Charles C. Gibson, Jr. -- #25063-044

30 Years -- Methamphetamine Conspiracy

Charles Gibson, prisoner of the drug war
Once upon a time in the free world, beyond the gates and barb wire fences that hold me here, I was known as Charles Clio Gibson, Jr. Now sadly I am only federal inmate number 25063-044.

Before I begin with my story, let me ask, "What are your plans for the next 22 years?"

I was born in 1964 into a large, poor family. Even though dad was on disability and mom worked at the nursing home, I never lacked my parent's love.

Having a learning disability myself, I never did do well in school. I stopped attending around the age of 8 or so due to my failing grades. As a teenager I took any paying job I could find that would help put money in the house and food on the table. I didn't get to enjoy what the other kids did since I was always working or helping take care of my brothers and sisters.

On July 2, 1988 at the ripe age of 24 my life came to a devastating halt. I was a passenger in a truck that flipped several times end-over-end and finally stopped, leaving me permanently paralyzed from my waist down. I lost the use of my right hand. I spent several months in a hospital in St. Louis, Missouri, learning to adjust to my damaged body and learning how to write with my left hand. I was taking medications for 'you name it' and had a penile catheter that had to be replaced once a month.

So, there I was at the age of twenty-four, a non-educated, paraplegic adult male. I had nothing. SSI and food stamps would only go so far.

In 1993 I moved from my parent's home to a rent -assisted place. I was struggling to make it on my own. That's when I ran into what back then I thought were good old buddies of mine. They'd come over to my little, crappy place throwing money around as if they were growing it on trees. One night while they were at my place, they showed me how I could make a buck or two, all I had to do was sell a few dope (marijuana) bags. I knew everyone from the small Wentzville, Missouri town -- how hard could it be? A while later these same "friends" came back to give me to sell what you would call Meth. Before I knew it I had money in my pockets from dropping this stuff. For the first time in my life I got to go and buy things new. I even bought a brand new wheelchair. Oh, I was so proud of it! I showed it off like anyone would have a new, shiny car.

I'm not going to sit here and lie, I made some money from selling drugs -- I made a whole lot -- yet I never kept even half of it. I shared it with anyone and everyone who needed it -- even those who took large bribes for it.

I am not the "Criminal Mastermind" the FBI has made me out to be. I was then and am still only Chuck. When I was arrested I owned a house in Davis, Missouri. This is where the FBI alleged the "Gibson Drug Ring" operated.

In 1998 when the warrants were served, I was charged with 3 counts "Meth" distribution, 5 counts money laundering and 2 counts forfeiture. I got some ex-federal prosecuting attorney to deal with my case. After months of being in jail on no bond, my attorney came to me and said he and the prosecuting attorney had reached a fair plea agreement. It was the best I could get. I was going to be charged on a level 22 guideline that had no less than 51 months and no more than 63 months to serve in a federal prison, then I'd be done.

I plead guilty feeling confident my attorney was being straight-up with me (I couldn't understand or even read the paperwork he was throwing in my face for me to sign - with his promises I'd be fine).

Well, things aren't always how they seem. I wasn't given the plea agreement, I was given 360 months (30 years) in a federal medical prison.

I was shipped around to several prisons before ending up in Pekin, Illinois Federal. There I was injured by a nurse who forced my penile catheter up too far and caused my urethra to rupture. I no longer have my penile catheter, my new catheter comes outside my body at my side.

I was then sent to where I am now -- Rochester, Minnesota. It's just under 460 miles one way to my nearest family member.

I appealed my case within the 8th Circuit Court of Appeals, St. Louis, Missouri, yet it did me no good. My great "trust me, Chuck" attorney has since removed himself from my case. I filed a @2255 medical departure, with the help of a friend, and am still waiting to hear back.

I have since started GED classes and have learned to read and write. I guess something good can be said to come from this whole mess.

So, now because of the federal mandatory drug laws, I'm going to be sitting here another 22 years paying the high price of my life for selling drugs. With the way my health is from the wreck in 1988 I sadly probably won't live long enough to see my dismissing date come and go.