Bill Maris quote

Bill Maris and Kevin Rose were on Charlie Rose. It was a great interview. I heard Bill Maris describe the mindset of many of the entrepreneurs he comes across as a venture capitalist.


" They have a healthy disregard for the impossible "


The masses cannot conceive or entertain this type of thinking. The masses are born in a box. Raised in a box and live their obedient lives in a box filled with FEAR.  It's blasphemy for them to suggest or even entertain a life outside the box for they are slaves meant for bondage on the path of fear.

There but for the grace of god go I....

Career Education Corporation Part 6: Laptops were stolen

 

Teaching with laptops did not work out as expected. The battery life was supposed to be twelve hours. They didn't last eight.

Weeks if not months after I taught the class with laptops the IT director along with the school's top administrator, I think it was the acting president, stopped by my class. They had an odd look of concern and urgency about them. (I was in the middle of a lecture) The IT director approached as I stood there in the front of my class. He got close, looked me in the eyes and with great discretion asked:

"Do you still know the combination to the cabinet with the laptops”. It was a combination lock utilizing letters in the place of numbers allowing words for combination.
 

I nodded my head (affirming) and said in a whisper "DELL". They were Dell laptops. The combination was simple to remember. 

After I gave the IT director the combination he told me the laptop had been stolen. Someone cut off the lock.

I'd like to think the school, Harrington College i.e. Career Education Corporation, would not consider me a suspect (because I'm not a thief). I was rebuilding my life. I was climbing the ladder of success one rung at a time. No shortcuts. I was in the process of getting an education along with experience and references. I understood the value of networking in the business world. I need a glowing reference from Harrington College when I leave. I need a glowing reference from every company I work for. At times I found myself a slave to my resume. In one small way I thought,:

If I serve my career my career will serve me

I literally am beyond reproach (in my own mind). This is the way I think, this the way I act. This is what I fee l about myself, especially as the words relate to Harrington College. I did an great job teaching while at Harrington. I brought tremendous energy and enthusiasm to my classrooms.

If I do a great job and and represent the school well I have nothing to worry about. Nothing. No Thing.

That was not some of my better thinking.

As it turns out I was NOT above reproach. As it turned out there was an investigation. As it turns out I was a suspect. They found out about my past. The criminal stuff. It may have been reasonable to them that an ex-con would be the most logical suspect, me and the African American network technician. I imagine he was a suspect because he disappeared shortly after the laptops were stolen.

At one point I heard my co-workers discussing my criminal past. This was after the laptops were stolen. The word was out and I was on my way out. I was not long for their world. Not only was I on my way out, I was humiliated in the process.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Lots of hard work went into getting that job. Hard work went into keeping that job. All that work and effort flushed down the fucking toilet. It felt that way for a couple of minutes. I felt frustration. There was no getting around it, this part of dealing with a felony conviction.

“This is all my fault. I have no one to blame but myself"

Be that as it may, after I head my co-workers discussing my criminal past I realized I needed to walk out. I felt humiliated. It was one of those OMG moments. I sat down, typed out a letter of resignation stating why I was quitting and printed three or four copies, maybe it was five or six. I put them in envelopes and asked my bosses secretary to deliver them and I left. I gave the security official downstairs my faculty ID card. I think that was December 2006.

There was no getting around it. I was the one that chose trafficking marijuana for a living back in 1984. In one form or another I will continue to deal with my past no matter how much time passes. Sobeit. There are worse things to be dealing with.

The simple fact of the matter is this, I found this job. I’ll find another.

After teaching for Harrington College for a couple of years then being hired by them to build a database and giving me access to sensitive information concerning each faculty member, then being approved for tuition reimbursement for grad school, Harrington College wrote me off the schedule. They found an easy way to dispose of me. No more classes for you...  

I spoke with some lawyers but did not think suing former employers was part of rebuilding my life but it seems obvious, they entered into an agreement with me concerning grad school then went back on their word. That is actionable in court. Leaking out personal information about me to my co-workers is against the law as well.

Had those laptops never been stolen I might still be teaching at Harrington College. They had their hooks in me. The tuition reimbursement agreement I had with Harrington College i.e. Career Education Corporation, was to be paid out over time in future semesters after I completed grad school.

I’d been out of prison about six years or so and made significant progress in rebuilding my life. I’d gone as straight as a person can while seeking acceptance into corporate America as a form of legitimacy as a professional.

Though it was not my goal I felt certain I would be offered a full time faculty position even though I was only teaching one class and I would teach that same class four or five times each semester. Grad school taught me to get involved at work if you are interested in moving up the ladder. ---- I took their advice and it worked like a charm.

What I feel is indisputable about my time at Harrington College is this. I did an excellent job for them. They read the evaluations my students filled out. The president of the school even made a comment about the evaluations posted on-line at rate my professor.com. They had their eyes on me and I enjoyed it because I was doing such a good job for them. I'm a star, you better pay attention to me.

I was able to educate, motivate and inspire the students in my classes at Harrington College. Not many other teachers are as skilled as I am in this regard. That was my ace in the hole.  

 

 

Career Education Corporation Part 5: Teaching with laptops

My boss summoned me to his office. I could feel an opportunity preparing to present itself.

The school bought laptops for one classroom instead of desktops. This was as an experiment. The laptops would make the classroom mobile if they could endure two classes back to back without being plugged in. Eight hours of continues use. An external battery was attached.

The request was made for me to give these laptops a try. In the following semester I would teach two classes back to back with the laptops. I gladly took on the assignment.

Part of my thinking at this time was to become indespinsable to the school.  This indespinsablity was tied to job security. 

Career Education Corporation Part 4 - Tuition Assistance

They sent a memo informing us of the new tution assistance program. I applied and had my application approved. This was before they asked me to build a database to be utilized for scheduleing.

I had no intention of staying at the college any longer than necessary. The job was a means to an end. It looked good on the resume. It was a decent gig while in grad school and they were going to pay tuition assistance on my masters degree. The school offered a great deal and in return I did a great job for them.

Each and every semesters at Harrington College the school had the students evaluate me, and every other teacher to my knowledge. I have copy of those evaluations.

I never got my tution assistance.

I did not think sueing CEC (a former employer) was a good career move so I didn't.

Career Education Corporation Part 3 - Building a database

 

Aside from my teaching responsibilities at Harrington College they hired me to build a database for them. The database would be used by administrators for scheduling faculty members to classes. The database would contain all the classes having been taught by each instructor along with the classes they are capable of teaching. A table was needed for degrees held by each instructor and where they obtained their degrees. Room was needed for the professional certifications held by each instructor. Professional references could also be stored there. There would be a table consisting of each faculty members professional resumes in a pdf format along with contact information and mailing address.

The only reason I would even take on such an assignment would be to ingratiate myself to management. It was an awesome sign on their part when management offered me the job. I inferred they liked me, they trusted me and they could see me in the corporate picture in the foreseeable future.

I got paid for my efforts in creating the database then turned the database in for a class project in graduate school.  It's what I like to call a win win situation.

 

 

Career Education Corporation Part 2: Selling useless degrees

I thought I was teaching for a noble institution and felt honored to be there. Then I watched an episode of 60 Minutes where they did an expose on CEC, Career Education Corporation (my employer). It was not good.

CEC owned some seventy two colleges and universities across the globe. This was back in 2006.  I don't know what the numbers are today.

60 Minutes exposed some of the colleges owned by CEC as completely dishonest and fraudulent. Some of the colleges owned by Career Education Corporation were selling useless degrees to unsuspecting students. The colleges were putting the students tens of thousands of dollars in debt then giving them a useless degree for which they would go out into the world and forage for jobs offering minimum wage with no hope of a better life.

Harrington College of Design was not implicated in any of the wrong doing alleged by 60 Minutes.

Truth?

 

 

"They must find it difficult....

Those who have taken authority

as the truth,;

rather than truth as the authority"

G. Massey

Hired by Harrington College

It was a big day.

I started off the day by taking my last final exam for my Bachelors degree (BS in CIS). I left the campus relieved. Though I would not get my grade for the exam for a few days I knew I passed the test and the class. That particular chapter of my life was over. Three and a half years of night school found its conclusion with my having graduated.

I left the campus and headed to the train station. I had an interview downtown for an adjunct faculty position at Harrington College of Design.

The interview could not have gone better. I felt certain I would be hearing from them and I did. With the summer semester starting in just a few weeks I was called and offered a couple of classes. 

Do you believe in miracles?

I gladly accepted. It’s an understatement to say I was shocked by the job offer. I was astonished. Blown away. It was completely inconceivable on every level and in every way. Five years after being released from prison and I’d become a college graduate and adjunct faculty member at a college. A real college not some fly by night vocational school. I was a college professor. Unfucking believable.

A few days later I was called by the school and asked if I could teach four classes. Of course I can.

My goal after leaving prison was never to become a college graduate or a college professor.  I had a very general and vague goal and that was to create a life worth living. I did believe it was possible to rebuild my life after prison. I had no idea what it would look like. I believed if I worked hard and kept a good attitude I would be able to see progress within a year or so. As much as it pains me to admit it I did have a fall back plan. If I realized no traction in creating a new life after prison after one year of being home I would revisit my thoughts about going back into the marijuana business.

I did see traction in rebuilding my life and it only took a couple of months. The month after my release I found out about a government program offering tuition assistance for job training then I found a school offering classes in computer training. I enrolled and was in class five days a week eight hours a day. Then I found a bartending job working on Saturday and Sunday nights. Now here I was five years later and hired to teach at a college.

It was great to have the job but I did not want this to be a one semester gig and then have that come to an end. I needed this to last. I got through the first semester with flying colors and then made it through a second semester. With things working out with this job I decided to enroll in grad school and pursue a Master’s Degree. I stayed at Harrington until December 2006. 

B81) Heroin in prison

On two different occasions and on different prison yards (Cook Unit and North Unit) I witnessed an inmate who nodded off with a needle in his arm (dorm living). Truth is stranger than fiction. There he was, asleep with a spent syringe of heroin hanging out of a vein in his arm.

On both occasions a guard eventually walked up on the inmates during their heroin induced nap and it was off to the hole where the convict would complain about the injustice of life behind bars.

I've read published opinions claiming criminals want to be caught. I forget the reason why but supposedly deep down inside these people want to be caught. Watching a convict nod off in his cubical with a syringe hanging out of his arm supports the aforementioned position.


When I arrived to Cook unit I was lucky (again) in which dorm I was placed. The next dorm down had a Nazi in it (Ed the Nazi) that demanded a fight with any new white man assigned to the dorm. Since convicts come and go on most prison yards with a great deal of regularity the boxing ring was in use on a regular basis. Ed the Nazi had a well established routine.

New white guy shows up and settles down into his newly assigned cubical.

Ed the Nazi observes the new guy and puts his plan into motion.

1. Remove all contraband from the cubical. After the fight guards will be escorting Ed the Nazi to the hole and then they will search his cubical looking for contraband.
2. Obtain heroin and get it into your veins.
3. Step 3 is where the miracle happens. With the heroin coursing through Ed's veins he miraculously grows a pair of testicles and now stands ready to fight.
4. Attack the new guy

After the fight both men were taken to the hole...

B80 A man's reach....

Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for?

B79) I got my yearly physical

Tuesday August 21, 2012

It was time for the yearly physical. I'm fifty two and the physicals after fifty are supposed to be a yearly event. I would be a great deal more accomidating to this medical schedule if the physicals were not so damn invasive. That prostate exam almost makes it a deal breaker. My last physical was in 2008.  I was given a clean bill of health in 2008 and given another here in 2012. Aside from my left leg, ankle and foot I'm in good health. I attribute my good health status to the miles I get in. Even with a bad leg, ankle and foot I still get my miles in. They're not fast. There is nothing impressive about the distance and speed I ride at.  but I'm still in the game.   

Needing a yearly physical is a facts of life for a man in his fifties. They would be a great deal more tolerable  palatable if they did not include the prostate exam.

Prospective:
The toughest coach in the history of football (Vince Lombardi) died earlier in life than necessary because he did not want to get a physical. Imagine that,  all that "toughness" but not tough enough to get a physical. Coach could not deal with the exam. I learned this info on a recent documentary about Coach Lombardi. It was a great documentary that did an amazing job of defining Coach Lombardi's life and success. Definitely worth watching if you are a fan of football or a fan of leadership.

The physical gave me a new appreciation for what the ladies go through every six months when taking BCP’s.

Bottom line, I'm in good health.

I'm alive at fifty two and in good health. Nobody would have thought this possible when I was thirty two. I was surrounded by such negativity and toxic/cancerous lives. The work and how it was defined evolved. It went from being something exciting and

At some point I expected to be killed
t thirty three I doubted my ability to survive and see my fThe odds makers in vegas would have bet against me. I would live to see fifty two.



 

 

B78) Writer's block (part two)

It was unfair and inaccurate for me to have referred to my of recent lack of posting as writers block. That's not the truth. I did not stop writing. I stopped posting.  An odd form of doubt entered the equation of my blogging.  It did not make sense. It does not make sense. I post without editing all the time. I get the words out and move on. It's just emotion in print. That's what it feels like. This is what I'm going after. I'm hoping to make others feel what I felt.   

Eventually I reread my postings. Each time I reread them I'm humbled. My writing faux pas are endless. 

I need an editor. As joyful and good intentioned as my critics are with their willingness to point out my flaws, I need more criticism. Better criticism. Constructive criticism. It would be of immense help if my critics would direct me to their websites or their blogs so I can see first hand what my critics have to offer as an example of "right". 

Often critics are do as I say and not as I do............ kind of people?

I'm entertaining all offers for proof readers or editors for my blog. The pay is minimal (zero dollars. zero cents). If the blog takes off and we get a million hits a day then there would be some serious $$$$ financial rewards/ compensation.

B77) Golf

My impetus into the game of golf was provided by reconstructive shoulder surgery. The surgery was the result of my bull riding back in 1980.  (See blog: B46 The polish cowboy" for more details about my natural born skills for bull riding).

The surgery was scheduled for February 14^th 1988 (Valentines Day). I began to think about exercise as it related to rehabilitation. I needed to get involved with some activity after the surgery. Something fun. If it was going to be lots of fun I would feel more motivation to have a success rehabilation for the shoulder. I backed off running for a few years. From 1985 to 1988 was exercise in general was minimal. I needed to get involved with something but what?

The inspiration came as I sat at a stop sign near our house. Canada Hills Country Club was right in front of me. It was in front of me, next to me and behind me. There were two eighteen hold golf courses within walking distance of our house.

“Golf. Yes. Of course. That’s excellent”

We went to check out the Country Club together to inquire about membership. It was a non equity club. The admission fee was greatly reduced (waved) as they were in search of new members. We joined and I went shopping for a set of golf clubs. I ended up with TaylorMade TPC clubs and a PingPal for a putter.

The surgery was horrific. It went well but the pain was overwhelming. My right SC Joint (sternoclavicular) was reconstructed. The SC Joint is where the collarbone meets the breast plate. They cut off about an inch of my collar bone then reconfigured tendons and ligamants.  

When surgeons start cutting off bone ---------------------------  it's going to hurt.

I woke up in post-op screaming. The pain meds didn’t work well and I was overly vocal about the pain. It was like torture. They moved me into my own private recovery room because of all the noise I was making. Then they hit me with a big dose of Thorazine which put me into a catatonic state. The downside of this pharmacological choice was the pain. It was not accounted for. The Thorazine stopped me from yelling and screaming but it didn’t do squat for the pain.  

Eventually I was taken to my room. I had a roommate. He had a bed that was mechanical. Up and down. It's what we think of when we think of a hospital bed. My was not and I was in agony. The slightest movement was incredibly painful.

My family doctor stopped by to check on my post surgical condition. It felt like one of those Steven King moments. I could see my doctor standing at the foot of my hospital bed. I was unable to move or speak. That fucking Thorazine laid waste to my mind. I wanted to say:

“Help”.

“I’m in pain”

“Get me out of here”

I could not utter a single syllable. My eyes worked perfect. I could hear but it sounded like an echo way off in a distant canyon.

She smiled then left


All hope was then lost.

The following day I was released from the hospital and given a prescription for Tylenol 3. I stopped by my family doctor’s office for help. I was in search of medication that would help. I showed her what the surgeon gave me. She tossed that script into the garbage and handed me a new prescription.


There's a limit to what medication can do.

I had a massage therapist show up at the house every day for the next two weeks. When the masseur showed up and I was in agony. When he left I felt the agony was gone. It was remarkable. Truly remarkable. While I was getting the massage a cassette tape for hypnosis healing was playing in the background.

I drove by the Country Club every day. The golf clubs were sitting in my living room.  This helped to inspire me in a positive way.

The orthopedic surgeon was astonished at my recovery. I don’t recall how long it took before I was on the golf course, four weeks. Maybe six weeks. When the doctor gave the green light I became very active. I embraced the game of golf with all my enthusiasm. It was the right game at the right time. I bounced around to a few different instructors eventually I met a local instructor that spent sixteen years on the PGA tour. The man knew the game of golf and he was an excellent instructor.

With the right teacher and the right amount of practice I went from a nineteen to a nine in six months.

There was a poker table in the men's locker room. Often there would be a poker game on Sunday afternoons. I played all the time. We would have the cocktail waitress come into the men's locker room to deliver our drinks. There were some good times there.

B76) Writers block....

Or should I say  "bloggers block".


I know why the block has presented itself. The question I'm facing, how to get past it?


I'm at a loss.

B75) bla bla bla

same shit different day....

B74) My taste in movies changed...

My taste in movies changed as a result of the accident. I know sounds weird but truer words were never spoken ----------  or written. It’s an odd thing having something like that change. I'm especially thankfully my tastes in music was unaffected. I don’t know if I could have lived with myself if all the sudden I became a die-hard fan of country music or worse yet, a die hard fan of the musical styling’s of Lawrence Welk.

“Take me now god”

Experiencing all that agony affected me. It continued to affect me in new and different ways. Since the accident I’ve walked out on seventy percent of the movies I’ve gone to see. Maybe the number is closer to eighty five percent. Maybe it’s ninety percent. I am getting better. I am trending to a better/healthier statics. It probably was ninety percent the first year. Eighty percent the second year and so on…. Half of those movies, if not more, were seen at the dollar theater so it’s no great financial loss when I walk out. It stings a little when I pay eight bucks and walk out but,

"You gotta do what you gotta do"

“Am I right”?

“Word”!

I’m almost always alone at the theater. I go in the afternoon during the week. This helps in making sure there will be no crowds. I'm happiest when I'm the only person in the theater.


"The joy of solitude"


I never know what's going to set me off driving me out of the  theater. It could be anything. Once it was a preview/trailer for an upcoming movie. In the trailer they showed a couple on a motorcycle weaving in and out of traffic at a very high rate of speed. That was way too dangerous for anyone to do for any reason It was horrifying to watch.

“Check please”

It’s not just new movies, some of my favorite movies from the past are no longer watchable for my new eyes. Sometimes is the content of the movie, sometimes not. I walked out on a movie that glorified a criminal, a thief, a murder. I couldn't take it. To show such despicable and duplicitous individuals succeeding has become unacceptable for me to watch in a movie.

It has gotten better. The first year I was upset while watching the injustices handed out to Marmaduke at the play ground by all the other dogs. It literally had me so upset I teared up.

"Good god man, get a grip"


Who am I now?

B73) I should have quit the job

It took six months before I found out my security clearance was approved permenantly. Immediatly upon finding out about my security clearance I sat down at my desk and typed up a letter of resignation.

There was no hesitation. I remember thinking, my work here is done.

"Goodbye"


I never sent that resignation letter in. While typing the letter I realized there was another victory within my grasp, the renewal of my contract.  If the Federal Government wanted me to come back for a second year I would have considered that another success. Another trophy for my imaginary trophy case.

After my contract was renewed I began to feel like a sellout. This is not what I am supposed to be doing. This is not my destiny. The days began to feel like torture, like prison. I resented everything. I began sprinting to the door at five o’clock. I sprinted to the train both coming and going to work. I began to hate the job.

I went from going to work in terror every day. I worried about being fired for lack of being able to obtain a security clearance. After obtaining the clearance I went to work every day feeling a tremendous sense of pride. All the pieces seemed to be falling into place. I bought a house, a beautiful five bedroom house and I live alone. The house was four years old when I bought it. The market had been crashing. I bought the house in February of 2009. Got an FHA loan.  Look at what's possible. I felt more astonishment than pride. I also began to believe my message:

“It is possible to create a meaningful life after six years in prison”

It didn’t last. The feeling of joy and pride. I was supposed to move on. Do meaningful work. Go back and help those most in need. I was now feeding my lust for possessions.

1. Bachelor's Degree
2. Masters Degree
3. New house
4. New Nissan Frontier (4x4) in garage
5. New Honda VTX1800 parked next to the 4x4 in the garage
6. Good Job full time job
7. Adjunct faculty at the local college for my part time work
8. Security clearance
9. Credibility....

Who am I know?


Time to move on.... I am not supposed to be working in a cubical for the next twenty years.  No.  

B72) Cook Unit Florence Az

This is year three in prison. Cook Unit is a low medium yard.

By the time I got to Cook Unit I was divorced. Not only was I divorced but my ex wife began to put the screws to me. Every phone call home to talk to my daughter became infuriating and intolerable. I had to hear about what a great guy her new boyfriend was. He worked for his dad and was overpaid for the little work he did according to my ex. According to her he made lots of money, owned a home and stood to inherit lots of money. (very important to her) . She praised the new boyfriend and declared him to be such a

“wonderful father to Brittany”

She became vicious with her words. Everything said on the phone was meant to tear the flesh off. It did. She wanted to be hateful and she was. It got worse from phone call to phone call. I was in a state of mind thinking I deserved it.  All of it. Why? Because I failed.  

Part of this didn’t add up. I’ve always believed miserable people spread misery and happy people spread happiness. She just fell in love. Now she is living with the man of her dreams (according to her). If she was in such a blissful place in life why was she unleashing such torment on me during my phone calls home ?

It was starting to get to me. The evil and hatred coming at me from every conceivable direction. The inmates were all miserable. The guards were miserable. The administration was miserable. The civilian kitchen workers were miserable. Prison feeling like hell on earth had been a daily feeling up to that point. It’s hell. Some days more hellish than other days.

The landscape alone was barren of life.

My ex was pushing me closer and closer to that proverbial edge. I began to feel as if I was in a losing battle against hatred and evil. Nothing like the summer heat of the desert to burn in all the little nuances of this shit filled experience. I was on overload. I felt myself drowning. I was drowning in a sea of hatred and evil. It was one call home too many. More of her talk about how her new boyfriend being

“The best father possible to Brittany”

I’d been treading water up to that point. From time to time I’d slip down under the surface of the water. Then I’d fight like hell and pop back up again. Gasping and gulping down mouthfuls of air before being sucked back under again by the next hellish event.

Even though Obi wan kanobi was there in the background telling me:

“Don’t give in to the dark side”

I did give in. I’m sorry Obi Wan. Hatred now owns my mortal soul. Hatred, it’s all I could feel. If I could just get within arms reach of her again. This is my thought. If I could get close enough to get my hands on her. That’s my new prayer. If I could get close enough, this is my new wish. This is my new thought and thinking. Please let me get within arms reach of her again. One more time before I die. I’m going to choke the life right out of her.

This was the last thought I had before bed every night. The first thought I had every morning. I thought about it before breakfast, during breakfast, after breakfast. I thought about it before lunch. During lunch and after lunch…..choking the life out of my ex-wife became my single minded obsession.

I felt like everyone else now. We’re all in Hell together.

That did not last long. As soon as I felt this true “oneness” with hatred I flipped out. I had a full blown anxiety attack, panic attack or whatever attack. My terror level was off the charts. I did not know what to do. I had no idea how to fix this. How am I supposed to go back in time and unthink all those hateful thoughts and wishes?

I do not know.

What have I done?

There’s no one I can turn to. Even if I was a free man I would not know who to turn to in a time like this.

I want nothing to do with the dark side. I find nothing but terror in thinking I might have done something metaphysically to harm myself. I’m trapped in a world of hate. What am I supposed to do now?

All I can come up with is a mantra:

“Love is the answer”

Maybe this will work.

“Love is the answer”

It’s the last thing I say to myself at night. It’s the first thing I say to myself in the morning. I say it to myself on the way to breakfast, during breakfast and after breakfast. This evolves into a single minded focus of attention:

“Love is the answer”

Days passed. They turned into weeks. Then months. Little by little I got better. It may sound crazy but I believe that mantra helped.

“Love is the answer”

B71) The Russian Speed skater at the Olympics 1976

The first Olympic Games I remember watching with any real interest was the 1976 Olympic Games in Montreal Canada. Dorothy Hamel was one of the stars from that Olympics. I had a wicked crush on her. Nadia Comaneci shocked the world with her amazing performances as a gymnast in the 1976 Olympic games. She was the first female gymnast to be awarded a perfect score of 10 in an Olympic gymnastic event. 

I was sixteen and recently became a new driver. A big deal for a sixteen year old. We lived on Morgan Lane in Hoffman Estates, IL. We had been there for two years at that point. It was a house. A big four bedroom ranch style house. Big back yard. It looked like middle town America. We actually had a house. A home. It's the first time I remember us ever owning a house. It was a taste of normalcy. A horrific tease.

The new house was brought to us partially by our new step dad. It began to feel like we might just end up with a greatly overdue dose of normalcy and stability. Freshman year I got almost straight A's. One lonely B on my report card.  Normalcy was all I needed in order for my academic endeavours to blossom.

I began to relax my posture.  Living in this new house began to feel good. I begin to believe. I thought we were on a good path. I was wrong. The taste of normalcy was nothing more than a tease. It had no permanence. The Permanency and normalcy was an illusion and temporary. What hurt the worst was getting fooled again. Motherfuckers. They fooled me again. At sixteen I thought I was beyond being fooled again. I was wrong.

The only permanence we were ever going to have was a lack of it. We permanently lacked permanence.

The Olympics were much easier to watch back in 1976. It was a simpler time. I've grown to understand how people from other generations can say when looking back "it was a simpler time"  The seventies were a much simpler time in comparison to the last decade.

When watching the Olympics back in 1976 there were not as many commercials. There was an abundance of information about the event or events being covered for the moment. Excellent interviews with current or former athletes. 

It's difficult to watch the Olympics now. Every minute seems to be canned with commercials. Obnoxious and disgusting commercials. The best option you have in watching the Olympics today is recording it and fast forwarding through the vile adult diaper commercials, the annoying erection commercials, insurance commercials, food commercials, food never consumed by world class athlete commercials. Nauseating commercials of one type or another.

The commercialization of the Olympics is a tragedy of Olympic proportion. No one cares. This is the new normal. The over commercialization of event possible is the goal of big business. Big business owns the world and they run in a way that fattens their coffers a little more every day. I can't stand the commercials.

Now I have a craving for McDonald's :-(

What I remember most about the 1976 Olympic games is this. I watched a speed skating race. Those athletes are amazing. The size of the quads on those skaters seems super human. Not normally an event I would watch but there I was. I was sitting in the family room with some of my sisters. I think my mom and step dad were in the room. All our eyes were transfixed onto the TV. It was kind of a family time. The speed skating race was won by a Russian gentleman. As usual they interviewed the Gold medal winner.
He was a Gold medal winner in the Olympics. It's a big deal. A very big deal. One of the biggest honors an athlete can obtain. It's the Gold medals of gold medal. In America a Gold medal translates into $$$$ Time to capitalize on all that training. All the hours of training. I’m not sure how it works for Russians.

The commentator ask the Russian gold medal winner what's next. What are the plans for your future. What were his hopes for the future.

His answer rocked my insignificant little world.

As it turned out the Gold medal winner had a full time job in Russia (or where ever his home town was). He was a fireman. His full time job was helping save the lives of his fellow citizens. He rescued people for his full time job. After a day of saving lives and making his community a better place to be he went to the ice skating rink and trained on his speed skating. He hope was to one day win a Gold medal for his family, his friends, his community. His Country.

They took the time to interview the Gold medal winner. He took the time to thank some people, his coaches, his teammates, his family, his friends. He won it for them.

The gold medal winner went on to say:

"I would surely give my gold medal up if only we could have peace in the world. Peace between American and Russia or rather The Soviet Union back then"

While holding the greatest prize any athlete can earn and possess his thoughts turn to peace across the world.

"I would surely give my gold medal up if only we could have peace in the world"

His words. His statement. His intention, all were awe inspiring.

As I tried to process the Russian's words they came up conflicting what I thought I knew about the russians. I was taught they were the enemy......In my mind I went through a long series of school textbooks, classroom discussions, news reports on TV and in the newspapers. I remembered movies, lots and lots of movies potraying russians as the enemy. They were even in the cartoons....all of this helped me to the conclusion the Russians were the bad people. America was the good..

These notions were programmed into me.

Someone has been lying to me. Someone has been lying to us. The skaters words changed me. Forever.

Who am I now?

"I would surely give my gold medal up if only we could have peace in the world"

The gold medal winner Those words changed me forever. Astonishment was exploding inside my mind. In my mind I watched a long series of lies and propaganda begin to fade away.

How can this be? I read in so many textbooks that the Russians were the enemy. I was taught in school they were bad. Evil. I watched movie after movie about the Russians being the enemy. I was taught they were bad and we were good. I was taught they wanted to hurt us, to hurt America. We needed a strong army to defend against them.

Now I watch this Russian fireman that won a gold medal and he offered to give it up in exchange for peace in the world. I don't ever recall hearing any American gold medal winners offering to give up their medals for world peace. This russian gentelman is not a bad guy. Why did the American government spend so much moneny in an effort to make me think the russians were the eneemy

Why did big business interests in American want me to hate russians? Why are the textbooks wrong? I have been lied to. We have been lied to. Americans have been lied to. The textbooks are wrong. The government is wrong. The news is wrong.
The seeds of contempt were planted in the fertile soil of my mind that day. They took root immediately. I'm changed. This changed me. Hearing that Russian gentleman speak those honest and heart felt words changed me.

 
At sixteen I thought, if you can't trust the government, if you can't trust the schools and textbooks, and if you can't trust the news/media, who can you trust?

I needed to hear that Russian gentleman speak. Maybe it was the beginning for me. The beginning of being woken up. Life is not what you think it is.

The Russians are not the enemy.

Who is?

Why does there always need to be an enemy?

What would are world be like if there was no enemy? Imagine what all that money, manpower and brainpower in action but not for war. Imagine all that working on peace and the betterment of humanity. This truly would be a garden of Eden. All we need to do is lose this need for the enemy.

But they keep lying to us.

 

B70) Time

It's been three years, three months and one week since the accident.

B69) В Россию с любовью

Я был поражен тем, у меня так много хитов от людей в России. Я так любопытно, что это обращение?


Я собираюсь посетить Россию в один прекрасный день

B67) Hearts and MInds

"When you got em by the balls their hearts and minds will follow"

 

B64) I shutter to think....

 

What if I won my appeal. What if won at trial. What if I exposed the lies told against me by the detective? What if I proved what happened that day at the airport. What if my conviction had never existed or been vacated. What if I won a record setting law suit against the state and all parties involved in my wrongful prosecution and imprisonment.

Money. Lots and lots of money if only the truth would have come out.

So much good came from prison ------------------------------------- for me. I shudder to think about life had I not spent six years in prison. What if my spiritual ephapiny never happened.

I shudder to think...

B63) Some of my appeal facts

He lied. At my trial the detective who arrested me lied on the witness stand. It's called perjury punishable with up to five years in prison. The detective who arrested me at Sky Harbor International airport Perjured himself in order to secure a conviction against me. Even though I was the defendant in the case I was stunned at what the detective testified to.

There were two detectives at the airport. Only one showed up for the trail. Why is this? Why didn't my lawyer put both on the witness stand?

He lied because of me? This goes to show you how low his moral threshold was. Break the law to enforce the law. It's hypocrisy.

Please keep in mind I was guilty. I had weed in my luggage. But there are rules. Laws. If the cops don't uphold the laws, what good are they?

When I heard the lies It was obvious they were trying to hide something. When the prosecutor does not want the truth or facts muddying up his , her or their case, then you know somethings wrong.

The courts exist for facts. They are seeking the truth.

The end does not justify the means

I was arrested at Sky Harbor International Airport. I believe it was early afternoon. Could have been late morning. I checked my luggage at the ticket counter up front. With my boarding pass in hand I headed to the gate. It was a convenient coincidence to find my boarding gate next to one of the airport bars.

I need a drink. I was so nervous. Still after all these years I was nervous. On the outside I was calm and happy. All was right with me and the world. On the inside, my guts were in knots. My heart was racing like the engine at the Indy 500. Living in this duality comes at a price. You don’t realize the price until you are standing there with the bill in your hand. ---

It’s too late.

You own it.

I grabbed a vodka rocks and headed to the giant window in front of the plane I would soon board. I stood there watching and looking attentively for my suitcases as the baggage handlers loaded suitcase after suitcase. Bingo. There they are. Whew. One of the luggage guys loads my marijuana filled suitcases into the cargo hold.

Whew. Wow. Okay. Good. Good. Good.

That’s over. That’s the rough part. They would have busted me by now if they were going to bust me at all. I can relax. Such a relief. I do relax. I can let my guard down now, at least for the flight. I will begin to feel the panic again as soon as the wheels touch the ground at chicago’s O'Hara international airport.

Sometimes its better to be lucky instead of being good.

As I sat there at the bar I felt like I dodged a bullet. I get it. I know it. I do realize it. My name is Chip Knight and I just dodged another bullet. This is what I thought as I sat there. I could relax for a few hours. Then someone tapped me on the shoulder. I was sitting at the bar relaxing and enjoying how fucking smart I am. I want to make a declaration.

“My name is chip knight and I’m a genius with more guts than brains. I can do anything”

I turned around in my bar stool to see who was tapping on my shoulder while in my euphoria.

It was a cop.

Yes.

I am not kidding.

All I could see was the badge. All I could feel was the beginning of the depth of my stupidity. I could see it and I could feel it. It had no end. There was no bottom. I was in free fall into the depths of Hell. With the ground rushing up at me I froze in time, right there. With that hellish feeling. I had to look away. All I could see coming was a ghastly and wretched sight.

Instantly I have a new declaration:

My name is chip knight, I am the stupidest man on the planet.

It’s horrifying how fast things can change.

I was arrested and put in handcuffs. The police officers took my boarding ticket with attached luggage reciepts. The cops inlisted the help of a baggage handler to go into the plane's carho hold and retrieve my luggage.

Accourding to the cops my luggage never made it to the plane. According to the cops, I was arrested at the ticket counter.

The baggage handler is the person that can testify as to what really happened on that day. My appeal was based on finding that luggage handler. That man could free with me his testimony.

B62) Court appointed lawyers (part 1)

The detective perjured himself during my trail. I can prove this on appeal. This is the reason for the  appeal. When I prove the detective lied on the witness stand I get to walk. Not only will I be freed, I get to sue the detective, personally (his car his house his monies would be mine). My trail lawyer told me when the cop went outside the bounds of the law in his efforts to catch me he opened his self up personally for criminal and civil damages. I can sue him and the police department for their illegal actions.

Years I was investigate. Time and time again they came close. Eventually they got me, at the airport. They had an informant giving them info on my travel plans. Was the informant my wife?  As it turns out I did not know my wife as well as I thought.  The cops were waiting for me. No one else knew I was on my way to the airport. It doesn't matter at this point.  If one of us had to go away I'm glad it was me. I'm very okay with it. My wife would not have been able to overcome something like prison. Years in prison. It would have destroyed her. Prison made me stronger. It awakened the sleeping giant within me.

It did not matter that the person testifying against me in front of the grand jury was my wife's best customer.  The time for this to matter has long passed. It was not the beginning of the end for  it was the end the end. The only thing that mattered in the end was who would be with our daughter? I much preferred it being my wife.


It's all my fault. I should have quit. I knew I was a target. I was under investigation. I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop myself.  I needed my drug, my fix. The work. I was addicted to the  work. I needed to stay busy like a drug trafficker does. I needed the adrenaline rush. I needed more. more. more god dam it! I want that fucking drug coursing through my body. Through my bloodstream. Adrenaline. I need adrenalin. I love adreanline. I want more. More. More.

I want

I need 

More.

More.

More.

To be right on the edge of living and dying. To be right on the edges of freedom and incarceration.

I'm all in.

I'm playing for all the marbles.

Back to the point:
Years I was investigate. When they finally got me red handed they fucked it up. The cop had to lie about what he did at the airport when he arrested me. All that work done, hours spent, money spent, manpower. Lots and lots of effort and the only path to a conviction for the prosecutor was to have the detective perjure himself.


It's comically stupid.

After the jury found me guilty of possession of marijuana my trial lawyer turned to me and said:

"I'm sorry. The conviction will never stand on appeal. I will testify as to my mistakes when in court for your appeal. 

I should have stood up immediately and told the judge what my lawyer said. To put it on the record.

She looked exhausted . Her tired and over worked incompetence cost me a conviction. I believed her when she said she would file the Rule 32 and testify. She did file the Rule 32. She did a great job at that. She was great at filing simple motions. Things got tricky when it was time to do your job and be a lawyer defending me. 

It was the night before the trail. The public defender stopped by the jail to have a pretrial conference with her client.  We began going over the facts of the case. She was going by the "story" the cops told her. My own lawyer never prepared a defense based on the truth and facts.  It was horrific news on the eve of the trail. My lawyer had not prepared a defense based on the truth and facts.

The trail did not go well.

Fact: The typical prosecutor has half the caseload of the typical public defender. That's not fair to the public defenders and it's especially not fair for the defendants. Because of the Constancy involved with utilizing the public defenders office.

My court appointed trail lawyer filed my Rule 32 (appeal for ineffectiveness of counsel). When the day came to be in court my trail lawyer/public defender nowhere to be found. My Public Defender was not good to her word. She decided I would pay for her incompetence. Me alone. She would never be held accountable for her incompetence as my lawyer.

When the day came to be in court for my appeal, for my Rule 32, guess who was absent? My trail lawyer, the public defender. The only advice my state appointed appeal lawyer had for me:

"Be a man and do the time"

Can you imagine a criminal defense lawyer saying something like that to a client. 

"Be a man and do the time"

He did not care about the facts of my case and appeal. He did not want to be a man and do the job he was paid to do. I had a path to freedom and my state sponsored appeal lawyer says:

"Be a man and do the time"

My state appointed appeal lawyer was not the least bit interested in the merits of my case or helping me in getting my conviction over turned.

I told my state appointed appeal lawyer:

"My trail lawyer told me she would testify as to her mistakes during my trail. Where is she"?

My state appointed appeals lawyer said to me:

"Why should your trail lawyer (the public defender) tarnish her reputation for you"

I responded:

"Because she made mistakes before my trail and during my trail resulting in my conviction. Isn't that enough of a reason? It's about responsibility, Isn't it? Isn't the determining of responsibility the reason for our criminal and civil courts?  I'm being held responsible for my actions. Why shouldn't my public defender be held accountable for her actions. Why shouldn't the detective that perjured himself during my trail be held accountable for his actions?

"Why shouldn't you be held accountable for your actions as my lawyer "

I said to my state appointed appeal lawyer"

Why should my trial lawyer not be held responsible for her action. Especially when her actions and gross incompetence lead to my conviction and a ten year prison sentence? Why am I made to be held accountable but no one else but all around me it? 

My appeal lawyer continued on with more of the same. His argument was:

"Be a man and do the time"

What an asshole my appeal lawyer was. He never envisioned I would end up a computer scientist after I got out of prison. He never imagined I would become a college professor, an IT consultant with a security clearance. None of those people ever thought I would end up with a credible voice that traveled round the world and back again on a daily basis.

Why didn't my appeal lawyer "be a man and do his job"? He was paid for his services then acted like an incompetent asshole.

With respect to the individuals utilizing the public defenders. Such a high percentage of those being represented by the public defenders consist of the poor. It's the poorest that society has been deemed "not worthy or of no value". It's the poorest of the poor in our society most often going to trail with a public defender. Time after time the people needing the most help are those getting the least help.

B61) " I can do five years standing on my hands " : he said...

Maricopa County Court. 1992

I was sitting in the jury box shackled to four or five other residence of the Maricopa County Jail.  I was listening to the judge. He sentenced four or five people back to back. Along with watching the sentencing I get to watch an equal number of motions being argued. Some lawyers get all riled up for their client. They show passion. ---- Not my state appointed lawyer.  Zero passion, zero enthusiasm and even less competency.

I watched the subtle changes in the judges demeanor as a variety of different lawyers argued their cases. I was back in court on a procedural motion. Nothing of consequence from my awesome legal team on this day. Still I sat there paying attention to the judge and the lawyers. 

I watched the difference in lawyers with respect to how they dressed. I never did see a prosecutor wearing two thousand dollar suit or a five hundred dollar sport coat. The prosecutor at my trial showed up every day, all five foot six of him. He showed up with a pock marked ache scarred face, a suit from K-Mart and a bad attitude. The worst part about this guy, he hated me.

Sitting through a meriad of court dates. Stuck in the court room for hours one end and I'd watch. I became keenly aware of how the prosecutors and defense lawyers conducted themselves. I  noticed how the prosecutors and defense lawyers reacted to each other while in front of the judge as well as watching them when not in front of the judge. There's a big difference.

I noticed how the lawyers interacted with the court's administrative staff. Some lawyers seem to piss everyone off.

There was a gentelman being sentenced. The judge gave him five years. 

The veteran defendant said to the judge after hearing his sentence of five years,

“Hell judge. Just five years. I can do five years standing on my hands”

The judge responded immediately:

“Well, lets make it ten years then. This will give you time to get back on your feet”

The judge swung his gavel producing a crisp sharp smack. It was done. Take that smart ass. The convict looked as if he just taken a bullet to the heart. Everybody hearing that looked stunned in disbelief at what the judge said and did.

It was perfect.

The bailiff called the next case.

And the world kept turning...

B60) Waiting on the jury

Maricopa County Courthouse, Phoenix Arizona; 1993.

I went on trial for possession of marijuana. This was the marijuana found in my luggage at Sky Harbor airport 1992.

The chairs in the court room are very comfortable. They are unlike any chair I ever sat in. The chairs I refer to are the chairs for the lawyers. I bet the judge’s chair is the most comfortable of all. The chairs in the jury box were not bad. They were definitely a step or two down from the lawyers chairs and probably more than a few steps down from the judges chair in quality and comfort. When you get stuck in one of those for hours you begin to appreciate how comfortable they are.

My trial did not last a day. When it ended I was taken down stairs to wait while the jury was out deliberating. No more comfortable chairs. I was given a sack lunch and put in a cell with two other inmates. One of the guys was not too social. I can’t recall much about either of them. What I do remember is being asked if I wanted to get high?

What an odd question to ask someone in a jail cell. Get high in jail while the jury was out deliberating on my drug charges?

“Of course I want to get high”

If ever there was a time needing an altered state of consciousness it was this time. Right now

When the offer came I wasn’t sure what drug he had but I said yes?

What happened next was as shocking as it was disgusting. Dude went over to the toilet. Dropped his pants. Sat down. Reached into his anus and pulled out a balloon of crystal meth.

OMG

I never expected this. I don't know what I was expecting when I heard the offer to get high? Unsocial guy was quick to weigh in with his commentary on what was going on.

“You gotta be kidding me. Stuck in this fucking place with this mother fucker”

He said to himself loud enough for all to hear.

Dude sat there on the toilet preparing things. He came over with a couple of lines cut out on his legal pad. He handed me a paper straw and I snorted a line.

“Hello”

I think I’d been in the jail for six months to that point. No drugs or alcohol in my system. The speed hit me like a freight train coming down out of the high Sierras.

Doing crystal meth in Sheriff Joe Arpaio jail while waiting for the jury to come back with a verdict on my drug trial. The irony did not escape me. Sheriff Joe Arpaio has only the best crystal meth in his jail. He must be so proud!

The jury came back fast. I did not get an opportunity to eat my bag lunch. For some reason I lost my appetite. I was taken back upstairs by the guard sent to fetch me. the guard remarked about my energy and attitude, considering the circumstances.

“You seem to be in too good a mood for someone in such dire straits”

“It’s the crystal meth I did down stairs” I told her (lady guard).“It put me in a good mood”

She stopped dead in her tracks. She made me stop too.

I said “I’m just kidding” with a smile. “What do you think, guilty or innocent”?

We began moving again. The deputy said in all seriousness

“Guilty as charged”

Yes indeed. I was found guilty as charged. My sentencing would not happen for another month.