By Danny Edward Scott Casalenuovo
from “Serving Time, Serving Others”
Three years ago I was arrested for impersonating a police officer. No, I wasn’t behind the wheel or even on a two-wheeler with blue and red flashing lights. I was stealing from private homes in broad daylight. I didn’t steal because I needed the money. I stole for the sheer thrill I got.
As I entered the Los Angeles County Jail, the cruel reality came crashing down on me, piercing my heart. I was leaving my beloved and devastated family behind. My wife and daughter were forced to move in with my in-laws. At the time of my crimes, I was the sole provider. My wife was forced to stand by and watch our home, our car, and our family life slip out of her grasp.
I alone caused the foundation and security of our home and a beautiful life, as well as my child’s future, to crumble. I created fear in both their lives and caused much destruction because of the horrible choices I’d made. A year and a half went by before my wife started writing to me. Those 18 months were hard on her and our daughter. The shock of it all continues to upset their lives today. But the events leading up to my arrest tell only part of the story.
My new home was no longer a four-bedroom house vibrating with the laughter of a child giving hugs and smiles. My new home was dark and empty without my loving wife who brought beauty and light to my every day and so generously gave from her heart-the love, warmth, and trust that transformed our house into a home.
My new home didn’t have a glowing fireplace with crackling logs, the inviting aromas of a home-cooked meal, or a sweet daughter to tuck in at night and read a bedtime story to. My new home didn’t have a front porch. I could no longer sit on the swing with my wife and have a nightly calm-down talk under a billion brilliant stars. Gone was the bond of trust and comforting closeness of my wife and daughter-the two people I love most.
My new home was a musty, square jail cell-a dingy, depressing room with dull gray paint peeling away from the walls like a bad sunburn in summer, and big, brown, armorplated bugs crawling out of every corner. Three hundred and fifty men lived in that giant concrete tomb-each with an unstable attitude ranging from anger and hate to greed and lack of self-control.
The day I first walked into that stale cell, my only possession was tucked under my arm-a blanket. I was wearing the rest of my capital. One pair of socks, a T-shirt, jumpsuit and one pair of much-too-small boxer shorts because processing wasn’t the time to be choosy about sizes.
All the bunks were occupied, so I scouted out a spot on the floor, away from most of the traffic and chaos, and moved in. I rounded up a foam-mat and made house with my blanket. Exhausted and emotionally drained from sixteen hours of being herded through like cattle, I collapsed onto my bed.
The following day, a short, slight man awakened me. “Would you like a book to read?” To this day, I still don’t know his name.
Looking up at him, I mumbled, “Sure . . . thanks.”
That was the day I was fortunate enough to receive a copy of Chicken Soup for the Prisoner’s Soul. During the days and weeks that followed, I read it from cover to cover scores of times. I read that book so many times I could recite some of the stories as if they were favorite poems. And I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I were to say I think of these stories as my daily Bible reading.
One day, a nearby inmate asked me what I was reading. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize I was reading out loud.”
This old man stared at me with a look of intense interest before he finally said, “Would you start that story over and read it to me out loud?”
At first I was embarrassed, not knowing how to respond. Suddenly, “Sure I will,” fell out of my mouth. I proceeded to read “Strangers Behind Glass” to Old Man Sam. A great change took place in my heart that day. A fulfilling happiness, some kind of peace surrounded my spirit-my soul.
As I read that story to Old Man Sam, I saw deep emotions reflected in his eyes. A chain reaction occurred at that moment. I found myself crying with this stranger who was now my new best friend. It was a wonderful release, a tremendous feeling to share so deeply with a stranger.
Within the hour, Old Man Sam had rounded up seven buddies. They, too. were much older than me. In no time, Sam had me reading stories to them. Within 30 minutes, I was crying right along with those men.
What’s happening? I thought to myself. Each of them were finding genuine honesty-real men sharing real emotions with one another within the filthy, uncaring chaos-without being judged for releasing their tears. In fact, most were the strongest in that cage-a concrete warehouse of 350 souls.
As days passed, the group, now known as “The Circle” grew from seven to fifteen.
Some of the faces changed. Those who were no longer there had either been sent off to the bigger “houses” or released. Newcomers took their places. As I looked around at the group, I noticed the mixture of ages. And then I saw a familiar face. Old Man Sam was sitting right next to me.
My readings continued, and daily that circle of men sat quietly for two full hours. During those readings we could escape the madness and hatred that thrived around us. Every once in a while I’d look over at Old Man Sam, and he’d release a big, beautiful smile.
One of our reading sessions had to be cut short because of an important announcement. The housing deputy declared, “Canteen will be delivered this evening to those who ordered earlier in the week!” Immediately a great change took place. I’d never seen grown men act in such a way. Most of the men I’d been reading to, including Old Man Sam, were involved in the confusion. Men scattered around like giant ants.
Every jail or prison has a crowd of tough guys-I call ’em “weak bullies.” Just about the time all the confusion begins, the bullies surface. These tough guys caused the confusion. As I sat back and paid extra attention to my surroundings, I tuned in to what was taking place. Each of the bullies was conducting serious business with many of the older inmates. Some of those being bullied were from The Circle. One was Old Man Sam. As I observed, I noticed the bullies were taking the identification wristbands from the older, defenseless guys-some of whom were mentally and physically challenged.
A big ruckus erupted in a far corner. Old Man Sam had just been dismissed-his wrist naked. As The Circle regrouped, I realized what was happening. Their heads hung low, the bare-wristed men stared at the floor, withdrawn-some cried. Sensing fear and
tension, I waited for a few moments. I didn’t know what to say. “Where are your wristbands?” I looked at Sam, waiting for an answer to confirm what I had pieced together.
Then I noticed a red hand print tattooed on his left cheek.
“Who slapped you Sam?” As my words registered in his mind, Sam raised his left hand to cover the welt on his face. In tears, he looked at me and said, “Don’t ask!” Then he arose and walked off, followed by half of The Circle. Filled with anger, I planned my next move.
When the canteen arrived, Old Man Sam’s name was called, but he didn’t move from his bunk. Instead, the bully who had stolen the wristband answered to Sam’s last name, made his way to the front of the crowd and collected two plastic trash bags full of supplies, after first showing his band. Then he casually walked away.
Next, a giant of a guy, passing by without a word, dropped off the wristband on Sam’s bunk. As Sam slipped the tattered band back over his bony hand, he rolled over and faced the wall. At that moment I realized what an awful time those people must have had.
Innocent people having their homes invaded, their personal belongings stolen. What anguish I’d caused those victims! What I’d done was very wrong! I couldn’t watch the madness any longer. Running to the front of the dorm, where a deputy stood observing the canteen distribution, I let the cat out of the bag. As the next bully approached, I tipped off the deputy to what was taking place. When that tormentor advanced to the front to collect what was not his, he was checked, busted, and taken away.
After an emergency count, the deputy knew that what I’d told him was true. Each member of The Circle was reassigned to a safer housing unit. At least three dozen men moved out- including Old Man Sam. Deep into the night, nine thugs wanted to have a “talk” with me about my ending their “Fund Circus.” When they were done, I reported to the front of the dorm in dire need of medical attention.
X-rays showed a broken right hand, fractured right wrist, shattered right cheekbone, and broken nose. What the x-rays couldn’t find, my nerve endings pointed out. But through all the pain, a great smile lay within my heart.
Soon after I was casted and bandaged, I too was reassigned. Wouldn’t you know it? The first face I saw was Old Man Sam and most of The Circle. They couldn’t believe my condition-neither could I. I was most upset about the fact that I’d lost my book. Chicken Soup for the Prisoner’s Soul helped me spiritually-it fed my soul.
Old Man Sam knew how I felt and suggested I wing it. So, from my memory, I recited
some of the stories that touched me deeply-“While You Were Out,” “If You Will Welcome Me” and “A Wise Old Man.” The Circle grew quickly to twenty. Although I felt naked without the book that I’d grown to love, The Circle enjoyed my recitations.
Then, close to Christmas, we had just begun to tell personal stories about our lives when a curious movement at the front of the dorm interrupted us. “Someone just moved in,” we heard. I recognized a familiar face from the gray dorm-the monster that had broken my hand and blackened my eyes.
“Oh God!” I yelled. Reaching into my locker I grabbed a razor and concealed it in my left palm. I was ready to protect myself through a second round. The mountain of a man walked right up to our circle and looked into my eyes. He stood in front of me for what seemed forever. I uttered, “What?”
“It took a lot of courage to do what you did.”
“No!” I said, “What I did was the right thing. It had to do with being a good man. Have you come to beat on me some more?”
Staring down at me with sinister eyes, he reached behind his back. When he brought his hand back into view, he said, “This belongs to you. I saw you reading it. I found it the night I hurt you and now I want to give it back.” Handing me my book, this giant man apologized. Standing there in silence for a few seconds, he continued, “Do you mind if I join The Circle?I’d like to listen to you read.”
I was shocked! Not only because he’d just asked me if he could join us, but also because I was willing to read to him. The ten minutes that followed were the strangest of my life. Many changes were taking place within our hearts.
As I sat there, dumbfounded, with blackened eyes, a casted hand, and a nose that throbbed to every beat of my heart, I opened my book to the story “My Bag Lady Friend and Me” and began to read aloud. The opening quote by Hubert Humphrey told me what I needed to hear at that moment: “The greatest healing therapy is friendship and love.”
Reading further into the story, I noticed a change taking place in the giant’s features and posture. Something seemed to be causing pain in his heart. With a sad, worried look, he slumped forward in his seat. I continued to read and the giant abruptly stood up and interrupted. “Name’s Allen. . . I’m sorry for hurting all of you . . . and stealing from you.”
What Allen did that day helped all of us, especially me. I began mailing out apology letters to my victims. In those letters I wrote a little about what had happened in the Los Angeles County Jail and how Allen’s words led me to send my apologies.
I was surprised. I wasn’t expecting to receive anything in return. In his letter, the writer expressed his thanks and then added the following statement: “It seems your life has come full circle, and you’ve become a victim of your own crimes.”
That couldn’t have been truer. I’m sorry for my wrongdoings. Today I do everything I can to help others-within the law. I do my best to bring a smile to someone’s heart and go out of my way to lend a hand.
I love life and all it has to offer. To continue living as a radical would be a waste of a good person. I’ve learned from my mistakes. Today I’m moving forward, full of smiles and hope for a beautiful future-not only for myself but also for my beautiful wife and daughter.
I’ll be the daddy that she needs, and the man I’m supposed to be for the wife I love. Two days after the evening Allen sat with The Circle, I was transferred to prison. So I suppose I’ll never know what became of all those wonderful-hearted men, including Allen. It took courage to do what he did. That evening, Allen apologized personally to each man he had abused. He even gave each one a hug.
The Circle of men became so addicted to hearing stories from my book every day, that when it came time for my transfer, I decided to leave that wonderful book behind. It belonged with the hearts of many and was intended to be read daily, to those without hope.
When I handed that book to Allen, he vowed he’d read from it. He also promised to find someone who would read it out loud.
Before I left, Allen was already at work making a cover for it. He’ll take care of it, I thought. And he’ll take care of the wonderful hearts all around him too. I left that jail smiling.
The Circle. Reprinted by permission of Danny Edward Scott Casalenuovo. ©2003 Danny Edward Scott Casalenuovo.
Submitted by Tom Lagana. ©2003 Tom Lagana from the book “Serving Time, Serving Others: Acts of Kindness from Inmates, Prison Staff, Victims, and Volunteers” by Tom Lagana and Laura Lagana.
Excerpts from “Chicken Soup for the Prisoner’s Soul, Serving Time, Serving Others and Serving Productive Time
This was printed in the March 13, 2011 – March 26, 2011 edition.
