Abuses in the prisons

Most prisoners in the system are non-violent criminals and yet, they are receiving a death sentence by being sent to prison. How can this happen in the US where we pride ourselves on being the watchdog of human violations? If the public were to know what is going on inside our prisons they wouldn’t believe it. And it’s not just isolated cases, but hundreds and thousands of them all over America.

The Jeff Dicks Medical Coalition does not condone criminal activity. However, we believe that inmates are sent to prison as punishment, not for punishment. The neglect of inmates' medical needs, particularly where this has the effect of causing or hastening death or disability is a serious breach of government responsibility, and of inmates' human rights. It is against national and international law. It is unethical, unprofessional and unacceptable. Sick humans should not suffer without care. How many more will have to die, before we say: Enough is enough! We are living in a world we like to call civilized...Medical care for sick people - no matter what they did - is not a luxury. It's only a basic humanity.

Access to medical attention is a fundamental human right, a right that belongs even to prisoners. Some say, “Who cares, they’re just a bunch of scumbags.” But these “scumbags” are the sons, daughters, parents, spouses, siblings and friends of someone you know. Many are misguided and even dangerous, but still they remain human beings. The most inhumane and disgusting weapon used in prisons today is medicine.

The 11 million jails and prison inmates released each year bring AIDS, tuberculosis, hepatitis, and mental disorders back into their communities, according to a report released by a national health care coalition. In its 121-page report, the National Commission on Correctional Health Care said hundreds of thousands of inmates from jails and prison re-enter society each year with dangerous communicable diseases that were either acquired behind bars or untreated while the inmate was incarcerated. Prisons also send thousands of inmates back into society with untreated mental disorders who are a danger to themselves and others, the report said.

"Growing numbers of incarcerated individuals suffer disproportionately from tuberculosis, HIV/AIDS, hepatitis, mental illness, substance addiction and many chronic diseases," NCCHC said in a statement. "Corrections departments are overwhelmed by the high cost of providing medical care and face serious challenges to providing treatment to patients. "Untreated patients jeopardize the health and safety of prison and jail staff, institution visitors, prisoners and the communities to which they return." Having millions of inmates with serious communicable diseases threatens the health and lives of thousands of dedicated corrections officers and all who work in correctional facilities, as well as the rest of the prison population and visitors. Most inmates are released after they've served their time. Upon release, the threat to public health becomes clear, as inmates return to live and work in our communities. There is no doubt that correctional facilities play a key role in the battle against the spread of disease.

We at the Jeff Dicks Coalition know about these abuses as that is what we’re doing. Although we are small at this point, we're hoping that there are more people out there who care about human rights, and the right to medical care, both on the outside and inside the prison walls. We're hoping that more will join us in the fight to ensure that everyone gets medical care no matter who they are or what they've done.

It’s inhumane some of the treatment prisoners receive once in the care of the department of corrections. How can it be that guards who work at jails and prisons are worse than those they care for? We put these people in the prisons and then murder them by medical neglect. If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a thousand times that prisoners are getting free medical care while we on the outside do not get that. How wrong can anyone be?

Nothing is free in the system. Prisoners pay for each call they put in to sick call. They cannot choose their doctors; they cannot get medicines that will heal them, they cannot get testing done and they must suffer alone. They are at the mercy of some of the worst human beings in any country, the most sadistic people you’d never want to meet. Guards who take crutches away from cripples, then put them on the top bunks, take wheel chairs from those with no legs and make them crawl in their cells if they want to eat. This is not a one-time occurrence, it happens every day in America and you, the American people have looked the other way and let it happen over and over again.

One woman (an unarmed bank robber) came in from a car crash that left her with burns over half her body and one leg amputated. She needed special hygienic soap, detergent, lotion and dye-free clothing to keep her fragile skin grafts from becoming infected. This was all deemed "not medically necessary". Another woman fought for months just to get a biopsy on a lump in her breast. A 32-year old mother of two begged a counselor for help in a hallway in the hearing of several prisoners, the counselor said "You better not be faking it. If you're faking it, you're going in the hole". This woman died the next day.

A 73-year old woman in a wheel chair was down in the surgery unit, she was reported to be immensely bloated (her stomach being the size of a basketball) and was wheeled back to her room where she was left alone in the dark vomiting. A man entering prison with two artificial legs had them taken away because they “could be used as weapons,” then guards gave him a top bunk and a kitchen job to amuse themselves. A cancer patient so sick he qualified for the compassionate release, but when they discovered him with 1/10^th gram of cannabis trying to stop vomiting, they said and meant, “You can just die here.”

A lady in her mid-fifties went to the prison medical staff complaining of her heart. They gave her Tylenol and told her, “Don’t come back unless you’re bleeding.” She died in the night of a heart attack and when the screaming brought the medical staff, the guards shoved the dead woman with their knees saying, “Get up from there, you aren’t hurt.”

The US condemns China, Peru, and others for inhumane treatment of their prisoners, yet crimes against humanity in the US carried out on their own people are unrelenting and unabated. The guards break demarcations of cruelty and ignorance. They instigate rage, bitterness and resentment. This is what we deal with. This is the product of your tax dollar...paying for their profits and guaranteed recidivism. This is the ideology you are voting for. Intelligence and awareness work for reform, and these women do want reform.

These few cases are not the isolated cases that people would like to believe. We are not a caring and loving society in the US, but brutal, cruel with no regards to human life. When something like this goes on in other countries we tell them they are uncivilized and we demand that they stop the torture of prisoners, and never once stop to look into our own torture of prisoners in our own prisons. We need to take our own advise and bring to justice those who are abusing, torturing and killing Americans who are sent to prison as punishment for their crimes and not to be brutally tortured by medical neglect. But no one cares until someone they love is behind the walls, and then if you have money, your loved ones won’t ever be in the prison system.

We’re fighting a war in Iraq and found that Saddam tortured his people in the prisons, and yet we are doing the very same thing today in America. Funny but I don’t hear the outcry against it, no one is talking about how cruel and inhumane the treatment is. I don’t hear of the guards being sentenced for their crimes against the prisoners. I don’t hear our President demanding that we clean up our prisons. Tell me, what is the difference? Is this the land of the free? That is a myth perpetrated by the rich and powerful in our country who can do anything even commit murder and get by with it.

Texas is one of the states we get the most abuse cases out of and one of the ones who do not correct their mistakes. When guards are allowed to threaten, beat, kill and laugh at human beings who are trying to serve their time and get out alive, this affects all of you. You never know when it may be one of your family members who are sent to jail, maybe for a traffic ticket and end up dead because you go on letting these things happen and say, so what, they are nothing but criminals. Some of these people who are the watchers, are worse than the criminal serving time .

Check out http://www.jeffdicksmedical.com and find out for yourselves just how many times this goes on in our prisons. Show your outrage at a society that is brutal and unfeeling to the millions of people warehoused in our systems, some for traffic violations. I’d like to hear our President condemn our own prisons and the inhumane treatment they are getting. We’ve been shown videos of prisoners being abused, and in the very state that President Bush is from, Texas.

 In an October, 1999 story in the Austin American Statesman that detailed how female prisoners in Texas
were regularly kept in portable detention cells for hours at a time in summer heat with no water. In fear of more
time in the cages, the article explains, "many women submit sexually to their oppressors and are raped,
molested and forced to perform sodomy on their captors." In 1996, a videotape that surfaced that year
depicting prison guards brutalizing inmates in the Brazoria County Detention Center in Angleton, TX.
The tape, which was originally shot for use as a training video, showed riot-clad guards beating prisoners
(arrested on drug violations) and forcing them to crawl while kicking them and poking them with electric prods.  

 Laurie Dicks, sister of Jeff Dicks had this to say.  “Personally, I am offended that people in prison are tortured,
humiliated, and killed while free world people celebrate it. I'm offended
that people are thrown to the curb when looking for help, and blamed for not
receiving what they need and then In turn killed with our government’s blessings.  I'm offended at all that I see the families of inmates are put through.  I am offended every time I know a family will spend the day in the death house with their loved one waiting to be killed.  I am offended at the way my brother and countless others have died with no one being held responsible.”

Amid trail of errors in prisons, families left with questions

Amid trail of errors in prisons, families left with questions Jonathan Wiggs/Globe Staff

Fifteen inmates in three years have committed suicide in Massachusetts state prisons -- a death spike that has pushed the suicide rate to roughly three times the rate in other states. For the families of suicide victims, getting all the facts on the deaths can be next to impossible. Even picking up the person's body and belongings can be difficult. Stonewalling and bureaucratic mix-ups by the Department of Correction can feel like parting insults to the families.

Jarred Aranda's mother was able to pick up his shoelaces, sneakers, and clothing from the North Dartmouth jail after he died. But she has yet to get answers on her son's death from the state prison officials who oversee Bridgewater State Hospital, where Aranda hanged himself during a 30-day mental health evaluation in March.

As the family was trying to plan Aranda's funeral, they were delayed for three days before the funeral home could pick up his body. Finally, the Department of Correction said it was waiting for the State Police to fingerprint Aranda. His grandfather, Jack Roche, was angry. "Fingerprints?! I can tell you who he is, I'm his grandfather!" he says he told them.

Aranda, 27, was serving a year in a county jail for minor charges. On a cold, rainy day in April 2007, Michael Hook-DiMarino picked up his brother's belongings from MCI-Cedar Junction and brought them home. It was four months since his brother, Glen Bourgeois, had hanged himself at the Walpole prison. It had taken numerous phone calls and letters to the Department of Correction and the filing of legal papers before the state agreed to release his personal items. There were three cardboard boxes and Bourgeois's TV. The boxes mostly held legal papers, books, and white T-shirts. There was no sign of the suicide note -- a note the department had first denied existed. Hook-DiMarino saw the text of the note in an investigative report: "Consider my sentence paid in full ... there was no one I could ask for help without being put in worse living conditions than I am in already."

Bourgeois was serving a life sentence for his role in a murder at age 23. Lorraine Jaillet fought hard to get the belongings of her son, Anthony Garafolo, after he died at MCI-Shirley in June 2006.

At first, investigators said they were keeping Garafolo's gold watch as evidence. His mother insisted she would come and get it herself if she had to; she wanted him to be buried in it. They sent it. The Department of Correction never returned the wheelchair Garafolo (shown here) used, his mother said. A prison spokeswoman said the wheelchair is "no longer available." Garafolo had violated probation and was awaiting trial on charges that he robbed a convenience store.

The Department of Correction let Russ Dagenais's father, Scott (left), pick up his son's body last March after Russ killed himself. But it took seven months, and prodding by the Globe, to get permission to pick up his son's belongings.

The Department of Correction says its policy is to release an inmate's property to the "proven administrator or executor." Scott Dagenais picked up eight boxes of his son's property in October. The suicide note left by Russ (left), composed of letters from magazines and newspapers, was missing.

Dagenais was serving a life sentence for murdering his former girlfriend.

Nicole Davis was supposed to be detoxing for 30 days last year at MCI-Framingham, a week before Christmas. But she only lasted a week. Depressed over the death of her son, Nathan (shown here with Davis and her mother), she was found hanging in a cell in the prison's infirmary after a night in which she repeatedly sought medical care. It took Davis's parents half a year and the help of a lawyer to get her belongings from the Department of Correction. When they opened the boxes, they were full of someone else's things. Her gold cross necklace was missing, they said, along with her rings and cellphone.

Michael Hook-DiMarino, attended a State House hearing last spring on the spike in prison suicides in Massachusetts. He was hoping to hear answers to how his brother and others have died in prisons when they were supposed to be under guard. n July, still grieving his brother's death, Hook-DiMarino attended a lantern-lighting festival in Boston to commemorate Bourgeois. Understanding how the suicide occurred isn't getting any easier, he said. "Every time I read in the paper that another person died, I think, 'Oh, my God, they're going through what I'm going through.' "

A Long Journey Home by Trevor Dicks

Trevor Dicks

"I was eleven years old when I heard the judge exclaim, "Jeffrey Dicks, you are to be executed by electrocution until you are pronounced dead! Dead, Dead!" It was at that moment, life as I knew it would never be the same..."

My first eleven years started in the peaceful New England village of Concord, NH in 1967. I am the youngest of four children. I have two older sisters, Tina and Laurie, and my older brother, Jeff. We were happy, really happy, at least temporarily when we moved to North Carolina to live. Dad was finding it harder and harder to adjust to family life after being exposed and subjected to the levels of violence in Vietnam. He turned to alcohol to deaden his inner turmoil.

Looking back through the years, I can vividly picture what became a typical Saturday night in our family. Instead of packing all six of us in a car to take in a pizza and movie, which we couldn't afford, we would gather in the living room as Mom played the piano. Gospel music filled the air, and our souls. We would sing, hymn after hymn, with my voice, young and uninhibited, bellowing out the lyrics with a smile on my face and joy in my heart.

Our voices exhausted, we’d sit back, relax and wait for Mom and Dad to set up the projector. Now it was time for our movies, family movies. We'd watch and laugh at ourselves as the screen recounted past gatherings and holidays. There was no shortage of footage and my favorites were of Christmas. At Christmas, I would be propped on Jeff's lap, smiling and eager to see what was hidden beneath the bows and ribbons. The only thing gleaming brighter than my expectant eyes was the smile on Jeff's face as he helped me unwrap present after present, leaving his own to pile haphazardly in a corner.

Jeff and I were close and we used to sit and talk about everything. I remember during one of our talks when he was explaining to me that he was ready to leave home to make his own way in the world. He was going to marry his girlfriend and have his own place. Naturally I was sad, but he said I could come and stay with him anytime I wanted and that some day I would be moving out to start my own family, too.

Looking back, as if watching one of our home movies, I see my brother standing at the door of my new room. "Hey, you little sh#t. What are you going to do, sleep all day?" he greeted me, with a twinkle in his eyes. I leapt from the bed to his arms as my eyes filled with excitement and a smile burst from my face. I proceeded to interrogate him. "What are you doing here?" "I'm here to see you dummy."

There was a smile on his face, but his eyes clouded over. I was just eleven, but I knew something was up. Okay," I said, and enjoyed the hug. "Come on, little brother, we are going to have a party." As we climbed to the top of the stairs, I saw my mother with tear-filled eyes, the sound of sniffles caught my attention and my head snapped around to find my oldest sister sitting at the front door. Tina sat with her head buried in her lap and I could see her body quiver. Instantly a feeling of dread encompassed my body and I knew something really bad had happened. My mind raced to figure it out.

With all the authority my voice could muster, I demanded to know what had happened. I sat tentatively, my soul in tune with the truth of the events that were now revealed to me. With every crackle of desperation in his voice and the helpless cries from his heart, my brother's every hope and fears became my own. Jeff and his new bride, Betty, had been living in Kingsport, Tennessee, only sixty miles from Asheville. Jeff was selling Fuller Brushes as he had done back home. Kingsport was an area that had growth potential for sales and he worked very hard to obtain a regular customer base. As they were expecting their first child, Jeff poured an enormous effort into establishing himself in the business.

We were raised to believe that it wasn't money that mattered, but friends and family; helping one another as we were taught as Christians.
Jeff, caring and softhearted, befriended a boy, Donald Strouth, who was somewhat down on his luck. They had met when they were neighbors at a previous address. One day he showed up at Jeff's door with his girlfriend, Barbara. They had nowhere else to go and so Jeff and Betty opened their home to the couple

Donald, who liked to be called Chief, was obviously a troubled young man. He had been in trouble with the police throughout his juvenile years and into his short adulthood. He had a great deal of anger and resentment built up inside of him and constantly told stories to project how tough he was. Chief didn’t have a car but would borrow his girlfriend’s car and Jeff took on the responsibility of chauffeur in the attempts to get the couple back on their feet.

As Chief was finding it difficult to secure work, Jeff often found himself financing many of their personal needs, from doing their laundry to buying a six-pack of beer. I remember going to visit and meeting Chief for the first time. There was something about him that I couldn't put a finger on it, except that he wasn't the same quality of friends that my brother had back home. I knew all Jeff's friends because they were my friends too. .

When my eyes first met Chief's cold black eyes staring back at me, I was instantly intimidated. The movie Jaws provoked the most fear I had ever encountered until that moment. I stood there feeling as if I was the vulnerable prey to his great white shark and I was frozen to where I stood. It wasn't until he forced a smile that my feeling of dread started to subside.

It was evident to Jeff that Chief was starting to have a certain degree of guilt for having to rely on Jeff's kindness in order to survive. He’d boast continually of how one day he would pay Jeff back for looking out for him. While driving Chief to the store to pick up some clothes Chief wanted to stop at a second hand shop. Jeff waited in the car unaware of the events that would transpire. Chief returned to the car and insisted that Jeff hurry up and drive.

When Jeff questioned Chief, he stated that he had to hurt the old man, but he would be all right. A robbery had taken place, and suddenly; all Chief's boasting took on a whole new meaning. Not wanting to be any part of this, but not knowing what else to do, Jeff drove as Chief pressured him to do. Jeff took none of the money when offered and once depositing Chief where he was told immediately severed all ties. He learned on the news what his heart dreaded, "shop keeper murdered." Not knowing what to do, he called Mom to come get him. Mom left right away and when they returned Jeff told us that he had decided on his own to turn himself in. This was why he was home. This was the reason for the tears and the party.

I sat in awe and joined in the worry and sadness. Jeff had already spoken to the chief investigator for the case. He told them everything he knew and this confirmed what they had expected. Chief had already been apprehended. With his prior record of violence and the blood soaked clothes, they knew they had their man. Jeff was told he would have to serve some time in jail as an accessory to robbery for not going straight to the police. So, this party was going to have to last us all for a long time. At least a few months and maybe even a year! It seems like such a short time now, but back then, it seemed like an eternity.

Time that night neither lagged nor raced, but allowed for time to think and feel, to laugh and cry, to hope and to thank God for what we had: each other and each other's dreams. We listened to Mom's favorite Gospel song, Will the Circle be Unbroken and to Jeff's new favorite song, by Leonard Skynard, Free bird. We had time enough to pray, and we did. I prayed, selfishly, that God would return my brother to me swiftly and safely.

The next day I watched the detective's car carry my brother away until it was out of sight, a single tear rolling down his cheek and a simple wave good-bye. Everything I had learned told me that he was doing the right thing, turning himself in, but I continued to sit on the front porch and stare down the road. I already missed him and the only comfort I found were in words he'd spoken to me earlier, trying to reassure me and let me know everything was going to be all right.

"I'll be back before you know it, Trev. You'll see." Jeff lunged toward me with arms out, ready to snatch me up to wrestle with me, but I didn't feel like playing, especially a cat and mouse game. I just wanted a hug. As Jeff drew closer I wrapped my arms around his neck and hung on for dear life. Jeff stood up and I brought my knees up and locked my feet behind his back. I could feel Jeff's arms tighten around me and I knew he was feeling the same as I was...

By this time, I'd given up all pretense of playing the big boy and I gave into the child within me. I rested my head on his shoulder. The tears flooded my eyes and rolled down my face. This was my first experience with the feelings of loss and helplessness. A minute passed, maybe two, before Jeff bent down giving me the chance to plant my feet back on the ground. I was reluctant to let go, but I didn't want to act like a baby. I took a step back and wiped my eyes before focusing on Jeff. His eyes were glossy too; I knew he was holding back, probably for my benefit. I sat there for hours trying to make some sense of it all. I don't know if it was an exceptionally spectacular sunset or if my mind was searching extra hard for the strength to get up, but it reminded me of the awesome power of God and nature. I suddenly longed for church day to come, so I could talk to God. I knew he would make things right and make sense of all the things that were now baffling me. I made a conscious decision to try and carry on as if everything was normal.

I grew up watching shows like Perry Mason. It was one of my mother's favorites. In every episode the bad guy ended up going to jail and the innocent were always set free. This is how I thought the justice system worked, I didn't know any different. Mom and I had a standing date whenever Perry Mason or The Fugitive was on TV. We'd curl up next to each other on the couch and have some quality time, just the two of us. The Fugitive, Mom's other favorite show, and mine too, was about an innocent man, wrongly convicted, who had escaped from jail. He was trying to prove his innocence while being chased by the police. I can remember thinking that that could never happen in real life, especially if he'd had a lawyer like Perry Mason who would have proven him innocent before he went to jail.

I didn't understand what was happening inside of me at that time. I was being shunned by society and rapidly filling up with anger toward any and all authority. They were going to go for the death penalty on my brother even though they knew he was not guilty. Everything I had been brought up to believe I found myself doubting. My mother tried desperately to hold my family together and save my brother's life, but the heavy strain was taking its toll on my father, who was drinking every day now. This became an even heavier burden to carry. He was out of work now and all their savings were exhausted, so they sold our house and divorced after seventeen years of marriage.

My new stepfather, Donald, gave up a lot to try to save my brother. He sold his land, his trailer; everything of value along with our house and cars, but it still wasn't enough. I remember being at the flea market in North Carolina, shortly before we set out on the road. We were selling every thing of value in our home, things we had accumulated as a family our entire lives. I remember seeing Mom crying and I asked her why, she told me she was just sad because she didn't know how she was going to come up with all the money for Jeff's attorney. Without hesitating, I quickly surrendered the few dollars I had made selling some of my old toys and things, but this only made her cry harder.

After a few moments she pulled me to her for a hug and told me what a big helper I was. It felt pretty good to think I was helping my brother too, still I knew from overhearing conversations we were a long way away from raising that money. Mom saw the potential in the flea market and after exhausting every other option except robbing a bank, she decided she would write "hot" checks to purchase tools and things that we could sell at the markets. She knew this was illegal and so did I but it was either that or Jeff would surely die! Mom raised thousands of dollars in the months that followed and sent nearly every cent of it to Jeff's attorney, Larry Smith.

I remember the trial well. My mother was upstairs in jail for contempt of court because she dared cry out to the jury when evidence was not allowed in my brother's behalf. "That's a filthy lie!" got my Mom ten days. Laurie and Tina were both kicked out for crying. My uncles were kicked out of the entire state, and my Dad, of course, was in no shape to be in a courtroom. I'll never forget the look of terror on Jeff's face and the feeling of dread as the judge read the sentence. DEAD, DEAD, DEAD! I could see his whole body shaking as he turned around in the courtroom looking, searching desperately for someone to rescue him from this nightmare. The guards had a firm hold on his arms that were shackled to his waist. They immediately started to escort him from the courtroom, pulling and tugging vigorously. I could hear the sound of his leg irons as they dragged on the floor over the noise of the prosecutor’s celebration. I watched, helpless to save him, as they dragged him closer to the door. Everything in me told me they were taking him straight to the chair.

Nana and Pop could offer no words through their tears and we made our way out of the courthouse. My heart was racing and at the same time breaking. No one was telling me squat to put it bluntly. That's when I heard my mother's screams coming from the bars over the courthouse. If there is an actual 'Moment of Terror', I was in it. Visions of my Mom watching my brother being executed from behind her bars overpowered my mind. Her screams were long and agonizing and I wasn't about to wait any longer for answers or actions.

I began pulling on my step dad desperately pleading with him to help me save my big brother and maybe even Mom too. I was jumping up and down ready to burst into an all out run, an all out fight if necessary, back into the courthouse through all those policemen. I guess good sense told me to go get reinforcements as I pulled Larry and Donald. Mom's screams had stopped but mine were still going strong deep inside. I guess it was at that moment everyone realized that I didn't have a clue, and my Grandma and step dad began to educate me on the appeals process and that we still had some time.

The following days, weeks, months were a blur. I guess I went into shock and I don't know if I've ever really come out of it. There were many mistakes at Jeff's trial. Witnesses were told not to testify in Jeff's behalf. The police were hot and heavy after Mom in the days that followed the trial, and there was probably a truancy officer looking for me. We had some close calls but I guess we were lucky, they never did catch us. Every close call was kind of like a round won against the heavy weight champion, the world, the system that started this bout and was by no means playing by the rules. Mom turned herself in to the FBI after a year on the run, as she wanted to be there for Jeff. Knowing Mom was desperately trying to save her son's life she received probation with restitution. I couldn't find a single reason why all this was happening to our family and I thought even God had abandoned me.

I had a talk with God and told him I wouldn't be talking or praying to him anymore. I felt as if he was punishing all of us for something that escaped me. But when I got older and could figure out just what it was we had done to be punished like this, I would speak to him again... When he wasn't mad at me anymore.. I said goodbye to my God that I loved so very much and the pain in my heart was unbearable. Now the only person in my life I could count on was my mom. I became very confused and angered and I searched for things to make me feel better. The things I found along the road that now laid before me, included drugs and alcohol. When just a little bit would no longer ease the pain it led to serious substance abuse. I traveled from state to state looking for something to change the way I was feeling inside, never staying more than a few months in any one place.

As the years went on with us visiting the prison four days a week my depression seemed incurable. I had tried everything but nothing seemed to change the hopeless outlook I now had on life. All I wanted to do was go to sleep. Forever.... I found a field close to my trailer, and in the early morning hours I laid down beneath the stars. I waited and watched until those big bright stars slowly faded, until at last I found peace. I remember hearing sniffles and a soft whimpering, I could feel a hand caressing my cheek and head. I struggled to focus my eyes, but there was still a haze. I felt a few more strokes to my face, and then from the darkness she began to appear. It was Mom, her eyes were swollen and her eyeliner stained her face. She cringed up and I saw the tears come streaming down her face. "Oh, Trevor," was all she could muster.

It had taken doctors 67 stitches to stop the life from pouring out of my wrists. I felt so ashamed, as if it was Mom and I against the world and I had left her there to fend for herself. "Oh, Trevor," she said again, "I've fought so hard to save one son and I may loose him, I can't take losing you too." I could almost feel how hopeless she felt. I knew it was the same helplessness she felt as my brother's death sentence came down. I knew she would take away all my pain and put it on herself if she could. Since 1994 I have taken an active part in The Journey of Hope, which has enabled me to share my personal experiences with other people about the drugs and alcohol and my goal is to continue to reach out to victims. But seeing my brother through the years, all he's done for the guys on the row, I am proud to call him my big brother.

A better man never lived, except for Jesus. He too was sentenced to death for a crime he did not commit. He accepted his fate and did not ever complain to God for his lot in life. Jeff never lost faith in God. He never said a hated word or participated in a violent act. He teaches about God. He teaches to men who are condemned to die, never judging them for their acts. I truly believe in my heart, there was not another man alive to fulfill Gods will except for Jeff. So today I accept my lot in life. There are still times I want to strap on my six-shooter and go take my brother home, or at least die fighting. I know today this is not an option and what scares me is there are millions of people out there whom still don't know this type of behavior is unhealthy to say the least.

Many people tend to forget that the family members of the condemned are victims. When they lose someone to the death penalty, they feel all the same pain and loss of their loved one, just as a murder victim’s family does. It was nineteen years ago that I heard those works, "dead, dead, dead!" and have lived with the knowledge that the state of Tennessee is going to kill my big brother for a crime he did not commit! They call one an act of murder and another a mistake. Some even say the innocent are expendable, but I say no life is expendable...

Mom and I speak at colleges and schools about anti violence with a DVD she taped on Tennessee’s death row called The Choice Is Yours. The guys talk to the kids about being in prison and on death row because of going down the wrong road in life. After the kids watch the DVD, mom speaks to them about Jeff’s story and her long fight to prove his innocence and then I talk to them about how my anger at the system for what they did to my big brother had me doing drugs and alcohol once I was old enough to do so.

We tell them that is not the answer and it’s made a big difference to many of them. I feel as if I’m doing something worthwhile by helping some other kid from taking the wrong road in life. I might have been in prison if not for my mom and today I have a son and daughter to live for, and the thought that one day we will prove my big brothers innocence.

. **On May 10,1999, My Big Brother, Jeff Dicks died of medical neglect. He was killed by this so-called humane system. www.jeffdicks.net

** Trevor Dicks was killed in 2004. He went out of control in his truck after his ex-wife Robin kicked him out of the house knowing he had been drinking during the day. While he got off the drugs, he still found it hard to give up the alcohol. www.trevordicks.com

Abu Ghraib "does not reflect the nature of the American people?”

Abu Ghraib "does not reflect the nature of the American people?”

By Shirley Dicks

 The news is filled with stories and photos of prisoners that have been abused overseas. The world is talking about
the treatment and abuses prisoners have been shown while in custody. President Bush was on foreign television
saying that the abuse of Iraqi prisoners at Abu Ghraib "does not reflect the nature of the American people."
"That's not the way we do things in America," he added. But evidence says that the president is wrong on both
counts.

Rumsfeld, asked about the impact on U.S. standing in the world, called the revelations "unhelpful in a fundamental way." He condemned the alleged abuses as "totally unacceptable and un-American" and said he had been "stunned" by the evidence. At a later news conference, Casey, the Army's vice chief of staff, recounted measures taken in recent weeks to avoid a recurrence. The military police and intelligence units at the Abu Ghraib prison have been replaced, and a single two-star general has been put in charge of all detainee operations in Iraq, he said.

With the reported allegations of physical and sexual abuse of Iraqi detainees by American and British soldiers in the Abu Ghraib prison near Baghdad “shocking and lamentable.” Allegations of sexual abuse of Iraqi prisoners by coalition soldiers have been reported in The New Yorker, The New York Times, on CBS’s 60 Minutes 2, by Amnesty International, and others. “This is not the standard of behavior that we should be setting in Iraq,” Stemple said. “Torturing prisoners is no way to demonstrate a commitment to freedom and human rights.”

In a perfect world, this wouldn’t happen, but this isn’t a perfect world. People are outraged that such treatment was committed upon prisoners and denials are sure to follow. However, this is the normal way of treatment to prisoners in America, happening every single day in our own prisons. Have you heard about these atrocities? No, and even if you had, you wouldn’t believe them. Our own Americans are being tortured, beaten, raped, killed and denied medical care and who cares?

I have to wonder why the President hasn’t gone on television in the US and spoken to the people about the tortures going on here. I have to wonder why he doesn’t apologize to the many families who have buried their loved ones who may have been in prison on non violent crimes, or innocent of any crime. I have to wonder why the American people do not care what happens in their own back yard.

Jeff Dicks sat in a cell complaining of chest pains, was refused a medical doctor who would donate his time to check him out, and was killed due to medical neglect in Tennessee. For five years The Jeff Dicks Medical Coalition, www.jeffdicks.org has had thousands of cases in all states of torture of our own prisoners in just the medical field. That doesn’t count the rapes, beatings, shootings and putting them in restraint devices to kill or maim them.

Let me make known a few cases of point here. Crystal Smith arrived at the Receiving and Orientation Section in the Women's Eastern Reception, Diagnostic and Correctional Center in Vandalia, Missouri. She would be there for two weeks before being sent to a permanent section to serve her sentence. She never had a chance to serve her sentence. She died because she had a condition known as hyperthyroidism and was not allowed to have her medication. Crystal had been up all night asking to go to medical.

She was crying, up at the intercom at 1:30 a.m. and stating she had been vomiting pure blood. She was freezing and couldn't warm up holding her throat and stomach. Mo Clark kept telling her to go lay down, go lay down. Crystal was sitting on her cot and rocking and crying. Her roommate could tell she had died sitting up in agony. Her feet were still partially on the floor. Crystal had just slowly fallen to the side with her feet still hanging off her cot. All Crystal needed was her thyroid pill. The denial of one little pill cost her, her life.

Lavenia Populus, #1005817, died screaming on the floor of the infirmary where she was housed at WERDCC in Vandalia. Someone who cleans the infirmary witnessed Inmate Populus' death, and reported that the room looked like a slaughter house, that Ms. Populus has been crying and pleading for help all day, telling them she was in severe pain. It is also reported that a doctor’s answer was to prescribe Maalox.

Two nurses at a juvenile jail were charged with murder, accused of failing to treat a 17-year-old inmate who died of a burst appendix after three days in pain. In a scathing attack on the juvenile justice system, a Miami-Dade County grand jury said the women skipped examinations or falsified medical records on Omar Paisley, who spent his last days ``in agony lying on a concrete bed.''

Charles Guffey, 39, died of a perforated ulcer October 1997 in the Tulsa County Adult Detention Center, in Oklahoma, after nurses working for Wexford Health Sources Inc. allegedly ignored his pleas about severe abdominal pain.

Four prison guards were charged in the beating death of an inmate who allegedly angered them by repeatedly crying out for his methadone treatment. The guards pleaded innocent in the death of Thomas Pizzuto, who died six days after entering the Nassau County jail to serve three months for a traffic violation.

Florida…An inmate died after being locked in a neck restraint while struggling with Duval County
jail guards, who used the same hold that killed a mentally ill man fighting Jacksonville police last year

When the prisoner is brought to some prisons, he is stripped naked and placed in a cell that is completely enclosed. The only thing visible is the inside of the cell. The unlucky ones get placed in one of two torture devices called, “The Chair” or “The Board.” These instruments come right out of those 19^th Century insane asylums. A person is strapped in so that the only movable part of the body is the head. The person is kept in these for many days. They are fed liquid Ensure, water three times a day, maybe 6 ounces, and often must live in his own excrement.

Corcoran guards greeted a busload of thirty-six shackled inmates from Calipatria prison by punching them, grabbing their testicles and hurling them off the bus, according to Department of Corrections records. The prisoners were led inside and beaten further, then forced to lie flat while guards yanked back their heads and cut off their braided hair.

This kind of treatment is the normal in the US. President Bush needs to start looking and reading so he won’t lie again when he says, "That's not the way we do things in America.”

Our President is not saying how inhumane Americans are being treated by guards and medical personnel in the US. Our newspapers and magazines are not running stories about the abuses going on here in our prisons. We don’t hear about these cases on the six o’clock news. Makes you stop and wonder why. Why is it that abuse is hidden here, and yet it’s condemned and called "totally unacceptable and un-American". Why isn’t President Bush "stunned" by the evidence here in the US by the thousands upon thousands of deaths due to abuse?

In his own state of Texas, abuses run rampart. In an October, 1999 story in the Austin American Statesman that
detailed how female prisoners in Texas were regularly kept in portable detention cells for hours at a time in
summer heat with no water. In fear of more time in the cages, the article explains, "many women submit sexually
to their oppressors and are raped, molested and forced to perform sodomy on their captors."

In 1996, a videotape
that surfaced that year depicting prison guards brutalizing inmates in the Brazoria County Detention Center in
Angleton, TX. The tape, which was originally shot for use as a training video, showed riot-clad guards
beating prisoners (arrested on drug violations) and forcing them to crawl while kicking them and poking them
with electric prods.  I didn’t hear President Bush complaining, or rushing to defend these prisoners, or making
the guards stand trial for their abuses to these prisoners. I wonder why?

I agree that no prisoner anywhere should be treated in such a manner and I also agree that this kind of treatment needs to be stopped. What I’m saying is, stop the torture and inhumane treatment of our own people who are in prisons across the United States, give them medical care, stop the beatings and rapes that go on daily. Prosecute those who continue to treat these human beings in such an inhumane way.

Look into our own back yards and fix our problems, which there are many. Do you think these are isolated cases? No, they are the normal treatment that prisoners can expect when they lose their freedom. Times have not changed much since we burned witches at the stake. Let’s hear it from the newspapers, announcers, talk show hosts and our President about how horribly inhumane treatment and abuses are going on in our US prisons.

When we will as decent human beings stop these atrocities? When will we stand up and say enough is enough, and begin to fight to stop abuses from going on in our name. When prisoners are tortured, raped, beaten and even killed, when they are released back in society, it’s you and me who will face these angry and enraged people. We are the ones who will suffer at their hands because they are filled with the need for revenge for the treatment they received inside and with our indifference to the horrors they were going through. Everyone who is against torture of prisoners needs to join us and help stop this kind of treatment. Let’s make our prisons as humane as possible. Not all who are in prison are guilty. Not all who are in prison are violent when they go in and we can make living inside better.

A Mothers Torment Prologue

A Mothers Torment
Prolouge

Greeneville, Tennessee Courthouse 1979
I had just been allowed back in the courtroom during my son’s murder trial, and as I listened to the lies the Prosecution was saying, I jumped up in my seat and screamed,
""He’s innocent and you know it. You lie. You know he didn’t do it. He wouldn’t have come back if he were guilty."

THE COURT: Sheriff, take the Jurors out
Again I screamed as Nelson’s hands were trying to keep my mouth shut, with Donald on the other side of me trying to make me sit down.
"They’re lying. He didn’t –"

THE COURT: During the course of this trial and pre trial hearings and during the course of the trial of the companion case, a gun was taken from this lady who just made this outburst in the companion case while she was in the courthouse during pre trail hearing, as I left the courtroom, this lady yelled, "Your prejudiced: after I had granted a motion to change venue in the case. The court is—

I pulled Nelson’s hands from my mouth. "Your Honor, I gave that gun to them, they didn’t confiscate that gun from me.

The Court has ignored all of these matters up to this point understanding that this lady is the mother of the Defendant.
" They didn’t take the gun from me."

THE COURT: For this outburst, the court finds this woman, Mrs. Dicks, in contempt of Court and sentences her to ten days in jail and to a fifty dollar fine. Execute the sentence, Sheriff’

"You know he’s innocent. They didn’t confiscate the gun, I gave it to them.

THE COURT: Any further outburst during the course of this trail will result in the punishment—after the trial, the results of identical punishment to any other person. Further, all parties should be advised that it is a felony crime punishable by the penitentiary sentence in the State of Tennessee to threaten a witness, court officials, jurors, or any person involved in a civil or criminal proceedings.
That’s a lie. He’s not guilty." I

I gasped for breath. My lungs were full of air and yet, I couldn't breathe. My son reached out his hands, and the look in his tear-filled eyes pierced my soul. Every passing second, I felt his terror and heard his silent screams, though not a sound came from his lips.

Those beautiful green eyes first touched my heart so many years ago: it seemed like only yesterday I held him in my arms and promised him the world. I swore to protect him from all the evil in the world, and to love him unconditionally, as every mother should. So many plans for him when he grew up, and now they were gone. Now, in his darkest hour, his eyes cried out for help. I felt his fear, confusion, disbelief, and desperation. A mothers love stood up! My loud voice echoed throughout the courtroom.

My protest burst forth in a huge breath, "No-o-o! No-o-o! My son is not guilty! You’re not hearing the truth!" My gaze went to the jury and settled on the twelve faces who would decide my son's fate. All eyes turned to me, and I searched desperately for help. I wanted them to know that Donald "Chief" Strouth was the one who murdered Jimmy Keegan. I wanted them to know Jeff had no knowledge of the crime being committed inside the store that day, and Jeff hadn’t taken any of the robbery money.

The fact he’d been outside waiting in the car did not make him a participant in a murder or robbery he didn’t know was happening. I wanted the jurors to know what happened in Strouth’s trial, the testimony that showed he alone committed the crime.

Judge Calhoun turned to the jury box. "You are to go to the jury room and disregard anything you may have heard from any spectator." I watched the jurors as they were led out of the room, my legs became unsteady, and I couldn't breathe. Jeff turned to reached out, but four guards standing with him, seemed ready to pounce if he made a wrong move.

"Sheriff!" Judge Calhoun yelled. "Take this woman, and lock her up for contempt of court!"

I didn’t care what they did to me. They wanted to kill my son for a crime he never committed, a crime he never saw. I had to save him. I was his mother and it was up to me to protect my child. We weren’t criminals. We had been a normal everyday family until this happened to us. We’d had a new home, four kids, two dogs and a mortgage. We went to church on the Sabbath day and tried to bring out children up right.

My ex-husband, Nelson was standing now, his hand tightly over my mouth. I fought to take it off. My husband Donald stood and pushed me back on the bench, but I wouldn’t sit down. I knew they were trying to keep me out of trouble with the judge, but I was consumed with hatred and rage. The prosecutor had lied, and worse, he knew it. Judge Calhoun continued as Mike and Roger, my two brothers stood beside me.

"What are you doing?" Calhoun yelled at them.

"We’re going to walk with her to the Sheriff’s office to make sure she gets there in one piece," Mike said to the judge. Both of them were only looking out for me because we’d heard what went on in Southern jails.

"I want a warrant for these two men, Sheriff." Calhoun rapped his gavel as the deputies stood on either side and escorted me out of the courtroom. I heard whispering as I was being led away, but I didn’t care. I turned back to the judge once more.

"But judge," I protested. "My son is not guilty. You know he’s not." My voice raised, I tried to pull away. Their hands tightened and dug around my arms.
I gazed at Jeff as they led me away. He had a look of utter helplessness and terror on his face. He seemed so young, dark curly hair, green eyes that once sparkled, but now were dull after a year in jail awaiting trial. I stumbled as fear overcame me. Fear of what they were going to do to my child. His gray suit fit him perfectly, his short curly hair was combed neatly and he looked more like the attorney than they did.

The guards surrounded him, as if he could escape with chains on his waist and feet. They pulled on his chains like they would a wild beast that had to be forced into submission. I wanted to hurt them as they were hurting my son. I wanted to scream that he was not an animal they could abuse, but I knew it would be worse for Jeff if I did.
I saw the shocked looks of my parents as they sat silently behind Jeff, along with his wife, Betty, Nelson, and Donald.

Downstairs they took my purse, and walked me out the back door of the courtroom, across the back yard and into the jail. The jailhouse was directly behind the courthouse in Greenville, Tennessee. The guards led me up the stairs to a room on the top floor. This was a nightmare, and soon I’d wake up. Our attorney’s words echoed in my ears as I sat on the wooden chair in the cell room.
As I stood in the small room that housed two other girls, I couldn't stop thinking about my son. I gazed around at the cold steel and empty block walls that rendered me powerless to help him.

The sounds of laughter caught my attention and I felt anger that anyone was laughing at this time. Puzzled, I peered through my bars and into a small room across the way. I saw people jotting about, smiling, and laughing.
I remember thinking that this was a strange place to have a party, especially with a murder trial going on. That's when it hit me. I recognized one of the faces, then two. I was looking into the deliberating room. The jurors were in there deciding if my son would live or die.

I felt instant rage! I felt it surging through every vein in my body. I grasped the bars testing them to see if I could rip them from their concrete foundation. My knuckles turned white and filled with pain, but I wanted vengeance.

I wanted those jurors to know the truth. I felt rage, helplessness and hatred. I wanted to hold on to this new hatred that now possessed me, because it felt better than helplessness, but I could not. Jeff was at their mercy and I could not save him.
The jury only knew the story the Prosecutor portrayed to them.

They didn’t know about the stockpile of evidence that proved my son’s innocence. They didn't know about the altered testimony or of the lies. Deep inside beneath the rage, I wanted to plead with them. Beg them if necessary to save my son's life. But the time for pleading was over. I realized they had already read their verdict. And this is why they were celebrating. It was over.

Time stood still as I gazed down and saw my daughter, Tina standing outside. Her long brown hair hung around her face. She looked lost and scared. At seventeen, she looked about twelve standing there outside the back door of the courthouse.
"Tina," I screamed." What happened? What did they do?"

She looked up at me, and I saw the pain and anguish on her young face. I knew in that instant my worst nightmare was coming true. They were going to kill my son.
Tina turned and ran without a word, and I heard the distant screams. My knees buckled, as if a ton of steel rested on my shoulders, and I realized the screams I heard were my own. The screams kept coming. My knees stung as I collapsed to the floor. I felt as if God had forsaken me and I cried out. "God please don't take my son.... Please don't take my baby." God had deserted us, and I hated Him.

"Noooo," I screamed again as I clutched the bars.

"You can't kill my son. Noooo" the screams went on and I couldn’t stop. I threw back my head and looked up at the once beautiful sky, pleading with a God I couldn’t see. Why had he let this happen to us?

I couldn't see below in the courtyard any longer because tears blinded me. The world had stopped. Numb, I hung on to the bars. I was vaguely aware of the other girls in the room, but I didn’t care about them. My mind felt as if it had left my body and I wanted to punch the wall, jump to the ground below.

I wanted to get Jeff and run away where no one could hurt him. He hadn't done anything wrong, yet they were going to put him in the electric chair, strap him in, and pull the switch. They were going to burn him from the inside out.
What kind of monsters were they? I wanted my unbearable pain to stop. I wanted to take his place. Life wouldn’t be worth living if they murdered my son. The room spun, and through the fog I heard my mother's voice reach out to me, like a beacon of light.

I looked down and saw my mother and father standing there in the courtyard where Tina had stood just minutes before. I saw my father, with his snow-white hair look up at the window where I stood. Tears were streaming down his face... his shoulders were slumped down from the pain.

He didn't say a word, but turned away. He’d suffered from heart trouble and I knew this was not doing him any good, but I was powerless to stop. I saw my mother standing there, yelling up at me. Tears were streaming down her face and she tried to comfort me..

"We'll fight this thing, Shirley. Please stop. Your father can’t take this, Please Shirley...it's not over...we've just begun."

My Mother was right. This Mothers Torment had just begun.
My nightmare was only beginning, and for the next twenty years I would be living it. I vaguely remember the nurse and my mother coming in and giving me a shot to quiet me down and let me sleep. I wanted to die, just go to sleep and never wake up again. As darkness overtook me, I thought back to when it all began.

Read the book at www.amotherstorment.com

A Mothers Torment

How far would you go to save your child’s life?
Would you write hot checks to pay attorney fees, sell your home, attempt a-jail break as a last resort and, - be on the run for a year with two young children?

This mother did.

Fighting the system while running from the law, living on the lam with her eleven year old son, Trevor and baby granddaughter Maria, A MOTHER’S TORMENT is a testimony to family love; a system’s indifference; a mother’s desperation; and finally, an unjust death.

Jeffrey Dicks, who languished on death row for twenty three years for a robbery he didn't commit and a murder he didn't even see. A Mothers Torment, told by Shirley is the tense, personal and highly moving true story of the bloody crime of which eighteen year old Jeffrey was accused of.

At the trial, they watched in horror as VITAL evidence was never presented to the jury. and testimony was changed from one trial to the other to get the jurors to find Jeff Guilty. The prosecutor lied to get a conviction and the judge knew he was doing that and allowed it to happen.

Jeff, who had no history of violent or criminal behavior was convicted of a murder and sentenced to die in Tennessee's electric chair. Jeffrey Dicks is one of the many victims of our legal system who became trapped in the over burdened justice system.

Without the weapons of MONEY, Savvy, or Connections, Jeff was defenselessly slaughtered by an obsessed detective and a judge who disallowed pertinent testimony that would have proven him innocent.

Read of this mother’s dramatic battle with the system to save her innocent son from the state’s execution. A family’s thrilling true-life adventure trying to save a son, and brother, on death row. A poor, but law-abiding family originally from Concord, NH, now living in the state of Tennessee, Shirley breaks the law to raise money for the defense of Jeffrey Dicks, a beloved son and cherished brother, and when that failed planned a jail break.

Strong bonds between mothers and their children, especially their sons, is the emotion that grabs the READER, and squeezes him in a stranglehold. Read on in a crescendo of heartbreaking pain until the bitter end And a bitter end it is for the author, fighting to save her innocent son in any way she can, as the legal clock ticks toward the final hour.

A dramatic page-turner written about a family running from the law, living on the lam, while, all the while, fighting the legal system. It’s an inspiring story of strength and determination of a woman, her eleven year old son Trevor, and baby granddaughter, trying to keep mind and family together.

Ms. Dick’s most gripping legacy in the book indeed arises from the contemplation that while Jeff sat in prison and his trial turned into an unbelievable travesty with only one possible outcome, it is a scenario that has no doubt played countless times throughout the United States, exacting as its toll the anguish of countless mothers and sons like Ms. Dicks and Jeff.

Fighting the system while running from the law, living on the lam, and trying to keep mind and family together, Shirley Dicks own story is as heart piercing as the one she tells of her son. Shirley continues to fight for her son's life and the abolishment of capital punishment. Her warning of petty crime and getting involved with the wrong people is something every young person should read.

Shirley spent the next twenty five years speaking out against the death penalty and talking to teens about the dangers of drugs, alcohol and hanging with the wrong person. Her youngest son Trevor also went to the colleges and schools speaking with her, warning kids how easy it was for him to get involved in drugs and alcohol himself over the years. He married and had three children himself, visiting his big brother Jeff who sat on death row. Their story is one crisis after another until the ending. www.amotherstorment.com Read the book by Shirley Dicks