I loved hearing about some of the Camp F guys. I visit Boo there. He’s been a welder for most of his decades in Angola. I enjoy hearing him talk about the details of some job he’s been working on. He, too, has had a menagerie of cats over the years.
I've known Boo for many years. He has - as long as I've known him - been a welder for a long time. I remember when he made trusty, remember when he moved to Camp F. He's one of the "good guys." I wish I had known you visited him at Camp F! At one point, I might have served you your food at the Visiting Room! I remember when I served Sister Helen and Boo during their visit - they were allowed to visit in the E-Building, Are you as well? I ran the Camp F VETS club, and Boo always ate with us. Small world, is it not?
I remember the faces, although some of the names are buried in time. Prison is a journey, most often beginning with the worse and ending with, if not with the best then the most tolerable. The men you spoke about are "old timers" who, mostly know, will die in prison. The oil that always fueled my desire for freedom and my hatred of prison was the fear of becoming like the old timers you described. There's a sadness in any reflection about them.
How very well said, Billy. I felt the same way about the fear of growing old and passing into someone's memory. I, like you, never gave up and never gave in....I eventually became - as I'm sure is the case with you - one of those "old timers," and it was almost like earning a badge of distinction as it implied that you had lived through some of the worst of what life had to offer, and come out the other end. There is definitely a sadness in those reflections...
I loved hearing about some of the Camp F guys. I visit Boo there. He’s been a welder for most of his decades in Angola. I enjoy hearing him talk about the details of some job he’s been working on. He, too, has had a menagerie of cats over the years.
I've known Boo for many years. He has - as long as I've known him - been a welder for a long time. I remember when he made trusty, remember when he moved to Camp F. He's one of the "good guys." I wish I had known you visited him at Camp F! At one point, I might have served you your food at the Visiting Room! I remember when I served Sister Helen and Boo during their visit - they were allowed to visit in the E-Building, Are you as well? I ran the Camp F VETS club, and Boo always ate with us. Small world, is it not?
I remember the faces, although some of the names are buried in time. Prison is a journey, most often beginning with the worse and ending with, if not with the best then the most tolerable. The men you spoke about are "old timers" who, mostly know, will die in prison. The oil that always fueled my desire for freedom and my hatred of prison was the fear of becoming like the old timers you described. There's a sadness in any reflection about them.
How very well said, Billy. I felt the same way about the fear of growing old and passing into someone's memory. I, like you, never gave up and never gave in....I eventually became - as I'm sure is the case with you - one of those "old timers," and it was almost like earning a badge of distinction as it implied that you had lived through some of the worst of what life had to offer, and come out the other end. There is definitely a sadness in those reflections...