Irish and I are speaking again. We actually made up a few hours after I published my last post.

It’s not because he read the post, either. I haven’t shared the URL for my website with him because I want to write authentically about things. I’m pretty sure he was just sick of the Silent War and decided it was time to bring it to an end.

I figured we’d have things sorted out by yesterday morning because there was an important appointment on the calendar and I had to accompany him.

Though he’d probably never admit it, any sort of formal setting makes him nervous and uncomfortable. If I’m able to, I usually go along to these appointments for moral support or to make sure the right questions are asked and answered.

Anyway, yesterday’s appointment was a huge milestone for Irish.

At the age of 53, he’s now enrolled as a full-time college student and begins attending classes in January. He’s earning a certification that will allow him to have a stable, well-paying job in the field of addiction and recovery after completion.

This might not sound like much, but it’s because you don’t know Irish’s history.

Not a Nice Guy

The cliff notes are that once upon a time, Irish was the convict no prison administrator wanted housed at their facility. It was because he had a talent for raising hell like no one else.

Spending time in the hole? Didn’t phase him. He once spent three years there. Most of the time he was sent back to general population early because the staff couldn’t handle him in solitary for long.

Disciplinary write-ups? He had fifty-two of them by the time he was released. After his first hearing, he never attended another one. He said it was pointless to fight them because write-ups were a just part of prison life.

Sending corrections officers into his cell? He always picked out which officers he was going to hit first, second, and third. To this day, they still show training videos with Irish in them to demonstrate what corrections officers should not do.

Rules and authority? He lived by his own. Over time he built up so much political power within the prisons that the administration got desperate and called his mother to see if she could keep him in check. Her response was, “He’s in your custody. You figure out how to deal with him.”

That’s not to say Irish was invincible. He’s admitted there were plenty of times he had to cry uncle: huge Samoan hit squad officers that were like mountains with arms and legs, pepper spray, tear gas, flash grenades, and non-lethal projectiles.

“I don’t care who you are. You get shot with a bean bag gun, that shit hurts,” he once told me on a walk back from the grocery store.

Each time I witnessed Irish being arrested after traffic stops, five cars came to the scene. Running his name and date of birth causes dispatch to issue a warning of “Extreme violence” because of injuries he inflicted during past arrests.

I’ve seen a few men exit buses we’ve boarded because Irish beat them up years ago and they must have been worried he might hand out a sequel.

I share all this to show the contrast between who Irish was at his worst and who he is today.

“If My Buddies Could See Me Now…”

Today Irish has been sober for just over seven months. It’s made a huge difference in his decisions and behaviors. Is he still a big selfish baby sometimes? Yes, but I’ll take sober Irish over addict Irish any day.

He adores our dog and me — most days he even remembers to act like it.

He’s settled into enjoying domestic life and has slept at home every night since his first day of rehab. I know that’s a weird thing to compliment a man on, but this is Irish I’m talking about.

He’s surprised me with how introspective and self-aware he can be at times. He still has a lot of emotional maturing to do, but he’s come a long way for someone whose formative adult years were spent in the penal system.

He’s taking steps to educate and prepare himself for a career where he can make a difference. He wants to do good in the world to try to make up for some of the harm he caused.

Hope for Others

One day, someone who knows Irish from the old days will come to the recovery center where he’ll be working as a counselor.

At first, they’re probably not going to believe their eyes: the man who used to lead prison yard riots counseling people struggling with addiction.

But once the shock wears off, they’ll see there is hope for them to turn things around. Irish has done what no one — including himself — ever thought was possible for him to accomplish. It’s not easy. But it’s possible.

I look forward to having a front-row seat as his transformation continues.