Johnny and Curtis

“I played with the Astros in the seventies,” an old con told me, “And I can still throw the ball a hundred miles an hour.”

“Number 8, that was my number when I was in the big leagues.”

“I was a Yankee, played with Don Mattingly in the glory years.”

            My response is often “Okay, let me check that on the internet. How do you spell your name?”

            Maybe I would create a fictional life if I was spending most of the years of my life in prison. I think everyone wants to be somebody and have purpose and meaning in life even if it is a fantasy. Usually I simply listen and act impressed.

There are only a few players on the Giants that I trust enough to tell their stories in a book like this. I am told so many lies, which is understandable since so many felons do not want to appear in a bad but a good light. But with Johnny and Curtis, I will take the risk.

Johnny is thirty eight years old, has been in prison for eighteen years, and is not eligible for parole until 2029. He is white, but ran with the Hispanics and is classed with that race. He looks every bit the convict, tattoos on his neck, arms, chest, and back. To me he looks like he has fetal alcohol syndrome, meaning his mother drank to excess while Johnny was in the womb.

He is bright however, very active, an excellent athlete, and is very much a dedicated Giants player. He is one of those guys who gives it all he’s got. Physically he is a wreck. His knees both need replacing and I understand at least one will be after the season is over. About the seventh inning, a hot day, maybe two more innings to go and Johnny won’t come out of the game. He has learned to ignore the pain, which I can see he has once in a while.

Johnny is easily angered though. He tries to keep in under control but it flashes out now and then. He and Mario will get into some real scary arguments and I have to get in the middle of it for fear the lower yard officers will make a report about it. He told me, and I guess it is common knowledge, that he killed more than one person, maybe a few, and he knows he earned the years he has to do.

Last week he saw his son, Little John, for the first time in six years. The son, now eighteen, has grown up without a father, and the mother, Johnny’s wife, is divorcing him. Not unusual when a wife has waited nearly two decades already and is facing a couple more of these. Johnny wears jersey #29 and he asked me if I could find another Giants jersey with #29 on it and send to his son. Along with eight photos of Johnny taken on Opening Day, the jersey was sent off priority mail yesterday.

Curtis, aged forty nine, is a three striker and a parole hearing scheduled for 2029 would seem like a big break for him. He is not eligible for parole until 2044. Three strikes, three felony convictions, earns a long stretch in prison. The law is peculiar to California and was an effort by the voters to put the worst criminals away for a long time. It probably works, but it also condemns many non-violent offenders, who may be capable of being rehabilitated, to a situation that is hopeless.

At the beginning of the baseball season I handed out a sheet of paper to the Giants players where I had some questions about their lives. Curtis’ response was by far the most extensive. At age six he was molested by an older brother, which continued for many years, and which was followed by his father sexually abusing him as well. Very sordid, so much so I wish I had never read it. Though he married and fathered two children, his life was a mess.

Curtis liked to smoke crack cocaine; it destroyed his life. He robbed places, small time stuff, to get money for drugs. Once he burglarized a relative’s cabin in Big Bear, southern California resort area, and picked up a strike.  Strike one, a robbery in 1985, strike two, another robbery in 1989 (Curtis claims he did not do it), and this last one got him a nine year sentence but he did only five due to good behavior. Strike three was a robbery and a forth strike, a burglary–both in 1995. His sentence was fifty years to life. What he needed was rehabilitation in an appropriate setting.

His wife divorced him, he has lost contact with his parents, and doubts he will ever go home–he has no home to go to anyway. He is convinced he will die in prison and he hopes it will be sooner than later. From time to time he is placed on suicide watch.

He never feels safe from the sexual predators. He is a small man, and now nearly fifty he is an easy target. He has been raped in prison, more than once, and lives in constant fear of being attacked. To this day he is constantly worried about it happening again and cannot get it off his mind. Unfortunately he has no group he runs with and is forced into being somewhat of a loner.

Curtis is a Christian, but does attend chapel services. The last chaplain treated him so poorly that he is soured on the whole chapel experience.

A few games back Curtis brought me a letter from a prison doctor–no more throwing baseballs for him. He had surgery to reattach a ligament in his right shoulder but when I asked that he play second base he said yes, and did, despite the pain. Curtis will now take over the 3rd base coaching box and give the signs which I will flash from the safety of the dugout. Hope I am not putting Curtis in harm’s way, but I cannot see the ball coming off those aluminum bats anymore plus it gives him an active role on the team.

 There is a three striker who plays on the A’s and I am glad he received a long sentence. We are all a little safer with him behind bars. Curtis on the other hand, in my view anyway, should have been released a long while ago. The difference between the two men illustrates the near impossibility of creating a level playing field in terms of corrections and rehabilitation. On paper, both convicts look the same, but they are radically different from one another, and the prison system, despite its growing sophistication, is not equipped to deal with the nuances.       

Please forgive me for sinning against you

Okay, I wrapped up chapter six about talking with others about emotional, even spiritual pain in the past. Now this is a bit different.

To start with, I have done this very thing—asking someone I harmed in the past to forgive me, and to be honest I am experiencing some unpleasant emotions right now. I recall a time or two when I was glad I made the confession and asked for forgiveness, but then I did not adequately calculate the repercussions and caused further harm. It is very unpleasant to even recall those instances.

To engage someone whom I have damaged in some way or another in the the process of confession and requesting forgiveness requires careful consideration. For one thing, we must be sure we are doing this for the other persons sake and not our own. It is not enough just to get things off one’s chest, so to speak. Our concern is for the other person who has been sinned against.

Some examples first: A person who has been cheated financially, taken sexual advantage of, been defamed due to rumors or lies, ignored or rejected under difficult circumstances, promises ignored with loss following, and many more, are some of the conditions when asking for forgiveness is acceptable. However, asking for forgiveness might just open up the wounds again. Sometimes ignored and forgotten is best.

But, and this is a big but, asking forgiveness can go a long way to healing relationships gone awry.

All about respect

On June 11 the Giants hosted the Santa Monica Suns. This team, perhaps my favorite, has been coming up from Los Angeles for several years. Bob Sharpa is the manager, and most of the players are involved in some way with the film industry. Once I looked out at the mound and saw a face I knew, I thought, and it took awhile until I realized I had seen him a number of times in movies.

            The Suns arrived on Friday, the day before the game, stayed at local hotels, and were scheduled to play a double header Saturday then head for home on Sunday morning. This year they would play the Giants in the morning and the A’s in the evening. I would have preferred two games with the Giants but now we have the B team, the A’s, and if I tried to take their Saturday evening field time away from them there might be a riot.

            The way it has worked when the Giants played the Suns both in the morning and evening, even if the Suns would win in the morning, we can usually get them in the evening because I take them to the Marin Brewery in Larkspur for lunch, which consists of heavy food and pitchers of beer. They aren’t worth much afterwards, so everyone wins.

            We all love these guys. They are so much fun to have come in and the lunch time is the best.

            Guillermo, a young Mexican stud pitched for them, eight good innings then they brought in Jacob, their closer. (Guillermo also hit the games only home run.) Sharpa played first base, and well, and got a hit. Not bad for an old guy. The team is a mixture of young and middle aged guys and they worked together well. My wife Katie got a photo of the team, with me in it, at the East Gate, which I just sent along to Bob.

            Tie game ended in a tie, 8 to 8. We had to stop due to the soccer players who however did let us go a half hour longer since the visiting team had come such a long way. I think the fact that half the Suns were Latinos made a difference, too.

            Unbeknownst to the San Quentin ball players, I often will email the managers of the teams that come in and get a debriefing. This has proved helpful over the years as I was able to stop some rather illegal activities from taking place, things like the cons asking the visitors to call, write, email, or otherwise contact various friends and family members. Then I have found that visiting players have given inmates batting gloves, baseball gloves, cleats, and even clothing items. A lot of times I will catch this when it is happening and ask Stan Damas, the enforcer, to take care of the problem.

            Stan, ex San Francisco cop, ex head of security for Bill Graham presents, mid-seventies now, handles all problems. He roams the lower yard doing business. My old friend, he makes all the difference.

            Bob and I talked Sunday, the day after the game. What he told me I should have been prepared for, but I wasn’t. Well, I had suspected but I really thought the A’s players would be above such things. They are not, they are the B team and they proved it again. Several A’s players, and though Bob did not know their names, I knew of course as I at least was watching what was going on behind the visiting dugout during the game.  The Suns got a complete running account of which Giants liked what pitches and how to defense the various hitters. Bob did not say if they were giving the Suns Giant’s signs, but my guess is they did try.

            The Suns would have none of it though. They were offended and disappointed. They agreed these guys were the B team. No respect was the consensus.

            Respect is a big deal in prison like anywhere else, but in prison it looms larger. To give respect is to honor and value. Where there is no respect a dangerous environment is created and anything can happen.

            The A’s did not respect themselves. They did not act honorably. The A’s did not respect the Suns; the Suns would not take advantage of the Giants by listening to the A’s information. The A’s did not respect the game, either. The A’s once again proved they were the B team.

            Hoping the Suns would beat the Giants, the A’s players thought this would elevate them as a team.  I would like to be able to sit down with the A’s players and talk to them about this. It would not be a good idea as an argument would likely break out. At least I will gather the Giants together tomorrow night and talk to them about it. I am hoping that no Giants players did the same during the game that evening. Bob did not say there was a problem, and I would be surprised if any Giant attempted to pass along information about the A’s. 

            To respect the game of baseball means respecting those who play the game, watch the game, love the game. It is not small thing.

            One other thing Bob told me–the A’s beat the Suns, 6 to 5. He said that once the A’s got ahead they stopped the game though there was plenty enough time for another inning. He said, “Oh well.” And I said, “Yes, the B team.”   

Is it all right to talk with friends and family about past troubling events?

This is a difficult question indeed. Yes and No would have to be the answer. Yes, when it is safe, and No, when it may not be.

When would it not be safe? Perhaps this would be when the listener is not emotionally and spiritually strong enough to hear what might be unpleasant. There were times when I was much younger, that it hurt me to hear about events that involved close family members. I needed to know these things, I guess, but it impacted me negatively. I would say that there are some things that should go unreported.

There have been times in my life when I had to shut up about problems I knew about family members. Just sitting here in front of my computer has brought a couple of instances rolling through my mind. Sometimes it might be better just to let things ride. While it might bring some relief to divulge, damage to others could be the result. I am suggesting that there be time spent in prayer, and careful consideration taken before making decisions about what to reveal and to whom.

So, the “no” part is complicated. Actually, it is all complicated. This is a “weak” chapter, because I am uncertain of how strong or deliberate to be here.

Concluding this brief piece, let me say that one needs to be careful about revealing that which might best be forgotten and hidden. Based on my years engaged in counselling, both as a therapist and a pastor, revelations of a serious nature might well do more harm than good.

However, I can also easily state, that if someone has a need to talk about past events, it is advisable to go to a professional or to someone who is not connected to the events. Over the years as a pastor, over 52 years now, I have heard many an unhappy story that needed to be brought into the light of day but without going any further.

We may well have to sit on tales that could still cause pain, and I think this is what maturity is about—the strength to know the horrors of past events and turn the pain over to our Lord who is always ready to listen. Yes, He is the great counsellor.

Two outs, nobody on, bottom of the ninth

May 28, Saturday morning and the A’s and the Giants are going at it. At one point I swore that the two teams would not play each other. There is something of a mean streak that runs in me; why can’t I just let the guys have fun playing baseball. We have the coaches, the equipment–so what is the matter?

            Last Saturday, between innings, I talked to an A’s player and argued that if the A’s and Giants played each other ten times and the A’s won every single game that would not make the A’s the A team. That designation had to be earned and it would take a lot longer than one season. The Giants have been playing for eighteen years and however talented the team might be, or not, the Giants is San Quentin’s baseball team.

            All along I have been reasonably assured that the Giants are the better team. Test it, play a bunch of games and see–well that would be meaningless to me but not to about everyone else, probably. Opening day we beat them by eight runs and it wasn’t that close. One umpire made four clearly awful calls resulting in most the runs the A’s scored. The underdog A’s have the most fans and unhappily some of these fans umpire the games. One of my favorite taunts is, “they got ten guys on the field.” No one argues differently either.

            The A’s had ten guys on the field again for the second game.  Everybody was tense, both sides, and the fans, the convict fans, were close in, watching and listening to every word, studying body language, heckling when possible, trying to get an edge for the A’s.

            Games at the prison are supposed to be fun the coaches and the players. No fun though anymore, far from it. I found myself being tense the whole game. Just underneath the surface the Giants were holding it together. With every bad call from an umpire, balls and strikes, out and safe calls on the bases–soon these could not be counted using fingers alone. The correctional officers must have sensed it as well as I counted an unusual number of them milling about. One incident and it would be all over. Even one of the officers had confided in me that there was a new Lieutenant in charge, a woman just transferred in from another prison, and she was looking for anything to shut the whole thing down. Sure, lots of cons would be angry at her but she would get the reputation of being tough and would gain esteem from more than half the guards at the prison.

            I wished I were somewhere else that day. The score was back and forth. The A’s played amazingly well with their key player pitching, whose name I cannot use because he would not sign a release form for me, and our errors allowed in enough runs to make it scary. For them it meant a chance to get the A team designation, despite everything I had talked to them about earlier. At one point, with the A’s ahead by two runs, Junkyard approached me and said that the A’s were going to be the A team. I looked at him, I wanted to yell at him and tell him to shut up, but I managed a smile and told him he was being a little premature–the game was not over.

            The game went the full nine innings. The soccer guys had to be mollified again as the game went beyond 1pm, the time when the baseball teams had to vacate the field. Graciously they understood the importance of the game and yielded. I will say at this point, that generally speaking, the Hispanic prison population is well behaved and congenial. Though I know they all belong to one gang or another, all under the radar or they would be shipped out to another prison better designed custodial wise, I have regularly felt safe with them.

            My blood pressure, which is ordinarily normal, was inching upward as I could feel the pressure in my ears. For a moment I had double vision. Not good for me, but there it was and all I could do was ride it out.

            Finally the Giants pulled even in the bottom of the eighth. We got the A’s on three quick outs in the top of the ninth, but in the bottom of the inning the Giants made two quick outs. Two outs and nobody on meant we were likely going to have to settle for a tie. The soccer players were getting inpatient.

            Johnny, our catcher, a guy whose switch is turned on in the morning and off at night and in between he is going full blast, walked. First pitch he stole second. Wild pitch and he took third. The A’s pitcher, Junkyard, was scared to death and we could all see it. If Johnny scored, the A’s would lose, and, anything could happen.  Eli, a really fast runner, hit a slow dribbler to the short stop, who was playing back too deep. His only chance was to try to get Johnny coming in to home. Good throw, catcher was there blocking the place, lots of dust, but Johnny with his head first slide got the safe call, and that from an umpire who was an A’s fan.

            I sprinted toward the plate and arrived just as Johnny leaped up with a shout, and it was mayhem joyous. What a win! The celebrating had to be cut short as the soccer guys were taking the field. 

            The usual high five line-up between the two teams was half hearted and I simply went to the dugout and took my cleats off. I was not going to make nice with those guys. A weakness in me I know, but I was not going to do it. I had endured a miserable, tension filled game, and I was not going to ignore my feelings.

            Beat the A’s two games now. As I gathered the team up on the sacred mound, after the usual recounting of the great plays and contributions to the win, I stated that the two teams would not play again, maybe ever, and that the coaches and I did not want to hear of the teams playing each other without us being there. Well, maybe there would be another game, maybe not, but the coaches would decide the issue.

            As we were clearing out of the dugout and getting the gear and uniforms ready to put back into the green metal storage locker, Johnny and Marcus asked to talk with me about playing the A’s. They did not share my view of it; they simply wanted to play against a real rival. I understood that, I said, but my concern was that there would be an incident, one that might end the whole sports program. They got it right away, maybe had never seen it from that angle, but they said, hey coach, we are with you.

            This season held the promise of being a pleasant one. Two games a week for four months, solid team, interesting guys, talented players, and perhaps the best team I had ever managed at the prison–all jeopardized by the animosity that existed between the teams. Or, was it just me? How much was I contributing to the bad chemistry that existed? Was I really being protective of the program or was it something else, something that resided in me alone?     

I often feel guilty when I am with others who know

what kind of person I have been.

Wish this was not true of me, but I have to admit this will happen to me. For years now I have avoided those who knew full well what a jerk I have been. Seems though now that I am easing up on this guiltiness, in fact, in recent sermons I have even mentioned this.

Yes, two weeks ago, last Sunday in April of 2023 I mentioned one of my divorces and how badly I felt about it even to the point of resigning from the church I now pastor and disappear into the world. I was amazed at two people, one man and one woman, who looked intently at me and nodded their heads in agreement. And I knew both of their pasts and I think it was a relief for them to hear this from me, and from the pulpit.

I wonder how many people there are like me who could no longer face a congregation who knew the truth. Okay, I know it may be argued that it is better to keep silence, but then again, maybe not.

Is it not true that all have sinned? And I am not talking about only our pre-Christian lives, but ongoing lives as well.

Right now I am thinking of what happened with those who believed in John Wesley, founder of the Methodist church movement, when toward the close of his life he said it was possible to live a sinless life, which then spawned the holiness movement. It was not long  before some of the ordained leaders of this off-shoot of Methodism failed. Indeed, some of the leaders proved they were not all that holy, and though the history is convoluted and complex, it spawned the Pentecostal movement. So the great gift of the Holy Spirit became speaking in tongues. And in my opinion, this was a step in the right direction.

Some may say, well Philpott, you are given out a license to sin, or you are saying that it is not a big deal if a Christian, especially a Christian leader, sins. Absolutely not, we are called to walk in the footsteps of Jesus and flee from sin. And especially for those of us called to the work. Yet, I know that I am not without blame, I know I am vulnerable to attack. Let me say that I face temptation each and every day. Most of the time I am able to turn away from sin, and I am not talking about the big stuff, but little stuff like tooting my own horn, exaggerating something I did not did not do, making excuses to avoid difficulties, failing to follow though on ministry to someone I knew needed encouragement, not pouring myself into the preparation for the Sunday sermon, and on and on I could go.

Do I ever have sexual temptation? Certainly I do, goes with the territory. Such is not sinful, but could be a step in the wrong direction. Porn, hmmm, anyone reading this guilty here? A large percentage of Christian men in particular, but women too, so engage. It is a powerful and twisted impulse. Every so often a man, almost always a male, will feel safe enough with me to tell me of their compulsion. A case of this occurred two and half weeks ago. Porn addiction is probably one of the major stumbling blocks we face today. More are messed up over perverse sexuality than ever before. It stares in the face daily.

1 Peter 5:8 is a verse that has been in mind for a couple of years now. “Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.” Based on lots of pastoral experience, I have come to see that the one who insists he or she is not vulnerable is. In fact, most vulnerable.

Indeed, we have to tell ourselves the truth, we have to admit our weaknesses, and be quick to ask our forgiving Lord for forgiveness and also those whom we might have harmed.

It is no simple thing to be a follower of Jesus in this sin scarred world we live in. We are called to be honest with ourselves, with others, and the God to whom we pray.

Ten

First loss

May 12, East Bay Lumberjacks Loss 9-0

Nine players, all young studs, skinny pitcher racked up 9 strike outs and 7 of which were “looking,” meaning no swing at the third strike– over seven innings. Three home runs, all long shots, sounded like canons being fired. Had their defense, offense, pitching going and the catcher had a Buster Posey like arm. Real ball players, serious, friendly; baseball guys all the way. Scott Price manages the team–has twin girls on the way he said.

For the Giants, Mario Ellis started, was fairly sharp but tired quickly. He did not have the arm strength. Johnny’s play behind the plate keep us from being embarrassed. Only a couple of errors, but our pitchers, Matt White followed Mario (did not record an out), then Pete came in and was able to stem the flow of runs somewhat. Only two hits for the home team. Guys were frozen with bats in hands at the plate. Duck had a cast on his hand after a surgery to reattach a ligament in his thumb, Bilal pulled a hammy trying to run out a ground ball to short, and Eli with a swollen knee from a slide last game—left us wanting on the bench.

Scott Price’s team looks every bit as good as any of the college teams that have come in. And it looked like they were letting up some the last two innings. Good for our guys to see such a powerful and skilled team lest they think too highly of themselves.

The team’s chemistry is holding solid despite the thumping. If this continues we will be fine, if not, could be a long and miserable season.

May 14, Stanislaus Storm, 17-7, Giants have the 7

Another team with nine players, this team up from the Fresno area meaning they had to be on the road about 4:30am. Louis Quadros runs the team, another power packed bunch of guys, again as good as any college team I have seen and the community colleges in the Bay Area field some real good teams.

         Our best pitcher so far, Kevin Driscoll, gave up 10 runs in 3 innings, Frank Braby gave up 2 runs in the next three innings, and Stafont Smith, usually the back-up third baseman, pitched the last 3 innings and gave up 3 runs as well. We had gotten to the desperation point.

         Team chemistry–we will see tonight. The thing that complicates it is the A’s won one game against The Mission, a team from the City, the evening of May 14, so there will be some discussion about which team ought really be the A team. Though The Mission, managed by Greg Snyder, cannot be compared to the powerhouse that is the Stanislaus Storm, still the A’s will ignore that and merely see a win for them and a loss for us. See, I have developed a we versus they mentality.

         I waver between trying to assist the A’s and letting them go without scheduling games for them. At this point certain A’s players are talking to the outside teams hoping to get games with them and also talking with coaches, both A’s and Giants coaches, about getting them games. My feeling is they think I am deliberately sabotaging them and there may be some truth to it. Elements of the A’s are making the season to be another unpleasant experience for me and I am getting tired of it. I can justify my failure to get outside teams to play them by protesting that it is too confusing to schedule games what with three other guys doing the same besides working private deals with outside teams that come in.

         Tonight we play the East Bay Lumberjacks again and I will be able to test the chemistry of the team and face A’s players who know they have a block of open dates coming up.

I Am All Alone and it’s Killing Me

For reasons I am unaware of, I am mostly alone. I work out of my house, when I can find work, so no co-workers, etc., just alone day after day. Sure, I see some of the folks living around me, but no real contact. Earlier in my life I had family, and some friends. I doubt I will ever marry; no one has really ever been interested in me. I confess that I cry about this a lot. It makes me want to end it all.

The above is a composite of life experience that I have heard from people over the years, and I could go on and on with it, but I think it is plain where I am going.

Being lonely is now recognized as a national pandemic like circumstance. A high percentage of Americans live alone, and this number is climbing. It is noted that all ages are represented too, young, middle aged, and old folks like me.

Some can barely make it out of the places they live in, due often to physical conditions, so time goes rolling along in aloneness. And the thought of ending it all seizes us, and this is not uncommon at all.

As a pastor of a church, gladly a small congregation, I am aware of those who are virtually living alone and without much contact with others. Not too long ago an elderly lady here at Miller Avenue Church went missing and it took several weeks before we found that she had died of a heart attack in her home, and no one knew. Yes, I lay some blame for this on myself as have several others at MAC. In fact, we are spreading her ashes three days from the writing of this piece.

My heart aches, from time to time, when I realize the unhappy conditions some are living with. I think the primary ministry I engage in is phone calling. I have a sheet of paper with 29 names on it, and it is my goal to call each of these at least every other week. (Usually, I get ahold of everyone on the list weekly.) It could be the most important thing I do. There are at least six of those on my list who have never attended a church service and likely never will.

Aloneness then is not one of the factors which has troubled me over the years; actually a little les contact would be fine, but what happens to me, my heart aches for the lonely ones.

“Only the lonely” so the song goes, Roy Orbison I think sang the song, and it is these lonely I so much want to focus on. First things first then, those of us who are lonely have to admit it that we are lonely and figure out ways to deal with it. Wow, what a potent thing to reveal: “Hi my name is Kent and I am lonely.”

Here are some ideas, and I know I am only scratching the surface.

Find a place to meet with other people. Now Katie and I are pastors and so we have our congregation that we spend hours with every week. Seek out a church, a small one is good, and get to know folks. Get involved if at all possible. Sing in a choir, be an usher, volunteer to do janitorial stuff, oh, lots of stuff really. Talk to a pastor, an elder, a deacon, be frank about your situation. Good things could happen.

If not a church, well my wife and I are members of our local Jewish Community Center, and we have lots of friends there, in fact, about half the time we spend there is talking with others. So two good things, working out, and meeting people.

Most communities have things going on that a person could engage in. Look around, go on the internet, check out local newspapers––you will find some groups to be part of. Don’t give up, keep it up, make the calls. Maybe working with animals, a gardener’s guild, a bridge club. Volunteering around, usually lots of needs here.

Another possibility is to contact a social worker by calling your county’s administrative office and explaining your need. Also think about contacting your local school district’s office and find out if there is anything you could volunteer for.

Get involved, do something, and do not give up easily. There will be a place where you are needed.

We simply will not allow loneliness to kill us. No way!

Sanity vs. insanity

Mental illness plays large in what happens at San Quentin. I often forget this however and it costs me.

            Some of the players that were cut from the Giants and then formed the core of the A’s I suspect are dealing with emotional troubles. And how could it be any different.

Merely being in the misery that is San Quentin has got to impact the psychological well being of any human being. Over the course of four decades I have seen how exposure to the prison environment affects correctional officers, prison administrators, volunteers, as well as the convicts themselves. Sadly I have seen seminary students utterly lose their desire or ability to function as a minister. More than a few seminary classmates made ship wreck of their faith after a few years of either working at or serving as a volunteer in the ministry of the Protestant Chapel. I wonder how I am doing actually and it occurs to me that I have likely not avoided the dangers either.

Some forms of psychosis develop, or so it is thought by some, by not being able to deal with reality and so a separate reality is constructed that is more easily  navigated. The word schizophrenic comes to mind, and it is something I know about because my youngest brother was so diagnosed, in 1968, after he returned from a bad tour in Vietnam[1].

When I come into the prison for a practice or a game during the week, I head to the Mac Shack, which is positioned right by North Block where most of our players are housed. Those who are physically disabled, are on special diets due to diabetes for example, and those who are on meds of some sort, exit the block first for the chow hall. For years I have watched this group of men shuffle toward the hall and have noticed a number of our ball players in the mix. More than once I have been told by one of our players that so and so is on meds, and therefore be graceful in dealing with them.

The convicts who fair the best, in general only I suppose, are those who have had contact with the criminal justice system as juveniles. These often become institutionalized at an early age and fit more easily into adult prisons. But there are many who lived the average middle class life, end up coming to prison, and the adjustment is brutal. Insanity is right around the corner.

On the ball field there is a sense of normalcy to the point that is easy to forget the playing field lies in the heart of a big time prison. The guys seem normal, and many are in fact, but the place is ugly and unhealthy despite the department of corrections and rehabilitation’s effort to create a safe environment. It simply cannot be done. Under the surface is pent up anger and rage, sex stuff is always just below the surface, these combined with the racial tension–fear, despair, and more is right there all the time.  

I do admire and respect those convicts, who after a decade or more in prison have been able to maintain some sense of sanity and avoid, to some degree, becoming institutionalized. It is better to respect and admire these men than feel sorry for them. It is dangerous to let a convict get into your head to the point you will bring in whatever[2] for them, which happens a whole lot.

Insanity can become a place of escape for otherwise normal people, and yes some such do end up in prison. California’s laws regarding domestic violence and driving under the influence can result in a couple years in a state pen. And by the way, county time is no piece of cake either, and can be worse than state prisons. Once in a while I will find someone who looks like me, talks like me and I figure it is either a DUI or some kind of domestic violence deal that brought them to prison. And these people are not prepared for it. From the office to the joint and it is this group that is most vulnerable for going crazy. Prison can be just that awful.

[1] My brother Gary committed suicide about a year after his Army experience, he had been a combat engineer, and was on medication at the time.

[2] A favorite item requested by prisoners is cash money, which oddly enough there is plenty of in the prison and is used to buy all sorts of things. Drugs of course are asked for, eventually demanded, and the best way is for a woman to bring such in. Even food will be sought for, specialty candies for instance, and of course cigarettes. “Playing on the sympathies” is certainly a phrase that applies to prison dynamics.

I am too embarrassed, due to what I have done, to face the world anymore.

This sensation I have experienced a number of times, but somehow, over the years, it has been fading away. The reality is, So What! It is now not enough to get me to think I need to do myself in.

Forgiveness, the reality is that I do know, not feel really, but know that my sin has been forgiven, past, present, and future. I also know that the enemy of Christ and so of myself, throws this up at me from time to time. And it stinks for sure. But slowly I have been able to ignore this, and say to myself, “Yeah Philpott, you are the worst that has ever been, yet I know of the incredible power of God to wash my sin away. So, get behind me Satan.”

I am thinking though of folks who are saying, “Okay good for Kent, but I am not there yet.” Here is where we need to ignore our feelings and focus and center on the finished work of Christ. We cling to truth not to feelings and emotions.

Of course, there will be times when someone, whether intentional or accidental or unintentional, when someone will bring our sinning. It happened to me three days ago, and at church for that matter. It was unintentional, said jokingly, but I heard it and for a moment made me angry. Yes, there I was, Pastor Kent, and the words were heard. What did I do? I laughed right along with the others. It even went through my mind that I hoped the person who uttered the gaff was going to be okay.

How many of such incidents have I endured? Too many to count.

Am I still embarrassed about some of the things I have done? Yes, I am, but this is not enough to think about killing myself. Yes, years ago this is what hit me, but I am moving away from this now. Thank God for His mercy.