Wanted Reward 25 Cents by Dave Lemay

Copyrights @ 2013-2021 Dave Lemay All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form, or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior permission of the publisher/author. ISBN- 978-1-6780-9070-8

Dedicated To: My wife Denise who assisted with proof reading and put up with watching me write for endless years. My mother Rita, my brother Ernie, who were somehow always there in my time of need. My sister Helene, died at age 63, who assisted me greatly to eventually attain a semblance of freedom, my brother George, died at age 54, my Dad, died at age 86. All of my true friends, you'll find them, herein.

Introduction

The artwork on the cover of this book is something that I forever cherish. Unfortunately, I’m not sure, just who, I have to thank for it. In the early seventies, I used to hang out at a restaurant at the corner of Young and Bloor streets in Toronto. Guess that statement really dates me. Anyway, one day, I was sitting there having a soft drink and when I looked up, I noticed a man who was busily drawing something. When I got up, he handed me this sketch of myself, drawn on a napkin. At the time, we both got a laugh out of it but he never knew what an accurate depiction he had just handed me and of course, I couldn't tell him.

Much later, I tried to remember who this person was but so many years had passed that my memory was fogged. The first and most likely possibility was a guy named, Sonny. He was just one of the many people that often dropped into this restaurant. We sometimes had coffee or soft drinks together and shared conversation, which was very common in this place. Years later, when I’d returned home again, I learned that Sonny’s real name was, Leon Redbone, a secret that he never revealed back then. I've always wanted to ask him if he were my artist but he's become a bit hard to reach due to his musical career and stature as an entertainer.

Anyway, I saved that napkin, mailed it home to my sister and seventeen-years later, she gave it back to me. That little sketch hit the nail on the head, especially the part that read “Reward 25 cents.” I later added, “Wanted” to the cover, simply because it seemed a more complete title.

It doesn't matter if you call it marijuana, grass, pot, or even the killer weed, like they did in that really old movie, "Refer Madness". It's always been a controversial subject and it's taken many years to finally see the laws begining to change. Some of us were personally affected by those irrational laws and we understand full well what it was like to be singled out for punishment, for petty amounts of marijuana and consequently, to then have your entire life, forever altered.

The story that I am about to relate to you is true to the best of my recollection. Some of the names have been changed, some have not. Coming into contact with the law and being penalized for a crime can have ramifications that last a lifetime, which is a very important point of this book. As you'll see, an arrest record can follow an individual for the rest of his/her life.

In this book, the laws of two countries are examined and scrutinized. You will see a people variation, as well as, legal variations. You will get to compare the differences in arrest and convictions, when residing in the USA, as compared to Canada. Though both countries may appear similar at first glance, the rights of the individual, as well as the treatment of individuals, differ considerably.

It is said that the USA houses more people in jails and prisons than any other country in the world. Worse yet, jails hold large numbers of inmates that are not yet convicted, while prisons have terms that far exceed the length of time that would be allocated anywhere else in the world. It's commonly known that there is virtually no emphasis on rehabilitation for those incarcerated in the USA and that most convicts released “will be back.” Essentially, jails and prisons actually stack the odds against the offender, which pretty much assures that his chances at a normal life will never again be possible.

What many fail to see or comprehend is that prisons are a business. Without customers, inmates in this case, the business of incarceration would fail, so concentrating on rehabilitation serves no purpose.

The long and the short of it is that we lock people up for silly and absurd reasons and without a plan that will reap positive results. My knowledge of this was unfortunately, acquired first hand. As this story unfolds, ask yourself these questions; "if I found myself in his shoes, in his predicament, what would I do?" If you think that what I did was insane, illogical, irrational, then you just might be right. Next, ask yourself, “is this the kind of legal system that I would want in the event that I were in a similar circumstance?”

I know, I know, it will never happen to you. Well, open your eyes, because it could, even if you are a law abiding individual.

If you read this story and you can sense and feel the highs, the lows, the pain and even the pleasure of a very different kind of life, then this book has been worthwhile.

Chapter 1

Small Town – Small Minds

Yes, I went to prison but don't be too quick to judge. I was young, naive and not, very worldly, to say the least. You get to decide if my crime was so heinous as to deserve such a plight, or if what I did, should even be considered a criminal act. First, just a bit of background.

I grew up in a small rural town and making it out of high school was my only goal at the time because I had no plan in mind whatsoever, for my future. I was an honest and trust worthy kid and so the thought of ending up in trouble with the law seemed preposterous.

Just out of high school and in need of earning a living, I got a job as a Psychiatric Attendant at the State Hospital, with a referral from my Dad who also worked there. I was hired, trained and officially employed in a new career in just a few short weeks. It was OK but I just kept thinking that there must be more to life. If there were anything good or positive about this job, it was that I could at least say, that I was the guy with the keys. You have to admit, that's an important distinction.

Sometimes, I worked the prison ward and for whatever reason, I wound up feeling sorry for the men who had wound up here. That was far from being a universal feeling however, because there were some really bad individuals in here who may well have deserved far worse than this. I met one guy who was a pretty good artist with a pencil. He did a sketch one day that so caught my eye that I decided to purchase it for a pack of butts. It was a hand, holding onto the bars from within but there was something about it that vibrated with incredible feeling. In this simple sketch, he was able to relate the loneliness and desperation of confinement, the sensation of loosing one's freedom and the pain of incarceration. It was eerie. When I viewed this sketch, I felt somehow linked to his misfortune. When I went home after a day's work, I now had a greater comprehension of what it must feel like to remain in lock up.

I was but one of the small cogs in the wheel of this system, whereas the courts and psychiatrists made all of the decisions. It wasn't my job to feel or care about these people but rather, merely to perform my function. My involvement was not supposed to run deep and when my hours were over, I was supposed to forget that my day involved working with real people. Theoretically, that sounded like the logical way for things to be but somehow, the bars were getting to me, too.

These were the days when “The Beach Boys” were on the radio singing songs about California, beaches, and lots of blond young ladies. I was still young and the idea of working the rest of my life really hadn't caught up with me. When I weighed my options, it seemed ridiculous to be working, when I could be seeing the world and maybe traveling. When a friend suggested a trip to the west coast, he didn't have to ask twice. I quit the job after only having been there for a half-year or so and a few weeks later, I joined my buddy, Johnny Z. who was already residing in that land of sunshine. When in New Hampshire he’d met up with two brothers who were originally from Laguna Beach and they had offered us a roof over our heads until we got settled in. Neither of us had ever experienced living away from mom and dad before, so this turned out to be our very first venture away from the nest.

The first thing I learned in California was that most kids were into smoking marijuana, whereas I had never done that before and I still thought having a few beers was a pretty big deal. Other than seeing posters about marijuana, I had no notion of what it was. I couldn't figure out why, Johnnie and our friends had begun to smoke but for now, I was leery of it, so I opted to stick with my beer. Besides, it seemed like when people smoked, everyone became quiet and often went to sleep, which just didn't strike me as a great way to party.

The paper back version is not expensive and the ebook is very cheap. You'd be doing me a tremendous favor, if you made a purchase of one, or the other. Thanks in Advance, Dave