Luke
09-10-2002, 01:19 AM
Who is Joe Gardner?
By Michael G. Santos
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It would seem that after nine years of living in prison one would learn and understand all of the different types of characters coexisting within the prison walls. A few weeks ago, however, I learned just how wrong such an assumption was, for I put my trust in a guy who might as well had been selling me ocean-front property in Kansas. It doesn't bother me so much that I put my hopes in the wrong guy -- after all, I did learn something from the experience. What does bother me is my own proclivity to he seduced by a con man. Now I am wondering what is in my nature and present situation that renders me vulnerable to empty promises. Let me share my experience with you.
After serving several years in maximum and medium-security prisons my security level was dropped to that of a low-security prisoner. Accordingly, I was transferred from the medium-security facility at Fairton, New Jersey, to the low-security prison that is located on a portion of the Ft. Dix Army Base. When I got here I pretty much kept to myself, but couldn't help but run into a few guys who were assigned to rooms close by my own or to guys who frequented the library, as do I.
One of the guys whom I met told me his name was Joe Gardner. Joe seemed like a bright guy, always well dressed as far as prison garb goes and always clean. He stood about six feet tall, wore his hair short but neatly styled, kept a well-trimmed mustache, and wore wire-rimmed eye glasses. He says that he held a degree in history from a Now York university and that he and his wife operated a stable of horses in upstate New York. Joe was a likable guy, though he did tend to traffic in prison rumors, which was a sign that I should have heeded more closely.
I never asked Joe what he was serving his sentence for, and he never volunteered that information. Frankly, I didn't care. I knew that I was in a low-security facility, which told me that many of the people around me might have some things they wanted kept to themselves. All of this was acceptable to me. I as serving my own sentence, working on my own projects, and I wasn't really interested in the burdens that other's around me were carrying.
I figured Joe was probably a businessman from New York who found some problems with the law and was serving a brief sentence here. He did tell me that he had served eight years in a New York state prison prior to his transfer to Ft. Dix. That seemed a little strange, because Joe didn't seem like he had so much experience living in prison. He kept next to nothing in his locker, which was peculiar because as a man spends time in prison he tends to accumulate at least some property -- clothes and such. Joe kept nothing. Still, I paid no mind to it, for I knew that people who spoke to me frequently found it odd that I myself had spent nearly a decade in prison. We all adjust differently.
Anyway, after a time, Joe and I began talking. I told him that I am serving a 45 year sentence, and like most people, he was astonished and began asking me about my case. I told him this was my first time in prison, that my crime involved the distribution of cocaine but that there was no violence involved. Naturally, he began asking me how I was coping with the sentence and I told him that by now I had grown used to it, that I have been working on a strategy since I came in that I hoped would help me earn my freedom.
Joe was kind of intrigued with that concept so I started discussing it more at length with him. I told him that three parts comprised my strategy; 1) I needed to earn academic credentials; 2)I needed to initiate and contribute to programs that would help communities inside and outside of prison walls; and 3) I needed to maintain a blemish-free disciplinary record. He asked how I was coming on this plan, and so I presented him with a copy of a portfolio I had prepared to describe the efforts I've been making to redeem myself a document that I distribute widely in an effort to solicit support for a clemency petition I've submitted to President Clinton.
Joe seemed really interested in my efforts and encouraged me to continue. But that was about the extent of our conversation on this subject for a while. Periodically he would come by and ask whether I had written anything about the prison system or my experiences in it, and I always would share my writings with him, not thinking much of it.
As I wrote above, Joe loved to spread prison rumors, and that kind of personality never appealed to me. Nevertheless, every few days Joe would come by my room with what he professed to be really inside information, strictly confidential, between him and me only. A Walter-Mitty-like character, Joe's stories knew no limits. He had the insides on the latest sexual-harassment suit that one staff member would file against another; he knew about allegations being made against staff members who ostensibly were smuggling drugs into the institution; and he knew much more about inmate rumors. For example, he would come by my room -- on the hush hush of course -- telling me about which inmates were in the federal witness protection program, about which inmates were plotting to get which job, and about which inmates were telling on other inmates. I always would tell Joe that such information was meaningless to me, that I didn't even want to know. But he was the kind of guy who just kept coming back, like a child in so many ways, eager to spread information about anything. He seemed so harmless that it became easier just to let him ramble for a few minutes before dismissing him, which one inevitable had to do.
I don't associate with too many people in prison anyway, but Joe's rumor mongering made it clear that ours would be just a passing acquaintance. One day, though, he came by my room with information that did intrigue me. As always, he came in confidence, telling me again that his wife still operates his equestrian stables in upstate New York. He says that some people of influence are patrons of the stables, and if I would like, he said that he could pass along my portfolio to people whom he thought might be willing to help in some way. One of the patrons, he said, had become a kind of friend to the family, and he happened to be an assistant U.S. Attorney from Albany. Joe told me that his wife, Michelle, and the U.S. Attorney would be driving together from Albany to Long Island for a horse show in a few weeks and said that the drive would give Michelle a good opportunity to share the portfolio with her friend, the U.S. Attorney.
This was wonderful news, I told Joe. It always is helpful for me to expand my network of support. I have been fortunate to earn the support of several representatives from the academic arena, but it would be spectacular to learn what a U.S. Attorney had to say about my strategy. I told him absolutely to give his friend, the U.S. Attorney, a copy of my portfolio, and to let him know that all I wanted was an informal opinion from him regarding the strategy that I set for myself Joe said that getting him a copy of the portfolio would not be a problem and that he would certainly have his wife relay the U.S. Attorney's reaction of the document to me. So I gave him a copy of my portfolio and told Joe to let me know when he heard some news.
After about one month, Joe came by my room again, and this time he had a smile that lit the room. "Hey buddy," he said, "I've got some outstanding news." Joe said that lie had spoken with his wife, who had accompanied their friend the U.S. Attorney to the horse show on Long Island the previous weekend. He said that Michelle handed him the portfolio as she was driving and asked him to read through it. The U.S. Attorney supposedly asked what it was, and Michelle told him that it was a document put together by a friend of her husband's from prison. Joe told me that the U.S. Attorney then proceeded to read through it. After finishing it, he said that the guy began asking Michelle questions, to which of course she did not know the answers. Nevertheless, he told her that he was moved by it and that if it were accurate, he wanted to help. He said that mine was the type of case that motivated him to leave his office as a prosecutor and return to private practice so that he could help people in this type of situation.
This, of course, was wonderful news for me. But I have heard this type of news so much before and didn't allow my hopes to rise too high; I can't afford that emotional roller coaster that many prisoners ride. So I had the news and told Joe that we would see what happened from there. Still, the prospect of this all being true seemed believable enough to me. After all, my portfolio does include letters of support from some of the most distinguished names in academia, and it has opened doors for me before. If Joe did have a relationship with a U.S. Attorney, and he did give him a copy of the portfolio, then there was no reason for me not to believe that the U.S. Attorney would express some interest in wanting to know more.
Well, two days later, Joe returned to my room with yet more news. The U.S. Attorney, he says, called his wife and said that he was ordering my file from the U.S. Attorney's office in Seattle, the office that prosecuted my case. The news sounded good to me, as I had nothing to hide. But then Joe sprung a little more confidential information on me; he said that he was scheduled to be released in a matter of weeks, but that no other prisoners in this institution knew it. - I had about as much trust in him sharing that information only with me as I had in the other rumors he spread, but that didn't really matter. What did matter was that he said the U.S. Attorney had asked Joe and Michelle to have dinner together with him on the Friday following Joe's release. Apparently, he wanted more information -- first hand from Joe -- about me. Now this definitely was a turn of events, one that did cause my adrenaline to rise some.
I asked Joe whether he would mind my writing a letter specifically for his friend, one that would introduce myself and explain my needs. I would give the letter to Joe, and he could then send it along to his wife so that she could forward it to their friend in advance of the dinner meeting. Joe agreed that writing a letter was a great idea. So I -rushed to the library and began composing a two-page letter making it very clear that the only thing I was hoping for was some informal advice. I wanted the U.S. Attorney to know That I had no expectations from him and would not be a burden -- the only thing that I wanted to know was whether I had set the right course for myself I wanted to know, from a U.S. Attorney's perspective, whether it was even conceivable that an individual could earn his way to freedom after serving a considerable number of years in prison, and whether documented efforts toward redemption would ever be enough to earn support from the Department of Justice on a petition for a Presidential commutation of sentence. Essentially I expressed in the letter that I was looking for a mentor from the legal community and hoped that the U.S. Attorney would not think it imprudent to advise me. I gave Joe the letter and he said that he would send it on to his wife for forwarding to their friend.
Wouldn't you know it, but about a week later Joe came by the room again. He told me the U.S. Attorney received the letter and was moved by it. He said that the guy was really looking forward to talking about me with Joe, that something definitely could be done and that he was going to help. In fact, Joe said that the U.S. Attorney told him that he was planning to come visit me here at Ft. Dix the following week, just after his meeting with Joe. Joe then asked me to give him a picture of myself so that he could show it to his friend; I gave him one.
Wow! This was really getting exciting. Joe gave me his telephone number and address. He said, "Make sure you call me on Saturday night at 8:00 p.m. sharp. I'll let you know everything that we discussed during our dinner meeting and give you anything that I learn from him."
So all seemed set. Joe was scheduled to leave the following morning, which was a Wednesday. He came by my room that night, just as I was returning from a visit. He wanted to tell me that all was prepared; he would be having dinner with the U.S. Attorney in a few days and we would talk on the phone on Saturday. In the meantime, he asked me whether there was anything else he could do for me. I told him that I really didn't need him to do anything for me, that I didn't want to trouble him with anything. Yet being Joe, he kept pushing, saying that he knew I was an avid reader, as was he, and said that he waned to buy some books for me. I told him that I was interested in reading some work by Schiller, a 19th-century German author whose work is difficult to find in English. Joe said that he knew some outstanding bookstores in New York and was certain that he could find some of Schiller's work for me; he also said the he would find me some work by the Russian poet Joseph Brodsky, whom I'd been wanting to read for several months.
The evening was getting late and so we both went to our rooms. Before parting Joe said that he would come by my room at 9:30 in the morning, after I returned from my exercise, so that he could say good-bye and leave me a cotton blanket he had. From that moment forward, I had only to wait until the following Saturday for our telephone conversation to learn what transpired at this much anticipated and talked about meeting with his friend, the U.S. Attorney.
Ordinarily I would keep all of my conversations with Joe to myself After so many years in prison, I have learned not to let my hopes rise too much on the promises of another. After all, we all have our lives to live and I do not expect anyone to live theirs for me. But this news was rather exceptional, and I couldn't resist telling a few people. I briefly mentioned my hopes to my sister, to a few friends, and to one of the closer friends I have made here at Ft. Dix. The people whom I told outside of prison were all optimistic about the possibility, but my friend in prison was rather reserved In his optimism. He hada Fe encounters with Joe himself and wasn't all too certain that anything would come of his promises. At that point though, my hopes were up. I tried in my mind to go through t possibilities, to understand whether there was any reason for Joe to be fabricating this elaborate tale. I mean, it wasn't something that he came up with overnight.
Joe first approached me with the scenario several weeks before and had been building upon it since then, gradually making the possibility of opening this new relationship more probable. I saw nothing for him to gain. Now had he said that he needed a few hundred dollars to pay for the meal or an airline ticket to fly his friend somewhere, or that he was actually conversing with the President, flags would have gone up. But Joe asked for nothing, and was it really unlikely that he was acquainted with a U S Attorney? There really didn't seem like there was any reason for him to lie. After all, the portfolio pretty much stood on its own, and it has helped me attract support in the past. So it didn't seem unlikely that a conscientious attorney who read the document would offer to help. I just saw no reason for anyone to make up such a story, and so I believed the meeting would happen. Within a week or so, I was sure that I would be listening to Joe's friend, the U.S. Attorney's reaction to the strategy I set for myself.
The following morning I went for my exercise and returned to my room about 9:00 a.m. I showered and began to read, waiting for Joe to come by before he left. At 10:00 I thought it was odd that he had not shown up and so I went by his room. His bed was unmade, locker left open and a mess. It looked like Joe must have left in a hurry. He didn't stop by the room; he left no cotton blanket. Perhaps, I thought, the guards came and got him and he left earlier than expected. No big deal, as I would be talking with within but only a few days.
Later on that Wednesday, I started hearing all types of rumors. Men who were rather close friends of Joe's while he was here were astounded to learn that he had gone home. That news was rather strange to me. Of course he told me that he wasn't telling anyone else but I really didn't believe him. I know that some people leave prison and tell few others that they are scheduled for release, but I've never heard of one's closest friends not knowing when the release date would come. Later I heard worse stories. One of Joe's friends told me that Joe had left the prison with some legal work that belonged to someone else. That was a bad sign, as there is no reason to steal another person's legal work, none that I could imagine-unless Joe was actually an undercover agent of some sort. Who knows? One hears all kinds of stories in a low-security prison. All I knew was that the possibility of his doing anything to help me was sounding far more remote. I decided to call the number that Joe had given me. It was only Wednesday, not Saturday, but I just wanted to hear who answered the phone. After dialing it, though, I Ward that vaguely familiar sound: "dooo-deee-dooo. The number you have dialed is not in service. Please try your call again, or press zero for an operator now." I had to hang up the phone and laugh, realizing that after nine years in prison, I still am naive to the games people play. I later returned to Joe's old room, spoke with one of Joe's previous roommates and learned that he had left behind a document with my name on it. It was my portfolio, which, apparently, never left the institution. There was no friend, no U.S. Attorney.
About three weeks have passed since Joe left, and I still am at loss as to why someone would spin such a yarn. What was the payoff, what was the purpose? Perhaps he was just keeping in practice for more elaborate con games that he would play on other dupes. I spoke about Joe with someone whom I respect, and he suggested that Joe may simply be a cruel person. Someone who rips the wings off of flies. Shakespeare called them "wanton boys" and alluded to their evil as "sport." Lear says, "We are to the gods as flies are to wanton boys. They kill us for their sport."
Alternatively, Joe may be someone who needs and wants to help others. Being successful in doing so across a lifetime, my friend suggests that Joe invents elaborate scenarios like this one to mimic real friendship and assistance. In the end, Joe is as crushed as his "friend" is. Possibly he is psychotic. Possibly he pulls tricks like this to pass the time away. Possibly he engages in rumor-mongering and play-acting to convince others and himself that he is important, chick, at the center of things, on the inside track--a "small" man with large needs.
The more I reflect on all my observations and experiences with Joe, the more inclined I am to believe that he spun this yarn in order to feed his own ego, to make himself feel needed. As I wrote in the beginning, I have learned from this experience, and I will not be so ready to base high hopes on the promises of another. But to you out there, if someone tells you his name is Joe Gardner, beware.
By Michael G. Santos
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It would seem that after nine years of living in prison one would learn and understand all of the different types of characters coexisting within the prison walls. A few weeks ago, however, I learned just how wrong such an assumption was, for I put my trust in a guy who might as well had been selling me ocean-front property in Kansas. It doesn't bother me so much that I put my hopes in the wrong guy -- after all, I did learn something from the experience. What does bother me is my own proclivity to he seduced by a con man. Now I am wondering what is in my nature and present situation that renders me vulnerable to empty promises. Let me share my experience with you.
After serving several years in maximum and medium-security prisons my security level was dropped to that of a low-security prisoner. Accordingly, I was transferred from the medium-security facility at Fairton, New Jersey, to the low-security prison that is located on a portion of the Ft. Dix Army Base. When I got here I pretty much kept to myself, but couldn't help but run into a few guys who were assigned to rooms close by my own or to guys who frequented the library, as do I.
One of the guys whom I met told me his name was Joe Gardner. Joe seemed like a bright guy, always well dressed as far as prison garb goes and always clean. He stood about six feet tall, wore his hair short but neatly styled, kept a well-trimmed mustache, and wore wire-rimmed eye glasses. He says that he held a degree in history from a Now York university and that he and his wife operated a stable of horses in upstate New York. Joe was a likable guy, though he did tend to traffic in prison rumors, which was a sign that I should have heeded more closely.
I never asked Joe what he was serving his sentence for, and he never volunteered that information. Frankly, I didn't care. I knew that I was in a low-security facility, which told me that many of the people around me might have some things they wanted kept to themselves. All of this was acceptable to me. I as serving my own sentence, working on my own projects, and I wasn't really interested in the burdens that other's around me were carrying.
I figured Joe was probably a businessman from New York who found some problems with the law and was serving a brief sentence here. He did tell me that he had served eight years in a New York state prison prior to his transfer to Ft. Dix. That seemed a little strange, because Joe didn't seem like he had so much experience living in prison. He kept next to nothing in his locker, which was peculiar because as a man spends time in prison he tends to accumulate at least some property -- clothes and such. Joe kept nothing. Still, I paid no mind to it, for I knew that people who spoke to me frequently found it odd that I myself had spent nearly a decade in prison. We all adjust differently.
Anyway, after a time, Joe and I began talking. I told him that I am serving a 45 year sentence, and like most people, he was astonished and began asking me about my case. I told him this was my first time in prison, that my crime involved the distribution of cocaine but that there was no violence involved. Naturally, he began asking me how I was coping with the sentence and I told him that by now I had grown used to it, that I have been working on a strategy since I came in that I hoped would help me earn my freedom.
Joe was kind of intrigued with that concept so I started discussing it more at length with him. I told him that three parts comprised my strategy; 1) I needed to earn academic credentials; 2)I needed to initiate and contribute to programs that would help communities inside and outside of prison walls; and 3) I needed to maintain a blemish-free disciplinary record. He asked how I was coming on this plan, and so I presented him with a copy of a portfolio I had prepared to describe the efforts I've been making to redeem myself a document that I distribute widely in an effort to solicit support for a clemency petition I've submitted to President Clinton.
Joe seemed really interested in my efforts and encouraged me to continue. But that was about the extent of our conversation on this subject for a while. Periodically he would come by and ask whether I had written anything about the prison system or my experiences in it, and I always would share my writings with him, not thinking much of it.
As I wrote above, Joe loved to spread prison rumors, and that kind of personality never appealed to me. Nevertheless, every few days Joe would come by my room with what he professed to be really inside information, strictly confidential, between him and me only. A Walter-Mitty-like character, Joe's stories knew no limits. He had the insides on the latest sexual-harassment suit that one staff member would file against another; he knew about allegations being made against staff members who ostensibly were smuggling drugs into the institution; and he knew much more about inmate rumors. For example, he would come by my room -- on the hush hush of course -- telling me about which inmates were in the federal witness protection program, about which inmates were plotting to get which job, and about which inmates were telling on other inmates. I always would tell Joe that such information was meaningless to me, that I didn't even want to know. But he was the kind of guy who just kept coming back, like a child in so many ways, eager to spread information about anything. He seemed so harmless that it became easier just to let him ramble for a few minutes before dismissing him, which one inevitable had to do.
I don't associate with too many people in prison anyway, but Joe's rumor mongering made it clear that ours would be just a passing acquaintance. One day, though, he came by my room with information that did intrigue me. As always, he came in confidence, telling me again that his wife still operates his equestrian stables in upstate New York. He says that some people of influence are patrons of the stables, and if I would like, he said that he could pass along my portfolio to people whom he thought might be willing to help in some way. One of the patrons, he said, had become a kind of friend to the family, and he happened to be an assistant U.S. Attorney from Albany. Joe told me that his wife, Michelle, and the U.S. Attorney would be driving together from Albany to Long Island for a horse show in a few weeks and said that the drive would give Michelle a good opportunity to share the portfolio with her friend, the U.S. Attorney.
This was wonderful news, I told Joe. It always is helpful for me to expand my network of support. I have been fortunate to earn the support of several representatives from the academic arena, but it would be spectacular to learn what a U.S. Attorney had to say about my strategy. I told him absolutely to give his friend, the U.S. Attorney, a copy of my portfolio, and to let him know that all I wanted was an informal opinion from him regarding the strategy that I set for myself Joe said that getting him a copy of the portfolio would not be a problem and that he would certainly have his wife relay the U.S. Attorney's reaction of the document to me. So I gave him a copy of my portfolio and told Joe to let me know when he heard some news.
After about one month, Joe came by my room again, and this time he had a smile that lit the room. "Hey buddy," he said, "I've got some outstanding news." Joe said that lie had spoken with his wife, who had accompanied their friend the U.S. Attorney to the horse show on Long Island the previous weekend. He said that Michelle handed him the portfolio as she was driving and asked him to read through it. The U.S. Attorney supposedly asked what it was, and Michelle told him that it was a document put together by a friend of her husband's from prison. Joe told me that the U.S. Attorney then proceeded to read through it. After finishing it, he said that the guy began asking Michelle questions, to which of course she did not know the answers. Nevertheless, he told her that he was moved by it and that if it were accurate, he wanted to help. He said that mine was the type of case that motivated him to leave his office as a prosecutor and return to private practice so that he could help people in this type of situation.
This, of course, was wonderful news for me. But I have heard this type of news so much before and didn't allow my hopes to rise too high; I can't afford that emotional roller coaster that many prisoners ride. So I had the news and told Joe that we would see what happened from there. Still, the prospect of this all being true seemed believable enough to me. After all, my portfolio does include letters of support from some of the most distinguished names in academia, and it has opened doors for me before. If Joe did have a relationship with a U.S. Attorney, and he did give him a copy of the portfolio, then there was no reason for me not to believe that the U.S. Attorney would express some interest in wanting to know more.
Well, two days later, Joe returned to my room with yet more news. The U.S. Attorney, he says, called his wife and said that he was ordering my file from the U.S. Attorney's office in Seattle, the office that prosecuted my case. The news sounded good to me, as I had nothing to hide. But then Joe sprung a little more confidential information on me; he said that he was scheduled to be released in a matter of weeks, but that no other prisoners in this institution knew it. - I had about as much trust in him sharing that information only with me as I had in the other rumors he spread, but that didn't really matter. What did matter was that he said the U.S. Attorney had asked Joe and Michelle to have dinner together with him on the Friday following Joe's release. Apparently, he wanted more information -- first hand from Joe -- about me. Now this definitely was a turn of events, one that did cause my adrenaline to rise some.
I asked Joe whether he would mind my writing a letter specifically for his friend, one that would introduce myself and explain my needs. I would give the letter to Joe, and he could then send it along to his wife so that she could forward it to their friend in advance of the dinner meeting. Joe agreed that writing a letter was a great idea. So I -rushed to the library and began composing a two-page letter making it very clear that the only thing I was hoping for was some informal advice. I wanted the U.S. Attorney to know That I had no expectations from him and would not be a burden -- the only thing that I wanted to know was whether I had set the right course for myself I wanted to know, from a U.S. Attorney's perspective, whether it was even conceivable that an individual could earn his way to freedom after serving a considerable number of years in prison, and whether documented efforts toward redemption would ever be enough to earn support from the Department of Justice on a petition for a Presidential commutation of sentence. Essentially I expressed in the letter that I was looking for a mentor from the legal community and hoped that the U.S. Attorney would not think it imprudent to advise me. I gave Joe the letter and he said that he would send it on to his wife for forwarding to their friend.
Wouldn't you know it, but about a week later Joe came by the room again. He told me the U.S. Attorney received the letter and was moved by it. He said that the guy was really looking forward to talking about me with Joe, that something definitely could be done and that he was going to help. In fact, Joe said that the U.S. Attorney told him that he was planning to come visit me here at Ft. Dix the following week, just after his meeting with Joe. Joe then asked me to give him a picture of myself so that he could show it to his friend; I gave him one.
Wow! This was really getting exciting. Joe gave me his telephone number and address. He said, "Make sure you call me on Saturday night at 8:00 p.m. sharp. I'll let you know everything that we discussed during our dinner meeting and give you anything that I learn from him."
So all seemed set. Joe was scheduled to leave the following morning, which was a Wednesday. He came by my room that night, just as I was returning from a visit. He wanted to tell me that all was prepared; he would be having dinner with the U.S. Attorney in a few days and we would talk on the phone on Saturday. In the meantime, he asked me whether there was anything else he could do for me. I told him that I really didn't need him to do anything for me, that I didn't want to trouble him with anything. Yet being Joe, he kept pushing, saying that he knew I was an avid reader, as was he, and said that he waned to buy some books for me. I told him that I was interested in reading some work by Schiller, a 19th-century German author whose work is difficult to find in English. Joe said that he knew some outstanding bookstores in New York and was certain that he could find some of Schiller's work for me; he also said the he would find me some work by the Russian poet Joseph Brodsky, whom I'd been wanting to read for several months.
The evening was getting late and so we both went to our rooms. Before parting Joe said that he would come by my room at 9:30 in the morning, after I returned from my exercise, so that he could say good-bye and leave me a cotton blanket he had. From that moment forward, I had only to wait until the following Saturday for our telephone conversation to learn what transpired at this much anticipated and talked about meeting with his friend, the U.S. Attorney.
Ordinarily I would keep all of my conversations with Joe to myself After so many years in prison, I have learned not to let my hopes rise too much on the promises of another. After all, we all have our lives to live and I do not expect anyone to live theirs for me. But this news was rather exceptional, and I couldn't resist telling a few people. I briefly mentioned my hopes to my sister, to a few friends, and to one of the closer friends I have made here at Ft. Dix. The people whom I told outside of prison were all optimistic about the possibility, but my friend in prison was rather reserved In his optimism. He hada Fe encounters with Joe himself and wasn't all too certain that anything would come of his promises. At that point though, my hopes were up. I tried in my mind to go through t possibilities, to understand whether there was any reason for Joe to be fabricating this elaborate tale. I mean, it wasn't something that he came up with overnight.
Joe first approached me with the scenario several weeks before and had been building upon it since then, gradually making the possibility of opening this new relationship more probable. I saw nothing for him to gain. Now had he said that he needed a few hundred dollars to pay for the meal or an airline ticket to fly his friend somewhere, or that he was actually conversing with the President, flags would have gone up. But Joe asked for nothing, and was it really unlikely that he was acquainted with a U S Attorney? There really didn't seem like there was any reason for him to lie. After all, the portfolio pretty much stood on its own, and it has helped me attract support in the past. So it didn't seem unlikely that a conscientious attorney who read the document would offer to help. I just saw no reason for anyone to make up such a story, and so I believed the meeting would happen. Within a week or so, I was sure that I would be listening to Joe's friend, the U.S. Attorney's reaction to the strategy I set for myself.
The following morning I went for my exercise and returned to my room about 9:00 a.m. I showered and began to read, waiting for Joe to come by before he left. At 10:00 I thought it was odd that he had not shown up and so I went by his room. His bed was unmade, locker left open and a mess. It looked like Joe must have left in a hurry. He didn't stop by the room; he left no cotton blanket. Perhaps, I thought, the guards came and got him and he left earlier than expected. No big deal, as I would be talking with within but only a few days.
Later on that Wednesday, I started hearing all types of rumors. Men who were rather close friends of Joe's while he was here were astounded to learn that he had gone home. That news was rather strange to me. Of course he told me that he wasn't telling anyone else but I really didn't believe him. I know that some people leave prison and tell few others that they are scheduled for release, but I've never heard of one's closest friends not knowing when the release date would come. Later I heard worse stories. One of Joe's friends told me that Joe had left the prison with some legal work that belonged to someone else. That was a bad sign, as there is no reason to steal another person's legal work, none that I could imagine-unless Joe was actually an undercover agent of some sort. Who knows? One hears all kinds of stories in a low-security prison. All I knew was that the possibility of his doing anything to help me was sounding far more remote. I decided to call the number that Joe had given me. It was only Wednesday, not Saturday, but I just wanted to hear who answered the phone. After dialing it, though, I Ward that vaguely familiar sound: "dooo-deee-dooo. The number you have dialed is not in service. Please try your call again, or press zero for an operator now." I had to hang up the phone and laugh, realizing that after nine years in prison, I still am naive to the games people play. I later returned to Joe's old room, spoke with one of Joe's previous roommates and learned that he had left behind a document with my name on it. It was my portfolio, which, apparently, never left the institution. There was no friend, no U.S. Attorney.
About three weeks have passed since Joe left, and I still am at loss as to why someone would spin such a yarn. What was the payoff, what was the purpose? Perhaps he was just keeping in practice for more elaborate con games that he would play on other dupes. I spoke about Joe with someone whom I respect, and he suggested that Joe may simply be a cruel person. Someone who rips the wings off of flies. Shakespeare called them "wanton boys" and alluded to their evil as "sport." Lear says, "We are to the gods as flies are to wanton boys. They kill us for their sport."
Alternatively, Joe may be someone who needs and wants to help others. Being successful in doing so across a lifetime, my friend suggests that Joe invents elaborate scenarios like this one to mimic real friendship and assistance. In the end, Joe is as crushed as his "friend" is. Possibly he is psychotic. Possibly he pulls tricks like this to pass the time away. Possibly he engages in rumor-mongering and play-acting to convince others and himself that he is important, chick, at the center of things, on the inside track--a "small" man with large needs.
The more I reflect on all my observations and experiences with Joe, the more inclined I am to believe that he spun this yarn in order to feed his own ego, to make himself feel needed. As I wrote in the beginning, I have learned from this experience, and I will not be so ready to base high hopes on the promises of another. But to you out there, if someone tells you his name is Joe Gardner, beware.