Читать книгу Phantom Justice - Young Boone's Koo - Страница 6

The Main Wholesale Distributor, RDC

The RDC is located in Plainfield, Indiana, next to the Indiana Youth Center, where poor Mike Tyson was incarcerated because of a complaint by a woman who was very disappointed at his sexual performance.

In my theory on the Tyson case, when she met him, she had expected good and enthusiastic sexual pleasures from him since Tyson was the world heavyweight champion. However, she only felt strong physical contacts like a punching bag might feel in boxing practice, without getting any satisfaction. Unfortunately, Tyson just pressed hard like punching her on the ring and knocked her out without giving her any orgasm and pleasure, so that she became very mad and disbelieving at his attempts at intimacy.

Later, knowing she was embarrassed and humiliated, she decided to make a complaint against him for his sexual responsibilities. Furthermore, she wanted him to pay for failing to give her satisfaction, so she contacted an attorney, and the counsel assured her this was a big fish. She immediately filed the claim and won, and then extorted easily. She knew the public would be on the side of any woman’s complaints.

Street lawyers are always waiting for something to happen like a car accident. And here was someone determined not to forgive Tyson for his poor sexual performance as a famous boxing champion. This was why, I believe, she went ahead and accused Tyson.

The RDC was old and the building color was faded, but somehow the state used it well and made fortunes from it. It consumed about 500 new vials of merchandise and generated new incomes for the Justice Department on an everyday basis. It smelled all over but I dared not make a complaint; instead, I consumed all atmospheres of the RDC as a given in order to remain within the wholesale distributor.

When darkness approached, I immediately felt lonesome and remote, and a strange sensation came over me. I could not explain what I was thinking, but nervously sat on the bed like a retarded person. Suddenly, I felt tears coming down my face. I kept holding my emotions, because I knew I would be released following the appeal.

In my opinion, the RDC facility was the initial wasting place of the state’s budget, because the state captured young restless people, put them behind bars and tried to domesticate them by their interpretations and judgments. Most of all, they never diagnosed prisoners’ criminal diseases.

Correctional Officers

One thing that clearly drew my attention when I first got in was that almost every one of the correctional officers within RDC was over 250 pounds. I realized the prison needed heavyset officers to control bad guys, but surprisingly, most predators were as heavy as the officers. I noticed these prisoners were well fed even outside. I presumed that in order for the DOC to control and handle heavy merchandise, they hired heavyweight workers.

The random distribution center, RDC, was as jammed as its look and name. I never dreamed America had this many of viable and profitable merchandise under the name of the law. Whenever I watched the auctioned offenders I was shocked, because I never knew these kinds of human trades were available in this democratic and civilized country, Indiana. I began to learn the value of the prison and the price of the commodity that was the prisoner. I remembered America had the most human rights and constitutional rights, but now I realized that all rights prevailing under the law were just for the manipulators.

First Day at RDC

I could not sleep well. I was thinking and imagining too much. The officer informed us that we would be made to take the admission tests to determine whether we were qualified as Indiana prisoners. They gave the GD tests like questions and answers in order for them to be entertained by prisoner’s mistakes. It did not make any sense why the DOC had to spend money and time in the first place, but I complied. These were all formalities and they knew these were not practical and helpful ideas to correct prisoners’ problems, but since the DOC collected bad boys at one place they knew they had to show something to taxpayers before distributing the merchandise to the local stores, and so they were running the IQ tests.

Second Day at RDC

From early morning, they started to feed us in sequence by the floor, and when we came back from the chow hall, an officer walked into our cell and took my cellmate to move him to another retail store as his new home for the next so many years, where he would be getting free checking-up, feeding, and housing.

The advantage of being incarcerated was that prisoners did not have to worry about their living expenses — housing, food and clothing — for the next many years. I lay down and was thinking unthinkable things including the reason for the existence of the DOC.

Soon, they called me for the medical checkup. They gave me the HIV test, followed by the dental checkup and complete physical, and then took my chest X-ray.

After lunch, my new cellmate, Glen Harry, moved in. As soon as he walked in, he started to smoke continuously. Quickly my nose started to pick up his smoke and it made me cough.

Letter from Mr. Van Bokkelen

During the first week of September, while I was at Lake County jail, I wrote letters to my new appeal counsel, Mr. Van Bokkelen, pertaining to the charge itself and with information on how my trial attorney, John Breclaw, had represented me during the trial and also why Mr. Breclaw did not object to the admission of the evidence presented by the state and never discussed the defense strategies with me.

I told him that the alleged offense occurred on March 30, 1989 but only two years later did the state make a charge, and in the meantime, the police did not investigate and nothing was done to ensure the allegation was looked into by the police or the prosecuting office.

I also emphasized that the State suddenly filed charges and brought the case to the court without interrogating, investigating, or obtaining any evidence from me for them to present to the court. In addition, I indicated the temporary Judge Edward Page’s personal interests in my case and asked why Page took my passport during the trial.

I could not comprehend why Page confiscated my passport before the jury decision, but the trial attorney, John Breclaw, ordered me to comply, so I did. The order was not from the prosecuting office, but it was interestingly by Page for himself. I was confused when I knew of Page’s interest but had to be patient.

Somehow, it made me believe Judge Page knew I was going to be convicted in accordance with his prejudiced calculations and discretions. It was not what I had anticipated from the beginning of the trial even as an alien, so I asked Mr. Van Bokkelen why this kind of law was prevailing in this democratic country, particularly in Lake County, Indiana. Mr. Van Bokkelen answered my letter.

October 7, 1992

Dear Dr. Koo:

I have reviewed the five letters which you sent to me. As we prepare the appeal, your comments will be reviewed along with the transcript of the evidence and other matters.

In the passport matter, I cannot speak for the routine practice in State criminal cases concerning passport, as I have indicated, it is a routine practice in Federal Court to take the passport until the conclusion of the trial.

With regard to the conduct of Magistrate Page, as I have indicated to you on a number of occasions, I would have strongly objected to his hearing the trial, in that he is neither a constitutionally or statutorily appointed Judge.

We are concerned about the grave injustice that was exemplified by the state of Indiana’s court system in the case of Dr. Young S. Koo. After accusation, the prosecutor and the judge seemed to have leaped at this opportunity to convict a doctor for rape, which would be the first time of such an occurrence in the state’s history. Their determination to convict Dr. Koo was successful. But the drawback was that the whole process was accomplished politically and at the price of Dr. Koo’s right to a fair trial.

There were many circumstances during and after the trial which leads us to believe that there was something strange going on internally. For example, the judge’s keen interest in matters after trial, such as his presence in the appellate court hearing and the prosecutor’s announcement on running for public office immediately following the trial. There are other such matters as well.

Unfortunately, we have no bureaucratic muscle to investigate such matters, but we do feel that such occurrence does give rise to suspicious activity within the system. It could be as simple as racial discrimination, or something more complex. Nonetheless, we feel there was injustice done, and the injustice should be corrected.

We hope that you will consider this situation worthy of further review. Thank you for your cooperation and understanding.

Truly yours,

Joseph S. Van Bokkelen.

Third Day, Saturday

After the 7:30 count, they let us watch TV, but newcomers were not allowed, so we skipped.

For the first three days there was nothing going on except keeping us in cells for teaching and brainwashing about the meanings of reception by the DOC. My cellmate, Gary, was taken away one morning. It was a quick auction procedure. He did not know who bought him.

New Bunkie Robert Perry

In the afternoon I got a new cellmate, Robert Perry. He was thirty-five years old, white and medium built, and smoked too much. He said he married at eighteen, got involved in a robbery and was imprisoned for four years. While he was in prison, his wife took off and disappeared. After his first imprisonment, or “bet” in prison lingo, he became a roofer. He made good money, but because he issued a bad check he went to prison again in 1988. He was sent to jail yet again in 1992, but this time it was due to dope charges.

He used to spend over 200 to 300 dollars per month for weed. But now he told me that he was certain he would stay clean and away from drugs and weed. He said he had a new girlfriend who was supporting him sincerely, and he confided in me that he didn’t want to lose his girlfriend. I prayed for him. I certainly hoped that he would keep his promise this time not to touch street drugs and keep his relationship with his girlfriend in good faith.

October 20, 2 p.m.

Shakedown

The officers quickly came inside our cell, handcuffed us, and then shook us down. I could not imagine why but just watched them doing their so-called duties. They checked where they wished to inspect, then they walked away. I thought it was probably because of my cellmate Perry’s drug charges that they randomly shook us down.

October 23

From the morning, the new arrivals began to see the counselors for their retail store destinations with regard to their sentences and type of felony classifications, and then the counselor gave a recommendation depending on each inmate’s qualifications.

October 26

Mallet Sound

The sound of a mallet pounding cell bars disturbed me all the time. First thing in the morning, what I would hear was the mallet sound. One officer would begin to hit the bars with a mallet so its sound echoed inside the prison, then the echo would travel to my ears and then make me upset.

I was thinking that if society and government could keep checking people’s lifestyles or individual lives the way the cops were hitting the bars here, perhaps society would never have to worry about crime.

I still did not understand why the officers had to hit the bars twice a day. I knew they were checking up on inmates and the security of the area, but what in the world did they have to hit the bars for, so hard as to make those steel bars bend? Anyway I hated the mallet sound.

Everyday I was fearful of visible dust from having the blanket all the time on the floor, as it might cause cough and sneezing. I believed each blanket contained millions of bugs and drugs so I wondered why they did not hit our blankets then.

October 28

In the morning, an officer called me so I followed. He took me to the psychologist, Dr. Jim Huston, who was a behavior specialist, mid-fifties, and white. He had been at this facility since 1974. He boasted that he had a lot of experiences with prison punks. He took my personal history as was routine, and then we discussed my charges.

All of a sudden, he asked, “Are you guilty or not guilty?”

I was frozen at his abrupt question and frowned.

Then, “How much did you pay to your lawyer?” he quickly asked again. I hesitated for a few more seconds.

“Did your attorney ask you to get a plea bargain?”

“No.”

“No matter what, you have to pay the girl because of conviction. You lose,” he told me proudly in an irritating way.

I listened but could not understand what he tried to tell me.

“You see, you are a big fish. Did she file a civil suit?” he asked.

“Why do I have to pay her? Give me a break!” I replied.

“America is a crazy country. Everybody wants some from you. Your lawyer has to pay some ransom to the judge, prosecutor, and policemen before conviction, otherwise you will face difficulty, and sometimes the problem will be solved without further discussion.”

I heard his words but never thought about that.

“My lawyer said nothing about penalty.”

“I am saying, paying a sum of money although for nothing. You are naïve,” he expressed his sympathy by describing his own theory. “You’d better go to the CIC, because it is safer, but Westville has a bunch of gangsters.”

He recommended I go to the CIC but I had no idea why I even had to see him today. I wondered how he became a behavior psychologist in the prison. I hated remembering how he was smiling when he talked. He humiliated me in many ways but I was patient.

October 30, Friday

My cellmate, Robert Perry, was feeling very agitated over not getting any letter from his girlfriend. He was a chain-smoker. He went down to see the counselor today, but when he returned, he became wilder. He learned that he was going to be transferred to Westville, where he would be far from his girlfriend.

“You see, Koo, I don’t want to go to Westville. I was there before and that place is dangerous. I don’t know how my girlfriend will visit me if I go there. It’s too far from her house. She lives in Bloomington,” Perry said as he kept pacing around in the cell, smoking.

I had no idea how to help his situation so I lay on the bed and watched his rants.

October 31

Early morning, the officer walked into the cell and took Perry away to his new retail store, Westville, to extend his prison education. Perry looked very depressed and reacted like he was being taken to the death chamber.

At around 10 a.m., for the first time, we went out to the range and watched a movie, Crazy People.

New Cellmate Howard’s Story

As soon as Perry left that morning, the officer brought in a new cellmate, whose name was Donald Howard: black, 17 years old, 5 feet 7 inches, 140 pounds, and a boys’ school graduate. As he walked into the cell, he did not say hello to me but began to light up a cigarette.

He glanced at me on and off without greeting. He soon noticed I was one of the expensive commodities of the DOC and then jumped up to his bunk. I felt an increasing curiosity about him for a while but said nothing. Soon, he jumped down, stood in front of the bars, and kept smoking and began pacing around in the cell.

He looked at me again as if he saw a stranger, and then, “Where’re you from, man?” he asked strangely.

I did not answer but instead just stared back at him for a few seconds. He stopped pacing and then asked me again. I knew I was in the same boat so I quickly replied to him.

“I am from Hammond,” I said and stood up.

I faced him as though adapting to the prison situation like street dogs. He looked at me and moved his eyes up and down like an inspector. He probably thought I was the wrong merchandise in the wholesale distribution system so he turned away. He kept smoking for another few minutes. All that smoke irritated my nose but I said nothing.

A few seconds later, he stood and asked, “Are you a Chinese?”

“No. I am a Korean.”

“I am from South Bend. Oh! You said you are from Hammond. I know a lot of GI.”

When I heard the word “GI,” I did not understand what he meant by it. What I remembered of the term “GI” was its meaning when I was in the military service.

“What is ‘GI,’ Howard?”

“Oh, ‘GI’? That’s what we call people from Gary, Indiana. Everybody knows GI are bad and from a dangerous place. GI has many gangsters.”

“I didn’t know Gary had many gangsters. I heard many bad accidents but was not aware of many gangsters.”

“Man, you don’t know Gary and Hammond yet. A lot of inmates are from Hammond and Gary. I know how bad Gary and Hammond are. I met a lot of bad boys from Gary when I was at the boys’ school. They were bad and did not have any respect,” he said as if he had some respect.

My curiosity about him was piqued by the way he talked. I decided to know and learn about his life as a young black American. I did not know how to ask him first so I hesitated, and then proceeded to ask anyway. “Why are you here? What did you do wrong? You said you are seventeen years old,” I asked as if these were routine questions.

“Man, it’s because of my bad habits. I have been drinking too much. Because of drinking, I have been in and out the jail several times, so most policemen know me. Last week, I got in a fight with one bum on the street and the neighbor called the police. When the police arrived, I was totally out and lay on the ground,” he said while popping smoke rings in the air.

“When the police took me in jail, the judge said, because now I am of legal age, before sentencing he ordered me to get a psychological evaluation. I believe the psychologist will see me tomorrow, and then I have to go back to jail. The judge will sentence me, but I don’t know how much time he will give this time. I know I got to control drinking,” he said gently and showed his angst by twisting his body for a second.

Because Howard was smoking damn much, it bothered my nose, so immediately I felt like sneezing. He said he was seventeen, but the way he talked, he looked over twenty years old. Suddenly his age distracted my thinking very much. I wanted to find out why he became an alcoholic and a product of the boys’ school.

Following the lunch chow, he sat on my bed and began to tell me about his street life. He gave me insights into his life and of how and why he became an alcoholic and a bad boy.

He said he started to drink at age ten. His mother lived with a boyfriend and used to bring home a lot of beers. They drank all the time in the house, so Howard had a chance to have a taste of beer. When he drank a little bit, he liked the taste, and then he began to touch the beer often while his mother was gone. While listening to his stories, something hit my brain.

“You did not go to school?” I quickly asked.

“Yeah, I went to school. From when I was eleven, as soon as I came back from school, I drank.”

“Your mother does not know you drink?’

“No, she never intended to know how I was doing at home. She was not home most of the time. I was living with her boyfriend and he did not work. He was drinking always and doing nothing but watching TV. Anyhow, he did not care whether I drank or not. When my mother came home from work, they went out together and returned late so I used to stay home alone.”

“Don’t you know where they went?”

“Well, when they come home I am in bed.”

“Where does she work?”

“I don’t know exactly where. She goes to work before I go to school. They used to go out when my mom comes home and then they’d come home late. So, this last time out, I drank a couple of beers then fell in asleep.”

“You did not have any friend who could play some kind of sports like football or basketball?”

“No, man, I did not like kids my age. When I was in middle school, I began to venture outside and fool around with older boys. They were in high school or were high school dropouts. They treated me well so I began to associate with older boys.”

“By the way, who takes care of you, like with cooking and clothing?”

“No one, but I pretty much know how to take care of myself, something I learned in elementary school.”

“Did your mom cook for you?”

“Hardly, but she always brought lots of hot dogs and frozen foods. I used to heat them up and eat them while watching TV.”

“Do you not have any brother or sister?”

“Nope, I am the only child. She never said she had kids before and I never asked her either.”

“Do you live in the apartment or house?”

“We live in a two-bedroom apartment.”

“You said you did not have a friend, then how did you spend your days in the room?”

“Well, I usually watched TV and read all kinds of magazines. I began to learn the adult life from those adult magazines that were brought by her boyfriend. In the meantime, I learned a lot about sex and adult life from my mom. I caught them having sex on the floor by accident often. I was very much exposed to the sex even when I was a child.”

“How old were you when you started to feel sex urges?”

“I was twelve. Their sex sounds irritated my ears first, but later the sounds gave me pleasure, and then I began to look for sex.”

“What did you do when you feel like having sex?”

“I’d just lie down and play with my dick.”

“It gave you pleasure?”

“Yeah, it did. Then whenever I heard my mom scream, I imagined I was having sex with her. Sometimes it drove me crazy so I went out and drank. From then on, I used to drink more and more, because she screamed all the time.”

I understood what made him drink that much at his age, but still I could not understand how he became preoccupied with sexuality even at the age of twelve. I studied the psychology but it did not make me understand his physiological and mental approach to the sexual phases. I was very interested when I heard his stories of sexual arousal at the age of twelve. However, I was glad I had been able to learn about young American boys’ psychology. I had learned a long time ago that American boys, especially blacks, are more sexually predisposed because of their genes, and now I was hearing the sexology by an actual person at such young age.

Since I heard his stories, I began to think I was looking at a wild monster in the cell. I digested his stories although it distracted my mind, yet I knew how the living environment and atmosphere usually can lead young boys and girls into adverse directions in their lives. According to the conditions and situations around him, where and how he had been living, I believed, it made him adopt and commit many bad things from his early life. I was surprised by his many other stories and amazed at how he survived.

When he lit up his cigarette, he continued.

“When I got into middle school, I began to venture with old boys on the street. I learned all kind of tricks and bad things from them. They drank all the time too. I joined them.”

“How’s the drug?”

“I did not like drugs. When I tried coke, it agitated me like hell so I never touched again.”

“Have you tried the weed?”

“I smoked it a few times, but it made me sick too. I don’t know why but it did, so I quit messing with it. So far the alcohol makes me feel good and calms me down.”

“Your mom did not do drugs?”

“Of course, she does. I think almost everybody living in my kind of stands does drugs and smokes weed.”

“Those drugs and weeds are not expensive?”

“They are.”

“How can your mom afford them?”

“I don’t know. I never asked how, but she smoked weed all the time.”

“Her boyfriend does smoke, too?”

“Yes, he does. He is the one bringing them for Mom.”

“I wonder how he could buy weed. You said he is not working.”

“That, I don’t know. But he smokes weed and crack often.”

“You said you just like to drink, then how could you buy drinks all the time?”

“That’s why my problem started. I needed a drink so often that I began to learn how to steal things and rob stores from older boys. That was why I had to serve time at the boys’ school.”

“How often do you think have you stolen goods?”

“I did almost everyday. It’s easy. But once, when robbing the store with friends, I got caught and sent to the boys’ school.”

“Did you not know stealing is a crime?”

“Everybody knows it is a crime, but they have to commit crimes to get what they want. Nobody was rich and they did not have jobs, so how can you expect them not doing bad things in this day?” he said in a little more highly emotional tone.

He lit up another cigarette and then continued his stories.

“When I got into middle school, all boys living in my neighborhood were doing either drugs or crimes.”

“What made you get involved in the crimes?”

“You see, if I want to join the clubs, I have to play with them. So far nobody has taught me not to do bad things. When I stayed home, all I watched and learned was my mom and her boyfriends doing sex, drugs and drinking. So, what chance did I have? When I was in middle school, I did not want to stay home or watch Mom’s whereabouts. When I joined the group, they offered food and gave me a few dollars so I liked it. They treated me well so I played with them the way they wanted.”

“Did you not know what old boys are doing is wrong?”

“I knew it was wrong. They got nothing to do or to eat at home so I think in order for them to kill the time, they got to commit a crime or fool around until they were caught by the police. Almost everybody had been in prison for many days, so thinking of incarceration, it seemed, it was not a problem to them,” he said, then put another cigarette on his lip.

“I think the way they wanted to break the law was only something they had learned to make a living. I believe if the government gives them the right opportunities and proper jobs, they do not need to break any laws. It seemed no one cared about them and they always felt they have been abandoned by society so maybe making mistakes are only a way for them to make their presence felt,” he said in a depressed voice, and then stood up.

“When I was taken to the boys’ school, I met a lot of bad boys and learned more criminal things than I could imagine. Because of so many bad things I had learned while in the boys’ school, I lost my confidence about what to do when I got out. All I could remember was I had to commit crimes as a compromise in how I had to manage my life. When I got out, I was afraid of living alone so I drank more. The alcohol was the only thing that made me calm down.”

Howard was talking like a storyteller. It mesmerized me and made me fall into deep thought for myself, and I wondered how young boys like him at his age could possibly manage their lives normally as most white people do. I was depressed at his stories but I knew I couldn’t do anything for him.

In my impression of him, Howard was a person who had a smart brain, who could make his life a little better after serving his sentence. I felt sorry for him as I heard his stories, but had no words for him.

Soon, dinner chow was called so we lined up and went down to the cafeteria. As soon as we returned, he lit up a cigarette first and inhaled smoke all the way to his throat and blew it out forcefully. Instantly I realized he was looking for something to snack on after the chow.

“Howard, I wish I had some commissary I could share with you, but I just got in this place not long ago.”

“I understand. I have to see the psychologist tomorrow and have to go back to the county jail, and then the judge will sentence me,” he reiterated his situation.

He suddenly looked depressed when he mentioned the sentencing, but I did not know how I could elevate his mood. I waited for a while and lay down, thinking unthinkable facts about my conviction.

Thank God, Howard did not do drugs so I thought he could survive. If he did, I guessed, he would end up getting killed or serving real big time in prison. I personally never touched any drugs so it was not easy for me to judge other people’s misdemeanors.

When the night got deeper, he seemed more nervous and kept smoking and standing in the cell floor.

“Come on, Howard, lie down,” I suggested.

He glanced at me, and then kept wandering. I knew he had to go down to see the psychologist the next day so I understood his emotions.

“What happened to your father? You don’t have a father?” I resumed the conversation.

“No. I never knew I had a father. My mother never mentioned about a father so I never bothered asking her.”

“You did not want to know who your father is.”

“No, my mother said nothing and I did not want to know.”

His story gave me an idea of why and how he became prematurely sexually active. It seemed to me that his mother made him act and behave like a mature person from childhood. I was curious about the disciplining by his mother, so I asked.

“When you drank beer, your mom did not punish you?”

“She never swore at me when she saw me drinking. She was busy having a good time with her boyfriend so she never pointed out my drinking. As I said, the drinking made me feel good and relaxed.”

“Your mom has never asked what you have been doing when she comes back from outside?”

“No. She usually said nothing but sometimes she asked what I ate for lunch.”

“Did you go to school regularly?”

“I did until middle school.”

“How come you said you could not find friends your age?”

“Like I said, they seemed all retarded and behind in my thinking, so I had to play with older guys.”

“The older guys welcomed you as their member?”

“Of course, they welcomed me always. And they’ve seen I am smart and good at any sneaking business. Since I joined I’ve been helping them in buying drugs.”

“You said your mom found a new boyfriend. Who is your mom’s boyfriend now?”

“His name is Dan. He moved in to our apartment three months ago. My mom kept changing boyfriends.”

“What is he doing while you are in school?”

“Doing nothing, and he is lazy. He smokes and drinks. That’s all he’s been doing while living with my mom.”

“Who takes care of all the food, clothing and rent?”

“I believe my mom does, but I really don’t know how she has managed the household things. I believe she must get some money from a boyfriend or the government.”

“You said her boyfriend is not working, then how could he give money to your mom?”

“He got something from the government and possibly from dope.”

“Did you see him selling dope?”

“No, but I know he does, because so often many people came to the apartment and exchanged cash.”

“No policemen detected his dope dealings?”

“No.”

“You did not worry about his trafficking businesses.”

“Who cares? As long as my mom said nothing I don’t want to know about what he is doing.”

“I have another question. I know you said you started to drink at age ten, but tell me when did you have sex?”

“I think when I was fourteen. As I said, I used to read and watch a lot of Playboy and other adult magazines. Her boyfriend brought all kinds of adult magazines and they were on the table so I happened to examine them all the time.”

“Do you remember who you had sex with the very first time?”

“Yeah, I remember. Her name was Sandra, and she was fifteen at that time. She began to visit my apartment since she knew I was alone. She was nice and bought food for me. One day, we sat and talked about this and that, and then drank together. It was night and my mom was out with her boyfriend. She kissed me and we had sex that night. After our first experience, she stopped by my apartment two, three times a week and we had sex all the time. Then I began to have sex with other girls too.”

“What happened to Sandra now? Is she still with you?”

“No. When I was arrested for a theft and taken to the boys’ school, I lost contact with her.”

“Now, do you have a new girlfriend?”

“Yes. She is a good girl. Her name is Elena. When I got out of the boys’ school last year, I met her at my friend’s house. She was there to celebrate his birthday. I liked her when I first saw her. We talked a lot and drank for a while. When the party was over, she followed me to my apartment, and then we had sex. Since then, she would come to my apartment from time to time. She thought I was just one of the older boys. But the next day when she learned how old I was, she started kidding me, but she said she loved my sex.”

“How old is she?”

“She is twenty. She told me she wants to be a nurse. She will graduate two years from now. She is smart and does not do drug things. She drinks occasionally but not like other girls on the street. She understands me well and my situation. I love her. I am nervous because of her. I wish she could keep in touch with me as she promised even if I were sent to prison. Because of her I am nervous and depressed,” he said in a low tone, but his smoking habit kept the cell clouded.

“What are you going to do if the court sentences you?”

“I don’t really know, but I have to face the judge first. I don’t have money for a counsel, so the judge probably will give me three to four years in prison.”

“How well do you know the judge will sentence you four years?”

“That’s what most get for a robbery charge. If the psychologist evaluates me a bad boy, then the judge probably gives me a longer time, but so far I am thinking that the court will punish me three years behind bars.”

“Have you thought about your girlfriend Elena after you were arrested?”

“Yes. When I met her, I said, ‘I am sorry,’ and promised her to never commit crime again hereafter. She accepted my apology and said she will wait for me. I am not sure she will but I really hope so.”

From all this thinking of his girlfriend he smoked even more and was restless. I understood his feelings so I kept watching his pacing.

“Did your mom meet and know her?”

“Yeah, one day when we finished sex and got out for a breath, she was right in front of us. She said nothing. She picked up something from her room and then disappeared.”

“You say your mom made no comment to you when she saw you both naked?’

“Yeah, that’s how she used to show me when I was young. I saw and watched her naked body always and saw her having sex with her boyfriend often, and she never said sorry.”

“When your mom left, did Elena say anything?”

“Elena knows who my mom is. When I met her, I told her everything about me and my mom. Therefore, it was not strange for Elena so she just smiled at my mom. My mom smiled back and then took off.”

“Do you think your girlfriend will help you behave better when you get out of prison?”

“I think so. She said she will wait for me.”

“What makes you believe she will wait for you?”

“I know for certain that whenever we had sex, she always said my sexual performance was wonderful. Whenever we had sex, she wanted more and more. I think my sex must be well instructed by my mom.”

“When you have served your time and get released, then what are you going to do?”

“I have a lot of plans. I don’t want to hang around with street boys anymore but have to focus on making money. Whenever we had sex, Elena always treated me with foods and colas. She treated me like I was her only boyfriend. I know I have to do something for her when I get out. Although I do not have much education, I have brains and ambitions so I think one day I will be a success.”

“I like to hear your confidence. If you think you can make your life different, then I believe there are potential opportunities when you get out, and, moreover, if you have skills and talents, I think you can make your life better. Please, don’t give up hope and desire. Go for it! And succeed in your life!” I encouraged him to pursue his dreams.

I did not really know if he could do as he had dreamed, but I liked to hear at least he wanted to try for his future. If he had parents, I thought he could grow up in normal life patterns.

Anyway, I was very impressed at the way he was telling about his dreams. But my question was that can he really be free from drink?

He told me his stories so enthusiastically that he soon fell asleep. I really hoped he will become a different man as he had planned.

Next day, early in the morning, he told me his ambitions again. His passions flared up so he began to tell his dreams again. He said he wanted to be a millionaire by means of boxing, songwriting or writing a book. Surprisingly, this time he was talking nothing but money.

I knew he had a big, wild dream. I intended not to disturb so I gave my affirmation for his ambitions. He said he had written a couple of songs already and sent them to his uncle who was in the recording business. It amazed me a lot when I heard his stories. I believe now one day he will yet achieve his dreams by the way he had expressed them to me.

For the first time, I had a chance to talk with a young black seventeen-year-old. I told him I will pray for him. He thanked me, and then stood restlessly.

After 6 a.m., the morning chow was called so we left the cell. As soon as we got back from the chow hall, the officer came and took him away.

November 4

Election Day!

In the morning news on the range TV, Mr. Bill Clinton was elected. The Democrat, Clinton, won over the Republican. I believed Clinton’s win was not because of his political agenda but because of the economic depression from the Gulf War. The Gulf War affected Mr. Bush and his campaign, and ironically Mr. Perot helped Mr. Clinton indirectly. I assumed there must have been some sort of arrangement or promises between Perot and Clinton. Who knows? These politicians know how to play and dance. I did not see Mr. Clinton as being smart and a more capable leader while watching their debates on TV, but the methods that came into play in the election had something to do with matters of young people.

When Mr. Bush got into the Gulf War, young people were afraid they might be taken to the battlefield by the war strategies. Therefore, young people turned against Mr. Bush, and then automatically Mr. Clinton was elected. Mr. Clinton’s ability and brain were not much to think about, but the time was right for Clinton and the American fear factors toward the war helped him.

First of all, young people were Democrats and did not like the idea of getting into any war. According to history, so many innocent American soldiers have been killed under the Democrats, as was seen in the Vietnam War. The people thought there would be no war if the Democratic Party won, but it would not be for a change in the prison system of America. The Democratic Party wanted to collect more young people who were eligible for the military draft into the DOC instead, so they could save young Americans from military duty. My impression was that Clinton had no strong gut. Well, but he became the president now.

New Cellmate Walter Pagan

This morning I got a new cellmate: Walter Pagan, white, thirty years old, medium weight, and a high school graduate. He was caught while smoking weed. He spent all his earnings purchasing weed. He told me he had to consume so much weed in order for him to function and work. I knew how addicts were so I did not argue with him. He said he had been spending more than his wages on marijuana. He was making good money working in the construction business.

Pagan was sick as he moved in. He developed a running nose, a slight fever, coughing and headache, and so I believed he had the flu. He was taking Tylenol, and, in the meantime, he submitted a request for sick call. In addition, I thought the stray fur from cheap blankets may have led to him coughing more. Whenever I swept the floor in the morning, there was plenty of contaminated and decomposed fur from the wholesale condemned flesh

Pagan told me of his life outside. He was very anxious to be released soon because he wanted to see his girlfriend very badly. Pagan was a carpenter and worked for his brother, but his bad marijuana habit forced him to serve time in the DOC.

He was a very smart and nice guy to me by my estimation, but since he touched the weed, he had to pay the penalties. He did not know the weed had lots of poisonous spines that had kept bringing many people into the DOC. Sometimes he cried, and then he would write long letters to his girlfriend almost every other day.

One afternoon, I went to see a counselor. He recommended me to CIC, and he said the Westville Correctional Facility was too much for me. When I came back to our cell, Pagan was still coughing and sneezing, but no medical sick call was granted yet. When Pagan refused to eat, then the officer on duty started to pay attention. The officer pushed him to eat but he refused continuously. In the evening he was taken down and met the nurse, but nothing was done. He was mad and frustrated.

Interestingly, since the end of the election, more white prisoners had appeared in the building, so now half of our range was changed into white. I believed it had something to do with the post-election atmosphere or it being close to Christmas.

November 5

First Question from Inmates

Since the officer let us out to the dayroom everyday, whenever I went out to the dayroom or range, inmates were anxious to ask me.

One black dude approached me. “Hey, how much time did you get?” he asked while sitting by me.

“I received twenty do ten for rape.”

He listened and then stared at me with disbelief at my words.

“I don’t believe you. You lie! You should have more than rape, man, like attempted murder. I haven’t seen anybody receive that much time for a rape charge. You’re lying!” the inmate raised his voice and kept watching my eyes.

The other inmates kept looking at me and waited for the true and acceptable answer from me. I was confused for a few seconds, and then realized their intentions. I quickly “adjusted” my charges to meet their expectations as I did not want to disappoint them.

“Yeah, you are right. I attempted to kill a girl and raped,” I said without thinking but just to reply to their questions.

“That makes sense. I know you did something more than rape,” he said loudly and settled with my answer, and he then moved to other inmates.

It was very interesting to get acquainted with these people’s minds and thoughts about charges and sentences. They knew the sentences were supposed to depend on the crime type and severity. I was surprised at their intelligent minds, so I determined to keep my charges more than rape.

Once they found out my new self-forged charges, the inmates wouldn’t ask me again. Now, people treated me as a murder attempter, and they did not look at me as a stranger or liar. I learned a good lesson again in this secluded fortress in modern life. But on the contrary, I hated dishonorable Edward Page, who sentenced me for his own interests and with courtroom abuses.

There were over three thousand petitions from people of my community — including my patients — before sentencing, but dishonorable Page took advantage of his well-camouflaged court’s violation and then he gave the maximum sentences to amplify his power as a gay officer of the court and to make the history of Indiana a showcase for his performance.

When I thought about Page, it made me vomit. I quickly went to the bathroom. Once I threw up all of Page’s vicious court conduct, I felt better so I lay down and began to pray for a better and decent way of life in America.

Letter from Mr. Van Bokkelen

That afternoon I received a legal letter. It was from Mr. Van Bokkelen. Because I was a former president of KAMA (Korean-American Medical Association) Chicago, my wife, Jessica, asked Mr. Van Bokkelen to write a letter to the current president, Dr. Chung.

In fact I did not have a chance to say a single word to Dr. Chung, and, most of all; I had missed our association’s activities.

Dear President Chung:

Jessica Koo asked me to write this letter to you on behalf of Dr. Koo. Dr. Koo was convicted after a jury trial of rape, and was sentenced to twenty (20) years imprisonment.

The alleged victim was a patient of Dr. Koo, as was her entire family. In fact, after the alleged incident was reported, the family continued to see Dr. Koo as their family physician.

It is my strong belief that Dr. Koo is innocent of the charge for which he was convicted, did not receive a fair trial, and that on appeal, the conviction will be reversed.

Some of the issues which will be raised on appeal are the following:

1.Whether the Judge who heard the case, and who is not a constitutional Judge, had jurisdiction to sit as the trial judge.

2.The judge, after seating at least two female jurors, prohibited Dr. Koo’s trial counsel from subsequently exercising what is known as peremptory challenges. In this case, the Judge limited the exercise of the peremptory challenges by Dr. Koo’s attorney. We feel that this is reversible error.

3.The court permitted testimony of other alleged victims of Dr. Koo under the theory that the other alleged incident established a pattern by Dr. Koo. In a case such as this where the direct testimony is very weak, the Court has to weigh the admission of other alleged “bad acts” against the prejudice which may be caused by the admission of the evidence. In other words, Dr. Koo may have been convicted on the basis of the uncharged conduct.

There are additional issues which will be raised after we have had an opportunity to review the trial transcript.

Very truly yours,

Joseph Van Bokkelen

November 6

The Prison (Retail Store) Assignment

In the morning, I went down to meet the classification officer, a board member of RDC, Ms. Karen McGinnie. She was white and in her mid-fifties, wore glasses, was wrinkled around the chin, had black hair, was fat at 5 feet 7 inches, appeared as a veteran in the prison business, was wearing a big diamond ring on left finger, was well fed and had grease on her face. She was talking to newcomers for their new wholesale destinations: the designated retail storages. Her diamond ring reminded one of how much and well she scraped the flesh of poor prisoners. Her oily face distracted my mind because it told how much she had squeezed homeless people’s muscles. I did not have the slightest idea of why poor prisoners have to see her for their prison assignment. Somehow I believed she loved to see all inmates coming into her regiment to exercise her sexual pleasures. It was a most silly DOC business I witnessed, the way she was meeting all prisoners. She was there to boast of her position to all handcuffed prisoners.

Anyway, I hated having to face her, but I had no choice. It should normally be for an official order by the DOC to determine where we were to be delivered among the retail stores. The simple paper order, rather than her, would have sufficiently taken care of things without leading to such a harassing episode. Well, she recommended me to the CIC (Correctional Industrial Center) as other counselors did. I nodded and left the room.

November 8, Sunday

In the early morning, they showed us a movie, Cadence. It was good and I enjoyed it for a long time. Every day, I met newcomers. The chow menus became bad after the election. The dinner was old ham, green beans, breads, jelly, milk and mashed potato.

In the evening, we saw another movie, Bad Boy. It distracted my mind a lot but I consumed it as it was, because I thought it happened only in America since the government collected so many of the young flesh and kept them in congested cages.

My question was what do people expect from these young prisoners in the first place? It seemed society loved and enjoyed keeping young, restless and uneducated people in the prison for big bucks. The DOC appreciated these outlaws for the government’s businesses since the government had to utilize the fiscal budgets. In order to expend the budgets, the crimes have to be committed to accommodate the government’s demands and their politics.

November 9

Writing to Jessica

Every Wednesday was the commissary day. I got my money two weeks later so I went down to shop and received stuff that I had ordered.

The RDC had only a small recreation yard, so we took turns for recreation by floor. The IYC (Indiana Youth Center) was located next to the RDC, so we could observe the activities there through the fences when we were out for recreation.

Since I got my commissaries, I began writing letters to Jessica and telling of the life in RDC and stories about the values of the commodities. I wrote to Jessica twice a week, but unfortunately she never wrote me back. I was very disappointed with her but I knew better, so I learned to be patient. Her selfish personality had never stopped and still manifested itself as her typical behavior, but the problem is she does not know she is a selfish person.

I believed she had lots of news she could have written to me with consideration for my being incarcerated and could have told me how the kids were doing at school. Nevertheless, I heard nothing. That had been her kind of personality since we got married, and my mom used to ask me to divorce her, but I never took her words in consideration. Now, so many years later my wife was still showing her bad behavior and her lack of love and affection.

Today, my cellmate, Pagan, was taken to the Westville Correctional Center, and on the same day, I got a new cellmate, Jack Brown from Evansville.

November 10

New Cellmate Jack Brown

My new cellmate, Brown, looked to be a vet in the DOC business. He seemed to know everything that was going on in the DOC, and he began to tell stories of life in prison but I did not pay much attention to his stories because nothing was good.

Brown brought a cold with him from Evansville. He kept blowing his nose and shaking his body for the cold. The nurse eventually brought Tylenol and other cold tabs, but he was still suffering. I thought I could stay away from him but it was my mistake. Despite two days of keeping distance from him, I got the cold too. My immunity was down already. I was afraid of getting a cold in the meantime and was always careful to avoid direct contact with other inmates, but I got it now.

From today, without warning I began to sneeze, and then my nose began to run. I knew it was because of my low resistance. I had no choice so I requested medical help.

The next day, they took me to the doctor. I asked him to give me some antihistamine for my sinusitis. He said he would. But there was no news from the doctor for the next two days. I hated myself being sick. I thought I could handle a cold but the damn sinus allergy drove me nuts. I tried to stay strong, but once I got the flu, my sinusitis kept giving me hell.

I kept sneezing and wiping my nose, and then my eyes started to run, so that I could not open my eyes clearly. I became damn sick.

Next-Cell Neighbor

My next-cell neighbor was a black, nineteen-year-old gay, was skinny and looked just like a girl. He (she) was locked up all the time except for shower. Everybody made fun of him (her) but he did not care. Everybody called him “stinky.”

Since I knew the Magistrate Page was gay, I was curious about this new person. I began to open dialogues with him, but whatever I wanted to say, he could not comprehend. He talked just like Page so it reminded me of Page very much. When I watched him talking and acting even in the cell, it made me angry, because it resembled the gay Page’s behavior and antics in the public court. He used to whine at many inmates when he wanted something. It was an interesting thing to watch in the prison.

Cunning Person

One next-cell neighbor from my right, Harrison, a twenty-three-year-old white male who had a good-looking wife, was crying everyday. He showed me his wife’s picture. She was indeed pretty. He was caught while smoking joints and received a ten-year sentence.

He said since he was taken to prison, he had kept worrying about his wife possibly cheating with other men. He said, because of his back trouble, he could not have regular sex for the time being. He worried that she would take advantage of his being incarcerated and probably messes around with many guys outside. He talked so well that anybody could believe his stories, which sounded like he was once having affairs with other girls. If he thought his wife would eventually be doing something wrong, then he should have known the consequence of smoking weed before being admitted to prison. No later than a week, he was transferred to the Farm for a continuous smart life.

Maturity of RDC Fund

About three weeks later, the counselor called and informed me I was going to be moved to the CIC, because the deposit maturity at the RDC had been completed. My initial fund as a beginner prisoner was evaluated by the specialists in prison businesses and now it was time to revalue it so the RDC could sell the fund to the designated company. I realized they were handling the junk funds before losing prisoners’ values.

After over two months of prison-stock trading, I had learned the prison system of Indiana, and the RDC was, to me, a warehouse and it stood for Random Distribution Center, and DOC stood for Department of Collections. The DOC was selling the prisoners per their wholesale prices after waiting so many days of maturities depending on values and colors and sentences.

The individual prisoners were surely expensive goods, so the DOC did not want to lose single merchandise per their calculations that they kept viable flesh in the isolated and well-guarded places collectively called the prison.

Everyday, the police brought valuable merchandise and stuck them in the warehouse, RDC, for wholesale to other prisons. Most of them were young. It disturbed my mind very much to watch young people taken into confinement, in the process arresting their mental growth and emotional development. Interestingly, the government puts them in cages and then expects them to be corrected and rehabilitated under DOC policies. Yet this is the real scenario of how government handles criminals and why there are so many prisoners in this modern country, America.

Society has to know and remember that rehabilitation, in a sense, can mean re-habitations and, as a result, violations by prisoners are repeated, becoming their primary goals in serving time in the most well-protected warehouses in the world.