The day of our move was like most moving days, overcast and rainy. In Oklahoma, the weather tends to be a major topic of conversation. On this November morning, the talk was all about whether it would get cold enough for the sleet and rain to freeze into what they call a "Good ole Oklahoma Ice storm".
If you missed part one, read it here
As much as I would like to see what the world looks like with two inches of ice covering it, I was hoping not. Two inches of ice meant no school tomorrow. If there is one thing worse than the first day at a new school, it is probably being home with my mom unpacking.
We rolled into town about eleven AM. Me, riding shotgun in the U-Haul truck, my dad, Pastor Ronald Roland, driving. My mom, Janice, had come ahead of us while we stayed to finish loading the truck. The drive from northern Kansas hadn't been too bad, and I was hoping she would be waiting for us with breakfast. I wondered if Rogers had a McDonald's. We rolled past a Sonic, the one fast food place no small Oklahoma town seemed to be complete without.
Before you get to thinking this story is about me, you should know that the real star of the show is a guy named James Casey, who was probably waiting for me and my dad at our house as we rolled into town. His part in the story started at the beginning of the week, and we moved to Rogers on Friday, so, let me catch you up.
First, James Casey is probably my best friend in the world. He is for certain my best adult friend, and maybe my second or third favorite person of all time. He is also a convicted felon. His part of this story is the part that starts at a correctional facility in Georgia.
Mr. Casey had once made a single stupid choice that started a domino chain of events, way too long for this story. It ended with him in a medium security prison in Georgia. On the day this story really starts, he is headed for his parole hearing.
It might help if I tell you a little what James looks like, although he is pretty average. He is almost six feet tall, a little taller than my dad, and kind of medium thick. He wears black rimmed glasses, which give him kind of a Clark Kent look, like he is about to change into his superhero outfit, or something. On the day of his hearing he had a huge lumberjack beard, but he's not a hipster, and didn't want anybody to think he was. He just hadn't shaved since they sent him to prison seven years before for armed robbery.
James got out of bed that morning and took one look in the mirror over the little tin sink in his cell. He told me that a little voice whispered in his ear that he really ought to cut off all that beard before he went to his hearing. Now, some people might say it was coincidence, but as weird as it sounds, I happen to believe it was God, or an angel at the least. I say that, because what happened that day could not have happened without him shaving his face and making such a huge difference in the way he looked.
I guess something like that can be quite a shock. James said he stood looking at himself in the mirror, remembering his face from seven years before, for at least thirty minutes. He knows it was that long, because, while he stood there, they knocked on his cell door and said it was time to go. He had started shaving more than hour before his hearing
The room they used at the prison for parole hearings is the same room they used as a chapel, and it had pews, and a pulpit in it. James said it looked like a church, except they couldn't keep a cross in the room anymore, since it got used by a lot of different groups to hold services. I didn't think that mattered much, since God is everywhere all the time anyway and the main difference a church makes is inside of us.
They took him into the room in chains, and when he got to his seat, they took them off, since the parole board asked them to. One guard stood at the back of the room, and James sat on the front pew, with a wooden table in front of him with a microphone, to record whatever he wanted to say.
The board was six people. They came in and sat on the stage in chairs, and the head of the group came to the podium, to use the microphone.
He said they had him stand, and confirm his name, and some other stuff, which he didn't really remember. He was too focused on what he was going to say. When it came to that part, he said he was real nervous and had to take a drink from the paper cup of water and plastic pitcher the guard had left on the table for him.
“Mr. Casey,” the head of the board said. It echoed in the old microphone with a ring to it. “Do you have anything you'd like to say to this board in regards to why we should consider your early release?”
“Yes” he choked and sipped a little more water, “Yes, sir. I have served seven years here, and in that time, I think I have proved my intentions to change. I have had positive assessments from the warden, and have contributed a lot to making this a good place. I have taken advantage of the education opportunities and have finished a two-year degree in business. I have also kept in touch with my son, and his mother, and they are ready to welcome me. All in all, I think I have am rehabilitated, and I am ready to be a productive citizen.”
“Well, I see you have an exemplary record here in this facility, and I commend that. What I find troublesome is the fact that you not only confessed to the crime that brought you here but plead guilty to three other felonies. Is that correct, sir?”
“Yes, your honor.” James said, sipping some more water. “I gave evidence in those three cases, which helped in convicting the real criminals who were behind those crimes. My part was minor.”
“That's all well and good,” the parole board chairman scratched his chin, flipping through a file folder. “But that, coupled with your juvenile record tells a much different story. Are you a bad man, Mr. Casey? Because this looks like the life story of a career criminal in the making.”
“No, sir, I am not a bad man. What I did, I did to support my family.” James said, a pit opening in his stomach.
“Support your family? You mean your unwed girlfriend, and the son which you assume to be yours? That's why you got involved in so many shady dealings?” The microphone rang again, and the chairman asked for it to be turned down a little.
“You see, sir, my life started out as a series of unfortunate events.” James replied.
“A series of unfortunate events?” the chairman echoed.
“Yes, a series...” James' voice failed him.
The chairman peered at James over the tops of his bifocals, “No sir that is not what I see here. A series of unfortunate events is a title for a children's book. What we have here is a pattern of terrible life choices. Choices that led you into a life of crime, not just some isolated unfortunate events, wouldn't you say?”
James sighed, “Begging your pardon, but it did not feel like a choice at the time sir, and I have done a lot of changing inside these walls.”
“Be that as it may, it seems to me that the eight years the jury of your peers gave you is barely an adequate reminder of the consequences of your actions. You probably should be serving a good deal more time than that. Upon review of your case, and as you have added nothing that this panel finds compelling. We will recommend that parole be denied. You are to remain in the custody of the...”