From today, a new home for Brandon's blog can be found at http://brandonswriting.wordpress.com/. It will be spruced up over the next little while, and we welcome comments and communications with Brandon as usual.
Thank you,
Sue
Saturday 23 July 2011
Saturday 16 July 2011
The Grandfather Dialogues: Four
Grandson: "Why did you really leave the army, Gramps?"
Grandpa: "Mostly because your late Grandma was pregnant with your aunt Veronica Lynn. She was very sick most of the time—I mean real life-threatening sickness for more than half of her pregnancy."
Grandson: "Sounds scary."
Grandpa: "It was. Almost immediately after we got married at Fort Carson, my platoon Sargeant told me that he owned a house in the City of Colorado Springs which was only a ten minute drive from the fort. Your Grandma and I were new to Colorado Springs. She had just arrived from San Antonio, Texas. We soon rented it."
Grandson: "Didn't they have a U. S. O. back then?"
Grandpa: "Yeah, but in the early 1960s some of those so-called 'United Service Organizations' were not so united, in Colorado Springs, Colorado—especially when we were concerned—if you catch my drift. Every morning I left that house I was afraid for your Grandma. She bled a lot. One day, by sheer luck, I got home two hours early. She had passed out on the floor in a pool of blood. Later the Emergency Room doctor told me that had I been an hour later, your Grandma would have bled to death."
Grandson: "Gramps, nobody ever told me about that."
Grandpa: "I'm not surprised. Anyway, that did it for me. The next morning I headed straight for Captain Miller's office. He was my company commander. After I explained the situation to him I asked for what was then known as a 'Compassionate Leave'. We were in peacetime America. I had no doubt that he would grant such a valid request. He denied it. I immediately told him that if he wouldn't give me an emergency leave... I would 'give myself an emergency leave!"
Grandson: "You didn't like the military, did you?"
Grandpa: "Actually, I did. I still do. I have to admit that I don't like the all volunteers aspect of today's military services."
Grandson: "What's wrong with volunteers, Gramps?"
Grandpa: "Nothing's wrong with volunteers. I volunteered myself. What I don't like is the absence of a draft."
Grandson: "How come?"
Grandpa: "An all volunteers military creates the illusion of choice. The reality is that more than eighty percent of those volunteers are poor people who volunteered so that they could eat, learn a trade and/or get an education. To put it another way: in large part America's military is a collection of forces in which poor people are sent to fight wars created by rich people. The concept of what I call 'a pseudo-volunteer military' has become so ingrained in the American psyche that more than a few soldiers do not recognise that their decision to volunteer is more the product of an elitist socioeconomic phenomenon than their own. Poverty can be a perception-numbing drug, son."
Grandson: "Okay. Is that your only reason?"
Grandpa: "No. I also think an all volunteer military relieves too many Americans of the responsibility of doing what I think is their patriotic duty."
Grandson: "Exactly what do you mean?"
Grandpa: "I mean that if you enjoy—for better or worse—the privileges of American citizenship, and you like to claim that citizenship, you should be willing to defend America if you are physically able. Male or female, you should defend America."
Grandson: "I can agree with the fairness in what you're saying, but..."
Grandpa: "Most, not all, of the big shot politicians who think an all volunteer military is great say that it cost too much to train soldiers in various locations only to lose them to private industry when they reach the end of their draft terms' limit."
Grandson: "I have to tell you, Gramps, I think those politicians are right on this one. Money is important."
Grandpa: "Well it seems to me that what they are really saying is that money is more important than people. While the old system of the draft was not perfect, it created the likelihood of rich and poor Americans serving side by side. That rarely happens these days. With a draft, the responsibility of military service is distributed more equitably among the citizenry."
Grandson: "I guess so."
Grandpa: "I think that any intelligent person can see that America does not have enough military personnel. As a nation we should not be concerned about having taught draftees vocational skills that they might leave the military to practice in civilian life. We should not forget that those who serve are Americans who—in many cases—risked their very lives for all Americans. You can't put a price on that."
Grandson: "Okay, I'm starting to get your point."
Grandpa: "If the former President Bush knew that there was a real possibility of his sons or daughters having to duck battlefield bullets in Iraq, or Afghanistan, he would not have been so eager to invade Iraq—especially not under false pretences—as he did. A nation's military draft creates its own checks and balances."
Grandson: "No nation should rush into a war."
Grandpa: "I agree. During the First and Second World Wars—along with various other conflicts before and after—history is replete with moving accounts of draftees who fought, died, survived and served America valiantly. In fact, some of these same politicians who are now in favour of an all volunteer military would not be alive today but for the field-of-battle bravery of their dead and alive comrades-in-arms who were reluctant draftees."
Grandson: "I didn't know that."
Grandpa: "When a nation chooses to go to war it should do so with such overwhelming force of numbers and just-cause that a swift and decisive victory is inevitable. A draft would ensure sufficient numbers of soldiers."
Grandson: "You're talking about big bucks, Gramps."
Grandpa: "Yes, but think about it. America has been at war for nearly ten years! Not once during that period have there been enough boots on the ground. It cost one million dollars to keep one American soldier at war for one year. The war in the Middle East should have been over six or seven years ago! Tyrants have come to realize that America is short of soldiers, sailors and marines. If there were more military personnel, America would have saved billions of dollars by now."
Grandson: "I never thought about it like that before."
Grandpa: "Son, if you still don't think America needs to resume the draft, I urge you to talk to some of the widows and widowers whose spouses have recently been killed in Iraq or Afghanistan, after having been sent to those war zones for the third or fourth time beyond their agreed upon enlistment dates. They know better than anyone how desperately America needs a draft."
Grandson: "Hey, Gramps. I just thought of something."
Grandpa: "What's that?"
Grandson: "The Republicans—well, maybe not all of them but most—want to cut taxes again. Without more taxes how is America going to pay for these wars?"
Grandpa: "There is real logic in that question, son. You may want to consider politics as a career. I mean, if there was ever a need for a dose of logic in American politics, now is the time."
Grandpa: "Mostly because your late Grandma was pregnant with your aunt Veronica Lynn. She was very sick most of the time—I mean real life-threatening sickness for more than half of her pregnancy."
Grandson: "Sounds scary."
Grandpa: "It was. Almost immediately after we got married at Fort Carson, my platoon Sargeant told me that he owned a house in the City of Colorado Springs which was only a ten minute drive from the fort. Your Grandma and I were new to Colorado Springs. She had just arrived from San Antonio, Texas. We soon rented it."
Grandson: "Didn't they have a U. S. O. back then?"
Grandpa: "Yeah, but in the early 1960s some of those so-called 'United Service Organizations' were not so united, in Colorado Springs, Colorado—especially when we were concerned—if you catch my drift. Every morning I left that house I was afraid for your Grandma. She bled a lot. One day, by sheer luck, I got home two hours early. She had passed out on the floor in a pool of blood. Later the Emergency Room doctor told me that had I been an hour later, your Grandma would have bled to death."
Grandson: "Gramps, nobody ever told me about that."
Grandpa: "I'm not surprised. Anyway, that did it for me. The next morning I headed straight for Captain Miller's office. He was my company commander. After I explained the situation to him I asked for what was then known as a 'Compassionate Leave'. We were in peacetime America. I had no doubt that he would grant such a valid request. He denied it. I immediately told him that if he wouldn't give me an emergency leave... I would 'give myself an emergency leave!"
Grandson: "You didn't like the military, did you?"
Grandpa: "Actually, I did. I still do. I have to admit that I don't like the all volunteers aspect of today's military services."
Grandson: "What's wrong with volunteers, Gramps?"
Grandpa: "Nothing's wrong with volunteers. I volunteered myself. What I don't like is the absence of a draft."
Grandson: "How come?"
Grandpa: "An all volunteers military creates the illusion of choice. The reality is that more than eighty percent of those volunteers are poor people who volunteered so that they could eat, learn a trade and/or get an education. To put it another way: in large part America's military is a collection of forces in which poor people are sent to fight wars created by rich people. The concept of what I call 'a pseudo-volunteer military' has become so ingrained in the American psyche that more than a few soldiers do not recognise that their decision to volunteer is more the product of an elitist socioeconomic phenomenon than their own. Poverty can be a perception-numbing drug, son."
Grandson: "Okay. Is that your only reason?"
Grandpa: "No. I also think an all volunteer military relieves too many Americans of the responsibility of doing what I think is their patriotic duty."
Grandson: "Exactly what do you mean?"
Grandpa: "I mean that if you enjoy—for better or worse—the privileges of American citizenship, and you like to claim that citizenship, you should be willing to defend America if you are physically able. Male or female, you should defend America."
Grandson: "I can agree with the fairness in what you're saying, but..."
Grandpa: "Most, not all, of the big shot politicians who think an all volunteer military is great say that it cost too much to train soldiers in various locations only to lose them to private industry when they reach the end of their draft terms' limit."
Grandson: "I have to tell you, Gramps, I think those politicians are right on this one. Money is important."
Grandpa: "Well it seems to me that what they are really saying is that money is more important than people. While the old system of the draft was not perfect, it created the likelihood of rich and poor Americans serving side by side. That rarely happens these days. With a draft, the responsibility of military service is distributed more equitably among the citizenry."
Grandson: "I guess so."
Grandpa: "I think that any intelligent person can see that America does not have enough military personnel. As a nation we should not be concerned about having taught draftees vocational skills that they might leave the military to practice in civilian life. We should not forget that those who serve are Americans who—in many cases—risked their very lives for all Americans. You can't put a price on that."
Grandson: "Okay, I'm starting to get your point."
Grandpa: "If the former President Bush knew that there was a real possibility of his sons or daughters having to duck battlefield bullets in Iraq, or Afghanistan, he would not have been so eager to invade Iraq—especially not under false pretences—as he did. A nation's military draft creates its own checks and balances."
Grandson: "No nation should rush into a war."
Grandpa: "I agree. During the First and Second World Wars—along with various other conflicts before and after—history is replete with moving accounts of draftees who fought, died, survived and served America valiantly. In fact, some of these same politicians who are now in favour of an all volunteer military would not be alive today but for the field-of-battle bravery of their dead and alive comrades-in-arms who were reluctant draftees."
Grandson: "I didn't know that."
Grandpa: "When a nation chooses to go to war it should do so with such overwhelming force of numbers and just-cause that a swift and decisive victory is inevitable. A draft would ensure sufficient numbers of soldiers."
Grandson: "You're talking about big bucks, Gramps."
Grandpa: "Yes, but think about it. America has been at war for nearly ten years! Not once during that period have there been enough boots on the ground. It cost one million dollars to keep one American soldier at war for one year. The war in the Middle East should have been over six or seven years ago! Tyrants have come to realize that America is short of soldiers, sailors and marines. If there were more military personnel, America would have saved billions of dollars by now."
Grandson: "I never thought about it like that before."
Grandpa: "Son, if you still don't think America needs to resume the draft, I urge you to talk to some of the widows and widowers whose spouses have recently been killed in Iraq or Afghanistan, after having been sent to those war zones for the third or fourth time beyond their agreed upon enlistment dates. They know better than anyone how desperately America needs a draft."
Grandson: "Hey, Gramps. I just thought of something."
Grandpa: "What's that?"
Grandson: "The Republicans—well, maybe not all of them but most—want to cut taxes again. Without more taxes how is America going to pay for these wars?"
Grandpa: "There is real logic in that question, son. You may want to consider politics as a career. I mean, if there was ever a need for a dose of logic in American politics, now is the time."
Tuesday 12 October 2010
Some new writing
Brandon has completed some new work, it has been typed up by one of his friends, and I am now editing it. Here is the beginning, to show the style of Brandon's prose:
Diffused early-morning sunlight shines through three icy floor-to-ceiling windows. The table is covered with a finely knitted, but faded, white cloth—the same material hangs neatly pleated over the windows’ beige drapes. Six armchairs stand like mahogany sentinels around the table as if guarding the platter of overripe fruit that sits just right in the center. I climb up on to a sentinel and take a banana. As I peel and eat it, in my precocious child-mind, I imagine being on top of the world. I wish for a playmate.
The apartment is quiet save for the constant drone of the big round motor on top of the refrigerator and the sporadic snoring of my ninety-year-old great-grandfather.
After carefully getting down, I crawl along the floor beside the table. I open the credenza. It is filled with cups, glasses, linens, knives, forks and a lot of other things. On top of the linen I see a box of matches. I had never seen wooden matches before. There are so many of them, I knew that one would not be missed. I lit the match. I tried to be careful. I had been told repeatedly to never play with matches. The match started to go out so I picked up a candle and with the last flicker of the match’s flame I lit the candle.
Fascinated I watched the candle’s flame shimmer in the draughty room. I knew I would get in trouble if I got caught so I crawled beneath the table to hide. Hot wax dripped down onto my hand. When I screamed in pain, the burning candle fell to the floor; on its way down its flame licked the edge of the hanging tablecloth. It burst into flames.
©Brandon Astor Jones 2010.
Monday 31 May 2010
The Grandfather Dialogues: Three
Grandson: What are you, Democrat or Republican?
Grandpa: I’m a Yellow Dog Democrat, and proud of it.
Grandson: But didn’t you join the army, Gramps?
Grandpa: Yeah, but I think that you may be misunderstanding what Yellow means. There are two kinds of Democrats, a Yellow Dog Democrat and a Blue Dog Democrat. Yellow means that I rarely agree with a Republican position. Blue Dog Democrats more often than not agree with the Republican point of view, so much so that in my opinion they are little more than Republican moles, masquerading as Democrats. Do you understand the difference?
Grandson: I get it now, but my teacher said that Abraham Lincoln was a Republican.
Grandpa: Yes he was, but in Lincoln’s day, the Republican Party was genuinely the party of the people. They were both logical and humane. Today’s Republicans are mostly downright mean racists and sexist hypocrites, by design.
Grandson: You got an example?
Grandpa: Sure. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that most Americans want Republicans and Democrats alike to take a tough position against terrorism and terrorists. Right?
Grandson: Yeah.
Grandpa: The majority of Americans like to think that it is Republicans who are the toughest on terrorists. Am I right?
Grandson: Yeah.
Grandpa: In American politics you have to look below the surface of any stated position a Republican takes, because there is usually a secondary motive behind it.
Grandson: Gramps, I got to be honest with you. What you just said is not much of an example. In fact, to me, it sounds more like you just don’t like Republicans.
Grandpa: Okay, there is some truth to that, but I can and will give you a better example.
Grandson: Bring it on.
Grandpa: Republicans preach a lot, but rarely practice what they preach. For instance, if a person from another country becomes a US citizen, but is suspected of being a terrorist, that person is placed on the FBIs terrorist watch list. Consequently, he or she cannot board a plane bound for, or in, America. I think that is a good idea. What about you?
Grandson: Me too.
Grandpa: Okay, tell me if you think this is a good idea. Despite being on the FBIs terrorist watch list, that same person can legally purchase an AK- 47 assault rifle, with a thirty round clip.
Grandson: Gramps, you’re kidding me?
Grandpa: No son, I’m dead serious.
Grandson: So how do you know this is true?
Grandpa: Have you ever heard of a Senator Graham?
Grandson: You mean Senator Lindsey Graham, of one of the Carolinas?
Grandpa: Yeah, South Carolina. He recently stood up in vigorous opposition to a very logical bill that would have made it illegal for anyone who is on the FBIs terrorist watch list to purchase an assault weapon, or explosives. So while he logically doesn’t want such a person on a plane – for obvious reasons – he illogically seems to think it’s okay for such a person to purchase assault weapons and various explosives.
Grandson: Wow! That’s kind of dumb.
Grandpa: When the bill was tabled for approval, during a hearing that was attended by members of the Senate Homeland Security Committee, Senator Graham strongly objected and said, ‘I think you’re going too far here.’
Grandson: You know, I’ll bet that the National Rifle Association wrote him a big fat check for that objection.
Grandpa: You’re probably right. Republicans are quick to use the right to bear arms, as is set forth in the US Constitution, to back up any absurd notion that they can come up with. It is as if they don’t realize that the Constitution was drafted by men who wouldn’t allow the women in their families to vote. We are talking about men who owned slaves; forty, fifty and sixty year old men who thought it was okay to marry child-brides. All of that kind of crap was legal when the US Constitution was written. Republicans do not accept the fact that times have changed, unless a situation can be used to their selfish advantage.
Grandson: Now I understand why you call 'em sexist, racist hypocrites! Can I ask you a couple of personal questions, Gramps?
Grandpa: Okay, sure.
Grandson: How long did you stay in prison?
Grandpa: Thirty-two years.
Grandson: Can you buy an AK-47 legally?
Grandpa: Of course not. The only right I have to protect my home is in my right and left arms when I pick up that baseball bat that I keep under the bed.
Grandson: Gramps, a foreigner who is on the FBIs terrorist watch list (but who also has US citizenship) has more rights than you do!
Grandpa: Hey, is that you paying attention to what old Gramps is saying?
Grandpa: I’m a Yellow Dog Democrat, and proud of it.
Grandson: But didn’t you join the army, Gramps?
Grandpa: Yeah, but I think that you may be misunderstanding what Yellow means. There are two kinds of Democrats, a Yellow Dog Democrat and a Blue Dog Democrat. Yellow means that I rarely agree with a Republican position. Blue Dog Democrats more often than not agree with the Republican point of view, so much so that in my opinion they are little more than Republican moles, masquerading as Democrats. Do you understand the difference?
Grandson: I get it now, but my teacher said that Abraham Lincoln was a Republican.
Grandpa: Yes he was, but in Lincoln’s day, the Republican Party was genuinely the party of the people. They were both logical and humane. Today’s Republicans are mostly downright mean racists and sexist hypocrites, by design.
Grandson: You got an example?
Grandpa: Sure. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that most Americans want Republicans and Democrats alike to take a tough position against terrorism and terrorists. Right?
Grandson: Yeah.
Grandpa: The majority of Americans like to think that it is Republicans who are the toughest on terrorists. Am I right?
Grandson: Yeah.
Grandpa: In American politics you have to look below the surface of any stated position a Republican takes, because there is usually a secondary motive behind it.
Grandson: Gramps, I got to be honest with you. What you just said is not much of an example. In fact, to me, it sounds more like you just don’t like Republicans.
Grandpa: Okay, there is some truth to that, but I can and will give you a better example.
Grandson: Bring it on.
Grandpa: Republicans preach a lot, but rarely practice what they preach. For instance, if a person from another country becomes a US citizen, but is suspected of being a terrorist, that person is placed on the FBIs terrorist watch list. Consequently, he or she cannot board a plane bound for, or in, America. I think that is a good idea. What about you?
Grandson: Me too.
Grandpa: Okay, tell me if you think this is a good idea. Despite being on the FBIs terrorist watch list, that same person can legally purchase an AK- 47 assault rifle, with a thirty round clip.
Grandson: Gramps, you’re kidding me?
Grandpa: No son, I’m dead serious.
Grandson: So how do you know this is true?
Grandpa: Have you ever heard of a Senator Graham?
Grandson: You mean Senator Lindsey Graham, of one of the Carolinas?
Grandpa: Yeah, South Carolina. He recently stood up in vigorous opposition to a very logical bill that would have made it illegal for anyone who is on the FBIs terrorist watch list to purchase an assault weapon, or explosives. So while he logically doesn’t want such a person on a plane – for obvious reasons – he illogically seems to think it’s okay for such a person to purchase assault weapons and various explosives.
Grandson: Wow! That’s kind of dumb.
Grandpa: When the bill was tabled for approval, during a hearing that was attended by members of the Senate Homeland Security Committee, Senator Graham strongly objected and said, ‘I think you’re going too far here.’
Grandson: You know, I’ll bet that the National Rifle Association wrote him a big fat check for that objection.
Grandpa: You’re probably right. Republicans are quick to use the right to bear arms, as is set forth in the US Constitution, to back up any absurd notion that they can come up with. It is as if they don’t realize that the Constitution was drafted by men who wouldn’t allow the women in their families to vote. We are talking about men who owned slaves; forty, fifty and sixty year old men who thought it was okay to marry child-brides. All of that kind of crap was legal when the US Constitution was written. Republicans do not accept the fact that times have changed, unless a situation can be used to their selfish advantage.
Grandson: Now I understand why you call 'em sexist, racist hypocrites! Can I ask you a couple of personal questions, Gramps?
Grandpa: Okay, sure.
Grandson: How long did you stay in prison?
Grandpa: Thirty-two years.
Grandson: Can you buy an AK-47 legally?
Grandpa: Of course not. The only right I have to protect my home is in my right and left arms when I pick up that baseball bat that I keep under the bed.
Grandson: Gramps, a foreigner who is on the FBIs terrorist watch list (but who also has US citizenship) has more rights than you do!
Grandpa: Hey, is that you paying attention to what old Gramps is saying?
The Grandfather Dialogues: Two
Grandpa: What size is your waist?
Grandson: Twenty-two.
Grandpa: So why are you looking through a rack of size thirty pants?
Grandson: Baggy pants are in, Gramps.
Grandpa: The thing to remember about what’s in or out is that trends and styles are always in a state of change, son.
Grandson: How come you never say anything about how low I wear my pants? I know you don’t like it.
Grandpa: Coming from you, that’s an unusually astute observation.
Grandson: Then you admit that you don’t like my sense of style, but not enough to complain about it?
Grandpa: Well, I come from a place in time where men generally are in the habit of letting other men be free to design, define and refine their own style. As a matter of fact, when I was just a couple of years older than you, most young Black men were wearing our pants so high that we walked around with a constant wedgie, day and night. I’m guessing I don’t have to tell you what happened in the front of our pants as a result of pulling them up so high––not everybody liked to see one of us coming, if you catch my drift.
Grandson: How did the White guys dress back then?
Grandpa: The young White guys wore their pants then like young Black men do today. They thought their pants nearly falling off were cool. Some were worse than you––at least you wear drawers. Many White guys in the fifties didn’t have the decency to wear any drawers.
Grandson: You mean, they actually showed their crack?
Grandpa: Yeah, pretty much. There were a lot of them who thought that was real ‘cool’. They wore their shirt collars turned up, and their pants all but falling down in Chicago.
Grandson: Wow, I didn’t know that Gramps.
Grandpa: Sounds like we might need to talk about this kind of stuff more often.
Grandson: Wait here, I’ll be right back.
The young man turned and walked briskly back into the men’s clothing store. Three or four minutes later her returned.
Grandson: I exchanged that pair of size thirty for a size twenty-four.
Grandpa: You giving up cool for logic?
Grandson: Naw, I’m still cool. But I’m refining my cool, a little bit at a time.
Grandpa: Well nobody can do that better than you son.
Grandson: Twenty-two.
Grandpa: So why are you looking through a rack of size thirty pants?
Grandson: Baggy pants are in, Gramps.
Grandpa: The thing to remember about what’s in or out is that trends and styles are always in a state of change, son.
Grandson: How come you never say anything about how low I wear my pants? I know you don’t like it.
Grandpa: Coming from you, that’s an unusually astute observation.
Grandson: Then you admit that you don’t like my sense of style, but not enough to complain about it?
Grandpa: Well, I come from a place in time where men generally are in the habit of letting other men be free to design, define and refine their own style. As a matter of fact, when I was just a couple of years older than you, most young Black men were wearing our pants so high that we walked around with a constant wedgie, day and night. I’m guessing I don’t have to tell you what happened in the front of our pants as a result of pulling them up so high––not everybody liked to see one of us coming, if you catch my drift.
Grandson: How did the White guys dress back then?
Grandpa: The young White guys wore their pants then like young Black men do today. They thought their pants nearly falling off were cool. Some were worse than you––at least you wear drawers. Many White guys in the fifties didn’t have the decency to wear any drawers.
Grandson: You mean, they actually showed their crack?
Grandpa: Yeah, pretty much. There were a lot of them who thought that was real ‘cool’. They wore their shirt collars turned up, and their pants all but falling down in Chicago.
Grandson: Wow, I didn’t know that Gramps.
Grandpa: Sounds like we might need to talk about this kind of stuff more often.
Grandson: Wait here, I’ll be right back.
The young man turned and walked briskly back into the men’s clothing store. Three or four minutes later her returned.
Grandson: I exchanged that pair of size thirty for a size twenty-four.
Grandpa: You giving up cool for logic?
Grandson: Naw, I’m still cool. But I’m refining my cool, a little bit at a time.
Grandpa: Well nobody can do that better than you son.
The Grandfather Dialogues: One
Brandon never stops reading, listening, thinking, and then writing his responses to the world. He does this through fiction, essay, memoir, and short articles. What follows is the first in a series of dialogues between a grandfather and his teenage grandson about all manner of topics, social and political.
Brandon would like readers to suggest topics, and write to him directly via his prison address:
Mr Brandon Astor Jones, 400574
Georgia Diagnostic Classification Prison
P.O. Box 3877
Jackson, Georgia
GA 30233
USA
THE GRANDFATHER DIALOGUES: ONE
Grandpa: Well, you’re going to be a teenager tomorrow. I’ll be calling you a ‘young man’ from now on.
Grandson: I’ve been a young man for a long time now.
Grandpa: Okay, I stand corrected. So tell me young man, exactly what was it about the woman who just walked by us that caused you to turn around for another look?
Grandson: I wanted to see her walking away.
Grandpa: Well, what do you think?
Grandson: No onion!
Grandpa: Don’t tell me you’re going to grow up and be one of those guys who make all kinds of silly assumptions about women, based soley on the size of their backsides?
Grandson: Gramps, nice behinds are important to young Black men––at least, that’s how it is with the guys I hang out with.
Grandpa: Let me be sure that I’m understanding what you’re saying here. That woman’s beauty as she was walking towards us, in your opinion, deserved a second look when she passed, but because she was not about to pop the seams in that dress you think that she fell short on your beauty-meter’s scale?
Grandson: I guess so.
Grandpa: You guess so? Are you saying you don’t really know who or what you like?
Grandson: Well…
Grandpa: Since you can’t answer that question, maybe you can answer this one. Tell me exactly who determines who is, and who is not, good-looking in your life?
Grandson: Me!
Grandpa: Okay, tell me, what color are her eyes and hair?
Grandson: I don’t remember.
Grandpa: Light brown eyes, black and brown hair, and she’s wearing a gold wedding band on her left thumb.
Grandson: You saw all that in one passing glance?
Grandpa: Yeah, but only because I was looking at the whole package of the beauty she projected – not just her backside as she walked through this mall.
Grandson: So you’re saying that I need to expand my female-vision a little more?
Grandpa: No, I’m saying a lot more. I’m saying that a woman is a lot more than what you see behind, or in front of, her. One more thing, just in case you have not noticed, I’ve been a Black guy for a long time now, too.
Brandon would like readers to suggest topics, and write to him directly via his prison address:
Mr Brandon Astor Jones, 400574
Georgia Diagnostic Classification Prison
P.O. Box 3877
Jackson, Georgia
GA 30233
USA
THE GRANDFATHER DIALOGUES: ONE
Grandpa: Well, you’re going to be a teenager tomorrow. I’ll be calling you a ‘young man’ from now on.
Grandson: I’ve been a young man for a long time now.
Grandpa: Okay, I stand corrected. So tell me young man, exactly what was it about the woman who just walked by us that caused you to turn around for another look?
Grandson: I wanted to see her walking away.
Grandpa: Well, what do you think?
Grandson: No onion!
Grandpa: Don’t tell me you’re going to grow up and be one of those guys who make all kinds of silly assumptions about women, based soley on the size of their backsides?
Grandson: Gramps, nice behinds are important to young Black men––at least, that’s how it is with the guys I hang out with.
Grandpa: Let me be sure that I’m understanding what you’re saying here. That woman’s beauty as she was walking towards us, in your opinion, deserved a second look when she passed, but because she was not about to pop the seams in that dress you think that she fell short on your beauty-meter’s scale?
Grandson: I guess so.
Grandpa: You guess so? Are you saying you don’t really know who or what you like?
Grandson: Well…
Grandpa: Since you can’t answer that question, maybe you can answer this one. Tell me exactly who determines who is, and who is not, good-looking in your life?
Grandson: Me!
Grandpa: Okay, tell me, what color are her eyes and hair?
Grandson: I don’t remember.
Grandpa: Light brown eyes, black and brown hair, and she’s wearing a gold wedding band on her left thumb.
Grandson: You saw all that in one passing glance?
Grandpa: Yeah, but only because I was looking at the whole package of the beauty she projected – not just her backside as she walked through this mall.
Grandson: So you’re saying that I need to expand my female-vision a little more?
Grandpa: No, I’m saying a lot more. I’m saying that a woman is a lot more than what you see behind, or in front of, her. One more thing, just in case you have not noticed, I’ve been a Black guy for a long time now, too.
Wednesday 28 April 2010
'...the humanity of prisoners'
The door to the cell block's control booth has a small rectangular opening. It has a hinged flap through which, more often than not, a female correctional officer will push institutional forms and memorandums for prisoners to read or fill out.
There is a Plexiglass window above the opening. The bars do not block the officer’s view of the cell block. Once posted inside the control booth the officer’s primary duty is to operate the control panel (here read, push the buttons that electronically open cell gates inside the cell block).
It is February 21, 2010; since it is a Sunday, there will be no incoming mail for the control booth officer to pass out. Correctional Officer, First Grade (COI) Patrick is in the booth today.
I should note too, that COI Patrick is one of a few female officers at the Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison who chooses to conduct herself in a genuinely professional manner.
Let me clarify that: I have always found her to be civil, respectful and dignified in her interactions with prisoners. Consequently, it is fairly easy for us to reciprocate despite the fact that dignity has to duck a lot of punches around here.
COI Patrick’s humanity is such that she never fails to recognise ours. Unfortunately, the unprofessional behavior of the majority of her colleagues (be they male or female) suggest that they have lost touch with their own humanity, which greatly reduces their ability to see a prisoner as a human being. In many ways their self-made-prison is far worse than the one us prisoners are forced to live and die in.
Those readers who would like to know more about the absence of humanity currently being demonstrated by the majority of the men and women who work at the GD + CP should be on the lookout for this author’s next book which will be published later this year: it is titled the humanity of prisoners.
Brandon A Jones can be reached at:
UNO#400574
Georgia Diagnostic Classification Prison
P. O. Box 3877
Jackson, Georgia 30233
USA
Attention Editor
Copyright ©2010
All rights reserved by
Brandon Astor Jones
Word count 341 (including name and address)
Composition date: February 21 2010-03-16
21:00 hours
There is a Plexiglass window above the opening. The bars do not block the officer’s view of the cell block. Once posted inside the control booth the officer’s primary duty is to operate the control panel (here read, push the buttons that electronically open cell gates inside the cell block).
It is February 21, 2010; since it is a Sunday, there will be no incoming mail for the control booth officer to pass out. Correctional Officer, First Grade (COI) Patrick is in the booth today.
I should note too, that COI Patrick is one of a few female officers at the Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison who chooses to conduct herself in a genuinely professional manner.
Let me clarify that: I have always found her to be civil, respectful and dignified in her interactions with prisoners. Consequently, it is fairly easy for us to reciprocate despite the fact that dignity has to duck a lot of punches around here.
COI Patrick’s humanity is such that she never fails to recognise ours. Unfortunately, the unprofessional behavior of the majority of her colleagues (be they male or female) suggest that they have lost touch with their own humanity, which greatly reduces their ability to see a prisoner as a human being. In many ways their self-made-prison is far worse than the one us prisoners are forced to live and die in.
Those readers who would like to know more about the absence of humanity currently being demonstrated by the majority of the men and women who work at the GD + CP should be on the lookout for this author’s next book which will be published later this year: it is titled the humanity of prisoners.
Brandon A Jones can be reached at:
UNO#400574
Georgia Diagnostic Classification Prison
P. O. Box 3877
Jackson, Georgia 30233
USA
Attention Editor
Copyright ©2010
All rights reserved by
Brandon Astor Jones
Word count 341 (including name and address)
Composition date: February 21 2010-03-16
21:00 hours
Monday 9 November 2009
ATTENTION FEMALE SMOKERS!
Do you want to stop smoking?
I can help you do that, free of charge.
Write to
Brandon Astor Jones, G3-83
UNO# 400574; (Group #1)
Georgia Diagnostic Classification Prison
P. O. Box 3877
Jackson, Georgia 30233
USA
Saturday 5 September 2009
Thursday 27 August 2009
'...before I die here'
Yes, it is true that I have never visited
any part of their beautiful land
There is an ineffable thing inside of me,
of it, they helped me to take command
They are refreshingly intuitive people
at once countrified and urbane
Humane, genuine and unpretentious, free
of jaded little socialized games
Bestowing their welcomed presence upon
me without self-righteous disdain
All helped me win the bloody war against
my bad past criminalities' stains
Make no mistake, with mounting flaws
and all, I still love America
However, the people I describe in the
lines above live in Australia
This less than brilliant poem is my way of saying thank you to Australians who have kindly entered my life. They cause me to want to expand my number of Australian friends.
To those readers who are interested, I herewith extend the offer of friendly exchanges via correspondence. I will answer all letters.
I genuinely want to know how you see, think, and feel about this world we are privileged to share. Please feel free to broach any subject with candor. There will be no taboos.
Let me be clear. I do not care what your ethnic background is, nor do I care how old, young, rich or poor you are. I will make no judgements about your political or lifestyle choices. The only criterion I now restrict is gender: I ask for only female correspondents, as I have a big imbalance between men and women in the people who write to me.
I am an African American man who has spent the last 31 of my 66 years on death row in America. I hope that you and I will take advantage of every opportunity that our correspondence will afford us to learn and grow communicatively in ways that enhance – rather than reject – our shared humanity before I die here.
Mr Brandon Astor Jones, G3-83
UNO #400574; (Group #1)
Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison
P. O. Box 3877
Jackson, Georgia 30233
USA
any part of their beautiful land
There is an ineffable thing inside of me,
of it, they helped me to take command
They are refreshingly intuitive people
at once countrified and urbane
Humane, genuine and unpretentious, free
of jaded little socialized games
Bestowing their welcomed presence upon
me without self-righteous disdain
All helped me win the bloody war against
my bad past criminalities' stains
Make no mistake, with mounting flaws
and all, I still love America
However, the people I describe in the
lines above live in Australia
This less than brilliant poem is my way of saying thank you to Australians who have kindly entered my life. They cause me to want to expand my number of Australian friends.
To those readers who are interested, I herewith extend the offer of friendly exchanges via correspondence. I will answer all letters.
I genuinely want to know how you see, think, and feel about this world we are privileged to share. Please feel free to broach any subject with candor. There will be no taboos.
Let me be clear. I do not care what your ethnic background is, nor do I care how old, young, rich or poor you are. I will make no judgements about your political or lifestyle choices. The only criterion I now restrict is gender: I ask for only female correspondents, as I have a big imbalance between men and women in the people who write to me.
I am an African American man who has spent the last 31 of my 66 years on death row in America. I hope that you and I will take advantage of every opportunity that our correspondence will afford us to learn and grow communicatively in ways that enhance – rather than reject – our shared humanity before I die here.
Mr Brandon Astor Jones, G3-83
UNO #400574; (Group #1)
Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison
P. O. Box 3877
Jackson, Georgia 30233
USA
Sunday 3 May 2009
A Letter from 1995
The following was written on official state stationery bearing the departmental seal of the 'City and County of San Francisco's Office of the Sheriff'.
Before retiring, Michael Marcum was promoted to the rank of Sheriff amid much controversy. It is Brandon's opinion that he should be the poster person for prisoners' rehabilitation in America. Write to Brandon and ask him why.
Michael Mears
Multicounty Public Defender
Georgia Indigent Defense Council
985 Ponce de Leon Avenue
Atlanta Georgia 30306
May 29, 1995
Dear Mr Mears,
I am the Assistant Sheriff for the City and County of San Francisco. Since 1973 I have served as a jail Commander and Warden, a member of the Parole Commission, and the administrator of mandatory inmate work and education programs combining security and treatment in our six county jails.
In over thirty years in corrections I have struggled with the issues of crime, violence, incarceration, retribution, and even redemption. This work breeds cynicism: resignation to the seemingly endless supply of offenders, and despair for the plight of innocent victims. Every so often someone, or an idea, a vision, a new program, or, more rarely, a new law, reawakens my passion and reminds me why I am in this business in the first place: to discard the cynicism and to make a difference in the community that pays my salary. One such event occurred in 1993 – and so this on behalf of Brandon Astor Jones.
Almost three years ago I stumbled upon a newspaper article written by Mr Jones. A short byline identified him as a prisoner on death row in Georgia. The article astonished me. I wrote Mr Jones and asked his permission to reprint the piece in our jail's newsletter. I offered him no remuneration, only the promise that his writing would be used with dignity in the training of my staff and in class and group situations with prisoners in my charge. Mr Jones agreed, and we have corresponded fairly often ever since. I subsequently collected his articles from American, Canadian and Australian newspapers and magazines, and with his permission used them in various inmate programs and staff trainings.
There is value in Brandon's life and in his writing for all of us – jailers, prisoners, potential victims. I have seen his writings sober and inspire young offenders who are still at risk of committing violence upon release from our jails into our community. He conveys, convincingly, a belief that they can retake control of their lives before they further harm others and themselves, and they can make a lawful place in our society.
There is no excuse for the offense of which he has been convicted. Yet, his work offers hope to those on both ends who are overwhelmed with violence. And in that there is a seed of redemption. This man has value to us all, to a community unable to make sense of violence, victimization and hopelessness that eats away at our best attempts at criminal justice.
That is all I have to say. It is a serious matter. I am not in the shoes of the [C]ourt or the jury. My commitment to criminal justice is absolute. It is my duty to affirm the value of this man's life.
Sincerely,
Michael Marcum
Assistant Sheriff
San Francisco, California
Before retiring, Michael Marcum was promoted to the rank of Sheriff amid much controversy. It is Brandon's opinion that he should be the poster person for prisoners' rehabilitation in America. Write to Brandon and ask him why.
Thursday 22 January 2009
Giving and receiving
Brandon is working on his manuscript 'growing down', which is the story of his early years from childhood to young adult.
He started writing it in 1989, and is now having the current draft typed up. Once that is done, he will begin rewriting and contextualising his early lifestory, adding perspectives from three different viewpoints: the 1940s when he was living it; the 1990s when he was writing; and with respect to race, including the election of the first African American President.
This is very important to Brandon, and he feels he does not have much time remaining to complete his project.
What we are calling for are donations to help him pay his typing fees, which will amount to about $400. All donations will be gratefully received, and you will be helping Brandon to tell his story, a piece of African American history as well as a personal document.
Please send your donation to Brandon's agent:
Mr Del Cassidy
142 Wilmer Street
Glassboro
New Jersey 08028
USA
and be sure to provide your name and address so Brandon can personally thank you. He advises you to send US dollars if possible.
Thank you in advance!
He started writing it in 1989, and is now having the current draft typed up. Once that is done, he will begin rewriting and contextualising his early lifestory, adding perspectives from three different viewpoints: the 1940s when he was living it; the 1990s when he was writing; and with respect to race, including the election of the first African American President.
This is very important to Brandon, and he feels he does not have much time remaining to complete his project.
What we are calling for are donations to help him pay his typing fees, which will amount to about $400. All donations will be gratefully received, and you will be helping Brandon to tell his story, a piece of African American history as well as a personal document.
Please send your donation to Brandon's agent:
Mr Del Cassidy
142 Wilmer Street
Glassboro
New Jersey 08028
USA
and be sure to provide your name and address so Brandon can personally thank you. He advises you to send US dollars if possible.
Thank you in advance!
Monday 3 November 2008
'...one page per day on air' by Brandon Astor Jones
For sixteen years, the judge advocate had impassively presided over incidents of murder and child rape, yet nothing of this kind could be attributed to Caesar, whose crime had been to steal food. [The judge] was unperturbed by venality in convicts; he expected it. What so disturbed him about this refractory convict was the persistent refusal to be reduced to the condition of a slave.
Professor Cassandra Pybus
Research Chair of History at the University of Tasmania
Review of Epic Journeys of Freedom: Runaway Slaves of the American Revolution and their Global Quest for Liberty. Beacon Press, 2006. ISBN 080705514X. $US 26.95.
This is the first time I have started a review with a quote taken from a book's epilogue. However, since I am an African American being held in one of America's Southern prisons, it seems appropriate for me to do so out of a genuine respect for those who have gone before me.
I had a visceral reaction to Professor Pybus' words. For I know that I share a historical kinship with the man who was known as 'Black Caesar' in eighteenth century Australia. A bounty was placed on his head: 'dead or alive'. He was hunted down and killed. The reward for killing him according to Professor Pybus was a 'lavish' one: five gallons of rum.
On February 15, 1796, the New South Wales Judge Advocate David Collins wrote a brief obituary which in part read: 'Thus ended a man who certainly, during his life, could never have been estimated at more than one remove above a brute'. The judge went on to later declare Caesar an 'incorrigibly stubborn [B]lack'.
Interesting words to be sure, especially when you consider that they were chosen and written by a White man who obviously condoned the State paying other men to go murder a man for the liquid coin of rum.
Professor Pybus has produced an informative and scholarly work full of little known African American history. In many ways her book salutes those men, women and children who were able to cast off the chains of their bondage in the American colonies before, during and after the American Revolutionary War.
When American colonists began to rebel in earnest against British rule, England's on-the-scene representative, Lord Dunmore, felt sufficiently threatened that he prudently sent his wife back to England.
While the British warship HMS Fowey rode at anchor on Virginia's James River, Dunmore used the vessel as his headquarters. In her wardroom he set about the task of 'assembl[ing] a squadron to strike back at rebellious Virginians', who greatly outnumbered British loyalists in the vicinity. Moreover, he had been told that in 1775, there were no less than 180 000 Black people enslaved in Virginia.
One of Dunmore's war stategies was the offer of 'freedom' to any slave who would swear an oath of allegiance to England. Consequently, slaves ran to Dunmore in droves. One among them was Harry Washington who was once the servant of then Colonel George Washington, the same George Washington who would become America's first president. Harry became a member of England's Royal Artillery Unit. Of course, no one thought that the rebellious colonists would actually win the war.
In defeat large numbers of Dunmore's troops, and those runaway slaves who supported them, succumbed to various diseases along with the standard horrors of mortal combat. Those who survived the colonists' fury were grudgingly allowed to leave America after a victory and ceasefire had been declared.
In due course, the British sailed first for Nova Scotia and after making landfall they deposited a substantial number of Blacks there. However, the bulk of the British fleet sailed for England, taking even more freed Black people with them.
From that point on, the African American struggle for freedom became a global diaspora. A growing number of destinations far beyond the shores of Nova Scotia and England (here read the West Indies, West Africa's Sierra Leone and Australia, for example) became both havens and/or earthly hells for those intrepid Black men, women and children.
Epic Journeys of Freedom is an engrossing read. For me it has had the effect of connecting those dots left dangling by several other historical narratives on the African American experience.
This book also exposes a demoralizing feature on the part of the well intentioned British effort to enhance the growth of freedom's seed for those Blacks who left America: a kind of undeclared Holy War between the Anglican Church and a number of seemingly adversarial Methodists. The consequence of which more often than not rendered Black refugees casualties of the very freedom they had been offered by the British.
Added to the long list of instructive history this book provides is its 26 succinct biographies of Black refugees, a feature which is easy to access while absorbing the depth of the main text.
On November 3, 2006, I listened to the 'Frank and Wanda Show' on V-103 radio, in Atlanta Georgia. The host, Frank Ski, offered a prize to the caller who could give the name of the first President of the United States. Several people called, none with the right answer. Eventually someone said John Adams and Frank Ski agreed and awarded them the prize!
If ever there was an example of how badly some African Americans needed to study history, this is it. Of course George Washington was America's first president, and John Adams the second (from 1797 to 1801).
Sadly that error was neither noted nor corrected.
While both Mr Ski and the caller were wrong, I do not mean to assail them. My deeper concern is for those many poor African American children listening to that show five days a week who are learning degrading rap lyrics and this kind of historical misinformation.
I wish that Frank Ski and the caller would read this book aloud - one page per day on air.
Brandon encourages your response to this or any other essay, poem, book review or short story. He does not care if your response is positive or negative - he answers all letters.
If you are interested in reading more about African American history I urge you to read 'while the Mississippi and Hudson merge' a roman à clef. It can be purchased from iUniverse.
Professor Cassandra Pybus
Research Chair of History at the University of Tasmania
Review of Epic Journeys of Freedom: Runaway Slaves of the American Revolution and their Global Quest for Liberty. Beacon Press, 2006. ISBN 080705514X. $US 26.95.
This is the first time I have started a review with a quote taken from a book's epilogue. However, since I am an African American being held in one of America's Southern prisons, it seems appropriate for me to do so out of a genuine respect for those who have gone before me.
I had a visceral reaction to Professor Pybus' words. For I know that I share a historical kinship with the man who was known as 'Black Caesar' in eighteenth century Australia. A bounty was placed on his head: 'dead or alive'. He was hunted down and killed. The reward for killing him according to Professor Pybus was a 'lavish' one: five gallons of rum.
On February 15, 1796, the New South Wales Judge Advocate David Collins wrote a brief obituary which in part read: 'Thus ended a man who certainly, during his life, could never have been estimated at more than one remove above a brute'. The judge went on to later declare Caesar an 'incorrigibly stubborn [B]lack'.
Interesting words to be sure, especially when you consider that they were chosen and written by a White man who obviously condoned the State paying other men to go murder a man for the liquid coin of rum.
Professor Pybus has produced an informative and scholarly work full of little known African American history. In many ways her book salutes those men, women and children who were able to cast off the chains of their bondage in the American colonies before, during and after the American Revolutionary War.
When American colonists began to rebel in earnest against British rule, England's on-the-scene representative, Lord Dunmore, felt sufficiently threatened that he prudently sent his wife back to England.
While the British warship HMS Fowey rode at anchor on Virginia's James River, Dunmore used the vessel as his headquarters. In her wardroom he set about the task of 'assembl[ing] a squadron to strike back at rebellious Virginians', who greatly outnumbered British loyalists in the vicinity. Moreover, he had been told that in 1775, there were no less than 180 000 Black people enslaved in Virginia.
One of Dunmore's war stategies was the offer of 'freedom' to any slave who would swear an oath of allegiance to England. Consequently, slaves ran to Dunmore in droves. One among them was Harry Washington who was once the servant of then Colonel George Washington, the same George Washington who would become America's first president. Harry became a member of England's Royal Artillery Unit. Of course, no one thought that the rebellious colonists would actually win the war.
In defeat large numbers of Dunmore's troops, and those runaway slaves who supported them, succumbed to various diseases along with the standard horrors of mortal combat. Those who survived the colonists' fury were grudgingly allowed to leave America after a victory and ceasefire had been declared.
In due course, the British sailed first for Nova Scotia and after making landfall they deposited a substantial number of Blacks there. However, the bulk of the British fleet sailed for England, taking even more freed Black people with them.
From that point on, the African American struggle for freedom became a global diaspora. A growing number of destinations far beyond the shores of Nova Scotia and England (here read the West Indies, West Africa's Sierra Leone and Australia, for example) became both havens and/or earthly hells for those intrepid Black men, women and children.
Epic Journeys of Freedom is an engrossing read. For me it has had the effect of connecting those dots left dangling by several other historical narratives on the African American experience.
This book also exposes a demoralizing feature on the part of the well intentioned British effort to enhance the growth of freedom's seed for those Blacks who left America: a kind of undeclared Holy War between the Anglican Church and a number of seemingly adversarial Methodists. The consequence of which more often than not rendered Black refugees casualties of the very freedom they had been offered by the British.
Added to the long list of instructive history this book provides is its 26 succinct biographies of Black refugees, a feature which is easy to access while absorbing the depth of the main text.
On November 3, 2006, I listened to the 'Frank and Wanda Show' on V-103 radio, in Atlanta Georgia. The host, Frank Ski, offered a prize to the caller who could give the name of the first President of the United States. Several people called, none with the right answer. Eventually someone said John Adams and Frank Ski agreed and awarded them the prize!
If ever there was an example of how badly some African Americans needed to study history, this is it. Of course George Washington was America's first president, and John Adams the second (from 1797 to 1801).
Sadly that error was neither noted nor corrected.
While both Mr Ski and the caller were wrong, I do not mean to assail them. My deeper concern is for those many poor African American children listening to that show five days a week who are learning degrading rap lyrics and this kind of historical misinformation.
I wish that Frank Ski and the caller would read this book aloud - one page per day on air.
Brandon encourages your response to this or any other essay, poem, book review or short story. He does not care if your response is positive or negative - he answers all letters.
If you are interested in reading more about African American history I urge you to read 'while the Mississippi and Hudson merge' a roman à clef. It can be purchased from iUniverse.
Stamps
To: Major Scott (Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison)
From Prisoner Brandon Astor Jones, UNO#400574; G3-83
Date: September 12, 2008, 17.01 hours
Subject: Our encounter yesterday regarding 'Stamps'
It is ironic amid all of the Department of Corrections' talk of the need to save money that frequently when there is an opportunity to make money this prison's store passes it up.
It costs 94c to send a letter to Australia and the United Kingdom. Yet the highest denomination of United States postage stamps a prisoner can purchase at the GD&CPs store is an 84c stamp. A letter must therefore have one 84c, three 3c and one 1c stamp on it. As you know we are limited to 20 stamps per store purchase (which causes us to use one quarter of the purchase for one letter). This is absurd when a 94c stamp is all that is needed.
Moreover, the GD&CP store VERY OFTEN does not have 84c stamps, and it strangely has never sold 94c ones. I have the nature of this long-standing problem known to Counselor Clark, Unit Manager Goen, Lieutenant McCormick and many others here among staff administrators, both verbally and in writing. I even wrote an Informal Grievance Form about it last year and I have not had that Informal Grievance returned to me yet (I put it in then Counselor Murphy's hand personally).
I have mail I have been trying to send out for weeks, due to lack of postage. In effect, I am being denied timely access to US Courts, lawyers, family and friends needlessly despite being under a sentence of death (I could have a fourteen day death warrant read to me at any time).
I respectfully request that you fix this problem.
From Prisoner Brandon Astor Jones, UNO#400574; G3-83
Date: September 12, 2008, 17.01 hours
Subject: Our encounter yesterday regarding 'Stamps'
It is ironic amid all of the Department of Corrections' talk of the need to save money that frequently when there is an opportunity to make money this prison's store passes it up.
It costs 94c to send a letter to Australia and the United Kingdom. Yet the highest denomination of United States postage stamps a prisoner can purchase at the GD&CPs store is an 84c stamp. A letter must therefore have one 84c, three 3c and one 1c stamp on it. As you know we are limited to 20 stamps per store purchase (which causes us to use one quarter of the purchase for one letter). This is absurd when a 94c stamp is all that is needed.
Moreover, the GD&CP store VERY OFTEN does not have 84c stamps, and it strangely has never sold 94c ones. I have the nature of this long-standing problem known to Counselor Clark, Unit Manager Goen, Lieutenant McCormick and many others here among staff administrators, both verbally and in writing. I even wrote an Informal Grievance Form about it last year and I have not had that Informal Grievance returned to me yet (I put it in then Counselor Murphy's hand personally).
I have mail I have been trying to send out for weeks, due to lack of postage. In effect, I am being denied timely access to US Courts, lawyers, family and friends needlessly despite being under a sentence of death (I could have a fourteen day death warrant read to me at any time).
I respectfully request that you fix this problem.
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