[Cut and pasted from www.weallbe.blogspot.com/2008/05/american-hero-needs-your-helpsupport.html, posted May 14, 2008]
“They say the time when an inmate awaits trial is a greater period of fear and uncertainty than the actual prison sentence. It is hard for the mind to settle down because it doesn’t know what it is settling down to. In my case, the future can hold the possibility of merely a few months in jail or several years. How can I make plans? How do I dare to hope?”
I’ve been in this concentration camp for 3 years, 1 month. I know who I was, I also know who I am going to be, it’s very hard to figure out who I am right now. So when I was asked to write about myself, I found myself frozen with pen in hand.I have come to a determination: who I was, was too long ago, who I will be is still undetermined, and who I am now is a mental volleyball in a championship tournament.It’s very hard to describe who I am without addressing some facts of the case without sort of analyzing the case. Let’s face it though, I’ve been in front of at least 6 judges, 5 lawyers, I’ve represented myself, had 5 bail hearings officially and unofficially, I’ve personally addressed a judge 3 times in open court, personally wrote to two judges, wrote to the prosecutor twice, have had 3 different prosecutors (DA’s), hundreds of pages of testimony collected, hundreds of pages of testimony thrown out, and that’s just the basics.
Analysis: there are two rifles, $110,000.00 worth of drugs, three different fingerprints, a house under renovation that was also for sale, 4 years in the army, weeks after an honorable discharge, 3 years, 28 days and counting, 22 ½ hours a day locked in a cell, and a trial 90 days away (date finally set as of April 08).
Who am I? I’m Nesto Monell, 28 years old, drinks Budweiser, generally watches TV only on Super bowl, I’ve been in trouble as a teen (nothing serious), graduated Bristol Plymouth Tech, took mechanical/architectural drafting, took auto body my last year, have had four car accidents (one my fault), worked since age 15 (had to get work permit because of labor laws), worked through my four years of high school, got my license at age 16 ½.
I’ve had a few long term (over 3 years) relationships with great positive women, I’ve aspired to be an architect, then an auto body technician, and other occupations. I’ve been rude to my parents, stayed out late nights without permission, been to summer school twice in my life, got a skip (skipped a grade) once (then sent back), been to numerous private Christian schools (last one being 8th grade), I’ve been in fights, favorite sport is swimming, attended New England Tech then dropped out, joined the Army, hated jumping out of planes and secretly planned to stop (but turned out to love it after about the tenth time), started smoking cigarettes in 2001 at an Army school (yes, my mother hates it). I’ve attended church while on my own, love my sister and brothers, helped raise them, signed up for the Army with my mother, officially made an oath for active duty on my long term girlfriend’s birthday (then had to announce to her family that I was leaving in 5 weeks for four years—I’m a jerk, I know), got dumped while in Afghanistan, owned a few cars, first car was a 1981, ran a business from my mom’s garage (traveling auto body tech), rented a building for my business but the business failed after a year. I was 19.
I’ve had credit card debt (debt free in 2003), spent my vacations with my family, met some good friends, been a victim of fraud by credit scams, ripped off by my life insurance company, went to college in the Army, worked on cars (my hobby) on the weekends for beer and expenses (Army), worked at a gym (Army), learned my girlfriend was cheating, cried at times, been to Myrtle Beach, Virginia, Florida, Georgia, Germany, New York, South Carolina, drove thousands of miles, bought a ’95 mustang (my dream car) at age 23, been to two weddings, 5 retirement parties, two college graduations, won $2,000.00 on a scratch ticket, and I did drink while underage… I can go on.
What I am not:
A drug dealer, the owner of a hundred grand in drugs, owner of any rifles (they do have serial #s), or the owner of the three fingerprints that were lifted from the drugs. The man I knew for only three weeks was not a close friend, I’m not pleading guilty, and I don’t need help to plead guilty to a sentence of 15 years, 10 years, or 5 years. No deals period.