Indiana State Prison - Prison Stories from Inmates

" SCARED STRAIGHT©

A TRUE STORY BY Wxxxx Mxxx

It was a warm sunny Indiana winter day, early March, I remember. These kinds of days are rare because it was way past Indian summer. However these warm, sunny, winter days are cherished in Hoosier land because they bring back the feelings of fall and the anticipation of spring to come, even more so for a young biker wanting to spend just one more day on the road before the next snows fly. That morning, what I didn't know was that this beautiful day would literally influence the rest of my life. I was on my way to meet a drug dealer and violent double execution style gangland murderer. Yep, I thought I was bad and had a bit of a reputation around town, but I was about to be "SCARED STRAIGHT."

You could call it cabin fever, road fever, or new father blues, take your pick. It was probably a combination of all three that drove me to accept an invitation to ride to Kokomo from a guy I just met. His name was Jxxx and he rode a 750 Norton Commando. We had been introduced by another friend of mine Rxxxx, whom also rode a Norton Commando. His was an 850cc, both were powerful bikes. Anyway, Jxxx was obviously feeling the road fever just as I was. Jeff was your typical rebel biker, mid 20's, long hair and beard. He surely had a descent job to afford all the leather and winter riding gear to go along with his awesome classic bike.

My wife Bxxxx, bless her hart, was against the ride. She had her below the waist long blonde hair in a braided pony tail and she was tossing it back and forth. Bxxxx stood there in all of her five foot tall, curvy, yet slender, womanhood and sited all of the clear and logical reasons of why I shouldn't be going. "You never know what the weather is going to do in Indiana. You don't know this guy very well. We really don't have the money," She said. She was radiant and glowing especially when she got huffy. I agreed with all of her points of reason but I was determined to ride. This ride had all the good stuff. Only the real bikers would be out, a chance to bond with a new biker brother, a rare opportunity to get out of the house and do some guy stuff, and I also knew in the back of my mind that when we finished doing whatever lame excuse Jxxx had used to get out of the house, we would bar hop around the strip clubs of Kokomo before heading home. What more could you ask for?

Bxxxx also knew the unspoken bar hopping plan but she did not bring it up. She knew that would just piss me off and I would go just for spite. I convinced her that I would be cool and return unsckaved from this winter adventure. I reassured her that Jxxx knew that we had a new baby and not much money. He had offered to buy but I wasn't going to have that. "I will just drink conservatively." I told her. "Chill out Baby" "After all it wasn't like I was going out with a killer or drug dealer or something stupid like that". I quipped.

You could hear Jxxx's old "Snortin' Norton" going through the gears a mile away. When Jxxx pulled up I was wiping down the chrome on my all Jammer, hard tail, 1979 Sportster. She was a beauty. All black with a Springer front end, nothing extra. Not even a key, just flip the switch and fire it up. Jxxx and I did the hug a thug greeting. There was no turning back now. We were committed to this ride. I jumped on my Sporty and kicked her over. Bxxxx heard my bike start and waved to us goodbye from out the window as we pulled out of the driveway and turned North onto US. 19

Wow! It felt great to get into the wind. We had about thirty miles of nice smooth country highway before we hit the Kokomo city limits. We rode in side by side formation. We rode in staggered formation. When we were satisfied with each of our riding skills, we relaxed and just enjoyed the open road. The usually lush green fields of Indiana farm land whizzed by in a blur of, dormant, winter brown. With no corn in the fields and no leaves on the trees you could literally see for miles. I pictured us as a scene on canvas as we rode through this winter desert. The only sound for miles was our straight through exhaust pipes splitting the country silence. My road fever was at a high pitch now. We ran through the gears and really let those motors wind out.

Jxxx and I were just checking each other out. A little road test you might say. When we did hit the lights of Kokomo it may just as well have been Las Vegas. Our thirst for cold beer was equal to the frenzy of our road fever. We didn't do any business. At the first stop light at US.26 and US.31 we nodded to each other then headed straight to the topless bars. We hit the Hip Hugger first and had a pitcher and played a game of eight ball. God that beer really went down great! There is only one thing better than beer, and that's titties and beer. I love going to strip clubs during the day especially during the early hours. It was just a fact that the girls pay more attention to the early few customers because tips are harder to get. If you are there after 4:00 PM the place was crawling with Chrysler workers and you could hardly get a beer let alone any personal attention from any of the dancers.

We watched as a couple of Milwaukee Iron Motorcycle Club patch holders took one guy out the side door and proceeded to teach him some manners. Jxxx and I were wearing cut off jackets but we weren't flying any colors. Still it was obvious that these guys were the dancers' boyfriends' or whatever. We decided to drink up and get on down the road. Off we went. Our next stop was just across US 31 and west five blocks the infamous Porky's. I had not been there before and was a little unsure about leaving my bike out back. Since I didn't have a key switch, I pulled the spark plug wires off and set them just to the side of the spark plugs, you know, for good measure.

As we entered we were asked to check all guns and knives at the door. They actually had a check room and a big ole dude working the counter. Jxxx and I ponied up our Buck knives and opened our coats for inspection. We ordered a pitcher at the bar and headed straight for pervert row. Jxxx was really loosing up and so was I. We told a few stories and ordered another pitcher. Jxxx liked to shit when I put the dollar in my boot harness and had the dancer kiss my boots and pull the money out with her teeth. We were having a blast.

The next round of drinks came and I freaked out. There were two shots of whiskey, two shots of scotch and a pitcher of beer apiece. I looked at Jxxx and said; "Jxxx, what the hell is this? I can't afford this." He said; "don't worry about it I already paid for the booze." He went on to say that he had this song stuck in his head. "Got bourbon, got scotch, I got beer." So what the hell let's get wasted. Not being one to turn down free booze and I had to save face with this new friend so I jumped right in. It's a guy thing. My attention soon turned from the dancers to serious drinking. We toasted and slammed the shots down after we finished the beer Jxxx ordered another round of the same. We were now chanting "Got bourbon, Got scotch, I got beer." We were asking each other; "you going to be ok to ride?" "Oh hell yes" each of us said. Shit, we were both fucking plastered after the third round of that shit.

One hour, Two hours, I really don't know how long we were in this alcohol abuse mode but all reality was fading fast. Of course we both swore to each other that we could still ride. By now the dancers were all over us trying to get tips before we were shut off and asked to leave. That didn't take long. Sure enough that big ole boy from the gun counter came to our table and he didn't want no tip! I wouldn't have kissed that ugly fucker anyway. "You boys need to go before the bartender calls the cops." He growled. Now if I was in my hometown bar this would have been an invitation to fight. I looked at Jxxx and was going to follow his lead. Thank God he agreed with Noneck the bouncer and we went to the head then shot straight out the back door. Jxxx mounted his trusty stead and fired it right up. I jumped on my Chopper hit the switches and gave it a few half strokes and then really came down hard on that kick starter. Nothing. Again I went through the starting sequence, ignition on, gas on, choke on, light off and with a mighty kick; nothing! Jxxx let his idle for a few minutes while I kicked and kicked that old iron head. I was so drunk that I had forgotten that I had pulled the spark plug wires off because there was no ignition key. Now you Sportster guys know that if you kick enough times that you are not always going to be on the compression stroke. That kick starter fell out from under my foot and I went face first into the gas tank. Smack! That hurt really bad. I was so embarrassed too. Now the alcohol is pumping through my veins at 120 psi. Did I mention that we hadn't had anything to eat all morning? Well we didn't. After I coughed my balls back down from my throat I realized that the Olympic class face smash I did on my gas tank had knocked one lens out of my glasses.

So there I was crawling around on the ground behind a strip club in Kokomo. Out of the corner of my good eye I saw Jxxx throw gravel and "poof" he was gone. I thought; "Well you motherfucker." I continued my search thinking that this couldn't get any worse. Well kids I was dead wrong. I never did find my lens but what I did find brought a lump to my throat. I was looking at six shiny black cop shoes. One of them said; Son, what the hell are you doing? I stood up and tried to explain that I had lost one of the lenses out of my glasses. The second cop checked my ID and license. He was cool and asked if I had anyone that I could call for a ride home. I knew that Bxxxx had gone to work and there was no one home. I then said the wrong thing. "Hey guys, if I can just get this bike started I'll be out of your hair." Out came the handcuffs and those cutting words that are permanently etched into your brain and associated with the complete failure of a life time' "Mr. Mxxx you are under arrest!" I was read my rights and cuffed. The third cop bent down and picked up my lens. "Show off" I muttered. I don't know if I ever thanked him but I should have.

I sat in the back of the cruiser mumbling "got bourbon, got scotch, I got arrested." I thought that was funny and was laughing my ass off. Hell I thought everything was funny. I wasn't just drunk. I was really drunk. I was still having a great time after being arrested. The arresting Officer's Sir Name was Nut. I was busting a gut trying not to laugh in his face. During the booking process back at the stationhouse things got serious when they started questioning me about some local burglaries. What the hell are you talking about? I said. They produced a screwdriver and a pair of channel locks that I had in my back pocket. They were particularly concerned about the pliers. I had trimmed the plastic off of both ends and sharpened one end to double as a screw driver. An old trick I learned from my stepdad. They didn't believe that I use the pliers to jump across a solenoid on old vehicles when they went out or that you can never find a screwdriver when you need one. I told them I drove a 1948 Chevy truck and used the pliers all the time. The only reason they were in my back pocket today was that they were too long to fit in my motorcycle tool pouch. They accused me of using these tools to jimmy windows and pry locks off. I said; "guys, if I was a burglar I wouldn't fuck around with this Mickey-Mouse shit. I would have a real crow bar and a BFH (big fucking hammer)." All three of Cops turned in unison and stared at me. I slunk back in my chair and shut the hell up. Then they produced a card from my wallet. It was an "Eyes of Hell Motorcycle Club" business card. The Eyes of Hell was a well know Midwest outlaw biker club of 1%‘ers out of Muncie Indiana. This was not looking good. I told officer Nut that I had my bachelor party at the Eyes of Hell's club house. I explained that my best man was a member and if the President liked you He gave you his card with his name on the back for a return visit. "I am not a member of the Eyes of Hell MC. And I sure as hell ain't no burglar!" I kept telling the cops.

They evidently checked out my stories because I never heard anymore about being a burglar. Officer Nut asked me if I wanted to make a phone call. This was a real moment of clarity. I had been repeatedly told two things by my mother while growing up:

1. "If you knock some girl up don't bring her around here." "You're on your own".
2. "If you wind up in jail don't call me." "You're on your own".

That ruled out calling Mom. I hated to call Bxxxx at work but I knew I had to make this call. The phone call is a vague memory for me but do recall telling her that I was ok and not to come and bail me out. Or she said; "You can set there and rot!" or both were said. We haven't really talked about it much since. Anyway I would see a judge the next morning. I remember telling her that I had been real good and had not called Officer Nut a peanut or a cashew or "cracked" any Nut jokes. Officer Nut was now giving me the hairy eyeball and took the phone away from me. He told my wife I was charged with Public Intoxication and court started at 9:00 in the morning.

I was searched and then put in the drunk tank. They had confiscated my steel toe boots and my belt. They said they didn't want me to hurt anybody with my steel toe boots and I might try to hang myself with my belt. I hadn't really thought of any of those things until he mentioned them. I sure as hell wasn't going to hang myself for a PI charge, but it began dawn on me where I was and that I might indeed have to hurt somebody. I wasn't there long and they decided that since I was locked up before dinner that they would have to feed me. It was against policy to feed a prisoner in the drunk tank. So they decided to put me in general population. I was strip searched, showered, deloused, and dressed in an orange jump suit that was surely made for a 7 foot tall man. Before they took my clothes, I thought about what the cop said about hurting somebody else. I decided that I might need to defend myself in the cell house. I grabbed my IU hooded sweat shirt and took the drawstring that goes around the hood and ripped it out. The eyelets went flying. I thought the cop had seen me but he didn't. I tied the red rope around my waist before buttoning up my jumpsuit. That would come in handy just in case I had to choke some motherfucker to death. The alcohol was in full control of my thought processes by now. These primal instincts seemed perfectly logical to me.

I was surely a sight to behold as I entered the cell house. I had long blonde afro hair, and the cops had put my lens back in my glasses with a piece of scotch tape, and there was room for two of me in that damn jumpsuit. That was a scary thought. The Officer shoved a roll of bedding in my chest and pointed to the cell at the end of the block and said; "A6 Mxxx, top bunk." He slammed the range door behind me and there I stood. There were about twenty five guys all setting around tables and all of them were staring at me. I believe I said something polite like "fuck off" and went to my cell. There was already a guy on the bottom bunk. He had tied little clothes lines to the top bunk to hang wash clothes and such. I chopped them down and climbed up on the top bunk and passed out. Had I known that the guy on the bottom bunk was one of the crew that was driving up and down US 31 the whole length of the state, robbing Soupleys liquor stores at gunpoint, I probably would have been more respectful of his clotheslines.

I woke up early and it was dark out. I woke up again later and it was dark out. I woke up again and couldn't go back to sleep. It was still dark out. I laid there on that top bunk and tried to piece together the events of the previous day. I didn't have much luck. I was worried about my bike. I was worried about Bxxxx. I was worried about my son, xxxx. I was worried about my job. I was worried about court. I was worried about my mother. It was still dark out. I worried that it daybreak would never come. The little window was about three feet long and maybe eight inches tall, it was up about nine feet high and you couldn't see out of it. It was just big enough to let some light in. I cursed the darkness. I soon was focused only on seeing the daylight through that window. Like a watch pot the daylight never came.

I must have dozed off at least one more time. This time I was awakened by the breakfast cart. Thank God it was daylight! I went out onto the range to see what the hell was going on. There was a tray sitting in my cell designation. The picnic tables had matching cell designations marked on them. A tall skinny fellow pointed to my spot, A6A, and said; "sit down and eat." He was setting next to me in A6B. I set down and said;"you must be my Bunkie. The guy said; "Yaw." I apologized for chopping down his clotheslines and He said; "don't worry about it. We all knew that you were drunker than hell. You stunk like a bar rat when you came in yesterday. I'm just glad you made it through the night without pissing all over the place." I choked down a piece of bread and gave him the rest of my food. There were guys up mopping the floor and cleaning the common area. Some were playing cards and others were looking at me. I went over to the meanest looking bastard and said; "Hey Mac, can I get one of those smokes off you?" "It'll cost you your meatloaf at lunch" he said. "Done deal" I said; "If it comes with a light?" He smiled and said; "I was going to get your desert for that. You're ok Mxxx.""You look like shit, but you're ok." I knew that I wasn't going to be there for lunch but I sure wasn't going to tell him that. Besides they had already eaten my dinner tray from last night. Remember the dinner tray? That was the whole reason I had to be out in general, population in the first place. Fuck that tray!

I was just clearing my head when the Guard hollered; "Drake, Mxxx, Browning, front and center." The other two guys lined up at the range door so I followed at a slight distance. Where are we going? I asked. The Guard said; "Going to court boys, going to court." "Yep, you got a date with a judge." I myself was happy. This was my first offense and I planned to plead guilty, pay my fine, and get the hell out of this place. We walked like a long way, a really long way. We picked up a few more prisoners and more Guards on the way. Then a County Mounty met us. He was in full dress uniform with a vest, a wide brim hat with a strap under his chin and packing a .357 revolver on the hip. He was an impressive sight to say the least. Then out came the chains. Ankle chains, waist chains, and more handcuffs. I thought; man, these must be some really bad guys that I'm with. The Officer lined us up two by two and ordered that all you guys on the left "About face!" We all just kinda' stood there and the Officer said; "All right you sons-a-bitches everybody on this side turn around and face the other direction!" We under stood that command and shuffled to turn around. The guards handcuffed me to the other prisoner next to me, my wrist to his wrist only I was facing backwards. They then applied the ankle chains, my leg to his leg. Then they applied the waist chains that secured our free arm to our waists. The Officer looked us over and as he was checking the chains he told us; "This may be a little uncomfortable but I have never had anyone try to escape when being transported this way. You will be too busy concentrating on walking to try anything funny." Now I'm thinking hey, that's a pretty damn good idea since there was six of us and one of him.

Now I was waiting for a van or bus to pull up and take us to the courthouse. That was not going to happen. Those whacky engineers in Howard County had built an underground tunnel connecting the prison and the courthouse. Off we went. We went through a series of locked gates and electronic doors then started descending into the tunnel. It reminded me of going through the tunnel from Detroit to Windsor. I had lived in Canada once and at this point I'm thinking I should have stayed there. The hollow echoing sounds of feet shuffling and chains dragging against the concrete snapped me back to reality. This really sucks. That Cop was right! I was plenty busy trying to walk backwards and trying to stay in step with the numb nuts I was chained to. It seemed like forever but the tunnel was now slowly but surely on an incline and I knew that we were nearing the end of our journey. We were taken to the holding cells in the basement of the courthouse. There were four of us in each cell. These weren't modern cells. I mean rock walls on three sides with bars in the front. They were surely hundreds of years old. I let my fingers follow the names etched into the solid rocks. That's when I felt a real chill right down to my bones. Maybe it was the thought of all the prisoners that had come through here before me and the crimes they had committed or maybe I was just getting the willies about standing in front of the judge. No matter the reason, I was questioning everything. Should I plead guilty? Should I plead not guilty and try to get a lawyer? What if I can't afford the fine and court costs? What if I was sentenced to thirty days or some shit? I was starting to get sick. I was shaking from the withdrawal of the booze from the night before. How big of a loser must I be to fuck up not only my life but the lives of everyone that depended on me? Depression, you want to talk about depression, I know now why the cops took my belt.

It was finally our turn. The four of us in my holding cell were taken upstairs and seated on a bench just outside the courtroom. I was really desperate to get some input on my situation. I looked around and spotted a well dressed fellow sitting at a desk. He was clean cut, with jet black hair. He had on a Navy blue v-neck sweater with a shirt and tie. His pants were pleated and cuffed at the bottom. He wore matching argyle socks with shiny black shoes. Above all he had good posture. I made the decision that he was some kind of professional and I surely needed to talk to one. He was a ray of hope in my darkest hour. I began to feel better as I raised the courage to go over and talk to him. Finally when the Officer was speaking to another Officer, I just got up and walked over to the gentleman and blurted out; "You look like a lawyer. How should I plead on this PI charge?"

He was facing forward at the desk and I was standing to his side. Slowly he turned his head and looked at me. He had a surprised yet puzzled look on his face. Then his expression turned into one of shear pain! He buried his face in his hands and cried out; "I'm doomed! I look like a lawyer!" It was only than that saw his handcuffs. I was stunned and he was stunned! He looked at me and said; "I'm up on double murder charges. Now get the fuck away from me! I stumbled backwards and felt a hand grab my arm under the shoulder. It was the cop. He said; "You idiot, that is Marvin Bieghler. He's being tried for double murder." He slammed my ass back down on the bench. "Stay there." He hissed! I was blown away. I was still in shock at what I had just done to that man. I thought I was having a bad day. His just really went to shit. Not to mention that I had managed to piss off a freaking double murderer.

The guy next to me on the bench was laughing at me. He told me that Marvin was a drug dealer and that one of his shipments of marijuana had been ceased by the cops. "Marvin believed that this couple, Tommy and Kimberly Miller, whom sold dope for him, had snitched to the police. So Marvin went to their house and tied their hands behind their backs and shot them execution style as they begged for their lives. He emptied his gun on them. Tommy was shot six times, and Kimberly was shot three times. And she was pregnant! In gangland fashion Marvin placed a dime over the eyes of each his victims, identifying them as snitches. Then Marvin robbed the couple's apartment and fled. He was arrested a week later in Florida and brought back here to Kokomo. He is being charged today in Superior Court. Haven't you been reading the newspaper?" the guy asked. I just shuddered. I was on overload. I was ready to crack. Putty for the Master you might say. I began to pray to God Almighty. I promised the Lord all kinds of stuff, just please; please God, don't let me turn out like Marvin Bieghler.

Finally we were seated in the courtroom. My lovely wife and my friend Randy were seated in the gallery. They were both wearing leather jackets and jeans. They waved at me like they were at Disney Land. What a relief it was to see them. I was worn completely down by this time. One by one the cases were heard. The Judge evidently, in her own mind, had associated the persons in the gallery with each one of previous offenders. I was the last prisoner to be called and just before she called my name she leaned forward and pointed to my wife and friend. She asked; "and just what are you two still doing in my courtroom? They were surprised just as I was. They both kinda' half stood and pointed at me "We're here for him Your Honor." They both said in unison. That's just great! I thought. My people have pissed off the Judge and I haven't even been called yet. She scowled at the two of them as the bailiff called my case. "The State of Indiana –vs. – Wxxxx Mxxx" he announced. "What's the charge, asked the Judge? I wasn't prepared for the next words that came out of the prosecutors' mouth "Attempted Driving under the Influence" he said. I stood up and said; "What, No way?" Then the lame ass public defender stood and said; "Your Honor, there is no such charge" The prosecutor fired back saying that I was trying to start my motorcycle. He quoted a prior case president from The State of Indiana – vs. - Whomever and said;"while so and so's vehicle was not running but the keys were in the ignition constituting an attempt to operate the vehicle." The lawyers argued back and forth. Finally the Judge asked; "Were Mr. Mxxx'x keys in the ignition? The prosecutor conceded that, "There was no mention of keys in the police report Your Honor, only that Mr. Mxxx was trying to start the motorcycle." "Then the charge is Public Intoxication." said the Judge. She smacked her hammer and asked; "how do you plead Mr. Mxxx?" "Guilty! Your Honor." I said. She sentenced me to all kinds of bullshit. This was my first offense.

1. $150.00 fine
2. $90.00 court cost
3. $200.00 donation to the battered wives fund
4. 6 weeks of alcohol classes $50.00 per class
5. 40 hours of community service
6. Attend two AA meetings
7. 6 months probation (supervised)
8. 6 months jail time suspended

I found out later that the Judges daughter had been hit by a drunk driver. She was known as the Hanging Judge of Howard County. Anyway I signed all the papers and was escorted back to my holding cell. At that time I realized that I could wind up in a mid-evil dungeon with a mass murderer that was having a really pissy day. I kept repeating to myself "Please don't put me in with Marvin." Over and over I whispered this.

My Bunkie, the liquor store robber, was in the holding cell with me this time. His rappie, a prison term for the guy you were busted with, was on the other side of the rock wall in the holding cell next to ours. So was Marvin Bieghler. The two robbers were up in the corner of the cell trying to talk around the rock wall to get their stories straight. I soon heard Marvin tell the robber in his cell to, "Stop talking. They have microphones in these cells and can hear everything you say." Both the robbers ignored Bieghlers' warning and continued trying to talk around the rock wall. I heard Marvin warn the robber in his cell again. That still did not stop them from talking. A few seconds later I heard the unmistakable sound of fist into face coming from the cell next door. Over and over again, one, two, three or four punches were thrown. There was no more talking around the wall, period.

We all got in line to be chained up for our journey back to County jail. I looked at the robber whom was in the next cell and he was bleeding from the nose and had a busted lip. I looked at Marvin and he shrugged and said; "He wouldn't listen." I said; "I can see that." Off we went back through the tunnel. Those were the last words that I ever spoke to Marvin. After exhausting all of his appeals, by order of the State of Indiana, Marvin Bieghler was put to death January 26, 2006 by means of lethal injection. At the time of this chance encounter with the bringer of death in 1982, I was a lad of 21 years old.

I have often wondered if Marvin ever found any humor or irony in our brief encounter. Maybe he never even remembered it. I doubt that! I can tell you this, that wasn't the last mistake I ever made, but let it be known that Marvin Bieghler, notorious drug dealer and double execution style murderer, did one thing right. He kept me from making the big mistakes! Yes, I was scared straight by Marvin Bieghler. Every since that day, when I had the opportunity to do something really stupid, I pictured Marvin sitting at that table and the look of incredible pain and fury on his face when I told him You look like a lawyer. I now work as a Correctional Supervisor for the State of Indiana Department of Corrections. Thanks Marvin. Sincerely yours, Sergeant Wxxxx X. Mxxx "

Gangs