And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when."
Folsom Prison Blues, Johnny Cash
Donald Young was convicted of kidnapping and first degree murder in March of 1983. He was sentenced to life without parole. He was 23.
A few years later he was diagnosed with Ankylosing Spondilitis, a degenerative disease affecting his spine. His condition coupled with the glacial pace of the California Department of Corrections responses to his ever increasing medical needs gave him the opportunity to become a serial plaintiff. He has filed multiple actions based on the federal Civil Rights Act due to the state's inability to timely respond to his medical needs. The fact that he is smart, mouthy and a born leader who goads the correctional staff to retaliate adds color to his claims.
I met Donald in 2008, when I was appointed to represent him, in what I think is his 12th or 13th case against the state. Representing him means visiting him for extended periods in several maximum security facilities, which, god willing, I would never otherwise have the chance to visit. Donald is in a wheelchair, but his upper body is extraordinarily fit; Donald is a true badass. He doesn't scare the shit out of me, but he comes close. I don't like him, at all, but his appetite for learning is impressive. He always brings a pad and pencil and writes down any word I use he is unsure of, and is always sure to use it, correctly, in follow up correspondence.
There is a litany of rules for visiting inmates. One rule is no denim. Inmates wear denim, no one else, and there is no room for ambiguity. The Department of Corrections staff are incredibly polite, and first time I visited Donald I joked with the admitting officer that I'd almost worn my jeans. All humor drained from her face: "It would have taken you days to get out of here." Oh.
Earlier this week planned on spending Friday and Saturday in Folsom with Donald, preparing for trial to start Monday 11/16. Got six miles of cardio in on Tuesday, and sixty minutes MH's Stiff Guy yoga class, where we spent an hour on shoulders. It sucked but needed it badly. Wednesday, no exercise, 18 hours in Irvine settling a real estate case, missing the last flight to SF and having to fly into Oakland late, cabbing it to SFO to pick up the car, getting in after midnight exhausted but wired, spent an hour drinking Malbec and watching You Tube videos of Lauren Brooks and Mark Reifkind doing high pulls and snatches and some Hungarian guy doing some really crisp cleans.
Thursday, trial prep. Five miles in the morning, to the office all day, then load up the largest Timbuktu bag made with 35 pounds of paper and hit the gym. Might be the only workout for a while, went like this:
15 Hindu push-ups
10 goblet squats, 24 kg
10 clean to five press, 24kg/r 24/16 kg left.
20 tactical lunges, 16 kg
3x
Five 16kg high swing, pull, snatch combos, l/r, much better
10 windmills, 16kg 5l/5r
15 32kg swings, these were great
TGUS, 16kg 2l/r, 24kg 2l/r
3x
Back down market st. to ferry, Timbuktu/gym bag bandolier, look like an idiot but functional fitness in action.
Today. Up early to get to Folsom by 9:00. Since no denim the only casual pants I have that won't fall off are 17 year old very faded black dockers, with ripped hems, bleached spots, and paint splatters. Shit, going to be with Donald behind a metal table all day, going to be comfortable. He won't care. Throw on a washed out light shit brown turtleneck, no shave or beard trim, look like a mangy aged rottweiler. Add a nice dollop of coffee down the front going up highway 37, yes Donald, your counsel is here, ready to prep you for your 12th or 13th civil rights case.
Get off at Greenback, start looking for Folsom prison. Directions are ambiguous as hell. Pull over to figure out where I am, AG's office calls. Donald is still at the prison in Salinas. He missed the bus to Folsom. WTF, how could he miss the bus, he is in a wheelchair and it takes four guys to move him.
AG says, come down to my office, we will call the judge, get a short continuance. Wonderful. Mangy aged rottweiler now gets to go face to face with the opposition. Back down to Sac, praying the judge will not require us to appear, eyeing the pile of dirty shirts in the back seat, wondering if there truly is not a better option. AG gives me a long look, but he is cool. I keep it straight faced, we talk about our kids and drink too much coffee. Judge gets it, kicks us to 12/14.
Iphone freezes on the way back down. No phone or email for 90 minutes. May as well just shoot me. Get home, spend an hour restoring everything. 4:00, take Rose to the marsh for a walk and to breathe. Lost all the tunes on the ipod, can replace most, but will miss uber-hot Felicia Day vid, Do You Want to Date My Avatar. In the marsh, stop every ten feet to send a snarky email to someone back in the office. Reply at your peril. Absolutely will not kick my dog; the rest of the world is fair game.
Back toward the car, somone has boosted Rose's harness and leash from the bush where I'd left it hanging. $45.00 dollars of lab restraint now to be replaced.
Brigid comes in, proud of the sprocket grease on her tricep. She rocks.
Really looking forward to yoga in the morning . . .
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