I used Grammarly to grammar check this post, because, I am what I am and I don't always have time to check me grammar...

"I used Grammarly to grammar check this post, because, I am what I am and I don't always have time to check me grammar...  I'm too busy writing and finding material to check if I spelled too with enough o's or used the right grammar!

To Check out my Drug War or Prison books on sale on Amazon in Print, Kindle or Audio Book go here~ http://amzn.to/1aU4f87

Glenn Langohr Gangland Prison Documentary Lockdown

Best Selling Author and Producer Glenn Langohr Spent 10 Years in Prison on Drug Charges and 4 Years in Solitary Confinement. He explains about Solitary Confinement.
http://amzn.to/1dsPK7t Prison Riot in Print, Kindle and Audio Book
http://amzn.to/13GmjAb Underdog in Print, Kindle and Audio book
He points out why the California prisoners are refusing food in a hunger strike. His book Underdog and his book Prison Riot shine a light on the issues.

Glenn Langohr Talks About His Best Selling Prison and Drug War Books and Ministry

To check out Glenn Langohr's Prison and Drug War Books in Audio to Listen to a FREE sample/purchase go here~ http://amzn.to/1aImwmg Also available in Print and Kindle on Amazon and other retail outlets.

Glenn Langohr, the Best Selling Prison and Drug War Author Talks About His Reality TV Series

To check out my best selling Prison Books in Audio Book for a FREE sample/purchase go here~ http://amzn.to/128HxTE Also available in Print and Kindle! Message me for interviews/reviews.

An Excerpt From Roll Call, A Drug War and Prison Novel by Glenn Langohr

An Excerpt From Roll Call, A Drug War and Prison Novel by Glenn Langohr

All of Glenn Langohr's books are available in print, audio book and kindle.

Troy pulled up some statistics on the computer. I said,

“We’re going to show you statistics that approximately

70% of those incarcerated in the U.S. are there for drug

related crimes that aren’t violent in nature. You said that

we’re the leaders of the free world. If we’re the leaders,

don’t you think we should lead by example and show

more compassion to our own people who are addicted

to drugs rather than breed them into more violent

criminals? If you follow history, our country takes

these tough on crime stances first and other European

countries like Italy follow our lead. Italy has similar

drug crime policies and 70% of their incarcerated are

for drug crimes. Now it’s time to introduce you to your

real son. He told our friend that he wanted to tell you

what he’s been up to but hasn’t been able to bridge

the gap because the communication between you two

hasn’t been that established.”

Raymond Senior sat in the bonus room with a

stunned look on his face. “I would have never guessed

he was selling drugs!” 

Glenn Langohr's Blockbuster Prison Book Gets a Great Review from a Prison Guard

Glenn Langohr's Blockbuster Prison Book Gets a Great Review from a Prison Guard from J. Bell.

A fascinating look into a different world., May 28, 2013

By 

J. Bell - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)   

This review is from: UNDERDOG, A True Crime Thriller of Prison Life (Prison Killers- Book 4) (Kindle Edition)

Glenn Langohr answer's a question I've long had about inmates. Namely whether they feel any connection to their friends that are still in prison once they step through the gates into freedom. After years of watching out for one another and moving through a world of violence and terror long time friends can be torn apart by parole, sentence expiration, or simply moves to other prisons. In the system I work for former inmates are not allowed to return as visitors for any person other than immediate family members. Thus it may mean that they will never see one another again. Langohr illustrates that the bonds of solidarity remain strong through years of separation.

The end of the book examines Pelican Bay and the situation surrounding many controversies at the facility. It raises a question of whether California needs the prison. I will state without hesitation that the state of California needs a super max facility. However merely being a member of a security threat group (prison gang) should not be reason to send a person to the facility for the rest of their sentence. The notion that an inmate can be validated as a gang member by those currently at the facility and seeking to cut a deal to move to a special needs yard is simply asinine. And the abuse that has been widely reported at Pelican Bay is, if true, inexcusable. Corrections professionals should be well aware that being in prison is the punishment that offenders receive. It is never the job of an officer to punish an inmate. Force should only be used as a last resort in order to keep the facility secure, preserve life, or prevent escape. Hogtying inmates and assaulting them should land the officers responsible in prison themselves... in general population so that those they mistreated would have access to settle old scores. The author and I disagree about some things, such as the prosecution of crimes committed by inmates (I believe that far too few assaults bring about further charges.) and whether the person's convicted of drug crimes belong in prison but we agree that no human should be treated the way that inmates at Pelican Bay are reportedly treated.

Glenn Langohr's Front Page Story in the Orange County Register About Prison Life and His Books

Former inmate looks to write new life

Glenn Langohr’s novels about prison life are part fiction, part autobiography – and he’s pinned his hopes for the future on them.

By GREG HARDESTY / ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

SAN CLEMENTE – Biceps bulging under a black T-shirt, the man who says he was once one of South County's biggest speed dealers assumes the position.

Head down, hands on floor, Glenn Langohr raises his legs into the air as if he were doing a handstand with his feet against the wall.

Then he begins his routine.

Pump ... pump ... pump ...

Each handstand push-up is as fluid and forceful as the last.

Langohr learned to do this in prison. In a 10-foot prison cell, there was barely enough room to do even these space-efficient push-ups effectively. But here, on the back porch of his brother's ocean-view pad in San Clemente, he has all the room in the world.

Pump ... pump ... pump ...

Langohr, 42, has spent 10½ years – roughly a quarter of his life – in prison, the result of drug-related convictions. About four of his prison years, he says, were spent in solitary confinement.

All that alone time may explain Langohr's unbridled desire to talk and talk – and talk some more – about his past, and to tout what he hopes will be his new calling as a writer of slightly fictionalized accounts of his experiences in prison.

He has written eight books. He has been invited to speak before criminal justice classes at colleges.

He has the makings of a life.

Pump ... pump ... pu-

Now, the questions for Langohr are these: Will he screw it up? Can a man whose life has been as upside-down as it is during this workout keep himself upright long enough to stay out of prison?

•••

You expect a battle-scarred ex-con to be covered in tattoos, but Langohr has none.

And you expect his self-published books to be chores to read, but they aren't.

The writing and editing is sloppy; the first sentence in one Langohr book includes two typos. But Langohr also has an eye for compelling detail.

In the most recent of his Prison Killers series, Langohr writes about being one of two white inmates who get mixed up in a riot between rival Mexican gangs at the California State Prison in Solano.

I walked to the trash can against the wall and pulled back the plastic trash bag and dug my hand down the edge of it. I felt what I was looking for: a sock with a can of beans in it ...

A few paragraphs later, he adds:

I whipped my can of beans at the tsunami of rushing inmates ... punches from all sides were landing and I heard them cracking the side of my head and face.

Is it true?

Maybe.

Langohr says his writing paints "true colors of life on a fictional landscape."

He sticks to what he knows and delivers, at times, raw stuff – and he isn't shy about word count. His first book, "Roll Call" (2010), is 732 pages.

Of the aftermath of the riot, Langohr writes of a wounded inmate:

I counted six stab wounds and again wondered who had the weapon. The stab wounds started at the lower stomach and climbed up the chest. They were clean lines about an inch and a half long. Whatever weapon was used was a good one.

The inmate later died.

•••

In America, a country with about 2.3 million adults behind bars, Langohr's story is so old and so routine that it's cliché: Boy gets into drugs, gets in trouble with the law, goes to prison, finds God, gets sober.

Only the wished-for final step – turns his life around – remains in doubt.

Sitting on his brother's balcony, storm clouds massing, Langohr dishes openly about his troubled life, although he requests some details be kept private to protect family members.

Langohr, who rents a room in a home in San Clemente and is separated from his wife, grew up in the Lake Forest area.

A child of divorce, he was young when he started to rebel.

At 12, he ran away. By 15, he was selling pot supplied to him by a Mexican smuggler. By 18 he was serving his first stint in jail. When he got out he resumed dealing drugs, this time speed, and became, by his telling, one of the busiest amphetamine dealers in South Orange County.

He also became an addict.

Langohr started his first stint in state prison in 1991. He served 16 months in Chino. When he got out he went back to dealing. He needed the money, he says, and he was either uninterested in or unable to generate legal income.

It wasn't until after getting out of prison for a third time, in 1999, that Langohr took his first shot at cleaning up his life – quitting drugs and finding legitimate work. He'd just spent a stint in prison that included a long stretch in solitary, where he read a lot and began to write, and he felt he was ready for a change.

He succeeded, for a bit, but a bad romantic split and the dissolution of a limousine business he'd started torpedoed his spirit. Soon, the self-described "genius moron" was back to using and dealing drugs, a combination that soon landed him in prison for a fourth time.

Now, once again a free man, Langohr is pinning his future on a career of letters.

He makes some money from sales on Kindle and audio books he narrates, and also from a part-time restaurant job.

•••

More than spinning slightly shaded accounts of his decade-plus in prison, Langohr hopes to inspire other inmates to write as a form of self-therapy – for redemption, self-respect.

He also wants to send a message to politicians and the judicial system: California's strained prison system is a mess.

"By locking up low-level drug offenders, we're breeding bigger criminals," says Langohr, who advocates drug court and other diversionary programs for most addicts. He knows how prisons can fall abysmally short of rehabilitating offenders and, in many cases, perform the opposite:

Create monsters.

He says writing and reading helped keep him sane when he was behind bars.

He says never joined a prison gang – one explanation for his lack of tattoos. Langohr survived, he says, by ending up on the winning side of many fights – and by using his wits.

"My reputation preceded me," says Langohr, who as a drug dealer rubbed shoulders with Mexican mobsters. "Perception is reality in prison. And your brain plays a big part in surviving."

So does writing, he adds. And knocking out push-ups.

Especially when life is upside-down.

In Glenn Langohr’s Newest Prison Memoir, The Prison Guards Pointed Out the Child Molesters for Some Victim Restitution, Prison Style

Chapter 3

Sex Offender Alert

Twenty minutes later the vestibule door rattled outside again. The tower guard walked to the window overlooking the yard and looked down. He nodded his head and the other tower guard at the podium opened the vestibule. It shrieked and rattled open.

Security Escort Heart was the first through the tunnel. Behind him was his partner Ligazarro. They walked to the podium and talked to an unhappy Gomez.

Everyone heard Gomez yell, “This is my F###ing building!”

I remembered how Heart had escorted us from the bus to the building. He had been talkative and seemed to take a liking to me. I had asked him about the riot between the White inmates and the Mexican inmates that made the news over six months ago. He’d explained that a White inmate had run up a $1000 heroin debt and then stabbed the Mexican dope man in the neck. Within a month, after the initial lockdown was over, over 100 Mexicans swarmed about 20 White inmates in a yard riot. The Whites took a massive beating and almost all were knocked unconscious with 5 minutes of unhindered violence that sent 16 of them on stretchers to the hospital.

Since we arrived in the building we found out that a 50-year-old White inmate by the name of Mark Grisham worked in the program office and got inside information from Heart for the two Mexican Mobsters on the yard, Sano and Boxer. We told Mark we were taking over the yard for the White inmates and talked him into moving us as close to the two influential Mexicans as possible. He’d succeeded with Heart’s help.

Heart wasn’t arguing with Gomez. He wasn’t even raising his voice. Ligazarro stood next to him leaning on the podium and it didn’t look like he liked Gomez. He leaned back and stepped away in irritation and looked at one of the tower guards holding a gun out the portal pointed at the ground.

He nodded his head to the tower guard and walked to our cell. Heart followed him.

Ligazzaro opened the cell door and Heart stepped almost into our cell. He said, “BJ and Damon, you ready to go meet your new neighbors?”

Heart looked like a Mexican version of me. He had short brown hair combed back over expressive eyes that tore into you. He wasn’t shy and when he smiled his dimpled cheeks made him look friendly. But his strong jaw, with a scar down the middle, similar to mine, told a different story. I pegged him for a borderline criminal, or at minimum, a drug user and someone who was more comfortable around gangsters.

I nodded my head and said, “Thanks for making it happen.”

He said, “No problem. Strip down. I have to follow protocol and search you.”

I took off my clothes and handed them to him and Ligazzaro until I was naked.

Heart and Ligazzaro felt the clothes for all the spots inmates sewed stash spots and then studied the shoes.

Done with the task, Heart dropped the clothes on top of the shoes and said, “Arms up, open your mouth and stick you tongue out, lift up your nuts… Okay, turn around. Lift each foot and wiggle your toes. Alright, bend over and squat and cough three times.”

I followed all the instructions and was glad that he didn’t make me grab my ass cheeks to open them. He had a better style than that and this was mostly for show. I grabbed my clothes and shoes and got behind Damon while he went through the motions.

After Damon was done, Heart pulled him out of the cell and walked him ten feet to a bench.

Ligazzaro stared at me and said, “BJ, back out of the cell, we have to follow protocol.”

I backed out of the cell and felt Ligazzaro’s hand grab my shoulder and turn me. We were following Heart and Damon to the benches.

Damon was already kneeling uncomfortably on one of the benches. Heart lifted a pile of chains on the ground and wrapped Damon’s legs together at the ankles. He pulled Damon off the bench and wrapped some more chains around his waist and locked his wrists to each side.

I went through the same process and we were steered toward the vestibule door. I looked at the gun tower above to avoid Gomez. There was a block gun pointed at me. The Mexican prison guard holding it was smiling. He said, “You pissed off Gomez. You better avoid buildings three and four where his friends work the towers.

We were on the border of Mexico and nothing was stopping a Wild West scenario from unfolding. The cards we were dealt forced us into action.

The vestibule door weighed over 400 pounds of steel and it shrieked and rattled open. We were pushed through.

I looked up at a two-foot thick clear bulletproof window above us and saw both tower guards staring down at us. At the other end of the 20-foot long tunnel the other vestibule door rattled and erupted open. It shrieked insane noises for 5 seconds and latched into a locked position giving us 5 feet of space to walk through.

The sunlight was blinding. I closed my eyes and barely opened them. Long ago honed survival instincts forced me to look to the left of our building to get a complete study of the yard. There was nothing that way except the fenced entrance to our D-Yard. I could see C-Yard’s gated entrance 50 yards further and noted that the yard next to our yard was also an empty ghost town and still on lockdown. I turned slowly and paced the foot and half with each foot before the chains bit and held me. It was a slow pace. We weren’t in a hurry to get locked back into a cell for 24 hours of 7 days a week of slow motion lockdown.

In front of me was the asphalt concrete track that circled the yard. It was around the same width and length as a high school track. The sweltering 110-degree desert heat made me dizzy looking at the heat waves rising from it. Just inside the track on the yard there was grass and a couple of concrete tables that would hold about three to four prisoners on each side during regular yard. I knew from experience that this was where the White inmates and southern Mexicans would congregate so I asked Heart, “Is this where the riot was with the Mexicans and Whites?”

Heart nodded his head and said, “Yep. I remember how bad the White inmates got beat. We couldn’t get the Mexicans to stop stomping and kicking them. After we finally got them down, one of the White inmates regained consciousness and started trying to crawl away. He fell on his head trying to crawl and was knocked out again for hours. His face had boot prints all over it…that guy has brain damage and can barely talk now.”

I looked at Heart and wondered if he was trying to intimidate me. I said, “The Whites are lucky prison knives weren’t used.”

Heart nodded his head but didn’t say anything.

I wanted more information so I asked, “Who had the yard for the Mexicans at the time of that riot. Whoever it was had the decency to keep weapons out of it.”

Heart nodded his head and thought about it. He said, “It was hard for us to tell who was calling shots. There wasn’t a bona-fide Mexican Mobster here at the time. I think it was some one from La Puente in LA. I can’t remember his name.”

All of the sudden I realized why Heart was helping me. He wanted to be involved and in the know. It was a competition among a certain class of prison guards to know things. It gave them clout.

One foot in front of the other locked in chains was taking a long time to get anywhere. The dry heat was drenching me in perspiration. To my right was building 4. The prefabricated building was a tan dreary color except for the green vestibule door and the tinted bulletproof tower window above. A tower guard stood watching with his gun pointed at the ground near us. I asked, “Does Gomez really have gun tower friends or was he just acting?”

Heart grunted and said, “He’s serious as a heart attack. He still lives in Mexico and drives across the border everyday to work, his friends caravan with him. Stay out of building three and four.

One foot in front of the other in a shuffle step got us to the middle of the yard. There was a handball wall that was 20 feet high. After that there was a thin cement walkway that cut through the middle of the yard. At the end of it to the right was the gym. Mostly Black Inmates were standing at the window watching. I saw a couple of tattooed down Asians and asked, “How long have the Black inmates had the gym?”

I knew the answer. Ever since the Mexicans and Black inmates had their riot.

Heart said, “It’s been over six months now. The Prison Administration is thinking of trying to put Mexicans in there from another yard to see what happens.”

I grunted and didn’t say anything. It wouldn’t work. It would be an immediate riot.

Heart surprised me by changing the subject, he asked, “Do you want help with this yard?”

I didn’t know what he meant so I remained quiet.

Each shuffle step seemed to take longer waiting for one of us to talk.

Heart finally said, “Do you want to know about any skeletons in the closet?”

Now I understood. He was asking if we wanted to know about any protective custody cases. I was immediately repulsed by the thought and asked, “Is this a protective custody yard?”

Heart noticed me staring right at him and said, “Not at all but there is always a sex offender who flies beneath the radar on every yard. Do you want help uncovering those kinds of things?”

I had stopped walking and felt Damon bump into me. I started shuffle stepping forward again and thought about it. Prisoners were given paperwork from their counselor that stated every crime they had ever committed. We really didn’t need his help. But who was I to muzzle the gift horse. I said, “I wouldn’t turn down help, but I was hoping for tobacco or a cell phone to start with.”

Heart ignored me and said, “There’s a notorious child molester in three building. Think about the worst Catholic priest scenario. He has forty-four counts and is doing a life sentence. I don’t know how he made it through New Folsom and Calipatria.”

What Heart was saying was he was surprised the inmates at those Maximum Security Prisons didn’t uncover his dirty deeds and stick a spike in his neck.

I said, “You would need to give me the paperwork that proves those charges for me to do anything.”

Heart said, “That I can’t do. You have to trust me.”

I said, “It has nothing to do with trust. It has to do with how it has always been done. Paperwork is the only way.”

Heart nodded his head and said, “I’ll see what I can do. I would have to go into his Central File to get it.”

I didn’t say anything. We were getting closer to our building and I wondered if Heart was helping the Mexicans the same way.

Heart said, “You have another potential problem that just arrived. A white guy just got here who has a “Cruelty to Children” charge and a “Corporal Injury to Spouse” charge. You should be able to fish that one out on your own. He had problems at Donovan Reception Center over it on his way to this prison. It will all be in his paperwork.”

Another revelation dawned on me. The prison guards at Centinella must like being on lockdown.