Free At Last

Back in the day I used to drive cab in Sacramento, California. If I was driving at night, after the bars had closed and before the AM commute came in, and if I hadn't made my gate yet, I would work the 4AM release at the county jail. It is a desperate grab for existence, worse then working the north-side Greyhound depot, waiting on a dark street at 4AM in hopes that a criminal will walk up and get in your car. Usually it was drug addicts and DUIs. They were always pathetic, embarrassed to have been in jail, and sat quietly as I drove them home. But it was a good gig. Often they would have a long way to go, and their cars were in impound. It wasn't the first scene from "The Blues Brothers," but it also wasn't Martha's release. I saw picture this morning of Martha and her daughter walking together as she left prison, waving to the crowd as they boarded the private jet that was whisking her to freedom. Martha says that prison was "life altering." That she is now going to champion prisoner's rights. Come on! She was at a club-fed for girls, not Pelican Bay. Not a lot of prisoners I know leave jail on a private jet. When I was driving cab we also had the contract to ferry prisoner's wives to and from jail for their conjugal visits at Folsom Prison. This was desperation. These were people who were in hell, for years, women who had to submit to humiliating searches just to be able to have sex with their husbands once or twice a year. Martha knows nothing of that kind of embarrassment and pain. Jail is supposed to be humbling, but it's hard to be humble when you have adoring fans, paparazzi waiting at your release, a private jet to take you home and a huge estate awaiting your arrival, not to mention the new TV show.