It would be accurate to say that I am a sugar addict. However, I did not set out to quit sugar permanently. I do not have the will power to change a life long addiction. The idea was more of a whim. “Can I go a week without sugar?” It was more of a challenge to myself. Though I lack the will power I can be stubborn.
Hooray!!! I did it. And having done it, I went to the ‘office’ and as was my usual habit, I bought a Zinger, (a chocolate Twinkie if you will) and a 8 oz. bottle of chocolate milk. Can chocolate be an addiction? My ego wasn’t deflated. I had accomplished what I had intended to do, go a week without sugar. But could I go longer and in fact could I permanently quit sugar. Paying for my Zinger and chocolate milk I observed the monetary quotient, and therein lied another motivational aspect.
I should go back and describe my ‘office’. It contains a Dunkin Donut, a Subway, a Foodmart that sells considerably more than food and is where one pays for the gas they purchase. In other words a Shell Gas Station. I call it my ‘office’ because it has all the amenities one would want for someone like me who at 80 has long since retired from the workforce.
Ten years ago, it was my habit (there’s that word again) to go to the office and may or may not for to get gas for the car. I would first go to Dunkin’ Donuts and purchase a hot cup of medium black coffee and 2 donuts. Approximately, this would cost $4. Then over to the food mart side and buy a pack of cigarettes. Another $11 (at that time.) I did this, I kid you not, everyday. A brain storm washed over me calculating how much I just spent; every day, week, month and year. Holy Moly… I quit right there…
I had been a smoker all my life. I loved smoking. But the thought of me spending $15 a day (and I had been for awhile) was to much for me. I had no plan, I just did it, cold turkey. In spite of the advice that people who quit ‘cold turkey’ don’t last, I was determined. For me, 3 days was the critical moment. I had tried to quit many times before and in fact once I did quit for 7 years but a suicide in the family brought together all my family who also smoked and I caved.
I determined this time would be different. 3 days, a week, a month, and on and on until I forgot how long it had been since I did quit. All I knew was that it had been a few years now. I’ll tell you who did know though, the guys behind the register at the ‘office’ they knew. 2014. So now its been 10 years and there is no threat of me ever going back.
I started over and went another week. I hadn’t weighed myself after going almost 2 weeks and when I did I had lost 7lbs. So, now I had another motivation to quit sugar for good. That looked like a tall order what with birthday parties, the holidays all coming up but like I said I am determined.
So, I decided to add bread to my NOT EATING list. Not for any weight loss reasons, I am not on a diet. Call it a regimen if you must call it anything. I do have diabetes II, COPD, congested heart failure, severe arthritis, etc. But I have had these for years now but this could benefit my A1c count. There’s no intended lesson to be learned here. I just thought I would put to words what my current life is like for me now. Happy Trails…
I tried to post about Thanksgiving but my computer is so discombobulated that I don’t know what I am doing any more. Fine, you all seem to be doing just fine wishing everyone gratitude’s and the like that I don’t need to be in there muddling everything all up.
Somehow the computer is taking a break from making my life a mess for the moment I might just get a word in edgewise.
In many ways the things I am thankful for are the things I don’t have anymore. Sports in any fashion. I don’t watch any of them nor do I miss them, for that I am thankful. I don’t live in Chicago, for that I am thankful. I don’t like Eberflus, Simon Cowell, Howie Mandel. Steve Harvey nor Walker Ranger. For that I am thankful.
Sugar, I don’t like sugar no more, but its really the zoo-zoos and wham-whams that have addicted me for years. I don’t like Reels on facebook, nor facebook itself. Now that most of my dislikes have been names I can move on to the good stull.
I like the young lady who told me “It was good to see you in church yesterday.” Even though I could not say the same thing in return. Her seemingly off hand statement opened the world to the one I live in now.
What is a miracle? A dictionary explanation might be as follows.
1. An unexpected and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is divine.
2. A highly improbable or extraordinary circumstance, development, or accomplishment.
Take your pick. I read a book by Kathryn Kuhlman entitled I Believe in Miracles. I’m not ready to announce any miracles have occurred in my Christian Life, but I have an inordinate amount of happenstances that occurred that were “highly improbable” and to my mind happened because of my believing in the Power of the Holy Spirit and answers to prayer.
At the end of my psychiatric evaluation period in the summer of 1972, I returned from the U. S. Medical Center in Springfield, Mo, to the St. Louis City Jail. I would appear again before the court to finalize my sentencing for the crime of bank robbery. I knew at my sentencing that I had to say something to the Judge but was not sure what it would be. There is a point in sentencing defendants where the judge asks the defendant, “Does the defendant have anything to say before pronouncement of the sentence. In 99.9% of most criminals sentencing, the prisoner has nothing to say. I had gone through the sentencing procedures on many such occasions and, like a dumb sheep, had said nothing.
The night before sentencing I was awake and prayed, “God give me the words to say and may they lift you up in glory.” On the following day, I stood before the judge and said. “Your Honor, I know it may be difficult to believe but, I accepted Christ as my Savior. I am a new person and not the one who stood before your Honor previously. I would like you to sentence me to a 25 year B Study and return me to Springfield so that I might further the nurturing of my faith.” I went on to tell the judge about the volunteer program that they had down there and how it had made an enormous difference in my life.
A “25 year B Study” is a particular type of sentence, first it requires a 90 day observational period, second the judge brings you back to court after 90 days and finalizes his sentence based on various aspects of what the institution says about you. The maximum amount of time eligible for the crime of bank robbery is 25 years. A judge can lower a sentence but he cannot raise it. Had the crime only carried 10 years, it would have been a 10 Year B Study.
The Judge looked at me. “Well, that’s a lot better prognosis than the institution or prosecutors have given you.” Well, at least I had said something. “However,” he continued. “I am inclined to go along with you and send you back there. I sentence you to 25 years under the B Study provisions of the court.” Bam went the gavel. My heart was racing as I returned to the jail that night. Did I thank God? I hope so because I was excited, actually excited even with 25 years over my head. I returned to Springfield and resumed my church activities. I was a sentenced prisoner so I could hold a job in the kitchen doing pots and pans. I had worked in the kitchen in every prison I had been in. Comfortable surroundings, you might say. I thrilled to see the volunteers again and yes, even more so, Mary.
It was during this time in the summer of ’72 that I received a letter from Mr. Paul Haglin. Mr. Haglin was a friend of my lawyer, Courtney Shands. Mr. Shands was a probate lawyer. Under provisions of an agreement that lawyers offer their services on a pro bono basis to prisoners, he was appointed to my case. Mr. Shands was also a stated atheist. He had seen something in me in my return from Springfield that prompted him to tell his friend about my change.
But just who was Mr. Haglin? Well, to shorten up the wheel base, he founded and owned the Spirit of St. Louis Airport. Mr. Haglin’s letter was particularly encouraging spiritually. Then; he blew me away. What Mr. Haglin was proposing was that they would petition the court to sentence me to work release. I would stay in the Gumbo County Correctional unit. I would work at his airport. Did he know I was in jail for a bank robbery? Did he not know that I had an extensive criminal record that went back to the age of 13? Did he not know that the State of Illinois had already tagged me as a “Doubtful improvable offender?” Yes, the proposal was exciting but not knowing the reality of the situation, this proposal was preposterous. I didn’t have the heart to write him back and tell him that there was no way the Judge was going to sentence me to work release. There was no way he is going to send me to a county institution when I was a Federal Prisoner and even more so the prosecution was going to howl to the moon in protest.
I continued my church activities and read as many books as I could get my hands on. Mr. Haglin’s proposal drifted out of mind over the next few months and then it was over. I was returning to St. Louis City Jail for final sentencing. The last book I had read before leaving was Kathryn Kuhlman’s “I Believe in Miracles.” Was it a coincidence? Or was it a sign? Kathryn Kuhlman was speaking at Kiel Auditorium the night before my sentencing. Still, how does one believe in miracles? It would take a miracle for the judge to sentence me to Mr. Haglin’s proposal. He’s not even going to consider it. Mary had said, We pray for everything. This was no typing test. Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that comes to God must believe that he is and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him. This was something that I certainly hoped for and no, you could not see it. I believe in miracles became my mantra that night as I pleaded to God over everything that I knew to believe in something that I could not see or imagine. If it was not to be, so be it.
There’s something about the reading of an indictment that is stunning. John Thomson vs. the United States of America. Had I taken on the entire country, me against the world? The fat lady was about to sing, concluding my court appearances. As my case was called, I stood before the judge on barely steady legs. The judge was going over the formalities of the procedure and may have directed some words towards me, but I was actually too nervous to understand anything. I was along for the ride. Then the Judge said, “I understand that there is a minister in court that would like to speak.” Courtney responded light heartily, “he’d probably like to be a minister, your Honor, but he is a local businessperson.” The judge acknowledged Mr. Haglin and gave him the floor to speak. Mr. Haglin said some introductory remarks and then launched into his proposal. The judge asked Mr. Haglin a few questions, as if he was gathering further information. Silence as the judge pondered what had to be the most startling proposal he had ever heard sitting on the bench. And then he turned to my lawyer, “Counselor, I want you to write me a memorandum and show me how I can do this.” Oh My! Did I hear what I thought I heard? The judge went on to order the U. S. Marshalls to take me to the Gumbo County jail that night. He said further that I had been in the city jail to long. Wailing and gnashing of teeth arose from the prosecutors as they shouted, “if you can’t sentence him to this we’ll only have to bring him back, and that’s a burden on the Marshalls”, and on and on until the judge banged his gavel. The judge was not happy with them. A date was set for another hearing on the matter, but one thing he did say was that he was going to sentence me to 12 years.
Maybe a week went by before I received a copy of the memorandum that my lawyer drew up. Up to this point, he hadn’t done anything extraordinary in trying to defend me. He had seemed disinterested and detached. But since his friend had become involved, he had taken on a whole new demeanor. The memorandum he developed with a good bit of research and was fairly lengthy. In essence, the judge, “had the power to send him to the moon.”
But the prosecutors had done their work. At the time of my arrest, they had found a bank bag with the name Rhinelander Bank on it. We hadn’t robbed a bank in Rhinelander. We had run off with the proceeds of a hotel that I had been working at. It was they who had the bank bag, and I used it to throw their money in. The prosecutors advised the police on Rhinelander, Wisc., that they needed to file charges against me, which they hadn’t or I was going to be set free, or virtually so anyway. With a detainer of further charges pending from the state of Wisconsin, they had stymied the judge from being able to put me on work release.
Disappointed, sure I was. But not to where I negated having faith in the power of prayers and miracles. The judge concluded the proceedings without fanfare, sentencing me to 12 years. The bureau of prisons would now determine to which prison to send me to. They chose Terre Haute, Indiana.
After 29 games the Chicago Cubs are in first place, while the cross town rivals are in last place. What is this world coming too.
That question leaves a lot for consideration. Let me not get ahead of myself.
I no longer have interest in the NBA playoffs. I never had any skin in the game to begin with. I only wanted certain teams and players to lose. I had no favorites to win the Championship. Not even the Bulls.
Tom Roddy always said “I take an unholy and vicious delight…” Good bye, LeBron, Curry, Draymond, Klay, Rotundo, you all were welcome mats to the national league. Or should I say door mats, because Denver wiped their feet all over you.
Let’s see? It’s 64° on the porch, sunshine blue skies; and dreary in the batcave. I’m going to the porch. Let the world take care of itself. hasta la vista, baby
Besides going to church we are limiting our posts to only those that are deemed essential, you know like when the government limited are coming and goings to only those that were essential, leaving most things non-essential. Hasta la vista, baby.
Meet John and Mary Thomson, ages 79 and 76, respectively. At first glance, the pair could be mistaken for the North Pole’s Mr. and Mrs. Clause, a mix up they confirm has happened more than once. He has a full white beard, a belly and attentive ear. She exudes sweetness and calm with a ready smile. They have been married for 44 years and are parents to three adult children and six grandchildren.
Gabby receives an offer
The Dear Gabby column on Jan. 28 included a letter from someone who described themselves as “an incarcerated writer with nothing waiting for me on the outside.”
Eleven days later John wrote to Gabby. John Thomson shared that by the age of 26, “he had spent the past 11 out of 13 years in penal institutions of one sort or another. I was tired, hopeless and in utter despair.” Yet nine years later, he was married, awaiting the birth of his first child and gainfully employed. He was open to telling his story if the RoundTable was open to hearing it. We were.
A troubled childhood
Over two meetings and multiple hours of talking, John told his story. He quickly recalls dates, names and details. His father, Wilmer, was an alcoholic. When he was drunk, according to John, Wilmer would beat his wife, Frances, and John, the second oldest of his four children from his marriage to Frances. Both parents worked for Illinois Central Railroad, Frances as a telephone operator and Wilmer as a switchman.
John Thomson at 2 years old Credit: John Thomson
His parents divorced when John was 10 years old. Frances became a single mother with four children (ages 12, 10, 6 and 2) and an uninvolved ex-husband. John was prone to getting into trouble. He was caught shoplifting at the age of 6.
Glenwood School for Boys
Frances sent John to Glenwood School for Boys in Glenwood, Illinois, a military academy for troubled youth, where he lived from 1954 to 1957, between the ages of 10 and 13. During the summers, he attended Glenwood’s camp in Wisconsin. Hazel Crest is less than seven miles from the Glenwood School. Each parent visited him once during his first year, but otherwise no one in his family visited him during his three-year stay.
John Thomson after his first year at Glenwood School for Boys where he won the medal for the highest scholastic grade in the entire school. His mother, Frances, is on his left and his Aunt Dorothy is on his right. Credit: John Thomson
In 1956, while John was at Glenwood, Frances married John Killian, also a switchman for the railroad and had the first of five children with her new husband. When John Thomson got out of Glenwood, he met his new stepfather and infant stepbrother, Michael. As John Thomson tried to integrate himself into this new family, it became clear that he didn’t get along with his stepfather.
(Left to right, back row) Younger brother Bill, who is holding cousin Larry; John holding Mary; older sister Sharon holding Michael, born while John was in Glenwood, and younger sister Loretta. Credit: John Thomson
The spiral continues
John Thomson dropped out of high school when he was 16 and continued to get in trouble with the law. His crimes kept escalating in seriousness. His sentences demanded more time behind bars in harsher environments. Although John said he never physically hurt anyone during any of his crimes, he acknowledged that he caused emotional and mental pain to his victims.
Over the next 10 years, John would be given chances, jobs and support by family and friends, but he repeatedly disappointed the people who tried to help him. In 1971, he wound up in the St. Louis City Jail following an arrest for the armed robbery of a bank.
The man with the black lunch box
John was looking out the window from his jail cell. He said, “At 26, half of my life had been in juvenile or adult penal institutions. I looked out and I saw a man coming out of the courthouse, and he had a black lunchbox in his hand. I looked at him and I said, ‘Why can’t I be satisfied with that?’ I pictured a man who had a family, a job and so on, and I thought why can’t I just be satisfied with that? But no sooner than I thought it, I dismissed it as wishful thinking. And I resigned myself. I resigned myself to living the rest of my life in prison.”
But this man and what he symbolized – a purposeful life – was etched in John’s brain. He would recall this image again and again.
At his next court appearance, he changed his plea from guilty to not guilty by reason of insanity, which required that he undergo a psychiatric evaluation. John was sent to the U.S. Medical Center for Federal Prisoners in Springfield, Missouri, for a 90-day observation.
Meeting Mary, a prison employee and volunteer
During his stay at the prison medical center, he spent any free time reading in the prison’s learning center. (In 1965 John had achieved his GED while a prisoner in a reformatory in El Reno, Oklahoma.He was in solitary confinement most of that time.)
One Sunday, he observed people in street clothes coming into the prison complex to lead the weekly church service. Sundays were a slow day and John was looking for something to do. On two consecutive Sundays, he sat in the back and attended the service. He did not say anything. No one spoke to him.
One of the church volunteers was Mary, a former elementary school teacher. A graduate of Beloit College, she was tutoring prisoners at the learning center. She also sang in a Christian folk group and was part of the group coming to the prison.
The next day at the learning center, Mary was working at the front desk. She described John’s look at that time as “a stone hard face.” She looked up at him and said, “It was nice to see you at church on Sunday.”
John’s response was, “Well, that’s nice, but it didn’t do me any good.”
Finding and accepting faith
The next day John apologized to Mary for his unkind retort. Over the next few days, Mary would occasionally engage with John about faith, but only a few words at a time. He was bitter and without hope. Recalling the incident, John explained that he had no roadmap or models of how to succeed in life. He was afraid to try in case he made a mistake or failed.
John recounted, “She [Mary] said, ‘I’ve told you everything I know about Jesus Christ. You can either accept him or reject him. You accept him and all the promises of God are yours. If you reject him, the consequences of your life are on your shoulders.’”
That night, John had a life-changing experience. It was June 1972.
He said, “I’m all the evil and criminality that you can lump into one person, right? I pray this prayer. I say, ‘If what she says is true, that you can change my life, then I accept your son.’ And I stop myself. And I go over it again. You know, no hope, no help. It’s all on him. It’s your job, you know, not me. And the second time, I say, ‘I accept your son as my savior.’ I immediately start bawling.”
The next day, he shared the news with Mary. She was overjoyed but circumspect. The rules for how prison employees were allowed to interact with prisoners meant she needed to be reserved with her reactions. She smiled but didn’t say much.
A health crisis leads to positive changes
John still was facing sentencing in the armed robbery. He knew he would be going to jail for years; he just didn’t know how many.
Months later, John was sentenced to 12 years in the maximum security federal prison in Terre Haute, Indiana. He arrived in Terre Haute in January 1973. By the fall of that year he had developed a serious kidney infection that appeared to require surgery. John got transferred back to the prison hospital in Springfield, Missouri, in January 1974.
While he was recuperating, a guard that knew John from one of his previous stays in a different prison noticed that John had changed. His demeanor was different, less angry. This guard suggested that John apply to serve his sentence at the prison camp complex in Springfield, to avoid being sent back to Terre Haute. John followed the guard’s suggestion and his application was accepted. He spent 1974 to 1977 within the federal prison camp in Springfield.
John Thomson interviewing Miss Springfield for the prison newspaper in 1975 or 1976. Credit: John Thomson
One of his jobs while in prison was as editor of the prison newspaper, The Weekly Echo.
Reba Place Fellowship
In 1975, Mary moved to Evanston and joined the Reba Place Fellowship. She lived in a large household owned by the church and had several housemates. Since she was no longer employed by the prison, she and John were allowed to write to one another. They corresponded as platonic friends for several years. She told her church community about John and frequently shared his letters to her with church elders.
Back in Springfield, John had five years lopped off his sentence for good behavior. He spent the final year of his sentence at the Metropolitan Correctional Center in Chicago. Over the course of his 12-year sentence, he was denied parole five times.
Some of the people from Reba Place that came to visit John while he was in prison. Credit: John Thomson
The last time he was denied parole was in October 1977. John appealed the denial. He wrote letters to friends asking them to write to the parole board to change its mind. The campaign worked. John was granted parole in December 1977 and released to a halfway house in Chicago in January 1978.
Epilogue
Reba’s communal households provided John the structure and acceptance he needed to succeed upon his release. (Communal households are where one or two married couples and several single people share a home.) There he found friends, fellowship, communal meals, weekend housing and assistance securing work.
After he finished his stay at the halfway house, he moved to Evanston into a Reba household. It was a different household from the one where Mary lived. March 1 marked the 46th anniversary of John joining the Reba Place community.
John and Mary Thomson on their wedding day in 1980.
In prison John had learned bookkeeping, which helped him secure work. Over the years he worked at Northwestern University as an accounting clerk, at Leo Burnett as an ad auditor, and at Scandinavian Design as a clerk in shipping and receiving – he later managed its warehouse.
He and Mary began dating in October 1978 and married in April 1980. On the eve of their wedding, Mary gave John the perfect present: a black lunch box.
Tomorrow is March 1st. For the past month and a half I have been visiting with this Christian household comprised of an elder and his wife, (Dennis and Maruine Chesley) with one adopted son, a single mother and her two young children (Charlotte Oda), and what would soon become 4 single women, Judy Hullings, Gaye Hurtig, Cindy Warner Baker and Lindy Combs. Lindy didn’t live in the household rented a room in a home nearby. Tomorrow Judy will drive me down to the YMCA at 836 So. Wabash in Chicago to pick up my sole possession, a box of books. We will return to Evanston where I will reside with this household during my term on parole, for I have just left prison after 6 1/2 years. (For bank robbery). Nobody in the household will ever ask me what I was in for. We are bound together in our belief in Jesus Christ, yet we are pretty much strangers (to me). Looking back I can see many questions about how this could turn out, but none are asked. This is God’s plan, on that we all agree and pray that it is so. There is no more dressing to this story. The household did come down to the prison to meet me for the first time on Christmas Eve and again on Christmas Day. Dennis and Maurine were friends with Mary Lipscomb from years past and while Mary was in the Fellowship she was not part of this household. Now how well did Mary know me? Very little and only as a volunteer and school teacher in the prison. Everybody is trusting God on this one. For the past month and a half I have been looking for work. In the back of my mind I am realizing that getting out of prison has never worked for me, 3 months the longest I have ever made it. The Bureau of Parole stated, “There is no reasonable probability that you will live at liberty without violating the law.” These people, every last one of them are committed to helping me adjust every step of the way. The date was March 1st 1978, 46 years ago. Thanking God and these people is why I celebrate this date every year.
Thomson's Home Emporium 