THE PROBLEM WITH PRISON MEMOIRS
The problem inherent in “prison memoirs” is that most free world journalists, those most likely to “review” them, have no frame of reference about what could or could not happen in the world of prison. Prison writers like Jack Abbott (In The Belly of the Beast) and Edgar Smith (Brief Against Death) used their writing talents to snooker literary giants Norman Mailer and William F. Buckley into promoting their prison memoirs. Both men were released from prison with the support of these literary benefactors. Both were returned to prison after committing new crimes of violence. Blinded by the writing talents of these convicts, Mailer and Buckley had no frame of reference to understand their violent nature.
Famed prison journalist Wilbert Rideau is different from Abbott and Smith. Although convicted of murder, and a particularly heinous one at that, Rideau built an impressive 44-year incarceration of non-violent behavior. He was released from the Louisiana prison system in January 2005. By all accounts, he has been a law-abiding person since his release. On April 27, 2010 Rideau released his memoir In The Place of Justice (Random House 2010), and it was endorsed with generally favorable reviews by the nation’s media. Kirkus Reviews said Rideau’s memoir “resembles the memoir of a media mogul than a prison memoir.”
Therein is the problem with In The Place of Justice. Just as Jack Abbott embellished his violent prison exploits which attracted Mailer’s fascination and Edgar Smith embellished his claims of innocence which attracted Buckley’s intellectual nature, Rideau has embellished a host of events to create the impression that he was a “media mogul” behind bars, that he had a vast network of influence in the inmate world, and that he enjoyed a position of professional prominence and political power with Louisiana officials (both appointed and elected).
For example, on page 160 of his memoir, Rideau writes about the “machinations of Jack Rogers, a Lake Charles attorney …” In 1980 Rogers had accepted an invitation by the Lifers Association, of which Rideau was a member, to address them about legal issues surrounding lifers in the prison system. The previous year the Louisiana Legislature had enacted a law that eliminated previous discretionary release consideration on life sentences and established a true “life is life” without parole sentence. One group of lifers, known as “10/6 lifers,” who had previously enjoyed release consideration after serving 10 years and six months, believed the 1979 legislation violated their rights. Rogers was a “10/6 lifer” expert so those inmates wanted to know what “legal advice” the attorney could give them to challenge the 1979 natural life sentence legislation.
During a question and answer session, Rogers reportedly made some unflattering comments about Rideau. The prison journalist’s memoir quoted Rogers as saying that Rideau was the “biggest liability” to any legal challenge the “10/6 lifers” would make because “’no judge will ever vote to let Rideau out of prison.’”
Rideau was indeed incensed when he learned about Rogers’ comments and he did in fact complain to Angolite supervisor Peggi Gresham, Warden Frank Blackburn, and Corrections Secretary C. Paul Phelps about the Lake Charles attorney. From the outset, Rideau’s reaction was disproportionate to the reality of the situation. Jack Rogers did not come to Angola to “tar ‘n feather” Wilbert Rideau as the convict editor suggested to prison officials. The attorney simply made a valid legal observation. Rideau’s paranoia about anyone from Lake Charles—and there was some legitimate basis for that paranoia—made him overreact to the situation.
Several days later the prison’s Chief of Security Walter Pence dropped by The Angolite and the Rogers incident came up in casual conversation. Pence sort of laughed the matter off, but Rideau insisted that comments like those by Rogers could pose a problem for him with other inmates. “Don’t tell me they’ve got a contract out on you, Wilbert,” Pence said in jest.
But in his memoir Rideau said that “security warden Walter Pence told me there were rumors of a contract on my life coming out of Lake Charles.” Rideau added that he did not know if those rumors “had anything to do with Rogers. The rumor mill is one of the most maddening aspects of prison life, and prisoners used it regularly to inflict anxiety—and insomnia—on a foe. My paranoia was pricked, and I sent word to all my friends and allies throughout the prison to keep me abreast of all new arrivals from Southwest Louisiana and arranged to have no new inmate from that area live and work around me.”
A casual reader or even a professional journalist would accept the “contract” rumor as a real threat, and that Rideau had a network “friends and allies” to alert him to any pending danger and that he had the “power” to arrange it so that “no new inmate from [the Lake Charles] area [was assigned] to live and work around [him].” The “contract” rumor was an embellishment enough, but to embellish the incident to imply that the convict editor had the power to make prison officials assign inmates where he wanted is shameful, not to mention completely absurd.
The reality is that Rideau did not have a network of “friends and allies” in the prison in 1980. The entire Angolite staff, me included, at that point was considered “sell outs” to the administration by the bulk of the inmate population. The publication had not gained the level of social acceptance in the prison community it would later enjoy The only “friends and allies” Rideau had were inmates just like himself—those closely allied with the prison administration through either job assignment or “snitching” ability. As for Rideau having the power to have inmates assigned where he dictated, the convict editor indeed had a “cozy” relationship with Gresham/Blackburn/Phelps but not to the extent that he could tell them where to assign inmates in the prison—at least not in 1980.
The Jack Rogers/contract incident is just another example of Rideau taking that kernel of corn and turning it into a bushel. The average reader would not know the difference. I do because I was there. I am a living witness. Rideau’s memoir is filled with episodes involving conversations between him and other people who are conveniently dead. There’s no way to fact-check him about what was or what was not said in these kinds of conversations. It’s a good way for him to write his own history about the Angola prison, The Angolite, and his role in both.
Initially, my wife and I set up this website to defend ourselves against the lies and misrepresentations Rideau trashed us with his memoir. But as I read his memoir in relation to the “reviews” it received from prominent journalists, I realized Rideau had inadvertently created a public debate about what role journalists should have in reviewing books dealing with a subject-matter about which they have absolutely no frame of reference. Ted Koppel called In The Place of Justice an “extraordinary book,” Richard North Patterson called it “unforgettable,” and Ted Conover said it is “utterly gripping.” In reality, Rideau’s memoir is seriously flawed with significant factual errors and factual contradictions evident to a discerning eye not blinded by the hype and celebrity associated with the famed prison journalist.
I have pointed out these factual errors/contradictions—and will continue to do so. I doubt very seriously if the mainstream media will ever examine these aspects of In The Place of Justice. If it did, prominent journalists would have to concede they made a mistake promoting Wilbert Rideau as a “courageous,” award-winning convict editor/prison journalist during his incarceration. But the power of the Internet is not controlled by The New York Times or Random House. It belongs to those willing to look beyond the print media and the “book publishing” industry for the truth and a different point of view not defined by elitist values .
Beyond a doubt, Wilbert Rideau has an incredible story: his journalism awards, his filmmaking achievements, and his personal struggle and survival during a 44-year incarceration are, standing alone, compelling. That’s why In The Place of Justice, even from my adversarial point of view, is so disappointing. It is not “extraordinary” or “unforgettable” or “utterly gripping.” It is a petty, spiteful “get even” book against those like Jack Rogers who Rideau believes wronged him during his incarceration and it weaves a chronology of events through dead witnesses to promote the famed prison journalist as some superhuman, heroic figure.
What Wilbert Rideau has actually produced with In The Place of Justice is an ordinary and forgettable prison memoir. I really don’t think he has the literary ability to produce anything better. Perhaps I am wrong, but I don’t think so. However, the reality is this: The reviewers can praise In the Place of Justice all they want but the factual errors and contradictions will not go away. They are there in print forever. Don’t take my word for it. Buy the book and read it.
