Postcards From Prison ...

Postcards From Prison - Miami Camp Inmate

Daily Business Review - By John Pacenti

February 1, 2011

MIAMI - They read like postcards, with short messages about his latest experiences while away.

Every week, fallen accountant and disbarred lawyer Lew Freeman sends an e-mail to his daughter Abigail, who forwards them to many of the family's closest friends.

The topics range from food to currency and culture to the weather.

But while Freeman refers to his location as a spa, the stories aren't from exotic and faraway places. He's just a few miles away from home, locked up at the Federal Correctional Institution in southwest Miami-Dade.

In the notes, he regales about arepas and "Egg McPrisons" being cooked with a Proctor Silex clothes iron.

He tells of being fired and rehired as the prison kitchen's microwave cook and the arrival of new "spa members."

Other times, he entertains his readers with reviews of "The Great Gatsby" and books on Israel, revels in his improved typing skills, recounts how he attends to the Jewish inmate population and how he lost 44 pounds in under two months.

Freeman, who is imprisoned at a minimum security camp, relates the anecdotes in e-mail monologues titled his "Weekly Reader."

The cathartic e-mails are sent to about 130 people. The distribution list includes numerous prominent attorneys, doctors, accountants from his defunct firm, a Miami-Dade circuit judge and a former Miami chief of the Drug Enforcement Administration.

Fishy Currency

The bittersweet missives -- including 18 installments obtained by the Daily Business Review -- display Freeman's well-known sense of humor but also convey how the man who wrote a how-to manual on court-appointed receiverships is handling life since he was sentenced to 10 years for stealing $2.6 million from fraud victims he represented.

The slice of life from behind bars spills inmate-only secrets, such as the Milo Minderbinder-like entrepreneur who opened a "7-Eleven-type convenience store" to take advantage of the prison commissary's one-day-a-week schedule by selling food throughout the week and charging a higher price for cans of tuna and mackerel, apparently the currency of choice at FCI.

The correspondence from the 1,500-inmate prison also shows much reflection and remorse.

On Christmas Eve, under the heading "Serious Message," Freeman wrote: "I am sorry. I made terrible mistakes over the years and have hurt many people and ask their forgiveness. I am trying to come to grips with my bad acts and many mistakes, trying to understand how to be a better person in the next phases of my life as husband, father, friend and member of the community."

More often, the e-mails are evidence the 61-year-old Freeman hasn't lost his funny bone. His jokes are still bawdy, sometimes self-deprecating, sometimes insensitive. He's the Rodney Dangerfield of the cellblock. And he has a hell of a stand-up delivery. The reader can almost hear the drum roll at the end of his one-liners.

"If there was a strip club on campus I could imagine I would be busy, but the tuna fish and mackerel containers would probably be bulky for the entertainers to arrange," he wrote explaining the difficulty of sliding a tuna can under a dancer's G-string as a tip.

The correspondence is rife with misspellings and grammar mistakes. It is also written in all capital letters because the lower case through the U.S. Bureau of Prison's e-mail system was too hard for recipients to read.

"I'm learning how to do [origami] -- you know the Japanese thing folding paper into sexual objects -- I figure it will be in my new list of party tricks I can do to entertain little kids or priests," he writes in his Jan. 13 installment.

On the subject of personal improvement, he said he is taking classes including typing and "The DNA of an Entrepreneur."

On the tech front, "a computer hacker instructor is teaching a wonderful course on how to be a salesman -- and how to set up a telephone boiler room," he jokes. "So much to learn." As a receiver, he said, "I always just closed them down."

Chicken Protest

Freeman's letters also can be mundane, listing the prison menu before going on a tear about how the chicken includes only drumsticks and thighs.

"I have suggested breast augmentation to the kitchen people since this is South Florida and breasts are plentiful at least on South Beach and in Boca."

All of those on the distribution list interviewed for this article expressed concern that Freeman's comments about inmates waiting hours for medicine, broken plumbing facilities and chilly cellblocks could get him in trouble with prison administrators, exposing him to an unwanted transfer away from his family.

But Freeman's criticisms, if they can be called that, are mainly tongue-in-cheek.

"They are witticisms, not criticisms" is how Miami criminal defense attorney and longtime friend Ed Shohat put it. "Those of us who knew him all these years, there is something really unusual at work with Lew because he is a good, generous person of high character, and he fell off the ladder somewhere."

Stuart Grossman, the plaintiff attorney at Grossman Roth in Coral Gables, knew Freeman through University of Miami sporting events and charity functions.

"Lew is doing his best to give his best stiff upper lip. He smiles and finds humor in things. Jail -- it's not a real happy place," Grossman said.

Both Grossman and Shohat say Freeman is nothing but complimentary to the prison staff and guards after making a rough go of it at the Federal Detention Center in downtown Miami. Grossman said downtown Miami was "very tough, very noisy, very scary" for Freeman.

"Downtown Miami was eight terrible weeks. South Dade camp 12 weeks much better," Freeman wrote Jan. 2.

No Club Fed

Other reports from Freeman dispel any notion of a "Club Fed" where white collar criminals enjoy the comforts of home.

He spins a story of when 11 "new spa members" showed up late one night and there was a shortage of mattresses. Inmates learned there were 300 new mattresses at the prison storage but couldn't be touched because they were to be used in case of a hurricane.

The temperature in the prison also fluctuates wildly, he relates. A cold snap in the fall was made even more brutal for inmates by an air conditioner still blowing. Freeman said he bought a wool cap for five tunas and another inmate loaned him a long-sleeved shirt.

"I was petrified of waking up one morning and urinating ice cubes from the freezing," he said.

Then when temperatures returned to normal, the air conditioning unit broke, and Freeman said he stripped down to a T-shirt and shorts at night to stay cool.

He also relates a time when three urinals broke and the hot water was turned off forcing inmates to take cold showers.

"If you wanted a warm shower it was up to you to supply it. No I didn't pee in (the) shower," he wrote.

Freeman spins a lot of bathroom humor. Not a big change from his days on the outside. He revels in the fact that there are private shower stalls, but adds he doesn't think he's in too much danger if he drops the soap: "I am too old and undesirable to this population."

Coping Mechanism

Dr. Spencer Kellog, a physician who delivered Freeman's children and has known him since 1967, said he finds the e-mails enchanting.

"Satire has always been his escape," he said. "This is purely an unadulterated coping mechanism."

Freeman's daughter didn't want to talk about her father's tales about prison life.

Joseph DeMaria, one of Freeman's criminal defense attorneys from Tew Cardenas, spoke for the Freeman family. He said the e-mails are a way for his client to transition to a long stay behind bars. DeMaria expressed dismay that the correspondence had been shared with the DBR.

"Lew has a lot of friends, both locally and throughout the nation, who care about him," DeMaria said. "What he is doing with his friends and family is he is trying to tell them that life is OK, that life goes on. It's a very delicate balance."

Allowing inmates access to e-mail is something relatively new for the Bureau of Prisons.

Spokesman Edmond Ross in Washington said the agency uses a system that allows officials to monitor e-mails sent by inmates through a centralized terminal. Inmates are allowed to send e-mails only to a pre-approved list of recipients. As to where e-mail goes after that, Ross said it's not up to the BOP to control.

"It would be true for a telephone conversation, and someone takes that information and tweets it," he said. "This allows us to allow inmates to communicate with families in an efficient way."

It's hard to pull out the most priceless anecdote from Freeman. It could be his weight training under the direction of a prisoner who used to play professional football.

''Moral Gables'

Or how the BOP sent another prisoner with no money in his pocket to a specialist for a health problem in "Moral Gables," as Freeman puts it, only to forget to retrieve him. Coral Gables police eventually picked him up outside the doctor's office and phoned the prison.

But most of Freeman's observations from "The Spa" or "The Zoo," as Freeman also calls it, revolve around food and the creative cooking behind bars. Some of the dishes created by prisoners include flan made from Laughing Cow cheese and powdered milk, an apple turnover made with whole wheat tortillas, and the arepas, which he said is like a grilled cheese sandwich where the grill is a clothes iron.

Those dishes, however, are nothing compared to the "Egg McPrisons."

Freeman's story-telling chops are on full display in the Dec. 13 description of how he came upon this house of correction culinary delight.

"I happened by last week when I saw the guy who cleans and presses my snazzy Ralph Lauren/UPS Driver uniform for tunas working overtime Sunday nite," he wrote. "This is what I saw -- I kid you not -- this iron chef was preparing Egg McPrison for a late nite snack."

He said his fellow prisoner creased his pants, then used two pieces of white bread, Spam, Velveeta cheese and omelettes from Sunday lunch to make a very "odiferous" meal. The cook then took "two irons like in a Cuban cafeteria to make this Egg McPrison."

"Footnote: My pants are still well-creased and smell like Velveeta," Freeman added.

Wellington veterinarian Scott Swerdlin, Freeman's college roommate at the University of Miami, said he looks forward to receiving the "Weekly Reader." But like others on the distribution list, he finds them somewhat melancholy despite the humor.

Witty But Sad

"For me, it's very sad, and it gets sad when I read the e-mails even though they are witty," said Swerdlin, who owns Palm Beach Equine Clinic. "I know there should be punishment. He broke the law. But he was one of the brightest guys in forensic accounting in the country."

Lewis B. Freeman & Partners was the go-to firm for judges in state and federal courts.

Before U.S. District Judge Paul C. Huck sentenced Freeman to prison, the judge appointed him to oversee the factoring business E.S. Bankest, a $170 million fraud. Freeman discovered $1 billion of the accounts receivable did not exist and sued international accounting firm, BDO Seidman, alleging he "discovered in five minutes what BDO failed to discover in five years."

BDO is awaiting a retrial in a civil case disputing responsibility for spotting the fraud.

He was hailed in the mid-1990s for his work in the Unique Gems case, a $90 million pyramid beading scam that took him to Liechtenstein to trace assets.

But more than his cases, Freeman was known as a presence in the South Florida legal community. Always nattily dressed in expensive suits, suspenders and Technicolor socks, he spoke at numerous conferences on the subject of receiverships. He talked about how the receiver was the super hero of the court system, finding gold nuggets in ruined companies and fraudulent enterprises to repay victims and creditors.

Freeman was a regular speaker at legal conventions on his favorite issue and held an annual seminar for lawyers, accountants and other professionals on how to break into the receivership business.

He practically took up residence at La Loggia, a popular Italian restaurant across from the Dade County Courthouse in downtown Miami. One attorney who met Freeman there for lunch one day said the receiver insisted on sitting at a booth in the front, where he glad-handed judges who would later give him appointments.

Since Freeman's downfall, judges have admitted the buddy system in picking receivers was fraught with pitfalls, and led to Freeman and other receivers abusing their trust.

'Elephant in the Room'

At the successor for the receivership forum Freeman organized, Miami-Dade Circuit Judge Jennifer D. Bailey invoked his wrongdoings as the "elephant in the room." She bemoaned the fact that the culture allowing him to flourish undetected was still in place.

"For many years, the way receiverships work, you got to know the judges, and you got appointments," she said. "That at some level is still the current state of affairs, but we are working on it."

The U.S. attorney's office, in prosecuting Freeman, said he misappropriated $6 million from several cases since the late 1990s, writing a total of 162 unauthorized checks with the help of two employees. Prosecutor Andrew Levi said Freeman stole $1 million from victims in the Unique Gems case.

The scheme required Freeman to keep money moving from case to case. His big mistake might have been hiring an honest attorney.

In a desperate need to cover a shortfall, Freeman went to employee Daniel Stermer, a former assistant state attorney general serving as a receiver for the debt settlement law firm Hess Kennedy, which had been shut down by the state attorney general. Freeman asked Stermer to cut a check from the Hess Kennedy receivership. Stermer refused and contacted the FBI.

Freeman's work in the E.S. Bankest case also has come into question. A Miami-Dade judge ruled Freeman can be questioned about his testimony in the trial that led to a $521 million judgment against BDO Seidman. The original judgment was overturned, and the case is to be retried later this year.

When Huck sentenced Freeman last July to 8 years in prison plus 21 months house arrest and 1,700 hours of community service, Freeman stripped to his underwear and handed his suit to his lawyers -- not wanting it to fall into federal hands. It was exactly how those who knew Freeman would expect him to go out.

Most of his possessions have since been auctioned off, and his Miami home is for sale.

Despite the disgrace, many of Free-man's friends and his family have stood by him. More than 270 people wrote Huck asking for leniency.

But there were other letters, too. Dr. Cesar Castillo, a retired cardiologist, said Freeman "robbed me of my assets and my security" after he entrusted him with his pension money.

Swerdlin rejected the government's contention that Freeman used pilfered funds to live a life of luxury. He said misappropriated money went back into Lewis B. Freeman & Partners so he wouldn't have to lay off employees.

"He didn't live a lavish lifestyle. What did he have? That house in the Grove. He had that for years," Swerdlin said. "It wasn't that it all went to Lew. Lew was not a guy to give up on people."

Others not willing to give up on Freeman include a Miami-Dade judge and the former head of the Drug Enforcement Administration's Miami office. Both said they owe Freeman a debt they could never repay.

Circuit Judge Michael Genden said Freeman gave a job to his son, who has battled drug addiction. During that time, his son became a Buddhist and turned his life around.

He said it doesn't bother him as a judge that he is receiving correspondence from a convicted felon.

Paying for Mistakes

"He made a mistake, and he's paying for it," Genden said. "Lew is the greatest friend you can have."

Tom Cash, who was with the DEA for 26 years, said he will never forget how Freeman was there for him when his wife died. Cash worked as an investigator for Freeman after he left the DEA.

"Lew is one of those people who was always there for everybody," he said.

Earlier this month, Grossman and Shohat trekked down to the prison for a visit.

At one point, Freeman lifted up a pant leg to show off his prison-issue white socks. Gone were his signature neon-colored stockings.

"I find it very sad," Grossman said. "It's difficult to see anyone under those circumstances. It really upsets me. The whole demise of his career is just upsetting, but I think he tries to be humorous in the e-mails."

Other friends echoed that sentiment.

Kellog said he can only imagine how painful it is for Freeman's 200-mph brain to go from hobnobbing with judges and hunting down assets in exotic locales to being trapped in a facility where time moves like an inchworm. "It's like going from riding a motorcycle to a tricycle," he said.

Swerdlin said he enjoys how Freeman is trying to cope by taking classes, offering to teach courses and working on his diet. But he thinks there must be a better way for his friend to pay his debt to society than learning to grill sandwiches.

"My days are so hectic, and sometimes I think how excruciatingly slow his days must be," Swerdlin said. "Lew is one of the great wits I have ever known. I think he enjoys writing these stories. They are so personal, and they are so painful."

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