Podcast appearances and mentions of George Cole

Global bond yields have been exceptionally volatile in recent weeks. Goldman Sachs' Jonathan Fine and George Cole explain the drivers behind that volatility and the implications for the economy and investors on Goldman Sachs Exchanges. Date of recording: January 17, 2025

Today on the Hot Jazz Network Podcast, Dave Lopez and George Cole announced an important benefit/fundraiser for the Jason Becker Creative Care Project. Jason Becker's story, if you haven't heard it, is one you'll never forget—a tale of brilliance, talent, determination, adversity, and ultimate triumph. A child prodigy on guitar, Jason rose to prominence as a teenager when he was one half of the legendary rock guitar duo Cacophony (with his great friend Marty Friedman). After wowing audiences worldwide with his amazing guitar skills and deep compositions, Jason auditioned for—and secured—the coveted position with David Lee Roth, following in the footsteps of Eddie Van Halen and Steve Vai. He wrote and recorded the DLR album "A Little Ain't Enough" and was poised to take over the rock guitar world when a nagging pain in his leg was diagnosed as ALS, or Lou Gehrig's Disease, a debilitating and fatal condition with a life expectancy of approximately five years.Jason did indeed lose the ability to play guitar, walk, talk, and breathe on his own. However, he never lost his will to live or his desire to create music. Communicating through a series of eye movements with a system developed by his father, Jason spells out words as well as musical notes and chords. He imparts his musical vision to his team, who then input the notes into a computer, edit the parts to his exacting standards, and generate charts for session musicians. Through this remarkable process, Jason composes his profoundly beautiful music, rich in melody and counterpoint, brimming with emotion. His inspiring music and life story have been the subject of countless news articles, magazine cover stories, and an award-winning documentary, "Jason Becker: Not Dead Yet."Not only is Jason still alive, but he's busier and more prolific than ever. His release, "Triumphant Hearts," showcases his gift for melody and deep knowledge of classical composition and orchestral arrangement. The album features Jason's signature, amazing guitar playing (recorded in the '80s and '90s) as well as performances by a who's-who of guitar virtuosos, including Joe Satriani, Steve Vai, Neal Schon, Steve Morse, Paul Gilbert, Joe Bonamassa, and many others.Jason Becker isn't just an extraordinary musician; he's also one of the most positive, upbeat, and inspiring individuals alive. "I really feel lucky," says Jason. "I am surrounded by loving people, and I can still make music."DAVE LOPEZ Born in Chile, David Lopez's musical journey began when his brother introduced him to the world of guitar, rock, and Latin music. Growing up in Richmond, CA, Dave developed a passion for the diverse sounds of hip hop and heavy metal. Learning from the legendary musician and composer Jason Becker, Dave further honed his skills and later worked in studio management at the renowned Jackson St. Studios and Sound Wave Studios with artists ranging from 2Pac to Metallica. In 2003, he formed Flipsyde and toured worldwide with acts such as Snoop Dogg, Black Eyed Peas, and Busta Rhymes. Flipsyde's success included platinum and gold records, such as their 2005 debut album, "We the People" (Interscope). Their song "Someday" was chosen as a theme song by NBC for the 2006 Winter Olympic Games and appeared on the soundtrack for the 2008 film "Never Back Down."Jason Becker Creative Care Project Launch Party Fundraiser Saturday, Nov. 9, 2024, 2:00 PM to 6:30 PM Baltic Kiss, 135 Park Place, Point Richmond, CA 510-260-0571 https://www.baltickiss.com/ https://jasonbecker.com/

Today's Hot Jazz Network Podcast finds host George Cole delving into the intricate mastery of expert luthier, RYAN THORELL, of Thorell Guitars.ABOUT Ryan Thorell:Ryan Thorell is known for worldclass original guitars collected and coveted by some of the best musicians around the planet including Frank Vignola, John Pizzarelli, Tommy Emmanuel and many others. Thorell guitars are all built one at a time by luthier Ryan Thorell in Logan Utah. Ryan built his first guitar in 1994 and opened his shop and started selling fine handmade instruments in 2003. He has averaged 10 guitars a year ever since putting around two hundred Thorell guitars all around the world where they are collected and valued among the best instruments available. LINKS:Website: https://www.thorellguitars.com/

Great balls of fire! On this VERY Hot Jazz Network Podcast, host George Cole talks with international Rockabilly star, Darrel Higham. Endorsed by Gretsch Guitars and Peavey Amps, Darrel Higham has worked with Jeff Beck, Robert Plant, Jools Holland, Imelda May, Billy Lee Riley, Rocky Burnett, and more. Listen to George and Darrel wind their way through the intersecting paths of musical interests and discuss guitars, great guitarists, and the music that makes them "tick"!ABOUT Darrel Higham: Born in Bedford, England in 1970, Higham grew up listening to the music of Elvis Presley and Eddie Cochran. Through the influence of these artists, Higham took up the guitar in his early teens and joined his first band whilst still at school. In 1992 he spent 6 months living in the USA; touring and recording with Eddie Cochran's original backing band, The Kelly Four. His first solo album was released in 1995 on Nervous Records, entitled Mobile Corrosion. Higham played lead guitar in the West End production of Elvis: The Musical in 1996. He co-wrote the first biography on his musical hero, Eddie Cochran for Mainstream Publishing in 2000. Along with solo albums and records released with his Rockabilly band, The Enforcers, throughout the 90s and 00s, Higham also played lead guitar and produced many other artists. He co-owns Embassy Studio in Hampshire and oversees a great many sessions there. In 2007, Higham started work with Stray Cats drummer, Slim Jim Phantom. Together they recorded 2 albums and toured Europe, even making an appearance on BBC's Later With Jools in 2012. In 2011 he shared the lead vocal duties with Imelda May on the Jeff Beck DVD and subsequent CD, A Rock 'n' Roll Party. He has played guitar for Robert Plant, Jools Holland, Imelda May, Sharon Shannon, Shakin' Stevens, Jeff Beck, Billy Lee Riley, Rocky Burnette, Bono, Paul McCartney, to name but a few. Darrel is endorsed by Gretsch guitars, Peavey amplifiers and TV Jones pick-ups. Darrel also helped design The Rockingham semi-acoustic guitar for Peavey.LINKSWebsite: darrelhigham.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/people/Darrel-Higham/100044555554168/Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/darrelhighammusic/X (formerly Twitter): https://x.com/DCHighamPatreon: https://www.patreon.com/darrelhighammusicStrings Darrel Higham Rockabilly Signature Strings newtonestrings.com Latest Recording: Darrel Higham, a Tribute to Gene Vincent. https://www.musicking.co.uk/collections/foot-tapping-records/products/darrel-higham-a-tribute-to-gene-vincent-cd A Superb salute to the great Gene Vincent & The Blue Caps. The vast majority of the songs included here are from the glorious 1956 to early '57 period, they capture the spirit of these monumental recordings, all the instruments recorded by Darrel himself.Darrel Higham PERFORMANCES: November 2, 2024; Spain. Gene & Eddie Show with Cliff Edmonds.November 16, 2024; France. Rockin' Gone Party, RockaRocky. Near Lyon.

Interesting episode of the Hot Jazz Network Podcast with host George Cole picking the brains of a musically dynamic duo, Miss Maybell (Lauren Sansaricq) and Charlie Judkins.Currently engrossed in a fun project researching unrecorded songs from 1899-1929, working with the Library of Congress and sourcing sheet music from antique shops or relatives of songwriters. They'll be recording a selection of these songs on an album with Rivermont Records. Lauren and Charlie perform as Miss Maybell & The Jazz Age Artistes playing a large repertoire of early Jazz and Blues from the 1910's - 30's. They source their tunes from dusty old 78 records and antique sheet music and give new life to songs from bygone eras. Miss Maybell sings (beautifully!), plays the washboard, banjo, and the guitar. Charlie Judkins plays piano.WEBSITE: https://www.missmaybell.com/LATEST RELEASE: https://rivermontrecords.com/collections/new-releases/products/102?variant=41457771282493UPCOMING APPEARANCES: Sept. 22; Birdland Jazz Theater, 315 West 44th Street, New York, NY 10036https://www.birdlandjazz.com/tm-event/miss-maybell-the-jazz-age-artistes/https://www.birdlandjazz.com/tm-event/miss-maybell-the-jazz-age-artistes-2/

Great episode of the Hot Jazz Network Podcast with host George Cole taking time to converse with Kurt Ribak and learning a lot about him and his musical universe.ABOUT KURT RIBAK:Kurt describes his music as “Charles Mingus meets The Meters. They go to Duke Ellington's house to jam, and Cachao and Thelonious Monk sit in.” Kurt has three albums as the Kurt Ribak Trio, and two more as Kurt Ribak. The albums feature his own compositions, which are original yet accessible. Kurt grew up singing and playing classical music. He began playing jazz while attending UC Berkeley. After a battle with tendinitis, Kurt won scholarships to Berklee College of Music. He graduated with top honors and spent many hours mastering the styles of bassists Paul Chambers, Ray Brown, and Charles Mingus and discovering his love of composition and songwriting. Kurt has shared the stage with circus performers, preachers and fire-breathing strippers, but never all three at once. He has performed in venues ranging from SFJAZZ and Yoshi's to a club where someone surreptitiously stashed a loaded .45 in his bass bag while Kurt was playing .In June 2012 Kurt was in an auto accident, seriously injuring his left hand and forearm. Thirteen operations and six years later he resumed playing full-time, much to the surprise of many surgeons. Kurt notes, “When I was hurt I learned how many people loved me, cared about me. That really helped me get back to playing."Kurt's recordings are played on KCSM-FM, KPFA, KZFR, KKUP, San Diego's Jazz 88, PRI and other jazz stations. His band has sold out Yoshi's and SFJAZZ. They have also performed at Freight & Salvage Coffeehouse, San Francisco Jazz Festival, San Jose Jazz Festival, Nor-Cal Jazz Festival, Fillmore Street Jazz Festival, and Blue Note Napa. LINKS:Website http://www.ribak.com/Recordings https://songwhip.com/artist/kurt-ribak, https://songwhip.com/artist/kurt-ribak-trioFacebook https://www.facebook.com/kurt.ribak.music/SF Jazz Profile: https://www.sfjazz.org/onthecorner/kurt-ribak-interview/Spotify Artist Page https://open.spotify.com/artist/4SiI0WuOSFkkWdfp8LuTpw?si=PFZTcsrASma7FnDqdzKWGwKURT RIBAK PERFORMANCES:Dec. 24, 2024 (a Jazz Service) 7 PM at First United Methodist Church in the Point Richmond District of Richmond, 201 Martina St., Richmond, CA. May 17, 2025 - Show at SFJAZZ in the Joe Henderson Lab.Keep up on all things KURT RIBAK... go to http://www.ribak.com/gigs.html or email him at kurt@ribak.com

As two of Europe's three largest economies head to the polls, what are markets telling us about the political landscape? Goldman Sachs Research's Sharon Bell and George Cole explain how France's looming parliamentary elections are affecting French stocks and bonds, while UK financial markets have been relatively stable ahead of the country's general election.

We sit down for a spell to listen to George Cole reading a story about a kindly old magic-user. Wand-er if it'll be magic? That's witch-ful thinking! You try writing these...    IF YOU LIKE WHAT WE DO AND WANT TO HELP US CONTINUE; SUPPORT US ON PATREON: patreon.com/spreadthewhimsy   SUPPORT US ON KO-FI: ko-fi.com/spreadthewhimsy SUPPORT US WITH MERCHANDISE: whenwagonwheelswerebigger.com/w4bshop SUPPORT US FOR FREE: spread the word, spread the whimsy!   TWITTER: @spreadthewhimsy THREADS/INSTAGRAM: w4b_podcast FACEBOOK: facebook.com/whenwagonwheelswerebigger WEBSITE: whenwagonwheelswerebigger.com W4B theme composed by John Croudy W4B theme acoustic arrangement by Joe Beckhelling Additional musical contributions by R Gill

Welcome everybody to the Hot Jazz Network podcast. My name is George Cole and I'm your host. In this episode, I interview my guest, vocalist extraordinaire, Richard Herfeld. Here's a little information about Richard and links to explore more...Richard Herfeld is a crooner from Germany specializing in the music of the 1920s - 1950s. For the last 15 years he's been performing with different bands and accompanists primarily in Europe, although his travels also led him to North America to perform shows.He's constantly digging through archives and vaults to find "new" old treasures and to get ideas for new projects, helping to keep the music of this era alive.Currently, he's working on his first record release: "Moon" - an intimate solo record with pianist Sascha Kommer which will be out later in the year. LINKS:https://www.facebook.com/RichardHerfeld/https://www.instagram.com/richardherfeld/https://richardherfeld.de/

From Sourced Network Productions, it's the Hot Jazz Network, with host, George Cole. Welcome everyone to the Hot Jazz Network podcast. I'm your host George Cole. Today, our very special guest is the one and only Eric Schoenberg, proprietor of Schoenberg Guitars and the Dean of Acoustic Guitars in America.Eric is primarily a finger-style guitarist who started out 50 years ago as a folkie and has since broadened his scope to many other kinds of music. Basically, when a song perks up his ears, it will try to find a place on his guitar. In 1963, Eric started teaching, which continued till just a couple of years ago. In the late 60s he became the second half of a duo with his cousin, Dave Laibman, helping Dave perform his amazing, groundbreaking arrangements of classical ragtime. This resulted in their album, Contemporary Ragtime Guitar, on Folkways Records. In the early 70s he starting drifting into a life of performing, touring the US & Europe playing solo fingerstyle guitar, playing the classical rags, folk music, blues, country, Beatles, etc. Since then he has written a book, Fingerpicking Beatles, released two solo albums, Acoustic Guitar and Steel Strings, on Rounder Records, a duet CD, Late Night Conversations with Richard Scholtz, on Live Music Recordings, and several contributions to anthologies. He has run a concert series, owned and run a guitar shop, Eric Schoenberg Guitars, in Tiburon, CA, and produced a line of high-end classic steel-string guitars, Schoenberg Guitars.

From Sourced Network Productions, it's the Hot Jazz Network, with host, George Cole. Welcome, welcome everybody to the Hot Jazz Network podcast. My name is George Cole and I'm your host. Today, we're interviewing, or having a conversation with, the one and only, Don Neely, bandleader of the Royal Society Jazz Orchestra. San Francisco jazz legend, Turk Murphy, discovered Don's band and offered them a regular engagement at his famous club, Earthquake McGoon's. The RSJO's popularity continued to swell, and Don and his band were featured in numerous national and local television, newspaper and magazine stories. S.F.Chronicle's Herb Caen, frequently wrote of the band's appearances and that newspaper's Society Columnist, Pat Steger noted the many social events at which the R.S.J.O. performed. Another milestone for Don came with a long-running engagement on Nob Hill, at the Mark Hopkins Hotel, in the Peacock Court, where most of the famous big bands had played during the 1930's. Don and the band recreated a long and successful series of Tea Dances with live radio broadcasts simultaneously transmitting over two radio stations. More attention from the public followed which led to an amazing period of non-stop work and travel. Don and the orchestra starred in an hour-long PBS television special, a superb production recreating an authentic Art Deco night club, with their San Francisco fans making up the dancing audience.

From Sourced Network Productions, it's the Hot Jazz Network, with host, George Cole.Today on our show, we have an incredible guitarist, but he's much more than that. He's a historian. He can help you get out of a parking ticket as well. And I personally feel that his left pinky should be enshrined in the Smithsonian. He's bringing, shining a light on guitarists like Alan Roos, Eddie Lang, Freddie Green, and much, much more.Folks, you're going to love it. Here he is, Jonathan Stout.

From the Sourced Network Productions, it's the Hot Jazz Network Podcast with host George Cole. Here's a great story to get you started on the episode with Bruce Forman, recounting his early influences and how he found his life's path at the early age of 17 years old.From Bruce FormanMy first jazz guitar player that I really remember loving was Kenny Burrell. Just the bluesy-ness and the elegance and the eloquence of his playing, it was just such a beautiful counterpoint musically, sound wise and feel wise to everything, even though I was much more interested in playing a lot more than he liked to play, a la Charlie Parker. That was my first one, and then Wes just blew my mind, and then Barney Kessel just creamed me, and then, of course, 1972 or 3 was the year Virtuoso Joe Pass came out. And that changed the world for us guitar players. That just changed the world. By then, I guess I was pretty well printed. I was probably about 17 at that time. My first Monterey Jazz Festival I went to in 1973. Joe Pass was there, Roy Eldridge was there, Dizzy Gillespie was there. It was amazing. It was just a mind blowing experience. 


Matt Munisteri: I had to steal a guitar back from airport employees who were stealing it from me, and I had to do that by sneaking out on the tarmac through a back door. It was just pre 9/11, coming back from a gig in Portugal. 9/11 really changed things. Prior to that, guitars really would disappear. I know Frizzell lost guitars, at least one. I know Brian Setzer lost guitars. In the 90s, things were sort of vanishing, so this was in early 2000 or late 99, I can't remember. But yeah, these airport employees kept telling me that it wasn't there. And finally I peeked through a window and the guy was telling me it wasn't there and telling me to go home at whatever, 2, 3 in the morning.I looked and my guitar was right next to him. So I waited until I watched him walk away. And then I slid under a garage door that led out to the tarmac from the luggage area, from the luggage carousels. I stole my guitar back.George Cole: Welcome, welcome, welcome to the Hot Jazz Network Podcast. I'm your host, George Cole, and today we have a very special guest. One of the most important guitar players working in the United States today, the one and only Matt Munisteri. He plays guitar for Catherine Russell, he's an expert on all things vintage jazz and he also plays the banjo. Matt comes out of Brooklyn, New York City, and we are going to speak to him right now.

David "Dawg" Grisman: Stéphane Grappelli told me that, when he and Django first met and started playing together in between sets at a big hotel in Paris, he said they were basically trying to imitate Eddie Lang and Joe Venuti. George Cole: Thank you. Thank you for saying that. Listeners out there in podcast land, that is a very important piece of information, because if you read the books, people will try to tell you that Django was mostly influenced by Duke Ellington, who's great, and Louis Armstrong, who's great. We love all that. But I've always thought the same thing as you just mentioned.Welcome, welcome to the Hot Jazz Network Podcast. I'm your host, George Cole. On our show today, we have one of the most important musicians in American history. He's a legendary mandolinist and composer, but more important, he's also my friend. He's the creator of Dawg Music, has recorded with Jerry Garcia, The Grateful Dead, Doc Watson, Del McCoury, and countless others.Ladies and gentlemen, the one and only David Grisman, the man we call Dawg.

Hi, this is Hot Jazz guitarist, vocalist, and acoustic disc recording artist George Cole. I'm super excited to announce my new podcast “The Hot Jazz Network”. With my 40 years of experience in the music business, we are going to get to the bottom of what Hot Jazz is and just as important, what it is not. Join me as we take an in person backstage look into all things Hot Jazz. I'll be speaking with legendary performers, such as acoustic music legends, David Grisman, Bruce Forman, and Matt Munisteri. You'll hear first hand the backstories of early influences, the personal grit and determination it takes to make it in the music biz, and how after 100 years, Hot Jazz is as vibrant and exciting as it was in the 1920s and 30s. Let's explore what makes some of the most successful musicians in jazz history do what they do. Expect the unexpected as me and my A-list guests share behind the scenes stories of our journeys, with all the heartaches, victories, and pitfalls that come with life on the road as a target announce my new podcast, Jazz musicianThis is George Cole, and I invite you to my backstage conversations on “The Hot Jazz Network”.

More than any other advanced economy, the U.K. has been squeezed by sharply higher prices, but new data shows that inflation may be starting to fall. In this episode, Goldman Sachs Research's Jari Stehn, chief European economist, and George Cole, head of European rates strategy, explain why the U.K. faces a “confluence of shocks,” why inflation is likely to remain elevated, and what the implications of the U.K.'s inflation problems may mean for yields across the Euro area and globally. 

Helloooo! In this one-off Dadcast, J.D. and Chris discuss Andrew Marshall's excellent generation gap sitcom Dad; starring George Cole, Kevin McNally, Julia Hills and Toby Ross-Bryant. Go Daddy-O!

942 - Elite Credit Restoration with CreditReversalGuru's George Cole

This weeks episode includes stories about rabbits and snakes…Where my nature dads at?!?! Can people with peanut allergies go into Roadhouse? Jaret hates bacon! And the boys talk to credit REVERSER George Cole! Something for everyone in this one! The post George Cole appeared first on idobi.

This weeks episode includes stories about rabbits and snakes…Where my nature dads at?!?! Can people with peanut allergies go into Roadhouse? Jaret hates bacon! And the boys talk to credit REVERSER George Cole! Something for everyone in this one!

País Estados Unidos Dirección Joseph L. Mankiewicz Guion Joseph L. Mankiewicz, Ranald MacDougall, Sidney Buchman Música Alex North Fotografía Leon Shamroy Reparto Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Rex Harrison, Roddy McDowall, Martin Landau, Pamela Brown, George Cole, Hume Cronyn, Cesare Danova, Kenneth Haigh, Robert Stephens, Margaret Lee Sinopsis El victorioso general Julio César se ve obligado a visitar Egipto para evitar la guerra civil provocada por la falta de entendimiento entre Cleopatra y su hermano Tolomeo, que comparten el poder en Egipto. César, cautivado por la inteligencia y belleza de la joven, la proclama reina indiscutible de Egipto, y tras el nacimiento de su hijo, Cesarión, la convierte en su esposa.

Tony, Jim and Alex hit the road to take a look at two legendary cars – Terry McCann’s Ford Capri and Arthur Daley’s Daimler, as seen in ITV’s Minder. Tony looks back on recording Through The Barricades and the guys talk about how intensity matters when making records.

Tony, Jim and Alex reflect on lockdown and the gigs they didn’t get to play in 2020. They talk about missing the buzz of live shows, nerves and out-of-body performances.

Alex arrives in an E-Type Jaguar and Tony talks about growing up in the Angel Islington. The guys talk about crime, needing their parents’ approval and open up about how they restarted their careers

Earning Freedom by Michael Santos Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term Chapter Eleven: 2003-2005 Months 190-209     It’s the spring of 2004, and even at our 5,000-foot elevation, the snow has stopped falling. The Rocky Mountains are right outside the window, close enough that it looks as if I could reach out and touch them. I have a wonderful view from this prison cubicle in Florence. Carole studies full time at Pueblo Community College and her schedule helps me mark off the weeks. We visit three hours every Friday evening, six hours on Saturdays, Sundays, and federal holidays. The more time I spend in Carole’s company, with my fingers locked around hers, the more I feel as if I’m a part of something more than a prison population. While we sit beside each other in the burgundy plastic chairs of Florence’s visiting room, she tells me that we need to generate more support for my clemency petition. It’s been almost a year, and we haven’t heard anything. I squeeze her hand. “I told you, President Bush isn’t going to commute my sentence. Let’s not divert our attention from what’s really important.  We’re doing well and we need time to prepare for my release. You focus on finishing chemistry and biology, and I’ll work on getting a publishing deal.” “It’s too bad Bruce isn’t alive. He could help.” “We’ve got to do this on our own. You get your degree, and I’ll find a literary agent who will represent my work. It looks like we’re going to be saddled with four more years of Bush. But if I get a book deal, we might get enough support for a reasonable chance at clemency after he’s gone. And by then you’ll be a nurse.” “First I need to pass algebra.  These word problems were tough when I was in high school, but they’re brutal now that I’m 40.” “You’re smarter than I am, and I know you can do it.” I pull out the algebra book she brought with her. “Let’s work through some problems together.” ******* Other than work in the Supermax laundry, exercise, and visiting with Carole, I devote all my energy to writing a book proposal and three sample chapters for a new manuscript.  I’m titling it Inside: Life Behind Bars in America. It’s my first attempt to reach a general, non-fiction audience, and I invest more than three months with a Bic pen and a dictionary to put the book proposal together. Carole types the document and sends copies to 90 literary agents I culled from an annotated list published in Writers Market.  I’m hopeful they’ll have an interest in my work. Our effort to find a literary agent makes me a hit at mail call. The guard has been calling my name over and over, passing me no fewer than 73 rejections from literary agents who’ve declined to represent me. But I’ve also received letters from four agents who express an interest. I hold one in my hand now from James Schiavone, a Florida agent who has a doctorate in education. Educators guided me through my first 17 years of confinement and they served as role models for me. I admire their devotion to improving society through teaching and I respect them for the energy they invest in helping others reach their potential. I respond to Dr. Schiavone’s letter, letting him know that I’d welcome an opportunity to work with him. That response leads to more correspondence. I amend my proposal according to his suggestions and sign a contract giving Schiavone Literary Agency authorization to present my manuscript to mainstream publishing houses. It thrills me to have a valid contract with a literary agent Carole and I found through our own work. The executive staff at Florence Camp, however, doesn’t share my elation. This becomes clear when the Camp Administrator, Mr. Jimenez, calls me into his office for an admonishment. My Unit Manager, Ms. Otero, is also present. Anticipating the reason for the meeting, I carry copies of About Prison, Profiles From Prison, and a file with letters I’ve received from numerous professors who use my writings as a resource to teach university students in their criminal justice and corrections courses. Mr. Jimenez is confident and ambitious, clearly headed for higher offices with the growing Bureau of Prisons system. As the camp administrator, he’s like a mini warden, and all staff members answer to him. As unit manager of the camp, Ms. Otero is his direct subordinate. She reminds me of a miniature bulldog, tough and mean. Mr. Jimenez authorizes me to come in. He’s sitting in a high-backed chair behind his large oak desk. Ms. Otero stands in front of Mr. Jimenez’s desk, glaring at me like I’m a problem child she’s reporting to the principal, her hands clasped behind her back. Her dark polyester suit fails to hide the roll of fat she tries to camouflage. “Have a seat, Mr. Santos,” Mr. Jimenez gestures to the green vinyl couch beside his desk. “I’m placing you on mail-monitoring status,” he says as I sit down. “What does that mean?” I ask. “It means that the Special Investigative Services lieutenant will review all correspondence addressed to you. From now on, the SIS will have to approve all mail before it’s distributed to you.” “Why?” I ask. “Security of the institution,” Ms. Otero says. “How long will he hold my mail?” “We’ll try to keep it reasonable,” Mr. Jiminez says. “Depending on the volume of mail you receive, you can expect it in two to three weeks, assuming SIS approves it.” “What have I done to warrant this sanction?” “You’re not being sanctioned,” he corrects me. “I have a responsibility to preserve the security of the institution, and this is a precautionary measure I’m taking.” “A precautionary measure against what? I’m not threatening security. My record is clear, and I’m an open book. All I’m trying to do is prepare for my successful re-entry into society.” “You’ve still got nine years to serve, and we don’t care anything about your life after release,” Ms. Otero hisses. “All we care about is the security of the institution. We don’t like prisoners writing books and complaining about the system.” “Have you seen the books I write?  I’m not complaining about anything.” “I don’t need to see your books,” she says. “I don’t want any inmates under my watch writing about prison operations. It threatens security.” I’m puzzled by her hostility, and I turn to Mr. Jimenez. I sense he’s uncomfortable with her self-righteous invective. “Can I show you my books?” He extends his hand and I give him the books and the file of letters. “I write about the importance of accepting responsibility, about preparing for re-entry. My books don’t threaten security. They offer suggestions for improvements to lower recidivism rates. Universities from coast to coast use them as teaching resources. I’m proud of my work and I’d like to have your support.” Mr. Jimenez flips through the pages. Ms. Otero watches the exchange and, sensing that Mr. Jimenez might reconsider, she verbally challenges me again. “What are you in for? Aren’t you a drug dealer?” “I made the bad decision to sell cocaine in my early 20s. I’m 40 now, hoping you’ll judge me for the record I’ve built over the past 17 years rather than the crime that put me here.” “I bet you would. You’re serving 45 years, right? Why don’t you just serve your time like everyone else? Write your books when you get out,” she snarls. I’m immune to her verbal hammer, knowing it’s for Jimenez’s benefit. “Like everyone else? Ms. Otero, 70 percent of the people who leave prison return to prison. Serving my time like everyone else would only lead to my failure after 26 years. I’m determined not to let that happen. Why would you oppose me? You’ve got gang members running around here who thrive on crime, and you want to spend energy blocking me? Why?” “The thing is, Mr. Santos, we’ve got an institution to run,” Mr. Jimenez explains, returning my books. “How do you think taxpayers would respond if they heard we were allowing inmates to write books?” “The BOP policy expressly encourages inmates to write manuscripts, and it says we don’t need staff authorization.” “It doesn’t say you can publish them,” Ms. Otero barks, unwilling to back down. “I’m not publishing them, someone else is. I give the manuscripts away. Wouldn’t you rather have prisoners using their time productively in activities that will help them overcome the stigma of imprisonment? Isn’t that better than wasting time on television and table games?” “I told you. We don’t care what happens to inmates after they leave. We’re running a prison here,” she snaps, angrily. Mr. Jimenez shakes his head. “We’ve made our decision, Mr. Santos. As of today, you’re on mail-monitoring status. You may appeal the decision, but I’ve consulted with the warden and he agrees that security of the institution comes first.” I walk out of his office sensing that Mr. Jimenez respects me, maybe even admires what I’ve done. But he’s a career bureaucrat representing a system whose policies have the unintended consequences of perpetuating failure; prison management rejects the workplace practices of innovation and ‘thinking outside the box.’ It’s so much easier to isolate and punish. I owe no allegiance to Mr. Jimenez, Ms. Otero, or the prison system. By writing about prisons from the inside, I hope to influence support for reforms to our costly prison system that perpetuates so much failure. I feel a duty to write about America’s most flawed institutions, especially a federal prison system hidden from public view and squandering billions in taxpayer resources each year. ******* From the window of my cubicle, I see Carole’s blue Saturn two-door waiting in a line of vehicles on the side of the road.  Every day brings more reason for me to appreciate the blessings of my life.  With her love, I feel fortunate, strong enough to overcome whatever this prison system dishes out. When the guard at the main gate raises the barrier for cars to drive into the FCC for visiting, I leave my cubicle and walk toward the visiting room. When Officer Zimmer pages me, I step into the room for a search. He’s friendly to Carole and me, allowing Carole to bring her textbooks so I can help her study. She was excited on the phone when I spoke to her earlier, and I’m eager to hear her news. As I enter the visiting room she stands, smiling, her arms waiting for my embrace. She serves this sentence with me. For us, these few hours together are our dates. “What happened? Did you get an A on your chemistry exam?” I ask. She smiles at me. “I’m so proud of you,” she says. “Tell me why.” “Jim called. He got you a publishing deal for your book.” “With who?” I ask. “St. Martin’s Press. They’re giving us an advance. You’ll have distribution all over the world.”
 The news thrills me. It’s only been a couple weeks since I signed the agreement with Jim Schiavone and in his letter he urged patience. Although my mentors, George Cole and Marilyn McShane, helped me place my first two books with academic publishers, I’m a novice author to mainstream publishers. I expected my imprisonment would present a real obstacle, but Jim is a solid professional agent. His representation brought credibility with the large New York publishing house, and once again, an educator changes my life. I’m proud that the pens and paper I buy from the prison commissary lead to work that contributes to Carole and Nichole’s well being. A sense of validation comes with this tangible proof that others see me something as more than a prisoner. “Do I need to talk with anyone, with Jim or someone from St. Martin’s?” “Everyone understands your situation. You can send everything through me, like always. I’ll type it and forward the manuscript through email. The only question is edits. How will you meet the timeline if the staff keeps holding your mail?” “Let’s send the manuscript pages to Rick,” I suggest, referring to my roommate. “No one’s checking his mail.” “I can’t do that. They probably have some rule about my writing to another inmate.” “Honey, you’re free. You can send mail to anyone you want.  We can’t let these mini-minds in prison block us from success.” “No way,” Carole is adamant.  “I’m not going to do anything that might create a problem with our visits. I’ll forward the manuscript pages I type to Jennifer. She can send them to her husband, and when he gets them, he can give them to you.” “I’ll meet the timeline.” “No one has any doubt about that,” Carole assures me. ******* The BOP rule that limits prisoners to 300 telephone minutes each month stifles family ties. With an average of fewer than 10 minutes of daily telephone access, I can’t afford to talk with anyone but Carole. But it’s June 11, 2004, Christina’s 37th birthday. I haven’t spoken with my younger sister since she flew to New Jersey last year to witness my marriage to Carole, so I dial her number in Miami to surprise her. “Happy birthday,” I say when she answers. “Hi, thanks.” Christina responds softly, sadly. Then silence. “What’s wrong? You don’t sound like you’re celebrating,” I push for an answer. “You haven’t talked to Carole?” “She’s still in school. I’ll see her tonight when we visit, why?” “Dad died today, Michael.” I knew that my father’s health had been declining for the past decade. His illness prevented him from traveling to visit me after I left USP Atlanta. The news from Christina, while not unexpected, hurts. The challenges of this lengthy prison journey keep coming, but I’ve dealt with them repeatedly over the years and I take the news of my father’s passing with stoic acceptance. I exhale, and urge my sister to be strong. “Can you come to the funeral?” she asks, her voice sounds far away. “No.” I’m a prisoner and I know my limitations. “We can postpone the service a few days if you need time for the request.” she pleads with me. “Christina, they won’t even give me more access to the telephone. They’re not going to let me travel to Seattle for a funeral. You and Julie arrange the service without me. I’ll pray here and write a eulogy.” Now the three men closest to me have died. I say prayers for my grandfather, Bruce, and my dad. My imprisonment stretches too long for them to have been able to welcome me home. Not being allowed to pay final respects and show gratitude, I silently hope my father’s death is the last loss of family that I’ll know as a prisoner. ******* Carole and I eagerly await the celebration of our second wedding anniversary in June of 2005. Just as we did on our wedding day and on our first anniversary, we’ll savor a romantic dinner, whatever snacks the four vending machines offer. We both feel good about being ahead of the schedule we set. Carole is completing the final prerequisites before beginning her bachelors of science in nursing at Colorado State University, and Ben Sevier, my editor at St. Martin’s Press, has accepted my manuscript for Inside: Life Behind Bars in America. After the 5:00 a.m. census count clears on Wednesday, June 1, 2005, I seal the envelope that holds the prologue for Inside and carry it to the outgoing mailbox. Except for the final editing, I’m finished with that project and I look forward to its publication. It’s time to begin something new. I return to my cubicle and sit at the tiny metal surface mounted against the green concrete wall. The all-in-one table and stool “desk” is large enough to hold my paper and dictionary, but nothing else. I drape a folded towel over the edge to keep it from cutting into my forearm while I write in longhand. The hard metal stool mounted to a swinging arm beneath the desk is directly beside the window to my right, which frames the million-dollar view of Pike’s Peak and the Rocky Mountains. After 18 months we’re settled, Carole and Nichole live in town, while I climb through the final years of my term in  Florence Camp. After two hours of writing, I hear the page. “Santos! Report to the Bubble.” The Bubble is at the camp’s entrance where guards congregate. I begin my walk up with apprehension, as I know that nothing good can come from this summons. When I get to the Bubble I see the SIS lieutenant who is in charge of security for the FCC.  He’s sipping coffee with the other guards in the glass enclosure and he reminds me of someone who aspires to a career as an FBI agent. The same lieutenant questioned me a few weeks ago after a newspaper reporter wrote a story about the ADX and cited my work as a source. When I told the lieutenant that I hadn’t had any contact with the media, my response seemed to end his inquiry. Now I’m not so sure, as he rarely bothers with the camp. I present my red ID card to the guard at the window. “Sit in there,” he commands, pointing across the hall to the visiting room. “Someone will be here to see you.” The guard keeps my ID card, and the SIS agent, who stands behind him, stares at me while sipping his coffee. I sit alone in the visiting room and look around. Carole and I spend all of our time together here, but intuition tells me that change is about to bury the visiting schedule we value and appreciate so much. My heart beats faster when a guard I don’t recognize walks in and confirms my suspicions. “Are you Santos?” “Yes.” “Cuff up.”  

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term Chapter 9.3 1998-2002 Months 127-180     It’s September 11, 1998. I’ve been in Miami for a week and since my counselor hasn’t yet given me a PIN code, I haven’t been able to use the telephone. The staff isn’t giving me any information about my transfer and I don’t know if Bruce and Carol have made progress toward getting me out of here. Ty and I are resigned to the likelihood that we’re both on our way to state prison, knowing that we’ll leave whenever officials from the Florida Department of Corrections arrive to pick us up. We exercise together, doing pushups, deep knee bends, and stomach crunches. After our early morning workout, I glance at the dorm’s television screen, appalled to see President Clinton and his media machine.  He organized a nationally televised prayer breakfast, assembling Billy Graham, Jesse Jackson, and other distinguished clergymen.  They pray for forgiveness of Clinton’s indiscretion with Monica Lewinsky. The irony is not lost on me. President Clinton scandalized the country. He told lie after lie to the American people and to Congress about “not having sexual relations with that woman.” Anyone else would serve prison time for telling such lies to Congress. Although I was young and uneducated, my own sentence was extended by two years because I lied during my trial. It angers me, because the president should be held to a higher standard. After all, President Clinton is a graduate of Yale law school, a Rhodes scholar, and a former attorney general.  Yet he gets a pass for his offense by saying he’s sorry. I’ve been working to atone for 11 years, not with televised speeches but with measurable actions. It infuriates me to see the inequality as I sit in an orange jumpsuit, knowing that my acts of atonement mean nothing while the president can exonerate himself with a simple prayer meeting. “Santos!” The guard yells into the housing unit as he steps out from his station, interrupting my mental rant. “Roll up!” “What about Moreno?” Ty asks. “I said Santos.” “Can you tell me where I’m going?” I feel queasy, my legs weakening. “FTD.” I recognize those initials as the BOP designation for Fort Dix. My face immediately broadens into a smile. “Fort Dix?” I ask to confirm. “All’s it says here is FTD. Pack yer shit.” “How’d you’ pull that off?” Ty looks at me, disappointment in his eyes. “I don’t know. My family must’ve gotten through to the right person.” I say carefully, suddenly aware of the impact this news has on Ty. We’ve only known each other for a few days, but through exercise, chess games, and talk, we’ve bonded and had hoped to see it through as a team. Now I’m deserting him. Although the news elates me, I don’t compound his loss by gloating over being spared a tour through a Florida state prison. ******* My support network really came through for me, and I’m thrilled when guards lock me in a holding cage on the main floor of FDC Miami to process me out. I’m grateful, optimistic, and eager to begin the return trip to Ford Dix. My spirits are dampened, however, when I notice a woman sitting alone in another holding cell directly across from me. She’s crying. I step to the front of my cage, wrap my fingers around the bars, and she looks at me. The guards who patrol the corridor prohibit us from talking, so instead we communicate with our eyes. In hers, I see such sadness that it pains me. She tilts her head as she opens her hands in a gesture of helplessness, as if to say “I want to talk to you, too, but we can’t.” Her smile is modest, but I see a dimple in her cheek. She has long brown hair, and even in the green, oversized jumpsuit I can see her slender figure. Her eyes are blue, or maybe green. It doesn’t matter. We’ll never meet. I hope she’ll find the strength to sustain herself through the loneliness. I look away as guards come to fasten her in chains. My return to Fort Dix takes me on a 30-day detour through USP Atlanta. It surprises me to feel some nostalgia at my first sight of the high walls. While locked in a holdover unit I see several staff members I used to know. One of them sends a message to Lynn Stephens, my former work supervisor. After receiving news from her colleague that I’m in the holdover unit, Lynn walks over to see me. More than four years have passed since my departure from USP Atlanta and seeing her feels almost like a reunion. She had such an essential role in my early adjustment, allowing me to study in the office we shared, providing sanctuary from the penitentiary madness that destroys the lives of so many young prisoners. She’s barely aged but tells me she’ll be retiring in another few years, and she updates me on her family while asking about mine. Since she knew me in my 20s, naive to prison life, Lynn is amazed that I’m now nearly 35 and comfortable in my surroundings. Our unexpected reunion helps me measure how much I’ve matured since beginning my term. I talk with prisoners I knew when I served my sentence in Atlanta, but after a month, I’m glad to leave the penitentiary behind. Ironically, Fort Dix feels like home and I look forward to my return. After several hours our plane lands briefly for a prisoner exchange in Manchester, New Hampshire. From my window seat I look at a dense growth of trees with leaves that flutter in the wind and appear to change colors before my eyes. It’s a spectacular natural display of orange, yellow, red, and green, and I realize that during the two months I’ve been locked inside Oklahoma, Miami, and Atlanta prisons, summer has turned to fall. The plane takes off again, and a few hours later, on Thursday, October 15, 1998, I’m processed in and admitted back inside the gated community of FCI Fort Dix. My friend Carol Zachary is responsible for my return. She met with a high-ranking decision-maker in Washington, and that meeting resulted in the reversal of my transfer order, immediately blocking my move to a Florida state prison. I walk back onto the Fort Dix compound, and my friend Gary welcomes me with a white mesh laundry bag full of commissary items. “Welcome back,” he laughs, embracing me. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be back.” “Did you hear the news?” Gary asks. “What news?”
 Gary smiles, knowing that financial news interests me. “The Fed lowered the interest rate and the market’s on fire. I hope you didn’t sell.” “Sell? Are you kidding? I’m a buyer, not a seller.” “The prices for Yahoo! and AOL are almost back to where they were before you left.” “Don’t tell me you’re hooked on the stock market now, too.”  Gary laughs, telling me that he needed something to pass the time. ******* As we approach the transition from the 20th to the 21st century, fears spread throughout the business community that many of the world’s computer programs will fail. Every day, pundits on CNBC discuss the upcoming “Y2K” problem, hyping up the calamity that would befall the world if computers crash. As a market speculator, I’m paying attention to these stories. To ease worries about how the markets will react at midnight on the last day of 1999, central bankers from around the world take action by lowering key interest rates in the fall of 1998. Their objective is to provide more liquidity for business, thereby averting panic. An offshoot of their strategy is rampant speculation, and I’m one of the euphoric participants. I follow the flow of easy credit and hot money by subscribing to a dozen financial publications and studying them daily. I’m fascinated with the technology sector, as I perceive companies with an effective Internet strategy as having the most upside.  Understanding the risk, I concentrate all of my stock holdings in speculative Internet stocks.  That approach proves a winner, and I revel in watching my equity increase, sometimes by tens of thousands each day. I tap that equity by using it as collateral to leverage my holdings. I’ve got 100 percent of my holdings in Internet stocks, and by using margin I’ve got double exposure to the market swings. “You know, I really think it’s time you diversify,” Jon, another prisoner, advises me. “This market bubble can’t last forever. Perhaps you should sell now, put your money in fixed income.” “I can’t sell. All my gains have been short-term. I need to hold on to my positions for at least one year, otherwise I’ll owe too much tax.” Jon shakes his head. “All wise men diversify.” I’m reluctant to sell any holdings for two reasons.  On the one hand, I don’t want Julie to incur short-term capital gains taxes, and on the other I’m convinced the market euphoria will last longer than a year. Each evening, after the market’s close, I chart my day’s progress, read my industry news, and then I walk outside to tell Gary how we did. “How was the casino today?” “I bought Cisco, Real Networks, and At Home Communications.” Besides being a Grand Master at chess, Gary has tremendous musical talents. We sit under a maple tree in early March 1999, bundled in our green jackets and orange knit caps. Spring is in the air but it’s still chilly. Gary strums an acoustic guitar and practices while we talk. As a child, he played for weddings and parties in Russia. I test his talents by asking him to play music from China, Spain, Japan, Italy, or Greece and in an instant his songs transport me to those countries. “So, what’s in the account now?” “We’re holding $600,000 worth of stocks, and we’ve got $300,000 out in margin loans. Equity’s at $300,000.” “You’re a winner,” he says, strumming his guitar. The value of Internet stocks surge through the spring, and I continue using margin to leverage a bigger position with all of my holdings. On April 12, 1999, when the bell rings closed on Wall Street, the 4,000 shares of AOL, 2,000 shares of At Home and a scattering of other high flyers have a value that exceeds $2 million. With $1 million out in margin loans, the account’s equity surpasses $1 million. I’m tempted to tell Julie to sell, but if I do, the short-term capital gains will incur a tax obligation of nearly $400,000. One year ago I didn’t have commissary money, but now greed rather than a principled position prevents me from feeling satisfied with what I have. I’m determined to hold on until my equity reaches $1.6 million. That will generate a million dollars after taxes, and if I sell at that level, I’ll be able to put that cash in the bank. I’m shooting for a two-comma cash balance. Until I hit it, I’m determined to continue swinging for the fences. The value of my account doesn’t change my status in prison, of course. I still stand for census counts and strip naked for searches whenever a guard commands. I’m scheduled to serve 14 more years, yet the time now is just something I tolerate. I don’t need school or library books as I’m living vicariously through the market, a phenomenon the BOP is powerless to stop. ******* Two brutal trading days in April wipe out more than $400,000 from my account’s equity, causing me to change strategy.  Rather than holding on, I pull the trigger, calling my sister with instructions to sell. That move eliminates my margin debt, allows me to return the money Gary advanced, provides the resources to pay off the IRS, and leaves me with a cash-balance measured in six figures.  It’s far lower than the peak value, but far higher than where I began with my trading career. “Remember one thing,” Gary says, trying to cheer me up as we walk around the yard on one of his last days before authorities deport him to Russia. “Money doesn’t make the man; the man makes the money.” “I know, but I can’t stop thinking about what we could’ve had if I would’ve sold sooner.” “What’s the big deal? You started out wanting to finish law school, to work for 15 years to earn a lousy hundred grand. Now you’ve got that in the bank and you didn’t have to hustle with any of these schmucks. No one else in here earned what you did.” He advises me to forget about the market and to use the rest of my time in prison to do something else with my life, assuring me that I need to prepare for the endless opportunities that will await my release. ******* When we move into the new century, I know that I need something new to occupy my time, some project I can work on independently, without interference from the prison system. In August I’ll finish my 13th year, meaning I’m halfway through, with only 13 more years until release.  I must find a way to make them productive. Carol Zachary and Jon Axelrod bring Zachary and Tristan to visit for Thanksgiving and as we sit, side-by-side in the brightly lit and crowded Fort Dix visiting room. Carol inquires whether I’d like to renew my petition for clemency. “I can’t bring myself to go through all that again,” I tell her. “It’s too much of an emotional roller coaster. I need stability, something I can work toward.  Instead of waiting for someone else to make a decision that will determine my future, I need to find something that will allow me to chart my own course.” “Have you spoken with Tony? What does he have to say?” She asks about Tony Bisceglie, the prominent lawyer she persuaded to spearhead the legal effort to free me in 1997. “Tony is honest. He said that my chances of the president commuting my sentence are less than one in a million. Besides that, I’m no longer indigent. If I were to move forward with the petition, Tony’s fee would start at $50,000.  I’m not willing to part with the resources to pay that fee.” “Michael, you’ve got to do it,” Carol urges me. “Don’t you think you could earn that money again once you were released?” Zach, a sophomore in high school now, asks. He’s a student athlete who looks forward to studying business and economics. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “The thing is, I’ve been living inside prison walls and fences for my entire adult life.” Although I feel their love and concern for me, I want them to understand why I perceive my situation differently from others who haven’t lived in confinement. “When people leave prison, they have a hard time finding employment, and financial pressures block them from making a new start. I see it every week when prisoners return after failing in society. If I thought we had a better chance at commutation, I’d take it. But when one of the top lawyers in Washington spells out the odds, I have to weigh the costs. The truth is, I’m more afraid of going home broke, into a tornado of financial uncertainty, than I am of serving another 13 years.” Carol folds her arms across her chest and nods her head sympathetically. Jon observes silently, and then says, “You’re going to have options when you come home, Michael. People love you and will stand by to help you.” I shake my head. “I need to build more support. If I could persuade 1,000 people to support my petition, then I’d feel better about moving forward with it.” “Too bad you can’t use the Internet,” Tristan states. He’s in eighth grade and an aspiring musician. We have an ongoing chess game that we play by sending our respective moves through the mail. “You’d be able to find 1,000 supporters on the Web easily.” “I’ve got some friends from school who’re pretty good on the Web,” Zach suggests. “Maybe I could help.” “I’d like to invest my time and money into an idea like that. Why don’t we start a Web business? I’ll write and type the content, then you guys coordinate putting it online,” I suggest. Jon looks at Carol. “We could buy a scanner to convert the typewritten pages into digital files. It might be a good project to give the boys some business experience.” “I could be the CEO,” Zach lights up. “What about hockey, baseball? You can’t fall behind with school,” Carol admonishes, taking in the scope of this possible business with more caution. “Mom, I can do it,” Zach asserts. “The business could earn revenues by charging a fee for prisoners to publish their information, giving them a platform to build support,” I say. “And once we build enough traffic, we could charge for advertising space,” Zach is on the edge of his seat, already chapters ahead in a business plan. “Hold on a minute,” Carol barks, throwing up her hands in a “time out” move, speaking as the voice of reason. “We’re talking about a project to generate support for Michael, to get him out of here. Let’s not distract ourselves with how much money we can make.” “I could really use a project like this, one that would take my mind away from here. I could work on it every day. If I build support, then we can explore the possibilities for clemency.” Carol nods her head. “Okay it’s a deal.  We’re after a thousand people.  Then we’ll move forward with a new clemency petition.” ******* “I’ve been following your writing on the Web,” my friend George tells me during our visit. “It’s very good.” Dr. George Cole is the author of American Corrections, the leading textbook used in universities to teach students about America’s prison system. He’s been my mentor for nearly a decade and he led the push for my acceptance into the doctoral program at the University of Connecticut. “Why don’t you write a book about your prison experience? I’ll present it to my publishers as a supplemental text to sell alongside my textbook.” It’s the most exciting proposition I’ve had since I began in the stock market and I ask George to advise me on how I can start.” He tells me to write a proposal for Wadsworth-Thompson Publishers to consider. The suggestion presents me with a new opportunity to turn the page, inspiring me with the confidence to launch the next chapter of my life. With my responsibilities to write for the Internet project that Zach coordinates, and the hours I invest to write the new book proposal, the outline, and the sample chapters, I have new reasons to wake before dawn and work 12-hour days. Unlike studying toward advanced degrees, writing doesn’t require me to seek permission from small-minded administrators. The activity is like a respite, freeing me from spending time with inmates who whine about the injustice of 12-month prison sentences.  Further, it doesn’t require me to read a dozen financial publications, it cuts my CNBC ticker addiction, and it provides a new challenge of learning how to express myself more fluently. To write, all I need is a pen, blank pages of paper, and a dictionary. Still, I know where I am, and I ask for written clarification from the BOP legal department on the rules that govern prisoners who write for publication. That inquiry brings confirmation from a BOP staff attorney who says that as long as I’m not inciting others or being compensated for my writing, I’m within my rights to continue. Working to write for publication becomes a goal I can pursue with gusto, and I welcome the challenge of persuading publishers to work with me.  To succeed, I must work to become a better writer, and by doing so, I’ll transcend prison boundaries, connect with readers everywhere, and build support. I go to the library in search of more information. “Do you have any books on the shelves about the publishing business?”  I’m hopeful that the librarian can steer me in the right direction. “All we’ve got is an old-edition of The Writer’s Market.”
 “I’ll take it,” I say. The reference book shows the difficult odds that beginning writers face. Fewer than one in 1,000 authors sign publishing agreements. Those who succeed frequently toil for years, writing many manuscripts before they see one of their books in print. I perceive an edge because of the mentor relationships I’ve nurtured over the years, and because I’m writing about a unique subject matter. After I write my proposal for About Prison, George advises me to send it to Sabra Horne, a senior acquisition editor at Wadsworth-Thompson.  She responds with a publishing agreement, and I write the manuscript that described my first decade as a prisoner.  The academic publisher will package the book as a supplementary text for university professors who teach courses in criminal justice. With that project behind me, I write to Dr. Marilyn McShane, another mentor who, in addition to teaching criminal justice and authoring books, is a senior editor for Greenwood-Praeger Publishing. She offers to publish Profiles From Prison, my second book, which describes backgrounds, adjustment patterns, and future expectations of 20 prisoners. The thousands of hours I spend writing, typing, and editing the manuscripts gives me the feeling that I’m doing something more than simply serving time.  It’s as if I’m making a societal contribution, living a life of meaning and relevance. If readers find value in the books once they’re published, perhaps more people will see the need to think smarter rather than tougher about America’s dysfunctional prison system. As the final months of Clinton’s presidency approach, I’m at ease with my decision to focus on writing. The book projects, together with weekly contributions I’m making for the Web site, provide readers with a prisoner’s perspective of confinement, and the work connects me in ways that make me feel almost whole. I’m leading a useful life, feeling legitimized as a citizen. After more than 13 years I no longer feel the “punishment.” Writing counteracts the “isolation,” neutralizing the stated goals of imprisonment. ******* I’m alone in the visiting room on my work assignment, buffing the tile floor and thinking about what I’ll write the next day when my friend Tom walks in and taps my shoulder. I release the lever that powers the machine. “Hey, Bud, I didn’t hear you come in.” Tom shakes his head. “Did you hear the news?” “What news?” “Clinton commuted the sentences of about 20 people, two from Fort Dix.”
 “Who’d he let out?” “It doesn’t matter. Sorry, Pal. It should’ve been you.” I made my choice of not pursuing the clemency application, so I’ll live with it and move on, even though I’m disappointed to accept the reality that I missed a genuine opportunity for liberty. Tony had a clear plan for pursuing my commutation. He intended to use endorsements from my network of mentors and supporters to persuade my former prosecutors and judge that I had earned freedom.  If he succeeded in getting that support, he was going to lobby his Washington contacts to bring my petition to the attention of the White House. In light of the president granting clemency to so many, I sense that Tony’s strategy might have succeeded. I may have been freed. Thirteen years of imprisonment have institutionalized me, blinding me to the possibility of liberty. With the controversial election of George W. Bush, I’ve missed my opportunity. ******* On late February of 2002, I’m standing shoulder-to-shoulder with two hundred prisoners in the television room, listening as the guard shouts out names to distribute mail. My mentor, Bruce, and I still exchange weekly letters.  As I work to improve my craft, he’s my first reader, one of several who challenge me “to show rather than tell” through my writing.  It’s a lesson I struggle to learn. “Santos!” The guard shouts my name. “Back here, by the microwave,” I yell over the noise of the crowd.  I’m waiting for an envelope that I expect will include Bruce’s comments on one of my manuscript drafts. The guard continues hollering names, but I tune him out and watch the envelope that works its way back toward me, passing from one man’s hand to the next. The envelope looks too small to contain my manuscript, and when I take it from the prisoner who stands in front of me, I look at the return address. It’s written in a woman’s graceful penmanship, though her name isn’t one I recognize. I open the envelope while still standing amidst all the other prisoners, and I pull out an artistic postcard. It features a print by Henri Lautrec that I admire. Bruce works at infusing my life with art and artists and I smile, knowing he would be proud of my new cultural awareness. When I open the card, curious to know who wrote it, I see that the sender is Carole Goodwin, a former classmate of mine from Shorecrest High School, class of 1982. Carole and I grew up in Lake Forest Park, Washington, attending school together from the time we were in fifth grade. We spent our summers at the same beach club on Lake Washington. Carole and I were not close but I have a clear memory of walking with her, holding hands, and kissing her once during the celebration following our high school graduation. Ten years earlier in my sentence, I corresponded with Susan, Carole’s younger sister.  From Susan I learned that Carole married someone after high school and that she had two children, Michael and Nichole. But my correspondence with Susan came to an end many years ago and I didn’t know anything more about the Goodwin sisters.  I’m surprised to receive this letter from Carole. I’m even more surprised by what I read in the card and in her accompanying letter. She’s scolding me, telling me how she knows people who became substance abusers, and how as a mother of two children, she abhors drugs, saying that she thinks it’s awful that I sold cocaine. I read Carole’s letter again. Apparently, while she was coordinating our 20-year high school reunion, she received an unsolicited e-mail from an anonymous writer asking whether the reunion was for the same graduating class as mine. When Carole requested more information from the sender, he simply wrote that he’d come across my website and was curious. Carole searched the Internet for my site.  Reading about my crime and sentencing prompted her to send me her thoughts. “Hey, Marcello,” I say, nudging a friend who was standing next to me as I read Carole’s card and letter. “Check this letter out and tell me what you think.” I pass Marcello the letter. “She sounds angry,” he states flatly, handing it back. “That’s what I thought.”
I fold the letter from Carole back into its envelope along with the card. “I don’t get it. If it were someone I didn’t know, maybe a law-and-order fanatic, or a prison guard, I’d get it. But this is a woman I grew up with. I kissed her in high school.” I shrug my shoulders. “I’ve been in prison for more than 15 years. Why do you think she’d write to scold me now, after all this time?” “She’s probably a Republican.” “Maybe,” I laugh, “but I’m going to write her back. I’ll bet I can change her mind.”    

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term by Michael Santos Chapter eight, part two. Months 103-127     While planning for law school I continue to build a strong network of support. To overcome the resistance and bias I expect to encounter, I put together a package that I call my portfolio. It describes my crime, expresses remorse, and articulates the steps I’ve taken over the past decade to atone. The portfolio includes copies of my university degrees and endorsement letters from the distinguished academics who support me. I’m certain that a wide support network will open more options upon my release and I send the portfolios to people who might sponsor my efforts. My strategy is simple. I’ll continue what I began before I was sentenced, when I wrote to Stuart Eskenazi, the journalist who covered my trial for readers of the Tacoma News Tribune. In my letter to him, I expressed my intentions to live usefully in prison and redeem myself by preparing for a law-abiding life upon release. The new portfolio I’m creating not only records my accomplishments but also shows my progress toward the clearly defined goals I set. In it, I ask readers to consider me as the man I’m becoming rather than the one who made bad decisions in his early 20s. Taking a lesson from business stories I read in The Wall Street Journal, I supplement the portfolio by writing quarterly reports every 90 days and I distribute the reports to those in my growing support network. My quarterly reports describe my projects, the ways that they contribute to my preparations for release, and my challenges. They are my accountability tools. By living transparently I invite people to hold me accountable, to judge me by what I do, not by what I say. Any prisoner can say he wants to succeed upon release, but my daily commitment and the actions I take allows others to evaluate whether they should continue giving me their trust, sponsorship, and support. With pride in my progress, and the ways I’ve responded to the challenges of imprisonment, my parents share the portfolio with others. My father gives a copy to his friend, Norm Zachary, and Norm passes it along to his sister, Carol Zachary. I’m thrilled when my father tells me over the phone that Carol wants to help and that I should call her. She is a married mother of two who lives in Washington, D.C., where her husband, Jon Axelrod, practices law. “This is Michael Santos, calling from the federal prison in Fort Dix.” I introduce myself. “My father suggested I should call to speak with Ms. Zachary.” “Oh, Michael! I’m so glad you called. Please call me Carol. My husband and I have read through your portfolio and we want to help. You may not remember, but Norm brought me to a party at your parents’ house when you were a child. We spoke about the Hubble telescope.” “I remember. I was about seven or eight then.” She corrects me, reminding me that I was older when we met, already a teenager.  Then she says that she would like to build a friendship and asks that I send her the forms necessary to visit.  “I want to bring Zach and Tris, my sons. We need to talk about what we can do to get you out, and if you’ll let me, I’d like to lead the effort.” This is precisely the type of support I hoped to find as a result of preparing that portfolio. As Ralph Waldo Emerson was known for having observed, shallow men believe in luck, but strong men believe in cause and effect. Ever since Bruce came into my life I’ve known and appreciated the value of mentors. He guided me from the beginning through our weekly correspondence and his regular visits. Because of his support, I’ve matured and grown in confidence, as a scholar, in mental discipline, and I’m well prepared to contribute positively to society.  By taking deliberate action steps to expand my support network, I really scored, attracting Carol’s attention. When I walk into the visiting room to meet her and her sons, Zach and Tristan, they greet me with an embrace, as if I’m already family. While sitting across from each other in the hard, plastic chairs of Fort Dix’s brightly lit visiting room, I learn about the Axelrod family. Carol, a former English teacher, is a Boy Scout leader who takes an active interest in her community. She volunteers for the Red Cross, substitutes in the local schools, and, along with her husband Jon, is deeply involved in her sons’ sports and school. She’s determined to groom them as responsible citizens. Zach is 12 and he tells me about his baseball and hockey teams. When I ask what he wants to do when he grows up, he answers without hesitation: “I want to be the CEO of a publicly traded company,” and I don’t doubt for a second that he’ll succeed. His intelligence impresses me, especially when he grills me about what I’m planning to do with my life once I’m released. “I’m looking into law school right now,” I answer. “Do you think people will want to hire a lawyer who’s been in prison?” Zach asks the question with a genuine eagerness to learn more about me. “Zachary,” scolds Carol. “What, Mom? I’m just curious.” “Of course people will hire him,” she tries to soften his bluntness. “That’s a good question, Zach.” I’m impressed with his confidence and directness. “See, Mom.” “But I’m not going to law school to practice law. I’m convinced that more education will open career opportunities once I’m home, and studying law will help me through whatever time I’ve got left to serve. Wherever I serve my sentence, prisoners will need legal assistance and if I study law, I’ll be in a position to help.” “That makes sense,” Tristan, Zach’s younger brother, considers my response. “What we need to do is get you out of here,” Carol says, bringing us back to the central issue. “Jon and I have spoken with some acquaintances who work for the Justice Department. They can’t get involved because of rules about conflicts of interest, but they did insist that we need a top-notch Washington lawyer to represent you.” “I’d love to have a lawyer. But the truth is, I don’t have any financial resources.” “Well we’re going to raise some.” “How?” “You’ve built this wonderful support network. I’m sure the people who believe in you will help.” “But I can’t ask them for money.” “Why not? They want to help you.” “I just wouldn’t feel right asking anyone for money. I’ve already lost one effort at clemency, and I’m coming to terms with the likelihood that I’m going to serve my entire sentence. I’m trying to build my network so I’ll have people who will help me overcome the challenges that I’m going to face.” “But we’re not going to let you serve 16 more years, at least not without trying to get you out. You may not want to ask others for financial assistance, but as long as you don’t object, I’m going to ask on your behalf.” I’m speechless, suppressing emotions that I’m not accustomed to feeling. Of course I crave my freedom. I’m 33, well educated now, and after 10 years inside, I’m as ready for release as I’ll ever be. If I could return to society now, I would still have a reasonable chance to build a career and begin a family. Carol’s offer to advocate for my freedom validates me, bringing a sense of liberty, of worthiness that I cherish and appreciate. *  *  *  *  *  *  * Carol coordinates a team to help me. She persuades Tony Bisceglie, a highly regarded Washington, DC lawyer, to represent me pro bono. She travels to meet with my mentors, Bruce, Phil McPherson (Bruce’s brother), and George Cole. With assistance from Julie, my friends Nick and Nancy Karis, and other friends from Seattle and elsewhere, Carol launches a fundraiser to begin the Michael Santos Legal Defense Fund, and she solicits thousands of dollars to cover legal expenses. The money comes from anonymous donors, people who now have a vested interest in my freedom. I can’t participate from prison, and I don’t know what success they’ll have, but their combined energy fills me with hope. Tony orders transcripts that document my case. After reading them he determines that I have grounds to file for relief from the court. I’m ambivalent about the plan of a judicial action because I wanted to earn my freedom rather than pursue liberty through a legal technicality. More than a decade has passed since my conviction became final and we know the request for judicial relief is a long shot. Further, the judge who presided over my trial is known for meting out long sentences and never reducing them. Through his research Tony discovers that the prosecutors in my case once tried to settle. If I had pleaded guilty instead of going to trial, the prosecutors would’ve agreed that a 20-year sentence was appropriate. Since Raymond, my trial attorney, never told me of the government’s offer, Tony insists that rather than pursuing a commutation of sentence, I need to file a petition with the court for relief. To prepare the legal motion, Tony enlists the help and support of Tom Hillier, the Federal Public Defender for the Western District of Washington, to accept my case. Tom then recruits Jonathan Solovy, a top-notch Seattle attorney who agrees to prepare the documents and argue for my release. Coordinating all these efforts requires hundreds of hours, and I’m moved that professionals who’ve never met me give of themselves so generously for the singular purpose of freeing me. The legal team employs investigators to gather evidence that will bolster my petition. Jonathan works diligently to persuade both the government and the judge to reconsider my sentence. But in the end, we lose. Judge Tanner is unmoved and he lets the sentence stand. Everyone on the team is concerned about how I’ll react to the decision. Strangely, I’m at peace, grateful to have received love and support from so many strangers who’ve now become friends. *  *  *  *  *  *  * Bruce visits me at the beginning of 1998, beyond my 10-year mark. He wants to discuss my plans for law school. Through letters we’ve discussed possibilities for moving through the remainder of my sentence productively. He’s not convinced that studying law by correspondence is my best option. “I really liked your idea of spending the final years of your sentence becoming an artist, a painter, or a musician, or even studying a foreign language. Those pursuits would round out your education and maybe free some creativity within you,” Bruce says, sitting across from me in the visiting room. “Bruce, I’m going to serve 16 more years. I’m not even halfway through my term. I don’t want to devote myself to another project that prison administrators can take away. Although I’ve thought about learning to paint or play the piano, if I were transferred I’d have to go through all this frustration again because of red tape, and that’s only if I could continue. Some prisons don’t even offer music or art programs.” Bruce nods his head as I describe my reasons, then he leans back in his chair.  “But that’s the essence of a liberal education. You could study painting and piano here, and if you’re transferred you could study foreign languages or poetry there. The more you learn, the more you’ll be able to appreciate when you come home.” “It’s going home that I’m thinking about. What will I face when I walk out of here?” “You’ll have friends who will help you.” “Yes, but I want to stand on my own feet, not come out weak, with my hat in hand looking for handouts.” “Don’t express yourself with clichés,” he admonishes. “You know what I mean. By then I will have served 26 years, and I need to anticipate the obstacles I’ll face. I’ll be nearly 50, but I won’t have any savings, I won’t have a home, I won’t even have any clothes to wear. With my prison record, employers will resist hiring me. If I don’t prepare for those obstacles, I’m going to run into tremendous resistance. How will I start my life?” Bruce rubs his head. “The law school you’re considering, though, isn’t of the same caliber as your other schools. Hofstra and Mercer have impeccable credentials. Wherever you go, people will respect those degrees. If you want to study law, I think you should wait until you’re home, where you could earn a degree from a nationally accredited school, not a correspondence school that the bar association doesn’t recognize. What’s the real value of that degree? It won’t even permit you to sit for a bar exam.” I lean forward, eagerly trying to explain my decision. “That’s what I couldn’t be so clear about in the letters I wrote to you; I have to be careful of what the guards read. I’m not studying law because I want to practice as a lawyer. I’m studying law because I want to use what I learn to help other prisoners who want to litigate their cases. Look around this room. Nearly every prisoner here wants another shot at getting back into court. If I study law, I’ll be able to help them.” “But if you’re not a lawyer, how can you represent them?” “I’m not intending to represent them. What I’ll do is help them research the law and write the briefs. They’ll submit their own legal documents, pro se. Sometimes I may help people persuade lawyers to take their cases, like Tony and Jonathan took mine. A law school education, together with my experience, will enable me to offer more and better assistance. Prisoners will pay for my services.” “That’s what troubles me.”  Bruce says, shaking his head. “You’ve worked all this time to build a record as a model prisoner, to educate yourself and keep a clean disciplinary record. Now you’re talking about breaking the rules by becoming some kind of jailhouse lawyer, exposing yourself to disciplinary infractions and possible problems with the system. It doesn’t make sense to me.” “Yes, I’ve worked hard to live as a model prisoner. What has it gotten me? Instead of support, I meet resistance. Administrators transfer me to frustrate my efforts and to block me from completing my studies. I don’t have any interest in being a model prisoner. My interest, my only interest, is succeeding upon release. And I think the best way I can do that is by preparing myself financially.” “So how are the prisoners going to pay you?” Bruce smirks at my plan. “Are they going to fill your locker with candy bars and sodas? How will that help when you get out?” “They won’t pay me directly. If a guy asks for my help, we’ll agree on a price. Then he’ll have his family send the funds to my family.” “But is that legal?” “Although we have too many laws in this country, as far as I know, it’s still legal for one citizen to send money to another citizen. My sister will pay taxes on any money she receives and she’ll hold it for me until I come home. Prison administrators may not like it, but it’s not against the law for Julie to receive money from another prisoner’s family. My helping another prisoner with legal motions isn’t against the law either.” “It just seems kind of sneaky, totally different from the open-book, transparent approach that you’ve followed.” Bruce remains skeptical. “I don’t see it that way. The plan is totally consistent with the open-book approach, and I intend to do it openly.” “How so? You won’t even receive payment directly.” I shrug my shoulders. “That’s only because I’m living within the rules imposed on me. But I’ll be honest about what I’m doing, and truthfully, I’ll take pride in beating a system that perpetuates failure.” Bruce shakes his head again. “You might be living within the letter of the rules by not receiving money directly, but you won’t be living within the spirit of the rules.” “Prison rules don’t concern me. Living as a model inmate isn’t going to help me when I walk out of here. No one is going to care that I didn’t receive any disciplinary infractions. People may not even look beyond the fact that I served 26 years in prison. I need enough money in the bank to meet all of my expenses during my first year of freedom, whether I receive a paycheck or not. I’ll have to buy a car, pay rent, buy clothes, and pay for everything else I’ll need to start my life. Meeting those responsibilities has much more value to me than observing the ‘spirit’ of prison rules.” “You’ve really thought this through,” Bruce begins to relent. “Have you considered the possible consequences? What if they transfer you back to high security?” “I don’t care where they send me. From now on, my sole focus is to prepare for a successful, contributing life. That’s not going to happen by accident.” “What prompted this new resolve? The court decision that denied you an early release?” Bruce’s support for me is evident in his caring tone and genuine interest, and I appreciate his willingness to listen as I share my thoughts. “I know that you limit your reading to classical literature, but it was a book I read by Stephen Covey, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. Have you ever heard of him?” “No,” Bruce says ruefully, laughing. “I enjoy an occasional good detective story, but I don’t read much from the self-help or inspiration genres.” “Well I find it helpful and I think you might identify with Covey.” “What makes you think so?” “He’s a former professor who taught at Brigham Young University, and his focus of study was leadership. Covey’s book validates my choices, the way I’ve lived for the past 10 years, and it’s helped me set the strategy I’ll use going forward.” “How so?” Bruce asks, curious. I’m eager to explain. “In his study of leadership, Dr. Covey found that successful people share seven habits in common.” I hold up my hand and use my fingers to tick them off. “One, they’re proactive. Two, they begin with the end in mind. Three, they put first things first. Four, they seek first to understand, then to be understood. Five, they think win-win. Six, they synergize. And seven, they constantly work to sharpen their approach.” “What? Are you telling me that’s a revelation for you? You still haven’t answered my question.” “What question?” “Why the shift in your strategy?” Bruce asks again, clarifying. “I’m pragmatic. Truthfully, it’s more of an evolution than a shift. I’ve been following Covey’s seven habits of leadership ever since I was in the county jail, when I read of Socrates. By continuing to educate myself, I’m taking proactive steps to overcome my adversity. By knowing the challenges that await my release, I’m beginning with the end in mind. By enrolling in law school, I’m putting first things first. I understand my environment, my limitations, and the ways I can make myself most useful. By pursuing this goal I’ll be able to generate the resources necessary to stand on my own when I leave prison. That’s win-win. It’s a way to use my education and to lead a more meaningful life in here.” “Have you figured out your rates yet, Counselor?” Bruce teases. “Whatever the market will bear. Isn’t that the American way?” I grin, 100 percent committed to the strategy driving my plans. “I’m serious. What do you expect to gain from all of this?” “The law school program is self-paced, independent study. I expect to finish in 2001. If I charge $500 for research or writing legal motions, I think I can earn an average of $1,000 a month over the 12 years I’ll still have to serve. After taxes, that would leave me close to $100,000 in the bank when I walk out of prison.” Bruce nods, smiling. “I only have one more question. If the warden won’t let you receive books from U. Conn., what makes you think he’s going to let you receive books from the law school in California?” “That’s the nice thing about law school. I won’t need to access an outside library. Every federal prison has its own law library. I’ll just purchase the other books I need. As long as the bookstore sends the books directly, I won’t need special permission from the prison.” “So you’re all set then?” “I’m ready.” *  *  *  *  *  *  *  

125: Earning Freedom with Michael Santos Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term I’m reading from chapter six of Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term, by Michael Santos. In this reading, we’re covering chapter Six: 1992-1995 Months 62-84: Chapter Six: 1992-1995 ******* The air brakes sigh as the bus stops in front of the administration building of FCI McKean. As I look through chain-link fences separated by razor wire, I remember my first close look at a prison, back in 1987, when the DEA escorted me through the gates of MCC Miami. McKean has that same non-threatening feel of an office park. Without the impenetrably high concrete walls and gun towers of Atlanta, McKean looks almost welcoming, at least from the outside. I suppose the years have institutionalized me. While hobbling off the bus I inhale the scent of evergreen trees. McKean is set in the midst of northwestern Pennsylvania’s Allegheny Forest. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been in such a natural setting, double, razor-wire topped fences notwithstanding. The cool mountain air makes me shiver, but I soak up the sight of trees, spring flowers, and distant rolling hills as I shuffle along in line with 22 other prisoners toward the processing area. It’s early afternoon by the time guards snap my photograph, fingerprint me, issue my bedroll and ID card. Rather than following the wide concrete walkways through manicured lawns toward my housing unit, I detour into the education department for a look and to introduce myself to the supervisor of education. I find Ms. Barto’s office and knock. “May I speak with you for a minute?” She looks at my blue canvas shoes, my elastic-waist khaki pants, my dingy white t-shirt with 2XL written in black felt-tip marker on the upper left chest, and the bed roll I carry under my arm. “Looks like you just pulled in.” “Yes. I just got here.” From Bruce’s description of her I knew to expect a sight different from Mr. Chandler. Ms. Barto is in her mid-30s, slender, with chestnut hair, gleaming white teeth, and blue eyes that sparkle. She has a welcoming smile that many prisoners, I’m sure, confuse with an invitation to flirt. “Haven’t you reported to your housing unit yet?” “Before going there, I wanted to introduce myself and ask if you might have a job for me. My name is Michael Santos. I’m just transferring from USP Atlanta. You may remember my mentor, Dr. Bruce McPherson, who visited you and a few inmates here about a month ago?” “Oh, you’re Dr. McPherson’s friend. He mentioned that you were going to try transferring here. I’m surprised you made it, and so quickly.” “I was lucky, I guess. I wanted to talk with you about an educational program I’m involved in, and I hope you’ll help me with some special requirements.” “You’re in correspondence school, right?” She remembers Bruce talking about me. “I’m nearly finished with a program at Hofstra University. To complete it I’ll need to make arrangements here so Hofstra’s library can send the books I need to read. Besides those arrangements, I’m hoping you might have a job available that will provide access to a word processor.” With Bruce having paved the way before I arrived, Ms. Barto extends all the support I need, and there are no delays settling in at McKean. She assigns me to a job of tutoring other prisoners on their self-paced studies to learn word processing skills. She authorizes my use of the computer for school and coordinates with the mailroom to accept packages from Hofstra’s library. With Bruce’s advance preparations and my clearly documented record of achievement, I have a seamless transition into Dream McKean. ******* Compared to the penitentiary, McKean is a dream. Although a handful of prisoners on the compound serve life sentences, the tension at McKean isn’t as pervasive or palpable as it was at USP Atlanta. Professional, intelligent leadership is the reason behind the tranquility. Warden Dennis Luther doesn’t cling to the simplistic notion that prisons should exist solely to isolate and punish. Instead of relying on policies that crush hope, and managing by threat of further punishment, Warden Luther uses a highly effective system of positive incentives. I no longer live in a cauldron ready to boil over. To leave my cell in Atlanta I had to wait for specific times and pass through eight separate checkpoints, metal detectors, and searches just to get to the weight pile. By contrast, the doors don’t lock at McKean and our liberty to walk freely encourages a responsible independence, thus lessening the tension all the way around. McKean has a token economy where prisoners can earn points individually and collectively. We redeem the points for privileges and rewards that ease our time. The progressive system vests the population with incentives to exercise self-control. By keeping rooms and housing units clean, prisoners earn the privilege of more access to television and the phones. Those who accumulate enough points earn the privilege of having a portable television and VCR in their rooms. By minimizing disciplinary infractions, prisoners can participate in family picnics, order food and goods from local businesses, and wear personal rather than institutional clothing. No one wants problems that can lead to the loss of privileges or lockdowns. The system works exceptionally well, eliminating problems like gangs and violence. The rigid bureaucracy of Atlanta stands in stark opposition to McKean. Ideas for my master’s thesis begin to form as I study Luther’s management style. Eagerly, I write a letter explaining my intentions to him. He’s not only supportive but invites me to his office and makes himself available as an interview subject. ******* “I’m here to see Warden Luther,” I explain to the guard who eyes me suspiciously when I present myself to the control area. The guard is stationed in a locked booth, an area that is off limits to prisoners. After he makes a call and confirms that I’m authorized to visit the warden in his office, the guard–still wary–buzzes the door open and I walk in. Tall indoor plants with heavy green leaves fill the atrium-like lobby. I look up and see several skylights. Brightly colored fish swim in a large aquarium adjacent to the receptionist’s desk. She tells me to walk up the stairs. “The warden’s office will be to the left.” When I walk into the office the warden’s secretary greets me from her desk. “Have a seat Mr. Santos. Warden Luther will see you momentarily.” She smiles at me and offers to pour me a cup of coffee, as if I’m a colleague calling on a business acquaintance. I thank her but decline the coffee while picking up a magazine on the wooden table beside the chair. The trade magazine serves the prison industry and those who work in prison management. In perusing the table of contents I quickly spot an article that Warden Luther coauthored with one of my mentors, Professor John DiIulio. The phone on the secretary’s desk rings and she tells me I can walk into the warden’s office. My legs shake a little as I walk on the plush carpet. Warden Dennis Luther sits in a high-backed leather chair, at a desk of cherry wood. Behind him a large window overlooks the center of McKean’s compound. An American flag and another flag bearing the Department of Justice insignia hang from poles in the corner. Bookshelves line the wall and I see photographs of him with other Bureau of Prisons officials, including Director Kathy Hawk. “Have a seat.” Warden Luther gestures to a couch adjacent to his desk. It’s the first couch I’ve sat on since my term began. “Tell me about your thesis and how I can help,” he encourages me. “I’m at a stage where I have to propose my thesis subject to the graduate committee. I’d like to write about the incentive system and the token economy you’ve initiated here. I could make a more persuasive case if I could learn about the influences that shaped your management philosophy.” “Okay. We can start right now. What are your questions?” “Wow. I wasn’t expecting to start today, but since you’re offering, I’d like to hear about your relationship with Professor John DiIulio.” My question surprises him, and I’m sure he wonders how I know about the Princeton professor. “John DiIulio? Why would you ask about him?” “Well, while I was waiting in your outer office, I flipped through the magazine on the table. I didn’t have time to read it, but I saw that you coauthored an article with Dr. DiIulio. For the past few years I’ve had an ongoing correspondence with him and I’ve read all of his books. From what I’ve learned through our correspondence and from his books, Governing Prisons and No Escape, I’m surprised that you two would collaborate as colleagues.” He chuckles. “The truth is, John and I share more in common than you might think.” ******* After an hour with the warden I return to my room and immediately write a letter to Dr. DiIulio. I explain that I’m proposing to center my thesis on Warden Luther’s management style, contrasting his token economy with the goals of isolation and punishment that Professor James Q. Wilson promotes, and even with the strict control model that DiIulio himself extols. Dr. DiIulio surprises me with his quick response to my letter. He writes that he’s glad I’ve settled in so well at FCI McKean and that I’ve had an opportunity to learn from his friend, Warden Luther. “What if I could arrange to bring a class of Princeton students on a field trip to McKean? That way they could tour the prison and perhaps spend some time listening to you and Warden Luther describe your perspectives on confinement.” It’s an incredible offer for me, and I accept with enthusiasm. ******* On a Saturday morning, in the fall of 1994, I wake at three o’clock as a guard shines his flashlight into my single-man cell for the census count. After climbing out from under the covers and flipping on the light, I sit at my desk to read through the notes I’ve taken from Dr. DiIulio’s books. In a few hours I’ll receive an honor that I know will have meaning for the rest of my life. Although not quite equivalent to lecturing at Princeton, I’m looking forward to speaking with a group of Ivy League students, contributing to their education and to their understanding of America’s prison system. Few prisoners will ever enjoy such an honor and I bask, momentarily, in my good fortune.  I feel as if I’m charting my own course, making progress. At nine o’clock I walk to Warden Luther’s office, ready, intent on making a favorable impression while giving Dr. DiIulio and his students a different perspective on the need for prison reform. Three of us, including Warden Luther, Associate Warden Craig Apker, and I sit in a conference room. “Care for coffee or hot chocolate?” Warden Luther points to the buffet table. I walk over and pour hot chocolate from a thermos. While admiring the array of pastries on the oak table I suddenly realize it’s the first time I’ve sipped from a ceramic mug since I’ve been incarcerated. I’m used to plastic and this heavy mug dings against my teeth. The whole experience makes me grin. “Did you sleep well?” the warden asks. He’s dressed casually, in brown corduroys and a tan sweater over a shirt with a button-down Oxford collar. He looks preppy, which I guess is appropriate for a meeting with the undergrads. “I’ve been awake since three,” I admit. “This is a big day for me and I wanted to study the notes I’ve taken on Dr. DiIulio’s books.” Through the conference room window the three of us watch the charter bus come to a stop in front of the administration building. I’ve seen photographs of Dr. DiIulio before and recognize him as he steps off the bus. I’ve read everything I could about him. I know that he earned his Ph.D. from Harvard, and also that he was one of the youngest professors at Princeton to receive tenure. I count fourteen students, all well dressed, and I contemplate the brilliant futures that await them. These are future leaders being groomed in one of the world’s finest universities. Some may be offspring of legislators and judges. I’m thinking of the influence they represent and I’m grateful for the privilege of speaking with them while I’m wearing the khaki uniform of a prisoner. After introductions, we sit in cushioned chairs around the highly polished wooden conference table. The students take notes as Warden Luther provides the group with details on the prison. It is a medium-security Federal Correctional Institution with a population that ranges between 1,400 and 1,800 men. He describes how he governs the prison from the perspective that prisoners are sent to prison as punishment for their crimes, rejecting the notion that he has a duty to punish them further by creating an oppressive atmosphere. “So do you think others might construe your prison as one that coddles prisoners?” one of the students asks. “What do you think, Michael? Are you being coddled?” Warden Luther deflects the student’s question to me and I’m happy to respond. “I served the first several years of my sentence in a high-security prison, an environment that really dehumanizes everyone. Although I was able to create a routine and focus on educating myself, most of the other prisoners abandoned hope. Those perceptions and attitudes stoked their hostility. That level of anger doesn’t exist here, and from that perspective, it’s better, at least for me. “Some people might believe this atmosphere coddles prisoners, but it has many advantages that should interest taxpayers.  I don’t sense a strong gang presence, I haven’t seen any bloodshed, and the prisoners work together to sustain the availability of privileges we can work toward. We’re still in prison, still living without family, without liberty. When I’m lying on a steel rack in a locked room at night, with an aching to see my mother again, or to hug my sisters, or when I’m suffering from the estrangement I feel from society, from women, I’m aware of my punishment. I’ve been living that way for more than 2,500 days already. To me it doesn’t feel like I’m being coddled.” “What kind of changes do you think Congress could make that would serve the interests of taxpayers?” Dr. DiIulio asks Warden Luther. “One change I’d recommend would be to close all minimum-security prison camps. The camps don’t serve a useful purpose. Fences don’t confine the camp prisoners, and the men aren’t a threat to society. Camp prisoners should serve their sanctions in home-confinement or under some other form of community-based sanction that would not require taxpayers to spend more than $10,000 a year to support each man we confine in a camp.” “How about you, Michael? What kind of changes would you like to see Congress make?” “Well, as a long-term prisoner, I’d like to see citizens and members of Congress rethink the concept of justice. Instead of measuring justice by the number of calendar years a person serves in prison, I’d like to see changes that would measure justice by the efforts an offender makes to redeem his crimes and reconcile with society. Reforms should encourage offenders to work toward earning freedom through merit and redemptive acts.” “How about violent offenders?” Another student interjects. “Should offenders who violently prey on society have opportunities to earn freedom?” “I’m a big believer in a person’s capacity to change, to lead a productive and contributing life. An enlightened society such as ours ought to allow its criminal justice system to evolve. I don’t know the mechanisms citizens or leaders ought to put in place, or what challenges an individual ought to overcome to earn freedom, but I think we can come up with a system that serves society better than locking a human being in a cage for decades. Perhaps some offenders won’t express remorse, or work to atone, or do enough to earn freedom. But many will. And such a system, I’m sure, would serve the interests of society better than one limiting itself to isolating and punishing.” ******* The hours we spend together in Warden Luther’s conference room raise my spirit. When we leave I’m the tour guide, responding to student questions as we walk through the housing units, recreation areas, and prison compound. After our tour we return for a second conference that lasts another few hours. I’m energized as I finally walk them out to their bus, and I don’t mind at all when the guard at the gate leading back into the prison orders me against the wall so he can pat me down. Indifferent to the degradation and assault on my human dignity, I smile back at the group of students who watch the search. “Who’re they?” the guard asks, curious about why I’m with the group. “They’re students from Princeton.” He’s giving me a thorough search, perhaps because the group is looking on. I’m a spectacle, on display, with the guard’s hands working their way along my arms as if he’s squeezing meat into a sausage casing. “So why they coming to see you? You go to Princeton?” “No. I correspond with their professor, who has a relationship with Warden Luther.  The students came on a field trip and I was invited to participate.” “Lucky you,” he says as he clears me to walk through the gate and into the prison yard. ******* My meeting with Dr. DiIulio and his students inspires my thesis. It becomes a project that succeeds in making me feel luckier still, opening new avenues few long-term prisoners enjoy. Warden Luther authorizes me to record a video for presentation at the 1994 Annual Conference of the American Society of Criminology, and in May of 1995, Hofstra awards my Master of Arts degree. With those credentials and letters of endorsement from my growing support network, Dr. George Cole convinces his colleagues to admit me into a program at the University of Connecticut that will lead to my Ph.D. Eight years into my sentence and I’m on my way toward becoming a scholar of distinction. Or so I think.

Podcast 124: Earning Freedom with Michael Santos Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term   I’m reading from chapter six of Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term, by Michael Santos. In this reading, we’re covering chapter Six: 1992-1995 Months 62-84   It’s Thanksgiving, 1992, just before my sixth holiday season in prison. Despite the forbidden affair I’ve been carrying on with Sarah for the past six months, today she tells me that she needs to move on with her life. She understands the risks associated with our trysts and she’s come to the conclusion that the stress would be too much to bear for another 21 years. I’ve hardened emotionally, as I’m now familiar with the concept of loss. I’ve been expecting this moment, anticipating her good-bye since our first kiss.  Grateful that it has lasted this long, I’m prepared to move forward. ******* “What’s up? Did she finally dump you?” Windward asks, sensing my despondency when I return to the cell and drop to my rack without undressing. “I told you she’s my lawyer. That’s it.” “And I told my judge that I thought it was flour I was bringin’ in. What’s that got to do with anythin’?” “Can’t you just be quiet?” “Least you can do is tell me how it went down. No sense keep denyin’ it. Ain’t no hot young lawyer gonna keep visitin’ a man in the joint ’less somethin’s going on. ‘Sides that, I smell her all over ya.” “She was trying to help with my case. That’s it. Enough, just drop it.” Lying on my rack, ignoring Windward’s irritating interrogation, I silently acknowledge that I knew Sarah would eventually disappear from my life. She was a wonderful, delicious respite from my all-male world, but now she’s gone and despondency starts to settle in like a dense fog. Thoughts of women, family, and the normal life from which I’m separated rush in, squeezing me. I have to refocus, to push thoughts of Sarah out of my mind and block all hope of finding a woman to carry this burden with me. I’m going to focus on completing five years at a time, alone. I’ve got to reach 1997. ******* The people have elected William Jefferson Clinton the 42nd president of the United States. I closely followed the political coverage throughout the year. Julie even purchased a subscription to the Washington Post for me to keep abreast of politics. Now, on a sunny day in January 1993, I’m overwhelmed by my emotions, tears filling my eyes, as I watch Justice Rehnquist swear our new president into office. “Why do you care so much who the president is when you can’t even vote?” In my sister’s world the president doesn’t play much part in day-to-day life and she doesn’t grasp why I’m optimistic with this switch from Bush to Clinton. As a federal prisoner, I live under the restrictions of the Bureau of Prisons, an agency that needs major reform. I’m hoping that President Clinton or his attorney general will appoint a new director of this agency. I’m certain the change will bring more empathy, as the president’s younger brother, Roger, served a federal prison sentence for nonviolent cocaine trafficking. Reform and liberalization of prison could well come under Clinton’s leadership. In preparation of a research report I’m working on for Hofstra I read about various progressive prison systems that President Clinton may consider. In Scandinavian countries citizens from local communities participate in panels designed to oversee and facilitate positive adjustments for offenders. Prisoners meet with “ombudsmen panels” at the beginning of their terms and together they work to establish clearly defined, individualized programs that prisoners may follow to reconcile with society and earn their freedom through merit. No similar program exists in our justice system, though under Clinton there’s hope for change.  Hope has been a mantra of Clinton’s throughout the campaign, and if he wants to restore it for people in prison, he’ll need a different kind of system. Instead of a system that encourages offenders to embrace societal values, studies combined with my experiences convince me that our system has a dramatically different mission with dramatically different outcomes.  It began to deteriorate in 1973, after Robert Martinson, a criminologist, published “Nothing Works.” It was an influential study suggesting that regardless of what programs administrators initiated, people in prison were incapable of reform. Then Professor James Q. Wilson, a mentor of Dr. DiIulio’s, published his widely quoted book, Thinking About Crime. In that book, Professor Wilson suggested that society ought to limit the functions of prisons to two goals: isolate and punish.  I’d like to see a different approach, and under President Clinton’s leadership, I’m hopeful for meaningful reforms. Either way, I’m on my own, knowing that I must succeed in spite of external forces.  The concepts of isolation, deterrence, and punishment don’t concern me. I’m making daily progress by staying physically fit and putting in long hours of study toward my master’s degree. Regardless of whether President Clinton appoints enlightened leadership to change the system or not, I’ll continue to learn and grow. Neither the system of punishment nor anything else will block me from achieving the goals that I set. Despite the rigid, punishment-based policies espoused by theorists like Martinson and DiIulio and endorsed by the BOP–policies that thwart my struggle to emerge as a capable and contributing citizen–I’m heartened to learn of leaders who embrace what I consider an enlightened system of justice. Some come from surprising places, like the United States Supreme Court. In a 1985 commencement speech entitled “Factories With Fences,” Former Chief Justice Warren Burger called for the graduating students from Pace University to reform America’s growing prison system. Instead of perpetuating a system that simply isolates and punishes, Justice Burger urged changes within the system that would encourage prisoners to work toward “earning and learning their way to freedom.” Although eight years have passed since Justice Burger delivered his speech, the Bureau of Prisons has done little to implement his vision. I don’t see any way to earn freedom. Through my work and achievements I want to become an example and a catalyst for change. I may not advance my release date, but I will contribute, and I will lead a life of relevance. I will show by example that self-discipline and education can lead a prisoner to emerge as a contributing citizen, and I will urge reforms that encourage others to do the same. ******* I’m inspired by what I’ve learned from The Future of Imprisonment, a book Dr. Norval Morris published in the 1970s. Dr. Morris wrote that prisons in an enlightened society should enable prisoners to rise to their highest levels of competence.  His thoughts resonate with me so I write him. Thinking that he’s still a law professor at Harvard, I send my letter of introduction to Cambridge. I want him to know that his work has touched my life, and I ask for his guidance going forward. Several months pass before I receive his response. Administrators at Harvard forwarded my letter, as Dr. Morris moved to become the Julius Kreeger Professor of Law at The University of Chicago. He responded graciously to my letter, offering to advise me with my studies at Hofstra and throughout the remainder of my term. “I may be of particular help to you at times,” he writes, “as I’ve known every director of the Bureau of Prisons, and the past three directors are close friends of mine. Count on my support if you run into any obstacles with your pursuit of education.” Dr. Morris’s support boosts my spirits. To have distinguished academics like Professors McPherson, DiIulio, and Morris as mentors means that I’ll have guidance from the same professionals who offer expert opinions to legislators and to the highest levels of prison administrators. The professors will have an interest in preparing me for release; I can trust in them to advocate for me if I need help. Through our letters and phone calls, Dr. Morris and I become friends. He encourages me to call him Norval and introduces me to other leading American penologists. I begin to correspond with professors from across the United States, including scholars such as Leo Carroll, Todd Clear, Francis Cullen, Timothy Flanagan, Tara Gray, and Marilyn McShane. They all support my efforts and invite me to contribute to their work. As a prisoner who studies prisons from the inside and shares what he knows with the world of academia, I’m evidently unique. Dr. George Cole, an author and Chair of the Political Science Department at the University of Connecticut, pledges his support.  We begin to build a close friendship. Liberation seeps incrementally into my psyche with each of these relationships. I’m less susceptible to the hopelessness that pervades the lives around me. The woman I loved left me and I serve a sentence that is still measured in decades, but I’ve created a sense of meaning and I feel as though I’m making progress, which is the key to growth. ******* Bruce and I have completed our collaboration on “Transcending the Wall” about the importance of education in transforming prisoners’ lives. He generously gives me credit as the first author but it is Bruce who coordinates publication in the scholarly, peer-reviewed Journal of Criminal Justice Education. As I told Bruce during our summer visit in 1993, our publication serves a pragmatic purpose. “I need to start thinking about transferring from this penitentiary,” I tell him during one of our visits. “Are you feeling threatened?” he asks, on alert. Bruce read about the violence at USP Atlanta in a New York Times article that cited it as one of the nation’s most dangerous high security prisons. He’s always concerned about my safety. “My schedule keeps me away from trouble, but gang activity is more intense every day. It’s violent, bloodshed every week. I think it’s time to request a transfer.” “So what’s stopping you?” “I need more information. The thing is, when a prisoner asks for a transfer there’s no telling where the BOP will send him. It’s like playing roulette. I need to transfer to the most education-friendly prison possible.” “Can Norval help you?” “He can help, and he said he would. The problem is that I don’t know where to go. If I ask for a transfer the BOP will probably send me closer to Seattle, but being closer to home isn’t as important as the preparations I need to make for when I get out.” “What do we need to do?” I always love Bruce’s steadfast support, and I especially appreciate his use of the “we,” meaning he’s always on board to help. “I need to find the best prison for educational programming, but not according to what staff members say. I need inside information from actual prisoners who serve time in the institutions.” Bruce doesn’t understand why the prisoners’ perspective is so valuable to me when I actively avoid close interactions with the penitentiary population. I try to explain. “If someone were to inquire about educational opportunities here at USP Atlanta, the staff would discuss the basic programs. They would say that teachers, classrooms, and even college programs are available. But I’m the only prisoner out of 2,500 who’s earned a degree here, and there’s a reason for that. It’s because, despite what staff members say, the atmosphere in here is oppressive and the policies in practice discourage us from pursuing an education.” “Yes, but you’ve gotten around the obstacles here. What makes you think that you won’t get around them wherever you go?” “The reason I make progress here is because I have support from Ms. Stephens, Mr. Chandler, and a few others. They let me create a schedule that allows me to avoid problems and gives me access to computers; they intervene when policies or staff members try to block me. When I get to the next prison I’m just another prisoner, and I’ll be facing obstacles there like everyone else, including from BOP staff members that may resent me for striving to become something more. Those kinds of staff members throw up insurmountable barriers. I see them every day here, but this penitentiary has become as familiar to me as the back of my hand and I know how to get around in here. I need details and the up-to-date truth from prisoners about what goes on in other prisons. With that information I can decide where to request a transfer.” Our conversation evolves into a plan. Bruce writes a letter of introduction to Sylvia McCollum, the Director of Education for the entire Bureau of Prisons. He lists his credentials as a retired professor of education from Chicago and explains that for the past several years he has been mentoring me. He includes a copy of the article we co-authored, offering to travel to Washington to meet with Ms. McCollum and discuss contributions he might make to the Bureau of Prisons as a volunteer. Had I written to Sylvia McCollum directly, it’s unlikely that my letter would’ve reached her, or that I would’ve received a response. With Bruce as my emissary, on the other hand, I knew that I would have a better chance of receiving the data I was looking to find. Bruce visited Ms. McCollum at her office in DC, at the Bureau of Prisons headquarters.  She welcomed his offer to mentor other prisoners and even congratulated me through Bruce on the progress I’ve made.  When he told her that he wanted to help others, Ms. McCollum encouraged him.  She gave him clearance to visit any federal prison he wanted and instructed those who presided over education departments to accommodate him by arranging private meetings with the prisoners who were most active in education programs. “I’m ready to begin my journey,” Bruce tells me over the phone after describing his successful meeting with Ms. McCollum. “Where should I go?” ******* The research work pays off.  With Bruce and Norval’s assistance, I successfully coordinate my transfer after learning that the best prison for education is FCI McKean. It’s wonderful news when guards inform me that I’m being transferred out of the United States Penitentiary and that I’m on my way to McKean. “Santos. 16377-004.” I respond to the guard who processes me in for transfer as he calls me forward. He shakes my wrists to ensure the handcuffs are secure and then yanks on the chain around my waist. “Whadda we got goin’ on down here?” The guard pulls my pant legs out from between my skin and the steel bracelets locked around my ankles.  “I didn’t get any socks, sir. The chains were digging into my shins.” “Gonna have to live with it. Security first.” He tightens the cuffs to ensure I don’t pull the pant legs through again. Then he clears me. I once read a novel by Wilbur Smith describing the horrific experiences of people who were locked in chains after slave traders captured them.  The slaves were forced to walk across rough terrain to the ships stealing them from Africa. The descriptions sickened me when I read the novel and I’m reminded of them as I shuffle my way onto the bus. The steel rings once again cut into my skin, but by shortening my steps I lessen the pain. My stomach churns despite three earlier trips to the bathroom. My body hasn’t moved faster than my legs could carry it since 1988, the last time I was in a vehicle. Now, in the spring of 1994, I’m sitting on an uncomfortable seat in the prison bus that is about to transport me out of USP Atlanta. Diesel fumes from the engines make me nauseous and beads of sweat form on my forehead It’s been seven years since my arrest. I’m now 30-years-old, certainly a different man, though still a prisoner with a long, steep climb into more darkness. I smile as I settle into the black vinyl seat, recalling how I engineered this transfer. With Norval’s help the administrative obstacles to the transfer were insignificant. Bruce visited five prisons and spoke with several prisoners in each. Clearly, the news about the Federal Correctional Institution in Bradford, Pennsylvania, known as FCI McKean, suggested that it would be my best choice. The prisoners at McKean refer to it as “Dream McKean,” with a progressive warden, Dennis Luther, who wholeheartedly supports educational programs. Ordinarily the documented address of release residence in my case file would’ve prohibited my transfer to McKean. The BOP confined me in the Southeast region because of my arrest in South Florida, but my release address is Seattle. “I can submit a transfer for you to FCI McKean,” my case manager told me when I asked, “but I know the Region isn’t going to approve it. You don’t have a release address for that part of the country, and I know you’ll either be sent to a prison in the West or another prison here in the Southeast.” “I don’t care about being close to home. I’ve got too much time left to serve and McKean’s the best spot to finish my education.” I persisted with the request, knowing she wanted to help. “Look, I support you and I’m going to submit you for McKean. I’m just telling you what’s going to happen. Once I send the file to the regional office it’s out of my hands, and no one in that office knows anything about you.” My case manager, Ms. Forbes, had attended my graduation in 1992 and helped me make arrangements with the mailroom to receive the books I needed from the Hofstra library. She supported my efforts but was honest in telling me what she thought would happen once she put forth my file for transfer. I existed only as a number in the system, and I understood that all consideration from staff at USP Atlanta would end with my transfer request. After that conversation with my case manager I called Norval and explained the advantages that FCI McKean offered along with the challenges I would have in transferring. Norval said he knew the regional director and promised to call him on my behalf. That was two days ago. When the bus engine begins to roar, I feel ready to leave. I’ve lived through six holiday seasons amidst prisoners serving multiple life sentences in the penitentiary. Transitioning to a medium-security prison means encountering less volatility and more optimism, I hope. As I wait for the bus to roll along, my thoughts, curiously, turn to my eventual release. I submitted a petition for clemency about six months ago.  It wasn’t my intention to submit the petition until 1997, when I would’ve completed my first decade.  But after discussing my plan with Norval, he convinced me on the merits of submitting the petition at once.  “These efforts take time and work,” Norval explained, “and clemency is extremely rare, especially in this political climate. I don’t see any advantage in waiting until 1997. You’ve earned one university degree and you’re well on your way to earning a second. Draft a petition now and send it to me for review. I think you should get the process started.” With Norval’s letter of support, I proudly sent my petition to the U.S. pardon attorney in Washington. That was more than six months ago. Whenever I’ve made an inquiry on the progress, I received form letters that say my petition is under review. I have no idea what will happen, if anything. I can’t grasp the concept of 19 more years in prison. But I’m transferring from a high-security penitentiary to a medium-security FCI now, and I’m excited about the change of scenery, even if I’m still immersed in a population of more than 1,500 felons.  

1941's Cottage To Let started life as a play in London's West End.  It was a huge hit and film director Anthony Asquith (Browning Version, Pygmalion, The Importance of Being Earnest) did well to cast young actor George Cole and former Scrooge Alistair Sim who had appeared in the play -- they're the two most interesting characters.  But the cast is full of British screen and theater pros including Leslie Banks, John Mills, Michael Wilding and Jeanne De Casalis. Dan and Vicky share their love for this lost gem from the British film tradition as well as some of their recently seen.  Recent films include Harley Quinn, The Gentleman, The Turning, The Lodge and Gretel and Hansel.  Select TV includes When They See Us, High Fidelity and a slew of real life crime specials from Hulu.  Also, Vicky catches us up on the latest from Funikijam and Dan tells us about his visit to Broadway to catch the new musical Tina, based on the life of Tina Turner.  Take a listen to Hot Date 101:  Cottage to Let and leave us some feedback.  Check out our website at hotdatepod.com.

Music used in this podcast:“Satch Boogie”: by Joe Satriani; Courtesy of Strange Beautiful Music/ASCAP Publishing“Ice 9”: by Joe Satriani; Courtesy of Strange Beautiful Music/ASCAP Publishing Be sure to WATCH this and every episode at Sharkey's Treehouse. John Cuniberti’s own site says his music career began as a 70’s rock drummer playing in Eddie Money’s first rock band, The Rockets. When the group disbanded in 1973, John turned his attention to live sound engineering. In 1975 John helped design and build a touring sound reinforcement company and soon found himself mixing on-stage monitors for Stevie Wonder.   In the early 80’s John became chief engineer at Hyde Street Studios in San Francisco. There he recorded three Dead Kennedys albums and dozens of other punk, metal, and alternative bands of the era.   By the early 1990s, John received both platinum and gold records for co-producing and engineering six Joe Satriani records, including Satriani’s ground-breaking 1988 “Surfing with the Alien.” Also throughout the 90’s, John continued to produce and engineer hundreds of albums both in the US and abroad. It was during this time that John designed, manufactured and sold the first commercially available reamping device called the Reamp. He also helped design and build three Bay Area recording studios.   In 2000 John opened a CD mastering suite at the world-famous Plant Recording Studios in Sausalito. For the next eight years, John crafted his skills in the art of mastering. During his time there, John mastered over one thousand CDs for both major and independent record labels including Tracy Chapman, Sound Tribe Sector 9, Thomas Dolby, Aaron Neville, Jesse Colin Young and the Grateful Dead. In 2008 John won a Grammy for his mastering work on “Global Drum Project” by Mickey Hart and Zakir Hussain.   After leaving The Plant in 2008, John built a mixing and mastering studio in his home. In this studio, he continues to work on projects for Joe Satriani, Sammy Hagar, PJ Harvey, Chickenfoot, Kevin Gilbert, the Neville Brothers, the Funky Meters, jazz guitarist George Cole and many others.   In In 2016 John began work on his YouTube channel entitled “OneMic the minimalist recording series.” In this series of eleven videos, John demonstrates how he records an entire band around one stereo microphone with remarkable results. The series has been so successful that a new set of eight videos will be recorded and filmed at Sun Studios in Memphis and Muscle Shoals in the spring of 2018.   Links https://sharkeystreehouse.com/ http://www.johncuniberti.com/ OneMic - the minimalist recording series    

  John Cuniberti’s own site says his music career began as a 70’s rock drummer playing in Eddie Money’s first rock band, The Rockets. When the group disbanded in 1973, John turned his attention to live sound engineering. In 1975 John helped design and build a touring sound reinforcement company and soon found himself mixing on-stage monitors for Stevie Wonder. In the early 80’s John became chief engineer at Hyde Street Studios in San Francisco. There he recorded three Dead Kennedys albums and dozens of other punk, metal, and alternative bands of the era. By the early 1990s, John received both platinum and gold records for co-producing and engineering six Joe Satriani records, including Satriani’s ground-breaking 1988 “Surfing with the Alien.” Also throughout the 90’s, John continued to produce and engineer hundreds of albums both in the US and abroad. It was during this time that John designed, manufactured and sold the first commercially available reamping device called the Reamp. He also helped design and build three Bay Area recording studios. In 2000 John opened a CD mastering suite at the world-famous Plant Recording Studios in Sausalito. For the next eight years, John crafted his skills in the art of mastering. During his time there, John mastered over one thousand CDs for both major and independent record labels including Tracy Chapman, Sound Tribe Sector 9, Thomas Dolby, Aaron Neville, Jesse Colin Young and the Grateful Dead. In 2008 John won a Grammy for his mastering work on “Global Drum Project” by Mickey Hart and Zakir Hussain. After leaving The Plant in 2008, John built a mixing and mastering studio in his home. In this studio, he continues to work on projects for Joe Satriani, Sammy Hagar, PJ Harvey, Chickenfoot, Kevin Gilbert, the Neville Brothers, the Funky Meters, jazz guitarist George Cole and many others. In In 2016 John began work on hbio pic bis YouTube channel entitled “OneMic the minimalist recording series.” In this series of eleven videos, John demonstrates how he records an entire band around one stereo microphone with remarkable results. The series has been so successful that a new set of eight videos will be recorded and filmed at Sun Studios in Memphis and Muscle Shoals in the spring of 2018. Links Sharkey's Treehouse John Cuniberti Home Page    

We're Back!! George Cole is changing things up in 2019! New sounds, new intro, same old wrestling!! 

Looks Unfamiliar is a podcast in which writer and occasional broadcaster Tim Worthington talks to a guest about some of the things that they remember that nobody else ever seems to. Joining Tim for a special Christmas edition is writer Stephen O'Brien, who's here to talk about little-heard eighties Christmas Singles including Hokey Cokey by The Snowmen, Jingle Bells Laughing All The Way by The Hysterics, What Are We Gonna Get 'Er Indoors by Dennis Waterman and George Cole, Oh Blimey It's Christmas by Frank Sidebottom, Christmas In Hollis by Run DMC, Old Fashioned Christmas by Anne Charleston And Ian Smith, and Do They Know It's Christmas, by Band Aid II?, not to mention Bing Crosby and David Bowie's stilted natter, Boris Gardiner's mercifully forgotten third single, and the thorny question of whether Keeping The Dream Alive by Freiheit is a Christmas Single or a load of old twaddle. Along the way we'll be hearing the World's Worst Jane Leeves Impression, revealing who wrote and sang the theme tune for The Quatermass Experiment, avoiding giving the actual official worst Christmas Present possible in the entirety of history, and finding out how to get accidentally mistaken for an extra in Neighbours. You can find more editions of Looks Unfamiliar at http://timworthington.org/

To Roman Reigns I want to wish you a fast recovery, This week George Cole discusses Raw & Smackdown Live! As well as rants on underutilized superstars & an amazing Heel Turn!

George Cole talks about himself. What a dweeb. He also discusses the Ghost stories in his life. 

George Cole is Sick and Here is Some Wrestling!   

This week George Cole reviews this week in wrestling and the match card for Hell in a Cell. 

Let the Conspiracy begin, George Cole discusses the 1947 Roswell UFO incident. P.S. we're Thinkin it's almost time to bring in some friends. Hmmm? Wanna call in soon? Let's discuss that! 

This week we start the official official Dirty Work Wednesday as George Cole discusses The All In PPV, Raw & Smackdown live. With some Ums and other stuff. He also lets you in on the newest format. Enjoy. 

This week George Cole discusses this week in wrestling and The JFK Assasination. Enjoy. And email us at wrestlingwithconspiracy@gmail.com or follow us on Twitter or Facebook! 

The First Episode of WWC Podcast, George Cole goes over the show rundown, introduces himself & reviews this week in wrestling. 

Dr. George Cole, Jr., is Medical Director at Pharmacyclics where he directs Phase I, II and III global clinical trials after training as a thoracic surgeon. We discuss his path from his early years to where he is today. Dr. Cole also mentored host Dr. Dianne Ansari-Winn along her path to a non-clinical career (the "Dark Side") over 4 years ago. If you are interested in exploring a non-clinical career, this podcast is for you. We discuss where to begin, how to assess your skills, build a network, the importance of a resume, timeline for traversing to a non-clinical career, whether or not to get an MBA, and other topics vital to making this important decision and transition.

Sentenced to 45-Years: Now I have a question for readers. If you could influence someone, who would you want to influence? What do you know about that person? In what ways would influencing that person change your life? What steps could you take today to influence that person? My judge chose not to impose a life sentence. Instead, he sentenced me to 45 years. I was sentenced under a different set of laws than the sentencing laws that exist today. Under the laws that existed for crimes committed in 1987, I could earn 19-years worth of good-time credits. For readers who don’t know about good time, they’re rewards for avoiding disciplinary infractions. A prisoner didn’t need to do anything particularly good to earn good time. He simply needed to avoid being convicted of violating disciplinary infractions. So long as I didn’t lose any good time during my journey through prison, I would satisfy my sentence after 26 years of imprisonment. Since I was 23-years-old when authorities took me into custody, I didn’t quite know how to process the concept of serving 26 years. Thankfully, by reading Socrates I had a vision and a strategy. By thinking about my avatars, I could craft a strategy that would allow me emerge successfully. I would focus on that three-pronged goal of working to educate myself, to contribute to society, and to building a support network. I began serving my sentence in the United States Penitentiary in Atlanta, thousands of miles away from where I grew up, in Seattle. While locked inside those high walls, I embarked upon the first prong of my plan. Although I’d been a lousy student in high school, I was determined to become a good student in prison. Why? Because I believed that if I could earn a university degree while incarcerated, people in society would respect me. And if more people respected me, I believed that more opportunities would open. Since I didn’t have any financial resources, I began writing letters to universities. I wrote to hundreds of universities, not knowing whether anyone would read the letters. Still, I knew that if I didn’t write letters, I wouldn’t stand a chance of connecting with my avatars who lived on the other side of prison walls. Each letter expressed the same message: I made bad decisions as a young man. As a consequence of those decisions, I served a lengthy term in prison. I wrote that I wanted to educate myself while inside and I asked for help. In time, I found universities to work with me. Those relationships I opened from inside prison walls resulted in my earning an undergraduate in 1992, and a master’s degree in 1995. After Hofstra University awarded my master’s degree, I began studying toward a Ph.D. at the University of Connecticut. Then a warden determined that my education had gone far enough. He put a stop to my formal studies by prohibiting the prison’s mailroom from receiving books that the University of Connecticut’s library would send for my coursework. Fortunately, by then I had eight years of imprisonment behind me. That experience conditioned me to cope well with obstacles. When my formal studies came to an end, I shifted focus. As I wrote in Earning Freedom and other books, I went through a phase where the stock market consumed all of my time. By studying how investors valued stocks I learned about business. I became fluent with “technical analysis,” learning how to assess a stock’s value in accordance with various trading patterns. By reading financial newspapers and magazines and books, I also learned about “fundamental analysis,” learning the importance of more objective metrics like growth rates, profit margins, return on equity, and other factors. Studying the stock market, I knew, would be a poor substitute for real business experience. But serving a lengthy term in prison required that I look for “unorthodox” ways to prepare myself for success upon release. And the more I could learn about business, the more I would arm myself for the challenges I anticipated upon release. What lessons could you learn with the resources you have around you? In the pages and chapters that follow, you’ll see how asking questions inspired me to learn as much as possible. It’s crucial that we use resources around us to prepare for success in our future. Without a deliberate plan, however, we sometimes fail to see the resources. Later, I’ll show the strategy that worked so well for me. As we approached the turn of the century I crossed over into the second half of my sentence. I had 13 years of prison behind me and 13 years of prison ahead of me. I shifted attention to writing, wanting to advance purposely toward the other two prongs of my adjustment strategy. First I wrote articles and I submitted them for publication. Then I began writing chapters for academic books. In time, one of my mentors offered to introduce me to his publisher. Professor George Cole, from the University of Connecticut, presided over my Ph.D. program and he authored the leading textbook on corrections. George suggested that I write a book for an academic audience that his publisher could package as a supplemental text for university students who were studying corrections. His suggestion led to my first book, About Prison. Key Point: I hope you will connect the dots here. Early in the book I wrote how I contemplated my avatars. What was that? While still in the county jail, before I’d even been sentenced, I thought about the people I would want to influence in my future. I didn’t know George Cole then, and George Cole didn’t know me. He was a distinguished author and he led the criminal justice department at the University of Connecticut. But while I was locked in the Pierce County Jail, masterminds like Socrates inspired me. They taught me to ask “Socratic questions” about what steps I could take during my imprisonment to prepare for success. Those questions led to my three-part adjustment strategy: My avatars would expect me to educate myself. My avatars would expect me to contribute to society. My avatars would expect me to build a support network. By sticking to that three-pronged strategy, I could open more opportunities. Since I executed that plan, I earned university degrees. Since I earned university degrees, I found it easier to open opportunities to publish articles. Since I published articles, I found mentors like George Cole. He didn’t judge me for the bad decisions that brought me to prison. Instead, he looked upon me as someone who could add value to society. George then introduced me to his publisher. She issued a contract to publish About Prison. When About Prison came out, thousands of people became aware of my work. My support network grew. Since the prison system didn’t allow me to “run a business,” I assigned royalties from About Prison to family members. Those resources opened opportunities I could leverage and create more opportunities. The cycle of success began for me while I served time inside of a jail cell, before I was even sentenced to prison. When will your cycle of success begin? It will begin as soon as you start living by this same model: Visualize success by contemplating your avatars. Create a plan that will persuade your avatars to invest time, energy, and resources in your development. Execute your plan with every thought that goes through your mind, with every word that comes out of your mouth, and with every decision you make while serving your sentence. After writing my first book, I reached to another mentor of mine. Dr. Marilyn McShane. Marilyn taught criminal justice courses at several universities and she also advised publishing companies. She opened an opportunity for me to publish my second book, Profiles From Prison, through Greenwood/Praeger, another well-respected academic publishing house. With two publishing credentials behind me, I aspired to reach a wider audience. Prison populations had been growing and I thought it would be helpful to write a general nonfiction book about the prison system. I pulled books from prison library shelves and researched how to go about publishing a mainstream book. The first step would be to write a book proposal. Then I would need to write sample chapters. Next, I would need to write a cover letter and begin sending self-addressed-stamped envelopes to literary agents.

Sentenced to 45-Years: My judge chose not to impose a life sentence. Instead, he sentenced me to 45 years. I was sentenced under a different set of laws than the sentencing laws that exist today. Under the laws that existed for crimes committed in 1987, I could earn 19-years worth of good-time credits. For readers who don’t know about good time, they’re rewards for avoiding disciplinary infractions. A prisoner didn’t need to do anything particularly good to earn good time. He simply needed to avoid being convicted of violating disciplinary infractions. So long as I didn’t lose any good time during my journey through prison, I would satisfy my sentence after 26 years of imprisonment.   Since I was 23-years-old when authorities took me into custody, I didn’t quite know how to process the concept of serving 26 years. Thankfully, by reading Socrates I had a vision and a strategy. By thinking about my avatars, I could craft a strategy that would allow me emerge successfully. I would focus on that three-pronged goal of working to educate myself, to contribute to society, and to building a support network.   I began serving my sentence in the United States Penitentiary in Atlanta, thousands of miles away from where I grew up, in Seattle. While locked inside those high walls, I embarked upon the first prong of my plan. Although I’d been a lousy student in high school, I was determined to become a good student in prison. Why? Because I believed that if I could earn a university degree while incarcerated, people in society would respect me. And if more people respected me, I believed that more opportunities would open.   Since I didn’t have any financial resources, I began writing letters to universities. I wrote to hundreds of universities, not knowing whether anyone would read the letters. Still, I knew that if I didn’t write letters, I wouldn’t stand a chance of connecting with my avatars who lived on the other side of prison walls. Each letter expressed the same message:   I made bad decisions as a young man. As a consequence of those decisions, I served a lengthy term in prison. I wrote that I wanted to educate myself while inside and I asked for help. In time, I found universities to work with me. Those relationships I opened from inside prison walls resulted in my earning an undergraduate in 1992, and a master’s degree in 1995.   After Hofstra University awarded my master’s degree, I began studying toward a Ph.D. at the University of Connecticut. Then a warden determined that my education had gone far enough. He put a stop to my formal studies by prohibiting the prison’s mailroom from receiving books that the University of Connecticut’s library would send for my coursework. Fortunately, by then I had eight years of imprisonment behind me. That experience conditioned me to cope well with obstacles.   When my formal studies came to an end, I shifted focus. As I wrote in Earning Freedom and other books, I went through a phase where the stock market consumed all of my time. By studying how investors valued stocks I learned about business. I became fluent with “technical analysis,” learning how to assess a stock’s value in accordance with various trading patterns. By reading financial newspapers and magazines and books, I also learned about “fundamental analysis,” learning the importance of more objective metrics like growth rates, profit margins, return on equity, and other factors.   Studying the stock market, I knew, would be a poor substitute for real business experience. But serving a lengthy term in prison required that I look for “unorthodox” ways to prepare myself for success upon release. And the more I could learn about business, the more I would arm myself for the challenges I anticipated upon release.   What lessons could you learn with the resources you have around you? In the pages and chapters that follow, you’ll see how asking questions inspired me to learn as much as possible. It’s crucial that we use resources around us to prepare for success in our future. Without a deliberate plan, however, we sometimes fail to see the resources. Later, I’ll show the strategy that worked so well for me.   As we approached the turn of the century I crossed over into the second half of my sentence. I had 13 years of prison behind me and 13 years of prison ahead of me. I shifted attention to writing, wanting to advance purposely toward the other two prongs of my adjustment strategy. First I wrote articles and I submitted them for publication. Then I began writing chapters for academic books. In time, one of my mentors offered to introduce me to his publisher. Professor George Cole, from the University of Connecticut, presided over my Ph.D. program and he authored the leading textbook on corrections. George suggested that I write a book for an academic audience that his publisher could package as a supplemental text for university students who were studying corrections. His suggestion led to my first book, About Prison.     Key Point: I hope you will connect the dots here. Early in the book I wrote how I contemplated my avatars. What was that? While still in the county jail, before I’d even been sentenced, I thought about the people I would want to influence in my future. I didn’t know George Cole then, and George Cole didn’t know me. He was a distinguished author and he led the criminal justice department at the University of Connecticut. But while I was locked in the Pierce County Jail, masterminds like Socrates inspired me. They taught me to ask “Socratic questions” about what steps I could take during my imprisonment to prepare for success. Those questions led to my three-part adjustment strategy:   My avatars would expect me to educate myself. My avatars would expect me to contribute to society. My avatars would expect me to build a support network.   By sticking to that three-pronged strategy, I could open more opportunities. Since I executed that plan, I earned university degrees. Since I earned university degrees, I found it easier to open opportunities to publish articles. Since I published articles, I found mentors like George Cole. He didn’t judge me for the bad decisions that brought me to prison. Instead, he looked upon me as someone who could add value to society. George then introduced me to his publisher. She issued a contract to publish About Prison. When About Prison came out, thousands of people became aware of my work. My support network grew. Since the prison system didn’t allow me to “run a business,” I assigned royalties from About Prison to family members. Those resources opened opportunities I could leverage and create more opportunities.   The cycle of success began for me while I served time inside of a jail cell, before I was even sentenced to prison. When will your cycle of success begin? It will begin as soon as you start living by this same model:   Visualize success by contemplating your avatars. Create a plan that will persuade your avatars to invest time, energy, and resources in your development. Execute your plan with every thought that goes through your mind, with every word that comes out of your mouth, and with every decision you make while serving your sentence.   After writing my first book, I reached to another mentor of mine. Dr. Marilyn McShane. Marilyn taught criminal justice courses at several universities and she also advised publishing companies. She opened an opportunity for me to publish my second book, Profiles From Prison, through Greenwood/Praeger, another well-respected academic publishing house.   With two publishing credentials behind me, I aspired to reach a wider audience. Prison populations had been growing and I thought it would be helpful to write a general nonfiction book about the prison system. I pulled books from prison library shelves and researched how to go about publishing a mainstream book.   The first step would be to write a book proposal. Then I would need to write sample chapters. Next, I would need to write a cover letter and begin sending self-addressed-stamped envelopes to literary agents.

Phil Edwards, Andy Blume and Daniel Olivares are back in the studio with this week's look at all things Geek. Special Guest: Yvan Drake. Show Notes: Revenge porn website operator claims 'free speech' defence [The Age] Foxtel set to launch legal action to block piracy websites [ABC News] Foxtel customers angered by ads against same-sex marriage [The Age] Australian government pays hefty price to keep outdated Windows operating systems secure [The Age] Victoria pushes for dedicated telco signal for emergency services [The Age] Australian couple cop $15,000 Facebook defamation bill [The Age] Cards Against Cancer Charity Fundraiser [Cards Against Cancer] Shot dead, live on air: Brazilian journalist Gleydson Carvalho's murder part of alarming trend [The Age] India orders clampdown on internet porn, sparks censorship debate [The Age] Woman Sees For The First Time In Years Thanks To Bionic Eye [The Huffington Post] iTunes is Illegal Under UK Copyright Law [TorrentFreak] iOS 9 Will Use Mobile Data When Your Wi-Fi Sucks [Gizmodo Australia] Apple's music deals allow for new Beats stations at any time [The Verge] Minder star George Cole dies aged 90 [ABC News] Monty Python and the Holy Grail Coming Back To Theaters [Den Of Geek] Today Is The Day Marty McFly Went To The Future [Tumblr] Murray Films "Ghostbusters" Reboot Cameo? [Dark Horizons] Amazon's New Car Show Has A Rumoured Budget Of $US250 Million [Gizmodo Australia] Springsteen, Colbert, Carell and Oliver at Stewart's Daily Show finale [Daily Mail] When You're A Cat, Serious Television Can Be Tricky [Kotaku Australia] Something we mentioned in the show but missing in the Show Notes? Let us know via our Contact Page. Songs We Played: Suzi Quatro - "Devil Gate Drive" [iTunes] Cake - "Short Skirt/Long Jacket" [iTunes] Foo Fighters - "Learn To Fly" [iTunes] The Rolling Stones - "Sympathy For The Devil" [iTunes] Mi-Sex - "Computer Games" [iTunes] The Doors - "Love Her Madly" [iTunes] Questions, Comments, Feedback and Suggestions are all welcome. Website - http://geeksinterrupted.fm Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/GeeksInterrupted Twitter - https://twitter.com/GeeksOnAir Voicemail - http://www.speakpipe.com/GeeksInterrupted If you enjoyed this episode head on over to iTunes and kindly leave us a rating, a review and subscribe.

Matthew Bannister on The singer and TV presenter Cilla Black - we go behind the scenes to discover the secret of her success on Saturday night TV. Michael Kidson who taught history at Eton for thirty years, delighting his pupils by his maverick behaviour. The Indian scientist and reluctant politician APJ Abdul Kalam, known as the "People's President". The Scottish public health campaigner Evelyn Gillan who targeted domestic violence and fought for minimum pricing for alcohol. And the actor George Cole, best known for playing Arthur Daley in the TV series Minder.

Roy Plomley's castaway is actor George Cole. Favourite track: Symphony No. 2 in D by Jean Sibelius Book: The Form Book Luxury: Havana cigars