28 min

122. Earning Freedom (4.3) with Michael Santos Prison Professors

    • Self-Improvement

I’m reading from chapter 4 of my book, Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term.
For more information, please visit PrisonProfessors.com
EF 4.3 / Chapter Four: 1990-1992 Months 37-57 *******
I’m excited to see Bruce, my mentor. He’s a bear of a man, big in every way, and through our correspondence we’ve built a friendship that has deepened. I look forward to our weekly exchange of mail and quarterly visits. He now lives in Chicago, having recently retired as a professor. He continues to use his immense talents, and he gives of his wisdom generously with hopes of making societal contributions through his teachings.
Bruce introduced me to his wife, Carolyn, who sometimes accompanies him on visits, and through correspondence I’ve met his daughter and sons. The bad decisions of my past don’t matter to him. My efforts to become a good citizen define me in his eyes. He strives to round out my cultural education by exposing me to art, opera, and theater, and he often stresses the importance of fully investing oneself in the community. Although Windward and other prisoners here don’t understand the motivations of a man like Bruce, I see joy in his expressions as he describes the experience of helping others reach their potential.
After the guards at the desk clear me, I walk down the stairs and through the aisles toward where Bruce sits. An aging athlete, he stands to embrace me and I notice his white hair is a little thinner than the last time we met, though his eyes still shine a brilliant blue. He played as an offensive lineman in college football and it’s easy to see how his size and strength would’ve powered open huge holes for his running backs.
“How’ve you been?” I ask.
“I’m well,” he tells me, then says that he heard from Mark. “He told me to send you his regards,” Bruce says, embracing me.
“What’s he doing?”
Mark was released from prison through parole. With the restrictions that prohibit felons from communicating with each other, I’m losing touch with him except for periodic updates from Bruce.
“He’s working for a friend who owns retail clothing stores, doing well. A guy with his moxie always has a place in sales.”
“No more school for him then? He’s not going to finish his degree?”
“I don’t think so. He’s putting his life back together and his plans probably don’t include much more classroom time.”
“That’s all I’m doing, putting in classroom time, and I’m grateful for every minute of it.”
Bruce reaches over the table to tap my arms. “You’re steady at the gym I see. How much are you benching now?”
I beam with pride. “I’m hitting 315 for triple reps, feeling stronger.” I tell Bruce about my schedule, how I’m now working out twice a day, once before breakfast and a second time during the lunch hour.
“When are you eating?”
“I eat at work,” I explain. “Avoiding the chow hall is still a priority for me. That’s where the chaos in here begins, with the racial segregation and the politics, meaning which power group sits in which section. My parents and sisters send me money for commissary, so I buy packs of tuna, soups, other foods that I eat at work.  Besides that, I can barter my writing or typing skills for sandwiches from guys who work in the kitchen. Great culinary experiences aren’t my priority now.”
Bruce nods his head and smiles. “What did you think of the Monet prints?”
To teach me about art Bruce sends postcards and magazine articles. He describes the great museums of the world and writes that he looks forward to walking through the Prado with me in Madrid, the Louvre in Paris, and the Art Institute of Chicago. He buys me subscriptions to The New Yorker and Smithsonian.
“When you get out I’ve got a whole world to show you. You can visit the Stratford Festival with Carolyn and me in Canada. We’re there twice a year to celebrate the performances of Shakespeare plays.”
“That

I’m reading from chapter 4 of my book, Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term.
For more information, please visit PrisonProfessors.com
EF 4.3 / Chapter Four: 1990-1992 Months 37-57 *******
I’m excited to see Bruce, my mentor. He’s a bear of a man, big in every way, and through our correspondence we’ve built a friendship that has deepened. I look forward to our weekly exchange of mail and quarterly visits. He now lives in Chicago, having recently retired as a professor. He continues to use his immense talents, and he gives of his wisdom generously with hopes of making societal contributions through his teachings.
Bruce introduced me to his wife, Carolyn, who sometimes accompanies him on visits, and through correspondence I’ve met his daughter and sons. The bad decisions of my past don’t matter to him. My efforts to become a good citizen define me in his eyes. He strives to round out my cultural education by exposing me to art, opera, and theater, and he often stresses the importance of fully investing oneself in the community. Although Windward and other prisoners here don’t understand the motivations of a man like Bruce, I see joy in his expressions as he describes the experience of helping others reach their potential.
After the guards at the desk clear me, I walk down the stairs and through the aisles toward where Bruce sits. An aging athlete, he stands to embrace me and I notice his white hair is a little thinner than the last time we met, though his eyes still shine a brilliant blue. He played as an offensive lineman in college football and it’s easy to see how his size and strength would’ve powered open huge holes for his running backs.
“How’ve you been?” I ask.
“I’m well,” he tells me, then says that he heard from Mark. “He told me to send you his regards,” Bruce says, embracing me.
“What’s he doing?”
Mark was released from prison through parole. With the restrictions that prohibit felons from communicating with each other, I’m losing touch with him except for periodic updates from Bruce.
“He’s working for a friend who owns retail clothing stores, doing well. A guy with his moxie always has a place in sales.”
“No more school for him then? He’s not going to finish his degree?”
“I don’t think so. He’s putting his life back together and his plans probably don’t include much more classroom time.”
“That’s all I’m doing, putting in classroom time, and I’m grateful for every minute of it.”
Bruce reaches over the table to tap my arms. “You’re steady at the gym I see. How much are you benching now?”
I beam with pride. “I’m hitting 315 for triple reps, feeling stronger.” I tell Bruce about my schedule, how I’m now working out twice a day, once before breakfast and a second time during the lunch hour.
“When are you eating?”
“I eat at work,” I explain. “Avoiding the chow hall is still a priority for me. That’s where the chaos in here begins, with the racial segregation and the politics, meaning which power group sits in which section. My parents and sisters send me money for commissary, so I buy packs of tuna, soups, other foods that I eat at work.  Besides that, I can barter my writing or typing skills for sandwiches from guys who work in the kitchen. Great culinary experiences aren’t my priority now.”
Bruce nods his head and smiles. “What did you think of the Monet prints?”
To teach me about art Bruce sends postcards and magazine articles. He describes the great museums of the world and writes that he looks forward to walking through the Prado with me in Madrid, the Louvre in Paris, and the Art Institute of Chicago. He buys me subscriptions to The New Yorker and Smithsonian.
“When you get out I’ve got a whole world to show you. You can visit the Stratford Festival with Carolyn and me in Canada. We’re there twice a year to celebrate the performances of Shakespeare plays.”
“That

28 min