Country Today, was deeply involved in helping incarcerated Natives across the country stay connected providing subscription information for numerous regional newsletters and articles with coded information embedded in them regarding specific abuses. There was also Arrows, Native American Radio out of Oklahoma that targeted state and federal prisoners. Their live broadcasts facilitated direct communication between inmates and their families. Of those involved in the fight for religious freedom I was the only one from the deep Southeast which was considered to be the most dangerous place of all.

There were five of us in all: Terry Bear Ribs, Lakota, Standing Rock Reservation filed in Lompoc, CA. Then there was me in Alabama; Eric Wildcat Hall, Cherokee, out of Qualla Boundary, NC and Allan Morrisette, Cree, from Ft. Belknap, MT and another man, Sean King, Apache joined us at the end.

Some AIM members such as my friend, Barbara Owl actually travelled the country visiting the different activists to personally collect and deliver communications. For instance she may visit me in Alabama and then take off driving to Oklahoma to visit another participant, then hop a plane to California.

Many people from across the world reached out to me with letters of support and encouragement for what we were doing. Support groups were formed and they provided all types of information by going to museums and getting them to provide me with copies of documents most people in America had never even heard of . Even students at universities around the world became my friends and sent me letters, photos, and information I was seeking.

For each of our cases, Big Tree, Nan-ta-shay, Lenny Foster, Jake Snake, and Art Solomon all filed Amicus Curiae, friends of the court, third party support. We also had Archie Fire Lame Dear, a spiritual leader and AIM activist from South Dakota to give expert testimony on Native American religions.

Ghost with Dad, Mom & brother Gregg Weil
1978 Holman Prison

The federal courts across the country consolidated all our similar cases. We received support from the Native American Rights fund and legal assistance from attorneys, John and Walter Echo-Hawk out of the Law Center in Washington, DC.  The combined case was filed in federal court, Lompoc CA in 1977 & won. Our win for freedom of religion was not only for incarcerated Natives, but for all Natives on the outside as well. The Native American Freedom of Religion Act was passed by congress and signed into law by President Carter on August 11, 1978. Archie Fire Lame Deer Built the first prison sweat lodge at Lompoc in 1977.

American Indian Religious Freedom Act of 1978
The American Indian Religious Freedom Act (AIRFA) 
Became law on August 11, 1978 to “Protect and preserve for American Indians their inherent right of freedom to believe, express, and exercise the traditional religions of the American Indian, Eskimo, Aleut, and Native Hawaiians, including but not limited to access to sites, use and possession of sacred objects, and the freedom to worship through ceremonials and traditional rites.”

Of course the prison officials were not happy about the legal action I was taking and the guards consistently gave me a hard time over it. But after winning in federal court, all my disciplinaries for disobeying a direct order, failing to obey prison rules, assault on correctional officers, creating health, safety, and security violations were all expunged by Alabama Prison Commissioner, Morris Thigpen. All my good time was restored and I was transferred to a work release center where I was assigned to work at the Hamilton, AL State Trooper’s office as a mechanic, gas attendant and clean-up person. Things were going along well until one day I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Apparently there was someone with a grudge against law enforcement and while I was on the job, a sniper opened fire on the compound. I was hit in both eyes with shrapnel. The officers rushed me to the Helen Keller Eye Clinic for treatment. I stayed there for some time and recovered my eyesight, but to this day still have scars around my eyes.

After that I was given a job at a window factory. I was an expediter and helped my whole line work faster and more efficiently. When I went to prison my ex-wife divorced me and kept everything I had including all my personal things: clothes, fishing equipment, religious items, and all my tools and equipment. We also never had a child, so basically I had nothing except what I had in prison and no obligations to anyone. Knowing my sentence would be over soon I worked hard and saved my money. Each week I bought clothes I would need and put more money in savings so I could get on with my life.

What happened next makes it very clear to what extremes the Feds went to make sure my life would continue to be controlled. One day, out of the blue, I was ordered back to the work release prison and called into the office of the warden and assistant warden. With them was an FBI agent. Now I’m told I have two options because I have truly messed up. I couldn’t imagine what they were talking about because all I did was work and come back to the facility at the end of the work day. I said to them that I don’t speak or mess with anyone. “You all know I’m a loner and the only time I interact with the other inmates is when we are training for the football game.”

The warden indicated the FBI agent standing there, said the man was his childhood friend and they were very close. Then he tells me the man says that I have dishonored his family and his sister. I had no clue what he was talking about. Then came the real shocker; he went on to say I must marry his sister or be sent back to prison with a new charge and more time. This could not be! What was happening here?

I told the warden this was not true and he knew it couldn’t be, pointing out that I was never allowed any time alone at work and the prison provided all my transportation back and forth to work. On weekends I was supervised at all times unless I got out on a pass to spend time with my family. So everyone knew this could not be so.

The warden asked me if I knew that not only was the woman’s brother an FBI agent but her grandfather was a judge there. “So what do you think will happen to you? You will marry this woman or you will pay dearly for this.”

All I could say was, “I’m not going back to prison!” 

Nothing happened for awhile. Then two weeks later I get a letter from the prison commissioner stating that I had been granted a release into the custody of my mother. No I was not on parole, I was released as a way of making more room at the work release for more prisoners. At least that is what I thought and was later told. Later I found out that strings had been pulled by the judge and FBI agent and the warden. I thought I had dodged a bullet and now was free from them trying to force me to marry someone I had never even met. Boy was I wrong!

Mom came and picked me up and took me home with her. Finally the wolf pup was free again. I ran into the woods, and up and down the mountain and into the river and creeks. I was free at last. Even though there was an invisible chain still hooked up to me, seeing my family and being with them meant everything. Now one of the requirements was that I had to have a job, so I went to work the very next day at a garage in Hartselle as a mechanic.

I saved my money and for $90 bought a box of parts and pieces in a junk yard and build me a triumph 650 Bonneville motorcycle chopper. I built it from scratch and painted it, chromed it out and painted Yosemite Sam on it with his pistols drawn saying you better back off. I later traded this motorcycle for a Chevy Vega and seven hundred dollars to boot. Yep that youngster wanted my bike real bad. He paid me the boot and drove away on my chopper and left the Vega with me. I went and bought a dodge in a junk yard. Dad and I worked on it at night and fixed it up. I was doing good and helping dad around the shop at the house where he worked.

Later my Step-dad and I went to get a job together at the Chevy dealership in Hartselle. We worked good as a team there and everything was going great. A few months went by then one Saturday while I’m at the house working with Dad on a transmission for a customer, a strange car pulls up. Out gets an older woman maybe in her 60’s followed by a middle-aged woman looking to be in her late 30’s or early 40’s and a little girl about 5 years old. I’m thinking maybe this is someone looking to get their car worked on so I ignored them and kept on working in the garage while Dad went to see what they needed.

When Dad came back he was not happy and told me they were there to see me. Long before I had told Mom and Dad what happened with the warden and FBI agent and what they said I had to do. We all thought this was over when I got out and was living with them. Oh how wrong we were. I went on in the house where they were talking with Mom and I could tell she was upset too.

The woman’s name was Sandy and I guess her FBI agent brother or the warden had told her where I would be living. Now Mom’s house was not easy at all to find back then. They lived on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods and more mountains. So someone surely had to do some digging to find me. Also my mom’s last name was different than mine and I got no mail there.

After that encounter, I left and went to work in another county. At first I lived in the woods and worked at a furniture plant. There I met a pretty young lady named Robin and we started seeing each other after work. After a couple weeks I found a place to rent and started fixing it up. About a month later, thinking I had gotten away from the situation with Sandy, she and her mother show up at the furniture plant. The plant manager came to get me from my work station and escorted me to where they were waiting. The mother tells me this “running bit” is over; said she had talked to the parole officer and they would be sending me back to prison unless I married her daughter by the next week! By this time I had gotten off of release status in Mom’s custody to being on parole. My parole office was in Morgan county and I’m living in Winston county where I worked.

Ghost about 1980

I drove home and told Mom and Dad what had happened. Dad said he would go with me to the parole office in Decatur and we would get this straightened out. He did not believe either that they could force me into a marriage with a woman I didn’t even know. Well it turned out I still had only two choices – marry her or go back to prison. Dad whispered that I could always leave her once I was off parole, so that was my plan and I made the impossible choice. Later the woman and her family showed up at Mom’s. The woman’s mother told Mom that I would marry her daughter and if I ever tried to leave her or do her wrong I would be put in prison forever. This was in late May 1981. I had just turned 23 and here I was married to this strange woman who was 17 years older than me. Still I was optimistic. My parole would be up soon, I would leave her and this nightmare would be over.

The same day we were married I was required to move to Hamilton, AL where her family lived. I was to finish my parole there with a parole officer who was a family friend. On the way there I threw the wedding ring she had given me out the window into a river as I was driving over a bridge and told her just exactly what I felt. There would be nothing between us ever. Not ever. She had forced this to happen, she lied and her family lied and I meant every word. The day my parole was over and I got my papers that evening from the parole officer, we packed the new Monte Carlo I had just bought with all the mechanic tools my Dad had given me and more I had bought so I would have tools to work with and we headed to Florida where her children were living with their father.

Turned out he had custody of all three children; the Florida court had ruled she was an unfit mother during the divorce her ex-husband had filed. In addition to the little one I had first seen with her, she also had two teenaged children. Little did this woman know that my intention was to leave her the next day after I got her to her aunt and uncle’s home.