It was June 18, 1979, still dark and early morning when the Ohio State Troopers delivered me to the county jail in Bryon, Ohio. The county Sherriff waited for me at the jail and he was upset. The Sherriff had read my file before I arrived. He didn't want anything to do with me and my escape history. Rather than put me in the jail proper the Sherriff placed me in a holding cell and assigned someone to watch me constantly. The Troopers wanted to charge me with possession of stolen property (the Honda) but the Sherriff prevented it. He called the county prosecutor at home and convinced him that having me in his jail long enough for charges to be processed would break the jail's budget. No charges were filled. All before 7:30 that morning. At 8:00 the Sherriff used a phone in front of me, told me who he was calling, then called Cuyahoga County (Cleveland, Ohio) and told them that I was in his jail and that he was holding me for them. (I'd jumped bond in Cleveland so they had a warrant out for my arrest.) He outlined my escape history, then said his jail couldn't hold me, so he wasn't going to give me the chance to tear up his jail. They said something he didn't like. He then said, "I'll hold him until 3:00 this afternoon. That'll give you seven hours to get here. But at exactly 3:00 this afternoon I'm going to put this guy in the back of my car and drive him to my county's western border, which is also the Indiana State line." They said something else to which he said, "Try me."

After he hung up the Sherriff asked me if I heard the conversation. I had. I asked him if he meant it. He assured me that he did. He said, "Nothing personal, but I will not let you spend the night in my jail." I told him I'd been kicked out of better places, to which he laughed. He said I should try to get some sleep. Tonight I'd be driven to Cleveland or on the run in Indiana. He left after posting an armed guard. I took his advice, laid down on the steel bench and went to sleep. To my disappointment two experienced and very careful deputies from the Cuyahoga County Sherriff's Department arrived at 2:30 pm, cuffed me and took me to Cleveland. I was never charged with anything related to the stolen Honda.

The Cuyahoga County Jail was the largest jail I had been in at the time. It was a high rise of ten or twelve stories (I don't recall how high). I was taken to it's high security floor at the top of the building. I was the youngest there and without a doubt the least dangerous. There was a huge guy so loaded with medication to keep him under control that he moved zombie like, but still the guards feared him. I found it a bit disquieting that the guards wouldn't go near the guy with less than six of them present, but I had to share an open common room with him. Can't remember his name, but he was reputed as having killed several people with his hands "because they were there". There were also two famous mob guys on my pod, there for trial in the well known "Danny Green" mob execution. I recall the mob guys names but wont mention them out of respect and fear. Both those guys are dead now, but another mob guy sits a few feet from me as I write this. Those guys take name dropping personal. So, these two unnamed mob guys had a great deal of pull on the top floor. If they wanted to make a phone call the guard passed them the phone. If they wanted something special for dinner, they ordered out and the guards delivered. Just like you see on TV. Real deal mob guys.

When I was brought to the floor the mob guys wanted to know who I was. Or as they explained to me, needed to know who I was. They were understandably weary of federal agents. All guys in that pod were so notorious that all of them were known for the crime. Everyone except me. That's why they needed to know who I was. I told my story, which they didn't believe half of. In front of me they called one of the guards over and said, "Check him out," with a thumb pointed at me. Two hours later the guard returned and whispered with the two mob guys for several minutes. When that conversation was over the mob guys invited me to their "reserved" table in the day room. "Welcome to the top floor, Houdini." Now that they believed my story they wanted every detail. They were fascinated by my escapes. Until they explained it too me I didn't realize how rare it was that someone would try to escape let alone succeed. When they asked me if I'd try to escape from the top floor I boasted and said of course, though I'd not actually thought of doing so. Climbing down the side of a skyscraper didn't appeal to me, but after the heady conversation with two famous mob guys what else could I say.

A few days later I admitted to them that I couldn't get out of here unless I had a guard's uniform. Their response surprised me. They asked what size I wanted. It took them a month to put it together, but they did in fact get me a complete guard's uniform. They even arranged a nervous guard who agreed to walk me out. This guard and I spent twenty minutes together talking and working out the details. A few hours before I was suppose walk out, I met with the mob guys and asked why they were helping me. They said I was a rare breed and wanted to be a part of number five. My fifth escape. I think they also enjoyed sticking it to the cops whenever they could.

An inmate trustee had been involved in bringing me the the uniform and shoes. I never knew his name, only thanked him when he delivered the guard's shoes, but he was the only one who could have betrayed the plan. When it was time for my guard escort to come get me I was laid in bed, the uniform I wore hidden under a sheet. He was a little late so I was beginning to get worried when the "goon squad" rushed into my cell. Since I was dressed as they were there wasn't much for me to say other than, "Crap." They hustled me out of the unit and into the elevator. They stopped the elevator between floors to "question" me. It was a rare beating. They had one question: Who provided the uniform. They knew it had been a guard, which they were upset about. They asked this question repeatedly. They would beat me for a few minutes then ask the same question: Which guard? I kept my eyes on the ground, which they believed I did out of fear. I was plenty scared, but the reason I wouldn't look up was that the guard who'd betrayed them was one of the six guards on the elevator. I was scared that if I looked at him my eyes would betray the truth. That's why I looked at the floor. Later, when our eyes did meet I could tell he was terrified. I kept my mouth shut and for once in my life didn't make any wise cracks, though I had plenty of material to work with.

They couldn't torture me enough to make me talk so they did something that was becoming a pattern. Like the small town Sherriff in western Ohio, Cleveland kicked me out of their jail. On the way to the prison van I told the shift captain I'd been thrown out of better jails than this. His retort was that he didn't doubt it, but, as he pointed out, I didn't escape from his jail. He said it with pride, and he had a point. However, were it not for a jail house rat Cleveland would have been number five.

I'd already been sentenced on July 31, 1979, so they sent me straight to the Ohio Penitentiary in Columbus. A place affectionately known as "The OP." This was a mistake since my sentence specified I be sent back to Georgia to do my time there first, then returned to Ohio after my Georgia sentence was complete. The Sherriff was in such a hurry to kick me out of his jail he failed to notice this requirement of my sentence. The OP was an old and imposing prison. My first walled prison. One that had held many famous criminals over the years. It looked like the prison in the movie Shawshank Redemption and it looked like it for a reason. Shawshank was filmed in Ohio at the old Mansfield Reformatory. It and The OP were built about the same time and two prisons were similar.

Inside what would be my cell block two guards escorted me to my cell. Walking down the range of cells an inmate I didn't see handed me a large paper bag through the bars of his cell. A handoff. I didn't break stride as I took the bag, but knew the guards saw the move. They didn't say anything. Even when they opened my cell to let me in they still didn't see the bag I held in both hands. After they left me I looked in the bag. On top was a note from the two Cleveland mob guys. The note said, "Thanks for keeping your mouth shut, kid. We'll take good care of you in the system." It was a welcome wagon bag, full of toiletries stamps, paper & pens, and food. The food kept coming. Every day. Food served at the OP was horrible but I ate as good as you can eat in prison. Most important, in that very dangerous place I never had a problem. I had mob protection so no one messed with me.

There is no date in the record to show when I reached The OP, but based on my sentencing date of July 31, 1979, it was the first week of August 1979, so I was still twenty-two years old. The official record of the next few years is not accurate. According to the record I stayed in the Ohio Prison System from August 1979 until until March 30, 1982. This is partially correct, but far from the complete story. What actually happened was that I spent a few weeks at the OP in Columbus before someone figured out I wasn't suppose to be there. I have no idea what happened behind the scenes, but a few days before my twenty-third birthday (August 25th) I was taken out of the OP and handed over to Georgia's fugitive recovery expert, the same Mr. Esposito who had picked my up in Warren Ohio after my first Georgia escape. Esposito drove his car this time. Unlike our first plane ride together, this time there were no niceties. The entire State of Georgia was upset with me which was something Mr. Esposito made sure I understood.

Esposito wasn't the kind of man to be abusive, nor was he very good at playing the bad guy, but it was clear that this was the role he'd been given. Poor guy, it just wasn't in him to be a jerk. The long drive was meant to be a form of discomfort, which it was to a degree. It is uncomfortable to be handcuffed and leg shackled in the back of a car for many hours, so I would have experienced this discomfort had I left my handcuffs and shackles on for the trip.

While in jail in Texas my friend and martial arts instructor, Marcus, taught me how to remove handcuffs. He couldn't actually teach me since we didn't have a pair of handcuffs to practice on, but he did explain the method in detail. I was curious if it would work, so when I worked at CBN, before I met my wife, I bought a real pair of handcuffs from a pawn shop to test what I had learned. The system worked, but it required practice. I spent many nights alone in those days so I played with the handcuffs out of boredom. It didn't take long before I was able to remove them fast. It wasn't something I thought I would need to know, but I've always believed such arcane knowledge was good to have. I am not going to describe the method, but I will say it was known by few in those days, but is approaching common knowledge among convicts today. Prison officials know this and have learned to counter the method, but back then removing your handcuffs was magic. Magic worthy of Houdini.

We were still in Columbus traffic when I removed my handcuffs. The car had a heavy steel and Plexiglas divider between the front and rear seat, so Mr. Esposito could only see my face while he was driving. He did watch me close, so while it was still light outside I left the shackles on my legs because he'd see me lean down to remove them. Esposito didn't stop often, but when he did I would quickly put the handcuffs back on. He was decent enough to feed me and let me use the restroom, but always careful with me. After it got dark I removed my leg shackles, laid down in the back seat and went to sleep. I slept too soundly because I didn't wake when we stopped at a gas station. I woke to a gun in my face and a very upset Mr. Esposito.

Like the kid I was, I made a game out of the handcuffs the rest of the trip. Esposito would put the handcuffs on with the key up so he could see it, so when I put them back on I'd always do it with the key down. The final straw for him was after he delivered me to the Chatham Correctional Institute in Savannah. When the guard removed my cuffs and shackles he asked Esposito why he put them on key down, which made it difficult for the guard to remove. Esposito screamed a few obscenities then stomped off. I feel bad about it now. He really was a nice guy.

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