Tag: Grey Dog

“PARTING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW – THE GREY DOG” By Tony Casson

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‘My’ bus finally rolled into the station and those holding tickets were all standing in line, waiting to board. I was not the only one who had been anticipating an earlier departure. The bus seemed larger from the outside than I had remembered, but once on board I became aware that what I was seeing was an optical illusion. While the exterior graphics package was a newer, updated version from the one I remembered, the interior actually seemed smaller than I recalled from times past. This, too, may have been an illusion, but the feeling of closeness on a full ‘Grey Dog’ indicates otherwise, and this ‘Dog’ was full of ‘fleas’!

None of that mattered however, as the predominant thought in my mind was that we were finally underway and I was going to be moving farther and farther from Oakdale with each passing minute. The entire undertaking was accompanied by a numbness of my senses that would prove to be a prelude to the numbness my rear-end would experience as the hours wore on. Still, as the ‘Grey Dog’ began its run towards Mobile, Alabama, I was acutely aware that the future had begun.

My traveling ‘companion’ for the first 8 hours or so was a short woman of Hispanic origin who was probably around 50. She did not speak English but required some assistance with her carryon luggage at each stop where we were required to leave the bus for 30 – 60 minutes. Those stops included Baton Rouge and New Orleans, with her final destination being Mobile. She was quiet, but pleasant, and offered me money for helping her. I declined, so she wrote her name and phone # on a piece of paper instead. As I had no phone, I had no number to give her, but I thanked her and did my best to explain. I made sure she got her bags from beneath the bus when she needed to do so and helped her get to a place where she could await those who were coming to pick her up in Mobile.

By the time we left Mobile, it was dark, and I was fortunate enough to be one of the first to board. I managed to get a window seat near the front of the bus. My next ‘companion’ was an attractive young woman named Mila (rhymes with vanilla). Most of the people who ride ‘The Dog’ look like people who ride ‘The Dog’.

Mila did not look like someone who rode ‘The Dog’. Before anyone asks, I cannot tell you what people who ride ‘The Dog’ should look like. You’d recognize them if you saw them.  I can only say that, as a rule, they don’t look like Mila.

There was also a young black couple on board who turned out to be a brother and sister who were traveling up into Georgia, and were changing buses in Atlanta. They had been on the bus since I first boarded it and were very well dressed, well mannered, and well spoken, and were traveling from one parent in the Houston area to visit the other parent in Columbia, Georgia. We exchanged pleasantries at each stop. Like Mila, they didn’t look like people who rode ‘The Dog’ regularly either. As it turned out, none of them had ever ridden a bus before, so if I am guilty of stereotyping, I guess I can at least say that I was good at it (hahaha).

Mila proved to be a very interesting young woman who was willing to spend time talking with an old man on a bus. When I asked where she was headed, she indicated she was traveling first to North Carolina to attend a wedding, then she was headed to Portland, Maine where she was going to intern for a state Senator. I told her about my connection to Maine (I was born there and had family there), and further discussion revealed that she had recently graduated from a Christian College in Pensacola. The course of the conversation ultimately revealed that she had been born in Romania and had been raised in Malaysia as a Muslim. She had converted to Christianity at 14, so I asked her about the difficulty that I assumed accompanied being a Christian in a predominately Muslim part of the world. Mila was very intelligent, open, and willing to talk about God, and was the perfect traveling companion (No offense to Olga, my little Hispanic friend).

I admit here that I mislead her about where I was headed and why. I was reluctant to tell her that I had just been released from prison. I did tell her I was headed to Washington, D.C. to live in a Mission, but I sort of led her to believe that I was going there to work, as opposed to going there to live until I could reassemble my much disassembled life. I did show her my copy of my book, “TODAY IS….A Gift From God” and I think she might have examined the back cover where I mentioned being incarcerated, but if she noticed, she didn’t say anything. More than likely it was simple politeness on her part.

Before I boarded my next bus, I saw her standing off to the side smoking a cigarette. I wrote down the address to these “Chronicles” and called her over. I gave it to her and asked her to check it out.

Perhaps she will even read these words. If she does, I hope she accepts my apology for any deception on my part. I was not intentionally trying to deceive for nefarious purposes, or out of any embarrassment or reluctance to discuss my experience and the reasons for the incarceration in the first place. In fact, had we had privacy, I probably would have told her as much as she wanted to hear, but the “Grey Dog” is not conducive to private conversations as we discovered by the interruptions into our conversation several times by a very colorful individual on his way to Washington as well. The conversation with Mila made the extreme tedium of the journey disappear. It was so nice to have pleasant, meaningful conversation with someone outside of the prison environment and I was glad to see I could still participate in such a ‘normal’ conversation.

As the night wore on, we both drifted off to sleep for a while. When we parted in the wee hours of the morning, I was sorry to see her go. We wished each other well, and I knew she would be difficult to ‘replace’ as a traveling partner. I was quickly proven right as my next ‘seatmate’ was a young man who chose headphones over conversation, which was fine, but it was also temporary as he was only next to me for a couple of stops. The crowd thinned out, and he would prove to be my last seatmate. As the morning dawned, I had a little more room to stretch out, and as we rolled into Charlotte, North Carolina the scenery had improved dramatically over Louisiana, Mississippi, and the southern part of Alabama that I could see before darkness had consumed the scenery.

Charlotte was home to my first really scrumptious ‘free world’ food. A black man who, by his girth looked like he really enjoyed food, recommended the bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich on Texas toast prepared in the little grill located in a corner of the bus station. Fresh, hot, and made to order, it was truly a thing of wonder. I love a good breakfast sandwich and this one was exceptional.

There still remained about 8-10 hours till we arrived in Richmond, Virginia, but the countryside was beautiful, the weather was gorgeous, and freedom was in the air!

I saw some lovely towns and cities throughout North Carolina and into Virginia. Since the bus was not an express, we sort of took the long way around, but in the end it was worth it.

The entire trip was about 32 hours, and by the time we rolled into Richmond at 7 PM the day after my release from Oakdale, the entirety of my derriere felt like it had been injected with Novocain. Those reading this may find that amusing, but I kid you not: My rear-end was numb, and it was a numbness that did not completely wear off for 3 days!

Seeing my sister in the bus depot in Richmond was one of the most welcome sights I have ever experienced. We hugged and left the station to the comfort of her Volvo crossover. We chatted for a few minutes as we left the city and headed north towards Lorton, where she lives, and then I used her cell phone to call Anthony, my son. To not have the call introduced by a mechanical voice saying, “This call is from Tony Casson, an inmate at a federal prison” was something I had anticipated for a long time. To not be reminded twice during the call that “This call is from a federal prison” was something I had also anticipated. And to not have the call terminated at the end of 15 minutes was priceless! We hung up when we were done talking and it was over 30 minutes before that occurred.

I missed my friends already, but I was thoroughly enjoying the stimulation of my senses by all of the different sights, sounds, and smells that accompany freedom.

There are not enough pages, nor am I in possession of enough talent, to ever adequately describe to you all that I thought about, saw, and felt during my first 36 hours of freedom. I can tell you this much, however: Whether or not that was my last run as a ‘flea’ on the “Grey Dog” or not, there will never be another bus ride which will mean as much to me as that one.

That ride carried me from the place God trained me to be for a little over four years, and delivered me to where He wanted me to be for the next phase of my life of service to Him. The unpleasantness of the physical discomfort of the trip itself is nothing when compared to the opportunities to serve God and glorify His name that I was being directed to.

Those left behind may think they are forgotten, but they are not. They are in my thoughts, my prayers and are a part of many discussions I have. God leads me and guides my steps as I work to help people around me now, but the men I left behind are an indelible part of who I am, how I think, and they will remain a part of my life.

I have written in the past in these “Chronicles” about the ability of our faith in God to allow us to be free no matter where we are, and those words still stand. For me, it was the “perfect prison experience”, and I had never been as free in my mind and my spirit as I was in Oakdale.

I carry that freedom with me into ‘the free world’ and I will use it to help me to fully appreciate the physical freedom of being on this side of the razor-wire. I will ask God on a daily basis to help me remember what Paul had to say about freedom in the Book of Galatians in the Holy Bible: “For you have been called to live in freedom, my brothers and sisters. But don’t use your freedom to satisfy your sinful nature. Instead, use your freedom to serve one another in love.” (Galatians 5:13 NLT)

This responsibility Paul speaks about, “to serve one another in love”, is something that can prevent most of the things which cause men and women to go to prison in the first place, from ever happening.

Think about that.

For now, I am ‘dog’ tired. God bless you all and may He keep you and your families safe. I will be writing more on my experiences as time goes on, but I need to get these articles done and posted.

“PARTING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW – A CHANGE OF SCENERY” By Tony Casson

On By Tony CassonIn PARTING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW – A CHANGE OF SCENERYLeave a comment

I didn’t sleep very well the night before my release (go figure). Poor Pete – my ‘cellie’ – was undoubtedly aware of my tossing and turning, to say nothing of my somewhat boisterous and frequent release of gas (nervous anticipation plus cabbage for lunch combined with that chili for the last supper equals, well, you get the idea). I’m not sure that ‘nervous’ is an accurate descriptive phrase, though. It was more a case of being flat out eager to meet the future and step out of the time capsule I had inhabited for 4 years, one month, and 20 days. I was excited to get a chance to demonstrate to everyone who was interested – be they incarcerated or ‘free’ – the full power of God to change us when we invite Him into our hearts and totally submit to His will. I was also chomping at the bit to put my faith in the Lord to work beyond the constraints of the fences and razor wire.

Finally, after bouncing up and down all night, looking out the window of our cell door, and praying, praying, praying for patience, our cells were unlocked about 5:10 AM. I took my last shower in the showers I had cleaned for 2 years as my second ‘job’ in the prison, finished getting ready, and looked around the 7’x11’ space I had occupied for the previous 4+ years, over 3 ½ of them with Pete as my roommate.

My locker had been emptied by the end of the previous evening, my little mesh carryon bag was ready to go, and I went downstairs to find a couple of people waiting for me that one normally would never expect to see at that time of day: “Big Bad Billy Bo-land” (ok, he really prefers to be called Brandon, he’s not real big, although he does need to lose some weight, and he’s not what I would consider bad at all; I just made that name up for its alliterative value and because it was very ‘prison’ sounding) and Stanley, my very first prison ‘cellie’, had made a special effort to get up and see me on my way. It was a gesture which was greatly appreciated. Due to an unforeseen power outage related to exterior security, we were subjected to an ‘emergency’ lockdown the night before, a full 30 minutes earlier than normal. Because of this, I had not completed my ‘rounds’ of farewells. I did not get to see Joseph, David, Brian, Dan, and several others for that one last time and I felt bad about it, but didn’t feel I should go around waking everyone up. Perhaps they will read these words and know that I wanted to tell them ‘goodbye’. They should all also know they will all be on my mind, and in my prayers.

Emotions ran high that morning, as they had the previous evening. When one asks God to help them use the experience of incarceration in a positive manner, the act of leaving becomes bittersweet. Powerful bonds were formed over the months and years, and it is difficult to describe the conflicting emotions at work within us all. In spite of the emotions involved and the love that develops out of positive relationships in prison, the time does come when the door opens for each person and that person must go. There is no putting it off. No delays are allowed. The call comes for an individual to go to Receiving & Discharge (R&D) and off you go.

The call came for me at about 6:15 AM and I said a few hurried, absolutely final farewells, and proceeded to walk through the compound, barely able to resist the urge to run. (There is no running on the compound, unless it is on the rec yard, but believe me, the urge WAS there!). Reluctance to leave was quickly turning into a need to leave. It was rapidly turning into focus on the enormity of the impending event. It was a very surreal moment and I felt as if I were merely skimming along the surface of the ground. In a few minutes, the BOP would be through with me, and I with them, and I would be on my way.

I arrived at the door and was dismayed that no one was standing there, holding it open, smiling in happiness over my release. OK, so that is not exactly true. I didn’t expect anyone to really care and I was not disappointed. The actual processing only took a few minutes. I discovered that a promise to pay me for the work I had done from the 1st through the 16th, along with the bonus my unit manager had indicated I would get as a parting ‘gift’, was not fulfilled. This was not financially devastating, but it was just one more thing to add to the pile of ‘things’ that made one wonder about the character, integrity, competence, and level of professionalism of the staff. In addition, there was a certified copy of my birth certificate and a new social security card in my file in my case manager’s office which I assumed would be given me, so I inquired about it. I was met with the response, “Didn’t you ask your case manager for it?” I could only respond with, “This is the first time I have ever been released from prison. How would I even know to ask? Shouldn’t it have simply been given to me?” I wrote down my sister’s address in Virginia and asked if he would please see to it that they were sent. In all fairness, I must say he was good to his word as they were actually received about 5 days later.

Lt. James was the lieutenant on duty, so he had to come make sure they were releasing the right person. He shook my hand and wished me luck. No one had shaken my hand for 4 years, leaving me to think staff was afraid they were going to catch something. Perhaps they would have caught something, but it would have been more along the lines of something called professionalism, respect, and raising people up. He also wished me luck and walked me out to the building I had entered on April Fools’ Day, 2010. They went through one last ‘verification’ procedure and then someone pointed me to a white Ford Ranger idling in the parking lot, and I went out the door. That act was every bit as surreal as entering the building 4 years earlier, but in a very, very, very good way!

No one stopped me, called me back, or paid me any further attention. The only person interested in me now was the inmate from the camp next door whose job it was to deliver me to the bus station in Lafayette. The bus station was about 90 minutes away and I was looking forward to whatever scenery the surrounding countryside would afford me. It proved to be a very pleasant trip through piney woods and fields used for growing cotton and rice. The inmate driving the pickup truck was ‘short’ as well, having only 23 days left before his own release.

My excitement built as we drew closer to the point from which my ‘journey’ would officially begin. The camp inmate’s final task was to escort me into the building and make sure I purchased a ticket (non-refundable) for the correct destination. I had prepared my sister for picking me up at the bus station in Richmond, Va. based upon the departure time of the 9:15 AM bus, but that bus was sold out. I had to purchase a ticket for the next one, which didn’t leave till about 1:30 PM, leaving me several hours to kill, and a problem to solve: How to notify Kathy, since there were no pay phones in or around the station, and I had no cell phone, of course. I asked the inmate if he would notify the officers back in Oakdale and he said, “They don’t care. They are done with you. You’re someone else’s problem now.

And with that, he was gone.

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, control of my life had been handed back to me. For sure, it was not an absolute “I-am-in-charge-of-my-own-destiny” type of control. After all, I was expected to board the bus and report to my Probation Officer within 72 hours, but the control I did have was of mammoth proportions when compared with the lack of control I had had as an inmate at Oakdale FCI.

I had the same control over my life I had when I was expected to self-surrender 4 years earlier: I could not do what was expected of me if I so decided! I could run! I could flee! Fortunately, the time I had spent in Oakdale taught me many things, and high up on the list was the fact that I had spent a good portion of my life ‘fleeing’. It took some work, but I finally figured out that it was myself I was always running from, and no matter how hard I tried, I had never been able to escape me. Wherever in the vastness of this country I wound up, I was always there. Besides, fleeing would set the U.S. Marshalls upon me and I didn’t want to wind up facing Tommy Lee Jones in a storm drain trying to convince him I was a good person with him telling me that he didn’t care.

Nope, the best thing to do would be to figure out a way to call Kathy and let her know of the change in schedule, and proceed as planned. I wandered around in downtown Lafayette for a while searching fruitlessly for a payphone, and I finally gave up and walked back to the station. The man behind the desk told me to ask people to use their cell phone, but I felt really awkward about that. I finally got up the nerve to ask a friendly looking Hispanic man, and he turned me down. I have written about my past experiences with rejection, and I began to get a little tense, but I prayed silently (really, really prayed!) and tried another man who thought I was going to ask for a smoke at first, but gladly let me use his phone. I left Kathy a message, since it was only to be expected that she wouldn’t be available to answer. She called back right away, though, and he handed me the phone as soon as he saw it was a number he didn’t recognize. I gave her the new info, we chatted for a few moments, and then I hung up. I was considerably more relaxed now, and spent some time talking to the man whose phone I had borrowed. He worked on offshore oil rigs and had just come in for his shore time.

Many people wanted to know what the first thing I was going to eat was. What we envision and what constitutes reality are often two different things, as I have come to learn, and accept. What I wanted was unimportant. I actually went to a Burger King near the bus station and ordered a couple of breakfast sandwiches and a carton of milk. One of the sandwiches was the wrong thing, and the first mouthful of “ultra-pasteurized’ milk carrying an expiration date of a full month in the future was sour. Flat out spoiled. Maybe they weren’t aware that even though it was ‘ultra’ pasteurized, it still required refrigeration.

Welcome to the free world. Still, all things considered, it was the best-tasting sour milk I’d had in 4 years, and there had been plenty in Oakdale.

There wasn’t much I could do beyond watching the minutes, and the people, pass as I waited to board the bus that would take me miles away from here. I did buy a hot dog off of a cart outside the station as it got closer to noon, but I didn’t wander very far even though I knew when the bus was coming and could have gone exploring. I felt rather conspicuous in my cheap blue jeans and white golf shirt issued by the prison. It seemed as if I had this big sign on my forehead that announced who I was, where I had been, and the reason.

I began to pray in earnest for the patience to be calm, to be strong, and to be content. It would take all of that, and more, because my time was coming, and I hadn’t ridden on the bus in over 30 years. Like it had done me, time had changed the “Grey Dog” as well.