shawshank sounds like youve done time all over new england

Maybe the rats scattered in front of him, or maybe they went for him the way such animals sometimes will when they’ve had a chance to grow bold in the dark. He must have had just enough clearance at the shoulders to keep moving, and he probably had to shove himself through the places where the lengths of pipe were joined. If it had been me, the claustrophobia would have driven me mad a dozen times over. At the far end of the pipe they found a set of muddy footprints leading out of the sluggish, polluted creek the pipe fed into. Two miles from there a search party found his prison uniform-that was a day later. The story broke big in the papers, as you might guess, but no one within a fifteen-mile radius of the prison stepped forward to report a stolen car, stolen clothes, or a naked man in the moonlight. There was not so much as a barking dog in a farmyard.

He came out of the sewer-pipe and he disappeared like smoke. But I am betting he disappeared in the direction of Buxton.” “It was Warden Norton who instituted the “Inside-Out” program you may have read about some sixteen or seventeen years back it was even written up in Newsweek. In the press it sounded like a real advance in practical corrections and rehabilitation. There were prisoners out cutting pulpwood, prisoners repairing bridges and causeways, prisoners constructing potato cellars. Norton called it “Inside-Out” and was invited to explain it to damn near every Rotary and Kiwanis club in New England, especially after he got his picture in Newsweek. The prisoners called it “road-ganging,” but so far as I know, none of them were ever invited to express their views to the Kiwanians or the Loyal Order of Moose. Norton was right in there on every operation, thirty-year church-pin and all from cutting pulp to digging storm-drains to laying new culverts under state highways, there was Norton, skimming off the top. There were a hundred ways to do it-men, materials, you name it. The construction businesses in the area were deathly afraid of Norton’s Inside-Out program, because prison labor is slave labor, and you can’t compete with that.” But he had it coming another way, as well. “I came very close to burning the document you have just read. They search outgoing parolees almost as carefully as they search incoming “new fish.” And beyond containing enough dynamite to assure me of a quick turnaround and another six or eight years inside, my “memoirs” contained something else: the name of the town where I believe Andy Dufresne to be. Mexican police gladly cooperate with the American police, and I didn’t want my freedom-or my unwillingness to give up the story I’d worked so long and hard to write-to cost Andy his. Then I remembered how Andy had brought in his five hundred dollars back in 1948, and I took out my story of him the same way. Just to be on the safe side, I carefully rewrote each page which mentioned Zihuatanejo. Shawshank sounds like youve done time all over new england skin#īut the cops would have been looking for Andy in a Peruvian sea-coast town named Las Intrudres.” If the papers had been found during my “outside search,” as they call it at The Shank, I would have gone back in on turnaround . . .