Chapter 19
The Magic Bus Perhaps within two months of my arrival to MCC Miami, I overheard some other prisoners talking about some mysterious "magic bus" that supposedly whisked unknown.
prisoners away
in the
middle of the
night to destinations
I paid little attention to these conversations since they seemed
too unreal to believe - sort of like all those bigfoot and Loch Ness monster stories I heard as a kid. But as I neared my first anniversary of prison time, I began hearing more and more about this mythical magic bus and actually met someone who claimed to have been a passenger on several of the midnight runs the bus allegedly makes on an ongoing basis.
His name was Lloyd, or at least that's how he introduced himself to me. I was in the hole again after trying to send out yet another batch of letters. Lloyd was brought into my cell in the wee hours of the morning and since the seg unit was full, I got the pleasant surprise of a guest. He was a friendly fellow with curly gray hair and he squinted behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. If he had a beard, he'd make a great St. Nick. I guessed he must have been about 60 years of age and he spoke with a distinct British accent. His articulate vocabulary suggested he was a well-educated man.
It's considered rude and a bit dangerous to ask a prisoner why he's behind bars.
If they want you to know they'll eventually tell you, and that's the
attitude I adopted from day one. But I learned Lloyd's story only because he asked me to help him get a message out to a friend of his in the free world. When I told him that might not be for a few weeks (I had no idea how long I'd be in the hole this time), he said that "a few weeks would be just fine".
He had me memorize a telephone number of a woman in
San Diego, California and after I assured him I wouldn't' forget the number, 386
he proceeded to give me a rather strange message to relay "Tell Roger at the BBC that the Americans picked me up as soon as I landed in L.A. and have me on this never-ending bus ride all over the damn country for the last six months. Sylvia has my audit summary but the CIA confiscated all the ledgers".
After hearing this, I couldn't help but laugh, and poor Lloyd must have thought
I assumed
he was nuts judging from his facial expression.
"You think I'm a loon do you?" he asked. I'm laughing.
"No Lloyd, that's not why
It's just that in my 30 years in the free world,
only one CIA employee,
I met
but in the last two years, I've met over a
dozen, and we always seem to meet here in the hole!" I then went on to tell Lloyd a bit about George
Morales,
Jesus Garcia, and the
others. But Lloyd was quick to tell me "I never knew I was working for the bastards until it was too late" "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.
"I was one of the auditors working for the Nugan Hand Bank
in Australia".
That meant absolutely
nothing to me and I never even
heard of such a bank and I told him so.
Lloyd seemed amazed at
my ignorance and assured me that the Nugan Hand Bank was one of the biggest public scandals summarized
the following
in the History of Australia,
for me;
and he
When one of the Bank directors
committed suicide and left an explosive note suggesting that the bank was willfully
laundering
drug
investigation
ensued.
That
actually
moneys
on a daily
investigation
revealed
basis, a major that
the
CIA
owned the bank, had many CIA officials on the board of
directors, and was in fact laundering drug moneys in the billions of dollars from the infamous golden triangle. Lloyd went on to say that a woman named Penny Lenroux authored an expose book entitled "IN BANKS
WE
TRUST" and that he (Lloyd) was suspected of leaking
information to her.
Lloyd said that he received over a dozen death 387
threats and decided to leave Australia and move to the U.S.
But
before leaving he made the mistake of taking a call from a BBC reporter and during the call, agreed to meet with him in Los Angeles. The reporter claimed that he was expanding
the Nugan Hand scandal
to include some other Asian and European banks he believed were also owned by the CIA.
That meeting never took place according to Llyod.
Instead, Lloyd
said he arrived at LAX airport and was immediately
"detained"
U.S. Customs who said they wanted to ask him a few questions.
by But
instead of Customs officials, two DEA agents came in and advised Llyod
that
he was
under
arrest
for
"Conspiracy
to
import
and
distribute heroin". I knew Lloyd for less than nine hours, but he was no drug
smuggler
by any
stretch
of the
imagination.
From the
moment of his arrest, Lloyd claims he was not once permitted
a
phone call and the only lawyer he spoke with in the last six month was a Public Defender who made an appearance at his arraignment. Had I not already met Morales, Tolliver, and Garcia, I might not have even listened to this man. But having the benefit of spending days on end with all three of those guys and knowing their stories to be true, Lloyd's
credibility
was not an issue with
me. He spoke with the
conviction of outrage that cannot be faked nor fabricated. I could also hear the
desperation
incommunicado
and frustration
in his voice
of being kept
for six months. He was scared and it showed.
He
was also quite worried that his family would be worried sick about him.
But most of all Lloyd was angry. He was arrested and booked
under a name other than his own, and he was told that it was done "for
your
own
protection".
Yet
now he said
it was
the
U.S.
government that he feared the most.
388
But what intrigued me the most was this endless bus trip Lloyd was on. After Llyod rattled off a list of some three dozen prisons and jails he visited over the last six months, I came to the realization that the "magic bus" was far more than a mere rumor.
He stayed at some
facilities for a few hours and yet others for a few days, but he was always kept in segregation or a holding cell. Lloyd explained to me how he was continuously denied access to a telephone and was told by a guard that this was simply a "security precaution" that was in place for every prisoner "in transit". communicate guidelines.
with a lawyer
Even the constitutional
is overridden
by the
right to
BOP's
And herein lies the clever and devious
security
beauty of the
magic bus stratagem ...
The U.S. Bureau of Prisons has over a hundred years of experience dealing
with
embarrassing
prisoners kind.
of all sorts With
time,
they
even
those
of a politically
have
perfected
some
very
effective methods of dealing with these prisoners and the inquisitive news
media
that sometimes
catches
the scent
of scandal.
By
exploiting the loopholes of U.S. Justice Dept. policies and invoking "security concerns" that never need to be explained nor validated to anyone, prison staffers can keep a prisoner legally incommunicado for months or even years. Here's their ostensible justification ...
Any prisoner being moved from one prison facility to another poses a potential
security
escape
risk,
risk since
especially
if
that the
movement prisoner
presents
being
moved
a potential has the
389
opportunity
to communicate
with potential cohorts in the free world.
Based on this scenario, Justice Department policy writers were easily convinced
to establish a security policy which denies prisoners the
right to communicate
while actually in transit. The same policy also
prohibits the BOP from disclosing the actual location of a prisoner, even to his own lawyer of record, until the prisoner reaches his final destination.
If used and not abused, this policy is sensible since one
assumes that transit time would only be a day or two at very most because the U.S. Marshall Service actually flies prisoners around on their own chartered 727.
But when a prison official decides to transport a prisoner by bus from the East Coast to the West Coast and back a few times, this policy takes
on a whole
new dimension,
and essentially
serves to keep a prisoner totally incommunicado. prolonged
indefinitely
simply by constantly
"destination" on the BOP's computer.
This game can be
changing the ultimate
So if a prisoner at MCC Miami
is sent on his way by bus to Lompoc keystrokes
and effectively
prison in California,
a few
five days later could have him on his way to his "new"
Atlanta
prison destination!
thought
Blackwell's
Until I learned about the magic bus, I
telephone
log tactics was the best BOP fraud
going.
At any rate, Lloyd left as suddenly as he arrived. Miami was all of about 36 hours. Foster's
His visit at MCC
After he was gone, I recalled Lt.
previous threats to "shoot your ass up with Thorazine and
stick you on the magic bus for a few months".
Now I took his words
more seriously since I finally discovered the magic bus was a genuine reality that could not easily be ignored.
386
But my parole hearing would be coming up in a few short weeks and I would be saying adios to this nightmare so I need not worry about Foster nor the magic bus. Or so I thought anyway.
Soon I myself
would be on the USA bus tour of the magic bus tour compliments of the U.S. Justice Department.
During the balance of my stay in the hole, I managed to meet Gary Betzner, who happened to be Morales' ace chief pilot. cell
for
about
a week
before
I was
finally
We shared a
released
back
into
population. We spent hours talking about aviation and aircraft since we were both pilots. Gary seemed to know every intricacy of most private planes and taught me more about maneuvers
and aircraft
handling than Terry Muniz (my flight instructor in Puerto Rico) ever did.
Gary grew up in rural Arkansas and was flying cropdusters in his
teens.
He could
easily
be flying
for
United Airlines
instead of
Morales, but Gary thrived on adventure and the lure of big bucks.
Apparently
George had told Gary about me because within two days
we were talking about the guns and drugs George and Gary had been
running
Congressional
for
Uncle
Sam.
Gary
had
told
me
that
the
investigator (Ralph Maestri) who was coming to see
George was also going to interview him, but that George was cutting a secret deal with the CIA to remove the White
House from the
equation and put the blame on a couple of "low level rogue military officers". The CIA had already sent an agent posing as a lawyer to meet with George,
but now Gary was worried
that he would be
excluded from the deal that would get George a "Get Out Of Jail" pass. Gary had good cause to be concerned.
If George didn't include
Gary in his deal, Betzner could spend the next 25 years of his life 387
behind bars. My advice to Gary was by now routine,
"don't trust
anyone form the U.S. government who wasn't willing to back up their verbal promises with a letter to your lawyer". cooperate
with
Maestri
closed door hearings.
and testify Unfortunately,
his deal, so in desperation
Ultimately Gary would
before Senator
John
Kerry in
Morales didn't include Gary in
Gary ignored his usual good judgment,
and misplaced his trust in a jailhouse snitch named Terry Brito to help arrange
a helicopter
helicopter
escape
about
a year later. As planned
the
arrived to hoist Gary from the soccer field to freedom,
except the pilot and passenger were both FBI agents, and Gary was hit with new escape charges and moved permanently
to the hole
where I would meet him yet again in about a year.
Less than a week before my scheduled parole hearing, I was paged on the PA system to report to R&D (Receiving
and Discharge).
I
immediately knew something was wrong but was not allowed to use a telephone. I was escorted to R&D and was not allowed to retrieve any of my files nor legal papers.
Once in R&D I asked a dozen questions but received only one answer "Shut up and get in the holding cell". About
an
hour
later
Lt.
Foster walked in and with a big smile announced "You're stay with us is over Gorcyca, I hope you found our hospitality satisfactory?" am I going?"
I demanded
"Where
to know. "You'll find out when you get
there" he replied as he began walking away. "But my parole hearings is next week!" strode Foster's
away
I exclaimed. out
previous
of
sight.
threat
"I know"
Foster
I sat there
acknowledged
stewing
in anger
as he recalling
to make me miss my parole hearing.
Wherever I was going, I wouldn't be here to get my freedom from the 388
parole board. My sentencing guidelines and the judge both said I'd only be required to serve 13 months, of my five year sentence
and that 13
months would be up in less than a month. After three hours two U.S. Marshalls came to claim me and transport me to the Dade County Jail.
To put it mildly, the Dade County Jail is one scary and violent place not to mention filthy and grossly
overcrowded.
Thirty
guys were
forced to live a space no bigger than an average two car garage. I was there less than a full day when a man in our dormitory cell was stabbed
by another
gambling debt.
prisoner,
allegedly
because
he reneged on a
I was one of two white people in a 12 foot
cell block of about 30, mostly Afro-American
by 25 foot
black men and a handful
of Cubans. I never saw so many tattoos in one place than in this cell. These guys were veteran criminals and Miami's worst. prison, the prisoners were sophisticated
In federal
drug smugglers, fraudsters,
and maybe a bank robber or two, but this place housed murderers,
rapists, and other violent thugs.
I would
spend
prisoner,
and in retrospect, this was
a
few months
places I've ever been. but
that
all the
violence
Sure there
here even though
I was a federal
by far one of the
was
was orchestrated
violence
most violent
in federal
prison,
by the prison staff, here at
DCJ every prisoner was a potential time bomb and if they were having a bad day, anyone within reach could easily become their victim when they exploded.
Here a prisoner
shoes
away
snatched
could
have
his
meal
tray
or
by another, and unless you were prepared to
fight, you could easily go hungry and barefoot.
It truly was survival
of the strongest and the weak either submitted or perished .. The law of the jungle
prevailed over
all
aspects
of life
here,
and
unlike 389
federal prison, most of the men locked up here truly belonged here. Many
of
the
withdrawal
occupants recently
which
arrested
were
going
through
provided constant noise, annoyance and tensions.
It would only be a matter of time before someone in the cell reached their level of tolerance and blow up in ball of violence upon the source of the noise.
After only three days in this hell hole, some gorilla appropriately named "Dog" tried to rape me in the shower stall. for the attack, and he caught me totally off-guard.
I was not prepared From behind he
grabbed and twisted at my wet hair trying to force me down onto the floor.
Even though he was twice my size, I was not about to let
myself be raped without a good fight at least.
I would poke his eyes
out if I had to. From four years of high school wrestling,
I instinctively
went for his knees for a takedown knowing I'd stand a better chance if I could get him down on the ground.
But as he came down he began
punching me furiously and those punches were finding their mark specifically nose.
my face and I could feel warm blood gushing out of my
I shouted for help but I might as well have been in the middle
of the Sahara desert. As I looked up, I saw dog straddling me and holding his huge, erect penis in his hand with a goofy crazed look on his face. "Time for a little suck and fuck!" he announced.
If he put his
dick anywhere near my mouth I was determined to bite it right off.
But by the grace of God I was saved from the ultimate humiliation when yet a bigger gorilla named Willie Steed appeared and pulled Dog off of me and handed him his towel. Dog protested vigorously but it was clear that Steed was the top dog in this cell block. bulging muscles and scarred flesh,
With his
I assumed Steed saw and won 390
his share of scraps. "Thanks" was all I could say.
"Thanks my ass -
you owe me your dinner tray for a week white boy!" he clarified. problem" and it wasn't.
"No
I'd much rather go hungry for a week that get
my asshole reamed by anyone, much less someone named "Dog". But this incident stayed,
convinced
I would
me that I didn't
belong
here and if I
not survive for very long. These guys were cold-
blooded warriors who had little if anything to lose.
Everyone in the
cell would now think I am weak and would try to take advantage of me. And I couldn't give all of my food trays to Steed. I would have to do something to make them think otherwise.
If I didn't do something,
there would surely be more of these attacks. I devised a plan that under
any other
circumstances,
I wouldn't
even
consider.
I am
generally a peaceful kind of guy.
Early the following morning while everyone was still asleep, I plugged in the coffeepot
and as the water
boiled,
I unscrewed
the broom
handle from the broom just in case I needed it.
After all, this Dog
character
in this
might actually
have a friend
or two
dump.
I
unplugged the coffee pot and slowly walked over to Dog who slept soundly in a bottom bunk. "Yo my man!" I whispered to him.
As he
growled and gradually opened his eyes, I emptied the coffee pot on his head and neck and began pummeling his face with my fists.
His
screams woke everyone in the cell and in ten minutes some of the occupants were calling for a guard hollering "Get this crazy fuck outta here!"
391
By the time I was transferred
to
another cell, the word had already spread
that
I was a "crazy white
boy" and for the rest of my stay at the Dade County Jail, no one much talked with me, much less provoked me. My plan had exceeded expectations
and
my
I was quite
relieved. I got my own cell for a week and did not have to fight anyone – it My private cell at Dade County Jail
was like a vacation from hell. A few
looked like this one without the fine art.
days later I received a letter in a
government envelope this
letter sealed.
from MCC Miami.
I was surprised
to receive
I had grown accustomed t o being the second or
third person to read my mail by now. page and read the only type-written
I extracted
the single folded
sentence it contained -
you're enjoying your stay at the Dade County Jail?".
"I hope
It was unsigned
of course, but I'd bet my last nickel this was Foster's sick humor at work.
Time would confirm my suspicions.
I left the Dade County
Jail some six months later and was returned to MCC Miami.
Foster was just beaming when he saw me sitting in R&D on my arrival.
"I hoped you learned some manners while you were away" he
chirped.
I remained silent in contempt. As he probed through some
notes, poetry, and correspondence the mystery letter.
I acquired at DCJ, he came upon
He grabbed it, waved it to get my attention and
said "I see you got my letter. How come you didn't postcard?" Blackwell's
Again, I said nothing, and was assigned unit.
Oh joy.
send me a right back to
In a strange sort of way, I was glad to be 392
back at MCC Miami
I guess any place is better than the Dade
County Jail other than Stark County, Florida and the Atlanta Penitentiary.
I was back less than a week before the old gang found me and I was back at work in the law library, typing and translating motions, legal opinions, and case law for the guys.
By this time the Iran Contra
fiasco was making it's way through the halls of Congress and Morales had me write his final letters to Donald Gregg, William Casey, and Joe Fernandez.
George had agreed to turn over some photographs
he had acquired of himself and a Texas politician that would make the front page of any newspaper or magazine, and go along with the white house script.
He asked me to type his statement which I did
three times due to one revision, deletion, or addition after another until it met with the approval of the pols pulling his strings.
His final
sanitized statement which he took to Washington with him was a mere shadow of the real story. Senator Kerry would never learn that President
Reagan, Vice President Bush, and CIA Director Casey
were all quite aware of these clandestine operations which received the blessings of all three men. In fact, Morales claimed he received a personal "Thank You" call from the White House only two months before he was arrested.
It didn't take long for word to get back to Foster that I was helping the other prisoners with their legal work. He never did approve of my volunteer work so to speak, because most of the Spanish speaking prison population when never get the chance to file a grievance or motions
without
someone
like me to explain
elaborate forms and procedures.
and translate
the
He made it very clear to me in an
unusual outburst one night when he visited me in the library as I was 393
helping Lennard Baptiste (aka Papi) of Dominica write a letter to the Justice Department
about the illegal seizure of a cargo ship
he owned. Eventually it was determined that a handful of crew members of the boat were smuggling drugs without the knowledge and against the warnings of Baptiste.
In any event,
Foster
demanded
that I stop helping other inmates
with their problems and as he stated "Serve your own time and mind your own business". moral,
I replied that what I was doing was quite legal,
and ethical
requesting
it.
and everyone
Unlike
some
that
I helped had come to me
of the jailhouse
lawyers who
actually
charged fees, usually paid in cartons of cigarettes or moneys sent to their account from outside
relatives,
I charged
nothing and only
helped those I felt were being railroaded by Uncle Sam. As I mentioned earlier on, I always root for the underdog and there can be no greater underdog
than someone
government. 20%
of
entrapped
Without exaggeration,
the
prisoners
and prosecuted
by the U.S.
I can honestly say that a good
incarcerated
in
federal
prisons,
are
innocent people who were transformed into instant criminals by some government
entrapment
scheme usually of the "conspiracy"
variety
which requires only that a crime was discussed or planned even if it was never
committed.
Over
"conspiracy" related charges. English,
separated
from
30% of all federal convictions are for When I saw a man who couldn't speak
his wife
and
children
potentially for a decade or more, I did whatever
by such
shams -
I could to help him.
My efforts helped two men get new trials on appeal and five others get reduced sentences.
But I also incurred the further wrath of the
prison administration by doing so, and Foster was determined to take me out of circulation.
Trying to resolve the matter diplomatically,
I
394
asked
Foster rather politely
helping these guys.
When
if I was violating
any BOP policy by
he just glared at me, I assumed
the
answer was what I suspected - No.
But as much as Foster would rant, rave, and threaten, I knew better than to argue or do anything to provoke him. In fact, I avoided being in the same room with him whenever possible. But he enjoyed getting in my face to remind me that he controlled my life behind bars. He even boasted that he had the power to keep me jailed indefinitely with "new charges" if he so desired. I didn't doubt him for a second. He left the library that night threatening translating
other prisoner's
that if he ever saw me typing or
paperwork again, he'd stick me back in
the hole. Just a week later he made good on his threat.
395
396
397
398
399
400
I was in the law library helping Erling Ingvaldsen of Norway draft a letter of complaint concerning the professional misconduct of Broward County Sheriff Nick Navarro, a well known cowboy in South Florida who was on the Presidential Bush administrations. his COPS television
Drug Task Force of the Reagan and
Navarro was always in the public limelight for show and many press conferences.
It seemed
that Nick himself was profiting handsomely from confiscated drugs that he'd sell back to other
dealers
including
Benitez
d irectly involved in the murder of smuggler/dealer Ingvaldsen
and
had been
Vic Simone. Erling
one of the few people who could prove it, was jailed and
charged to isolate the threat of exposure.
When Erling's young son
Egil came to the defense of his father and also vowed to expose the Navarro
operation,
Egil
was
picked
up
and
forced
to
sign
prepared statements while Navarro held a loaded gun to his head. Simone's
stolen cocaine was actually
personal residence after Ingvaldsen
discovered
inside Navarro's
sent a tip to the news media and
some honest federal agents, but Nick simply explained that the 30 kilos of cocaine were in his house because he didn't want to keep them in the sheriff office vault since they "might be stolen from the sheriff's office".
Nobody really bought the story but Navarro was not
touched by prosecutors.
Little did I know then that I myself would
meet Navarro and have business dealings with the man some ten years later.
Indeed in was in 1998 when I was the president of Globus Group on Brickell Drive in Miami when Navarro’s lawyer Kirk Girbach would series of meetings between Navarro, myself, and others taking
one
of
Nick's
arrange for
a the
purpose
of
private
companies public. The
company
held patents on and manufactured
some unique security 401
devices including wireless highway call boxes. But when Nick offered to pay me in cocaine instead of money for a NASDAQ shell. When
I
refused he then suggested and asked me to help launder a million dollars pay
through
me
and
a stock deal for him so he could the
market
makers.
It was
buy the shell and
then
that
I
instantly
recalled the Ingvaldsen case and remembered that I was dealing with a real criminal who hid behind a badge for more than twenty years. I could not forget how Benitez had told me that both he and Navarro wanted Simone dead, and how they made it so. But I have to admit that chance to make $500,000 temporarily
blinded me as to who I
was really dealing with. Alone with Nick, I casually mentioned that we had mutual associates.
When he couldn't guess who, I dropped the
names
and Simone
of Ingvaldsen
on him and
he just
laughed.
"What's so funny Nick?" I asked and he replied "I personally sent one of those guys to prison for life and the other to hell".
He further
boasted that he was the last one to see Simone alive. When I didn't share in his laughter he tried to lighten matters a bit with his idea of a joke "Did you meet them in prison or hell?" "I gotta go Nick. proposal to Kirk".
I'll get a
I decided then and there that I would never do business with
Navarro
even
if
I was
homeless and starving.
Not wishing decent
guy,
to explain myself to Kirk, a real I submitted
knew Navarro wouldn't
a proposal
I attempted
involvement two
I
like and managed to
extricate myself from that relationship. when
that
Later
to explain Navarro's past
in the murder of Vic Simone to
different FBI agents
(Coleman
and 402
Quintana)
they told me they simply "weren't
interested" and one
of the agents suggested that Simone "got what he deserved - early retirement".
Seldom
if ever,
investigation
will
against
one law
enforcement
agent
take
up
an
another, much less against someone they know
and worked with on joint task force.
As in the now famous
Salvati
case, even solving an old murder case was not enough motivation to open an investigation
against
an old friend
of the
FBI.
The feds
prosecute for their own convenience and very selectively.
Apparently
it benefits
rather the
them
more to
prosecute the whistle
blowers
perpetrators to avoid casting shadows of doubt on the overall integrity of the criminal justice system to which they both belong.
This is the
unspoken and reciprocal law honored by federal agents, u.s. attorneys, and most judges themselves.
This
the majority of which are former prosecutors
readily
accounts for
why
very
few government
corruption cases make it to a court room and why most of the cases get sealed, safely removed from the eyes of the public and the media. "Justice for all" is not a reality in America today.
But back in the law library that night, I had just finished preparing a statement or George Morales to give to Ralph Maestri and started on Elring’s complaint, when my pal Foster walked over to the IBM Selectric typewriter and snatched my work right out of the carriage. He seemed elated to find Erling's paperwork in my typewriter.
He stood me up and
cuffed me, then once again marched me off to the hole. I was determined to make this my last visit to the hole and put my mind to work. I was going to stand my ground on this one and tell the new warden (Clark) the whole story of Foster's crusade to censor me.
My mistake was assuming that 403
Mr. Clark was of the same calibre and integrity as James Meko.
I soon
discovered that Clark was of the old school and never believed an inmate over one of his own staff and gave his staff his full support whether they were right or wrong. So after I spent a good ten minutes detailing all of Foster's threats, giving him a list of witnesses that overheard the threats and even watched Foster steal some 600 pages of notes that were really my disguised prison diary, along with my legal file, correspondence file, and the first eleven chapters of
INSIDE LOOKING OUT (my attempt to
write a book about prison life), he just looked at me and replied with a single word - "So?" warden.
That single word told me volumes about the
new
I asked him if he could tell me on what grounds I was placed
in the hole since their paperwork would have to reflect some violation of prison policy and again he kept his response to an absolute minimum "No".
By now, I had arranged for other prisoners to call my mother and a close friend whenever I was taken to the hole so they would not wonder why I wasn't calling or writing. After the third day in the hole I decided I would protest the censorship issue the only way I could from isolation - with a hunger strike. Prison officials really don't like hunger strikes because it is one scenario they really can't hide or cover-up since the medical staff has to be alerted and records are created. die from a hunger strike, people higher prisoners
were
And if someone were to
up might even learn that
kept in solitarily routinely for no legitimate reason.
But no one paid much attention to me until my 10th day when Mr. Clark appeared at my cell door and asked why I wasn't eating. I informed him that I would continue my hunger personal
papers
strike
until
my
legal
papers
and
were returned to me. "I see". Was all he said and
disappeared. 404
The next day I was taken out for a shower and was surprised to see Morales back in solitary standing in the cell next to
mine.
We
exchanged greetings and when I came back from my shower. We talked briefly through the walls. "Don't worry amigo - I'm getting you some help. I told a few of the reporters that came to see me about you and your IRS friend who was murdered and they'll come to see you" Just lovely - that would to really piss off Foster I recall thinking to myself. I thanked George anyway and went to sleep.
When I awoke, George was moved to a
different cell or possibly released back into population.
After two full
weeks I guess I lost about ten or fifteen pounds but I actually still felt pretty good, just a little weak.
I was still drinking fluids and suddenly Foster seemed so concerned about me and began making daily visits to my cell trying to persuade me to eat.
Then one of the guards told me why.
Some woman reporter was
calling and asking questions about me. The next day, Foster showed up at my cell with a telephone and told instructed me to tell the person on the other end of the phone that I was okay and not being mistreated. "Whose on the line?" I asked. "Someone at the DOJ".
I'd learn later that it was
really a woman reporter from a local television station (WPLG).
I told
Foster I wasn't going to lie for him nor this prison and went to lie down. I have no idea how he handled that call but two days later a guard brought me out of my cell and said "Foster wants you to shave and put on some clean clothes". "Tell Foster to give me back my legal papers" was all I said and refused to shave or change.
What happened next is a bit foggy
because I went back to sleep.
405
I don't
know how long I was asleep
but my dreams were
rudely
interrupted with a sharp pain in my buttocks. I was asleep in my cell. I decided to pass on the polo match, was too tired for some tennis, and the theatre was sold out. Thus I was asleep in my cell. With his usual grace Foster appeared in the doorway after beating the steel door like a drum to jolt me awake. He was holding an empty syringe in his one hand and a clipboard in the other. I realized now that he just gave me a shot of something. “What did you do Foster?” He insisted it was a vitamin shot that he claimed the law requires all prisoners on hunger strikes get. That in fact may be true, but every shot I received behind bars had always come from a nurse. I sensed something was up, but I felt very relaxed and peaceful, not wanting to argue any more.
He handed me a pen and a paper. “Sign here” he said. I looked and saw nothing but a signature
line. Long
short
refused
I
to
story sign
anything he gave me, even after he gave me the first page to read. What he wanted me to sign was a statement that I was in good health and I did not have any need or desire to speak with any reporters, and I did not even want to have visitors, …and the person in the Polaroid he just snapped of me was in fact me. “You must be nuts Foster. I’m not signing that”. There was also another blank page with just a signature line for me to sign. I looked at him and told him he was wasting his time – I would not sign anything.. He then made a modest effort to bribe me…”Sign it and you can have your mail and a 30 minute phone call to your mother”. “No thanks” I replied and crawled back under my blanket. 406
15 minutes later Foster was back with Blackwell and a new guard I never saw before, They forcefully pulled me out of my cell into an empty cell where they had a chair waiting for me. The burly guard and Blackwell sat me down in the chair and grabbed my left arm and extended it. Altho ugh I tried to resist I did not have much strength. I then saw Foster coming at me with a hypodermic needle with maybe 10 cc of a clear liquid inside. He told me it was a vitamin B12 shot. I didn’t believe him for a second. At the moment he inserted the needle into my vein, I jerked away violently and the needle ripped from under my skin. (I still have that scar on my arm today) I was not going to be put to sleep. But I did not fall asleep. In less than 2 minutes I felt groggy and sort of drunk. I actually extremely felt calm and peaceful. They bandaged my arm and marched me out to the visiting room. All I really remember was hearing Michael Mansfield’s familiar friendly voice telling me the tiny girl sitting at the table was “Susan”. I remember someone asking if I was on drugs, and Foster saying something about me being an addict in rehab. I remember feeling a small glimmer of hope that someone came to rescue me. I think I blacked out after that or merely fell asleep. I simply cannot recall. What I do
407
remember about the lady is that she was very tiny and had really blue eyes. I know she spoke to me but honestly cannot recall what she said. When she did speak with me it was as if there were three
of her talking to me at once – echoes. Mike asked me if I was drugged and I remember that I was too afraid to speak with the guard standing right behind him, but I nodded my head to indicate “yes” They probably all thought I was either drunk or mentally deranged. coherent.
I don't think I was able to say anything
I remember her giving me a business card and telling me
something to the effect to call her when I was feeling better.
After they left, Foster and friends took her card from me and then took me back to the hole where I was just glad to lay down on a stationary surface and sleep. The following day, one of the more decent guards told me that Foster was worried that he used too much Thorazine on me.
I now
realized how and why Chris Simmons had such unusual conversations with me in seg. Never one to use drugs, that experience scared the hell out of me and now whenever Foster paid a visit, my eyes quickly searched his hands for another syringe. Michael was my knight in shining armor – he came to save me with a reporter and I could not e ven talk with him. A shot of Thorazine is like drinking a bottle of Tequila. Your mind is working but much slower than normal and your body simply will not cooperate in a timely fashion with the commands being sent by your brain.
408
Somewhere around the 21st-23th
day of my hunger strike I was tricked
into eating. Foster showed up in my cell holding a garbage bag. It was semi-transparent and I could see it was half full of papers. "You win Gorcyca - eat and you can have your papers back", I didn't believe him for a minute so I analyzed the situation and finally replied. "I'll eat in the cafeteria after you give me my papers back on the compound". He rolled his eyes as if he had to think it over and said "Fair enough - let's go". He led me out of seg over to the cafeteria, holding the garbage bag the entire time. I saw Morales there baking the morning breakfast rolls.
"Well get yourself
something to eat". I fixed myself a bowl of oatmeal and grabbed a banana and a glass of milk.
As I scarfed them down, I noticed one of the
administrative aides taking my picture with a polaroid camera.
After
the picture developed, Foster handed it to me with a pen and ordered me to sign and date the photograph. "Why?" I asked.
He answered
me with a question of his own "Do you want your papers back or not?" I signed and dated the picture, I assumed to document the end of my hunger strike. me
Foster surprisingly
honored
his word and handed
the garbage bag which I put on the floor and went for a second
helping of food. I gorged
myself on fruit until I could eat no more.
The guys in the kitchen welcomed
me back and Joe Kuhn , my
supervisor gave me the day off.
So I went back to my housing unit and discovered was a chain smoking Cuban who had Santeria over the cell.
He seemed
like an amiable
my new cellmate
icons scattered
all
guy but being a non-
smoker all my life I immediately was overcome by the smoke and felt nauseated.
He had used wet toilet paper to completely fill the sensor
vent holes of the smoke alarm.
I asked the unit guard for a cell
change as was the procedure prisoners were told to use when they 409
found themselves with "incompatible" we have a full house this week.
cellies.
"No can do Gorcyca -
Check back with me next week".
There was no way I could endure all that smoke for a day let alone a week.
I filled out three written requests for a cell change and sent
one to the warden, one to the medical officer, and one to the housing unit manager.
It was then that I learned from the unit guard that
Foster (who knew very well I was a non-smoker) specifically assigned me to that cell with an inmate we all called "Smokey" for his three pack a day habit.
Only the medical officer approved my request for a
cell change so I was asked to sit in one of the common areas to wait for a new cell.
While I was waiting, I untied the knotted garbage bag to start sorting my papers.
But as soon as I dumped the contents of the bag onto
the floor in front of me, I realized bag of trash!
Foster gave me nothing but a
Not even one of my papers were in the bag. He got me
good and I had to give him credit for pulling one over on me.
As I
scooped the trash back into the bag George Morales walked in "Hey man, I've been looking for you" he announced. typing f or a few
days
something typed.
George"
I replied
"I'm not up for any
assuming
he wanted
"No my friend, I have some good news for you" he
said as he reached into his pocket and handed me a small piece of paper on which telephone
was written
number.
the name "Ty West"
"What's this George?"
and a New York
"He's a producer from
NBC News and we've been talking with him about the guns for drugs gig, and I mentioned "And
he wants
your IRS story to him."
you to call him at that
"And?" and I asked.
number
collect". "Thanks
George". 410
I was touched that George would go out of his way to help me like that. I wasted no time in calling the number and got through to the man on my third attempt.
I knew my call would be monitored and just
hoped that Mr. West would not disclose that he was a reporter.
But
after speaking with him for a few minutes I didn't care any more.
This
complete stranger seemed genuinely interested in my plight and what really was behind the murder of my former IRS co-worker
Liston Smith.
It was refreshing to speak to someone in a position to help me without a dose of Thorazine to obstruct my efforts.
I talked as fast as I could fearing that the call would be cut off as it did on
one
occasion
International.
that
I
made
a
three
call
to
Amnesty
But we were able to speak for almost 20 minutes and I
was able to give Ty some basic information, witnesses
way
and the telephone
closed the conversation
the names of some
number of my mother in Ohio.
Ty
by telling me he had no reason not to believe
me and that he would not prejudge me simply because I was now a convicted felon. For the first time, I saw a flicker of light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. "I'm going to try and come down to Miami to visit you so we can talk at lenght - if that's alright with you?" he said. "The sooner the better for me Mr West" I replied.
But even
as I was saying good bye, I could see Foster and two guards walking directly towards me.
I promptly handed him back the garbage bag he gave me earlier in the day and complimented
him on the ruse.
He smiled briefly and
then told me to put my hands behind my back. "What now?"
I asked.
"You know for a college grad, you're not too bright Gorcyca". "How's that?" I asked.
He looked at his watch and explained "I let you out of 411
the hole less than ten hours ago, and here I already find you calling a big time New York reporter. your time quietly?
Aren't you ever going to learn how to do
Besides, I was told you wanted a non-smoking
cell, and that's exactly what you're going to have. Let's go".
And off
we marched back to the hole. What a day it turned out to be.
I was back I the hole about a week when Mr. Black, one of the nicest people I ever met in a guard's uniform told me that some reporter was here to see me. knowing for sure. thought.
I assumed
it was Ty West but I had no way of
Maybe that Susan lady came back to check on me? I
But nobody came to get me for a visit which left me
wondering what happened.
The very next day, yet another guard asked
me if I wanted to talk with a reporter who was on the premises with a request to interview me. I answered in the affirmative and waited to be escorted to the visiting room, but again nobody came to retrieve me.
But that taken
to
night I was R&D where
rousted from I was
my sleep around 10:00pm and
promptly
put
in
ankle shackles and
handcuffs and led out to a waiting bus outside in the cool night air. Foster was nowhere in sight but the R&D guard said he had left a message for me "What's that?" I asked. "Bon Voyage". I asked three ti mes where we were goi ng.
It was way to early to be going to
court. Finally the dri ver just said “I heard y ou the first ti me bud. I have no idea where you’re tomorrow, but tonight we’re taking you to a facili ty in Nor th Florida. So be quiet and enjoy the ride.” He sai d as he then put some rockabilly music on the radio. The bus drove off into the night and within 30 minutes we were heading North on 1-95. There were only two other prisoners on the bus and three armed guards. We were separated by a thick metal mesh. No matter what or how I 412
asked the guards where we were headed, they did not respond at all and ignored me completely. I guess the previous explanation from the driver was good enough. I eventually fell asleep and awoke about eight hours later when I was hustled off the bus at Eglin AFB in Florida. I was put in their seg unit for less than a day and was back on the bus again. Over the next three months I would be taken to some two dozen prisons/jails in Virginia, West Virginia,
Baltimore, Atlanta, Taladega,
Lubbock, Texarkana, EI Reno, Lompoc, etc. and kept in their seg units for a day or two
before moving on to yet another prison.
Only at
Taladega prison in Alabama and EI Reno prison in Oklahoma did I spend more than a week. I was never given access to a telephone, but persuaded the prison chaplain at EI Reno to let me make an emergency call to my mother.
It was in that one call that I learned my mother had been in contact with Ty West who apparently tried to visit me at MCC Miami but was 413
erroneously told I was unavailable to visitors because of illness. My mom told me that West tried to locate me for another visit but nobody at the BOP would tell him where I was.
I asked my mom to call him and tell
him what was going on and where I was right now. She broke down into tears on the phone and worried aloud that I would not see her again and maybe die in prison. When I asked her why she said that, she told me that she received a late night call from a man who refused to identify himself but who told her that if she didn't tell her son to "smarten up and keep his mouth shut", the next time she'd see me would be in a box at my funeral. She was very distraught and nothing I said would calm her down. We said a prayer together and I assured he that I'd see her soon if Ty West prevailed
To elude the determined reporter West I was transported in two vehicles
Twice the bus would stop in the middle of the night and two prisoners were taken off the bus the first time. The second time we made a pit stop, I think 414
it was Mississippi, I was taken off and put in a smaller van like this one and taken to Texarkana to meet up with yet another bus. It was clear they were playing a shell game with Mr. West. At EI Reno prison in Oklahoma
I
was able to obtain copies of the BOP policies and guidelines that regulate movement of a prisoner. According were only three justifications
to the guidelines
there
to move a prisoner from one prison to
another and those were/are 1) If a prisoner is reclassified in his security level and needs to be taken to a higher or lower security prison suitable for his/her classification, or
psychiatric
prison
facilities
has cases pending
court proceedings there. was
2) If the
transported
around
prisoner
needs
special
medical
not available at his current prison, or 3) The in other jurisdictions
and needs to attend
I did not fall in to any of these categories yet the nation
for months
at great
taxpayer
expense for the sole purpose of isolating me from communication with the outside world and Ty West of CBS News.
This photo reminds me of El Reno federal prison in Oklahoma 415
Furthermore that
there is a provision of law
mandates a
prisoner remains in his
jurisdiction if there is a writ of habeas corpus pending for that prisoner.
Even
though I had just such a writ (albeit pro-se) pending before Judge Alcee Miami for
the
Hastings in
last three months, I was
taken over 1,500 miles out of the court's jurisdiction in direct violation of federal and constitutional law.
I guess government
agencies believe they are exempt from the laws that govern the rest of us. Only when I sent a letter to Judge Hastings from Oklahoma advising him of my continuous movement and current location, did he order my immediate return to Miami. But while I was on the road with the magic bus tour, my second parole hearing came and went without me just like the first one.
I was in Ashland FCI in Kentucky for two months – I thought my
journey came to an end. So instead of being released in 1 1 - 13 months as the judge
and
guidelines
said,
I was
now
going
on
my
36th
consecutive month behind bars. One day, just after I reestablished contact with Ty West, after the elections already took place and I was told to pack my stuff once again and report to R&D. but relieved.
I arrived back in Miami exhausted
Any doubts I once had about the magic bus were now laid to
rest.
I cannot hank Ty West enough for his bull-dog determination to find and interview me.
Maybe one day I can meet him and thank him personally.
Even though the BOP stayed one head of Ty West, just knowing he knew there was something wrong going on, made people in the Bureau of Prsions start treating me much better. 416
When I arrived in Miami the cigarette burns on my arms had already healed to the point of being
just being big pink sores. 2 of the guards from
segregation were in R&D that day for some reason and quipped to me, “Those must have been some big ass mosquitoes eh Gorcyca!?” “Yeh and they are all chain smokers too.” I answered. The room grew silent. Nobody laughed as they all knew I was the BP-10 Champion of MCC Miami and had learned about BP-11s and BP-12s as well, but whenever I requested one of those forms, I was always told “We ran out of those forms.”
A bus ride to nowhere is what I took for three months
417
418
419
420
421
"I can think of no more despicable element of our society than law enforcers who manipulate the law in order to obstruct it."
- Justice Thorogood Marshal
422
