SureShot Books Send an Inmate a Catalog

PRLog (Press Release) - Aug 30, 2012 - Send an Inmate a Catalog, which will allow them to forward you items that they may like from our catalog, so you can purchase for them or redeem our Gift Certificate for their own purchase. When you purchase our Gift Certificate for an inmate, we forward them a card ( saying you have receive a $50 Gift Certificate, from: Name / Address and you may include a message) along with a code that they will enter on the order form on catalog for payment. If they do not purchase items for full amount, there will remain a credit for future purchases. Please note: Print catalogs does not show all items that we carry or that are on web-site. Print Catalogs are only send to Inmate's and Correctional Facilities. http://sureshotbooks.com/request_catalog.php Based on studies made by the US Department of Corrections, an inmate that takes the opportunity to improve their education while incarcerated has a much better chance of reintegrating into society and becoming a productive contributing member of society. Providing books for prisoners is an effective method of helping them to improve their lives. SureShot Books makes it possible for family and friends of prison inmates to send books to prisoners as well as sending magazines to inmates and we also have newspapers available from all states. Our hope is that by enabling families and friends to send books to inmates we can have a positive influence on the lives of both the inmate and his or her family. Families can help their loved ones by ordering books from the comfort of their homes.

The cost of prison phone calls

For prisoners and their families, the telephone is more than just a means of communication. It is a lifeline. For urban families far from mostly rural prisons, the phone is often the only way to stay in touch with a loved one “behind the wall,” and studies have shown that sustaining family ties is key to preventing recidivism. Yet prison phone rates are so high that many families simply cannot afford to keep in touch. The Commonwealth now has an opportunity to lower prison phone rates and help build stronger communities. It should do so. A typical in-state call from a prison in Massachusetts has a three dollar connection fee, regardless of the length of the conversation, and then a 10-cent per minute charge, which results in at least $4.50 for only a 15-minute call, not including other fees tagged on by the phone companies. The calls are generally either made collect or through a pre-paid service, which means that the families themselves are required to pay in order to maintain contact with their loved one. Most of these families are living in impoverished circumstances and cannot afford these fees. To add insult to injury, the quality of telephone service for those in prison is terrible. The connection quality is usually extremely poor and dropped calls happen frequently. Not only does this prevent loved ones from connecting, but it usually means an added financial burden on the families of prisoners. The three dollar connection fee is levied every time a call is made, so if a call is lost, parents, children, or siblings are required to pay even more to reestablish the connection they just made. There is no reason for prison calls to cost so much. Technology has brought telephone costs down radically in recent years, and other states have far lower rates. Indeed, much of the bill for Massachusetts prison calls has nothing to do with the cost of providing service. Telephone companies vie for exclusive, monopoly contracts in each facility by offering “commissions” to the county, or in the case of the Department of Correction, to the Commonwealth. These commissions make up over half of the cost of calls in many counties, and over a third of the price of calls in the DOC. In county facilities, the commissions are used to pay for things like uniforms or prison programs, and in the DOC they are funneled into the Commonwealth’s general fund. It is unfair to ask relatives of prisoners, many of whom struggle to get by, to pad the state coffers or help cover the cost of running county jails. Reducing this burden on prisoners and their loved ones will help build safer communities. A 2003 review of studies said, “Prisoners who experienced more family contact… experienced lower recidivism rates and greater post-release success.” It’s also good prison management to make calls affordable. A 1999 Department of Justice review of studies observed that “telephone usage and other contacts with family contribute to inmate morale, better staff-inmate interactions, and more connection to the community, which in turn has made them less likely to return to prison.” Several family members have petitioned the Massachusetts Department of Telecommunications and Cable to take a close look at the exorbitant costs incurred by prison telephone service providers and to cap rates at a level that provide a reasonable profit but not more. It is the DTC’s role to determine if rates are just and reasonable. It seems clear that the telephone rates that prisoners and their families are paying are not. Given the fact that technology has made phone service delivery much cheaper for everyone, the fact that prison rates remain high – and remain attached to a virtually unfettered monopoly – is something that the DTC should be interested in examining. I was once a child with a father in prison, so I know how much a phone call can mean. No mother should be asked to choose between feeding her family or letting her child have contact with her father. The good news is that we all benefit from more just and reasonable phone rates for prisoners, in the form of reduced recidivism rates and stronger communities. Let’s hope that the DTC does the right thing.

A former bodyguard for champion boxer Floyd Mayweather Jr. was sentenced to prison.

Posted: Aug. 28, 2012 | 11:21 a.m. A former bodyguard for champion boxer Floyd Mayweather Jr. was sentenced to prison Tuesday for shooting at two men outside a roller skating rink in August 2009. Ocie Harris, 30, of Chicago was sentenced to a two- to five-year prison term.

He pleaded guilty in April to two counts of assault with a deadly weapon and one count of firing a weapon into a vehicle. Under his Alford plea, Harris did not admit guilty but acknowledged prosecutors could prove their case against him. Before being sentenced, Harris, wearing a charcoal suit, glasses and a head full of meticulously braided dreadlocks, addressed Judge Doug Herndon. "I would like to apologize for my actions and misunderstandings. It is not of my nature to harm anyone or to be harmed. I believe a gun was pointed in my direction from the car that was struck. I am so grateful and appreciative and thankful that God did not allow anyone to be harmed or hurt," said Harris, whose mother, girlfriend and other relatives attended the hearing. There was no evidence that the two men he was shooting at had a gun, court documents show. At least one witness in the parking lot of the skating center overheard Harris and another man speaking with Mayweather before the shooting, according to grand jury testimony. Harris and the other man told the boxer to leave and "we're going to take care of it," the transcripts show. The shooting happened moments later. Authorities say Harris shot at a BMW carrying Quincey Williams and Damein Bland as the car left the Crystal Palace parking lot on Boulder Highway. The car was hit six times. Williams and Bland said the shooting occurred after Mayweather threatened Williams' life over insulting text messages. No one was injured, and Mayweather was never charged. Williams, who has said he believes Mayweather told Harris to shoot, and Bland have sued the boxer and his associate. In a letter to Herndon, Williams wrote that he had to undergo counseling after the shooting. "This unfortunate ordeal has caused me a great deal of pain, suffering, sleepless nights, paranoia and grief," he wrote. Williams said he still lives in fear and remains on constant guard while in public or large crowds. "There are painful reminders that keep me on alert," he wrote. "For instance, car wheels screeching can cause me to panic." During the 30-minute sentencing hearing, prosecutor Sam Bateman asked for a maximum sentence on two counts, while defense lawyer Tom Pitaro sought probation for Harris. Bateman said the senseless shooting over a text message took place as the skating rink was closing and families and children filtered into the parking lot. Pitaro said that Harris had no criminal convictions though he grew up in a hardened housing project in Chicago. Pitaro blamed the shooting on Williams and Bland, specifically Bland, who has a criminal record. They went to the skating rink to cause trouble with Mayweather, Pitaro said. Prosecutors tried to pressure Harris into fingering Mayweather in the case, Pitaro added. "He would not do that, because he didn't believe it was true," Pitaro said. Prosecutors have said there was not enough evidence to charge Mayweather. Herndon also ordered Harris to pay $23,950 in restitution. Contact reporter Francis McCabe at fmccabe@reviewjournal.com or 702-380-1039.

NEW YORK, August 28, 2012 – SureShot Books has sent Spanish books to inmates of several prisons across the United States. Sending books to inmates has always been the main goal of the company. The company has been founded in order to help inmates improve themselves through education as they spend time in prison and await their release. SureShot Books have always believed that education can be attained through reading and discovering anew a world full of possibilities. While awaiting release, inmates will be able to spend their time learning new things and skills that may be able to help them have a new life after their incarceration in jail. As it has always been the belief of the company and its members that mistakes do not mean the end of one’s life, sending books to inmates gives them the chance to improve their lives through valuable education. What better way to help them get educated than by sending them books that may catch their interest and help them discover new skills that will give them the chance to reintegrate themselves back into the community as soon as they get out of the prison. Because a lot of these inmates don’t have English as their first language, having books in Spanish will help them get acquainted to reading and the resources that the company offers. Aside from these, the company encourages the families and friends of inmates to send their incarcerated loved ones with books through the company in order to help further their education as they await they time in jail. Purchasing books and other reading materials for inmates can be done via the company via online orders. To further the inmates’ interest in education and reading, inmates can even order reading materials through the SureShot Books and have them sent to their loved ones via the company. It has always been the belief of the company that education can always be the major factor that will allow inmates to hope and change for a better life ahead of them. The mind isn’t locked up even if the body is. Therefore, reading is a kind of alleviation for these people who have to spend time in jail until release may be allowed for them. About SureShot Books SureShot Books is a company that has been founded by a group of companies during the nineties. It has been put up with the main aim of helping families improve the lives of incarcerated loved ones through furthering the inmates’ education through books. They believe that by sending books to inmates, inmates are provided the opportunity to redirect their lives and have better chances of finding new skills to use by the time they are allowed to get back into the community. Contact: SureShot Books Publisher’s 15 North Mill Street Nyack, Ny 10960 info@sureshotbooks.com 888.608.0868

Education opportunities grow for some behind bars

Missouri's largest state prison offers educational opportunities for those incarcerated.

Convicted men, wearing prison issued gray uniforms, sit in classrooms with bars on the windows at Eastern Reception and Diagnostic Correctional Center (ERDCC, or Eastern) and earning college credit.

St. Louis University professor Stephen Casmier is one of the professors who goes through security regularly bringing the day's lesson plan.

Crasmier said to the The St. Louis Today (STLToday), "I was a bit concerned." He wasn't concerned about his safety, but about how the program would work out.

The prison doesn't have many computers, so when guys have to do work; writing a paper, for instance, they write several drafts by hand, then by typewriter.


"Too many programs, for the last two or three decades, get brought in and then somebody finds something they don't like about them and they smash it," said Jason Lewis, deputy warden of Eastern told STLToday. "We are moving slowly to get the momentum so we can spread it everywhere, all over the eastern region."

Missiour has 30,000 with the state's prison system, and around 20 of them usually makes up Dr. Crasmier's class.

Within Missouri's Department of Corrections, this revolutionary program is part of the Saint Louis University (SLU) Prison Program. The program was created to give educators and prison reformers an opportunity to reach those inside the prisons who are looking for a new beginning.

In 2008, certificates in Theology Studies from SLUwere offered. Then, it expanded to an associate of arts (a two-year degree). Generally, it takes the inmates four years to complete. In the beginning, the application window closed after five days because more than 300 inmates applied for 15 slots. Those without life sentences, who had previously tutored or held leadership positions in prison were selected. Program leaders said there haven't been any reports of disciplinary problems in or outside of class by those who participate.

The program costs nothing (SLU supports it with a $150,000 grant from the Hearst Foundation and other donations).

"When I was locked up, I kept telling myself that education was the the primary equalizer," said Ward Cummings, a returning citizen who lives in Silver Spring, Maryland. In the '90s Cummings did time in a federal prison and when he was released he completed his parole, but upon completing it he was arrested six months later and did fourteen months in a Maryland prison.

"That last time I got arrested and went to prison, I bunked with a Muslim dude and he got me interested in education," Cummings said. ""The guy was a former teacher, and he convinced me to get an education. I already had my high school diploma."

Cummings, who is originally from East St. Louis, works and manages two cleaning services in Montgomery County. Although he had never done time at Eastern, he knew of others who have been incarcerated there..

"When I heard what was going on at Eastern, I was surprised," he mentioned.

The program, thusfar, has turned out to be a win-win for everybody. George Lombardi, director of the Missouri Department of Corrections, said that about 1,500 offenders in Missouri get GEDs each year, and there are several rehabilitative and vocational programs.

"We are not going to pay tax dollars to do it," Lombardi told STLToday.. "If someone wants to come in and provide a program, we'll be interested to listen to it."

Strangely, Lombardi doesn't want to use tax dollars to educate the incarcerated men, but don't mind the $20,863 a year price tag to house one inmate in a Missouri prison.

He further reached out to the SLU and requested that prison staff have this wonderful opportunity too, which the private college approved. And although the classes are separate, prisoners and prison staff seem to have similar goals.

Casmier had commented that often the inmates at Eastern seem more dedicated than students at SLU's main campus.

"People who are locked up shouldn't get a free education," said April, a D.C. resident who lives in Georgetown. "If they want an education, they should pay for it like everyone else does, or get a scholarship - they should earn it."

STLToday reports that Lewis, the deputy warden, believes judges have already given them their punishment.

"They are here to learn to do their time and to learn how to get back into the community and make those transitions once their time has gone by," he said. "As taxpayers, whether we like it or not, 97 percent of them are coming back (into society). How do you want them back?"

More than 350 college prison programs used to operate across the country, but only a few survived after Pell grants were cut for convicts in the 1990s, according to a report by Bard College in New York, which runs a prison education program.

Eastern Reception and Diagnostic Correctional Center is locaed in Bonne Terre, Missouri.

Visit: www.sureshotbooks.com for Educational Material

Education opportunities grow for some behind bars

Missouri's largest state prison offers educational opportunities for those incarcerated.

Convicted men, wearing prison issued gray uniforms, sit in classrooms with bars on the windows at Eastern Reception and Diagnostic Correctional Center (ERDCC, or Eastern) and earning college credit.

St. Louis University professor Stephen Casmier is one of the professors who goes through security regularly bringing the day's lesson plan.

Crasmier said to the The St. Louis Today (STLToday), "I was a bit concerned." He wasn't concerned about his safety, but about how the program would work out.

The prison doesn't have many computers, so when guys have to do work; writing a paper, for instance, they write several drafts by hand, then by typewriter.


"Too many programs, for the last two or three decades, get brought in and then somebody finds something they don't like about them and they smash it," said Jason Lewis, deputy warden of Eastern told STLToday. "We are moving slowly to get the momentum so we can spread it everywhere, all over the eastern region."

Missiour has 30,000 with the state's prison system, and around 20 of them usually makes up Dr. Crasmier's class.

Within Missouri's Department of Corrections, this revolutionary program is part of the Saint Louis University (SLU) Prison Program. The program was created to give educators and prison reformers an opportunity to reach those inside the prisons who are looking for a new beginning.

In 2008, certificates in Theology Studies from SLUwere offered. Then, it expanded to an associate of arts (a two-year degree). Generally, it takes the inmates four years to complete. In the beginning, the application window closed after five days because more than 300 inmates applied for 15 slots. Those without life sentences, who had previously tutored or held leadership positions in prison were selected. Program leaders said there haven't been any reports of disciplinary problems in or outside of class by those who participate.

The program costs nothing (SLU supports it with a $150,000 grant from the Hearst Foundation and other donations).

"When I was locked up, I kept telling myself that education was the the primary equalizer," said Ward Cummings, a returning citizen who lives in Silver Spring, Maryland. In the '90s Cummings did time in a federal prison and when he was released he completed his parole, but upon completing it he was arrested six months later and did fourteen months in a Maryland prison.

"That last time I got arrested and went to prison, I bunked with a Muslim dude and he got me interested in education," Cummings said. ""The guy was a former teacher, and he convinced me to get an education. I already had my high school diploma."

Cummings, who is originally from East St. Louis, works and manages two cleaning services in Montgomery County. Although he had never done time at Eastern, he knew of others who have been incarcerated there..

"When I heard what was going on at Eastern, I was surprised," he mentioned.

The program, thusfar, has turned out to be a win-win for everybody. George Lombardi, director of the Missouri Department of Corrections, said that about 1,500 offenders in Missouri get GEDs each year, and there are several rehabilitative and vocational programs.

"We are not going to pay tax dollars to do it," Lombardi told STLToday.. "If someone wants to come in and provide a program, we'll be interested to listen to it."

Strangely, Lombardi doesn't want to use tax dollars to educate the incarcerated men, but don't mind the $20,863 a year price tag to house one inmate in a Missouri prison.

He further reached out to the SLU and requested that prison staff have this wonderful opportunity too, which the private college approved. And although the classes are separate, prisoners and prison staff seem to have similar goals.

Casmier had commented that often the inmates at Eastern seem more dedicated than students at SLU's main campus.

"People who are locked up shouldn't get a free education," said April, a D.C. resident who lives in Georgetown. "If they want an education, they should pay for it like everyone else does, or get a scholarship - they should earn it."

STLToday reports that Lewis, the deputy warden, believes judges have already given them their punishment.

"They are here to learn to do their time and to learn how to get back into the community and make those transitions once their time has gone by," he said. "As taxpayers, whether we like it or not, 97 percent of them are coming back (into society). How do you want them back?"

More than 350 college prison programs used to operate across the country, but only a few survived after Pell grants were cut for convicts in the 1990s, according to a report by Bard College in New York, which runs a prison education program.

Eastern Reception and Diagnostic Correctional Center is locaed in Bonne Terre, Missouri.

Ex-convict says his prison ministry is keeping inmates from becoming repeat offenders

Tim Terry looks for information on a JumpStart Inside program participant. JumpStart Ministries is a group that provides in-prison classes for prisoners, transitional housing for people who have been recently released from prison, and employment opportunities for ex-offenders. Tim Terry, executive director of the group, said one of the goals of the prison ministry is to seek to reduce recidivism rates in South Carolina.

Meet Timothy Lee Terry: age 47, a father, a Christian, a leader of a local, faith-based prison ministry program, and an ex-convict guilty of voluntary manslaughter.

Sentenced to 30 years in 1987, Terry said his life changed when he found God in prison.

"For the first time in my life, I felt the weight lift off of my shoulders," he said of his experience in McCormick Correctional Institution. "I knew I was saved."

He was released on parole in 2002. Now he directs JumpStart Ministries, a prison ministries program for reforming inmates through God.

Terry thinks the problem is that the state's correctional system too often fails to correct behavior. There are 22,666 incarcerated men and women in South Carolina's prison system; one in three of these inmates would end up back in prison within three years if current trends continue.

"I have seen people come through the system that I've dealt with before, and obviously I'm not happy when I see them," said Barry Barnette, Seventh Circuit solicitor.

Taxpayers pay for them to return to prison again and again, at the cost of $16,000 a year.

Locally, Greenville and Spartanburg counties commit more people to prison than other counties in the state.

But Terry says almost no one who goes through his program goes back to prison.

When Terry talks about the night he killed his wife and his eventual journey to God, he tells prisoners that he was "tore up from the floor up."

"I tell people I used to be a dope dealer, now I'm a hope dealer," he says.

His story always addresses his youth. He often says that 99 percent of inmates are behind bars because of unresolved childhood issues.

For Terry, his problems began when he was a 14-year-old boy enrolled in a Christian school.

"I had a mama who loved God," he said. "And all of the sudden, out of the blue, this woman, she took my little .22 pistol and stuck it to her chest."

After his mother's suicide, he said he shook his fist at God and sought comfort in alcohol and drugs.

"That sent my life into a tailspin," he said. "It went from smoking marijuana to drinking liquor to doing an ounce of cocaine a night because of that raging monster inside of me."

Terry hears similar stories through JumpStart's 40-week in-prison program.

At the chapel inside Livesay Correctional Institute in Spartanburg in November, Terry's class was in its 39th week. Dozens of inmates listened to stories of bad childhoods and mistakes. Grown men broke down in tears, sang songs, read poetry.

After they told their stories and their reasons for being behind bars — most for stealing and dealing drugs — the room grew quiet when Terry revealed his voluntary manslaughter conviction.

Terry told the crowd that, following his mother's death, he dropped out of school, got married to his high school sweetheart and had a daughter and a son. Through it all, he said he kept using and selling cocaine and marijuana.
But his marriage soured, and he killed his wife one night in anger. He tried to overdose immediately after. His 3-year-old daughter and 1-year-old son were in a nearby bedroom.

"I didn't want to live anymore," he said.

He ended up with a 30-year sentence at McCormick Correctional.

In prison, he found lucrative ways to keep dealing marijuana.

Then he met Paul Gray.

Gray arrived at McCormick via Kairos Ministries — a national prison ministry — and took Terry to the prison library, where Terry collapsed in tears and reconciled with God.

"That event in the library took a 29-year-old man trapped in a 14-year-old's body and set him free," he said.

He got rid of the marijuana and cleaned up.

"At (the) expense of people calling me names, I said, ‘Listen, y'all, I've done this stuff for 29 years, and the best it's gotten me is 30 years in this penitentiary. I'm going to try things another way,' " he said.

From living in prison to living in Spartanburg

In 2002, Terry walked free, having served 15 years of a 30-year sentence.

In his 15 years, he'd seen inmates leave prison only to repeatedly return. He set out to change that through programs that help ex-offenders make a successful transition back to society.

Terry uses pastor Rick Warren's "Purpose-Driven Life" as his lesson plan for the 40-week course for inmates who are up for parole or release within two years.

The duration helps "whittle out the riffraff," he said.

Tommy E. Timms Jr., 37, stuck with Terry's program and is now awaiting release next March. This is his third stint in prison. All of his charges are drug-related.

He says he's ready to make a change this time. He's now a team leader in Terry's in-prison program at Livesay Correctional Institution in Spartanburg.

"My real test is coming in just a few months," he said to the class. "So I ask that you all keep me in your prayers."

He's asked Terry to help him find a good church and a room in JumpStart's transitional housing, a strategy that prison officials support.

"It's very beneficial to have someone on the outside who is willing to mentor them and keep them accountable," said Lloyd Roberts, chief chaplain with the S.C. Department of Corrections.

JumpStart manages seven units of transitional housing in Spartanburg County and several other parts of the Upstate. After inmates serve their time, Terry shepherds them into JumpStart's housing, where they must abide by strict curfews and visitation limits.

Levonne Jamison, 34, served seven years for a lewd act on a minor and was released Sept. 30. He's living in one of the JumpStart houses in Spartanburg County and has recently found full-time employment.

Jamison said he grew up in the Midlands but chose to stay in Spartanburg because he knew he had to stay away from his childhood neighborhood.

"You have to leave the old behind," he said.

In prison, he said he saw people from his neighborhood get out and quickly return to prison.

"It's a revolving door," Jamison said. "They go right back to the same thing they did before. … They go and come back and get more time."

State corrections officials say Terry's program helps break that cycle.

"The product that Tim is putting out on the table is a very good product because what they do is very much needed," said Gary Boyd, director of inmate services for the corrections department.

Boyd said the state doesn't track the percentage of JumpStart's clients who end up back in prison, but he said that rate is very low for a similar program called Changing the Way.

Breaking the cycle