Category Archives: mandatory minimum drug sentences

Addiction: Disease or Habit?

ANNE

I chanced upon this article, Addiction is Not a Disease, by Laura Miller in Salon.  It describes how addiction used to be considered a moral failing, then was reconsidered as a disease with the rise of 12 step programs, and now neuroscientists are thinking it’s more of an extreme habit.

Miller bases her article on the book Biology of Desire by Marc Lewis, a neuroscientist who is a former addict himself.  He posits that addicts have a “particular ‘emotional wound’ the substance helped them handle, but once they started using it, the habit itself eventually became self-perpetuating and in most cases ultimately served to deepen the wound.”

The disease model has been supported by the fact that addicts’ brains are different.

“The changes wrought by addiction are not, however, permanent, and while they are dangerous, they’re not abnormal. Through a combination of a difficult emotional history, bad luck and the ordinary operations of the brain itself, an addict is someone whose brain has been transformed ….

“More and more experiences and activities get looped into the addiction experience and trigger cravings and expectations like the bells that made Pavlov’s dogs salivate, from the walk home past a favorite bar to the rituals of shooting up. The world becomes a host of signs all pointing you in the same direction and activating powerful unconscious urges to follow them. At a certain point, the addictive behavior becomes compulsive, seemingly as irresistibly automatic as a reflex. You may not even want the drug anymore, but you’ve forgotten how to do anything else besides seek it out and take it.”

The good news is that habits can be unlearned.  AA and NA and other 12 step groups do work for a lot of people.  Others may need cognitive behavioral therapy, or meditation, or something else, or all of these things.  It’s kind of like how I fought long-term depression by trying everything, until something broke through.

I’m all for understanding the causes of things, in case that knowledge points to new solutions.  I’m also big on measuring success to discover what works.  This article in Scientific American basically concludes “we don’t know” whether AA works because (in my lay language) it’s too loosey goosey to study with the gold standard of the randomized clinical trial.  It works for some people and not for others, and there are probably as many reasons for both outcomes as there are members.

On a long drive a few evenings after reading the article about how addiction is not a disease, I caught this one-hour podcast about the history of Alcoholics Anonymous.  I knew most of the story already, how two chronic inebriates, Dr. Bob and Bill W., found each other and developed the AA program based on something called the Oxford Group, which had gotten started in England and which was overtly religious.

The story is poignant.  Both Bill and Bob were headed for early graves.  Instead, they met each other.  Talking about their problem with someone who also had it worked some magic that no amount of nagging by their wives or warnings from doctors could.  Bill’s wife Lois and another recovering alcoholic’s wife, Anne, founded Alanon, to help them recover from their own insanity caused by living with alcoholics.

There are lots of “gurus” out there who will tell you that you have to go to AA or Alanon every week for the rest of your life, or that you have to give up every mood-altering substance—from heroin to caffeine to sugar—or that “real” meditation is only done in the early morning, for a minimum of 45 minutes, sitting in the lotus position.

I say, be open to trying a variety of solutions, and equally willing to stop using things that aren’t working.  Why would you want to limit your options when you’re up against something that could make your life miserable, kill you, or land you in prison?

A Simple Plan

VINCE

This morning we had another weigh in.  This time on the fancy scale in the Health Services.  My math was a little off I think when I last mentioned my weight because I had used the scale in the weight room.  Anyhow I weighed in at 181 pounds with 11% body fat.  That’s eight pounds less than last time.

I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but then the Physical Trainer said it was very good.  I’ve lost 20 pounds since I got to boot camp and 35 pounds over the last year.

My goal which I set for myself is only six pounds away, and I have two months to reach it.  I will succeed.

62 days and a wake up.  Some days, it seems too far, some not.  I’m exhausted.  Must keep going.

We had our brown hat reviews today.  I did as well as I expected I would.  I will be getting my new hat as soon as the two graduating squads leave this coming Tuesday.

This is the final phase in the incarceration part of the program.  We’ve made it through 18 weeks.  Eight weeks to go of the highest level of expectations.

Not all of us earned out hats, but they will over the next two weeks.  As a squad, we did pretty well.  And, as a 17 man squad, we have already lost over 300 pounds!

Summer is here.  I don’t remember every day being so humid as a child.  Maybe it just didn’t affect me as much.  Who knows.  I’m sitting at my “desk” (my desk is my lap with a folder on which I write.) and the A.C. is on full blast but my clothes are still sticking to me.  Yuck.  Always wearing our full khaki uniform has its disadvantages.

The book I started last week, A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson, is amazing.  It explains everything clearly that I never understood in biology, chemistry, astronomy, mineralogy, etc.  Ok I never took some of those classes.  Anyhow, I’m learning a lot about how much it took for me to be in existence, and how lucky we are to be here now.  And, in relation to everything around us, how little time we have to enjoy.  I don’t ever want to waste any more time being locked up.  Such a waste.  All I have to do is never get high or drunk again and I should be alright.  So, that’s my plan.

Softball, Kitten Ball, Hard Ball

VINCE

It’s my down day again.  They keep coming so fast, and only nine to go.

Today, I chose to be lazy.  I’m going to play cribbage as much as I can, and not do any treatment work.  I may sound like a rebel there but I don’t actually have any treatment work to do.

It’s been a huge boost to my confidence hearing that people are so willing to help me out.  I think it probably has a lot to do with the fact that they know a lot about my situation vs. just being some ex-convict in need.

Right now I’m sitting in my chair and everybody is being loud.  It’s so hard to concentrate sometimes.  In a few minutes though, I’m going outside to play kitten ball which is exactly like softball except for the ball is even bigger and actually soft.

[ANNE: I filed a request for aid with the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union) back in March.  One of my neighbors (before I moved twice) is the executive director of the Minnesota chapter.  I took a risk and told her about Vince.  It always feels like a risk, doing that, although I’ve never received anything but kind words of support.

I had just received my BAN notice, and I specifically asked her if she thought I had any legal recourse.

She responded via email:

I am so sorry to read your email, your blog, and then think about you dealing with all this pain while at the same time looking for a place to move, packing and moving.

Prison administrators have a great deal of latitude in how they deal with inmates and visitors, so there may not be an infringement of constitutional rights here.  However, if there is a hook we can find that would indicate that your denial of visiting rights is retaliation for what you said, we might be able to do some advocacy for you.

I would suggest that you go on line and fill out an intake form.  Our process is all volunteer driven and we get far more requests than we can take on, but it would be worth your time to try.  Here’s the link to the form: http://www.aclu-mn.org/legal/fileacomplaint/

Again, I am so sorry.  I hope that we can help.

So I filed the complaint, and forgot about it.

Four months later.  I got a letter from the ACLU saying they couldn’t take my case.  Basically, due to their limited resources and all-volunteer attorneys, they have to prioritize cases that they think they can win, that won’t drain a lot of resources, and that will have an impact on lots of people.

My case…well it was really only a case of “he said/she said.”  I understand completely and I’m not surprised except that it took them four months to respond.

The six-month ban will end on July 30.  I will submit (the perfect word) my request for visitor’s privileges next week.  I am nervous that it may be rejected.  I still don’t know if they’re aware of the blog and may decide to “teach me a lesson” and “show me whose boss.”

If I am denied, then by the time Vince is released in September it will have been over eight months since I’ve seen him.  He’s excited about his graduation ceremony.  If I’m not approved to visit, I’ll have to just sit in my car out in the parking lot, I guess, until the ceremony is over and they send him out the gate.]

An Inspector Calls

The Department of Corrections sent an agent to inspect my condo and interview me.  Her title on her card is “CIP/ISR Agent.”  She is one of four agents monitoring 80 boot camp participants across five or six counties.

The agent (I’ll call her Holly) was one of those tall, corn-fed, blond Minnesotans with ruddy cheeks.  She was late because she’d come from visiting another mom whose son had been in for murder since he was 15—that was 22 years ago, which makes him the same age as Vince now.

“So she had a lot of questions,” she said.  Yeah, no kidding.  I had a lot too.  Holly walked through the condo but didn’t open the fridge or closets as I’d been told she has the right to do.  If I told you where I had stashed my beer and wine during her visit, I’d have to kill you.  (I will honor with the “no alcohol/drugs/firearms” policy once Vince is here, but he’s not here for over a month.)

She seemed awed by the condo.  “This isn’t like the typical house we see,” she said.  “Most of them are pretty run down.”

She explained that they would come to the house three times a week at random times.  It could be 5am or 3pm or 3am.  They can search the premises without a warrant at any time.  I guess I hadn’t realized that Vince will technically still be a prisoner, just one who is serving out his term in the family home.

She said Vince can’t leave town, have any other ex offenders over (whew!), or possess booze, drugs, or guns.  He won’t be released with an ankle bracelet but they will slap one on him if he makes a misstep.  During their three weekly visits they will do urinalysis tests and if they aren’t clean Vince will go straight back inside.

Holly told me I would need to get a land line but she backed off from me having to install a doorbell, which was a relief.  “We’ll just rap on the front window,” was her solution.

Vince will be allowed to search for work from 10am to 2pm weekdays.  He can to a workforce center or do it from home.  I went to a workforce center when I was unemployed a few years ago and they are great resources but they are depressing because they are full of unemployed people.

I asked if they would help Vince find a job, or give him leads.  She said they do pass along information, like the fact that Target refuses to hire ex offenders so he shouldn’t bother with them.

I told her that I was planning to let Vince use my car to look for work and she reminded me that he would have to be added to my insurance.  So we’ll put that plan on ice until I find out how much it will cost, and until Vince has a job and can pay for it.

I asked if Vince would have health insurance and she said he could apply for Medical Assistance.

I asked if it was a problem if I traveled, especially outside of the country, and she said no.

I asked her advice—should I set a time limit on how long he should live with me and if so how long?  She said they don’t give advice; that it’s up to Vince and me to set ground rules.

At the end of the visit we talked about his graduation ceremony and actual release and I fessed up that I had been banned and wasn’t sure if I’d be allowed in.  She was shocked and said she’d never heard of such a situation.  “The ceremony is really cool, so I hope you’ll get to see it,” were her parting words.

Arrrrrrs

VINCE

Yesterday our squad had our AARs.  I don’t recall what that acronym stands for but I do know it’s where we turn in our addresses for release to our case manager.

Now it is of my opinion that my mother moved from her apartment to her condo to avoid having to tell (or ask) a landlord for permission to have a felon living in the apartment.  Well, it may still come up.

You see, my mother may own a condo, but somebody else may own the land that it’s on, and they would still have to be informed of my situation.

I only get one phone call every two weeks so I can’t tell her until Sunday but I think she may worry about having to do that.  I suppose I could have waited to write this until I spoke with her but I’m in study hall right now and I’m all caught up with my assignments.

This will all work out.  In fact, everything that I worried about or was afraid of since I arrived at boot camp has worked out just fine.  I look back almost four months when I thought I could never run more than a mile, or go through 182 days without a nap.  Well, the no nap part is still hard some days.  Enough on that.

Holding it all together.  Almost.  That’s the way I look at the year prior to my arrest in December 2013.

I had a full time job in Lanesboro.  More often than not, I still showed up early and held it together for 11 hours at an outdoor grill working in front of people.  Some days I was able to keep standing only through heavy concentration because I hadn’t slept for days and I had been driving around all night selling drugs.  Being a short-order/line cook is one tough job, and I could still do it but I made a lot of mistakes.  Some nights I would have to look at a ticket over and over because I couldn’t commit it to memory.  I was wasting moves, as we call it.

Arms flying all over the place but not actually doing anything.  So much stress.  Nobody knew about my other life.  Nobody knew that the power was out in my apartment, or that I had to use the bathroom a lot so I could hit my meth pipe to keep going.  Or that I didn’t have vision because I didn’t have any more contact lenses and I literally could not see more than three feet away with any clarity, part of the reason I had to move back and forth so many times to read tickets.

I was a hot mess.  I can’t believe nobody ever asked me what was wrong with me.  But it was all over in mid-October.  At that point I began selling full time and it just got worse.

I spent the next couple months in various hotel rooms so I wouldn’t have to face the music back at my apartment in Fountain.  Hotel hopping, so nobody would see a pattern of in and out, in and out.  All my drug profits went to my personal high, scratch offs, and gas.  And food every now and then if I thought about it.  Somehow, for reasons unknown, I didn’t care.  I didn’t care about me, my family, or my real friends.  And I showed them by abandoning everything.

I am so grateful for this place.  And I’m proud of myself for sticking it out.  Nothing about boot camp is meant to be easy.  And it’s not.  But I have pushed myself harder and farther than I ever have.  Even when nobody else is looking.

Vince Maertz, PhD

VINCE

Today we got to play tug-of-war with our brothers in Hotel squad.  They came in the same day as us, India squad, about an hour before we arrived, so they have seniority on us for everything.  We lined up on the volleyball court.  16 men on each side and a thick red rope travelling the length of the court.

The rules were simple, not tying knots and no letting go.  It was a best of two out of three contest in which we did not need the third try, we were stronger.  We all cheered and felt pretty good about ourselves.

I also saw myself in a mirror today in just a T-shirt.  It’s been a while.  We are nearly always in our full khaki uniform and I couldn’t believe my eyes.  I looked good.  Defined pecs, trim stomach, and powerful arms.   I could have been a model for a boot camp ad in my khaki pants, grey T and shiny belt buckle.  I really am beginning to see the results of all my hard work.

Happy.

On the opposite pole, there is negativity all around me.  People just don’t want to do any work to get an early release.

I’ve written before that everybody here is in chemical dependency treatment even though not everybody here has or had a problem with drugs.  So, on occasion, I hear people talking about the fact that they aren’t weak-minded pu*#@s that can’t control their own lives, and other such comments.  I understand that life isn’t fair, and that part of this program is about punishment, but these guys get released into the general public at the same time too.  They do minimal work, minimal exercise, and they always have bad attitudes.  It sucks.

I got to go to the library.  That’s why Fridays are my favorite day.  I say that, to say this: The other day I wrote that I had been pondering such things as the existence of time and space and life and what not.  Well, today a book caught my eye, A Short History of Nearly Everything, by Bill Bryson.  I read the thing on the back of the book that makes you want to read a book and it basically said it would answer all of my questions in a sort of simple, sometimes humorous way.  I’ve only read the introduction so far but it has me captivated.  I even read the first two paragraphs of Chapter 1 which starts to explain what a proton is and already can tell that I will be able to understand it.  So I’m a scientist now.  Wait, are scientists Doctors?  Maybe this book will tell me.

[ANNE: I love Bill Bryson, who is definitely not a scientist.  I just re-read his book about traveling around Europe, Neither Here or There, because I am going to Germany in a couple weeks.  I think I’ll pick up this book Vince is reading and see if I too can become a scientist.  I tried reading Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time and couldn’t get past the second page.]

Bill Clinton Confesses

ANNE

No, it’s not what you think!  But Bill’s confession at the end of this July 16 editorial in the New York Times is a positive thing, and I think the piece is worth publishing verbatim, even if it is a bit longer than our usual posts.

President Obama Takes on the Prison Crisis

On Thursday, for the first time in American history, a president walked into a federal prison. President Obama was there to see for himself a small piece of the damage that the nation’s decades-long binge of mass incarceration has wrought.

Mr. Obama’s visit to El Reno, a medium-security prison in Oklahoma, capped off a week in which he spoke powerfully about the failings of a criminal justice system that has damaged an entire generation of Americans, locking up millions — disproportionately men of color — at a crippling cost to them, their families and communities, as well as to the taxpayers and society as a whole.

Speaking to reporters after touring the cells, Mr. Obama reflected on the people he met there. “These are young people who made mistakes that aren’t that different than the mistakes that I made, and the mistakes that a lot of you guys made. The difference is they did not have the kinds of support structures, the second chances, the resources that would allow them to survive those mistakes.”

This indisputable argument has been made by many others, most notably former Attorney General Eric Holder Jr., who was the administration’s most powerful advocate for sweeping justice reforms. But it is more significant coming from the president, not just in his words but in his actions. On Monday Mr. Obama commuted the sentences of 46 people, most serving 20 years or more, for nonviolent drug crimes. It was a tiny fraction of the more than 30,000 people seeking clemency, but the gesture recognized some of the injustices of America’s harsh justice system.

On Tuesday, in a wide-ranging speech to the N.A.A.C.P. [National Association for the Advancement of Colored People], Mr. Obama explained that people who commit violent crimes are not the reason for the exploding federal prison population over the last few decades. Most of the growth has come instead from nonviolent, low-level drug offenders caught up in absurdly harsh mandatory minimum sentences that bear no relation to the seriousness of their offense or to the maintenance of public safety.

“If you’re a low-level drug dealer, or you violate your parole, you owe some debt to society,” Mr. Obama said. “You have to be held accountable and make amends. But you don’t owe 20 years. You don’t owe a life sentence.”

Mandatory minimums like these should be reduced or eliminated completely, he said. Judges should have more discretion to shape sentences and to use alternatives to prison, like drug courts or community programs, that are cheaper and can be more effective at keeping people from returning to crime.

Mr. Obama also put a spotlight on intolerable conditions, like overuse of solitary confinement in which more than 80,000 inmates nationwide are held on any given day. Many are being punished for minor infractions or are suffering from mental illness. “Do we really think it makes sense to lock so many people alone in tiny cells for 23 hours a day, sometimes for months or even years at a time?” Mr. Obama asked. He said he asked the Justice Department to review this practice.

He talked about community investment, especially in early-childhood education and in lower-income minority communities, as the best way to stop crime before it starts. And he spoke of the importance of removing barriers to employment, housing and voting for former prisoners. “Justice is not only the absence of oppression,” Mr. Obama said, “it is the presence of opportunity.”

As Mr. Obama acknowledged, however, his powers are limited. Any comprehensive solution to this criminal justice catastrophe must come from Congress and the state legislatures which for decades enacted severe sentencing laws and countless other harmful measures. In recent years, the opposite trend has taken hold as lawmakers in both conservative and liberal states have reduced populations in state prisons — where the vast majority of inmates are held — as well as crime rates.

It’s time that Congress fixed the federal system. After failed efforts at reform, an ambitious new bill called the SAFE Justice Act is winning supporters, including, on Thursday, the House speaker, John Boehner, and may have enough bipartisan support to pass. It would, among several other helpful provisions, eliminate mandatory minimums for many low-level drug crimes and create educational and other programs in prison that have been shown to reduce recidivism.

One sign of how far the politics of criminal justice has shifted was a remark by former president Bill Clinton, who signed a 1994 law that played a key role in the soaring growth of America’s prison system. On Wednesday, Mr. Clinton said, “I signed a bill that made the problem worse. And I want to admit it.” It was a long overdue admission, and another notable moment in a week full of them.

All Lives Matter

ANNE

I have been avoiding the story of Sandra Bland since it broke about 10 days ago.  I was afraid it would be too heartbreaking.  I think I’m overwhelmed—a sure sign is that I switched to classical Minnesota Public Radio from the news version.  The case of Freddie Grey, the black man who died of broken neck after being handcuffed, put into the back of a police van, and driven all over town while he was tossed around helplessly, was my (heart)breaking point.

But this morning I switched back to the news and caught this story about Sandra Bland.  It contains audio clips of the interaction between Bland and the officer who pulled her over for not signaling a lane change.  In case you aren’t aware of what happened next, the interchange escalated, she was arrested and thrown in jail, where she allegedly hanged herself.

It was really, really hard to listen to, but not for the reason I’d expected.  I had assumed I would feel angry and powerless because yet another African American was dead after an interaction with a police officer.  And I did feel that.

But Sandra Bland reminded me so much of me—specifically my confrontation with a correctional officer that got me ejected from Moose Lake Correctional Facility and banned from visiting Vince for six months.  You can hear it in her voice, and in her pauses.  She is sick and tired of kowtowing.  Bland didn’t lose it as quickly as I did, but she was probably trying to put the brakes on herself since she is black, after all.

I wonder what would have happened to me if I had been black?  Would I have been thrown to the ground, arrested, and taken to jail?

I struggle with the race issue.  I know that black men, especially, are arrested and incarcerated at a higher rate than white ones.  After a police officer shot and killed a black teenager, Michael Brown, in Ferguson, Missouri, the U.S. Justice Department conducted an investigation which found a pattern of racial bias between 2012 and 2014 violating the Constitution and federal law.   For instance, while the population of Ferguson is 67% black, 93% of arrests were of black people.  You could say, “Maybe black people commit more crime,” but for even minor offenses like jay walking, nearly 100% of the arrests are of black people.  And when whites are arrested for jay walking, they are 68% more likely to have their charges dismissed than blacks are.

So why do I struggle with “the race issue” when it seems so clear cut?  It’s not that I doubt that black men are arrested and incarcerated at higher rates than white ones.  It’s that my son—despite the fact that he is white—is still in prison.  He is still serving a way-too-long sentence for his crimes and he is still being exploited for nearly free labor.  We are still paying through the nose for things like stamps, emails, and ramen.  It remains to be seen, but I am afraid he will be released with very, very little in the way of support or resources.  And he’s one of the lucky ones—he’s got me and others who are rooting for him and offering to buy him bedding or pants.

Yes, blacks are incarcerated at higher rates than whites; currently at St. Cloud they represent 31% of the prison population while they represent only 5% of Minnesota’s overall population.  But since whites make up 85% of Minnesota’s population, their numbers in Minnesota prisons are higher—there are 627 white men in St. Cloud, compared with 335 black men.

Do people think Vince shouldn’t be where he is—because he’s white?  Would some people dismiss him as a loser because, being white, he has no excuse not to be a mid-level manager by now with a wife and two kids and a house with a white picket fence in the suburbs?  Do people think all white men have it made by virtue of white privilege, and therefore the only explanation when they fail is that they’re bad seeds?

Starting Life Over / A Life Over

VINCE

As of yesterday I have a total of $238.90 in my gate saving account.  So, double that, and you have roughly what a prisoner makes in a year through our various jobs.  The most I made was 50 cents per hour sewing underpants together in Moose Lake.  The least I’ve made was here, in Willow River.  Divide $2.50 by 16 hours.  I’m horrible at math.  [15.6 cents per hour]

It’s not much to work with.  I’ve mentioned before that half of our pay goes into savings and half we can spend on items that for the most part, are well over retail price.  My current paycheck is $35 even, every two weeks.  So I get $17.50 to spend on envelopes (61 cents each), shoe insoles ($2.10 for two pair that last exactly two weeks), paper, pens, pain relievers, muscle rubs, and all the stuff we need/use, we pay for.  But, our food, bed, heat and AC, electricity are provided at no cost to us, so I’m okay with it.

Happy July fourth.  [The blog is several weeks behind real time.]  We will have a three-day weekend starting tomorrow (Friday).  That does not mean we have the day off.  In fact, we work extra hard, so that we won’t want to be incarcerated for holidays next year.  Well, that seems to be working for me.

Every time I catch myself thinking or saying that I’m tired, I think back to a year ago when I could be awake for days at a time.  Paranoia would set in after day three or four, and I would often take thing out of context and think people were out to get me.

I would hear my name in groups of people, or I thought I did.  Casual conversations would, in my mind, be people plotting to steal from me or turn me over to the cops.  I would flash them an angry face and storm out of wherever I was.  This was often when I would go out behind the wheel of two tons of steel.

On day five, the visual hallucinations kicked in.  Often I would see the same vision.  Snow coming down from a cloudless sky on a summer day.  I knew it wasn’t real, and I knew I shouldn’t be out in public like that.  But I had to keep “working.”  No more.  I’m so glad I got arrested.

Actually, I’m glad they sent me to prison.  I believe it’s the only way I could have quit.  Not just using, but the lifestyle that accompanied it.  I had to get away.  Most users/dealers just keep on racking up charge after charge.  Then end up with 10 year sentences because they showed career criminal tendencies.  I took the deal I made for prison time and at the same time let my co-defendant off the hook.  Now I’m ready to start life over.

[ANNE: Not everyone can start over, like Vince.  As delightful as snow falling on a summer day sounds, drugs and drug crimes ruin lives, families, and communities.  Here is just one story about a man who was found unconscious in a hotel room while his toddler daughter wandered crying into the lobby with a soiled diaper and his infant son slept on the floor near his methamphetamine pipe.  Meth, which is so highly toxic that people who sell their homes now have to sign statements swearing they have not used or made meth on the premises.  How will this father ever, ever get over the guilt?  What will social workers tell the toddler when daddy goes away to prison for years?  How will the father and son ever make up for the lost opportunity for early attachment?  How will the mother and father ever repair their relationship, if they aren’t already divorced?  Maybe now you won’t think I’m hard when I say Thank God Vince never had children.]

Bad Willie

VINCE

We’re sitting in treatment in a windowless room, when all hell breaks loose.  We know the clouds were darker than usual when we came here.  The chemical dependency building is about 150 feet away from the barracks.  We march over.

It sounds as if a million woodpeckers are searching the corrugated metal roof for their dinner.  It’s deafening.  I know it’s a hail storm, but others don’t because they can’t see it.

Our counselor leaves the room briefly and comes right back, to tell us we can go look outside.  And what I see is cool as hell.  The ground is covered in what looks like those 1 cent white mint-flavored gum balls and golf balls.  The ground is being bombarded by these in the millions.  It’s been only two minutes since I heard the first one hit the roof, and already they’re three inches deep.

Accompanying the hail is a rain so heavy that it, too, appears white and forms a wall that blocks our view of everything else.  It’s beautiful.  I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.

Ten minutes later…heavy rain continues.  Something tells me I’m going to be very busy tomorrow on Restorative Justice Work Crew.  If there’s any damage from the storm such as downed trees or even flooding, we’ll be there to clear debris, make sandbags, and do whatever else we can to help.  I’ll write more after treatment.  (Treatment is really boring today.)

Back in the barracks.  I can see out of a window again!

The sun is out, the ground is still covered with hail, but it’s melting and creating fog, so it looks like the hail is slowly crawling its way back up to the clouds.

The hailstorm nearly wiped out our entire crop.  Over four acres, no, maybe six acres…dang.  I don’t recall.  But it destroyed a lot of organic matter.  It also caused some minor flooding in Willow River so today myself and eight others swept and shoveled all of the sand and dirt left on Main Street.  Six hours of sand removal.  Ugh.

It was another exhausting day.  As it turned out, wet sand is just as heavy as cement.  Who knew.  I’m happy that this day is over.  69 days and a wake up.

[ANNE: There’s been a lot of buzz lately about Obama’s clemency program.  As of this writing, he has commuted the sentences of 68 prisoners, some of whom had been sentenced to life in prison for nonviolent drug offenses.

As I understand it, the program is only available to federal prisoners.  I don’t know the total pool of prisoners who were eligible, but 30,000 applied.  So 68 were granted clemency out of 30,000…and that doesn’t take into account prisoners like Vince, who are not federal prisoners.

Well, the intention is good, and it’s a start and just one part of the overall momentum to reform drug and sentencing laws.

What they are really afraid of on the Democratic side is another Willie Horton.  He’s the prisoner who was furloughed for a weekend while serving a life sentence for murder.  He decided to spend his weekend committing assault, armed robbery, and rape.  The incident torpedoed the presidential campaign of Massachusetts Governor Michael Dukakis.  Such an incident couldn’t be pinned on Hillary Clinton, but it would feed into the Republican narrative that Democrats are weak, and soft on crime.