As a captive observer of penal practices and policies for over three and a half decades, I'm firmly of the opinion that long-term imprisonment has far reaching psychological and emotional ramifications. The corrosive effects on the human heart and the dark shadows of deprivation cast on emotional stability, cause genuine moral decay, impaired judgment and promote human deterioration. Long-term imprisonment causes a sense of selective perception: a funny way the mind has of not seeing what it doesn't want to see. March 27, 1977: While lying on my cot, awaiting the chow bell, my wandering attention partially focused on an insignificant TV program. A CBS Special News Bulletin suddenly flashed on the screen. The news anchor, Mr. Walter Cronkite, oozing journalistic professionalism, but with an obvious underlying distress, announced: "two jumbo Boeing 747s, Pan American Flight 372 and KLM Flight 103, collided on the runway in the Canary Islands killing all 249 persons aboard the KLM flight and 333 of those aboard the Pan American flight." Graphic film footage captured the tangled devastation of flaming wreckage. The camera slowly panned along row after row of shiny black plastic body bags. Mangled, half-covered bodies and body parts of the victims were strewn on the smoldering tarmac. Further exaggerating the effect, Cronkite announced, "among the dead are a group of pre-school children who were en route home from an international Easter picnic arranged by Monsignor Patrick O'Hannigan of the Divine Holy Church of Good Saints." Me, a lifer, in my prison cell, I was devastated with shocked grief beyond any past feelings of remorse, empathy or sorrow. So overwhelmed with anguish was I, that I felt compelled to share the appalling news with my friend, Edward Farrington, a man who at that time had endured 35 years of his 54 years of life behind prison walls. Ed was sitting cross-legged on the center of his bunk, clad in only a wrinkled, state-issued T-shirt and matching boxers. His frail form, silver-gray hair and pasty complexion concealed an insane hostility that prison had festered deep within him; as a skilled predator camouflages against detection by his prey. "Ed," I asked, "did ya hear about those two planes colliding in the Canary Islands? Five hundred and eighty-one people were killed! They were practically burned alive!" Ed, visibly annoyed, lifted his head only slightly and glared over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses. "Fuck-em!" he spat without a visible change of expression. For the second time that day, I was stunned. Thinking that he may not have fully understood the gravity of my news, I elaborated "there were these pre-schoolers on one of the planes who were . . ." "Fuck them, too! he growled. Nudging his spectacles back up his nose, he added, "did any of 'em ever do any fuckin' thing for you? Now get away from my door. Haven't you noticed that I'm tryin' to watch The Price Is Right! "Damn!" I thought, he's gotta be the most heartless, cold-blooded man I've ever met. Please, God, don't ever let prison make me that coldly callous toward my fellow man. December 21, 1988: The television program I happened to be watching was interrupted with news, "a New York bound Pam Am Boeing 747 exploded in mid-flight over Lockerbie, Scotland and crashed into a village killing all 259 persons aboard and 11 persons on the ground. The passenger list includes 38 Syracuse University students. Terrorists are suspected." As I watched the grisly details unfold, I honestly expected to feel sort of sadness and shock, but there was nothing! nada, zip, zero! After long years in prison the humanity was wrung out of me and I felt not the slightest compassion or sympathy. So jaded was I by the continuing tale of blood and horror, that I quickly flipped over to the Wheel of Fortune. April 19, 1995: Another news flash, "a federal office building in Oklahoma City has exploded in a hail of twisted steel, concrete and glass. Initial speculation suggests that the explosion was a deliberate act of terrorism. Reports place day school children among the victims. Causalities are expected to be in the hundreds." Following the reporter's words, I realized that, surprisingly, I was feeling emotion. . . ... admiration for the suspected bomber. I thought, "nice work!" September 11, 2001: It was on every network, CNN, CBS, NBC, ABC. Hell, it was even announced on the Cartoon Channel! "Two commercial jet liners crashed into both towers of the New York World Trade Center! It appears to be the dastardly, cowardly deeds of deranged suicide terrorists." There were additional reports of a plane crashing, apparently shot down, not far from me in Pennsylvania. Other reports were of the Pentagon being hit by a fourth plane. As I watched, both World Trade Center towers crashed to the ground in dense billows of acrid dust. The buildings were crammed with innocent men, women and children, fire fighters, police and rescue personnel. The estimated death toll ranged upwards of 3000. Intently watching the newscast, I sensed a slight emergence of an emotion. As it matured into my consciousness, I became aware of what I was feeling. Then I became as frightened as I've ever been in my entire life. Thousands of innocent lives blown apart and my first, my only, thought was "fuck-em!" Today: Perhaps you hold the belief that long-term incarceration doesn't corrode the human heart. If so, well, one of these days, quite possibly somebody like me (but not me, I'm doing life) could be occupying a home in your neighborhood, or in your town, or in your nation. The survivor of long-term imprisonment might befriend you and your spouse, mentor your children, mow your lawn. Do you prefer a compassionate human being or a monster?