Category Archives: crime

It’s Been A Good Run

VINCE

For personal reasons, I have made the decision to move on from this blog and start out on my own. I have no idea where or when I will start back up, but I do promise to make it soon. I just need to figure out how to start a blog, and then start it. I think first I will write in my journal for a while, then begin again independently. Obviously I will keep everybody posted (pun intended) on when and where you can find my new blog. And in the mean time, you can follow me on Facebook. Vincent Maertz is my name if you don’t already know.

Thank you for all of your support over the last 17 months. It has meant a lot to me that people actually like reading what I write. Your comments have not gone unnoticed. You can look forward to reading more about the next phase of my life as soon as I find a new format, and build up a little material. Until then, be good.

Vincent Maertz

2 Out of 17 Isn’t Bad?

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VINCE

I learned early this morning from a guy that went through boot camp and graduated a month earlier than I, that two of my squad-mates aren’t doing very well. One of them I’ve known has been on the wanted fugitive list for a few days now, but the other is now in jail. For what, I can’t be certain. But I know that I’m not in jail, and I’ve been following the rules. I can’t think of anything that would make me want to do something that would send me back. But there were many times in my life where I wish I would have followed the right path.

When I was 18, I was arrested for my first felony. I walked into the Schwinn bicycle shop off of Snelling and University avenues in St. Paul with the intention of stealing a bike that I could sell for cash, and eventually weed. Something I did fairly regularly back in the 1900’s. Unfortunately, when I took the bike that I wanted down from the display and rode out the door, I had some troubles with the gear shifter and I barely made it across the street before being tackled down by a store employee, and humiliatingly taken back into the store to await the police. I’ve written about this incident before, so I’ll skip ahead to the part where I was sentenced to one year of Project Remand. It is an opportunity for first time felons to basically be good for a year to have the felony knocked down to a misdemeanor. Sounds easy right?

Well, the first directive I was given was to enter an in-patient treatment center in St. Paul called Twin Town. At some point during the arrest, I made a remark about me using marijuana recreationally. So I packed a bag and entered my first of 4 treatment centers. I knew I didn’t want to be there. Oh if only I could have seen the future.

I got my first taste of group therapy. They were all real addicts, not like me, because all I did was smoked weed (and did acid and mushrooms, but only once in a while!) and I didn’t get into trouble for using, right? Well, these people did all sorts of things that I hadn’t done (yet). And in three or four short days I was asked to leave the facility, which I did.

When I got back home I called my probation officer and told her that I had been kicked out. She actually said it wasn’t a big deal, and that I could simply continue to follow the rest of the rules and still be okay. Can you believe that? So I stayed drug free for a few weeks until one of my friends told me that they didn’t test for alcohol. Minutes later I opened my first of many beers to come in my lifetime. I successfully passed all of my drug tests for a couple months, but the urge to get high was powerful and I started smoking weed for a couple weeks after every U.A., but eventually I went back to full time. I stopped showing up for my probation meetings, and stopped taking the drug tests, and of course shortly after that the warrant came out, another first of many.

I was arrested up north in Crow Wing County for my first D.U.I. and they held me there for a week until St. Paul came and got me. When I saw the judge about the felony, he was very kind in staying the adjudication but put me on regular probation for three years. And because I clearly had troubles staying clean, he ordered me to outpatient treatment. I never showed up. I just kept using. They gave me so many chances but I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t know it then, but I had become powerless over my addictions. My life had become unmanageable. And I was just warming up. In the end I was on some form of probation for that charge for almost a decade, but they actually did move it down to a misdemeanor. Win!

I don’t think I would have listened to my future self had I been able to go back to try to save me, I was going to do whatever I wanted to do. It may have taken a lot longer than it should have, but I am finally on the right road again. I’ve wasted away many years, but I can redeem myself by sticking to the script, listening to my agents, going to meetings, and making forward progress. I’m starting to enjoy life again, and there’s plenty of time left for me.

Two Hundred and Thirty-Seven

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VINCE

This marks the two hundredth post that my mother and I have written. It’s been quite a journey. Almost daily I look back through the blog and see such a wide variety of emotion, struggles, triumphs, and memories. Today also marks another important number, 37. For the second time in a year, it’s my 37th birthday, only this time it is actually real. You may have read recently about my miscalculation with my date of birth. Well, it was nice feeling young again when I realized 11 and a half months in that I was only 36. So, my two weeks is over and I’m old again. Boo-hoo.

A year ago today, I was sitting alone in a cold cell in St. Cloud prison where nobody cared about me or my birthday. I remember trying to make a big deal out of it with the other swampers (house cleaning crew) but nobody was interested. One person gave me a cup of Folgers instant coffee, and that was the highlight of the day. I sat. I read. I wrote. And I pondered where I would be a year from that day. I had no clue what was in store for me with boot camp. I actually received my acceptance letter a few days later which was dated Oct. 24th. I was so excited. I showed it to the swampers, the offenders, the guards. Again, nobody cared. I knew there was a good chance that I wouldn’t be in prison for my next birthday if I put everything I had into this boot camp thing. And did I ever.

It was shortly after that I was moved to Moose Lake into segregation, the single worst experience of my incarceration. Well, enough reflection, I’ve already lived it, written it, and read it. What’s new?

In my last post I talked about my new tooth falling out. I didn’t really mention why. My student dentist had actually forgotten to put on the bonding agent which would have secured the plastic onto the broken tooth itself. Oops. She did try to contact me, but we didn’t actually talk until a few days later at which point she explained the mistake she made and we set up a time to get it fixed. She said she felt like an idiot and she was so sorry, and couldn’t believe she could have forgotten…. I interrupted her and explained that it was okay. I learned a lot at C.I.P. And I explained that everybody makes mistakes no matter what. And when you do, you fix it, and move on. I have made some terrible decisions and made some huge mistakes in my life, and people still love me. So, I bet after she fixes my tooth, she will never forget to put the stuff on again. And that’s how we learn. Right?

I cooked vegan fajitas with my cousin tonight. Her mother was in from California, and I hadn’t seen her in roughly a decade, just like everybody else. We had a good talk, a good dinner, and we played with kittens. My cousin is a vegan and I love to cook, but I had never really given anything that wasn’t meat-based a shot. I didn’t turn into a zombie, and the desserts she brought were actually pretty good, too. I’m not saying that I will be a vegetarian tomorrow (or ever), but I did realize how much I actually enjoy veggies. Tomorrow I will realize how much I enjoy meaty, cheesy pizza for my birthday celebration. Win-win?

I’m really excited to see my dog Willie on Sunday. My friend Seth is talking to me on the phone right now confirming that he is actually coming. So, I’m done for now. I will write about the reunion in a couple days. Goodbye for now.

A Break from Breaking Free

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ANNE

Vince says he’s hit a wall with the blogging, and I need more than 10 minutes notice to come up with new material. After over a year of blogging and nearly 200 posts, I’d say we’ve earned a break.

We’ll be back. If you haven’t yet binge read the thing from the beginning, start here and click on the right-pointing arrow at the bottom of each post to proceed. Feel free to share with others, and thanks for reading.

YourPillow

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VINCE

I remember the first time I saw a commercial for MyPillow. Toward the end of the ad the announcer guy stated that they were proudly made right here in the U.S.A., with no outsourcing. I can tell you that that is very true because I saw them being made in Moose Lake Prison in the same building that I worked in sewing men’s briefs. Why ship jobs overseas when you can exploit prisoners right here?

I will tell you right now that I don’t have all of the facts pertaining to the MinnCorr industry in Moose Lake penitentiary but I can write about my own experience and what I heard from some of the offenders that worked on the MyPillow line. They were paid minimum wage which I believe is still at 7.25 per hour, much better than the 50 cents per hour that I made less than 200 feet away. The catch is, the prison takes half of the pay right off the top for the cost of confinement. There can be other deductions from F.I.C.A., MN income tax, and federal income tax. The workers are left with just over two dollars per hour, a pretty good amount for prison wages. Our saying on the brief line was that we earned our pay within the first five minutes of work every day. I say that because they sell our briefs back to the inmates at a cost of $3.25. I could sew together 200 pair per day. Not all of them were sold to us. They have big contracts with other facilities like jails and institutions that buy them cheaper in bulk, but, there’s huge profit to be made with cheap labor.

I’m not saying all of this because I’m mad at the prison for what they paid me. I’m actually in shock from looking at the MyPillow website and seeing what they charge for pillows made by people (prisoner or not) that work hard and will never get a raise, a bonus, stock options, or even a free fucking pillow. Just for kicks, and because the website is not at all up front with the pricing, I placed a mock-order that finally took me to the checkout page. It said that for two queen size pillows, my order came to $199.94!! That’s before tax and does not include shipping. It also does not include the pillow cases which can be purchased for…… only ……. $49.97. What a steal! Or maybe rip-off. Now I should mention that they did have some buy-one-get one deals but I would have had to enter a promo code which they had no further information on. I’m sure I could have found it if I was actually interested in buying one. Even so, those are some expensive pillows.

Is there a point I’m trying to make here? Meh. I don’t know. I enjoyed having a job while I was incarcerated. It paid the bills so to speak. And I certainly hope that my work lessened the burden to the taxpayers. But how come the MyPillow commercial shows workers in a factory all happy and smiling when that is not even where they are made? Made in America? Yes. Made proudly in America? No. Actually made most likely by child molesters and murderers. I guess that wouldn’t have been a good advertising slogan.

In other news… Today I learned that I am only 36 years old. For the past 11 and a half months, I thought I was 37. Somehow I just decided to skip a year. Now I only get to be 36 for two weeks, then I actually turn 37, which sounds way older. But not as old as 38 which I thought I would be very soon. Sometimes I think I’m losing my mind. Really, I do. I will stop dead in a sentence and not have a clue what word I was about to say. It sounds like 38 year old problems, not young 37 (or 36). That’s all I have for tonight.

Coming up on the next post: A look back at some of the stranger things I saw in prison. Things that I can’t un-see.

Another Bad Night

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VINCE

The following story is about me, from the perspective of a friend of mine that has a much better memory than I do. I knew that this story existed, and I knew when I heard it the other day that I was in one of those blackouts where somehow you can still walk and talk or, in my case stumble and mumble. I asked my friend, we’ll call him Kenny, to write it out for me so I could put it on the blog. If I had actually remembered that night, it may have beat out my arson night for my worst 24. So, here goes….

I (Kenny) had just gotten off work and was probably texting everyone to see if there was anything going on that night. Vince, one of our friends, told me they were all out drinking at our mutual acquaintance’s private campground. I grabbed a few beers knowing they would have more there if I ran out, or, god forbid, we’d start on the whiskey. I arrived there shortly after the call and we promptly began drinking and bullshitting.

As the night progressed, all but three of us had gone home or to sleep. Vince, Brad (a coworker at the time) and myself. I had been texting a girl I knew from Rochester, and she invited us to her friend’s house to hang out and drink. Brad’s car was the only one with enough gas, so after convincing him to let me drive us all there, we were on our way.

We were all drinking on the way. Vince would occasionally ask me if one of the girls would have sex with him, and Brad would remind me that he has an open warrant. We finally arrived at this trailer park (which was half of the town) and got to the address. Nobody home. We waited, and I tried to keep Vince “calm.” He would all of a sudden walk around the trailer and pull on the window frames.

We sat in the car and gave the girls ten minutes to get there before we took off. Just in time, they showed up. The two of them brought us inside and we start handing beers out trying to figure out how to have any fun. The one that I didn’t know went into another room and my friend [not Vince] followed. 10-15 minutes went by. Us boys were sitting and staring at each other when I finally wen to see what the girls were doing. I opened the bedroom door and both girls were taking turns inhaling Dusters [the canned air used to clean computer keyboards]. Vince popped up behind me, made a comment on how it had been a while since he had done it. They offered him a can and he took a lung full. I had never seen people do this before so it made me worried and uncomfortable.

One girl passed out and began shaking in the corner of a bathroom. After a while I made an excuse so we could leave soon. Vince was in one of their rooms going in and out of a drunken/duster stupor on her bed. He kept telling me we needed to stay because the girl was going to fuck him, but she was in another room doing more duster.

I managed to get Vince to the door. Before I left though I went into the room with the girls and took the can of Duster. They made a fuss and tried to get it back. Vince pretty aggressively pushed me and took the can. He gave it back to them and tried once more to stay with them and failed.

We left and wound up at Denny’s restaurant in Rochester. I’m sure Vince verbally assaulted the waiter after he brought him multiple shots of syrup. He got up a few times with a steak knife and followed the waiter back to the kitchen. Fortunately, the waiter never saw it. We finally made our way back to Fountain. End of story….

VINCE here. I have no idea why I had shots of syrup. My guess is that I tried aggressively to order booze which they do not have at Denny’s. Also I had never tried Duster before or after that night. I am grateful to Kenny for putting up with me that night. Who knows how many stories are out there that I will never remember. Stories I hope to never have to hear.

Camp Heartland

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VINCE

Three weeks before I left prison I went out on my last Restorative Justice program. R.J. is generally the only time we left the compound. Once per week, nine of the 17 in my squad got excited about going out into the community to help those in need. We’ve done everything from cleaning windows in a nursing home, to removing concrete by hand, to shoveling shit after a county fair. So naturally when It was my turn to leave, I was looking forward to a good day. Well I got what I asked for. We packed all of our gear and headed out to Camp Heartland in Willow River.

It is a very beautiful campground. I didn’t know anything about the place until I got there. We piled out of the van and lined up and stood at attention and received our orders for the day. It’s almost always some sort of cleaning detail and that is exactly what the plan was for that day. Then an employee told us who goes there, and why. Originally it was set up as a retreat for children with H.I.V. Now it’s for any child with a life threatening illness. We were given a brief tour in which he pointed out the cabins we would be cleaning. They were small but functional and full of dead and living creepy crawly insects. Nearly all of the beds had a ‘waterproof’ sheet which startled me a little because there’s really only one thing you need that for. Enough said. At that point we gathered our supplies and got to work.

After a couple cabins, the officer in charge came and got me and said there was a project inside I could do, so I followed him in and I ended up cleaning a huge sort of room with a stage, costumes everywhere, and lots of muddy footprints. To back up a little, on the way down to the basement, covering the walls from top to bottom were drawings and kids’ names and dates when they were there. There were thousands of them, and later I would find even more outside. I kept looking at the walls as I cleaned, and I started to notice other things about them. And that’s when shit got real. Next to or on the paintings themselves were little white crosses and dates. I realized what it meant, and I couldn’t believe how many there were. I decided to take a little break and wander around and I just kept seeing more names, more dates. I felt emotion for the first time in a while. I couldn’t believe that all of those kids had been here and left not knowing if they would ever make it back.

It was then that I really felt guilty about how much of my life I had wasted when these kids were dying off left and right. How could it possibly be fair that I was out dealing drugs and being completely irresponsible in every situation and never got killed along the way while these kids were literally fighting for their lives? I took some time to read a lot of the writings on the wall. Every one of them was positive about their situation; little kids who truly appreciated whatever time they were with us in this world. It is even making me a little misty-eyed as I type this. I don’t ever pray, and I don’t believe in God, but right there, right then, I said my version of a prayer in my head the words of which only myself and they will ever hear. I continued to clean.

For over five months I had been eating only prison food which sounds and tastes exactly like prison food. That day, the employees that were there (there were no kids there when we went) cooked up a feast for us. All things we hadn’t seen since our sentencing. We sat around a table and for the first time in years I sat at a table with people and ate. I ate three brownies for dessert after eating as many fresh vegetables, slices of garlic bread, and I’m drawing a blank on the rest of it but it was amazing, and we all felt like humans that day.

As we were leaving, I saw even more names. These ones engraved in the sidewalk that circled a water fountain. All of the had two dates, and I had to walk away after I saw the name of a four year old that had died the day before his birthday. I can’t waste any more of my life, it’s just not fair to them.

If you ever are looking for a good organization to donate to, I recommend Camp Heartland. Let them show these kids some fun before they leave us way too soon.

Another First Conquered

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VINCE

As some of you have read, and are excited to read about today, I started my new job today! I haven’t said that in three years. I am sore from doing yard work yesterday at my aunt’s house. It was a great day and I had a good talk with her, something I’ve needed for a long time. But that is all I am going to share on that. Some things are just for me. and, I have so much to tell you about the job!

It’s not exactly like anything I’ve ever done before but it is in some ways similar to the work I did in the wrapper room at Kemps Ice Cream. I work at A.M.G. Laminating in St. Paul. Essentially as the rookie I will be floating from machine to machine learning the different functions, getting my hands caught in huge rolls of plastic wrap, moving palates of various sizes to and from various places, cleaning up, and generally just getting to know the processes.

Today I spent most of my time cutting the extra plastic film between segments of what will eventually be nice, shiny, laminated cardboard boxes for a well known company. I would transfer them onto a palate and when it was full I would strap them down tight and circle the palate in a dizzying dance of plastic mayhem. I was taught how to do this by a real cowboy although I suspect he was just a man wearing a cowboy hat. Either way it was his last day and I was his replacement… Awkward!! It was very clear to me that everybody thought I was great and funny and amazing at life, at least that’s what my interpretation was. My very good friend from C.I.P. [boot camp], Mr. Doty, the same man who made it possible (along with my repeated attempts via e-mail, telephone calls, and personal visits) for me to work there, was in the background doing other things but we managed to wave at each other several times. At one point I attempted to pick up the chair he was sitting in with a forklift but I failed. He was far too quick. Mr. Doty is very tall, and he likes it when I make jokes about that. His lovely girlfriend, Ms. D (Unrelated. (I will protect her anonymity)) came by to visit him for our lunch break and I tried to explain to her that even though the sun is 93 million miles away from the earth, he sunburns faster because of how tall he is. We all laughed. Hahahahaa. Well, you all know what laughter sounds like. She also brought a foam missile launcher system that she purchased from Rainbow for 50 cents which we all had fun with. It was a good day. I had a lot of fun and got a lot done. Hey, I’m a wrapper!

After work I arrived at home and my mother had made (ordered) an amazing blackened walleye dinner. It was just what I needed after a hard day’s work. Thank you.

The plumbers and electricians were here while I was at work today and now in my room I have a three by three gaping hole with exposed plumbing. I guess it’s actually better than having the washer and dryer in this tiny room which is what I thought would be the case. It’s all closing in around me here. I think it’s about time to start looking for a different place to live. The other morning I woke up to my mom yelling at the kitten. No! No! No! Over, and over, and over. She then started clapping at it. This was all at about 7am. She’s used to living alone, so I can understand not having to worry about other people. But I go out of my way to be quiet. I tiptoe down the halls, barely close the bathroom door because old houses make so much noise with so little provocation. Ugh. I don’t know. I shouldn’t have put myself into this position, I get that. And I’m grateful that I have a roof over my head, walleye in my belly, and another day sober. And with that, I pass.

The Job

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Vince

Three weeks and a day after my release from incarceration I got a job. I’ve filled out applications and applied online to a number of establishments and businesses, but today I was hired by the first place at which I inquired of employment. Actually, I had stopped in there a couple times and called a few more, and was about to give up completely when I received a message from my friend that works there saying somebody had just quit. Then he called me and said I could start tomorrow, which I couldn’t do, but I will on Thursday. Yay! Thank you Mr. D. You know who you are.

Last night my agents paid me a visit around 11pm in which they were finally giving me a little bit of a hard time about not yet finding employment. They said they weren’t really worried yet, but if I didn’t have some form of employment within two weeks, we would be having a conversation. Then they asked if I had tried a temp agency, to which I said I thought we weren’t allowed to do that, which is what I remember from orientation, or something, I don’t know. I have on more than one occasion called into the voicemail system with a relevant question and received no response. Again, I say, this is the common frustration among us newly released. It’s all very confusing and sometimes I feel as if things I hear are contradictory. That’s the way it was in boot camp but I think it was more to see if they could get a reaction out of us there. Out here it wouldn’t really make sense to tell us anything that wouldn’t put us on the right track, so I think maybe I’m imagining a few things because they don’t make sense. Does that make sense? I could also be losing my mind. I do think I should write things down more often.

I had a really bad dream again last night in which I hooked back up with my old drug dealer (who, in real life, is in a Federal prison in California for 15 years) and was holed up in a hotel room with a huge bag of meth. I don’t know what kind of hotel it was but it was odd. I remember a knock at the door, and when I opened it up there were a bunch of high school kids who looked at me as if they were very disappointed in me and then left. When I turned around I saw the huge bag of meth just sitting on the nightstand under a brightly lit lamp, but I didn’t seem to care. I noticed that in general, I don’t ever have conversations in dreams. Or, at the very least I don’t think I ever say anything. Well, that was the end of the dream, and in real life it was morning time, and I got up. I can’t wait for my meeting tonight.

Tomorrow I will be spending the day doing some manual labor and general maintenance for my dear aunt Connie. That I have scheduled from 9AM until 7PM and with a morning run and an evening meeting I wont hardly be home at all, which is something I’m looking forward to. Connie is a survivor of cancer and a hero to me since childhood. I have a lot of making up to do in our relationship since I took a vacation for so many years. She was one of those people that tried to help me out when she found out I had relapsed oh so many years ago. So, she didn’t make the friends list. I will work hard tomorrow digging out a tree stump, trimming some trees, and what-not. But what I really want is the opportunity to talk with her one-on-one, an opportunity I have not had as of yet. An opportunity for me to apologize, make amends, and move on. And if you’re reading this, Connie, pretend you haven’t when I see you please. 🙂

Coming up on the blog: First day on the job! Please share this blog with your friends. The goal as always is to help the still suffering addict, and make me a famous writer in the process!

They

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VINCE

Today was my friend’s daughter’s birthday. Audrey turned 10, which officially marks the point at which you can write numbers instead of spell them. Exciting! Anyhow, for whatever reason, a few other people from down in Southeastern Minnesota where I lived for a number of years, were sending me pictures of myself from back in the day, when my main source of nutrition was beer and weed. It brought back a lot of good, fun memories. In these pictures, I wasn’t engaging in illegal activities, and it appeared that for the most part I wasn’t hammered drunk. In one I was hugging Audrey (the birthday girl) when she was maybe three or four, and she had a huge smile on her face, which she almost always does. I don’t have children, so she is the closest thing to it for me and I was there with her growing up for years. I was around for seven of her first ten years, missing the first and last two.

I miss all of my friends from the Fillmore County area. But with her I feel as if I left her without an explanation or understanding of why I was gone. I left the area because I got hooked on meth again, because somebody I used with many years ago moved to Fountain and I just went for it. It happened so fast. It took six months from the time I first used to stop talking to my friends, get fired from my job, and start selling. I managed to get a job in Lanesboro for one season but I cut all ties with the area once the tourist season was over, and went to work on the road full-time as a meth dealer. I lost my apartment but I didn’t care, I didn’t plan on going back.

I wrote to a lot of my friends when I was locked up. Not all of them wrote me back as much as I thought they should have. I don’t know why I expected them to after I just threw my life in the trash and left them all without a word, but I did. I wrote Audrey a few times. I tried to explain to her what I had done and where I was in a way that a nine-year old could understand. I don’t know how well I did but it must have been alright because she wrote me back. Twice. And those letters made me feel like I still had a soul.

Every period in my life when I abused drugs, and sold them, something happened to me. A transformation took place in which I was no longer able to care about people. More specifically, my family, or any close friends that would not have approved of my drug use. When my friend died (the one I wrote about in a post recently) I had no emotional reaction to it. I remember getting the call from her partner and my first honest thought was, “Fuck. She owed me $300.” Then I went over to see Christie and when I arrived she seemed quite nonchalant about the situation. She had just come back from the grocery and liquor stores, and she asked if we could get high and we did.

It was not uncommon for a person’s life to be crumbling down around them and have no care in the world. People losing their children, their homes, their loved ones, but continuing to do anything other than get a job to get high. And of course there I was ready to listen to their story and sell them a bag. It took me a while to get over the fact that I didn’t have any morals. Thankfully I worked on it in treatment. I can relate this in the opposite way to how A.A. works for people. When we were getting high we associated only with those types of people because we could understand each others’ pain. We didn’t do anything constructive about it, but we can now. And we are. I am. And as hard as it is for me to deal with society as a whole right now, there is a small group of people I meet with every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday nights that understands me just as I do them. I wish I could go to more meetings. But that’s my topic for the next post.