The portion of the Torah that I have researched is entitled “Noach,” which translates into English as “comforter.”  I will chant from the Book of Genesis, chapter 11, verses one through twelve.

         Noach consists mainly of two related stories whose sequentially connected plots both elucidate and subtly reveal controversial and important morals that still exist today.  The first story is of Noah and the Ark. Throughout his community, Noah was considered a righteous man. This is most likely due to his lack of sinful behavior rather than his goodness.  However, compared to the overwhelmingly large population of sinners, Noah was pure.  Seeing the evils of the generation, God became enraged.  God told Noah of his plans to eliminate these sinners.  God commanded Noah to build an ark for there would be a great flood to wipe clean the Earth of all of God’s mistakes-the people.  Noah phlegmatically complied and constructed the vessel that would save him, his family and two of every animal from a grizzly fate.  And so the flood came and the rain remained for forty days and forty nights.  And finally, the gray, rain-washed sky was illuminated by an elegant rainbow, symbolizing God’s promise that never again would He drown the Earth and its inhabitants.

         Generations later, after Noah had disembarked from his ark and started a new life and a renaissance for people, trouble commenced.  The people had acquired the notion of a tower; a tower that would be altitudinous, stretching far into the Heavens.  Thirsting for power, riches and fame, they soon initiated their plan to build the tower in order to make a name for themselves.  Additionally, the tower symbolized Godly power. If they could reach the heavens, then perhaps they could become God.   With this desire and yearning, the people began the grueling work on the tower.  Quickly, the tower developed into a malevolent icon.  Material concern for the tower and its construction poured over the nation like the flood that had wiped out civilization ages ago.  People became consumed by their desires for power.  They no longer cared for the welfare of others and they were no longer interested in the safety of the laborers who had toiled to build it.  If a worker fell to his death, few would mourn, but if a brick fell, the people would grieve for days.  Seeing the great misdeeds of the people, and the evil of the tower, God once again took swift action, banishing his people by scattering them throughout the Earth.  God also hindered their communication by having all of them speak a different language.  God saw that the people were far too strong as one united tribe.  God’s punishment was to inhibit their communication and impede their unity.  God then named the symbol of greed, the “Tower of Babel,” for now the people would be confused and could not function as a whole, as they all spoke different languages.

         Additionally, within the Tower of Babel section, I found line four particularly compelling.  The fourth line depicts the people’s obsessions with power and their materialistic views.  “And they said, ‘Come let us build a city and a tower with its top in the sky, to make a name for ourselves; else we shall be scattered all over the world.” With one language the people were all alike. There was nothing that could separate one tribe or one person from another.  But, they wanted to be remembered.  In their vain pursuit of glory, recognition, and fame, they wished to build the tower, “to make a name for themselves.” They wanted to obtain the power of God in the Heavens.  However, in the construction of the tower, their complete yearning and their lack of self-identity blinded them.  Suddenly what mattered most was not life itself, but stepping on other’s lives to get to the top.  Within line four, there is also a great deal of irony. The people believed that if they didn’t build this tower and gain power and control over the rest of the world, they would be washed away with time, or as they say, “scattered all over the world.”  They believed that unless they obtained the power of God, they would be just another face among the many, and they would not amount to anything.  Man’s desire for material possessions became paramount, and in a sense, man self-destructed.

         The reason that “The Tower of Babel” section is compelling to me is that I see many parallels with the contemporary world.  The lust for great power, wealth and possessions is still all too common.  World leaders erect icons glorifying their own power.  For example, one ruler built hundreds of palaces, his own “Towers of Babel,” while neglecting the welfare of others.  As statues of him were constructed, thousands of his countrymen were either murdered or died of malnutrition.  This inhumane indifference to the welfare of others and abuse of others corresponds to the injustices in the Tower story.  But materialism does not only influence world leaders, it also affects everyday people. For example, in a car accident, people often check the damage to their car before inquiring as to the health of the driver. Another example of this self-absorption occurs in soccer games when a player is hurt and the opposing team complains about the referee’s call and does not acknowledge that a player is injured.  In recognizing this major problem, I will try to suppress my materialistic desires in favor of caring for those around me.  What matters are friend and family.  I will try to never take anybody for granted, so I would like to thank those people who worked so diligently to make my Bar Mitzvah a day I will always remember.  Thank you Patricia, Michael and Michelle Hackmer; Ellen Ratner, Ellen Matheson, Aunt Sandy Russell, and my Uncle Robert.  I would also like to thank those people who love me enough to come all the way from Florida- my beautiful Grandmother Annette Golenbock, my amazing grandfather, Jerome Golenbock, my loving aunt Suzanne Kobliner and my talented Uncle Peter.  I would like to thank my grandma for my new yamulka and Ellen Ratner for my Tallit from Israel.  Always with me in spirit, are those who I have not forgotten, my grandmother Elaine Stein, whose yortseit is today, my grandfather George Stein, my aunt Laura Stein and my wonderful Uncle Richie Kobliner.  I want to thank Temple Beth Elohim- Rabbi Lazar, Rabbi Sisenwein, Rabbi Wilfond, and Cantor Sufrin for their guidance and support.  This Bar Mitzvah would have been very difficult without the years of Hebrew lessons from Mrs. Phyllis Goldman. Thank you.  And of course, thank you, finally, but most of all to my parents.  Always helpful and loving, they made this day what it is.  They arranged everything for the party that you’re about to love and picked out the gorgeous invitations.   They also helped and encouraged me each step of the way with gentle guidance and extreme care and love.  I am, also, grateful for all of my friends and family who are here with me today.  Thank you for joining me.  I invite you to follow along as I read from the Torah.  The English translation can be found in the Hertz Chumash on page 38 starting with verse 1-12.

– Consider this startling fact: There is not one single solitary Mormon incarcerated in an American prison today. Not in a federal prison. Not in a state prison. No Mormons. Chaplain Gary Friedman, chairman of Jewish Prisoner Services International (JPSI) explains why. “When a Mormon goes to prison, he or she is excommunicated.” Hence, no Mormons are in prison. On the other hand, notes Friedman, “A Jew is always a Jew. When you go to prison, you’re still a Jew.” As long as there are Jews in prison, says Friedman, the Seattle-based JPSI is one of the all too few Jewish non-profits that will be there to provide them with programs and other types of needed assistance. To be sure, their needs are great. By most accounts, Jews make up less than one percent of the federal and state prison population in the United States – though the exact number is difficult to determine, because many choose not identify themselves as Jews for fear of anti-Semitic backlash. “The day I arrived at Danbury a Jewish woman came up to me and said, ‘I saw your Star of David. Put it inside your shirt and don’t tell anyone you’re Jewish. They hate Jews here,'” says Laura (not her real name), who spent 15 months at the federal institution a few years ago on a bankruptcy fraud conviction. To be sure, Jews are not the only category of prisoners who are subject to harassment from other prisoners. “Most prisoners come from minority communities and they don’t like white people, especially middle and upper class white people,” says Laura, who because she steadfastly maintains her innocence, turned down the opportunity to plead guilty and avoid jail time. Incarcerated in Danbury’s minimum security prison, that, contrary to popular notion, also houses gang members and other violent offenders, Laura was herself physically and verbally assaulted several times. Nonetheless, she says, Jews are a primary target for hate – and not just on the part of prisoners. “Both the staff and the inmates hate Jews. They call us Christ-killers and they prey on us.” While some agree with Laura – “anti-Semitism thrives in prisons from staff,” concurs Friedman – others qualify their response. “The fact is the guards are often not the best educated nor the most worldly and their lives are rather unpleasant. So they’re susceptible to racism and anti-Semitism,” says Rabbi Lazer Gurkov, spiritual leader of Chabad of Danbury, who recently ended a three and a half year stint as a contract chaplain to the Danbury prison. “When it comes to the prison administration, however, some complaints are legitimate and some are not.” For example, prisons offers a meal plan known as “common fare” to meet the dietary requirements of various religious groups, including Jews, Muslims, and others. “One Jewish inmate who requested common fare was subject to a test by the assistant chaplain, a minister, who quizzed her on the laws of kashrut. He wanted the Jewish inmates to prove that they knew what kosher was before they could get kosher food. That’s basically harassment. And it’s clearly against the law.” According to Gurkov, prisons are required to meet the religious needs of all inmates. They do so, as he puts it, “within limitations.” Within the federal system, this means that each prison facility is required to have on staff one full-time chaplain, regardless of his or her faith, whose primary responsibility it is to meet the spiritual needs of all inmates, regardless of their various faiths. The prison then contracts with clergy from other religions to come in on a part-time basis to provide services for their co-religionist inmates. Thus, in Danbury, for example, it is the staff chaplain, who is a nun, or the assistant chaplain, who is a Protestant minister, who coordinates and provides the Passover seder for the Jewish prisoners (prisoners are allowed one religious ceremonial meal a year), instead of the rabbi who, as the Jewish contract chaplain visits once a week. At one time, inmates were invited to attend Rosh Hashanah services at the United Jewish Center, a Reform congregation in Danbury. Accompanied by guards, they were required to wear their prison uniforms and were subjected to strip searches upon their return. “The indignity of it all made all the inmates who I knew choose not to go,” says Gurkov, noting that a group of volunteers from the same congregation visits on Friday afternoons to celebrate Shabbat with the inmates. Unlike the federal system, the Connecticut state prison system has on staff one full-time Jewish chaplain, who provides spiritual guidance to Jewish inmates at eight facilities throughout the state, and coordinates Jewish programming for four prisons in northern Connecticut. Services are held several times a week at Osborn Correctional Institute in Somers, where inmates have a separate Jewish chapel. During the High Holidays, inmates from surrounding facilities are brought to the Osborn facility to join in a service conducted by the chaplain, Rabbi Baruch Schechtman. Lack of support While the chaplains describe their jobs as emotionally intense but extremely fulfilling, they continue to be frustrated by a lack of support for the Jewish inmates on the part of the Jewish community. “There is a lot that the state does not provide that the Jewish community could help with. But there is nothing done in the organized Jewish community for prisoners,” says Schechtman, who often uses his own funds to purchase holiday items for prisoners. JPSI and the Aleph Institute, a non-profit group sponsored by Chabad that also provides programs and services to Jewish prisoners, voice the same complaint. “We’re from a people who would prefer to believe that we don’t do anything wrong. But you can’t ignore it,” says Friedman. “Jewish prisoners need help, and they get little or none from Jewish Federations.” Money isn’t the only issue, says Jane Davis, founder of the Atlanta-based Hope-Howse, a non-profit peace organization that stands for Help Other People Evolve through Honest Open Willing Self Evaluation (and expression). “The lack of a Jewish community presence in prisons and the total absence of Jewish volunteer work there is felt not only by Jewish prisoners, but by non-Jewish prisoners and staff as well,” says Davis, who works with inmates of all races and religions, but is especially involved with Jewish prisoners. “It contributes to anti-Semitism. The consequences can be devastating, because everyone knows that there is no one who will stand up for Jewish prisoners.” It also opens the door for other religions. “We never have enough money to fund our programs,” says Friedman, “But it’s amazing how well financed the Christian ministries are. They’re constantly proselytizing and the pressure is unbelievable.” In addition, he notes, “A Jew who asks for a Jewish chaplain may very well get a Messianic. I have a shelf full of Messianic material that I collected from prisons, including a Haggadah that shows Jesus as the korban Pesach (the Passover sacrifice), the wine as his blood, the matzo as his body, and so on.” Schechtman would also like to see greater support from the Jewish community for Jewish ex-convicts. “There’s a crying need for the Jewish community to help Jewish inmates who are released from prison to get back on their feet,” he says, “Housing, jobs… anything that can give them a positive connection to the Jewish community. Many of these inmates have nobody when they get out and it’s extremely difficult for them to make it on their own. Christian organizations provide programming. Jewish organizations should do so for Jewish ex-inmates.” A connection to Judaism can aid inmates in their rehabilitation and re-entry into society, points out Schechtman. “Judaism is a fantastic system for those who want to rehabilitate themselves, because we believe that God creates the world over every day. So, we each have a chance to restart our lives every single day. Being responsible for one’s own actions and having the God-given ability to start over again is the basis for rehabilitation.” Davis sees the lack of community support as an opportunity lost. “On Chanukah we’re taught about the light and about bringing light into dark places,” she points out. “Prisons are certainly dark places. Prisons are wonderful places to practice tikkun olam – repairing the world.” For information on the work of Jewish Prisoner Services International visit http://www.jewishprinsonerservices.org.; for the Aleph Institute, visit http://www.alephinstitute.org; and for Hope-Howse, visit http://www.hopehowse.org.

                                             By Peter Golenbock

Do not envy the Yankee fans.  Yankee fans are mean-spirited, vengeful, and care about nothing else but winning.  They are arrogant and they brag about themselves without remorse.  Red Sox fans, on the other hand, are compassionate, long-suffering, and applaud a good effort, win or lose.   In other words, Red Sox fans have been given the tools which will help make them successful the rest of their lives.

It wasn’t always this way.  Back around the turn of the twentieth century, the Red Sox were the power in the American League, and the Yankees were the door mats.  The Red Sox had a group of fans called “The Royal Rooters.”  They were the movers and shakers of Irish Boston, including John F. “Honey Fitz” Fitzgerald, the father of Rose Kennedy and the grandfather of John K. Kennedy.  The “Royal Rooters” were also the waiters, house laborers and dock workers.  They were men who built Boston’s roads and canals, railroads and other public works. 

            “Those aren’t cobblestones,” an Irishman once remarked, “they are Irish hearts.”

            Even before the turn of the century, baseball had become an Irish passion.  Many of the early stars had been Irish.  John McGraw, Hugh Jennings, Connie Mack, Ed Delahanty, and Roger Bresnahan were early stars.

            Boston’s biggest nineteenth century baseball hero was the son of an Irish immigrant papermaker by the name of Michael K. “King” Kelly.  In 1887, Chicago sold him to Boston for $10,000, and immediately he became known as the “$10,000 Beauty.”  They wrote a song about him called “Slide, Kelly, Slide.”  In the off-season he would appear on the stage performing “Casey at the Bat.”

            In 1901 the Boston American League team was founded.  The first two years they were called the Somersets, and then they were called the Pilgrims in 1903.  They became the Red Sox in 1907.  But with the coming of this team to Boston, the Royal Rooters switched their allegiance from the National League team to this one.  Why?  Because the new team signed some of the best of the National League’s players, including Cy Young, who won 511 games in his long career, and Jimmy Collins, the best third baseman in all of baseball.  The other reason was that a ticket to a Boston American League game was 25 cents, half of what it cost to go to a Beaneaters game.

            The Royal Rooters made their presence felt at the very first World Series in 1903, when the Pilgrims, the American League winners, played the Pittsburgh Pirates.  The Royal Rooters, several hundred strong, marched in a parade to Boston’s Huntington Avenue Grounds.  Music signaled their arrival.  When they came into sight, they were wearing black suits with high white collars, blue rosettes pinned on their lapels.  At the head of the line was their leader, “Nuf Ced” McGreevey. 

            McGreevey, who owned a bar down the street from the ballpark, wanted the Royal Rooters to have an anthem to play in order to taunt the Pirates players for Game 4 in Pittsburgh.  One of the group found sheet music to a song called “Tessie” from the musical comedy Silver Slipper.

            When the Pirates took a three to one lead in the series, the Royal Rooters were despondent.  Then in Game 5, they began singing the annoying “Tessie” over and over and over.  The Bostons rallied.  Was it the power of the song?  They were sure of it when the Pilgrims won 11-2.  When they went on to win the series, the Boston players swore it was because the Royal Rooters had drive the Pirates players to distraction by incessantly singing that damned “Tessie.”

            By 1908 the “Royal Rooters” were nationally famous.  McGreevey’s face even appeared on early game programs.  In 1908 he even posed in the team photo.   By 1912, when the Bostons, now called the Red Sox, won their second pennant, the Royal Rooters had become an institution.  That 1912 team was led by one of the greatest outfields of all time, with Tris Speaker, Harry Hooper, and Duffy Lewis, and its star pitcher was Smokey Joe Wood, the winner of 34 games.  When the Red Sox returned from the road after clinching the pennant, one hundred thousand fans, led by the Royal Rooters, were there to greet them.

            In 1912 the Red Sox played the New York Giants, led by manager John McGraw and pitcher Christy Mathewson.   Before Game Six, with the Red Sox ahead three games to two and victory within their grasp, the Royal Rooters marched into the new Fenway Park and headed to their seats along the third-base line.

            The ticket manager of the Red Sox, meanwhile, had sold the Royal Rooters seats on a first-come, first-served basis.  When the Royal Rooters arrived to take their seats, they discovered they were already occupied.  The Red Sox management had sold them.

            The Royal Rooters didn’t know what to do.  They refused to move, blocking the view of the seat holders.  The mounted police was called, and things got ugly.  The spectators in the seats began throwing peanuts, scorecards, canes, and other makeshift ammunition at the Royal Rooters.

            The umpires were threatening to forfeit the game if the Royal Rooters didn’t get off the field.  Police forcibly cleared them off the field.  They left, cursing all the way.

            When the game finally began, the Royal Rooters were sequestered in the wooden bleachers out in left field.  Meanwhile, Joe Wood, the starter, warmed up, and he then had to wait a half hour for the game to begin, and his arm tightened, and he last one inning and was shelled for six runs.

            After the game, the Royal Rooters stood outside the Red Sox offices singing the Giants’ anthem, Tammany and booing the Red Sox management.  Cries were heard, “The hell with the Red Sox.”  And “Who cares if we win or lose?” 

            The next day, the Red Sox fans boycotted and only 17,000 fans showed up.  Not a single member of the Royal Rooters attended.

            A Red Sox executive was quoted as saying the Royal Rooters would get over it over the winter and would be as loyal as ever in the spring.  “They always have,” he said.  And of course, he was right.  After the Red Sox won the world championship that day, the city of Boston held a parade for their world champs.  At the head of the parade were the Royal Rooters.

            It was lesson for Red Sox management.  Whatever the indignities heaped upon their most loyal fans, team owners from then on could be sure they would be forgiven.  And they were.  Always.

            The Red Sox would go on to win three most pennants, in 1915, 1916, and 1918.  One player involved in all three of those pennants was a fellow by the name of George Herman “Babe” Ruth.”

            In July of 1914, Ruth, a left  handed pitcher, was bought from the Baltimore team in the International League along with pitcher Ernie Shore and catcher Ben Egan for $8,000.  Ruth never should have gone to the Red Sox.  He was first offered to the Philadelphia A’s, owned by Connie Mack.  But Mack, who was going broke, told the Baltimore owner to sell the players to someone who could afford them.   Egan wasn’t a factor, but Ruth and Shore led  the Red Sox to pennants the next two years.

            At first they roomed Shore and Ruth together, but then Shore complained.  Ruth was using his toothbrush.  In 1915 Ruth’s record was 18-6.  But if you look at the records of the pitchers in the 1915 you won’t find Ruth’s name.  Manager Bill Carrigan kept him out to teach him a lesson.  He wanted to show Ruth, who was young and uncontrollable, that the Red Sox could win without him.  

            In 1916 Tris Speaker left Boston and went to Cleveland.  He had refused to play with Ruth.  According to Dick Casey, who was 92 when I interviewed him, Speaker had been a member of the Ku Klux Klan, and he had a dislike for Catholics.  Ruth was a Catholic, even though his parents were Lutherins.    And when Speaker was traded to Cleveland, Joe Wood stayed out of the entire season, refusing to pitch.   The Red Sox won the pennant anyway. 

            In 1916, the Red Sox owner, Joe Lannin, became disenchanted with owning the team.  After he sold Speaker, the Red Sox fans let him have it.  When manager Bill Carrigan retired he had lost his leader.  He sold the team to a New Yorker by the name of Harry Frazee, a well-known theatrical figure and known associates of New York gamblers, for $675,000.

            At the time Frazee bought the Red Sox he was flush.   When Frazee heard the Washington Senators were thinking of selling their great pitcher, Walter Johnson, he offered Washington $60,000 for him.  Griffith said no, but it showed that Frazee intended to build a winner in Boston.

            As you all know, Boston did win one more pennant and World Championship, in 1918.   The war had started and in the winter of 1917-1918, a significant number of Red Sox players left for the war, including Duffy Lewis, Ernie Shore, Herb Pennock, and manager Jack Barry.   When Ed Barrow took over as manager, his biggest question was where to play Ruth, the best pitcher in the league.  But Ruth could also hit home runs, and Ruth wanted to play every day.  In the middle of the 1918 season, Ruth got in a fight with Barrow and left the team.  After missing just one game, he came back, and Frazee got Ruth to agree just to pitch.  After winning a game, Barrow sent Ruth up to pinch hit.  Ruth tripled in two runs to tie the game.  The next day Ruth was in the outfield, and he stayed there until late in the season, when Barrow asked him to go back and pitch again.

            In 1918, Ruth pitched 20 games, he played 59 games in the outfield, and thirteen times he played first base.  He tied Tilly Walker for the American League home run lead with 11.

            In the spring of 1919 Harry Hooper convinced Ed Barrow to let Ruth play every day.  Hooper said to him, “think of all the customers you’ll draw and all the money you’ll make.  In one exhibition game against the Giants, Ruth hit one home run 579 feet.

            Ruth did win 9 games as a pitcher in 1919 when he had to fill in for pitcher Carl Mays, who was traded to the Yankees.  Then the Red Sox brought up 19 year old Waite Hoyt, and Ruth went back to the outfield.  Ruth finished the year with 29 home runs.  Of course, he led the league.

            Ruth led the Red Sox to the final world series they ever won in 1918.  But Harry Frazee’s luck was running out.  Secretary of War Newton Baker ordered baseball to shut down by September 1.  The loss of revenue from the cancelled games was disastrous for Frazee.  Back then, there was no revenue from radio or television.  Ticket sales were everything.  The 1918 World Series was against the Chicago Cubs.  Frazee needed high attendance in the series to recoup his huge losses.  He didn’t get it.

            A footnote: during the seventh inning of the 1918 world series, Harry Frazee decided that during the seventh inning the band would play the Star Spangled Banner, in honor of the soldiers at war.  When it was finished, everyone stood and cheered.  This was repeated after Game 4.  It wasn’t long before the Star Spangled Banner was played before every baseball game in America.

            The attendance was so bad, the players almost went on strike before Game 5.  They knew they weren’t going to get the $2,000 promised them.  The baseball commissioners appealed to their pride, and they finished the series, with the Red Sox winning 4 games to 2.  Each Red Sox got $1,108.  Each Cub player got $671.

            By the end of 1918, Harry Frazee was overextended.  And you know the rest of the story.  He sold Ruth to the Yankees, and as a result, Red Sox fans have had to endure years of frustration and emotional trauma.  There was Johnny Pesky holding the ball too long in 1946, and lost pennant in 1948 and 1949, and years of mediocrity under Joe Cronin and Tom Yawkey, and then Bucky Effing Dent and Bill Effing Buckner, and then last year Aaron Effing Boone.  This year it was “Who’s Your Daddy.”

            But as I said at the beginning of this talk, all of this has made you strong, and kind, and compassionate.  You have learned that winning isn’t as important as the journey.  You have learned the beauty of Carlton Fisk’s home run against the Reds in the 1975 World Series.  You have learned to savor the Ortiz two-run home run to win game four, even though it took place at one thirty in the morning.   You have learned the important lessons of life.  It is you, the Red Sox fans, who are indeed the Chosen People.

The Archangel Gabriel

Chapter 22

When the Christmas pageant committee literally accosts me, I am startled and frightened.  The lead in the pageant has just quit.  They are asking me to play the part of the angel Gabriel next week. In fact, in six days.  Melynda looks earnestly at me for the first time ever and says, “You’re the only one here we figure can learn all of the lines in time for the play.  I think that’s why Annie quit, because she couldn’t get her lines, and everyone was yelling at her.”  I think carefully, “Shit, if I do the Christmas play, the Jews are gonna skewer me.  But how can I say no to someone serving fifteen years.”  

I don’t like Melynda much, but I’d never say no to the rest of the community, especially the director who is really a talent woman. 

“On one condition,” I reply. 

“Wha,” said Mel. 

“NO one, and I mean no one, yells at me if I’m too fucked up to get all the lines right.  My mind has been very unsteady since I got here.”  The director, who would go home two days after Christmas, had written the play herself and since it was her last gift to the women of Danbury, she is very much vested in her production. 

I look at the script.  “Shit.  I can’t even pronounce these lines.  Hark.  Though that art… Damn.”  I begin again, “Hark though that art (can’t remember) The Lord is with thee.”  I try again. “Hark thou that art highly flavored. The Lord is with thee.” 

I am pleased until I realize that I have six pages of single spaced lines to go.  The girl playing Joseph pretends to smack the girl playing the Virgin Mary saying, “Bitch, you all better tell me who knocked you up.  I’m not playin’.”  The non-religious fanatics and I laugh.  The zealots are furious and yell at ‘Joseph’. No one yells at me. I have a sense of inclusion. The director turns to the crowd and says, “Let’s take it from the top.”  That was my cue. “Hark, thou that art highly flavored, the Lord is with thee.”  “Close enough,” I think. 

Another faux actress turns to me and says, “You’re already doing better than the last bitch.”  I laugh appreciatively.  Any compliment would do, even a backhanded one. 

Shana and Ellie come by to tell me that the word had traveled about my playing the role of the angel Gabriel in the Christmas play.  I tell them, “They asked for a favor and I’m doing it for the girls.  It doesn’t make me Christian. It makes me charitable.” 

Shana says, “These people all hate us.  Don’t expect me to go to the play. Okay.” 

 “You’re my friend and I expect you to be there to support me, yes I do, while I do the girls a favor. We will all be charitable. Oh, and I’m having trouble learning the lines.  I’ve never been in a Christmas play before.”  I laugh. No one else laughs with me. 

I go back over to the stage area (near the dish room in the cafeteria), thinking that that didn’t go so well.  The women practice late into the night.  It is a distraction and gives me something to do. 

The next morning, my lawyer, John, is already seated in the tiny chapel when I arrive for the unplanned and unexpected visit.  He looks paler than usual, visually different from the times when his transplanted liver was not functioning properly.

 “I’m sorry,” he intones as I walked into the room.

 “Huh?” is my not so articulate reply.

 “I’m sorry.”  A long pause ensues.  “We lost the appeal.” 

Always the asshole, I think, “What you mean we, Lone Ranger?”  I am truly shocked. It has never occurred to me that I could lose this appeal. My very life and sanity have depended on winning it.  I think, “Shit. There goes the ending to my book.   I was supposed to win.  I was supposed to win, because I deserved to win. That was supposed to be my last chapter.  You know, the system works.  I get my life back.”

“Can we go to the Supreme Court?” and then I think, “Here’s that ‘we’ again.” 

John looks sad and says, “Sure. I never, ever thought you’d lose. The jurors on the panel never even read the brief. They didn’t respond to a single one of our issues.” 

“Tonight, when you are in your eight by ten bathroom, remember that I share that small space with another woman for the next ten months. Try to get me out of here, anyway you can.  And thanks, I’m really more grateful to you than I am sounding.”

So, this is how the book ends, I lose.  I have spent four months in prison.  I spend another ten months in damnation. The system gets away with criminalizing non-criminal acts, because it can.     I learn that once convicted no one cares that I should not have been indicted or convicted. No one, even people who I thought were my friends, will believe me.  I think about all of the women who lost appeals that should have been won and think about Shana’s gifted and talented daughter, who actually wins her appeal. 

Then I know what to look for in the future. I will re-appeal as soon as the government has a case that holds that it was unconstitutional for the government to try someone criminally for a parallel case won by the defendant civilly.  The government should not be allowed to use the same government witnesses in the civil success to stand for the proposition that a crime had been committed.  I will wait for the government to stop criminalizing the civil defendant and then I will pounce.    

Oh yes, the Christmas pageant was perfect and I remembered all my lines, and correctly stated “Hark Thou that are highly FAVORED.” My audience of Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Catholic, Black, White, and Hispanic women cheered loudly.  The spirit and will to survive is “all that.” 

More than ten inmates are freed from prison early as a result of letters I wrote on their behalf.

I still await my chance to overturn my conviction.

The End

Well it’s settled, Martha Stewart, federal inmate No. 55170-054, surrenders Friday, at “Camp Cupcake,” the Federal Prison Camp for women in Alderson Virginia, far away from family, friends, and everyday life.  Alderson, is America’s oldest prison for women, and former home to some of America’s most infamous women – Kathryn Kelly (wife of “Machine Gun” Kelly), Billie Holliday, Tokyo Rose, Axis Sally, and would-be presidential assassins Squeaky Fromme and Sara Jane Moore.

Yes, Martha Stewart can go to the 105 acre bucolic campus on the Greenbriar River, and learn Italian, but without a CD player this may prove challenging.  On the other hand, Martha could catch up on her reading, perhaps some bestselling fiction the The Da Vinci Code, or Angels & Demons by Dan Brown, like many of us who have served time planned to.  Murder mysteries are always popular in women’s prisons.  However, prison libraries haven’t been restocked in years.  Men seem to fare a lot better than women when it comes to this aspect of prison life, after all keeping men focused and occupied cuts down on any violent tendencies brought on by close quarters.

Yes, Martha can go through the entire experience in total denial, sleeping, reading and ‘italiano parlante.’  Many do, and many return because of it.  After all, each of us does our time in our own way.  The examples are limitless; the United States represents just 4.6% of the world’s population but warehouses 25% of the world’s prison population.  Democracy at its finest I guess.  The United States has the highest prison rate in the world, some 686 per 100,000 of the national population.  The number of women under the jurisdiction of State or Federal authorities has been increasing steadily, with a 5% increase from June 30, 2002 to June 30, 2003, as compared to men at an increase of 2.7% for the same period.  Who are these nameless, faceless, forgotten women?  Who are these mothers and grandmothers?  Sisters and daughters?  Except for the few more infamous women of the past decade, like Martha Stewart, Leona Helmsley and maybe Lea Fastow, only those behind the walls really know.

They are women caught in the net, most frequently women of color, most under 40, and most suffering abuse throughout their lives.  68% of these women are serving sentences greater than 5 years, and 48% over 10 years.  Yes, they have been in the drug trade – usually at the lowest level – carrying cargo like mules or purveying their wares in the crack houses of broken cities.  Women sentenced under the most draconian of drug laws and sentencing guidelines.  Women with kids, – kids who may show up occasionally in the visiting room – if they can be located and brought the long distance by some kind and willing friend or relative. 

When these women finally land in Alderson or Danbury or wherever, reality hits – they may be here for 7, 10 or even 15 years – their kids are their overarching concern.  Too little too late, you might say.  Why didn’t they think sooner?  Well, why have we emptied our mental institutions and hospitals, only to fill our prisons?  Why have we taken funds from community development, health services, violence intervention, drug rehabilitation, and schools, only to fill our prisons? 

The majority of these women have addictions, and mental health issues, in addition to health problems such as HIV, Hepatitis C or diabetes.  All of these women housed under one roof – the ‘pill line’ in prison is never ending.  These are the women that fill the ranks of our Federal Prisons from Danbury, to Los Angeles, from Brooklyn to Seattle, and from Houston to Chicago, 23 facilities in all, wherever the ‘great society’ has chosen to warehouse them.  These are the women with whom I shared my life, and these are the women with whom Martha Stewart will now share hers.

            So what can Martha learn?  She will quickly learn how many of life’s little conveniences we take for granted; our radios, bathrobes, sneakers and hand lotion.  She will learn who she really is, stripped of the control, possessions and trappings of everyday life.  Yes, she can learn Italian, or catch up on her reading, become doyenne of the organic garden, even study Buddhism.  But, what Martha can really learn does not have to do with improving her mind; or even occupying her time.  It has to do with opening her heart.  It has to do with the ‘other America.’  It is hard to look away when you are a part of it.  It is heart wrenching to meet women who will be incarcerated for 7 years, 16 years, and yes sometimes life; to meet women who may never leave this place.

Martha has the opportunity to contribute something greater than neat decorating tips or tasty holiday recipes.  She has the opportunity to connect with women who need nurturing, guidance, support, teaching, parenting and some times just an ear.  She can look at the photo albums of their kids, listen to the stories of their lives, and just be there. This is the biggest thing Martha can learn and the greatest gift she could ever give.  And perhaps, just perhaps, she may come away with something great in return.  I did.

Max Stein-Golenbock Mar 2, 2018 

“As I understand it, you are in no position to sneeze at that thought,” she told me.

“The sneeze you are referring to was unrelated to that thought, madam,” I said.

“Even so, even so. A sneeze is a sneeze, I’m afraid, and that sneeze, whether you meant it to be or not, was directed at that thought,” she said.

“It wasn’t though. How do you know it was directed at that thought? It could have been directed at that bird in the window,” I said.

“Was it directed at that bird in the window?” she said.

“Well, no, but- “ I said.

“Let the records show, the defendant has admitted the sneeze was in fact not directed at that bird in the window,” she said.

A murmuring rose up from the back of the room.

“Order! Order in the court!” she said and banged her gavel three times.

“Unless you can prove, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the intent and target of that sneeze, we will recognize the sneeze as an admission of guilt” she said.

“But that’s backwards,” I said.

“Sir, I’ll have you know, nothing in my courtroom is backwards,” she said.

“What about that painting?” I said, pointing to the painting hanging with its back facing outwards.

“Are you being smart with me?” she said.

“No ma’am,” I said.

“Because, you’re not smart. You’re not a smart man, so don’t go trying to act all smart all of a sudden,” she said, and there was a rise of snickering from the back of the room.

“No ma’am,” I said.

“No ma’am?” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

“Yes ma’am what?” she said.

“Yes ma’am, I’m agreeing with you,” I said.

“Good, so you’re agreeing that you’re not a smart man. Clarence, let the records show the defendant has agreed that he is not a smart man,” she said.

“The records show it,” the man named Clarence said.

“I’m not saying that,“ I said.

“You’re not saying what?” she said.

“I’m not saying that I’m not a smart man,” I said.

“Then what are you saying, Mr. Peterson? Please- do us all a favor and pray tell- what are you saying?” she said.

“I’m just saying that- I don’t know. I’m saying that I- I didn’t sneeze at that thought. That’s a very good, worthy thought, and I would never think to sneeze at it. And I just think it’s unfair that you’re assuming my guilt on the matter, when it should be the other way around. Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Innocent until proven guilty? I just think it’s unfair. It’s not fair. Madam, Your honor,” I said.

“Well said,” my lawyer whispered into my ear, and patted me on the shoulder.

There was a silence in the room.

“Is that your statement?” she said.

“Yes, that’s my statement,” I said.

“Let the records show the defendant- Mr. Peterson- has issued his statement,” she said.

“The records show it,” the man named Clarence said.

“Good. Good,” she said.

“Now for my sentencing. All attention!” she said.

“I hereby sentence the defendant, Hugh Peterson, to two to three years unsupervised counseling, four months pool arrest, two and a half days of induced labor, and three hours reverse osmosis water boarding,”

“Your honor!” my lawyer said.

“Yes?” she said.

“You can’t do that!” my lawyer said.

“I can,” she said, “And I did.”

“Which one is water boarding?” I said.

“The terrorist one,” my lawyer said.

“Your honor!” I said.

“The terrorist one?” she said, “What’s the one with the boat called?”

“That’s wakeboarding,” the man named Clarence said.

“Ah, wakeboarding. Strike that, then, Clarence. And amend the records to say wake boarding, not water boarding, please,” she said.

“The records show it,” Clarence said.

“Well, that’s a relief,” I said, and everyone in the room laughed together, and then the lights flickered a little, and what’s the difference, I mean, what is life anyways?

WRITTEN BY

Max Stein-Golenbock