Pace e Bene

Photo: Sojourners

Pace e Bene staff person Fr. Louie Vitale, 77, is serving a six-month prison sentence for his prayerful witness calling for the closure of the School of the Americas at Ft. Benning, Georgia.  The following letter is one in a series Louie is writing from jail.  If you would like to write Louie a letter, please click here for the address.  To see all updates from or about Louie, click here.

  Why I Chose the “Dustbin”: Reflections on the Decision to Begin Serving My Sentence Immediately

When the three of us were sentenced to six months after the judge found us guilty, we were offered an option to post a bond — $250 plus $190 fee and self-report to a federal facility when a placement was available at an appropriate level of security (minimum for us) and desirably somewhat near our residence (within approximately 600 miles). 

As I sat in the holding cell in the federal building with everyone leaving, the thought did cross my mind, “Why did I do that?”

The judge assumed we were all choosing that option.  When I said I was not, Judge Faircloth, knowing my means status (almost no financial income),  waived the bail.  That was one reason I did not take that option.  I know that most people coming to court do not have these financial options.  He did try to encourage me, as did others.

An additional reason is that I like to begin the sentence when it is given and not wait indefinitely until the notice. It’sgood to get it over.  As I sat in the holding cell in the federal building with everyone leaving, the thought did cross my mind, “Why did I do that?”  The other co-defendants came in to be processed, but then left. 

The head marshal asked me if I wanted to go ahead and change to self-report status.  At the moment that was appealing.  When I said, “No,” he said he would check with me later.

Meanwhile I was transported to Muscogee County Jail.  They also have to find a bed and time to process inmates.  We spent several hours in a cold hard intake cell.  The benches are concrete, cold and hard.  More time to “change my mind.”

I finally was taken in, “dressed out” – in Muscogee Jail you cannot use any of your own clothes.  You get a jumpsuit, no underwear, sox or outerwear – picked up a mat and bedding, then was taken up to the Senior pod.  I had been there five years earlier and remembered it.

In the morning I went to the clinic for intake, and suddenly was pulled out and told to put on my street clothes, and said goodbye to Muscogee County Jail.

I was transported in a van to Crisp County Jail, again wondering how wise was it to short-cut the self-report option.  Every move involves hours in holding cells – that bring back my self-doubts.

I had been at Cordele before and nknew the Crisp County Jail.  My worst time in jail was there – a few moments as the deputy took me past the cell blocks with young inmates at the door saying, “Don’t put that old man in here.”

I did convey my concern to the deputy by telling that story.  He actually placed me in the first cell after the solitary cell, which is designed for two and holds four.  I was able to choose one of the sub-cells – somewhat monastic – and settle in.  My anxiety went down.   The cell-mates were helpful — even more so over the days ahead.  The hesitations that popped into my heads abated and I was re-affirmed in my decision to get started with my “time,” even in a “dustbin,” as long-time activist Phil Berrigan described county jails.

My status is not much different than my co-defendants in that all of us are on lists to go to federal facilities.  When I was here in 2006 I only had three months left to serve.  Each week I had to be ready to move on a moment’s notice in the wee hours of the morning and head out – maybe to end up in a federal facility closer to home.  But it could also be just shuffling to make space there, as happened to me in Arizona on a later sentence.  Since these moves raise the same inconvenience – hasndcuffs, shackles, uncomfortable rides, holding cells and some anxiety about the unknown – the thought of self-reporting flashes through my thoughts and bones and nervous system.  But it always seems to pass.

Now I have been here three weeks.  There has been some turnover in my “housemates.”  But they have been genial and become close to me.  With two of them I have done much praying and Bible reading.  Hearing the plight of each of them has brought me to a deeper prayer and even tears.

Here I find the community I found in the Tenderloin [the low-income neighborhood in San Francisco, California where Louie pastored at St. Boniface Catholic Church for thirteen years], that brought myself and other friars to the service of the “poor.”  Fr. Bob Cushing – a friend and fellow activist who, as local pastor who visits me weekly – told me a woman in his parish wanted to know why I chose to be held in county jail and he said, “He’s a Franciscan – that is where the poor are.” 

That seems to sum it up.

Yes, this is the answer – the “dustbin” that collects street folk and those of whatever status who have hit bottom.  One of my cellmates – Sunday school teacher, veteran Ranger from the Gulf War, police officer, sex offender – just had his probation revoked and given 14 years in prison.  I weep for him (and any he has harmed).  He needs God – and maybe, in some way, needs me.  I loaned him The Saint and the Sultan [a book about St. Francis of Assisi], hoping he will be inspired by a person of peace.

It seems God has brought me here.  I am glad I followed this inspiration.

At my farewell at St. Boniface they had me kneel and gave me God’s blessing as I went out, moved by love of those there and those ahead.  The blessing carries me forth.