Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term by Michael Santos
Reading Chapter 10.3
Months 180-190
******
When I enter the visiting room on New Yearâs morning, the large room feels empty. I appreciate the relative silence. Other than the whir of the vending machine, thereâs nothing else to distract us. Carole and her daughter sit beside each other in the maroon plastic chairs.
Carole looks lovely in her heavy wool coat, long blonde hair contrasting beautifully against the navy blue. She stands to greet me as I walk toward her.
Nichole sits calmly, showing none of the distress I see in her mother. At 11 she resembles Carole, but with dark hair curling in natural waves around her heart-shaped face. A light sprinkle of freckles dot the bridge of her nose. Her hazel-blue eyes look directly into mine as I kneel in front of her chair and greet her. âYou must be Nichole. Iâm Michael, and Iâm very happy to meet you.â
âHi Michael. This place is huge.â
âYes, and weâre lucky that itâs not filled with people already,â I say with a smile.
âNichole, honey,â Carole says âweâre only going to be here for an hour. Why donât you get a hot chocolate from the vending machine and then walk over and see whatâs in the kidsâ area. I need to talk with Michael.â
âBut I want to talk with him too.â
âWeâre going to visit again in a couple of days,â I tell her. âAnd if you want, you can sit with your mom and me the whole time. Is that okay?â
Nichole nods her head. Carole hands her several quarters from the clear plastic coin purse she brings for buying the vending machine food. As Nichole walks toward the kidsâ area, sipping hot chocolate, I hold Caroleâs hands in mine and squeeze them to reassure her. âDid you sleep okay?â
She breathes in deeply and slowly, exhales, and then says she slept fine.
âHoney, I should be comforting you, but we donât have much time. Because itâs a holiday, every hour we spend in here today is costing us double against our monthly allotment of 30 hours. We have to act fast, and we need a plan, okay?â
âIf we run out of time, I think Office Cruz will let me in.â
âCarole,â I caution her, âthis is prison. He may have let you in last night because he was alone and he felt sorry for you. We canât live on the edge like that. We have to budget our visits. The system controls everything and we have to succeed in spite of it.â
âWhat do you want me to do?â she asks, eyes filling with tears.
âLast night you said you wanted to stay here. Are you sure?â
âIâm absolutely sure.â
âGood, because I want you to stay with me. Every decision we make has to be consistent with our goal of bringing you stability, and itâs not going to be easy But we have to make a 100 percent commitment to making it work, no matter how painful the decisions.â
âIâve already got the newspaper and Iâm looking for apartments.â
âHoney, think about that. You donât know this area, the schools, the neighborhood, or where youâre going to work. How much do you think it will cost to rent an apartment?â
âIâm guessing about $1,000 a month, more or less,â she answers.
âTo move in, then, youâll need first, last, and security. Then youâll need money for utilities and necessities. Youâre going to drop $5,000 minimum to set yourself up. That doesnât seem like a good plan to me, especially since you donât know where youâll work or how much youâll earn. We need stability.â
âWhat do you think I should do?â
âRemember the story I wrote about Richard, a guy who arrived here a few months ago? You typed it for me and posted it on the Web.â
Carole pauses, trying to recall. âVaguely. Youâve sent me so many stories.â
âRichardâs wife lives a few miles from here, in Mount Holly. She has a little boy and a four-bedroom house. I asked Richard last night if his wife would rent you a couple of rooms. You could move in today, and the two of you could support each other. Nichole would have another child to keep her company, and you could catch your breath, get your bearings.â
âMichael, I canât move in with a stranger.â Carole doesnât see the merit in my suggestion.
âCarole, this isnât going to be easy. Iâm sending you $10,000. That money has to cover all of your expenses until you start earning a paycheck. You need to get settled. You need a car. Nichole needs to start school again next week. This lady can help you.â
âBut I donât know her, Michael. Youâre asking me to live with a stranger. Iâm not concerned about me, Honey. I have to consider Nicholeâs well-being.â
I put my arm around her and pull her close. âDo you trust me?â
âOf course I trust you.â
âAnd do you want to build your life with me, grow old with me?â
âYes.â
âThen you have to work with me. I can steer us through this crisis, but we both have to understand that the decisions we make today, from this minute, will determine where we are tomorrow.â I extend my arm and open my hand. âDo you see that?â
âSee what?â
âMy fingers. Each of those represents a year. Thatâs five years. Can you make it through five years with me?â
âIâm going to make it through forever with you.â
âOkay. Well letâs focus on five years. In five years, your life will be totally different from what it is now if we work together. Youâll be stable, with your own money in the bank, money youâve earned. We wonât succeed by accident. We need to make tough decisions now, to commit and recommit 100 percent with every decision, reaching toward that five-year mark. When we make it to five, then weâll work toward the next five. By then Iâll almost be ready for release. And youâll be independent. Do you want that?â
âYes.â
âThen you have to make hard choices now. Thank God we have this money from my stock account. But we canât squander it with bad decisions. We have to focus on stabilizing you as quickly as possible. If you meet Richardâs wife with that goal in mind, understanding that sheâs an answer to a prayer for us to be together, then youâll see the move as a step that leads us closer to our five-year goal.â
âWhat if we donât get along?â
âThatâs up to you and the way that you approach her. She needs you and you need her. You can make it work.â
******
Carole settles in with her new housemate, Catherine, and she enrolls Nichole in school. Itâs early spring, 2003, and the job market is terrible. Through sheer resourcefulness, Carole learns that she can earn an income by providing notary services to the mortgage industry. She secures the necessary credentials and becomes self-employed, earning an income sufficient to support her and Nichole.
Iâm walking along the road inside the Fort Dix fences, admiring the warm sunbeams that cut through the wire mesh and razor wire, reflecting off the shiny metal. Fragrant cherry blossoms and blooming flowerbeds fill the air with the scent of spring. Iâm filled with appreciation for the blessings in my life. Through the fence I watch Caroleâs tan Toyota Corolla pull into the visitorâs parking lot.
She canât see me, as Iâm only one prisoner among thousands wearing khakis inside the compound. I watch her walk briskly, wearing her red skirt and jacket, heels clicking on the asphalt, hair blowing behind her, rushing to pass through the checkpoints to visit me. She thinks sheâs surprising me, but my only surprise is her remarkable consistency and devotion to serving this time with me. Carole wants us to marry, but I put her off. Marriage is easy for me, I tell her. Iâm a prisoner and sheâs a beautiful woman. Iâm giving her all that I am as it is, and I freely commit to her, but thereâs no rush. I want her to understand all the complications of prison before we marry.
âI watched you as you parked, as you rushed across the parking lot. You didnât surprise me,â I tell her after our kiss.
âI drove fast to get here in time for the last two hours of visiting.â
âIâm always expecting you.â
The visiting room has become our living room. We sometimes walk through the rows and aisles of chairs, holding hands, chatting with other prison families. She buys dinner for me from the vending machines. Itâs always the same menu choice of frozen pizza, burritos, or hamburgers that she cooks in the microwave.
âI like preparing your food,â she says, and watches me eat.
âThis is what itâs going to be like when weâre old and living together in a nursing home,â I tease. âWeâll have familiar faces around us, strangers we recognize, but weâll have our own life. You can push my wheelchair.â
âWherever you are, thatâs where I want to be,â she wipes a napkin against my mouth. âWhy do you eat so fast?â
âI got used to it over the years. The guards rush us out of the chow hall. Youâll have to teach me manners once they release me.â
âYou donât even taste your food. You just inhale.â She tilts her head in amazement. âAnd how can you eat so much?â
âBelieve me, I taste it. Besides, this is how I test if you really love me. If you can stand to watch me eat, I know youâll stay with me.â
âIâll stay with you,â she says, and then adds, âbut you better stay with me at the dinner table until Iâm finished!â
We walk around the room and stop by the television as President Bush grabs hold of the lectern to address the nation.
âI canât stand all this talk about going into Iraq. For what?â I say, shaking my head in disgust at the image of Bush in his familiar blue suit with his open arms and ridiculous gestures. âHow many soldiers have to lose their lives for his ambitions?â
âI just wish heâd let you out,â Carole squeezes my hand.
âForget about that happening under his rule.â
******
When I return to the housing unit after our visit I see scores of prisoners gathered in front of the bulletin board. Theyâre cursing and complaining.
âWhatâs up?â I ask.
âFuckinâ warden,â one prisoner says. âMore fuckinâ bullshit, fuckinâ with my peoples. I ainât gonna be able to see my babiesâ mammas.â
I push my way through the crowd to read the memo. It cites the nationâs elevated security-threat level and the imminent war in Iraq as a reason behind the wardenâs new rule that limits visiting to immediate family members only. That means he will only authorize parents, children, siblings, and wives to visit until further notice. My heart sinks.
Carole has only been living in New Jersey for three months, but our lives are now linked. She is overseeing the development of my new website, MichaelSantos.net, and helping to establish my âbrand.â She is the link between my publishers and me, and she has complete responsibility for the publishing company she formed to market and distribute books Iâm writing.
Weâve begun our lives as a family, planning and preparing for my life upon release in 2013. Despite Caroleâs cross-country move to living just minutes away, this new rule will not permit us to see each other. I call to tell her about the new mandate.
âWell, are they going to increase the phone-minute allotment so we can at least talk more?â
âWeâll still have to make do with 300 phone minutes a month.â
âHow can they say they promote community ties if they make rules that are so hard on families?â
âHoney, this is my life. Itâs what Iâve been telling you. They can do whatever they choose and for any reason. I donât have any control.â
âThen we have to get married, Michael. We canât wait. Weâre a family.â
âBaby, we shouldnât get married just to visit. Marriage is for the rest of our lives, and you have to be absolutely sure you can handle the rest of my sentence.â
âI know exactly what Iâm doing. Whatever the system does to you, it does to me, too. Weâre in this together.â
Carole is an amazing woman and I feel so grateful to have her love.
******
I initiate the necessary paperwork to marry. My case manager, Mr. Lawson, is sitting behind his messy metal desk when I hand him the official request.
âWhatâs this, a marriage request?â
âThatâs right. Iâm getting married.â
âThought you was smarter den dat. After all dese years, you ainât learnt? Prisonâs a place to get divorced, not married.â He laughs.
âWhen I start looking for advice on building happiness from prison guards, Iâll look you up,â I respond. There's too much venom in my retort.
Mr. Lawson puts the forms on his desk and glares at me. âIâs a case manager. Ainât no prison guards here. Deyâs âcorrectional officersâ. Get it straight.â
Mr. Lawson reviews the form. âGoinâ hafta run dis by da unit team, den send it on up to da warden. Iâll let you know. Now git outta heâr.â
âThis isnât a discretionary issue,â I tell him. âThe Supreme Court says I have a constitutional right to marry. You canât block the request.â
âBoy, donât be spittinâ no law at me. We gots a war goinâ on. Security Ěa da insta-tution. We goinâ review yo request, anâ like I says, Iâll let you know. Whaâs up? You gotta problem wit dat?â
While I brace myself for a bureaucratic struggle to receive permission to marry, I urge Carole to use this time when we canât visit to enroll in a real estate class. The wife of another prisoner is a broker for Prudential. Sheâs offered to bring Carole on as an agent and teach her the trade.
Instead of a bureaucratic struggle, a staff shakeup results in a new case manager who is much nicer, and a new unit manager, Mr. Jones, who recently transferred to Fort Dix from USP Leavenworth. Mr. Jones, or TJ, as Iâve heard staff members cordially refer to him, is in his early 30s, black, well-dressed, and built like an NFL linebacker. He is respectful and totally professional. When I approach him about my marriage request he congratulates me, assuring me that heâll push the approval through in time for a June wedding.
******
I wake early on my wedding day, June 24, 2003, smiling. Iâll celebrate this day with Carole for the rest of my life. I step outside to run, feeling the humidity of an East Coast summer, but the breeze I generate by running cools my skin. Iâve paid a heavy price with this prison term, surrendering most of my life as a consequence, but now I have Carole. Although prison rules require two witnesses at our wedding, Nichole isnât allowed to participate because sheâs still younger than 18. I wouldâve liked Julie to come, but she just gave birth to her second child, Sophia. My father is in an Alzheimerâs home, unable even to talk with me over the phone, much less travel. But Iâm happy that both my mom and my younger sister, Christina, are flying in from Miami for the ceremony. My mother calls Carole my âangelâ and the description suits her perfectly.
Two hours in the visiting room is all that weâre going to have, but itâs a fitting place for the ceremony because itâs where we spend all of our time together. Iâll wear a wedding ring when I walk out. Julie sent us the matching silver bands as a wedding gift. The rings will symbolize our commitment and once Carole slides mine onto my finger, I intend to keep it on forever. Weâll make this work.
I finish running eight miles and slow my pace to a walk when I see Bob. He extends his hand. âCongratulations, Buddy. Iâm glad weâve met, and I wish you and Carole happiness, good health, and prosperity. Youâre going to make her an excellent husband.â
âThanks, Bob. Your friendship means a great deal to me, and I appreciate your good wishes. Iâm sorry you canât be there for the ceremony.â
âWeâll have a party when youâre out, when weâre both home.â
âIâm looking forward to it.â
âAre your mom and sister here?â
âI hope so. Theyâre supposed to be with Carole now. Iâd better go shower.â
âGood luck, and God bless.â
Wearing crisply ironed khakis and polished black leather shoes, I look as sharp as a prisoner can when I present my ID card to Lieutenant Marks.
âThis has got to be the stupidest thing youâve ever done,â the lieutenant says sarcastically, shaking his head. âYou ought to tattoo the word âfoolâ right across your forehead.â He points to his head then loudly slurps coffee from his foam cup.
I strain to hold my sarcasm in check. Heâd like nothing better than to unsnap one of the leather compartments on his heavy black leather belt, pull out a set of shiny metal handcuffs, and slap them on my wrist, canceling this special day for Carole and me.
âIf youâre going through with it, letâs go. I got a prison to run.â He leads me into the visiting room, without a preliminary strip search. Four other prisoners come along, as theyâll be marrying today as well. I donât know them. Iâm too consumed with the excitement coursing through me to concern myself with anyone else.
I sit in a chair and watch for Carole. When the door opens I stand, smiling as this beautiful lady walks toward me. More than a year has passed since my mother or Christina have visited and Iâm grateful they made the special trip for my wedding ceremony, but I canât take my eyes off of Carole. Her cream-colored suit compliments her slender figure, and I like the graceful way she walks. She opens her arms and we embrace, sharing a kiss while my mom and sister stand by watching.
âThanks for coming, Mom,â I turn to hug her. Sheâs always emotional when she sees me, and this morning isnât any different. My imprisonment has been incredibly difficult for my mom.
âIâm so happy you have such a beautiful bride, so happy for both of you.â
I hug my sister next. Christina is four years younger than I am, petite and pretty, with long brown hair and a glowing face that resists aging. Sheâs been married for 15 years and is the mother of two girls, Isabella and Camilla, but she still canât buy a bottle of wine without showing her ID.
âYouâve got to be the luckiest man in the world, convincing this beautiful woman to marry you in here,â my sister says, smiling.
âYouâve got that right!â I keep my arm around Carole and kiss her cheek.
âHoney, did you talk to Bob?â Carole asks.
âI saw him this morning. He sent his good wishes, why?â
âDid he tell you what he did?â
âNo, what?â
âHe sent a personal messenger to my house last night to deliver a wedding card, and inside there were two cashiersâ checks, each for five thousand dollars.â
âWow! What a thoughtful, generous friend.â
âCan you believe it? I thought he didnât want you to get married.â
âThat was before he knew how extraordinary you were.â
âI sent him a thank you letter last night. Please tell him Iâm grateful. What should I do with the money?â
âPut it in the bank,â I tell her.
âGeez, they shouldâve at least done some decorating in here for the wedding,â Christina remarks. Sheâs looking around at the sterile setting of the visiting room as we all sit, side by side, in a single row of the plastic chairs placed in straight lines throughout the room. The polished floor shines. Six vending machines buzz under the bright, fluorescent lights.
âItâs too bad they couldnât hold the wedding outside,â my mom says. âItâs such a beautiful summer day, perfect for a garden wedding.â
âWeâre just happy that the day is finally here,â Carole says.
âIâll marry you again when I come home,â I promise Carole while looking into her eyes.
âHoney, that must be the man whoâs going to marry us,â Carole gestures to an older man in a black robe who walks in with Mr. Jones, my unit manager. The white-haired man carries a black leather portfolio, and heâs shaking hands with the two guards who supervise us from the platform.
âIs he a chaplain?â my mom asks.
âI think heâs a justice of the peace,â I answer.
âNo,â Carole corrects me. âHeâs the deputy mayor of New Hanover Township. Thatâs where I sent the check for our marriage license.â
The deputy mayor comes over to introduce himself, presents us with papers to sign, and instructs Carole about how to get an official copy of our marriage certificate. Weâre the first couple to be married. He stands in front of us and begins the ceremony. Mom and Christina flank us, smiling. I hold Caroleâs hand, grinning as I listen to him recite the marital vows, asking us in turn whether we take each other, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, until death parts us. Carole fills my heart with her âI do,â and I say the same. Weâre married. Finally I get to kiss my bride, the lovely Carole Santos.
âI canât believe they wonât give you any time alone,â Christina says. âThatâs so cruel.â
âThe honeymoonâs going to have to wait,â I say.
âWe have the rest of our lives for our honeymoon,â Carole answers, kissing my cheek.
My mom and sister sit with us for a while, and then graciously leave to give Carole and me the last hour together. Weâre not alone. Four other couples also being married today sit with their families in the chairs around us waiting for their turn.
âYouâve honored me today, Carole, making me as happy as I can possibly be.â
âI love you, Michael.â
âSomeday Iâll buy you a house,â I promise.
âSomeday Iâll make you a home,â she adds. âIn the meantime, âhomeâ will be wherever we are. Weâre in this together.â
âThis is forever,â I twist my silver wedding band.
âThereâs no place Iâd rather be than with you.ââ¨
Lieutenant Marks brings an end to our time together. Ms. Davis, an attractive young woman who looks out of place in a prison guardâs uniform, smiles as she escorts Carole and the other brides out. Mr. Rodriguez, a guard who sports a tattoo of an American flag on his forearm, strip searches the five grooms, side by side. The other prisoners and I dress and return to the compound, each with a new wedding ring on his finger.
******
On August 9, 2003, Justice Anthony Kennedy of the U.S. Supreme Court delivers an extraordinary keynote speech at the American Bar Associationâs annual convention in San Francisco. Carole sends me a copy of the text and highlights the parts she wants me to pay close attention to. I canât believe what the Justice says to the nationâs lawyers. Justice Kennedy calls for prison reform, saying that America incarcerates too many people, that American prisoners often serve draconian sentences, and that a nation confident in its laws should not be afraid of compassion and mercy.
âMichael,â Carole urges during our evening visit, âdonât you think you should at least try for clemency again, especially after what Justice Kennedy said in his speech?â
âBaby, we canât afford it. Iâm not going to spend our money on an attorney when the odds are so far against us. President Bush isnât going to commute my sentence.â
âBut youâve done so much. No other prisoner has earned university degrees, served 16 years, and published books that universities from across the country use. You donât have any history of violence and now youâre married. Iâll bet if the president knew about you, heâd commute your sentence.â
âThatâs the problem, he doesnât know who I am. And unless I have a top legal team representing me, heâll never know who I am. Thatâs one of the reasons weâre building the website. We need to attract lawyers who want to represent me because Iâve earned freedom, because they believe in me. Right now we donât have the money to hire lawyers.â
âBut you could at least file a clemency petition on your own. We donât need lawyers to fill out the petition and send it in. At least that way weâd have a chance.â
âOkay,â I concede. âPrint a blank petition and mail it to me. Iâll fill it out and weâll collect some new supporting letters to file with it. But donât get your hopes up on this. We need to keep preparing for 2013. That means I need to write, and you need to earn and save.â
âIâm doing my part.ââ¨
âYes you are,â I squeeze her hand. âYouâre wonderful.â
******
Itâs Monday, November 17, 2003. Carole and I have been married for nearly five months when she comes to share her good news. When I walk toward her, sheâs standing, wearing a glowing smile. The bright room is filled with other visitors, as noisy as a full auditorium.
âI passed my real estate test.â
âCongratulations!â I grab her in my arms, pull her close, and kiss her. âI told you all of your studying would pay off. How did you find out?â
âI called the real estate board this morning. I got a 97 on my exam.â
âBaby, you deserve to feel proud of yourself.ââ¨
Sheâs smiling. âIâm so happy honey, because I did it for you.â
When hundreds of people pack the visiting room, like today, some couples succeed in stealing a few extra kisses through the visit. I only kissed Carole when our visit began, as rules permit. Thatâs why Iâm startled when the guard yells my name.
âSantos!â he hollers. An immediate hush quiets the entire room with his outburst.
I point my finger at my chest, making sure heâs yelling at me.
âCome to the desk,â he orders.
âBut you didnât do anything,â Carole objects as I stand and let go of her hands.
âLet me see what he wants.â
I walk through the columns and rows of visitors to approach the guardâs platform.
âLieutenant wants to see you,â he tells me.
âCanât it wait until after my visit?â
âNow. Officer Ruiz will take you through the back.ââ¨I donât look back at Carole, but follow Officer Ruiz to the dressing room. My heart starts beating faster, as Iâve never known anything good to come from a talk with a lieutenant.
âWhereâs the lieutenant?â I inquire, looking around the empty room.
âNot here,â Officer Ruiz says. âHe wants to see you in his office.â
âFor what? Whatâs this about?â
âI donât know,â Officer Ruiz admits. âHe called us and told us to escort you over.â
âWhat about my visit?â
âHe terminated your visit. Put your hands behind your back. Iâve got to cuff you up.â
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