Long time readers know that I’ve been fascinated with the whole Bernie Madoff saga over the past few years. It looks like one of Bernie’s sons, Mark, committed suicide on the two year anniversary of his father’s arrest. If you haven’t, I strongly suggest you read this profile of the elder Madoff’s time in prison:
Madoff was accustomed to hearing other inmates call his name. From July 14, the day he arrived, he’d been an object of fascination. Prisoners had assiduously followed his criminal career on the prison TVs. “Hey, Bernie,” an inmate would yell to him admiringly while he was at his job sweeping up the cafeteria, “I seen you on TV.” In return, Madoff nodded and waved, smiling that sphinxlike half-smile. “What did he say?” Madoff sometimes asked.
But that evening an inmate badgered Madoff about the victims of his $65 billion scheme, and kept at it. According to K. C. White, a bank robber and prison artist who escorted a sick friend that evening, Madoff stopped smiling and got angry. “Fuck my victims,” he said, loud enough for other inmates to hear. “I carried them for twenty years, and now I’m doing 150 years.”
I don’t think we have to worry about Bernie ending his life by his own hands.