The Hug

by B.R. Aronoff

August 5, 1997... The guards stood like tin soldiers. Each one

had different dents, different stances, different glances, different places

where the paint was scratched off to leave bare the base material, different

fears and different dreams... different differences! The righteous left were

there standing and moving their own tin soldier ways; with their own methods of

being different... and the same.

Up on the roof facing the stage stood the surveillance crew with yet another

set of rules for them to stand, Look, pretend not to look and listen for the

correct phrase or emphasis to support their distorted assumptions.

The miserably disrespectful right didn't get there in time. Their banners of

hate and revenge reflected upon us all. THe majority of those present were not

there to look at that side of themselves. It was to be a vigil in support of

Thomas Thompson who was to have died in six hours but a virtual miracle, by

California Judicial standards of clemency, occurred. He was given a reprieve at

least until October when the courts reconvened. It was better than nothing. The

guards snatched his last meal away from him and ate it themselves.

The media all had the look of disappointment on their heavily ready faces.

After all, with no execution there's no stories; no interviews with a teary-eyed

friend. All their equipment lining both sides of the street for a half mile

leading up to the prison looked like big out of place toys. The "No Parking"

signs stretched for miles. The authorities seemed to want to make it as

uninviting as possible to the vigilants. But Tom had countless friends who would

have crossed the Alps to be there.

For the few who visit and know the condemned, the involvement becomes a

lifestyle. Most of the time it is a jubilation to play a part. Other times it

becomes too real. Too many horrifying lessons are learned by naive people who

grow old overnight. The unexpected becomes the unknown. A loved one has lost the

fight. He is dead. You are not. But you can still feel his presence; smell his

prison smell; feel his strong arms. Rage! "BUT HE WAS SO ALIVE!"

For several weeks after an execution, the visiting room at San Quentin reacts

like one body; a body healing from a devastating operation. He isn't there

anymore. he'll never return.

There were countless friendships in that room from all possible walks of

life. They are gone. That chair over there; that's where they sat... his

girlfriend and him... right there. I wonder if that youngster realizes who used

to sit right there. they'd laugh a lot. She'd cry sometimes. It was a tough

struggle for both of them. But you knew by watching them they both thought it

was worth every second.

There were four of those tragic "operations" which killed so much more of us

than we care to admit. Hopefully, number five was canceled for good. There was

even a good chance Tom would soon go free. If only he would be granted a new

trial.

*******************************************************************

On August 7th, I was to go inside and visit a friend on Death Row. Tom called

him "Mr. Personality". Neither of them spoke to each other. In any other

location in the prison these two men might chance to meet bloodshed would be a

certainty. In the visiting rooms, however, there was one golden rule amongst the

prisoners. NO SHIT IN THE VISITING ROOM!!! In the last thirteen years there were

two incidents. One involved a lawyer being stabbed repeatedly with a sharpened

toothbrush by his disgruntled client. The other incident involved a prisoner and

his wife having a brawl. The inmate who would jeopardize visiting privileges for

the others would face an almost certain death.

As a result of Tom's utter disgust for the guy I'd visit, we'd exchange

pleasantries before "Mr. Personality" would enter the room. Some times it would

take almost an hour;; other times, five or ten minutes.

While standing in the sallyport by the plexi-glass and expanded steel

entryway I was able to look inside the visiting room and see who might be down

today. Being involved with the condemned all these years has afforded me many

friendships within the confines of the rules an regs of an oppressed and

oppressive system. There was no Bob D. with his girlfriend, Kim. Little JAy was

talking animatedly to Kitty. He was beginning to paint again. After his appeal

was denied, the brilliant art he was producing had no meaning for him. The Night

Stalker was sitting in his regular seat next to his wife, Doreen. He had just

been released from solitary confinement where he had spent the last eleven years

without any significant human contact. there were several new arrivals on the

row sitting and trying not to show their wide-eyedness. Some of the condemned

looked as if they were barely out of high school. It was over for them almost

before it began. It must be tough being a Judge sometimes. One prisoner was

sitting towards the back. Just as the lock on the door crashed open with a

hideous metallic sound to signal my entry, our eyes met. It was Tom. He was

already making body motions which signaled his happiness to see me and to come

over.

The ecstasy of that moment shall remaining my heart forever. It was Tom. He

made it through. Although he looked as if he hadn't slept for two weeks, his

aura of relief was powerful. Rita had no problem smiling from ear to ear. She

was clutching onto her man as if he were the Christmas gift she'd always dreamed

of having. For the first time both Tom and I ignored the prejudice of me being a

"them" and he being an "us". We were two men glad to be in each others company.

We stared for a second or so and then embraced. It was Tom. The operation was

canceled. It was the hug of a lifetime. "Love is all there is..."

********************************************************************

Note: On July 14, 1998, Tom Thompson was executed under grave suspicion of

being innocent. Crucial evidence was ignored. If that evidence can be proven

beyond a shadow of a doubt to be true, it will signal the beginning of the end

for the death camps throughout the land of the free.

Long live Tom Thompson...