Transcription
In Memorial of Bill Ghoeler
I first met Whispers over 25 years ago when we were both housed in the Double Max unit of our county jail. It was dungeon-like structure built to house pre-trial detainees who were too defiant to house anywhere else.
We were isolated, each in a single man cell, with three vacant cells between us. Over the months we traded stories, some true, some false, and became as friendly as black and white convicts could without betraying the racer gang identity politics that define the California penal society. We were soon separated by our convictions and journeys into the CDCR labyrinth.
I ran into Whispers again in 2015. Both of us had grown into more mature versions of our previous selves. We spoke often and more truthfully than we did all those years ago. I found out a lot of cool stuff about Whispers, some I demand he produce newspaper articles to prove, and which he did. So if he ever told you a story involving Waco, the fed, or the Million Man March... that shit was true!
After about a year, I transferred to another yard and never saw him again. When I heard he decided to tell this entire planet to fuck off, I was neither surprised nor particularly sad. That was his choice, and his right to choose. If you knew him like I did, you'd know that personal freedom was kinda his thing. That's who he was.
The most fitting tribute I can pay him is to say this: Don't waste your personal freedoms cowtowing to what's decorum in this society. You shouldn't need me to tell you that... Whispers would agree, smile wide, and tell you to fuck off.
—anonymous
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