Do Your Own Time
“Man, I saw the funniest thing this
morning.” The young prisoner announced. “There were men down in the church
saying “Praise the Lord” and “Alleluia” and raising their hands.” I gave the prisoner the “Prisoners Handbook”
response, “Do your own time.” “More
power to em.” The courts had sent me to
the U. S. Medical Center for psychiatric evaluation for 90 days. I had changed my guilty plea to “not guilty
by reason of insanity.” Merely a manipulative move on my part, to avoid being
sentenced on my birthday. Still I
wondered about my own inability to stay out of prison. “Why me?” You might say.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I sat looking out the window of my
cell at the St. Louis city jail. The
moment was innocuous to any particular thing that was going on. There, leaving the adjoining court house was
a man wearing the garb of a janitor. In
his hand was a black lunch box. “Why
couldn’t I be satisfied with that?” I wondered.
“A job, a wife and family”… I stopped my thoughts and crossed them off
as wishful thinking. Prison life was all I knew and had resigned myself to the
fact that I would live the rest of my life in prison and even die there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I hadn’t planned to go to church
the following Sunday, it just happened.
I was coming down the stairs from the chow hall, and there, going into
the church, was a group of volunteers.
One of the volunteers I recognized was Mary Lipscomb. She was a teacher
in the Learning Center where I spent a fair amount of my time. I still hadn’t reconciled Springfield (U. S.
Medical Center for Federal Prisoners) to the many prisons I had been to. Stateville, Menard, Marion; These were no walk
in the park type prisons. They were mean
and mean things happened in them.
Springfield had women running all over the place, it seemed. In the
school, the hospital, the kitchen, even the women who worked in the
administration offices were often seen traveling the halls.
The early 70’s was a time of
upheaval, not only in America, but in its prisons, as well. Several large scale riots had happened all
across the country. One of the
appeasements that came about was the authorization of ethnic culture clubs. Afro-American, La Causa Latina,
Italian-American, American Indian, even Irish American, existed. For a club to be approved in Springfield, you
had to have an inside sponsor and an outside sponsor. These were people who
would oversee the activities. And yes,
more volunteers from the community came to the weekly meetings. It was going to take some getting use to.
The Medical Center was a three ring
circus, I liked to say: “Medical” for prisoners who were patients; “Psychiatric”
for those who were deemed necessary for psychiatric care and “Maintenance”
prisoners who were there for the upkeep of the institution. For the most part, prisoners who were there
for the maintenance of the institution were kept in the camp quarters. Supposedly, they didn’t have a lot of time
and were non-violent. Yeah, right.
I followed the small crowd going
into the chapel. “God’s House of Hope”
the sign said. I made my way to the back
of the church and sat down. Springfield,
Mo. is home to the headquarters of the Assemblies of God denomination. Most of the volunteers were from Assembly of
God churches, though not Mary. The songs were familiar from my childhood days
at Glenwood School for Boys where church was mandatory. “The Old Rugged Cross,” “Amazing Grace,” “In the
Garden” was some of the popular hymns that were sung. I sat there silently.
I had a militant attitude toward
most everything back then. I was quick to hate and reviled do-gooders. I had
come to a position that justified my anger toward religion. “We don’t choose to be born. We don’t choose
who are parents will be. We don’t choose whether we’re born on the gold-coast
or in the ghetto, and we don’t choose whether we will be loved or rejected.” I
came up on the short end almost on each count.
So about the 4th week of going to church the Bible instructor
after the service was talking about free will.
I did not have a choice, but rather I was a product of my environment “Now,
after spending 26 years, half of them spent in prison, you tell me I have a
free will.” I could feel the unease that
permeated this now silent church. The instructor answered that he would talk to
me after the class was over. But I had no intention of waiting to hear what he
had to say.
As I exited the pew I had been
sitting in, an elderly lady blocked my escape.
Though I stand only 5’ 11” at best, I towered over the slightly built,
white haired woman before me. She looked
like everyone’s grandma, a sweet smile that could melt the heart of even the angriest
of persons. “Sonny,” she said, “you may
not understand this, but God has a plan for your life.” If God had a plan for my life it could only
include more of the same which I already had, punishment. I knew her name to be
‘Mom Carter,” Her son-in-law and daughter, Lloyd and Nita Colbaugh were also
volunteers at the prison. I hurried out the door vowing never to return.
The next morning I entered the
Learning Center and handed my pass to the young lady at the desk, Mary
Lipscomb. “It was good to see you in
church yesterday.” She said. “Yeah, I go
every Sunday, but it’s not doing me much good.” I snarled. “Do you believe in God?” Mary asked. “I believe there’s somebody up there that’s
running all this.” I answered. “Have you
ever prayed?” She asked. “Sure” I
responded, “I asked him once to get me out of boy’s school? He said no.” I felt a bit awkward that I had continued the
conversation and sought to end it.
“Look? God and I have a perfect understanding, I’ve never done anything
for him, and he has never done anything for me. We’re even.” I flippantly
concluded and spun on my heels and went to my seat.
I did not anticipate the turmoil I
had set in motion as I tried to sleep that night. Sure, I had been rude to her in my spinning
away and my surly attitude. But so what, I didn’t care about anyone, least of
all someone who had no idea of what prison is about. The grapevine had Mary pegged as being
someone who came from an affluent family in town who probably had everything in
life handed to her on a silver platter.
Why should I care? But I did, and
that bothered me even more. I would go
to the Learning Center and apologize. Eventually, sleep found me and I retired
for the night.
The next morning I greeted Mary by
saying, “Look” I didn’t mean to be rude yesterday. Most of the men have nothing
but good things to say about you, so I apologize.” And then I walked away. Well, I tried to. Mary stopped me with, “You know, God can
change your life.” “God didn’t want to
have anything to do with me.” I said. I
rattled off one excuse after another. I had been in prison to long. I had done too
much. I had seen too much. At each
rejection, Mary answered me with scripture which she seemed to know
endlessly.
Another night of turmoil, and no
sleep. She just didn’t get it. I had hurt too many people, and there was no
way God was letting me off that easy.
Inwardly, I knew I didn’t deserve forgiveness, and there was no way I
could make amends for all that I had done.
Nor did she know the pain and shame that I had endured. I’d go there one last time and tell her the
drama that I felt kept me from trusting God or anyone for that matter. If you’re going to argue with a Christian
about God, make it somebody who doesn’t know scripture. Mary was well armed with scripture after
scripture, and I was stuttering some ill-prepared answers every time. Finally, it was Mary who said, “Look, I’ve
told you everything that I can tell you about God and His promises. You can
either accept Him or reject Him. If you accept Him, then you will have all His
blessings, but if you reject Him, the consequences will be your choosing.” And then she walked away. This girl had spunk
and spirit.
So I don’t need to tell you another
sleepless night laid in store for me. I
probably relived my whole life that night.
I was angry with myself for allowing this to get out of hand. I was angry with Mary for always having the
right scripture for responding with. I recalled my vow from 10 years
previously, I would never shed another tear, no matter how awful things would
get. I would never let anybody get close
to me so that I would never care about anyone or anything. Where it came from I do not know, but a
question formed in my mind, ‘What if she is right?” What if God could change me? She said God could change me, not me. I had tried to change for my mother, for my
aunt. But it never worked. And I sure
wasn’t going to change for some girl who I didn’t even know and who after I
leave this prison will never see again. The question persisted, however. “God can change your life.” There was no argument that my life needed
changing. I could not consider what that
even meant. The only rational thought I
could think of was “What do I have to lose?”
If He couldn’t change me, I was in no worse shape than I was before all
this talk began? I hadn’t prayed since I was that scared little kid going to boy’s
school for the first time.
“God, what if what that girl says
is true, that You can change my life? I
need to tell You, I have exceedingly little hope and can offer no help. She
said you could change my life. If I have to obey a set of rules and promises to
be good, that’s not going to work. You
have to do it all, and if what she says is true, I accept your Son as my Savior.” Shocked, as soon as I said the word Savior, a
torrent of tears poured from my eyes. I
tried desperately to stop crying but could not.
I was afraid others in the dorm would hear me so I covered my head with
the pillow. Still, I could not halt the
flood of tears pouring from the depths of my being An unusually loud thunderstorm mercifully prevented
anyone from hearing me. It was only after the torrent inside my soul and
outside my cell stopped, that I finally fell asleep.
When I awoke the next morning, I
didn’t feel any different from what I normally would feel. Still, I had a sense of excitement in knowing
that I would tell Mary that I had accepted Christ. After signing my pass, and going to a cubicle,
I called Mary over. Well, I did
it.” I said. “What did you do?” “John.” “I accepted Christ.” Mary never looked so beautiful; She lit up
like a Christmas tree. I could see she
was trying to restrain her enthusiasm because employees and prisoners were not
to become that familiar with each other and to do so could cost her, her
job. My vow to never shed another tear
was broken, and so was that vow to never care about anyone.
