The Internet Isn't Just for Porn

You can actually track down folks via registrations they made years ago when the world wide web was made up of about 10 people.

After I got that call and the last Cuervo prize winning group left, I found my way to the mainland and borrowed a computer. There was nothing spectacular in my mailbox but knowing there was some sort of looming message in the universe with my name on it, I figured I should check my alternate email addresses. This is what I found:

From: "Donna D_____" <[REDACTED]@attbi.com>
To: [Redacted]@yahoo.com
Subject: [NAME REDACTED] CREWS
Date: Sun, 30 Jun 2002 20:53:14 -0500

Kambri,

I am sorry to bother you. You do not know me. My name is Donna and I am married to a deaf man by the name of Jerry. Jerry is VERY good friends with a DEAF man named [REDACTED].

Is [REDACTED] Crews your father??? Please call me at 817-318-8*** or 817-797-5*** asap if this is true.

I looked your name up on the internet. If you are not the daughter of [REDACTED] Crews... please accept my apologies for disturbing you.

Donna D________
[Redacted], Inc.
Loan Officer
P-817-[Redacted]
F-817-[Redacted]

July 2002 - The Call

I was hosting a party at the Cuervo Nation when I got the call. In the Caribbean on a private island dancing the limbo, drinking in excess, playing bar games, diving naked from the top of a docked ship into the deep blue sea with anacondas swimming just under the surface awaiting discarded burgers and bread and me.

Tan, young, happy, drunk, naked, fearless, free.

Then I got a call. At the Cuervo Nation. A place that isn't listed in the phone book. Has no air conditioning. Has no television. No radio.

"Who died?" I thought. Then quickly, "This had better not be about grandma."

"Hey, Kambri." It was my brother. I hadn't spoken to him in a year. If this were about Grandma, my mother would be the one calling. Why isn't she calling? She’s the one who's dead. Or my dad.

This is about my dad.

Christian's friend John Hodgman (buy his book) once told a story on This American Life about meeting another Cuervo Nation host, Ryan. When I listened to his account, I was at once proud and embarrassed. I had a coveted gig but one with no merit, morals or intelligence required. A debaucherous and bawdy lifestyle in a bikini doing tequilas shots off a wooden ski, dropping poker chips out of my butt crack into a beer stein and jumping off naked from the upper deck of a boat into a pool of anacondas swimming in the deep blue.

From Hodgman's radio program:

And so Ryan joined a shadow industry of party professionals. The kind you might meet on resorts or on yachts leading surfside limbo competitions or at reunions encouraging people to dance...people’s whose job it is to force us to interact to touch one another because apparently this is something we’ve forgotten how to do.

It is absolutely true that, the moment I saw Ryan screaming from the docks of Cuervo Nation, I thought it would be the greatest job in the world...this job was better...because it involved yelling at people for money while drunk.

...Ryan's is a job that seems so intuitive and skill-free that you initially think anyone can do it. It's only when you are trying and failing to get someone to drink a shot of tequila off your head that you realize how hard it is to be Cuervo Man.

Or in my case, Cuervo Woman. For me, it was just another stop off the double decker tour bus. A distraction from my mundane day job that led me to the Cuervo Nation that night in July 2002 when I got the call.

It is strange how in the still anticipation of gaining unwanted news how crystal clear the message is before a word is ever exchanged.

I climbed out of the vacuum of that phone call and tried to focus on something else. The reggae music, the pattern of the wood grain table, my half-empty bottle of tequila. I stopped my brother from saying another word.

That bottle of tequila was only half empty and it wasn't gonna drink itself. After all, I was working. At the Cuervo Nation. The anacondas were waiting.

When You Care Enough to Send the Very Best...

You make it yourself. Hallmark Schmallmark. I just got a homemade Valentine's Day card from Dad. I'm so excited to share it with you, I can't type fast enough. At first I couldn't tell that it wasn't a manufactured card, that's how nice it is. He clearly took painstaking effort to make it.

Front & Inside


His copyright.
TDCJ stands for "Texas Department of Criminal Justice"

My reply.

Fresh Yarn Published My Piece!

Omigod, y'all! Fresh Yarn published a piece I wrote about my Jailed Deaf Dad. Read it here. It's very "to the point" in that I had originally written it for a contest with a 3,000 word limit to get the whole tidy nutshell out there but it sums things up quite well. Growing up in a shed, my deaf parents, why Dad is in jail...

These days, I feel I'm a much better story teller via the written word but I wrote this nearly two years ago. Be kind.

I am ever grateful to Hillary Carlip of Fresh Yarn for giving it airtime and Rachel Kramer Bussel for encouraging me to submit it in the first place.

Not Even for the Articles?

Pornography not being permitted in facilities run by the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, I have taken it upon myself to give Dad the next best thing.

In addition to all the letters I send Dad, I make sure to send postcards of every place I visit, New York City landmarks and half nekkid girls. Vintage pinups mostly, like this one of Jayne Mansfield I purchased at the AMMI.

To alleviate any creepiness I rarely, if ever, even address the photo on the front sticking with regular chit chat. And, I guess, he's following the same rule of thumb by never mentioning what he thinks of them. In my last letter to Dad I asked him to return all the letters I've mailed him to incorporate into this site and here's his reply:

"Other things I got really upset about that I throwed all old letters from you & Georgia last Sunday when I decided to clean up junks out in my lockers. Oh shit!!
I still keep all post cards I love them."

If you have a postcard you think Dad would like, I'll forward them on your behalf. Mail them (with or without your own note) to my attention:

Kambri Crews
34-23 Steinway St. #513
Astoria, NY 11101

Read about the TDCJ rule changes for permitted correspondence.

Rooting for the Seahawks

As I guessed in my last post, Dad was rooting for the Seahawks. I hope he made money from the game to offset his disappointment at their loss and the end of another season of football.

Football Fanatic

"MUDDAH FUH!" Dad would yell in his high pitched voice if I came anywhere near the television during a boxing match or football game. I guess when you are a deaf mute, making your best effort to scream "Mother Fucker" at your daughter sure will get the point across.

And so I learned at an early age to steer clear of the TV when Dad was engrossed in the tube with a pack of Kools and a frosty can of Coors Light nearby. During Dad's bathroom breaks it was easy to steal a sip of his beer. I didn't love the taste but I didn't hate it either. Mostly, I liked the icy cold drink on a hot Texas day, the fizzy sizzle in my mouth and the sneakiness factor.

Living in the deep woods was isolating for all of us. Dad never had anyone to share football Sundays with so his intense passion for the game was a solo endeavor. Now that he has 2,971 inmates to keep him company, he has done what any other entrepreneuring American sports fan would do: turn it into a money making opportunity.

"I owed someone, not much. And plus I lost all parlays (bets) on football games. This 2005 year is no luck. My best luck was on 2003 I got over 250.00 on 16 games weekly. I hope I will get good betting next winter 2006 N.F.L. football. Ha. I wonder about Did you depositing money in Trust & fund."

"In Our E-Wing (dorm) Man who work & care on football parlays & Pots. He moved other wing last month. I decided to take his place with Football Squares pot (grid). But not on parlays points -+., Do you know what it means or what it look like on Football grids? If you don't, tell me and I will mail you Football grids. Maybe you use it with your friends best over 20 peoples or more --"

"Kambri and Christian, for $60.00. Thanks so much more than that. You saved my neck. I feel better for I paid debts off from oweing them. Relief! And I bought lots of Hygienes and few foods And all sweet foods and foods gone so quick Ha ha --"

He was hoping Seattle and Indianapolis would make it to the big game. He was half right. I doubt he would root for Pittsburgh since we lived in Houston for so long where the Steelers were synonymous with mortal enemy.

Now that the Super Bowl has come and gone he has another long summer ahead of him. Baseball was never his thing.

The Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling (G.L.O.W.) is another story.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Fifty-nine years and counting.

Best Hot Dogs in New York City

Dad gave me a list he called "New York City's Best Hot dogs in town."

I have no idea where he got this information from inside his Huntsville, Texas prison cell but it's pretty accurate.

I used to frequent The Brooklyn Diner with my old boss, "Jack". In fact, Jack has his name engraved on a little plaque in a booth along with the other few hundred plaques of celebrity regulars. His plaque nests comfortably alongside that of Bianca Jagger. Their menu is pricey but worth every tasty bite.

Gray's Papaya is omnipresent. Cheap, reliable, decent.

I'll visit Old Town Bar soon and give Dad my assessment. I wonder if he's craving a dog. It's not on the prison menu which, according to him, leaves much to be desired. He often skips meals when the food "...tastes bad. Like dishsoap in it," and sneaks extras on other days when the offering is more palatable.

(Click for larger view.)

For my in person, contact visit in Decmeber 2005, he requested I smuggle in a Dairy Queen burger and Juicy Fruit. The burger for eating, the gum for selling at $1.00 per stick!

(Click for larger view.)

Kambri Capote?

Capote is a beautifully told biopic starring the Phillip Seymour Hoffman. The movie centers around Capote's obsession with a brutal crime in a small Kansas town. He devotes four years of his life researching the case, interviewing everyone involved and befriending the killers in order to deliver his ultimate book In Cold Blood.

As the film rolled on, I started feeling immensely guilty as Capote began willfully withholding information from the killers, manipulating them to elicit more stories and betraying their trust.

"Oh my God," I thought, "I'm an infinitely less talented Truman Capote and I'm doing the same thing to my Jailed Deaf Dad for Love, Daddy."

I squirmed uncomfortably and wondered if my friends were thinking the same thing. Afterwards, my boyfriend Christian reassured me that there was a big difference, "It's your life, too."

But I still worry that my dad doesn't fully comprehend that, although I support him in jail and love him dearly, I don't 100% believe his side of any story he tells.

This site is weird and exciting and scary all at once. Scary because this is unchartered emotional territory I'm entering here.

My dad has never acknowledged that:

(a) He tried to kill my mom in front of me,
(b) I had to stop it and "read" him his rights (in sign language),
(c) He ruined* my life, and
(d) Never even apologized to me, let alone my mom.

Yet, it will still come as a shock to him that I don't believe his story that:

(a) He never assaulted my mom all those years ago, he "just punched holes in the wall. Only five," and
(b) He wasn't trying to kill his last wife, he was trying to stop her from killing herself.

Wracked with guilt after seeing the movie, I did what Capote could not do: come clean.

I sent my dad a letter (click here to view my scanned letter) clearly spelling out that:

(a) I was going to tell the story from my point of view,
(b) He might not agree with it,
(c) He should feel free to participate a lot or not at all or anywhere in between, and
(d) I love him no matter what. I haven't disowned him thus far, why the hell would I now?

*My life is obviously not ruined. I quite like what I've done with it, in fact. But, tell that to my 16 year old self who then could no longer imagine going to college despite summa cum laude honors, went into hiding and slept in fear.

Penthouse Pet in Prison

I am a Rousing Success
Because as of this very minute, my goal was to make my dad most popular deaf inmate in the history of attempted murderers in Cell Block 9 of the Estelle Unit of the Huntsville Texas State Penitentiary by getting him a personalized autographed photo of the cover of the 2006 Penthouse Pet of the Year issue at the very party at which she was anointed the best of all pets for the year of our Lord Two Thousand and Six.

And I did it.

That dude owes me.

The above was published on my personal weblog on November 29, 2005. After typing that entry, I carefully removed the cover from the magazine and scanned it to my computer just in case it was destroyed in transit or by the prison mailroom should it be deemed indecent. (Pornography is not allowed in Texas prisons.) Much to my (and my dad's?) delight, he received it intact. In his last letter to me dated January 9th, he had this to say:

"Oh. Penhouse Front page (JamieLynn) other deaf inmates told
everybody that she was my daughter. Ha. "

(Click for larger view of his original letter.)

Nope, I am not on the cover and I can safely say I never will be, but that is me posing next to the giant version of it the same night.

Just this week I was invited to the Penthouse Super Bowl party in Detroit and, now that my cherry of shyness at approaching scantily clad girls has been popped, I was ready to hop on a plane to get better photos, more autographs and extra paraphernalia to send Dad for his viewing pleasure and, perhaps, to make a pretty penny.

The barter and commerce system on the inside is just how you imagine it to be from the movies. A sexy picture - nay, a personalized sexy picture - has got to be worth something, yes?

An oatmeal pie? A 39 cent stamp? A really sharp nail file?

Boldfaced Name

My dad made the news. I wouldn't find out about it until more than a week later.



Bedford woman stabbed; boyfriend arrested

Friday, June 28, 2002

By DOMINGO RAMIREZ JR.
Star-Telegram Staff Writer

BEDFORD - A man was arrested on suspicion of stabbing his girlfriend Thursday night.

A 45-year-old woman, who suffered cuts to her neck and upper chest, was in critical condition Friday at John Peter Smith Hospital in Fort Worth, police said.

Her boyfriend, Theodore Crews, 55, was in Bedford Jail on Friday with bail set at $100,000 on suspicion of attempted murder, police said.

The stabbing occurred about 9 p.m. Thursday at their apartment in the 800 block of Central Drive, police said.

The victim called her sister, who reported a domestic dispute to police, Sgt. Jerry Buford said.
"At about the time officers arrived, she was stabbed," he said.

Officers kicked in the door and found Crews struggling with the victim, police said.

Crews was arrested, and the victim was taken to a hospital, authorities said.

A pocket knife that investigators believe was used in the attack was found in the apartment, police said. Police did not release a motive for the attack, but Buford said the couple had been having trouble in their relationship.

After I found the article online, I called the reporter. He never called me back.