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was take his medication and train on the weights. Joe was a huge man with massive strength. That strength was so breathtaking that, when Joe had a bad day mentally, everybody headed for the hills. Why was he in jail, you may ask. Well, ask any Australian State government why people like Joe are in jail rather than in mental institutions and you won’t get an answer. It was Mr Kennett who gutted the mental health system in Victoria and put the Joe Smiths of this world out on the street where it’s an iron clad certainty that they’ll commit offences and end up in the nick. Precisely the place they shouldn’t be.
    On one of Joe’s bad days, he started complaining that everybody was staring at him and talking about him on muster. That was always a sign that he was about to go “off”. Muster was concluded, nothing done … no one talks to Joe to try and calm him down; all the screws are terrified of him, so they leave him alone. The next thing the telly comes flying out of Joe’s cell door, which was on the first tier, and smashes on the floor in the middle of the unit. Joe follows, catapulting out of his cell, and starts barking at everybody, completely unintelligibly. Next Joey jumps from the top tier down onto the billiard table, then onto the floor like some sort of demented ape, screaming and shouting, his eyes out on stalks. He then races up to his cell. The screws follow him and lock the door. What happens next?
    Easy, the screws come and get the prison listener. A prison listener is another prisoner who has some training in counselling and who then talks to prisoners about any particular problems that they might not want to talk to doctors, psychologists or prison officers about. I was a prison listener in that unit and the screws came to my cell and asked me whether I would go and talk to Joey. Needless to say I was apprehensive.
    I went up to Joe’s cell. The screws opened the cell door, and there was Joe sitting in the corner like a caged animal. I must say that, looking back now, I don’t think I would do this again. As I have said, Joe was immensely strong, and he could have snapped me in half if he felt like it. Instead he was sitting there like a kid. I walked in, and said to him, “Joey, it’s Andrew, I’m your friend, you know. Let’s have a chat about whatever the problem is.” Joe looked at me and my heart was in my mouth. Luckily everything went the right way and Joe calmed down sufficiently for the nurses to get some medication into him, which effectively knocked him rotten. He was then taken to the hospital.
    Joey was eventually released, and I’ve since found out that he was uncomfortable back in society. He committed more offences, and is now back in jail where he is more comfortable. This is a crying shame. This bloke needs help. He needs to be looked after. He doesn’t need to be locked in a maximum security prison every time he offends. He never gets leaves, which are designed to help people re-integrate. Why? Because everyone’s too terrified to take him on leaves; so he gets no counselling, nothing to help him re-integrate into society. He merely concludes his sentence, then the door is opened and out he walks, back into the world that he is not ready for. What happens? He can’t cope. He reoffends. Put back into jail, released again and so the merry-go-round continues forever for poor Joe Smith. Joey, if you read this book, I’m saying these things about you in a compassionate manner because I really like you. Joe Smith looked out for me while I was in jail, but he should be in an institution where he can be looked after properly.
    Joe Smith wasn’t the only prisoner who fell into that category. That’s why this has become a pet issue of mine: I saw far too many mentally ill people in jail. It is a disgrace. Nobody says anything about it. And when I start up, everybody hopes I will go away. I won’t. I will