Many things have happened in my life since I began this book about Jerry. I’ve made new friends, accumulated a new understanding of out intelligence agencies, become appalled at the prison system, and come to a better understanding of humanity. This has made everything worthwhile.

Jerry began flying after only a few hours of instruction.  He literally learned “on the fly.” Once, he got into big trouble when he got somewhat lost in a fog bank and discovered that he was in Cuban airspace. Before he could extract himself into safe territory, a Cuban MiG bore down on him and tried to force him into the ocean, not with guns but with the blast from its wings as he dove around him. Jerry said he could see the pilot smiling at him. Jerry’s plane was tossed like a rag doll until he believed it would simply fall apart. But it didn’t and Jerry made it to safety, though the plane was damaged. But instead of seeing this as a warning, Jerry’s resolved never to make that mistake again. It made him a better pilot and served him well when he began smuggling cocaine. He never lost a plane during all his many flights from Colombia and back.

I’m often asked if writing about the cia is dangerous and my answer is always YES. There’s a movie, Kill The Messenger, about a reporter named Gary Webb who exposed the CIA’s role in cocaine smuggling.  His career was destroyed and he was murdered, though they claimed it was suicide. (2 bullets---lol.) My last conversation with the spy boys was not exactly reassuring but I’m supposing they aren’t that interested; maybe hoping is a better word. I offered to hold off some of my findings but they said it was fine---even implying that one of the men I discovered was really a cia agent. Of course, he’s dead. Go see the movie; it it’s anything like the book, it should be great.

Jerry had many friends in prison who write me. They all have stories. I also run into those who knew him on the outside. And I have used my visits, along with their stories, to piece together his life. But in the end, it has to be the man I knew for four years as he bared his soul to me, as good friends do. If he were alive, we might be playing golf today, or he might be helping me with my house. He might have gone to church with me yesterday. I remember him this way; it’s my choice. I am titling the book, A SPECIES OF INSANITY, not because he was insane but because we as a collective group treat others in an insane manner.  We don’t deal with problems, we hide them.  But I choose to be optimistic and will go through the rest of my life trying to improve the world. Jerry and I talked about this a lot. I told him my belief that all of us are in some kind of prison, whether it be anger, or jealousy, or greed, or whatever consumes us. He agreed and understood my belief that the only way to rise above this is through faith; not the kind of faith that simply hopes, but the faith that God will provide for us. He was beginning to accept this belief. Several times, he mentioned fellow inmate in need and asked if I could help. I was glad to. Their responses were great and Jerry was a little surprised at how a small bit of kindness worked. We talked about God’s kindness and how He wanted Jerry to be happy. My hope is that all those he had wronged will forgive and understand that he was a different person in the end.