A small victory came on Friday, while also bringing with it a degree of angst. I was shuttled off to the 12 man room but assigned to a bottom bunk. So good and bad all rolled into one, up then down!. There was another hooper in this room who knew me from the court, so that made it a little better as he announced OT was okay. When the CO called me to the bubble with a couple other inmates, I didn’t know what to expect. Fortunately it was all just relocation within the dorm.

I also received a note in that evening’s mail that I had won the grievance on my lost bag of items – not the recent one but my bag of items denied when I first arrived was sent home, or at least I thought it was. I should say, it was supposed to be, but I have a feeling the inmates working there helped themselves to most of the items and sent them home all right – to their home. The CO in charge had no explanation when I brought a grievance against him and the department. I had the paper of what they kept and were supposed to return. I also had my wife swearing nothing was returned. Turns out when the grievance department investigated, the facility had no record of anything sent out either. It only left one outcome available – repay me for the lost items. I needed a receipt for most items especially the expensive hoodie sent in, and fortunately my wife could supply a charge card receipt. The value of the other items was estimated, so I was informed the grievance hearing, which I did not even have to attend since it was pretty cut and dry, had found in my favor and I would be awarded the amount of the missing items. Guess my time in the grievance office and working with claims had paid off. So another up.

However, I knew my present grievance had little chance of success as no one person could be pinpointed. Plus it was my word against everyone else – the facility, grievance department, all other inmates, everyone. Was I now one of those “frequent fliers”, always grieving something? In reality I was most concerned about my radio and glasses, so another down.
To get my original pair of specs I had to go to medical to have them evaluate me for glasses. Unfortunately, that is only done twice a month when the optometrist visits the facility. So that meant getting up before 6:00 AM to go to medical and sign up for his next visit. Then I had to wait for the all important call out for that examination. I then had to again get up and down to medical by 6:00 AM to wait in line till called for my exam. When I had accomplished all that, I sat in front of a machine with dials and lenses that looked to be one out of the Smithsonian. Anyway, he confirmed I needed glasses and said good-bye. After about two or three weeks they finally arrived. Another 6 AM trip to pick them up, ones I really only used to read. I had actually used cheap ‘cheaters’ on the outside. Inside corrections, one pair is paid for by DOCS, the rest are on you. And no, you cannot have them sent in from the outside. Why? Because DOCS said so. So I would have to begin the process all over again. More down.

As for my radio, I had ordered it from a catalog approved by DOCS. It was a clear plastic transistor radio right out of 1960. Every electronic item – radio, CD player, clippers, typewriters, anything, had to be clear plastic so CO’s could check and make sure nothing illegal like a weapon could be housed inside. They could also check the item to be sure it was not tampered with in any way. I had also ordered a special headset with volume controls, but they were rejected at intake here at Mid State and were in that missing bag that was not sent home. Luckily someone had some unused ear buds they gave me, so I could listen again with pleasure up until I moved and lost it.

Music has always been a big deal with me, both vocal and instrumental.
I had sung in junior and high school chorus, been in the church choir since grade school, even sung and played in a couple of rock and roll bands. I was in the marching band and orchestra in high school and also played a short stint in a community orchestra. I loved music. I even took one semester of piano in college, trying the bass fiddle for a bit and even trying to learn the violin, an instrument my mother had played when younger. However the lessons for the latter were ultra expensive and I was very busy with college sports to keep it up. But the love of music stuck with me throughout my life, so listening to the radio and the various musical programs and talk shows was great. I was fortunate to have that radio at work back in Fishkill’s Grievance Department, but was not allowed to take my radio anywhere out of the dorm there or here. Long story short, I missed my radio. Now this is where I once again discovered how God works.

I was walking the walkway to the gym on Saturday afternoon when I noticed the friend I had often weight lifted with in the outside weight area at Fishkill. I guess I was kind of down and when asked the cause, explained to him my lost bag and content story. He surprised me when he said he’d look into it. Not really knowing what that meant but feeling uplifted that someone cared enough to lift my spirits even with a false promise I bounced into the gym for some pick up basketball. Buoyed by the possibilities, even slim ones, I played well, then went back to the dorm. Up and down.

On the way, a couple of guys I knew asked why I was talking to that guy on the way down to rec. I explained and they then explained he was the leader of the Latin Kings, one of the notorious gangs inside corrections. Right, I said, picturing the leader of the Latin Kings to be someone taller, bigger and meaner than my friend. But then I remembered he told me back when we talked in Fishkill how he knew martial arts and had beaten back four cops who were trying to subdue him before two more had to shock him multiple times to stop him, the crime that landed him here. Hmmm, maybe there was some truth to that rumor.

So in the yard on Sunday, a place I liked to go even in cold weather just to look at the uninterrupted sky and breath fresh air, I saw him in the outside weight pit where he motioned me over from my walking laps. He started walking and talking with me, telling me he thought he had found my radio, and that it he could get it back for a brick. (a brick was a pack of cigarettes) My glasses that I was worried about were long gone, probably a banger or shiv by now (weapons) as were any cooking items.
I was stunned. He knew the guy who had stolen my bag and now was extorting money from me for him? It was my radio, and I deserved it back. He said the guy who had done it didn’t know who’s bag it was and that he himself intervened when I had told him my story the other day. He added, think about it and let him know. I knew one reason the guy probably wanted to get rid of the stolen property was because it had my ID number on it, a ticket for sure should he be caught with it in his possession. The only person he could sell it to was me.

I returned to the dorm and spoke with a couple of guys who not only knew my lost bag story but who knew my friend was as well. We all understood there was no going to the authorities or grieving it. Right or wrong it was prison justice. They were just surprised he even bothered to help me with the whole thing. It sure didn’t seem right to me, paying twice for something that was already mine which I could prove. And a brick was not that easy to come by, something that I would have to buy on commissary or have someone bring in a package.

Talk about an education. It was an interesting situation, like nothing I had ever been involved in before. God seemed to be working even when I was not, or rather even when I couldn’t. Why was I again trying to take control and do it all myself? All I did was make it definitely more up and down.