“Give the people what they want.”

The following is an excerpt from Part Two:

I get home and excitedly pass the information to Sid. A few days later, I run it by my probation officer. Alexis is a pleasant, devoted woman, close to my age. She is the type of person that I would like to stop by and visit with a homemade potpie or some Tollhouse cookies. Because of the relationship, I can never do that. Her reaction to my proposal is not favorable.

“You can go ahead and do that if you want but you’ll be wasting your time. I won’t recommend it. You need to be in counseling for many, many years before we could even consider something like that.” It makes no sense whatsoever; I have no choice but to accept her decision. When I think about it afterwards, I come to the realization that she takes that stand not because it is logical; certainly, it is anything but. She feels required to assume the stance because it is what the public demands.

FDR, one of the most beloved US presidents of all time, was sensitive to public perception. Appearances determined his inauguration to the presidency. He was a presidential hopeful with polio, confined to a wheelchair. He had no chance whatsoever of being elected to the prestigious office if he appeared even mediocre. Most of the country, however, was unaware of his plight because of the image he projected. The public saw neither a wheelchair nor infirmity. He was the picture of power and strength. He walked tall, using the strength in his arms to support himself with his son by his side as a brace. That is what he projected. That is what the public perceived.

Polygraph or Pollyanna?

The following is an excerpt from Part Two:


Besides registering as sex offenders quarterly, in addition to each time we move (which will be within the boundaries of Rhode Island for the rest of our lives,) we must report to probation regularly. We are required to attend sex offender counseling every week for twelve-plus years. What an astounding waste of time and money.

I have always enjoyed group sharing sessions. When assisting at Kripalu Center, for two years I voluntarily facilitated the men’s weekly sharing groups. I always appreciated the sessions and derived much inspiration. The idea of attending meetings geared to a subject matter that does not remotely pertain to me, however, does not hold the same allure.

I arrive early to my first sex-offender group session. My counselor, Margaret, is an over-retirement-age-but-probably-never-will-retire, wonderfully perceptive woman. At one time, she worked at the prison. Her opinion of C/Os is that they are “nasty shit-hole bastards.” The standard reaction by C/Os to anything Margaret recommended was, “She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.”

She sometimes takes the time to talk with me outside of the group. I explain to her the circumstances of my innocence. She inquires if I have ever considered taking a polygraph test. It would not alter the conditions of parole except for possibly being excused from attending group sessions. She has had clients who, when testing as non-deceptive, were exempted. I serenely tell her that I will think about it. Inside, my heart is aflutter. After all we have gone through, this is at least a bit of a breakthrough.

Plea bargaining -the ultimate fraud.

 The following is an excerpt from Part Two:



In matters of style, swim with the current. In matters of principle, stand like a rock.
—Thomas Jefferson

Sid and I have lived our entire lives based on this outlook. When we were first thrown in the clink, we concurred that copping a plea would be absolutely out of the question. Our wholehearted intention was to have a trial by jury and to defend our innocence. We both informed our lawyers not to bother bringing us a plea offer. That was before we spent all those months in “Alcatraz revisited.”

Following the mistrial, the judge presents us a plea agreement. “Are you signing this of your own free will?”

“Yes, your honor.” The situation is exactly like asking the question with a blade to our throats. There is no other conceivable answer except for someone with a death wish. Although the nolo plea to illegitimate conditions of release is ridiculous, it delivers us from an even greater, life-threatening evil—we had been assured by several inmates that murder was imminent.

“Grief makes one hour ten.”

The following is an excerpt from Part One:

I stand there pokerfaced, swaying gently in the confines of his ego-crazed domain. He rants about some other foolishness. Finally realizing that I am not going to react to his petty, nutso outburst, he has the door released. He does not curtsy, but I am free to go.

As the days pass, he attempts to devise further ploys to get me to snap: locking me in for yard; letting me out for yard, but not allowing me to associate with anyone; locking me in for chow; locking me in when I have a visitor. That one annoys me, so I research the grievance process. The informal request form, the “recommended method,” is available from any mod officer, theoretically. This standard request slip, preprinted with “I respectfully request,” can be used for any appeal. The signature of a C/O is required. The drawback is that no C/Os are willing to sign it for me.

The next choice is the formal, level one grievance. This is good. You get a Request for Resolution of Grievance form by submitting a standard request form. I finally find a C/O who is willing to sign that one, and submit it to Lt. Handjob. It is returned to me four days later, scribbled in red ink: Why? A Request for Resolution of Grievance form must be submitted within three days of the alleged incident, then allow thirty days for a response. The next phase is the formal, level two appeal to the director. There is no need to bother researching that process. I am resolved that the unwritten, and only truly effective, grievance policy is: do not grieve.