THE RAIFORD ROAD SHOW

The Florida State Prison at Raiford once had a program aimed at teenagers. It functioned by having real criminals tell them how crime had ruined their lives. Sort of a Scared Straight thing in more generic terms. It was a compelling effort and, I think, impacted some young folks.

This particular time the show was in Naples and was scheduled for Naples High School. There were six convicts, as I recall, who were serving time for an array of crimes; murder, rape, robbery, burglary, you name it. All, of course, had demonstrated they were trustworthy, and presented little or no threat or they wouldn't be out there. But, convicts are wily and you can't always tell what their real motives are.

They were, of course, accompanied by guards and traveled in a secure prison bus. When they arrived in the city they were working that day, each was handed off to a local cop, who was responsible for getting them to the venue and back. I drew a man who had murdered three people. He was a lifer with no chance of parole.

Sounds like a dangerous dude, right? Not always. Most of the time a murderer will never do it again. Their crime was one of passion. Something had snapped. Many times the victim had worked real hard, over time, to get themselves murdered. There are those that believe that anyone is capable of murder--under the right circumstances. I'm such a believer.

We're not talking about "hit" men here. Or mob or gang killers. Just the regular Joe who has stepped over the edge. Or was shoved over. Anyway, mine, as best I could tell, was in the former category.

Cars were short that day and I grabbed an unmarked unit that was not my own. I put the "speaker" in the front seat with me and we headed out for the High School. Everything went smooth until we hit 22 Ave North. There, the City had dug up the street and it was poorly marked. I was almost on it before I saw the cavity and slammed on the brakes. When I did, the glove compartment door popped open. And laying in the glove compartment, within an arms length of the murderer, was a .38 S&W revolver.

We both looked at the gun, then at each other. Then my prisoner leaned back in the seat and raised his hands in a I give up position. I reached over and took the gun.

He broke the tension by looking at me, smiling, and saying, "Guess you're glad I'm reformed."

"Bubba, you can say that again," I replied. With complete candor.