CHRISTMAS LETTER TO A PRISONER

ROBERT F. SCHUH
#04698-090
Federal Prison Camp - Atwater
PO Box 019001
Atwater, Calif. 95301

Dear Bob,

Thank you for your letter of Dec. 14. Merry Christmas and Happy New
Year to you, too.

I appreciate that after everything, you are able to write a funny,
upbeat letter, one that looks to the future.

You mention that you now have the same personal trainer as Barry
Bonds, the baseball star. While you didn't mention him by name, I
note from an article in the San Francisco Chronicle that you're
referring to Greg Anderson, Bonds' personal trainer, who began a
three-month sentence at Atwater on Nov. 30 for his role in the BALCO
steroids scandal.

You said you asked him how you, too, can one day be a great home run
hitter. He must have laughed at that. But he gave you two workout
schedules - one for now, one for when you get out - and I'm glad to
hear you think it is going to add 20 yards to your tee ball.

Anyway, Bob, I'd been thinking about you lately, even before I got
your letter. I'll tell you why in a moment. First let me say I'm glad
to see you've dropped the "Boot" nickname.

"Boot" was funny - a play on your last name, of course. I think you
had the nickname when we first met, at the Sigma Chi fraternity on
Langdon Street, even before you had Jocko's. You were a legend at the
frat, a real life version of John Belushi in "Animal House." You'd
spent a season as Bucky Badger and were threatening Belushi's record
of "seven years of college down the drain."

"Boot" was perfect later, too, when you were running Jocko's Rocket
Ship, the Gilman Street bar that eventually got you in so much
trouble. I remember you telling me once that you got the name of the
bar from an East Coast disc jockey, Douglas "Jocko" Henderson, who
hosted a show called "Jocko's Rocket Ship."

Jocko's was a lot of fun, until it wasn't. As you know, I was never a
regular, but I stopped for a drink from time to time. I liked how -
as somebody said of Ted Cosmides and the Salad Bar - you never had to
worry about saying, "Have a nice day." I don't know exactly when the
cocaine, which I suppose was always there at some level, eventually
overwhelmed both you and the bar, but clearly it did.

The indictment in March 2000 probably saved your life. I think,
reading between the lines of your letters, that you feel that way, too.

What I admire is that in all of the dozen or so letters you've sent
me from prison, you've stressed the positive things you've been doing.

I remember, Bob, one early note you sent saying you had learned to
type because nobody in Madison could read your handwritten letters.

Then I remember a letter you sent me in March 2002 that came under
the letterhead of the November Coalition, a Washington state-based
organization that, among other things, has argued against
unreasonably harsh sentences for nonviolent drug offenders.

In that 2002 letter you didn't mention your own sentence. You didn't
have to. On Oct. 11, 2000, U.S. Judge John Shabaz sentenced you to 19
years in federal prison. There is, of course, no parole in the federal system.

Nineteen years.

Your lawyer was able to convince an appellate court to knock your
sentence down a bit in 2003. But 12 years, seven months is still a
long time. I note on the Federal Bureau of Prisons Web site that your
release date is now July 6, 2011.

Like I said, Bob, I couldn't help but think of you the other day,
when the former state legislators Brian Burke and Chuck Chvala were
sentenced for their roles in the State Capitol corruption scandal.

The Capitol scandal and the Jocko's scandal broke about the same
time. The bar was just a few blocks from the Capitol dome.

If you haven't heard, Burke and Chvala got less than a year in jail.

I don't disagree with their sentences. They've suffered. Their
reputations are in tatters. It's just that I find myself comparing
those sentences with yours, and wondering if something isn't
seriously out of whack.

You haven't dwelled on that in your letters, Bob, and I applaud you
for that. I make you for 55 years old now, which means, especially
now that you're taking care of yourself, you can still have a lot of
good years when you get out.

I remember a letter where you said you will probably stay in
California after your release. You have friends who would like to see
you back here, but I understand.

There are a lot of good golf courses in California. And with all
those extra yards you're going to be getting off the tee, who knows?
Look out, senior tour.

Sincerely,

Doug Moe