“Going Home” has a freshness to it. I mean look how excited we get knowing we are going on a vacation of sorts, yet deep into the whole adventure, maybe it’s just me, I do love going, visiting, traveling, but there is this point, call it a feeling, where you know you’re enjoying yourself and your surroundings, but you have that little thought that man you miss your program, your scenario, your castle, your free zone. Can it just be over already? Ging home in this run is not any different than in my last story “Paroling – The Mind of an Addict.” After I was paroled from my last prison venture in 1989, I knew that in returning to “The Streets of San Francisco” I would never meet Karl Malden or Michael Douglas, but the fact is you would find me back, yet again, in prison and yes, California has the “3-Strike-Rule” when it comes to felons, but that’s another story.
They say you cannot run from your problems, but changing my scenery was just one of those happenings that lined up well with the years to come. I call it “playing on different playgrounds,” not “running from my problems.” My mother was one of those people that, being her child, I really didn’t give much thought to her personality or what she laid down as beliefs, she was just mom, and I can tell you she was one tough bird. Of course, at this point it had been 10 years’ time since I had even seen her let alone known much of anything about her since I left to go in the Army. Let’s not forget that it was Dad as to where I laid my allegiance as I felt a responsibility to show him just how messed up he made me, especially after I reached the understanding that never, I mean NEVER was I going to shine in his eyes.
So going home to San Antonio was not hard to do on my part except parole. Transferring parole from California to Texas normally would not be so doable, but I was from Texas, born in Texas, and one of my aliases was you guessed it “Tex.” Parole is like the continuation of your prison sentence. Let’s say the Honorable Judge Griffith sentenced me to years in the California Department of corrections and Rehabilitation. Note that the “and Rehabilitation” was not part of the title when I was a tenant. With 7 years to serve you were granted day-for-day while incarcerated, meaning that for every day you were behind bars they would knock off 2 days, so if you were behind bars for 2 years you get 4 years served. Easy right? Well not so fast. Upon release (parole) if you were sentenced to 7 years and you were there for 2 years (and they gave you 2 years as served for a total of 4 years), they would still require you to complete 3 more years to fulfill the 7-year sentence. Nobody was bitching, I was just happy to be out with little-to-no focus on the 3-year mountain ahead of me.
Let’s look at the stats. 72 out of every 100 parolees go back to prison within 3 years of receiving freedom. Out of the 28 that show on paper to have completed parole well 5 die, 6 completely disappear, and 6 are sent to some type of state mental facility. So, I don’t know if you are doing the math, but yes that’s 11 out of every 100 inmates paroled filtering back into society and well, either you are living next to one, possibly married to one, or working for one. I think you get the picture.
A real quick note. Let’s just say I believe God has taken up my case. Once back in San Antonio, I first report to parole which was at the least eye-opening. See after meeting with the parole folks they made a statement not once, but a few times, even to the point I asked the officer to say it again – “Mr. Hyland once you complete 9 months with no problems, we will start your discharge papers which will take 30-90 days to complete. I was so confused! I thought maybe my paperwork was wrong or something. Well, I got to get this straight now, so I informed the parole officer that I still had 3 years left on my original sentence and wait for it, here it comes again, got to love Texas. “Well Mr. Hyland here in Texas we require 1 year without issues while on parole and we will discharge you with completing your whole sentence.” So sentenced to 7 years, received 2 years credit for doing 2 years, and now I do 1 year on parole and get credit again for 2 more years! Who says crime does not pay? OK, OK, OK I am going to stop there. If nothing else, prison taught me numbers very well.
Mom, well she has of course been divorced from Dad for 8 years at this point, and I too divorced him. She was now living with a gentleman named Mike and to this day 35 years later I still find it hard to make sense of the whole “Hey, this is mike. He’s my significant other.” I mean I knew, and he seemed harmless, but not only was he 20 years younger than Mom, he was also only 6 years older than I was. But I must remember I’m a guest and one with few options. Let’s not drag this on. The objective here is to offer an outlook or insight into the many stages and turns that my life must take in the process of what I would call damaged goods to an acceptable contributor to society. I have really skipped the whole gay-spirited, drug-loving, commune-style living that was in full bloom on “The Streets of San Francisco,” but we go to keep some juicy stuff for the book.
Living with Mike and Mom was ok. It sure was a fresh start. My hair was thick, my arms were health, my health was amazing, and I was fee. Knowing I had to have some type of employment with a full-fledged recession going on and the Persian Gulf War on the horizon, it sounded pretty good when Mike suggested that I apply for work at Albertsons. I remember asking Mike what it was I would be doing and with a simple, innocent look he said, “Well, I don’t know, I’m just a bag boy!” Albertsons it was. The next morning, I showed up and lo and behold after hearing I was on parole and fresh out of prison, the store director, with a touch of Irish sales swag, told me that if I would cut my hair and be at the store tomorrow morning at 8am, he would give me a shot. Excited at first, graciously accepting the challenge, I went to find a barber. Well, let’s just say there were probably 3 places to get my hair cut within a mile of Albertsons, but it took me over 2 hours to follow through. I mean I had 3 amazing things going for me – I was free, I had a place to live, and my hair was amazing, gorgeous, beautiful, full, long and thick. I know what you’re thinking – but stop! I now have 3 amazing things going for me, I was free, I had a place to live, and I had employment.
