-The Big Bearded Man-

"Most prisoners here are going to assume you are a CHOMO (child predator) because you have no prior criminal history and you wear glasses. Be careful."

WHAT. THE. FREAKIN. HECK.

A prison staff member told me those exact words on my very first day. Hearing that during my intake process was… let’s just say… not the greatest welcome to federal prison.

Prior to surrendering, I had never been mistaken for a child predator ever in my life. On the outside, I was always seen as a loving husband and father. Adjusting to this sudden, horrific mischaracterization was mentally exhausting and emotionally disturbing. I was completely unprepared for this part of the journey.

As I walked through the halls, inmates would stare at me and instantly profile me as a CHOMO. The only way to combat this false label was to present my “prison paperwork”—an official document explaining why I was really in prison.

But there was a massive problem…

Because I self-surrendered, it would take the Bureau of Prisons up to 60 days to process and send over my official paperwork. That meant, for my first few months, I had no way to prove the truth. Every time I walked through the dorms or the recreation yard, I felt the weight of judgment in the eyes around me. Every night I went to sleep, I felt vulnerable to theft or violence.

Around the 48th day, I finally received my official paperwork. I combed through the pages and found the one line that told the truth about my charges—the single piece of paper that could protect me for the remainder of my sentence.

One by one, I respectfully showed other inmates the real reason I was there. Each person who read it would nod silently, acknowledge the truth, and let me know I was “good with them.” Ironically, many prison groups admire white collar criminals. I found that absolutely hilarious.

With that magical paper in my hand, I was finally able to sleep at night.

A couple of months later, I was transferred to the “dog hall”—a housing unit for inmates in the service dog training program. That meant a whole new group of guys, and once again, I had to prove my identity.

That’s when I met The Big Bearded Man.

He was about 6’6”, 300 pounds, shaved head, tattoos, and a long salt-and-pepper beard that made him look like he wrestled grizzly bears for fun. Let’s just say… his criminal record was extensive. He enjoyed long motorcycles rides with a very famous "group" in America. 

Even though he looked intimidating, I sensed something different about him. His cell was directly across from mine, and every time I walked by, I noticed he was buried in college textbooks, studying intensely.

One day after our mandatory standing count, I walked up and tried to introduce myself.

He took one look at me… and slammed his cell door in my face.

He thought I was a CHOMO, and didn't want to be talking to any one with that label.

I walked back to my cell, grabbed the magic piece of paper, and knocked gently on his door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

This time, he opened the door. His eyes immediately locked on the paper in my hand. Without hesitation, he ripped it out of my grip and scanned it.

His eyes widened. A massive grin spread across his face.

“YOU’RE WHITE COLLAR?? WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO?! I WANT TO SHOW YOU MY STUFF!!!”

It was like I had just told him prison Santa Claus was real.

He proudly invited me into his cell and showed me all his textbooks. He was earning a business degree from inside a prison cell and had dreams of starting his own HVAC company when he gets out. For hours, this man poured out his heart—his regrets, his goals, and the moment everything changed for him spiritually. He shared every single thing he had done in his past and how he intends to be a different man in the future. He even described the exact day he woke up in a prison cell wanting to change his life around. 

He told me other inmates made fun of him for “dreaming big.” Prison culture is designed to break you down, not build you up. It is pervasive and I absolutely hate this part of prison! Most prisoners are deeply unhappy with their own lives, so when they see someone genuinely trying to change, it threatens them. Instead of being inspired, they feel frustrated—so they respond by creating misery, mocking that person, and trying to pull them back down. It is a vicious cycle that is VERY COMMON in prisons all around the United States. 

But not in my cell.

Every night, I'd invite The Big Bearded Man over to share what he accomplished that day. I became his safe place—his accountability partner, encourager, and brother in Christ. I reminded him daily:

“Your past does not have to define you. You are capable of greatness.”

God keeps arranging divine appointments in my prison journey, and I am grateful.

I am honored to call The Big Bearded Man my friend—proof that no soul is beyond redemption. Even in a place designed to break men, God is building something beautiful. He has placed a calling on my life here, and I will continue to walk it out—one conversation, one life, one miracle at a time.

Sincerely,
Brett (The White Collar Criminal)

P.S. At my sentencing, I promised the judge I would dedicate my time in prison to helping others avoid the same mistakes I made in business. By encouraging and guiding men like The Big Bearded Man, I’m fulfilling that promise. My pain and shame are becoming a path others can follow.

Love all of you!!!