For years, many people have urged me to write about my having gone to Federal Prison as a Jehovah's Witness. Each time I attempted it I discovered
just how very unpleasant my emotions were! Frankly, I did not want to feel that way for extended periods of time. So, I'd set aside the project.
The only way I thought I could write about very troubling, personal experiences was to distance myself. I needed to fictionalize myself so that I could
talk about embarassing situations. I wrote the book in one month and had a hard drive crash (yes, without backup!)
The only thing that was left was excerpts I had posted here and there.
I thought I'd share what I've found.
I titled the book:
I WEPT BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON
Mathis, shaking like a landed fish, stood beside a crooked tree. Danny found him there.
Something was clearly wrong.
"You hurt?"
Mathis worked his mouth like a dying carp. "He-"
"Let's get you to the infirmary before---"
"...grabbed me from behind. I was dangling like a puppet...." the strangled voice came tumbling out like dice-- mid-sentence.
"What? Who?"
Danny froze; squinting at a face that held horrors.
"He had me and I couldn't move... In that warehouse back there...that storage building..."
"Who..WHO did?"
"No-eyes. The guy who always wears shades. Always coming up to me with questions. Sometimes he'd just walk along with me telling me about his wife..."
" I mean, did he hurt you? What happened?"
__________________________
The Federal prison loomed large in the background. Mathis felt small and defenseless for the first time. His mind wouldn't focus on what had happened. Detention buildings crowded the two Jehovah's Witnesses like bullies taunting children.
The Mess Hall teemed with hungry men swarming like ants. Danny and Mathis stood some distance away. The noon sun held no warmth at all and winter lurked in the corners of their eyes. A small eddy of countervailing winds stirred up a dust devil.
Earlier that day a dark rectangle of a man fell in beside Mathis making his way out of building four. He always wore dark shades like a jazz musician. A hulking figure who spent most of his downtime in the weight shack pumping iron... Something about the guy vibrated: urgent. He had mentioned over and over that he had a wife and that she was JW. Jehovah's Witness.
The awkward bulk of a man always seemed in the middle of a disconnected conversation. Too much time away from women turned men gradually into either weak things or mean. Apparently No-eyes needed to cross that line. Soon.
"I gots some light bulbs to replace in the warehouse. I gots some questions about what the Bible sez. You JW's know this stuff. You explain it to me." That was all he said and wheeled about heading off for a squat, grey building secluded from the main compound.
Seagoville Federal Correctional Institution had been built in 1938 as a Women's Prison. After Pearl Harbor, Japanese citizens were temporarily detained as fear of anyone Asian ran rampant through America. The minimum security facility became a men's prison shortly thereafter. Eight buildings radiated like spider's legs from a central hub. Building 1 was Administration. Building 8 was the Mess Hall. The rest were inmate quarters.
Every inmate had a job assignment in prison. Mathis had construction. It was actually destruction; they called it construction anyway. He'd make little rocks out of big ones for concrete mix.
No-eyes was an electrician of some sort. Today, he was changing light bulbs in the storage warehouse. It was all mundane. Humdrum.
Mathis shrugged and marched behind No-eyes with time to spare. An hour lay fallow before him like an empty field before a plow. It was so natural a thing to do. More obligation than choice. Jehovah's Witnesses, even in prison, had to preach when the opportunity arose. No-eyes knew this too. There were only wolves and sheep in this world. Today, Mr.Cool Shades was going to appear as a sheep. The real sheep followed behind him.
Up the stairs into a breeze way; each figure plodded forward with footfalls echoing statically against the concrete tiles. The day inched into greyness toward darkness; shadows gulped and swallowed the building's interior.
The dark rectangle with the shades and thin moustache unlocked a sturdy door and stepped aside inviting Mathis to precede him. In they went.
The vastness of the room sprawled outward into outlines unseen and disturbingly monstrous now.
One moment the world hangs balanced in space; the next, everything falls away without warning!
It all happened with the swiftness of a serpent's strike! The first minute, Mathis blinked to adjust to shadows and black nothing; the next he spied the door as it was being locked.
Locked?
Why?
Some trap was sprung on someone too stupid to beware!
This consummate betrayal; before the brain could scarce imagine!
Seized from behind!
The audacious, strong-limbed inmate had shrewdly pounced with uncanny grace! Mathis dangled in the air; aloft in scrawny impotency.
A monstrous lump prodded from behind.
No-eyes: dry humping!
Mathis squirmed and arched his back to fend away this ruinous battery.
The mind would not allow for what was about to go down.
The bestial voice was pestilent upon his neck. Low and ruminative pleasure grunts, as from a bulldog, peppered the room. The horror began to swell into an explosion in Mathis' brain!
"Give me what I want, man... I'll knock you out and take it." Not even a threat! A certainty.
Time and space melting into nothing consumed consciousness. . Something inside screamed "NO!" But only soundless, empty air rushed out.
Mouth dry.
The heart rattling in a cage in his chest as a frantic, trapped bird.
The assailant's voice exploded provocative and diabolic commands.
Within his dark cage something welled up into full throated voice: "Jehovah!"
Jehovah! (A cry from the soul!)
Why me? Why this?
Heart pounding adrenaline; a sordid intoxicant. Jumbled thoughts...senses high alert.....the coiled, thrusting as he dodged and twisted from this vile dance.
Jehovah would make the way out.
The battering ram behind him and the odious lurching made him want to vomit!
Mathis' voice found itself...calm...assured...controlled.....on this sure-footed mountain on this steep ledge of despair.
"I can't do this. I won't. It's against my religion. God won't allow me. I can't."
Bland, calm statements as though read from the label of a can.
The muscled arms had looped under Mathis' pits and steel-fingered hands interlaced behind his head. The lifting power of this pestilent monster was stunning.
A gnawing, pensive certainty prevailed. Only God could end this now. Rapacity and muscle contravened.
Unconnected thoughts popped in and out of his head.
Cain slew Abel when the world began.
Mathis' mind grappled.
Abraham raised the dagger to plunge into his only son's chest!
The sound of someone laughing from afar....or..was it a crying scream...?
Was that his own voice??
******** ********* *********
"What are you trying to tell me?" ( Lt. Bennet's voice..hours later.)
Bennet's office was pristine, surfaces shining as a polished mirror glaze on Bennet's shoes.
"Get to the point or get the hell out!"
Impatient and insistent he listened anyway.
Inmate Tollie Padgett's folder lay open on the desk before him. Bennet appraised as the young man spoke solemnly.
Padgett was another True Believer, JW, wasting his intelligence and squandering his life. But, he was no-nonsense; a straight shooter as religious nuts go.
Padgett had written a "cop-out" form asking Bennet to listen to, as he termed it, "A significant and dangerous problem".
Inmate Request forms were made accessible throughout the compound to record the goings-on of inmate unrest. Prison is bureaucracy, after all, especially a Federal prison. Bennet appraised requests; all of them. He was the final arbiter; the court of final inquiry and the warden's prime minister.
Padgett sat down in a chair the color despair.
"One of the brothers was confronted---attacked by another inmate..."
Bennett suddenly showed interest in this. He cocked his ear.
"Which inmates are we talking about here?" Bennet knew full well no inmate, even a JW, would give up names. It violated the unwritten code of silence; the Omerta which sealed lips and kept lives safe. Bennet liked to see how each man was made inside; how he negotiated, persuaded, lied or begged. It was an x-ray for his character.
"Inmate Mathis was the victim and I don't actually know the name of his attacker, but, I can tell you what building and which room he is in."
Bennett leaned forward, all ears. A thought crossed his mind.
" Exactly what went down and why isn't your man, this "brother" in here telling me himself? If he is the injured party?"
Padgett pursed his lips and glanced thoughtfully to the side.
"He's...he's, um...I guess you'd say he's not talking about this. At least, not in any detail. He doesn't exactly know what to do about it. The man pretended to be interested in hearing about what we believe--you know--what Jehovah's Witnesses believe. He used that to lure the brother into one of those storage warehouses behind the Mess Hall. He grabbed him from behind and threatened to...um....he threatened him."
"Threatened what? How? What did he do besides grab and threaten?" Bennett sensed there was more to this than he was hearing. This sort of incident was more uncommon than people on the outside would ever believe.
Inmates can find anything they want inside the fence. It isn't necessary to use force. Something was awry.
Prisoners quickly learned how to barter and negotiate. The price, if right, bought everything but freedom.
"My guess--and that's all it is--is that this other inmate wanted to force sex onthe brother. This happened several hours ago, I think."
Bennett laughed sardonically and shifted back in his chair. He turned toward the window and looked out across the compound. It was noon, or, a little past. Inmates were scurrying around like toy soldiers on patrol. Bennett put his arms behind his head & clasped his hands for support in a thoughtful, musing repose.
"You guess!? You think? You either know something or you don't. Why are you wasting my time?"
Padgett could sense he was about to be tossed out. Time to get right to the point.
"I know this brother, I know his temperament and character. Something terrible went down with him. He isn't talking because he doesn't want to deal with what happened...in any dramatic way. My intuition is that he is ashamed and full of...rage. But, there is nothing he can do...under the circumstances."
Bennett listened dispassionately. These JW's were boys among men. Sheep among wolves. What did they expect?
"Well now, when he is ready to tell me what did or didn't occur I'll be in my office." Bennett threw a meaningful glance Padgett's way. It was a dismissal and Padgett knew it.
Rising anger now took hold as Padgett walked toward the office exit. He pivoted and faced Bennett in an almost menacing fusillade.
"Sir, if the Brothers are being molested it is your responsibility to investigate and throw this piece of shit in the hole!"
Bennett actually flinched. His cheeks went aflame. Then, he gained icy control and made not a move or a sound. He refused to be baited; not now and not ever. That was his own tactic and he wouldn't rise to such bait.
"Really? What does Jehovah do all day, then? Aren't you His Witnessess?"
Padgett stared briefly and shook his head forlorn. He exited.
Lt.Bennett knew what he was doing. There was only one way to deal with these men. You could never baby them; you had to force them to grow up. It was time for these pathetic JW's to grow up. And this fellow Padgett? He had guts. But, guts will only get you so far. You have to live in the real world, too.
End Chapter One
_________________________________________________________________________________
AUGUST 1966
Six of Fort Worth's leading citizens had responded to the invitation to membership on the local draft board.
The group included the owner of the local taxi cab company, a Baptist minister, an attorney, a physician and a construction foreman and shift leader from the Post Office.
The meeting was being chaired by the Taxi owner, Mr. Charlie Needham.
The heavy oak door opened and a tall nineteen year old suddenly popped in without a knock.
"Is this where my draft hearing is?" Mathis spoke.
Mathis Strom had on his only suit. It was an iridescent fabric with peculiar tailoring. His grandmother had created double side vents because he admired the similar tailoring on James Bond. Handy with sewing, his grandmother happily complied with his requests. His shirts were darted to conform to his narrow physique and his necktie had a pearl tie tack right in the middle, like an albino cherry on a soda fountain sundae.
The Draft Board group visibly straightened and began eyeballing Mathis; studying him intently; making mental notes and categorizing every detail; forming preliminary conclusions about who and what he was as a person and a citizen.
For one thing, the physician noticed that the shoes were cheap, but, they were highly polished. His hair was groomed, but, not professionally trimmed. The young man had a shopworn elegance.
The Postal clerk studied how the young man held his body stiffly and how tense his lips made him appear. This kid was nervous and making out he was not affected. He smiled, remembering his own first day at the Post Office as the only black man among all whites. He wasn't going to show any fear either that day. He began to sympathize a little. Wanting to please the Lord did not make you a coward.
"Please sit down and make yourself comfortable, Mr. Strom. Mathis? Is that how you like to be called? Or, do you prefer Matt?"
Charlie Needham glanced again at the wall clock and saw they were a minute early. Perhaps they could get this over in less than the hour permitted and give himself enough time to make a phone call to determine what problems had cropped up at the Yellow Cab with him gone for the morning.
He was the man who put out fires and changed water into wine at the company. Every time he left for even a few hours the world came down and he'd have to set everything aright once more by simple measures and a few soft-spoken orders.
"Mathis is fine."
The lanky young man sat in the center of the U shaped tables on the opposite side with his chair pushed out three feet away from the nearest board member. He could see all of them and they could see him. He felt like a tired swimmer in the jaws of a Great White.
"We will now proceed with our hearing. It is nine a.m. We'll try to finish up here before ten if possible. We are all here to listen to your reasons for applying for deferment and your request for ministerial classification. Can you give us a brief statement covering that in your own words?"
The board was staring collectively. Their eyes bore in with expectancy. It felt like a firing squad listening for the order to "fire!"
Mathis cleared his throat again and again as he spoke. He was articulate. His vocabulary unusually broad and detailed. He repeated to the Draft Board the essential points he had confided to the F.B.I. agents the month before when they interviewed him.
He scrutinized each of their faces as he spoke using all the highly developed skills he'd been absorbing at the local Kingdom Hall in their Theocratic Ministry School. He made excellent eye contact and employed persuasive gestures and modulated dynamic tone changes as he gave his summation.
Morris Culpepper loosened the top button on his shirt and undid his tie just enough to prevent strangulation. Rubbing his neck he started scribbling with a yellow pencil on a legal pad provided for just such occasions.
"Here is what I want to know. Do you have a regular job? Do you work for a living? Or, do you preach in a church like normal preachers do?" He angled his massive head toward Reverend Oakes.
"I am a portrait artist; self-employed. I don't punch a clock anywhere. I live at home with my grandparents and mother. Jehovah's Witnesses are all considered ministers. We go from door to door in our ministry. Anytime we have the opportunity to tell about the Good News of Jehovah's Kingdom, like here today, we are ministering--I guess you could say." Mathis smiled wryly as Reverend Oakes pouted at this.
"What we mean is this," Oakes tapped his fingers together in the spider-doing-push-ups hand gesture. "Are you a full-time minister so that you actually deserve deferment for full-time preaching activities or is this Watchtower magazine peddling more of a hobby?"
Oakes had decided to be confrontational without being mean-spirited.
Mathis eyes went up and to the left. This was a question he'd never been asked before. "Sir, the issue concerning ministerial deferment is one of principle and obedience rather than hours spent on activities."
Attorney Parks was fidgeting in his uncomfortable folding chair. He pulled a Mount Blanc pen from his inside suit pocket and pointed it like the muzzle of a Derringer pistol toward the young man.
"Correct me, please, if I state this improperly. My understanding is that you Jehovah Witnesses can't perform alternate service, as provided by law, in a hospital or library for the benefit of the community. Is that correct, sir?" His manner had morphed into a cross-examiner in a jury room.
Mathis pursed his lips.
"When it comes to military service we serve God rather than Caesar; that's correct."
"Yet, if a Judge orders you to perform the exact same community service which you refused; you happily comply and take the job! How is that logically consistent with your beliefs?" Parks narrowed his dark brown eyes and forced himself not to blink as he awaited the answer.
"To accept alternate service to military service is to substitute that alternate service for military service. It is a compromise of one's integrity and makes the person accepting it blood guilty just as though they had joined the military. This violates our Christian neutrality. However, if this same Christian minister is convicted under law he stands before the judge as a prisoner. A prisoner does not voluntarily give up freedom of choice, but, is compelled to perform the work."
Attorney Parks raised his eyebrows and chortled. "Ridiculous reasoning! Caesar is Caesar in both instances. The military works for Caesar and the Judge works for Caesar; either way it is Caesar telling you what work to perform. You're splitting hairs because you don't have a defensible principle you're defending!"
Reverend Oakes and Charlie Needham started speaking at the same time. Needham paused and let the Reverend take the lead.
"Thank you, Charlie. I want to say this to you, young man; a Pharisee binds people with the burden of many rules, regulations, traditions and laws. Your so-called principle of neutrality is straight ahead Pharisee argument!"
Oakes took on the fervor of a the actor John Carradine in the film Grapes of Wrath. His craggy countenance waggled with melodramatic intensity as though mugging for an unseen camera.
Needham jumped in at the pause in Reverend Oakes' sacred pronouncement.
"Surely you see, Mathis, Jesus Christ was not a hair-splitter, as far as I ever remember reading. He spoke plainly and simply...."
Oakes was perturbed at Needham's interruption just as he was getting started on a solid harangue.
"Pharisee logic is what it is, as I was saying.."
Taking a shot Needham's way, Oakes now performed the chopping gesture series with each important word accompanied by a downward slice of the hand like a karate instructor breaking pine boards at exhibition.
"The Government stands placed in its position by the authority of God and his son, Jesus! When you refuse to listen to that authority you violate God's arrangement of the Superior Authority of Caesar! None of this is voluntary service since it is required of citizens to support the policies which protect the country from its enemies!"
Morris Culpepper wasn't following any of the fancy arguments. He lost the thread early on. When lawyers and pastors commenced to jabbering you could be sure it was time for a little fresh air.
"Son, what if everybody believed the same way you did?"
Mathis was ready.
"There would be no wars; I can assure you of that. No wars: no Draft Board and we wouldn't be sitting here today." The young man relaxed suddenly, feeling he had finally scored a point. Yet, he was troubled by what had just been said by the attorney.
Culpepper wasn't having in one-ups by this smart kid.
"What I mean is...what if only Americans believed just as you do and the Communists knew that?"
Mathis narrowed his eyes.
"Then, America would finally be the Christian nation it claims to be."
Charlie Needham's sense of propriety now violated; he addressed Mathis in a more serious way than at any time before. Common sense was needed.
"Mathis, if somebody broke into your house and threatened your family's life wouldn't you defend them with violence if it saved their lives?"
The young man sighed.
"Sir, the Viet Namese people have not broken into my house. If anything, we've broken into theirs. The war is them defending their own families us against us as intruders and not the other way around."
The Jehovah's Witness had a sense he was swimming in a riptide now. Still, he found the words came to him easily. Glib banter was his specialty and allowing any of the people on the Draft Board to get the best of him was simply out of the question.
Culpepper stiffened. He felt blood rush to his cheeks. This would not stand!
"My father served in WWII because the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and he wasn't going to let Tojo or Hitler or Mussolini run this world. We'd all be under Hitler's thumb or going up in smoke in some Auschwitz if god-fearing Americans all believed the way you believe. You've got your head on backwards, son! How can you morally think the way you think and not feel a deep sense of shame that others shed their blood to allow you to draw pictures in your Mommy's house all day or sell comic books with a Watchtower on them and call it Christianity?"
Culpepper's eyes were fairly bugging out of his skull and he knew he was not comporting himself well. But, he was a passionate man when it came to patriotism. His daddy had instructed him what the costs of freedom were by rolling up his trouser leg and pointing to a bullet wound through his calf muscle. It looked like a sideways frown, all pink and naked.
Damage control is necessary, Mathis thought.
"Many Jehovah's Witnesses died in concentration camps because they would not take up arms for Hitler, sir. One thing you can be certain of. No Jehovah's Witness ever pointed a rifle at your father."
It was the best answer Mathis could think of. He felt his stomach churning under the onslaught. He was always extremely uncomfortable around angry men. His own grandfather had a horrifying temper; even pointing a pistol at Mathis' mother once because she disagreed with him.
Doctor Jarvis felt the heat of the argument was getting off point and the clock was running out as well. A change of subject might cool things down enough to wind things to a close.
"Would you say that Jehovah's Witnesses cherish life and view it as a sacred gift from God?"
Jarvis was laying a subtle trap.
To Mathis; an obvious setup.
"Jehovah is the giver of life. Jesus healed and brought people back from the dead. When Peter chopped off somebody's ear with a sword it was Jesus who restored it. The purpose of His kingdom is the benefit of humans and he does not desire that any persons die."
Jarvis leaned forward employing the wedge gesture as a knight about to unseat a rival in a joust.
"If life is so precious to you, why do Jehovah's Witnesses let little children die rather than accept a blood transfusion? Is that more of the Pharisee coming out, perhaps? I know for a fact that parents will let their own child die unless a judge orders the transfusion. A similar craziness to your military refusal problem. You'd think preserving life would trump some crazy rule finesse by a judge!"
Mathis cringed inwardly. This was the most difficult issue to explain to a layman.
Especially with doctors who took a black and white view of life and death was it hard to argue.
"Our hands are tied by what the bible says. Nobody wants their child to die under any circumstance. But, we must remain obedient to His word even if the choices are very hard."
Culpepper's body jerked suddenly like he'd been stung by a wasp. This was too much for him. He had children and nothing would stand in the way of his saving their lives no matter what any crazed bible thumper might argue.
"Good God, man! Any religion that stands by and lets an innocent child die when they could be saved by a doctor is no religion I'd want to call Christian! Jesus couldn't possibly have said anything about letting children die just to make him happy. No way!"
"What about wife beating and child molestation? How does your religion deal with those matters?" Cal Marley wrinkled his nose inquisitively and frowned expectantly.
"As far as I know, we don't have any in our religion. But, if we did, the judicial committee would need at least a couple of eyewitnesses before they could take official action."
Mathis was out of his depth on this. He couldn't understand what any of this questioning had to do with his own deferment.
Needham had had enough for his own decision. The hearing was turning into a melee. It was up to him to bring order and organization and accomplish what they set out to do. Five minutes remained in the allotted hour. It was time to conclude matters straight away.
"I think we've all heard enough to determine what we are dealing with here. Is there anything in conclusion you'd like to address specifically concerning your ministerial deferment, Mathis?"
Mathis struggled back to the surface as though dragging a heavy millstone with him. What could change their minds? How could they be made to see that his religion was not legalistic. He wasn't a Pharisee. He was just trying to do the right thing as he understood it.
"Gentlemen, thank you for taking the time and trouble to hear me out. When I was a kid I wanted nothing better than to be a jet pilot in the Air Force. I played army and cowboy and owned a two gun holster. I was an ordinary, normal American kid. I can cry when the National Anthem plays or swell with pride when Old Glory is hoisted like any patriotic citizen. However...
There is only one difference between any of you and myself. I see my service to God and my belief in Jesus from a different line of view. I've read the same bible you have read. I see one thing and you see another. That's why there isn't just one church. There are thousands."
"Logically, they can't all be true and right while contradicting each other. So, what we have is a stand off, really. We have the freedom to step on one side of the line or the other and make our best choice. We go with our heart and our gut and we stand where we stand. None of us knows until the very end, on the day of Judgement, if we picked the right side or not. Armageddon will tell the tale."
" I can't take up a rifle in good conscience and I can't work in a hospital for reasons I explained. So, I'm compelled by this choice and these reasons, for better or worse, to stick by my beliefs and my faith. I'll do what I believe is best and you'll follow your consciences the way you feel is best. Clearly, neither of us judges another man's heart with certainty."
The group listened cautiously and uneasily as his words fell upon their ears. It sounded sincere. It was relaxed. He wasn't really arguing with them or even persuading them. If anything, the words were coming from somewhere deep inside of him. This wasn't a performance.
Charlie Needham nodded as though putting a period at the end of a long sentence with his chin.
"Thank you. I speak for all of us in expressing appreciation for your sincerety and good manners. We'll confer and give our decision directly to proper authorities. You'll get something in the mail eventually from the Selective Service concerning you status. That's about it."
Needham had just enough time to take the elevator downstairs to the telephone booth in the lobby and catch his assistant, Morris before running out for a bite to eat. Then, he'd return and they'd have a vote. It was already a certainty this Mathis Strom would not get a full ministerial deferment of 4 D. There was no way he was full time in his ministerial duties. He would, however, be given the I. O. status of conscientious objector. He'd have to continue his path as a semi-martyr with the Military.
Mathis, still clutched his green bible and quickly departed from the room. Out and down the staircase to the lobby into the bright sunlight. The sound of construction and the bustle of street noises smashed into his ears like a battering ram. He took in a deep breath and tried to clear his head.
This was not the best day of his life. First, the F.B.I. interrogation and now, this. When would it all end? He was almost certainly going to end up in prison no matter what he said.
Exhaling slowly and fighting off a gnawing sense of panic, the young Jehovah's Witness set off walking the four miles from downtown Fort Worth to his house at 709 E. Baltimore. The walk would give him ample time to pray and review the morning's confrontations. He walked at a fast clip toward a row of storm clouds on the southern horizon. The wind was picking up in gusts and it wasn't too far fetched to expect a tornado might spring up. It was certainly that time of year.
________________________________________________________________________________