Wilbert Rideau The Real Story

In an April 27, 2010 glowing review of Wilbert Rideau’s memoir, In the Place of Justice, Associated Press reporter Mary Foster, who has been a longtime supporter of the famed prison journalist, wrote that Rideau had “surprisingly kind words” for Louisiana prison wardens,  except for current Angola Warden Burl Cain.

I do not personally know Burl Cain. I was never an inmate under him during my 40 years in the Louisiana prison system. But I have read and viewed a number of television programs about his concept of “moral rehabilitation.” Cain believes, as do some Texas prison officials, that an inmate cannot be truly reformed absent a change in his moral values. The Angola warden supports a wide array of religious programs in Louisiana’s largest prison as a venue for producing that moral change in prisoners. The concept is relatively simple: if an inmate changes his moral values by accepting a higher divine power in his life, he is more likely to pursue other educational and vocational opportunities available in the prison system. The latter programs provide an inmate with skills to survive in the free world but they do not instill in him the moral appreciation of why it is the “right thing” to become a law-abiding citizen.

The jury is still out on this penal concept. But what is certain is that religious programming and training produces a safe prison. The Louisiana State Penitentiary has more lifers and long term inmates than any other prison in the United States and is the safest maximum security prison in the country.

Rideau dismissed the “moral rehabilitation” concept as essentially non-productive. He said inmates are naturally an “irreligious” group of people, and the only reason they participate in the religious programming is because Cain pressures them to do so. Rideau held out The Angolite, the prison’s newsmagazine, and his role as its editor as the best hope for inmate salvation. He boldly announces on his Wikipedia page that he is responsible for bringing “peace and reform” to Angola. One wonders how the prison has managed to survive without him.

Rideau says he never got along with Cain from the moment Cain became Angola’s warden. He cited two early incidents. First, he says Cain tried to make him a “snitch” and, second, the warden tried to convert him “to Jesus.” Rideau found both notions offensive, even though he had a long history of cooperation with previous prison administrators (a “cooperation” defined by the “convict” value system as “snitching”).

Rideau went on to list a host of other grievances he has against Cain. First, he cited several instances where Cain had inmates locked up who either exposed some kind of alleged wrongdoing at the prison or publicly expressed opposition to one of the warden’s policies. That is a fact of life in prison. Every warden Rideau served under maintained the same policy he attributes to Cain. As a matter of fact, there was never a single article that appeared in the award-winning Angolite that either exposed corruption by any warden or criticized criminal wrongdoing by a warden during his tenure in office. For example, Rideau served under Warden Frank Blackburn and Corrections Secretary C. Paul Phelps during a time when the largest “pardons-for-sale” scheme operated at Angola with the convict editor’s knowledge, and he did not report that in The Angolite. Also, Rideau served under Warden Hilton Butler at a time when Kirksey McCord Nix, the reputed leader of the infamous Dixie Mafia, operated a $4 million “homosexual mail scam,” and he did not report on it until after the scam had been exposed by outside law enforcement authorities.

Rideau next charged Cain and former Corrections Secretary Richard Stalder, who Rideau described as a “heartless” administrator, as being part of a cabal of corrupt sheriffs and state lawmakers who operated a “prisoner-for-profit” program. In a nutshell, the program worked like this: lawmakers passed tough laws to keep inmates locked up longer, Stalder and lawmakers paid local sheriffs to keep state prisoners (those convicted of crimes) in parish jails/prisons, and the sheriffs were allotted exorbitant funds to house those inmates. Rideau said the practice created a broad network of “power” for Stalder and Cain, provided local sheriffs with more funding to enhance their political base, and allowed lawmakers to maintain their “tough on crime” positions to the public.

Was it an bad practice? Yes. Was it a massive criminal conspiracy rife with corruption as suggested by Rideau? No. Rideau is trying to present it in his memoir as an “expose” when in fact the practice has been in place in Louisiana for two decades, has been thoroughly examined and editorialized against by the state’s media, and criticized by the federal courts. But no responsible investigative entity has ever found it to be the kind of criminal or corrupt enterprise suggested by Rideau’s memoir.

My problem with Rideau’s unsubstantiated charges  against Cain is this: why didn’t the famed journalist have the “moral” courage to expose these “corrupt” practices to the outside news media? In 1986 I exposed the “pardons-for-sale” corruption to federal ajuthorities; in 1997 I exposed to the news media (WWL-TV, New Orleans and the Houston Chronicle) what I believed was a corrupt relationship between Stalder, convicted pedophile priest Gilbert Gauthe, and the Chief Judge of the United States Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit, Henry Politz; and in 2002 I exposed to Associated Press the horrific torture and beating death of an inmate at the David Wade Correctional Center.

More to the point, while still incarcerated, I published my memoir, A Life In the Balance (Arcade Publishing, New York, 2000), which chronicled violence and corruption in the Louisiana prison system, including pointed criticism directed at then Corrections Secretary Stalder. Rideau and The Angolite criticized the memoir, belittling the violence and corruption portrayed in it as misrepresentations. In effect, the Angolite review informed the public that everything was “just fine” at Angola at a time when Rideau now says Warden Cain was involved in a host of corrupt practices. Rideau’s memoir is so shallow he cannot even coordinate his lies.

It’s an insult to “journalistic integrity” for Rideau to now present the “prisoner-for-profit” program as an expose of alleged corruption involving Cain and Stalder. Why didn’t he have the journalistic balls to do write about it when he was locked up under them? I did. I put my personal well-being and freedom interests at serious risk to expose to law enforcement and the news media the corruption I saw in the Louisiana prison system—and, ironically, it was none other than the famed prison journalist who roundly criticized me for it,  even calling me a “snitch.”

I must admit, though, that I took some amusement reading about Rideau’s frustration that Warden Cain purportedly stole “credit” for  his creative work. Under Cain’s predecessor, John Whitley, Rideau relinquished his position as “editor” of The Angolite and became the publication’s “editor emeritus” as he pursued “film projects” from his desk in the Angolite office. Cain reportedly found Rideau’s role as filmmaker acceptable when he assumed the reigns as warden and, in fact, endorsed a couple of projects the prison journalist already had in the works. One of those projects was a documentary entitled “First Blood” about the execution of condemned inmate Antonio James.

In March 1996 Rideau’s cameraman on the project, Michael Glover, collapsed and died at the prison. Rideau contacted a New York production company, Gabriel Films, about securing “camera assistance.” Jonathan Stack, the head of the company, agreed to help Rideau complete the “First Blood” project. Rideau met Stack and a filmmaker named Liz Garbus at Glover’s funeral in Baton Rouge several days later.

During the week of James’ scheduled execution Rideau learned that Warden Cain had granted Cynthia McFadden with ABC’s Prime Time an exclusive interview with James. The prison journalist was incensed because he believed he had an understanding with Cain that he would have the exclusive “first” interview with James. He was also upset that McFadden later appeared on The Charlie Rose Show to talk about the unprecedented access Cain had given ABC to cover the James execution. The source of Rideau’s tantrum was his belief that Cain had allowed ABC to co-opt credit for his exclusive work so the warden could ingratiate himself with the free world media.

But I suspect Rideau was more upset that Cain had demonstrated an independent ability to establish a relationship with a national news organization without Rideau. Before the arrival of Cain, Angola officials generally believed the only way the prison could get favorable national publicity was through Rideau’s network of media sources. Burl Cain upset that notion—a notion carefully groomed by Rideau over the years. The warden served notice on Rideau that he didn’t need the famed “convict editor” to get publicity for the prison.

As Rideau and Stack continued their work on Final Judgment: The Execution of Antonio James, Rideau implies that Stack manipulated him into taking his name off the project as one of its “producers” and settling for “Story by Wilbert Rideau.” Rideau said he agreed to the “minimal credit line” because Stack had told him that Cain had “discouraged” Stack from working with the convict editor. The documentary was ultimately aired on The Discovery Channel. Once again Rideau saw his “credit” taken away.

Realizing that Cain might oust him from The Angolite operation, Rideau resumed his position as editor of the publication after Glover’s death. He said  the magazine provided him some protection from Cain’s wrath.

Rideau said that in late 1996 he was contacted by Stack about a new film project the filmmaker wants to produce at Angola. He wanted Rideau’s help with the project whose working title was Where I Live but would morph into The Farm. Stack told Rideau Cain supported the project, but the convict editor demurred saying he wanted no part of the project until he saw a change in the warden’s attitude toward him. Cain subsequently encouraged Rideau to work on the project. Rideau said he agreed to take part in The Farm only because he had no choice, that he was given a “command from a dictator armed with arbitrary power.”

Rideau also speculated that Stack and Cain had some kind of special agreement because the warden not only gave the producer “carte blanche” access in the prison but because Cain was willing to put aside his “animosity” toward the convict editor until the project was completed. “I knew Stack had arranged speaking engagements for Cain in the northeast,” Rideau wrote, “even traveled with him.” This implied Stack and Cain were in cahoots to marginalize Rideau’s position at the prison.

Rideau said he eventually “warmed” to The Farm project, and he certainly “warmed” to it even when the film was nominated for an Academy Award. In fact, the famed prison journalist was so “warmed” he stole the lion’s share of the credit for the film’s spectacular success. That’s vintage Rideau—always first in line to get the credit for any project he works on. He has stolen or co-opted credit for my work so many times I can’t keep tabs on them. He did the same thing with The Farm.

But unquestionably the worst charge Rideau indirectly leveled against Cain was the ridiculous accusation that the warden tried to kill him. In early 2000 a fire erupted in the building where The Angolite office was located. The fire was caused by an inmate leaving his personal clothing on  a chair  near an open space heater to dry in one of the locked offices. It was after midnight when Rideau, who was asleep in The Angolite office, says he discovered the fire and informed security officer about it. He takes “credit” in the memoir for saving the officer’s life.

Of course, Rideau made certain the local media knew he had discovered the fire and was willing to talk to them about his “heroic” efforts. But he said when the media called to talk to him, Cain made available to them an inmate orderly as the inmate who actually discovered the fire and reported it.

Here again Cain reportedly robbed Rideau of “credit” for something he did. Rideau then informs the reader that two “inmate electricians” and the “fire marshal who investigated” the fire told him “something else is going on here.” The inmate electricians told the convict editor that the hanging of clothes on a chair near an open space heater is a way arsonists start delayed fires. Armed with this “incredible” information, Rideau concluded: “I can never prove that someone set out to kill me. But I knew for certain I had better watch my back.”

Oh, my God, the famed convict editor was reduced to trifling paranoia in a sophoric effort to convince the reader he barely made it out of the prison alive! He doesn’t name the inmate electricians or the fire marshal who told him “something else [was] going on.” He effectively attributes to these unnamed sources an “attempted murder” scene through arson. Who else but Burl Cain could have orchestrated such a devious, sinister plot?

Maybe some of Rideau’s media friends and his loyal band of supporters will believe the “attempted assassination” conspiracy theory, but it is particularly pathetic for anyone who understands anything about the world of prison. The old adage “you can fool the fans but not the players” apply here.