Happy Harry's Return

Author's note: The "cellie" quote is from Charles Fannan.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because being quiet made everybody go nuts, speaking out gave us all a chance to be free."

That was in 1991, shortly after I was moved to the Arizona State Prison Complex. It was also the last time that my mother visited me. I knew she wouldn't understand…wouldn't care…she never did. My dad had more of a say in that than anyone did. I had gone to court over my pirate radio station, was found guilty, and was sentenced to seventeen years in prison. I guess some people must've seen me as one hell of a threat to everybody. The way I was hearing it, people arrested in piracy cases were getting off in a year, year and a half, 46 months. The longest case I'd heard of was half a life sentence, so far that had been the longest sentencing in history for piracy. I guess compared to that guy, I had it good…So I'd only be 34 when I got out of prison, some guys my age stayed there for their entire lives.

A lot had happened over the years, pirate radio shows went out as the Internet came in. It seemed too good to be true at first, places where you could "post" your opinions on just about anything, speak your mind no matter how pissed off you were, and your true identity and location could never be found out. How I wished they had that going when I was the notorious Happy Harry Hardon. Teenagers all over the school loved me, I heard it every day, they adored me, they worshiped me, they recorded me and played me in school, they lived by my words. My words…I'd had a long time to recall just about every word that I ever breathed on the radio.

"They say I'm disturbed, well of course I'm disturbed. I mean we're all disturbed, and if we're not, why not? Doesn't this blend of blindness and blandness want to make you do something crazy? Then why not do something crazy? It makes a hell of a lot more sense than blowing your brains out."

Blowing your brains out, how too well I recall that night. It was the night after Malcolm killed himself. I listened to him, he said he was going to do it, but I didn't believe him. I thought it was just a joke, or a chance at getting on the air, or just some prick pulling my leg. If only I knew then…He said he was alone, and boy was he right, his parents couldn't be further apart from him than if you stuck them on completely different sides of the equator. But instead of focusing on that, after he killed himself, the whole damn town was looking for someone to blame his death on, and I was right out in the open to become the scapegoat.

Nobody ever blames parents. They never did, they still don't, they never will. I don't know why. They just do. It's like they're all members of some fucking union that they have to look out for everybody else's ass, and we as the teenagers at the time, were just expected to take it and behave. Well they soon found out after my arrest that they wouldn't take it and they wouldn't calm down if you stuck them with all the drugs in existence. Yeah, that's the kind of response I earned from them. Finally, for once, old Mark Hunter wasn't the anonymous nerd who kept to himself, eating lunch on the stairs or reading a book. Looking back it's almost impossible to believe that a simple dipshit like me, could have such an effect on the country. At first, nobody could believe it, like it was a dream, or more accurately a nightmare to some people.

I remember all too well how it went after my arrest, Nora and I were put in the back of a police van, and they drove us to the station. We couldn't see out of the van but we soon found out that all the kids at the high school had gotten in their cars and tailed the van the entire way. Some of them took detours and were waiting by the station when we arrived. When they let us out, the entire street was blocked off, and then some. There were kids yelling, screaming and swearing, others were chanting "Harry Hardon", and when we got up to the station, some of them started attacking the officers. There must have been at least two hundred people just right there. That alone was a surprise to me, what happened next was unbelievable.

We were kept in a jail cell for weeks, each day we heard of more and more protestors right outside the station. Sometimes the cops came in looking like death ran them over, backed up and tried again, and that was just the damage done by the football team. The public thought it was bad when it was just kids, it got even worse when the parents got in on the action. Turned out that all the time I was talking sex and rock & roll and holding fake masturbation sessions, a few choice parents were listening in, and loving every minute of it. Everything I'd said the night of the arrest, they ate it up with a spoon. Soon enough the parents were the ones thrashing the cops. Then it got even crazier.

For the first week, Nora and I were the only people in the cell…the next week, they brought in six other kids who had turned over the sheriff's deputy's truck when he tried to send them home. All they talked about was how great I was, and how crazy everything had gotten, and how something big was going to happen soon. We didn't know how it could get any worse than it already had…pretty soon, people started throwing bricks and rocks through the windows, bludgeoning the officers, a few tried to steal the officers' guns to raise some attention. One night, Mazz Mazilli, the dear prick, hijacked a bulldozer and tried to destroy the station with it. He succeeded in smashing the windows and part of the walls, as well as part of the roof. They had to remove everyone from the station for fear that the entire thing would come crashing down within time.

We got out there, and we saw the protesters, so many protesters, hundreds, maybe even a thousand, all fighting for my freedom of speech. It's at times like that that you truly believe that you are in a dream and start to wonder when you'll wake up…but I didn't. At the time all I thought was, oh shit, this cannot be happening. I mean, people like me, the mediocre, boring; nerdy spaz kind of kid did not get attention like this, unless he killed someone in his school…or himself…But that's irrelevant right now. Once we were actually out in the open, we were mobbed, so many people running up to us, shaking our hands, hugging us and lifting us off our feet and choking us in the process, all trying to talk to us, they practically ran us both over. It was like being part of some heavy metal rock group. And then, out of nowhere, Mazz Mazilli got out of the fucking bulldozer, jumped onto the ground, and ran over to us, he slipped his arms around me and jerked me off the ground and drew the wind out of me. Then when he put me down, he went over to Nora and did the same.

"How you doing?" he laughed.

"Oh, this is the greatest time I've ever had outside of my basement," I nervously replied.

"Yeah? Well it looks like things are going to be good tomorrow too."

"Huh?"

"Oh yeah, everyone's rooting for ya, you lucky bastard."

It would take plenty of time to repair the damages done to the police station, which was just as well I suppose since we went to court the next day. I half dreaded to see what would be waiting for us outside of the courthouse.

We were given a police escort to court, all along the road there were people with signs, and candles and, and some holding up lighters, others with radios and ghetto blasters playing recorded tapes of my radio show. And right outside the courthouse were hundreds of kids just waiting for us, we needed the police escort just to get in without being mobbed again.

The bailiff told me very quietly that if I repeated this to anyone, he would kill me, but I was his hero. He was a very prestigious man, and always at work, or having company at home, never really having time for his 15-year-old son, and one day around a month ago, he killed himself. Never could figure it out, he said, one night he just happened to tune into my show, during my infamous speech on doing anything instead of blowing your brains out. It was then that he figured it out. He thanked me for it.

The courtroom was filled with the media and the press: tape recorders, video cams, photographic cameras, journalists, reporters, the whole nine yards. There was quite an odd bunch of characters who showed up, the teachers, the principal, members of the F.C.C., members of the board of education, some of the kids, and some of the parents. My parents didn't show up, that didn't surprise me, they sold out, just like they always had. Not that they would've supported me anyway, they never did. They always did everything to just push my buttons, that's why they dragged me away from New York, that's why they never paid any attention to me, that's why they wanted to send me to a fucking shrink, so he could fucking mess with me and write me up as a fucking head case. I wouldn't roll over for their request of a shrink then, and I wouldn't roll over for them now.

I hadn't expected the trial to go as it had. First the F.C.C. guys took the stand, then the board of education, then the parents, and the teachers, and Principal Crestwood. Things looked so bad, I figured at any given moment, the fucking P.M.R.C. would come in to silence me.

Nora was next to take the stand, but she wouldn't be much help to my case seeing as how they were trying her as an accomplice. Accomplices usually got sentenced longer than the actual criminals, but that was usually if they cut deals. I couldn't cut a deal…it didn't matter anyway, to the system, the legal system especially, these hoiti-toiti ass people who went up there, their names were so high and powerful, nothing we had to say about them would mean jack shit. Nora got sworn in and told them how everything at the school was screwed up, and how the principal expelled her to make another hundred bucks, and that I was just telling all the other kids what was really going on. That was before her colorful language kicked in and she stormed over to Principal Crestwood, spitting and swearing the entire way. Two officers stopped her and pulled her away from the desk where she was sitting, and the judge threatened to throw her in contempt.

Contempt…there were so many fucking outbursts from everyone that the judge threatened to clear the whole courtroom and put all of us in jail. Oh well, at least that way it wouldn't be lonely in lockdown. I think the judge was thrilled to see the English teacher, Jan Emerson, take the stand, since she was a quieter and more peaceful figure. She explained how I had leaked out to the class that Principal Crestwood was dropping students she didn't like, in order to make more money. After she had been fired, she found the evidence herself in the files, and exposed it to the rest of the school's staff.

That was one odd trial, it went from me and the freedom of speech, to Principal Crestwood and her illegal activities. Well, to make a long story short, the trial dragged on for a few months with new evidence and new testifiers coming in, and records of the phone calls I'd made during the show being brought in for proof, and transcripts of some of my shows. Finally several conclusions had been made, first the bombshell was dropped on Principal Crestwood. She was sentenced to 20 years in prison, and although I had all this positive support and convincing stories, somebody paid off the right members of the jury, for all of them to find Nora and me guilty, leaving me with 17 years in prison. Nora got lucky, she only got 18 months, and it was in a separate prison. Right away I was taken out the back and put in the prison van. Leaving was no easy task. Everybody gathered in front of the van, in back of it and on the sides, everybody screaming and pounding on the van. I heard every bit of it, it took about fifteen minutes, but somehow the driver finally got away from them all and drove to my new 'home' until I was 34.

Prison did a real number on me…some things I didn't mind, like getting stuck in a small cell with a mate, or the cold showers and lack of privacy during them. It was them checking up our asses for drugs, thrashing all of us if one guy stepped out of line, and all the harassment from the guards. Other than that, things weren't all too bad. The food was crappy, fish and rice every day, months on end without a coke. No sir, no more blackjack gum and wild cherry diet Pepsi for me. I was only sure Nora was doing allright when I got her letters. Oh yes, even in prison I was Mr. Popularity. All the inmates knew me, a few of the guards, I got letters every day, tons of them, some with pictures or cards. When we were allowed visitors, I talked to at least thirty people all at the same time. My parents came to visit once, and that was it, I never heard from them again, I didn't even know if they were still alive after that. The visits only continued for a few months, and the letters soon slowed down and decreased, but they kept coming.

I was lucky, I never got sick in prison. That was very fortunate for me because if you got ill in prison, even with something that could kill you, nobody in the place would give a shit enough to even let you out of your cell. I know, I saw some guys with diseases that left them bleeding until they eventually died. Only then would they let you out of your cell when illness was a concern. Illness wasn't the only problem in prisons. There was also the rape issue. I can't tell you how many men had had the misfortune of becoming someone's girlfriend, but somehow I always managed to avoid it. I think part of the reason for that was because I had a cellie who looked out for me. I bet I know what you're thinking, ooh a cellie, who's bitch is he? Well guess again. It's common knowledge in the prison system that cellies often become wives, girlfriends, close friends, brothers or fathers…Others would disagree that a cellie is all those rolled into one, but I list him in the 'friend' category of cellies.

Some guy once commented that cellies "will many times be counted on to provide mental and emotional support, understanding, protection from assailants, and constant companionship." Aside from the "protection from assailants", (what few there were), the only thing Jimmy was counted on was being a good friend for the remainder of our sentencing. Jimmy was to get out two years earlier than I was. He was in for armed robbery and kidnapping, he told me he sure as hell deserved to be there, but I didn't, especially not for 17 years.

As I'd been informed in the beginning, Nora had gotten out after only 18 months, I'd never heard of an accomplice getting off that easily. Well, overall prison hasn't been that bad of an experience for me either. I've counted the days, dug the ditches, taken the beatings, put up with the humility, met and lost the brief 'friends', read the letters from the fans, put up with the lousy food, played the unusual games of tag, and had scratched the last dash into the wall, which was 720 shorter of what it would've been. Given I was getting good behavior, meaning two years off my sentencing. Come tomorrow morning, I'm getting out of here. Tomorrow, Happy Harry Hardon returns.