We are all the same....

Last week, I had the pleasure of addressing a congregation at a great church in Springfield, Missouri. The people were terrific, as they are at every gathering I have been honored to address. When I was finished, Pastor Rich introduced me to a very nice woman who worked as a nurse at the local hospital. She thanked me for the message and as we began to chat, I learned that this very sweet and unassuming woman was not just another nurse and the hospital she worked in was not just another hospital. Her employer was the Federal Bureau of Prisons and the hospital she worked in was the BOP's major medical institution, located about a mile from where we were standing, in the town of Springfield. Now, that in itself was no great revelation. Although I never had the pleasure of visiting the prison hospital during my eight years of incarceration, I was well aware of the famed institution and all of the horror stories from inmates who had been sent there for medical reasons. Stories about how a kidney was removed instead of a lung, a wrong leg was amputated in a cancer patient, or a venereal disease was contracted during a routine prostrate screening. Now, inmates are known to exaggerate, (ya think?) but it was not too hard a stretch for me to believe that they didn't receive the greatest care at the hands of federal employees.

And then I met this woman, this 22 year veteran of the infamous institution. At first I didn't know what to expect from her. I knew that the infamous John Gotti, one time boss of the Gambino crime family, had been sent to Springfield after being diagnosed with throat cancer. He died there in 2002. Tony, "Fat Tony" Salerno, one time boss of the Genovese crime family, had also died there. As did Anthony, "Tony Ducks" Corrallo, and Vincent "the Chin" Gigante, another one time boss of the Genovese crew. They were my brothers in La Cosa Nostra. One time powerful men who ruled the streets of New York and whose influence was felt across the entire United States. They had all died in that hospital. I asked her about all of these men. And to my amazement, she cared for each one of them for months, right up to their final days on this earth. She told me how she administered blood to John Gotti every day for eight months until the "dapper don" passed on. How Fat Tony refused to part with his signature cigar and fedora, right up until he took his last breath. How Tony Ducks was such a gentleman all the way to his end and how "the Chin," who pretended to be crazy for over twenty years to evade prosecution, was as crazy as a fox when he closed his eyes for the last time. I knew these men well. I broke bread with them. Attended "sit downs" with each of them over business matters. We attended weddings and funerals together. We engaged in the business of organized crime. We were men of power and influence. And yet with myself being the lone exception, each of these men died while chained to a hospital bed, their bodies ravaged by one of the ugly diseases we humans fall victim to all too often. And I wondered what kind of care they were given inside the stone and gated walls of the prison the feds called a hospital. Like myself, these men engaged in a life of crime, but they were still men, human beings who needed to be cared for in their time of physical and emotional need.

I spoke to this woman at length over the course of the two days I spent at the church. I asked her lots of questions about my former brothers in the life. We shared some stories and laughed about some of the outrageous things that would come from their mouths. She told me they were all very respectful of her, right up until their deaths. I came away believing that she really cared for these men, all of them. That she did all she could to comfort not only their bodies in their time of need, but also their minds and souls.

I was so moved by what this woman had to say, I asked pastor Rich to drive me by the institution. As I looked beyond the razor wired fences and saw the barred windows of the stone building, I thought about my old friends. Being there made me realize just how vulnerable we all really are. How the twists and turns of life can have us on the top of the world one day and clinging to life the next. It made me realize just how fortunate I am to be alive and free and able to enjoy my family and all the wonderful new friends I have made since the time God has blessed me with a second chance to do something productive with my life. I will be ever grateful for my visit to Missouri and for my encounter with the angel from Springfield.