ISBN - 1 - 895918-42-1

Published by

The Master's Foundation
Mississauga, Ontario, Canada

The Master's Prison Ministry
P.O. Box 14570,
Mississauga, Ontario, Canada
L5R 4G3

'On The Run': Excerpts


"You don't think I killed her, do you?"

My friend Mike is telling the cops that I killed his mom!  I'm screaming at the top of my lungs, "You don't believe him do you?"

Mike's mom had been murdered.  A man walking a dog had stumbled upon her body in the Don Valley area of Toronto. I am terrified because of all the innocent guys who have been locked up for years and years, and then finally released because it was later determined that they never did the crime for which they were accused and sentenced.

Now I am being accused by my friend of killing his mother!  With my criminal record, and Mike not having one, I am terrified. Will the police believe Mike, or will they believe me? How did this happen?

LOSING IT!, page 31

One day my mom went out with my brother Ron and his wife to a restaurant.  While they were out my dad telephoned home to talk to my mom.  I told him that she was out.  This was very unusual for her.  With all the kids at home, she seldom, if ever, went anywhere.  I could tell my dad was ticked off, just by his tone of voice. I had heard that tone many times.

Next day, my mom had a black eye!  I was never "the sharpest knife in the drawer", but I could put "two and two together".  That night when dad came home from work, there I was - 190 poinds of raging teenager.

Without hesitation, I said to my dad, "She may be your wife by marriage, but she's my mom by birth! If you ever hurt my mom again, I will kill you!"


One day while lounging around the pool at the Village, I came across and advertisement in the Toronto paper for Correctional Officers at the Don Jail.  This caught my attention because the week before, my cousin and a bunch of guys I knew had been arrested in a big drug bust. They were going to be a the Don Jail for some time, because over 60 guys had been busted. It would take a couple of years sorting out all of their charges and going to trial.  I also had my youngest brother Jim, doing time there.  He was going to be there for a long time as this was a serious charge.

I decided to send in a resume to the jail for the correctional officer's position.  I told the sister of one of the guys, my scheme.  I would get hired, bring drugs into the jail for my friends and family.  I told her I would take care of her brother, but she had to take care of my needs.  She said that I would never get hired.  I decided to take the challenge.


... This guy that I had looked after, housed, protected, who I thought was a friend, whacked me on top of my head with the handle.  I felt one of those rooster tail types of blood flows running down my back. I couldn't believe he hit me!  Before I could get my hands on him, he hit me again on the bridge of my nose!  Now I was really bleeding! I had to get out of there before I passed out. I knew he kept a gun in the house and would not hesitate to shoot me. I staggered to the corner store where I collapsed on the floor.  I heard the owner calling 911, and then I woke up in the hospital with someone stitching my head.  The police were there waiting to ask me if I knew who had done this to me.  My memory went blank. I guess I had received a severe blow to my head. I chose to settle this score later, my way.  These were the types of people who worked for me.  It amazes me how many times I could have been killed.  Was God watching out for me?


At the conclusion of my trail for Accepting a Bribe, and Breach of Trust, the judge asked me to stand up before he sentenced me. These were his exact words, "Mr. Brenn, you are one of the most corrupt young men I have ever met!"  He went on further to say that I should have considered my actions more carefully.  As a result of finding me guilty, he was going to send me straight back into the prison system where I had been a guard.  The judge advised me to learn to sleep with one eye open.  When he was finished, he gave me six months.  He said this would be like doing years, considering the fact that I was going back to the prison system only this time as an inmate.  He wished me good luck.  I was going to need more than luck if I was going to survive.


Within a few hours of arriving at Bath Institute,  I was recognized by an inmate who had been in the Don Jail while I was a guard there.  He and several other inmates managed to isolate me between the canteen and the dormitories.  As their spokesman, this inmate gave me an ultimatum.  "Leave Bath after the beating they were going to give me, or stay, and get it again, and again, until administration put me in protective custody. That was if I lived through the beatings, and someone didn't stab me."  The choice was mine.  This was another one of those times I could have been killed. Where was God now?

WHAT'S A PASTOR?, page 78

Heritage, USA,was a small community about twenty minutes down the highway from Pineville, North Carolina.  I called PTL (Praise The Lord) and gave them my little speech about my wife and I.  The nice lady I talked to told me I would have to talk to a pastor.

"What's a pastor?" I asked.  She explained that he was a minister. I knew what that was from the prison chapel.  I set up a meeting.  The next day I drove into that place, and I thought it was Disneyland!  It was some kind of theme park with theme-park housing, an amphitheatre, waterslides, and a hotel as nice as anything in LasVegas!   There was a world class TV station.  People everywhere dressed in uniforms of every kind.  Everybody was so sugary polite! What had I stumbled upon?


I have thought long and hard about what I am going to tell you now.  I have consulted with those who I believe are wise, and with those for whom I have the utmost respect.  When there is a difference of opinion, I need to find out what God wants me to do.  After considerable consultation with my Advocate Jesus, I have no doubt about what I am going to share about Judges.

How difficult do you suppose it would be for an ex-convict to contact a retired Criminal Court Justice?  Pretty tough?  How difficult do you suppose it would be for an ex-convict to contact the retired Criminal Court Justice who had sentenced him to do his 'time'?  Even tougher?  How many ex-cons can even remember the name of the judge who sentenced them?  What if the sentence had been handed down over twenty years ago?

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