26 Oct 08

Greetings from the Abyss by Jack (Part 3)

Before leaving Tucson prison, I asked Jack (a 49-year-old lifer whose encouragement led to my foray into short-story writing) if he would be willing to write for Jon’s Jail Journal. Sadly, Jack has been sick and suffering from depression. This is his first letter since March. Click here for his previous blog.

10-12-08

Dear Shaun,

And like a bolt of lightening out of a clear blue sky, there he was. Just when you were beginning to wonder if you would ever hear from me again, a letter appears as if by magic. Whether this anomaly is something to rejoice in, or cringe in fear, I will leave to your nimble mind to discern.

Although I haven’t mentioned it yet, let me say congratulations on winning 1st prize in the Koestler/Hamish Hamilton short story category. I never had a doubt that you would eventually get recognized for your work. I am proud of you because you are an example to the world that we prisoners aren’t all a bunch of bloodthirsty thugs. Your determination and ability will carry you to the top of the writing world. I am looking forward to one day ordering your first book.

As for me, what a sad little tale. I have been back and forth to the hospital several times since June. Nothing to worry about, just a gauntlet of invasive tests designed to make one question whether the cure isn’t worse than the disease. The hubris that the doctors exuded when I began this little journey seems to have waned considerably. Although it does occasionally re-emerge when I have the unmitigated audacity to question their treatment plan, or ask whether there could be interactions between the various drugs they are prescribing for me. Regardless, I am still up and about and I intend to stay that way.

I haven’t written anything in quite a while now. Most of my “creative talents” have been directed toward my paintings. I find the actual act of creating something visual to be uplifting. One could say it is cathartic (yes, I know it sounds like a cliché, so sue me), at least I am not despondent when I paint.

I recently found out that I will be a grandfather, again. This will be my fifth grandchild, and I still have another daughter that wants children when she graduates college. The numbers continue to climb, along with my gray hair and age.

I realise it’s not your kind of music, but I recently got my hands on a group called Wicked Tinkers. I guess the best way to describe them is a cross Celtic folk songs and Scottish Highland pipes. I can see you screwing up your face as if you’ve just tasted something foul. I really can’t put my finger on exactly what it is, but this music stirs something in me. Maybe it’s the Scottish side of my genes, but I like it.

What do you think of the financial bootndoogle we’ve gotten ourselves into? There are so many people pointing fingers and laying blame that no one is facing the reality of just how devastating this fiasco will eventually be. Not only are fortunes being lost but the average family in this country is looking at losing their retirement accounts and foreclosure of their mortgages. One of my ex-wives invested her whole retirement account in General Electric, those shares were trading at $36 a month ago, they closed at $21 last Friday. Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ve bottomed out yet. We could easily be looking at a devastating depression that will have far reaching consequences. What a wonderful system capitalism is.

Well, my friend, it’s time for me to close for now. Once again, I am very pleased with your success, but not surprised. I have every confidence that you will rise to the top of the publishing world, and well deserved that rise will be. Take care of yourself in that indomitable way only you can muster.

Always,

Jack

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Shaun P. Attwood

23 Oct 08

Reading in London and Mentor

My recent reading in London was a success.
New to public speaking, I arrived at the Royal Festival Hall so nervous I went straight to the men’s room. Passing the bar, I was tempted to order a glass of wine to assuage my anxiety. Instead, I reassured myself by recollecting how the chaplain at Towers jail, an Anglophile who delighted in my accent, used to insist I read passages from the Bible during mass. Audiences don’t get more unruly than that.

Standing behind the microphone, I managed to only tremble from the waist down as I read an abbreviated version of my short story “Amazing Grace.” Reading the dialogue was the most fun. The main characters in the story are a youngster, an Aryan Brother and a “shit slinger,” who constantly exchange obscene words and threats.

The audience (including Chris-H who bought me the glass of wine I'd wished for earlier – cheers Chris!) applauded, and some people complimented me on my oratory. When all of the readings were over, I stayed and answered questions until the room was closed.
The reading was videoed and I hope to have footage online soon.

Present at the reading was Sally Hinchcliffe, a published author who is now my mentor. I’ll be meeting her once a month for one year. I’ve asked her for help improving my writing and getting published. I like to work with tough no-nonsense people and she seems to fall into that category.

Here’s a link to her website:

http://sallyhinchcliffe.net/

The next day in London, I lunched with a friend from university, the Fair Surrah, at a delicious Indian buffet. Later that day, I stopped in Wolverhampton to visit Sarah, an ardent reader of Jon’s Jail Journal and a crime-story aficionado. Sarah rustled up a spicy vegetable curry. I could get used to travelling around the country being spoiled by the hospitality of people. Thanks Sarah and Surrah!

I also met the staff of Prisoners Abroad at their office in London. I had no idea of the scope of their activities. Their office is the first stop for prisoners returning to England who have no family, friends or means of support. They offer them a shower and help finding lodgings and employment. Without this help, many of these English citizens just out of foreign prisons would be back on the streets committing crimes to survive. Prisoners Abroad are doing a great job and I hope to be returning to London in November to help them with their fund-raising activity.

Tomorrow, I’m back to London for Royo Girl’s arrival. Yes, I will be blogging how things progress between us. And no, I don't think she's up for steamy hotel video footage.

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Shaun P. Attwood

22 Oct 08

From Frankie (Letter 10)

Frankie - A Mexican Mafia hitman and leader of prison "booty bandits" who has been proposing our gay marriage ever since he saw me rubbing antifungal ointment on my bedsored buttocks at the Madison Street jail. He was there on murder charges he subsequently beat. Now incarcerated in the super-maximum prison housing Arizona's death row.

Sept 28 2008

Englandman,

How are you doing? I hope in the best of whatever you wish and all of that good stuff…

As for me, I’ve been back here from Pima County jail since Sept 17 and everything in court went alright. They gave me an additional sentence of 4 ½ years with 387 days back time. Take nine months from that because I only have to serve 85%, which leaves me a little over 2 ½ years to serve. Thank God! I thought I was finished when they told me I was facing 40 years, and that I’d die here in prison. It’s over and it’s about me not messing about no more.

By the way, have you heard from Noelle and did you send her them cards? It’s been a couple of months since I heard from her. Oh well!

Guess what? I got my lawyer putting pressure on D.O.C. [Department Of Corrections] cuz these people don’t want to let me go back to a regular yard. I shouldn’t even be in super max.

Well, my friend, get back at me and don’t forget that Xmas is coming so save a little money so that you can help me out cuz I do want to order Xmas food.

Also, I have an Englandman next door to me. His name is Goff.

Well, I’m going to close for now. Take care and as always give my best to your Mom, Dad and Sister.

Much Love & Respect

You know!

Mr. Frankie

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Shaun P. Attwood

19 Oct 08

Fighting to Survive (by Shane)

Shane - After being denied psychiatric medication by ValueOptions, Shane turned to illegal drugs he financed with burglaries. The medication in prison caused him to suffer a period of spontaneous ejaculations. Shane is the author of the blog Persevering Prison Pages.

Sometimes even the most nonviolent and levelheaded person has to fight in prison. A fight-or-die situation will inevitably arise if you spend any length of time locked up. Oftentimes it’s not even your fight but a fight caused by STG’s [Security Threat Groups such as the Aryan Brotherhood] and their politics forced upon you.

I’ve worked in the kitchen numerous times over the years. At one point, I was with 13 other convicts working to prepare dinner for a yard of 450. The racial make up of the crew was six vatos, two blacks and five white boys. The whites and Latinos got along good. The blacks and whites or blacks and Latinos, not so much.

Oscar was a Latino shotcaller on the yard for La Emme [the Mexican Mafia]. Tommy Guns and Knuckles were torpedoes for the Aryan Brotherhood. The rest of us weren’t in the mix on the yard and simply did our own thing.

“Listen up, woods. Watch your back today, the toads are plannin’ something today,” Knuckles whispered to each of the white boys as we entered the kitchen at the start of the shift. There had been racial tension between the blacks and whites on the yard because of Motown, a new black on the yard.

Apparently, Motown ripped off an Aryan Brother for a pound of crystal meth in a drug deal on the streets. Now, the Aryan Brotherhood wanted Motown off of the yard and definitely out of the kitchen. Yeah, Motown was one of the two blacks working that day.

A couple of hours later, while I was washing pots, I watched Motown talking with the other black convict, then they both walked over to the tilt grill and began tending to the slop cooking.

Keeping a cautious eye on them, I noticed Motown’ grip tighten around the heavy handle of the stainless steel paddle used for mixing as Tommy Guns and Knuckles walked in their vicinity and headed towards the guards control room.

Looking back down at the pot I was washing, I missed Oscar and another Latino inmate quickly approach the two black guys.

In an instant, Oscar threw a barrage of punches, hitting Motown in the face and head while the other tow squared off with each other.

Motown absorbed the punches, staggered to the left, released the mixing paddle and ran directly towards my work area. With Oscar in pursuit.

Pot in hand, I stood as Motown rapidly approached and wildly swung a punch at me, which missed me altogether. Running into me, he began to wrestle with me. Suddenly, I felt a fist land on my left ear, causing stars to explode in my vision. Then I felt the two of us falling to the kitchen floor.

For what seemed like a few minutes, I wrestled with Motown on the floor. I ended up on top of him, and to my surprise, Oscar too. Somehow, Oscar had ended up entwined with us.

Now completely disoriented as to what was happening, I began throwing hard punches downward at Motown, whom I knew had punched me. Occasionally, a stray punch hit Oscar.

Rolling away from them toward the pot I had dropped at the onslaught of this melee, I grabbed it, swung it once at Motown as they both got to their feet. I could see the other black guy trading wild punches with the other Latino over Oscar’s shoulder.

Lunging at me, Motown tried to reengage me, but I swung the pot again, narrowly missing the top of his head.

Seizing the opportunity, Oscar swung a brutal punch, which landed flush on Motown’s jaw. Down he went.

Oscar kicked him at least ten times before turning towards the other black guy and heading to join that fight.

Looking down, I saw blood pooling around Motown’s head and took a step back. I dropped the pot in the sink as the guards flooded into the kitchen and pepper-sprayed Oscar and the other two fighters, who wouldn’t quit when the guards ordered them to stop fighting. I surrendered.

A few minutes after the fight had been stopped and all the inmates were zip-tied, each of us was seen by a nurse. Only Oscar and Motown needed medical care. Both of them had cuts and bruises on their face and head.

It turned out that the Aryan Brotherhood had asked for La Emme’s help instead of doing their own dirty work.

Tommy Guns and Knuckles conveniently located themselves with the guard, while the rest of the crew was unattended. They had known something would go down, but rather than the two blacks being up to something that day, it was them.

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Copyright © 2008 Shaun P. Attwood

20 Oct 08

Reading

I’m about to get the train from Runcorn to London, a two-and-a-quarter hour journey, because I am reading to an audience tonight at the Royal Festival Hall. Beginning at 7:55pm, I have 15 minutes to read “Amazing Grace,” my short story that won a first prize in the Koestler/Hamish Hamilton awards. Problem is, “Amazing Grace” is 16 pages long and takes over half an hour to read. So I’ve spent this week condensing the story down to 8 pages. According to my Olympus Digital Voice Recorder, my last practice reading came in at 14 minutes 23 seconds. And that includes a few things I want to say before I start. Like explaining that “wood” is what white prisoners call each other. And reading the story’s disclaimer, as it’s about a “shit slinger,” and is somewhat grotesque and obscene.

If you’re in London tonight, and that includes you Chris-H, you are welcome to join me for the reading. Further information is here:

http://shaunattwood.com/home/index.php?option=com_mamblog&Itemid=84

Coincidentally, today, the day of my first reading, has seen the site meter at Jon’s Jail Journal rise above 500,000. I’d like to thank you all for continuing to read Jon’s Jail Journal and for supporting my friends inside.

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Shaun P. Attwood

19 Oct 08

When Everybody Wants You Dead

I was mentioned briefly in this recent article in The Guardian Weekly.
Oddly enough, the article also mentions Ray Krone, an innocent man who my attorney, Alan Simpson, helped save from death row.

Grisly tales of prison this week as we mark International Day Against the Death Penalty, writes website editor Anna Bruce-Lockhart

October 10 was International Day Against the Death Penalty, and to mark this significant event I thought I would point you towards a host of relevantly themed stories right here on this website.

But first, some news: only this week an appeal was rejected by the US supreme court to save the life of death row inmate Troy Davis. He was charged with the murder of a police officer more than 20 years ago, and a date is now being scheduled for his execution. This is going ahead in spite of there being no DNA evidence to link him to the killing, no murder weapon, and seven of the nine witnesses who originally testified against him having since recanted. I'm having trouble working out why this man absolutely must be killed.

One person who knows all about cruel twists of fate is Ray Krone. Arrested one night as he pulled up outside his home and charged with a murder he didn’t commit, he spent 10 years on death row. You can read an interview with him here. When I spoke to Krone over the phone what really struck me as he told his story was his lack of bitterness – he didn’t even seem angry with the man who got him wrongly convicted, a prosecutor who knew there was evidence to prove him innocent but called for his execution anyway.

For a taste of what it’s like to do time in an Arizona prison, and for those of you with a strong stomach, why not take a look at the harrowing story of Shaun Attwood, a British stockbroker charged with drug offences while in the US. He spent two years in an especially rough county jail being crawled over by cockroaches and venomous spiders, and fed a red-hued slop whose only easily identifiable ingredients were human and animal hair. Well worth a read. Honestly.

The US ranks fifth in the whole world for the number of executions it carries out, but the vast majority of sanctioned deaths take place on the other side of the Pacific. China executes more people each year than all other countries in the world combined. Iran isn’t far behind. In a country where sodomy is punishable by death, homosexual men make up a significant portion of those put to death each year. Here you can read our interview with an Iranian man who narrowly escaped execution for being gay.

Anti-death penalty campaigners are great, aren’t they? And none more so than the heroic Clive Stafford Smith, who is also a human rights lawyer who provides free legal aid to prisoners in Guantánamo Bay. He, in a cheering conclusion to this collection of grisly death stories, gives an account of what it’s like to ‘kick the asses’ of corrupt justice systems and defend death row inmates who can’t afford to pay for legal aid.

Here’s the link to the article: http://www.guardianweekly.co.uk/?page=editorial&id=766&catID=21

To read what I wrote about Ray Krone’s case and how the State of Arizona purposefully set up an innocent man to be executed click here: http://jonsjailjournal.blogspot.com/search?q=ray+krone

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Shaun P. Attwood

18 Oct 08

Royo Girl Responds To Your Comments

Royo Girl - An intelligent and attractive criminology graduate who used to visit me in prison. Whether her interest is based on love or she is writing a thesis on my criminality is an open question. She's flying from Tucson to visit me for my birthday week in October.

From today’s phone conversation with Royo Girl:

“You did get some adverse comments last week,” I said. “Especially from Zqwerty who recognises you as a user.”
“Zqwerty doesn’t recognise anything at all,” Royo Girl said. “He doesn’t know me. He’s just speculating from the side. He should not be such a bitter man. Anything else he says isn’t worthy of a response from me.”
“That’s a bit harsh isn’t it? I don’t think I should blog your last two sentences.”
“He called me a cock-teasing bitch! I think you should leave it in.”
“Jessica Lynn defended you at least.”
“She did, and I thanked her in my comment.”
“What about the person who asked if you’d been to Melbourne?”
“No. I have not, but I have done research into Australia and I think it’s a good fit for me.”
“Sue from Hull defended you, and wishes you a great time in England.”
“She’s obviously a very intelligent woman. That’s very apparent in what she said about Zqwerty.”
“Jason thinks you’re using me for career purposes, you’re noncommittal, but I shouldn’t necessarily stay away from you.”
“Given that I haven’t used you to further my career should speak volumes about myself and my honourable intentions with you. I am noncommittal due to the massive distance between us. If we were in the same country, we may find ourselves in an entirely different situation.”
“Then Zqwerty added a later comment saying you have ulterior motives and you’re doing things for your own reasons.”
“You don’t just do things to do them. You do them because it’s part of a greater scheme. Because you want something.”
“Now we’re entering into an area of philosophy. Do we all act selfishly? Even Mother Teresa, when she helped people, did she do so because she enjoyed helping them so much, thus giving herself what she wanted?”
“It’s the same with you. If you didn’t want something, you wouldn’t be entertaining the thought of seeing me either.”
“That covers the comments. Anything you’d like to add?”
“I thank the readers for their input – at least most of them. I think the world could do without the name calling and negativity.”
“Didn’t you just add to the negativity with what you said about Zqwerty?”
“It’s only fair for me to defend myself. There’s no need for his nasty remarks.”

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Shaun P. Attwood

Video: Aryan Brother Slays Inmate In Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Jail

Here’s a video of inmate, Robert Cotton, getting murdered by Aryan Brother, Pete Van Winkle, at Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Fourth Avenue jail. The day after the murder, the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office issued a press release, including this statement, "Nothing out of the ordinary appeared to be happening in or around that cell."
This lie was obviously fabricated to protect the guards asleep at the surveillance screens. It took twenty minutes after the attack began for the guards to respond.
Aryan Brother, Pete Van Winkle, was at the jail on a murder charge. He’d come from a supermaximim prison and should never have been housed in the same custody level as Robert Cotton. This is yet another example of how the gangs are running Arpaio’s jail, and certainly not the staff.




Click here for my jail survival tips

15 Oct 08

Real Prison Fight: Warrior v Big E. (by Warrior Part 2)

Warrior - Serving fourteen years for kidnapping and aggravated assault. Half Hispanic and Scottish-Irish with family still in Mexico. Brought up by a family steeped in drug commerce.Part 1 left off with Warrior arriving at Buckeye prison and Big E. taking an immediate dislike to him.

I was on the push-up station doing some sets with a guy named Gangster. Just then Big E. and Ghost walked up. They started small talk with Gangster and asked to join in a couple of sets. Then the hostility talk began:“I can’t stand fuckin’ chumps on this yard,” Big E. said, glancing at me.
I was watching him out of the corner of my eye as I did my set. I could tell it was directed at me.
“I hear ya, dawg,” Gangster said, unaware I was the target of Big E.’s hostility. “But that’s a part of doing time.”
“A lot of dudes think they can hold their own or fight,” Big E. said. “Chumps just wrestle and can’t scrap. There are very few dudes here that can fuck me up.”

Later, I found out that a few other faces that knew me from other yards had spread the word that I knew some martial arts and I was a good fighter. These faces saw me before I ran into them. This is where the wrestling comment from Big E. came from.

“What’s up Big E.,” I said.
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head and scowling, still giving the air of, I don’t like you. Big E. turned to Gangster: “You think you can take me?”
Unsure whether Big E. was serious or not, Gangster laughed the question off.
“Ghost can’t take me,” Big E. said. When he glanced at me everyone became silent.
I knew what was coming next so I decided to beat him to the punch. “Well, I guess that only leaves me, right? I can take you,” I said calmly and with the utmost confidence.
I could tell by the look on his face he was surprised. Right then, I knew Big E. wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of being called out. I’d removed him from his comfort zone. Part of the battle was already won, I thought.
Gangster and Ghost looked at each other curiously, aware and alert that the situation had just escalated. They just weren’t sure whether the event would explode right then and there or elsewhere.
“Is this vato fuckin’ serious?” Big E. asked the question as if he were in shock that someone would challenge him.
“Hell yeah, I’m serious,” I said firmly.
“Alright then. I never turn down a challenge. But what are we gonna fight for?”
“We’re gonna fight for bragging rights and fun. Just general purposes, baby. You know: GP,” I answered in a cold detached tone, my mindset switching into battle mode.
“Where we gonna do this?” he asked.
“Gangster chimed in, “Not in the cells. Roberts’ working the control tower today. He watches everything.”
“In the Octagon. Take it there,” Ghost said.
“Yeah, we’ll do it in the Octagon after rec,” Big E. said and walked away with Ghost.

We called the handicap shower (Shower 1) the Octagon. It was in a blind spot the control-tower officers couldn’t see. It was 15 by 15 feet and designed to accommodate wheelchair-bound inmates. The population called it the Octagon because everyone went there to handle their problems with each other. It’s anyone’s guess as to how much blood was spilt there, or rather, mopped up.

“What the fuck was all that about?” Gangster asked.
“Fuck that motherfucker! He’s been eye-fucking me all rec.”
“Man…that shit just came outta nowhere.”
“Hey, I’m gonna walk a few laps. I don’t wanna burn up all my energy. Can you handle the details to get us out of our cells to fight?” I asked,
“I’ve got you covered, dawg. I’m gonna get at JJ.”

Gangster went to talk with JJ, the building barber. JJ's job gave him the privilege to let the C.O. know which cell he needed open to let whomever’s hair he was cutting come out. He was one of a few guys you’d go and talk to if you needed your cell door open for whatever reason.

Rec was over, so I headed inside to lock-down.
I was in my cell when JJ came to my window. He already knew what was up. “Hey, homeboy. I heard. Gangster got at me. This is what we’re gonna do. I’ll pop your door. Go down and sit in the chair and I’ll pretend to clean your hair up. Take your towel, then pretend to hit the showers, but hide in Shower 5. I’ll get the Octagon open, and pop out Big E.. Give me a few minutes. When I say it’s cool, come down and go in and handle your business. He’ll be in there. I’ll keep point to make sure no cops come. If you hear me whistle, be cool ’cause the cops are comin’. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“Alright, I got it,” I replied.

Fights are dangerous in prison, especially in cells. Steel lockers, desks, beds, all with sharp edges that you could trip and hit. You don’t know whether the dude will pull out a piece of steel (shank) on you – or afterwards because he couldn’t stand losing. Back in the days, you’d win some and lose some but hold no grudges. These days, too much ego never lets anything die down. Even prison isn’t immune from narcissism.
If I was glad for one thing about the Octagon, it was to be fighting in an open space.

I got ready in my own way. Took my shirt off, so I couldn’t get grabbed by the shirt, have it pulled over my head, or get blood on it. Put my rec shorts on; long enough to protect my legs but short enough so as not to restrict my movement like pants would. Tied my shoelaces tight, so my shoes had no possibility of falling off through all the tussling. Then drank a thick shot of coffee for the boost.
Just then my door popped…

Does Warrior have the skills to smash Big E. in the Octagon?

Click here for Warrior v Big E. Part 3

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Shaun Attwood

Free Mike Hunter: John McCain Letter Writing Campaign

14 Oct 08

So far no media help has been forthcoming for Mike Hunter, so I am starting a letter writing campaign in the hope that John McCain, the senior United States Senator from Arizona, will attend to the plight of this mentally-ill Vietnam vet stuck in Arizona’s prison system beyond his release date.

If you wish to help Mike, then please send a postcard, fax or a short letter to John McCain demanding he address the issue of Mike Hunter:

John McCain
United States Senate
241 Russell Senate Office Building
Washington, DC 20510
Main: 202-224-2235
Fax: 202-228-2862

Or if you’d prefer to send John McCain an email, here’s the link: http://mccain.senate.gov/public/index.cfm?FuseAction=Contact.ContactForm

And don’t forget to include Mike’s full information:

Michael Hunter 044273
ASPC-Tucson, Manzanita Unit
PO. Box 24401
Tucson, AZ 85734-4401

For more information about Mike’s plight, and his written requests for help to John McCain click here for what I posted last week.

Thank you for helping Mike!

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Shaun P. Attwood

11 Oct 08

The Royo Romance (Part 25)

Royo Girl - An intelligent and attractive criminology graduate who used to visit me in prison. Whether her interest is based on love or she is writing a thesis on my criminality is an open question. She's flying from Tucson to visit me for my birthday week in October.
Click here for Part 24.

From yesterday’s phone conversation with Royo Girl:

“You caused quite a stir in the comments section last week,” I said.
“I’m just glad none of your readers made cutting remarks,” Royo Girl said, “like some of them have in the past.”
“I think it’s a love-hate relationship.”
“Yes, depending upon the angle you put on me.”
“And what angle would you like?”
“Are you getting sexual, Shaun?”
“Oh God no, that just came out funny. Your comment last week about us not leaving the hotel room must be on my mind.”
“I’m gonna make you leave the hotel room with me! It’ll be nice to walk around London with you.”
“Which parts of London do you fancy us walking around?” I asked.
“Central London. By Tower Bridge. Millennium Bridge. The River Thames. I want you to untaint my view about London.”
“I was down there last week. I really want to move down there. There’s such a great atmosphere. Perhaps you should do your master’s degree down there.”
“I’m gonna do my master’s in Australia.”
“In what?”
“Criminology.”
“You still want to be an FBI agent like Clarice Starling?”
“I want to do analytical research involving crime syndicates.”
“Oh boy!”
“I’d be investigating people like you.”
“Arresting people like me!” I said. “Bring some handcuffs and we can practice.”
“You’re so naughty, Shaun.”
“What uni in Australia will you go?”
“Melbourne. I have the application and I’ve contacted an old professor for a reference.”
“Are you still finding the Australian accent sexier than the British?”
“Oh yeah,” Royo Girl said slowly, as if under the influence of an Australian accent.
“Oh yeah! Where does that leave me?”
“I like you as a person, Shaun, so the British accent is a mute point. Although it is better than the American accent.”
“So I’m still in the running then?”
“Maybe.”
“Say I fall madly in love with you when you come to England and I want to run off to Australia with you?”
“Then we’ll make lots of little Shauns.”
I giggled. “Are you broody?”
“Just the other week my friend had a baby.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“I know I’m not ready, but I do want one.”
“Won’t that affect this power career in criminology you’ve got planned?”
“I can do both. Especially if I have a good husband.”

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Shaun P. Attwood

09 Oct 08

Women in Prison: From Andrea (Letter 1)

Andrea is a 28-year-old Scottish woman. After suffering years of domestic violence, Andrea was arrested for attempting to murder her partner. The attempted murder charge was subsequently dropped to wounding and she is due to be sentenced next Monday.
Andrea is writing from a women’s prison in England. It is my hope that she will become a regular contributor to Jon’s Jail Journal.

As a first time prisoner I was really frightened, as I didn’t have a clue as to how the system worked, or how to work the system. My first steps inside my new home were scary, especially the looks of all of those women. I was wondering if I would fit in or not. I had to figure out who was the leader of the pack.

Living with all sorts of women is far from easy. They come in all sorts of shapes, sizes, ages, nationalities and mental states.
The so-called lesbians – really all they are are swingers – try their luck as soon as you walk through the gates for the first time. I never even got time to unpack my things and it had started. I am just so lucky to be as strong-willed as I am to brush them off. They soon got the hint, but they still like to try their luck as time goes on “just in case.”

Finally, you get settled into your cold cell, then all you hear are door knocks and, “How are you? What are you in for?”
All you want is peace is quiet. But you have to talk because you just don’t know what’s around the corner! It isn’t long before you get the gist of it, you don’t have a choice.

In my case it was easy as I got along with everyone, and I will never get involved in any backstabbing as that’s what causes trouble. Women are the world’s worst at that. Men fight their problems out, whereas women bitch and it never stops no matter what the situation.
There’s always the one woman with the big hard mouth, the gift of the gab. But I sussed her out from day one. She's like that because she's scared and lives in fear. Sad really.

I sit and watch all of them – “checking them out” as I say – to see who is really who. Mostly drug addicts. Loud and full of it! Thinking they are big and nobody will question them. They forget that there is always somebody who will do just that.
From what I’ve seen so far the older generation are the dangerous ones. Devious, malicious old women who hunt for the young vulnerable prisoners and bully them into giving them tobacco, etc. It’s funny in a way watching a woman old enough to be your grandmother getting banged up for 28 days for being a bully.

Meal times. It’s like sitting at a table full of animals. It’s disgusting! Food falling from their mouths. Talking while eating, which leads to getting sprayed with food. I choose to eat in my cell, with manners at that. If I did sit at the table, I think I would be sick.

Personal hygiene. I know we are all in prison, but that doesn’t mean to say that you have to stop having a wash! Some of the prisoners seem to have forgotten how it’s done. As for the state of the shower rooms, I wouldn’t let a dog in them! Dirty used sanitary wear lying on the floor. Blood all over the toilet. Unflushed toilets. I just feel for the cleaners.

Thanks for reading my first blog!

Andrea

As this is Andrea’s first letter for Jon’s Jail Journal, your comments and questions would be appreciated. If you wish to write to Andrea then email me your name and address. She does not have Internet access, so I will mail your comments and emails to her.

Also, I am starting a letter writing campaign for Mike Hunter (Slingblade). I'll be posting more about that with John McCain's address in Washington to Jon's Jail Journal on Monday.

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Shaun P. Attwood

07 Oct 08

John McCain Snubs Mentally Ill Vietnam Veteran In Home State Of Arizona
Two years ago, presidential nominee John McCain started receiving pleas for help from Mike Hunter, a mentally ill Vietnam vet eligible for parole who didn’t have the competency or outside help of family and friends to facilitate his release from Tucson prison.
In 2007, Mike Hunter received a response from John McCain acknowledging his office was investigating the matter, requesting more information and pledging to do whatever he could for Mike Hunter. Mike Hunter showed me the letter. Mike was unusually cheerful that day and sure that John McCain, a fellow Vietnam veteran and a former prisoner of war, would cut through the red tape to facilitate his release.
Mike Hunter waited patiently but no help from John McCain ever arrived. Mike Hunter has now been in prison for almost 2½ years past his release date of April 12 2006. Here is the link to Mike Hunter’s information at the Arizona Department of Corrections showing his parole release eligibility:

http://www.azcorrections.gov/inmate_datasearch/results_Minh.aspx?InmateNumber=044273&LastName=HUNTER&FNMI=M&SearchType=SearchInet

Mike Hunter suffers from posttraumatic stress disorder (as a consequence of his military service in Vietnam) and schizophrenia. John McCain’s status as prisoner of war made news headlines, whereas the public is oblivious to the plight of Mike Hunter. With no family or resources to help facilitate his release, Mike Hunter is trapped in the prison system. He risked his life in Vietnam out of love for America and was honourably discharged. Back in America, he got in an altercation with his father-in-law who died. Up against the vast resources of the State of Arizona and railroaded by a promotion-hungry prosecutor, Mike didn’t stand a chance in court. He was convicted of 1st Degree Murder and served twenty years for this crime in a prison system notorious for neglecting the needs of the mentally ill.

Staff at the Arizona Department of Corrections who were supposed to have prepared and processed Mike Hunter’s release package have failed to do so every year since 2006, showing not only their incompetence but also a complete disregard for Mike Hunter’s freedom.
Mike Hunter has paid his debt back to society, and it’s time for someone in society who cares more about the plight of Vietnam vets than John McCain apparently does to help him obtain the freedom that should have been his on April 12 2006.
Shame on you, John McCain.

“The mentally ill are some of the most tragic cases inhabiting the U.S. prison system.”
– Alan Elsner Gates of Injustice: The Crisis in America’s Prisons

If you are in a position to help Mike Hunter then please email me at the address below. If you know a person or organisation that may be able to help Mike Hunter then please forward the link to this blog entry to them. There must be someone out there who can help remedy this injustice.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Shaun Attwood

04 Oct 08

Job & Reading

I just returned from Harley Street, London where I met the owner of a counselling and education services company. He offered me a job travelling around England speaking to thousands of young people about my life experiences in the hope of alerting them to the dangers of drug use. This is a good karma thing to do, so I am going for it.
He said the average age of the audience is 17 (almost at the age when I popped my first Ecstasy pill), and the average audience size is 150. I will be speaking for an hour total per presentation, divided into 40 minutes about my life, and then a 20-minute question and answer session. He wants the 40 minutes about my life divided into three sections: the events that led up to my crimes, what I actually did, and what the consequences were.
So if all goes well, the youth of England will soon be hearing about Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s red death, green bologna, pink boxer shorts, and las cucarachas. Having this blog will help because they’ll be able to check out Jon’s Jail Journal for themselves, which should further hammer the message home.

I shall be returning to London on the 20th of October to do my first reading. I am a guest at the Koestler Exhibition in the Southbank Centre Royal Festival Hall. I shall be reading some of my story “Amazing Grace,” which won first prize in the Koestler/Hamish Hamilton awards short story fiction category.
Admission is free. Here’s the specific information:


Monday 20 October 7:30 – 9:30pm
Blue Room, Spirit Level
Southbank Centre Royal Festival Hall
Belvedere Road
London SE1 8XX
Switchboard: +44 (0)871 663 2501
Ticket Office: +44 (0)871 663 2500

Poetry and fiction by offenders. Reading by Koestler Award judges and Not Shut Up, a magazine of writing from London prisons. Admission free. No ticket required.

I don’t yet know the exact time I’ll be doing my reading, but I will post further information when it becomes available.

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Shaun P. Attwood

01 Oct 08

Warrior v Big E. (by Warrior Part 1)

Warrior - Serving fourteen years for kidnapping and aggravated assault. Half Hispanic and Scottish-Irish with family still in Mexico. Brought up by a family steeped in drug commerce.
-
Guys in prison always feel they’ll eventually be able to lay their swords down, hang up their spurs, and not have to maintain the status quo when it comes to respect.
For some, their looks, size or reputation enables them to do so.
Unfortunately for me, I’ve never had such luck. It’s always been my looks that made me stand out to be tested. Even as a kid in school, I remember it being the same way. I’ve heard I look like a pushover, I’ve also heard the term “innocent." I never cease hearing, “You don’t look like you belong in prison,” even from C.O.s – whatever that means?
I know this is the reason Big E. chose me to be an outlet for his aggression.

Big E. stood for Big Ego. A Mexican cat about 6 foot 1 and 200 pounds. He had been around the system for a while. Earned his ink putting in work for the EME (Mexican Mafia). He was covered in prison ink from neck to toe. Aztec Warriors. Brown Pride. His gang shield. The traditional stuff. Old English on his back and stomach. He wore a pair of Maddoggers sunglasses that added to his disposition.

I had just touched down in Buckeye prison. Knew a couple of faces. Met some new ones.
One face I knew was a guy named Trip. Him and I did hole time together.
It’s always good to run into a familiar face you’re cool with from another unit. It helps your credibility as a solid dude when another solid dude can vouch for you. Plus it helps you get a lay of the land quicker. Who’s cool. Who’s a dope fiend. Who’s trouble. What cops are assholes, and which are cool and let us do our time.

My first day at rec, Trip and I walked a few laps.
“Damn it’s good to see you, dawg!” Trip said.
“Fuck, I know. I didn’t think I was ever gonna get outta the fuckin’ hole,” I said. “It’s good to see a familiar face.”
“I hear you, bro. Who’s still left over there?”
“Eagle, Monster, Spider are all stuck. Roy made it out to a yard though. He was happy. He’s over here around the way on a Level 3 yard.”
“Fuckin’ Roy! That’s cool,” Trip said. “The other cats stuck, huh? Tsk-tsk. That’s the name of the game though right: cops and robbers. How long you do in the hole?”
“Three fuckin’ years, homes,” I said. “I tell you, man, that last year was wearing on me mentally too. That sensory-deprivation shit ain’t no joke. A lot of hate was building up in me. I don’t know how those other dudes go ten years like that.”
“Those other dudes probably mad with hate by five years hole time,” Trip said. “By then, those fools can only function in the hole. Complete antisocial sociopaths. The really fucked-up shit is the system has no idea of the monsters they’re creating. As long as their pockets are full, all we’ll be is dollar signs.”
“I hear that. Fuck the system. It’s their Catch-22 one way or the other. Karma doesn’t discriminate. It goes after systems too.”
“Word has it a coupla dudes offed themselves?” Trip asked.
“Yeah. Four dudes in a month and a half. Two hung themselves by sheet. Two others cut their wrists. It was crazy. A youngster too. You shoulda seen it. Administration had the cops doing fifteen-minute walks to make it look good when the investigators came. But the minute the investigation was over, back to before.”
“Damn that’s dirty. That’s prison life though.”

Trip and I finished our catching up. He then introduced me to a group of dudes playing cards at the Independent Table. It was a table where all of the races go to play poker. Guys gamble money, drugs, property, even their homosexuals.

All the races had claim to one of three tables: blacks, whites, Mexicans. But the fourth was a neutral spot all the races agreed to and only meant for gambling – the Independent Table.
Gambling is big business in prison. Even in prison, green is acknowledged as the ultimate color, the color of money. Just another source of income for those “holding the keys” – the heads of the races running the yard.

At the Independent Table, all the guys had their shirts off as they took in the evening sun. By all the ink they displayed you could tell they were old numbers. Sleeved with swastikas and Vikings if they were white. Aztec Warriors and women if they were Mexican. The blacks had images of Africa and civil-rights leaders.
Trip introduced me to everyone, Big E. being one of them.
Everyone was cool and shook my hand except for Big E.. He looked me up and down, sizing me up. Everyone acted like they didn’t notice, but I’m sure they did.
I exchanged small talk with a few guys and then we were on our way.

“Hey, who’s that fool with the Maddoggers glasses?” I asked.
“Oh, that’s Big E.,” Trip said. “He thinks his shit don’t stink. I noticed him sizing you up.”
“You caught that too, huh. I can’t stand motherfuckers like that.”
“Well, you don’t look like a tough guy. That face, man,” Trip said jokingly.
“What I lack in looks, I make up in experiences, believe that!” I said, growing irritable.
“Hey, whoa, whoa…I’m not the one sizing you up there, killer. Maybe Big E. was having a bad day? Don’t take it personal, it’s too early to tell.”
“We’ll see,” I said.

I’d been down long enough to know when someone was about to test me. When it’s played out so many times, you become familiar with the signs.
I was thinking, Here we go again.I always hear from my buddies that I have this certain look that makes guys want to test me. To this day I don’t know what that look is.

I was on the push-up station doing some sets with a guy named Gangster. Just then Big E. and Ghost walked up. They started small talk with Gangster and asked to join in a couple of sets. Then the hostility talk began:
“I can’t stand fuckin’ chumps on this yard,” Big E. said, glancing at me.

If you were Warrior, how would you handle Big E.?

Click here for Warrior v Big E. Part 2

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Shaun Attwood

30 Sep 08

From T-Bone (Letter 8)

T-Bone - Radiating power and strength, this deeply-spiritual massively-built African American towers over most inmates. He is a prison gladiator with more stab wounds than Julius Caesar. A good man to have on your side.
8-10-08

Hey Brother,

What’s happening over there in the land of tea and biscuits? It’s hot here! I mean really hot in the Great Southwest, 112 degrees today so far.

Before I forget, never worry about me keeping it real with you, because I will always be there for you, brother! My friendship and honor are genuine.

Man, you can write and your ability to take people there with you is absolutely awesome. I really enjoyed the pictures you sent me.
I finally got the letter and blog I was waiting for and the reader comments were heart warming to say the least. Thank you, Suzanne!

I have a few things to say to the people who read Jon’s Jail Journal.

The most important thing you all need to know is that I am no angel. I’ve done a lot of things I wish I could take back. I’ve also done a lot of soul searching, and the choices I make now are made with the hope that I can help people who are weaker than I am. I do not involve myself in every situation because there are those in here who want to use people, for example, people who want to do dope and then come running to me for help because they can’t pay their dope bill. (Shaun knows what I am talking about.) I won’t get involved.

As for the cops, some have honor and some get involved in the crap that goes on in here. There’s this old saying that goes: “If you ever want to see the scum of the earth, go to a prison at the changing of the guard.” That saying does have merit, but then again there are a lot of sick men in here. Some sick because of this place. Others because of who they are. And those who play the games that they grew up with in their neighborhoods. They made their choices, not every situation is because of the system.

Chris H, thank you for what you said and yes I do need your help! Shaun will contact you.

I’d like to ask you all this: Haven’t we all found ourselves in a situation where we could make a difference in someone’s life for good or sometimes bad? Shaun, walked the yard with me and he saw the damage I inflicted on this one guy [indeed, Ogre’s cellmate, a big man but no T-Bone, looked like a train had hit him after provoking T-Bone] and was it necessary? Yes and no. Because of the situation, yes. But I will advise any and everyone to walk away if she or he can from any confrontation that isn’t necessary.

But know this: there are times when one has to stand up for the weaker. I’ve seen some nasty things, and most of the time it looks simple or innocent, for example, a guy walks up and gives another guy food and/or drugs or does another guy’s job or washes his clothes, and it’s all a mind game being played to rape him or to get him to have sex. To me it’s sick.
I’ve been put in so many situations to make a difference in people’s lives, you won’t believe the enemies I’ve made. But I have someone who watches my back – God!
I also keep a positive attitude and my plans are to go to work.
I am also coming across the pond to see my brother Shaun, and hopefully do some fishing and sight seeing as well as hiking.

Shaun there is so much more to say but to keep it simple stop going out and getting drunk. It’s uncool, man. You keep on keeping on and no getting drunk, brother. I do want you to understand the importance of that.
So how’s the Internet dating going, you old English hound you!
Say hi to your folks and keep up the good work, brother! You have my Love & Respect. I miss you, man!

Each one – Teach one

Strength + Honor

T-Bone

PS The fire that burns in your heart shows by the things you do. Let your mind spark you, the flame, into action!

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Shaun P. Attwood

26 Sep 08

The Royo Romance (Part 24)

Royo Girl - An intelligent and attractive criminology graduate who used to visit me in prison. Whether her interest is based on love or she is writing a thesis on my criminality is an open question. She's flying from Tucson to visit me for my birthday week in October.
Click here for Part 23.

I just got off the phone with Royo Girl:

“I’ve booked to come and see you at the end of October,” Royo Girl said.
“That’s great, “ I said. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“I’m super super looking forward to coming to England.”
“And seeing me of course?”
“On that point, I don’t know.” Royo Girl laughed mischievously. “I do know you’re fishing for a compliment so I can build up your ego.”
“Exactly. But when your ego's as big as mine, there is no room to build it up.”
“Oh, Shaun, of course I’m looking forward to seeing you.”
“Have you booked our hotel room in London yet?”
“No, not yet. But I’m going to spend three nights in London enjoying your company before we go to yours.”
“What do you fancy getting up to in London?”
“We’ll probably go out one or two nights.”
“Which entails what?”
“There’s some clubs and bars I like down there.”
“After all that hard work in Tucson, you’re coming to London to get wasted aren’t you?”
“We’ll see.”
“Did you decide what you’re going to wear for my birthday party on Halloween?”
“The official title of my outfit is Dark Angel.”
“Oo, describe it please.”
“It consists of, basically, me looking like a Goth with black wings.”
“And your makeup?”
“Black lipstick. Black eyeliner. I can’t divulge too much at this point. You might get too excited.”
“How am I going to be able to control myself when I see my favourite criminology graduate who I'm finally getting to be around after all these years and she’s all gothed-up as a Dark Angel?”
“I dunno, Shaun, I dunno. I will make you behave yourself in front of your parents. I have the utmost respect for them. I think they’re great."
“So you’re saying we get to behave like wild animals in the hotel room?”
“We’ll be lucky if we make it out of the hotel room, Shaun.”

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Shaun P. Attwood

24 Sep 08

Ms. G (by Shane)

Shane - After being denied psychiatric medication by ValueOptions, Shane turned to illegal drugs he financed with burglaries. The medication in prison caused him to suffer a period of spontaneous ejaculations.
Shane is the author of the blog Persevering Prison Pages.

In prison, I dissociate myself from all of the guards and most of the inmates. So much so it’s noticeable. I don’t do it to be rude or because I am one of those diehard Us vs. Them types. I don’t think of all guards as lesser or even not human. They are human just like you and me. Of course, I like some and dislike others. I just don’t show it. In fact, there are a few guards I like better than most of my fellow convicts. Now, I’ll explain why I don’t ever acknowledge guards on the yard.

In the late 90’s, I was an intake clerk in the clothing warehouse. I kept track of clothing issued to newly-arriving inmates on the unit. My supervisor was a female guard in her 30’s. Very attractive and a real sweetheart. Ms. G was a single mother just working to survive. We grew close.

One day I showed up at 7:00 AM for work and Ms. G called me to a quiet part of the warehouse. “Shane, I’ve got a serious problem,” she stated, nearly on the verge of tears.
“What’s up?” I asked her.
“I got a note from somebody today who says I’m going to bring in a package and leave it in my trashcan here. The note was on my car window at home, Shane!” she confided in me, panic in her voice and expression.

I knew exactly who and what this was about as soon as I heard it. The Aryan Brotherhood was planning to use her to get their drugs in. It wasn’t a request either.
“Let me see what’s up. Don’t do anything,” I told her. I knew that she was in deep trouble. If she reported it, she’d put herself and her kid in danger. If she just didn’t do it, same results. I wasn’t sure what I could do, if anything, but I had to do something. An extremely dangerous choice I made.

Arranging a meeting with the yard’s shot-caller turned out to be a real pain in the ass. You don’t just walk up and talk to the Aryan Brotherhood's shot-caller. There’s a chain of command in the prison-gang hierarchy. I started at the peon level and couldn’t get any higher.

“You and her got something going. We see her bring you food in and share stuff. We know you two are screwing,” the peon told me. “We just want in on the action.”
I couldn’t argue, she did look out for me. She brought food and drinks in everyday and shared with me, but the screwing part was bullshit. We had never. It never even came up.
“Listen closely, she won’t do it. And if anybody has a problem with that, we can deal with it,” I told the peon, beyond frustrated with it all.

I’m gonna get us both killed, I worried on my way back to my cell. I was worried more about Ms. G and her kid than myself, but I did fear taking a shank in the back myself, too.

Hurriedly, I taped National Geographic magazines around my midsection. A great stab vest. While I was doing this, my next-door neighbor happened to glance in my cell. My next-door neighbor, the shot-caller for the Skinheads. “What the fuck, Shane?” he asked.
I’d never spoke to the young, bald white supremist. Skinheads and me usually didn’t get along. We have conflicting beliefs.
“You goin’ to war or what?” he questioned, coming in my cell and closing the door. His strong presence was intimidating. My natural reaction was to stand up and ready myself to fight. “We don’t have a beef, relax,” the Skin told me, “What’s the deal, Shane?”
Still on guard, I told him my situation. I knew it was risky and could make things worse, but what the hell…
“Here. Sit still. I’ll be back,” the Skin told me, handing me a shank then leaving my cell.

Ten minutes later, two Skinheads came to my cell. At first, I panicked, standing and pulling the steel from my waistband. When the two held up their hands in mock surrender, I relaxed a little. The three of us idly shit-chatted until my neighbor returned, with another Skin tagging along. The tag-along worried me. He had a bright red swastika on his head, and red lightning bolts. He was a torpedo. A foot soldier. Red inked for drawing blood. Earned I’m sure.
“Don’t worry about your problem. It’s a dead issue,” my neighbor told me. I knew that he meant it and it was true.

I went and ran the story down to Mrs. G. She was visibly relieved, but probably still worried.

The next morning at breakfast, two Skins passed me in the chow line, steel at ready. Halfway up the line, I spotted the Aryan Brotherhood’s peon I’d spoken to yesterday. Without any forewarning, the Skins moved behind him and began stabbing. People began scrambling to get out of the way and the Skins disappeared in the crowd. Seconds later they brushed past me heading back to the cells. Blood on their hands, shirts and pants. Eyes on the floor as they passed, I noticed specks of blood on their boots and bright white laces. Only then did I realize they were “Straight-laced” Skinheads. A dying breed. Skins that hate drugs.

Turns out, the Aryan Brotherhood never authorized the move on Ms. G, or at least wouldn’t claim they did, so they green lighted the Skins to deal with the peon who was behind it.

Shaken by the whole incident, Ms. G. quit a week later. The peon lived, but never returned to the yard.

The incident scared the shit out of me. I felt at fault for socializing with Ms. G and letting us become more than guard and inmate. I never heard from her again and never allowed myself to even consider such a thing again.

Did Shane do the right thing in risking his life to protect Ms. G?

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Copyright © 2008 Shaun P. Attwood

22 Sep 08

Weird Al At Large

Weird Al - The most unlikely bank robber you are ever likely to meet. His true story of suicide by cop gives new meaning to the power of unchecked depression. His cutting wit would make a stoic monk giggle.

I called Weird Al at his apartment in Tucson where he is on parole.

“Greetings from your favourite Limey!” I said.
“I’ve got a joke I’ve been waiting to tell you,” Weird Al said.
“What is it?”
“What’s bald, lives in a garage – with an en suite bathroom of course – and worships me like a God?”
“That’s a tricky one, Al.”
“Yes, it’s you, the bloke!”
“Life in the garage is going pretty well actually. I haven’t had any urges to commit more crimes. How about you? Planning your next bank robbery?”
“I haven’t had any big urges to commit more crimes – short of killing maybe an Englishman. You’d better look out, I’m in the process of getting a new passport.”
“What did you do on your first day of freedom?”
“Watched the football and ate ice cream.”
“What flavour ice cream?”
“Moose Tracks.”
“What?”
“Vanilla with chunks of chocolate. Then I spent my first night sleeping on an air mattress in this apartment.”
“So how does freedom feel?”
“Well, it’s overrated. For example, every time I go to a restaurant or grocery store, everyone wants money from me.”
“At least your not on the dole. Are you going to get back into real estate investment?”
“It’s probably a good time to buy. All those fools who paid five-hundred thousand and their homes are worth three-hundred thousand are sucking the hind tit now.”
“Yes, I advised my aunt to sell short, and she made a killing last week.”
“You’ll have to show me how to sell short. I am a vulture.”
"We started out shorting Bank of America."
"That's my bank, you bastard!"
"The one you robbed?"
"Er...yes. Didn't they make short selling illegal?"
"Just bank stocks, so for my aunt, I'm shorting foreign telecoms into this suckers' rally. Are you still doing Siddha yoga and becoming more enlightened?”
“Yes, I just went to the local ashram. I’m more enlightened than ever. I was enlightened enough to come home today and eat Moose Tracks and watch a film. I also went to the library and read about what’s been going on with your blog.”
“What do you think of the Arizona Department of Corrections blocking inmates from writing to me?”
“They’ve gone way too far. But I don’t think it’s come from the top. I think it’s some asshole at Tucson prison that’s taken it upon himself to rewrite the United States Constitution. The funny thing is Dora Schriro [the prison director] prides herself on preparing inmates to be released into a country founded on free speech. Censorship policy may well prepare you for life in a Communist country, but not here. Dora Schriro should take time out – she teaches constitutional law at Arizona State University – to actually read the Bill Of Rights and Constitution herself. What exactly are they afraid of by stopping your mail? Obviously not the huge amounts of readily-available heroin in the prison. Obviously not the large number of Arizona prisoners dying due to a lack of competent medical care. Why don’t they correct these problems as opposed to censoring you away. The fact is DOC doesn’t do anything competently. Try as they might, Arizona prisoners will still do this despite anything they do. You know how inventive they are. I can think of at least a hundred ways around this. Since DOC is trying to ban you from the airwaves, may I suggest you reinvent yourself?”
“As what?”
“Bertie Wooster aka Hugh Laurie comes to mind. I’ll play the role of the all-knowing Jeeves aka Stephen Fry and we can use nice British sayings like ‘Toodle-pip!’ I also like the name Gussie Fink-Nottle.”
“Very good, bloke.”
“I’ve also discovered another new saying.”
“What is it?”
“Boner shrinker.”
“Oh dear. Have you used it yet?”
“No, but I’m working on it.”
“A final question: have you noticed any major changes in the world since you’ve been inside?”
“Yes! Young women everywhere are all wearing tongue piercings. I have had it confirmed by reliable unimpeachable sources as to why they are doing this, and I’ve taken it upon myself to personally thank each one of them for caring. I’m thinking of founding a non-profit organisation to help low-income girls get tongue piercings.”
“Good idea, bloke. Toodle-oo for now!”
“Yes. Toodle-pip, blokester!”

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Shaun P. Attwood

18 Sep 08

From Frankie (Letter 9)

Frankie - A Mexican Mafia hitman and leader of prison "booty bandits" who has been proposing our gay marriage ever since he saw me rubbing antifungal ointment on my bedsored buttocks at the Madison Street jail. He was there on murder charges he subsequently beat. He was recently moved from the super-maximum prison housing Arizona's death row to Tucson jail awaiting sentencing on charges he picked up in prison.

Frankie is writing from Pima County jail (not part of the Arizona Department of Corrections) in Tucson. Because he’s from a gang in Phoenix, he has to be careful of the rival gang members from Tucson who are running the Tucson jail.

9-2-08

Englandman My Friend,

I received your letter in which it’s always good to hear from you.

As for this case…yes! It has squeezed the vida loca out of me. But it’s not something you do overnight.
For example, I get here in this county jail and as I walk in a few guys come up to me and give me a hug and shake my hands. “How you doing OG?” That means Original Gangster.
Then you’ve got a couple of guys that are calling shots for the pod I’m in and looking at me like I owe them. So off the top, I already know these fools are trying to figure out who am I and what am I doing in their county if I’m from Phoenix.
I’ve been in this jail for thirteen days, and there’s been a lot of tension between us, but as usual these guys made one big mistake by not taking care of business from day one. I have now put together a four man crew, slowly but surely I’m building a wall around me. It’s no guarantee but it will help me to a certain extent.

Here we come out 3 times a day and at dinner while everyone is eating out in the run, I eat in my cell with the door open. I have been invited to sit and eat with the Mexican Warriors at their table, but no thanks, as last time I took a piece of steel in the back of my neck. At least in my cell I can see what’s coming my way and get myself ready for battle.
Frankie needs to stay a step ahead of the gang games at all times cuz it would be a sad story if you read Frankie Goes To Tucson And Gets Killed.
Englandman, would you cry for me?

As for the jail here, the food is top of the line stuff. Nothing like your friend Sheriff Joe Arpaio. Ha! Ha!
Every Friday they even give us a bag of popcorn and a R.C. Soda.
Now! The guards ain’t nuthin’ nice. They will rush you quick when they tell these guys to lock it down. The inmates will run and lock-down. One thing about here, the guards don’t play. So the best thing for that is to stay away as far as you can from the guards.

By the way, I have this white dude for my celly, goes by the name Popeye. Ain’t got no teeth and looks like Popeye. He’s forty eight years old and from Texas.

Englandman, good job on winning a prize for your shit slinger story. What’s the prize? My friend, I have the best shit slinger stories from SMU1 and SMU2 [two supermaximum-security prisons in Florence]. Did you know that I was thrown on before by those nasty motherfuckers? I will tell you some stories when I get back, okay?

My friend, I’m hoping and praying for the lesser time that I can get sentenced to. Like I said, I have had it with the vida loca. But it gets harder trying to leave it.
By the time you get this letter I should already be sentenced. I shall tell you how it all goes once I’m back at Florence cuz I honestly don’t have the stamps. I wrote one of your blog readers asking for a little help just to buy me writing stuff, and he blew me off. It’s okay, that’s life in this crazy world. Ain’t too many people that understand this life. They think we’re out to get them.
I have money at Florence. It’s that the money on my account didn’t follow me to this jail. Like I said, no biggie! Que no?

Anyway, did you send the cards to Noelle? Has she mentioned anything about writing me?

Englandman, I’m sending you my brother’s obituary. It’s for you to keep. I have one for myself.
As always, send my Love & Regards to your mom & dad and especially that beautiful sister of yours.

Much Love & Respect

Mr. Frankie!

P/S In six days I’ll know the outcome of my sentence

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Shaun P. Attwood

16 Sep 08

BBC Radio 5 Live Pods and Blogs

I was interviewed by Chris Vallance of the BBC last night about the Arizona Department of Corrections’ attempt to sabotage Jon’s Jail Journal by illegally blocking inmates from writing to me.

Below is the link for the podcast. To hear the interview scroll down to latest Pods and Blogs’ episode and click on download episode. (It’s the episode dated September 16th which starts out with the description: The continuing turmoil in the US markets and a new device that could let us hear every word on the football pitch.) My interview commences about five minutes into the show.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio/podcasts/pods/

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14 Sep 08

Drugs (by T-Bone)

T-Bone - Radiating power and strength, this deeply-spiritual, massively-built African American towers over most inmates. He is a prison gladiator with more stab wounds than Julius Caesar. A good man to have on your side.

This is to the individual who said she or he needed help to stop using drugs.
Have you ever asked yourself why it’s called dope? Well, when I was growing up a lot of the OG’s used to say, “Look at those dopes over there doing poison just to feel dopey.”
I called it a “high,” but as I came to reflect on what I was doing, I realized the truth: dope does nothing for you at all! It causes you not to be real in all experiences in your life, from being awake to sex.
Once you allow yourself to become addicted to pot, coke, heroin, or any pill, it will take a spiritual rebirth to heal you, to reshape your thinking, and to rebuild your life.

The ancient Greeks called it pharmakia – the use of potions, powders, drugs, spells or enchantments! They understood it was and still is a spiritual battle.
There are some people who won’t accept this, but you must have a complete understanding of the truth before you listen to others.
When you become addicted, there is something evil inside you.

Have you ever heard anyone say that she or he is really cool when they’re not doing dope or high? Also, there is no such thing as recreational drug use, only dope use.

Now here are some hardcore facts.
You are killing yourself doing that poison, period! Stand up right now and make a choice, be a woman or a man, do the right thing for yourself! In other words, turn to God, he will help you! If not God, there are other ways to get help.
There are times when you have issues that cause you to hide behind dope. Fear and doubt has never helped anyone, neither has pain.
Don’t make excuses or rationalize what you’re doing. Keep it real and love yourself!
We all must grow up. Get a foundation and build on that foundation and grow.
Choose life and live free of the chains of fear and dope.
There are a lot of people going through the pain of drug and alcohol addiction who want to be able to talk to someone who once had the same problem. Find someone to talk to and let loose all of that unneeded pain and fear and doubt.

My foundation is God, and his love (that’s who he is) has strengthened me to turn away from drugs and the evil thinking that is associated with it. There will always be thoughts and the temptation of doing drugs and the evil that comes with it. But I turn to him for strength and guidance and he gives it to me through his spirit.

Be at peace and don’t worry, tomorrow is another beautiful day to live!

I hope this helps, and if not, let me know.

T-Bone

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Copyright © 2008 Shaun P. Attwood

11 Sep 08

Link to the Sky News Interview

Last night, I was interviewed by Martin Stanford on Sky News. Going live to millions of viewers for the first time was nerve-racking. I was amped-up all night.

Due to a commercial break, I was unable to finish responding to Martin’s final question about why I was continuing the blog, so here’s the remainder of my answer:

The blog was a lifeline for me and a lifeline I promised to keep going for my friends in prison. I intend to do my utmost to keep that lifeline open and to keep their voices being heard on the Internet. Thank you for this opportunity to bring the plight of my friends in prison to a much wider audience.

Here’s the link to the video of the interview:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DTWVYOVk8g

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10 Sept 08

Sky News

I'm scheduled to appear live on the main Sky News TV station tonight (7:15pm UK time, 11:15am in Arizona).

Sky News has millions of viewers and can be watched on the Internet:

http://news.sky.com/skynews/

http://news.sky.com/skynews/Sky-Live-TV

Thank you for all of the emails of support since the Arizona Department of Corrections tried to sabotage Jon’s Jail Journal by banning prisoners from writing to me. It is my hope that this publicity will help the plight of my friends inside.

This isn't the first time the Arizona Department of Corrections has blocked prisoners from the Internet. I just found this article online:

Arizona was the first and only state to erect a total blockade between its inmate population and the Internet -- and the first state to get trounced in court for trying to keep prisoners offline. The Arizona Legislature was stirred to act on the issue by the anguish and outrage of the widow of a murder victim, who came across a Web page on a pen pal site in which Beau Greene, her husband's killer, portrayed himself as a kindly lover of cats.

The result was a law enacted in 2000 that threatened to strip privileges and possibly lengthen the prison sentence of any inmate in Arizona who gained access to the Internet by any means, or for that matter, merely "corresponds or attempts to correspond with a communication service provider or remote computing service." It would even be illegal, the law brashly declared, if any other person accessed a prisoner Web service "at the inmate's request."

Prison authorities in Arizona asserted that the law not only protected the rights of victims, it also reduced a security risk and a growing administrative burden.
"Inmates used to have two or three pen pals," a spokesman for the department complained. "Now they can run it up into the hundreds," thanks to the growing number of Web-based pen pal services for prisoners.

The wilier inmates use one of a dozen or more sites such as Prison Pen Pals or Outlaws Online to garner more than mail, officials added. They coax money out of people on false pretenses and lure them into intense but duplicitous personal relationships.
Numerous lonely hearted women initially drawn in by a Web page have flocked from as far away as Belgium and Australia to Florence, Ariz., and its cluster of prisons, officials said. One of them once went so far as to obtain a gun and vehicle that was used in an escape attempt. While inmates can perpetrate scams through the regular mail, it is much easier via the Internet, the department and its lawyers maintained in defense of the law.

Judge Earl Carroll of the U.S. District Court in Phoenix wasn't buying it. In May 2003 he declared the Arizona law unconstitutional. Abusive Web postings that taunt victims, promote crime or attempt to defraud others can be stopped with existing regulations that prohibit inmates from sending or receiving that sort of material through the regular mail, the judge noted.

David Fathi, senior staff counsel for the ACLU National Prison Project, represented the plaintiffs in the lawsuit that toppled the Arizona law -- the Canadian coalition, a pen pal Web service and a Los Angeles-based organization called Stop Prisoner Rape.
"We argued that any legitimate interest that the prison system had in keeping inmates off the Internet was already covered by regulating the prisoners' incoming and outgoing mail," Fathi said. "The state doesn't have a legitimate interest in preventing someone from Canada, Sweden or New York from posting material on their Web site."

Besides stopping the occasional abusive posting, the Arizona law shut off Web writing that served an important public purpose, the ACLU noted, citing Stop Prisoner Rape as a case in point. On its Web site, the group, which advocates for changes in the law to address a little-noticed problem, publishes "survivor stories" written by victims of prison rapes. The group aims to "change public attitudes about sexual assault behind bars and put a human face on the issue instead of allowing it to be trivialized and made into a joke," said Alex Coolman, communications coordinator for the advocacy group.

No other state has followed in Arizona's footsteps and attempted an all-out prohibition on Internet access by inmates. "They have wisely realized that is not constitutionally permissible to prevent free people from putting material on their Web site," Fathi said.

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07 Sep 09

Arizona Department of Corrections' Illegal Sabotage of Jon’s Jail Journal

Since my release last December, I have mostly posted correspondence and stories mailed to me from my friends in prison. By steering Jon’s Jail Journal in that direction, I’ve been able to help prisoners communicate with the outside world and experience the pleasure of blogging – which was a real lifeline for me when I was a prisoner.

On Saturday, I received a disturbing email from a family member of one of my prison friends:

I wanted to let you know that *** called me today with a message for you. I guess the prison spoke to all of the guys that write to you and told them they are not allowed to write to you anymore. He thinks it's because they (the prison) don't like what is being said on your blog. It is a free country isn't it? Can they do that? It's ridiculous!

A friend sent me an email quoting a letter received from another prisoner whose correspondence I post:

I was told today that I am not allowed to write to Shaun. I tried to mail him a letter and was told I can't communicate with him. Please let him know. The mail and property officers both said I am not allowed to write to Shaun. I asked for the letter back, and was told that all of my outgoing mail would be opened and inspected. They just better mail it or I'll see them in court.

The Arizona Department of Corrections has prohibited my prison friends from writing to me. This is a blatant attempt to sabotage Jon’s Jail Journal, and a violation of these prisoners’ rights, including free speech.

Shortly before my release, a certain mood came over my prisoner friends, some of who are never getting out. Individually, they said that most prisoners who get released forget about the friends they made inside. They all had stories to tell about promises of help made by such prisoners, promises that were never kept.
I promised each of my prisoner friends that I would never let them down like that. I promised to keep blogging their correspondence and stories, to keep mailing them copies of blogs and your comments, to keep generating them pen pals, and to keep this bridge open between them and the outside world.

To help me keep my promise to them and to combat this violation of their rights, I am seeking your suggestions and assistance. I am one man pitted against the vast resources of the Arizona Department of Corrections. Your ideas are welcome, and if you are in the legal and media professions, I think publicity and legal action would be a good start.

At this crucial moment in time for Jon’s Jail Journal, all I am asking for is your help in ensuring that my prisoner friends do not go forgotten and their voices continue to be heard.

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10 Jun 06

Flashback to Tucson Prison: Ogre v Two Tonys

Two Tonys - A whacker of men and Mafia associate serving multiple life sentences for murders and violent crimes. Left bodies from Tucson to Alaska, but claims all his victims "had it coming."

Ogre - A burly biker from California who accidentally stabbed his wife in the knee, and seems to be a classic case of prison pharmacology gone wrong. He claims to have seduced Jenny McCarthy and got high with Pamela Anderson.

Here’s what happened after Two Tonys threw Ogre in the dirt.

I was working with Two Tonys on his life story when Ogre charged into his cell. “I want words with you, you old bastard! Why are people on the yard sayin’ you pulled a tae kwon do move and threw my ass in the dirt?”
Sitting on his bunk, Two Tonys raised a finger at Ogre as if scolding an errant child. “Wait a minute, motherfucker. First of all, this is my fuckin’ home. Don’t ever barge in here again like that, motherfucker. And second of all, lemmetellya somethin’: when you’re mad like this, you’re a handsome devil. When ya get out, I’ve got some connections in Hollywood I’m gonna send ya to, ’cause ya remind me of an old actor called Lon Chaney who played some characters that look just like you when ya get angry.”
“Who the fuck is Lon Chaney, you old motherfucker? Whatthafuck’s that got to do with you tellin’ people on the yard that you threw my ass in the dirt?”
“Hey, relax, dude. It was what it was. Was your ass in the dirt? Did ya hafta get up and wipe yer ass off? Was I still standin’?”
Ogre leaned forward as if about to fall on and crush Two Tonys. “That’s ’cause I happened to slip, motherfucker. You know how it went down. You didn’t throw me nowhere!”
“Bring one motherfucker in here who said I did say I threw yer ass down. People saw whatthafuck they saw. You’ve got so many enemies on the yard, they probably wanted me to throw yer ass in the dirt, ya big-headed motherfucker. Why ya gotta come bargin’ in here when I’m talkin’ to my Brit friend. You’d better thank God I ain’t got my pistols, ’cause I’d of shot yer sorry ass six fuckin’ months ago. Outside of that: do ya want a cup of coffee?”
“I’m tellin’ you, you didn’t throw my ass in the dirt, and I’ve gotz my own fuckin’ coffee! I’m not drinkin’ with you, you old motherfucker! I oughta just snap your neck and take your fuckin’ coffee.”
“Goddam, bro. Can’t we all just get along? Whatthafuck’s the problem here? Ya wanna kill the Two Tonys, is that what ya wanna do, you big-headed motherfucker?”
“That’s exactly what I’m gonna do if you continue to make me look like a punk by telling people you threw me in the dirt.” Ogre stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
“Ogre’s getting out of control,” I said. “Maybe it’s time for the psych doctor to change his meds again.”
“Everybody’s gotta vent.” Two Tonys smiled wisely. “Let the motherfucker vent.”

06 Sep 08 The Arizona Department of Corrections is attempting to shut Jon's Jail Journal down. I will post more details on Monday after I have considered my legal options.

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Copyright © 2008 Shaun P. Attwood

03 Sept 08

T-Bone v Monkey (by T-Bone Part 2)

T-Bone - Radiating power and strength, this deeply spiritual, massively built African American towers over most inmates. He is a prison gladiator with more stab wounds than Julius Caesar. A good man to have on your side.

In Part 1, Monkey, an expert in a West African style of fighting where they study animals such as the monkey, put T-Bone in the infirmary.

Monkey was part of the crew I used to be a part of. You do remember that he smashed me (kicked my ass). This story is hard for me because I had great respect for Monkey, and not because he kicked my ass, but because he had taken an oath, the same as I.
Monkey was a powerful man, partly because he was the same size as most people and they felt more comfortable with him and they weren’t jealous of his looks.

I was given orders to go “handle Monkey.” I looked at the Elephant (leader) and he said, “Drag him in the street.”
I thought of everything I could to get out of the order, but I’d took the oath of conduct and that meant I would be held accountable for my actions period!
The man running the yard was a serious disciplinarian and he’d put the gun to my head so to speak.
So off I went to the other building, and man was I scared. I gave the cop a story, and he went into a back room while I went to Monkey’s cell.
Monkey was there with this young white kid sitting between his legs and two other white guys who were selling the kid to him for a gram of dope.

I couldn’t believe what was going on. Even today when I look back at that scene I become sick to my stomach.
Monkey had three ounces of coke, eight grams of heroin, half a pound of weed and all kinds of pills and money. He had thousands of dollars and he had protection from the guards. You know what I’m saying.
I asked him what he was doing, and he said that he was on his own and that I should join his new crew, and that he’d pay me one grand a month until I was out.
You would not believe the temptation at that moment in time. I stopped and smiled.
He asked the people to leave and we talked.
He said he felt used by the crew and that he wanted to live.
I asked him how is this living.

His eyes changed, and he tried to hit me in the throat.
I blocked his knife hand, and hit him upside the head, knocking a lot of his dope and money to the floor.
He was on one knee, out of it but not out. He'd been on the juice [steroids] and now weighed about 200 even. He was high on dope, and I mean high on it, he was on one!

Before I could take care of him, three guys who were punks rushed me from behind. They couldn’t get down (couldn’t fight). I threw those punks around like they were rags and kicked and beat them silly until two of them were begging me to stop.
I threw them out and turned on Monkey.

Monkey was coming out of the power punch I'd hit him with.
He says to me that I could have the young white boy because he still had a virgin ass.
I kicked him in the chest (left lung) and called for the kid.
I asked the kid how long he’d been there.

He said two days, and started to tell me about his crime before I could even ask him anything else. He had a girlfriend that was 14 when he was 17, and her father caught them in the act of youthful indiscretion.

Those fellas on the yard were taking advantage of the young man’s inability to understand what the situation was really about! He was considered a child molester. So they were selling him for dope and the kid was out of his mind with fear.
I told him to shut up and to go to church and to get out.

Monkey had faked being truly hurt and was waiting for an opening. He had gotten his weapon and I was still feeling sorry for the kid when Monkey jumped up, and I mean jumped up just like a monkey, and cut me behind the left ear. I call it cut because of pride, but it did penetrate and cause me to lose focus. Then he kicked me in my most sensitive area, my jewels! I was blind with pain and man there is a God, Monkey tried to stab me in the neck and missed. He kneed me in the face and all I could do at that moment was grab him. I got a hold of him and – my instincts took over because of my training – his left arm was mine. So I got his hand and put him in a triangle. I gave it all I was worth. He was out in about 15 to 20 seconds, and I let go.

I went to the door to see what the cops were doing, and they weren’t in the control tower. I had to sit because my head and privates were on fire.
That piece of scum was coming to, so I hit him in the nose, grabbed his neck (throat) and I was going to take his life because he tried to kill me, and then God came into my heart and I let go. I picked him up to his feet, and smashed him with an elbow to his forehead. I let him bleed, that piece of shit!
Anyways, I told him to take off his clothes. When he did, I hit him on the chin, right out the door, knocked out. I left him there as everyone else who wasn’t locked down did so. I took the dope and money and left.

I went to the old man and he told me that he sent me because he wanted me to redeem myself and because he knew that I would handle things because of my dislike of rapists and the like.
I gave him the dope and money and asked, “How long has that kind of behavior been going on?”
He said for 17 days. Apparently Monkey covered it up by giving out dope.
The old man wanted to give the yard to me but I only looked at him.
He said, “If you get out [of the crew], you’ll be on your own and you’ll have a lot of enemies.”
But that’s another story.

Monkey went to the hole and fell in love with his own hand, and ended up in a place no one wants to go to: the prison loony farm.

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Copyright © 2008 Shaun P. Attwood

01 Sep 08

First Prize Koestler/Hamish Hamilton Award

Last Thursday, I received a call from London that made my day. The caller said I’d won the first prize in the annual Koestler Awards short story fiction category for my entry “Amazing Grace.” It’s a Hamish Hamilton Award and the judges were staff from the publishing company Random House.
Erwin James, a lifer who became an author and journalist, won first prize in the annual Koestler Awards for prose in 1995. While in prison, I enjoyed his book A Life Inside.

“Amazing Grace” is a story I wrote while at Tucson prison about the conflict between a youngster and a “shit slinger.” It’s set in the Violence Control Unit, which houses the most dangerous prisoners and is far worse than the hole

A lady at The Koestler Trust said I now qualify for a program financed by the Paul Hamlyn Foundation whereby a professional author can mentor me. She also invited me to be guest at this year's Koestler Exhibition at the Southbank Centre on the ground floor of the Royal Festival Hall in London. Admission is free, and the festival runs from 27 September to 8 November. I expect to be there in October. I’ll post the dates when I know exactly. Perhaps I’ll get to do my first reading there.

I also received tragic news from London last week. My literary agent died of ovarian cancer. She was only in her early forties. It’s hard to believe I was drinking wine with her last Christmas, toasting our future success together, and now she’s gone. She helped mature my prose, and while I was in prison, her and my sister, Karen, worked hard on a book based on Jon's Jail Journal for almost three years. She had intended to introduce that book to publishers at the London Book Fair last April, but she became ill just before it.

Meanwhile, I continue to work feverishly on my autobiography. Chapter 1 starts with the authorities smashing my door down. I’ve divided the story into two threads. The odd chapters are about my arrest and journey through Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s jail system prior to the blog, the dangers and characters I met along the way, and how incarceration led to introspection and personal development. The even chapters cover how I went from a penniless illegal alien to award-winning stockbroker to running a rave empire that went up against the Ecstasy ring run by the Mafia underboss, Salvatore “Sammy the Bull” Gravano, whose gang tried to kidnap me.
I’ve had no professional help with the autobiography. I've recently polished some chapters up to send to publishers and literary agents in America, perhaps the best home for my story.


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2008 Shaun P. Attwood