'NOW I AM IN THIS LITTLE BOX'

Doc Bares Lonely Hell Of Jail

Dwight Gooden, once the king of New York baseball, today sits in a
Florida prison, serving his first extended jail time after violating
probation by using cocaine in March. Yesterday, Gooden gave The Post
his first interview from behind bars. The 41-year-old former
superstar sat in a conference room at the Gainesville Correctional
Institute and shared his experiences from prison, where he's been
since April 17. Gooden is currently in a medium-security prison, but
he spent his first 10 days in the Reception and Medical Center in a
one-man cell, something he describes as "torture."

GAINESVILLE, Fla. - Dwight Gooden stared at the walls, which he swore
were closing in on him. He asked himself if he was dreaming. He had
to be. There could be no way it had come to this. He was in hell.

No phone calls. No TV. No sunlight. No contact with anyone other than
a prison guard. This is how far he'd fallen - Doctor K in a prison
cell. The guards would put him in handcuffs and shackles when they
took him for his shower three times a week - a shower that took place
inside bars. He felt like an animal in a cage when the guards pushed
his food through a slot in the bars.

As he sat in the Reception and Medical Center (RMC) in Lake Butler,
Fla., Gooden's thoughts turned to a happier time when he was young
and his arm was electric and when he appeared to be headed to the
Hall of Fame, not these halls of shame.

"I kept looking back to the day I got drafted out of high school [in
1982] and remembering all the joy," Gooden said. "Now I'm in this
little box where two people couldn't fit in there. You keep asking
yourself, 'What went wrong? What went wrong?' "

It is a question that Gooden's fans have been asking for years. The
reports of the former Mets and Yankees star's legal woes barely faze
them now. The story is so familiar, so disappointing.

As he sat yesterday in a prison conference room, wearing a powder
blue jumpsuit and black boots, Gooden reflected on his two-decade
battle with drugs and alcohol and the jail cell it has led him to.

"It's been a humbling experience," Gooden said. "It's like going from
the top down to the bottom. This is the bottom of the bottom right here."

Gooden, the 1985 Cy Young winner, looks skinny and weathered. He is
fidgety and says his stress never stops. His latest bout with the law
came after he used cocaine on March 12, violating the probation he
received for fleeing an officer last August during a traffic stop. A
failed drug test put him in front of a judge in April. He had two
choices - a one-year, one-day prison sentence or going back on
probation with any slip-up resulting in a five-year sentence. He chose prison.

Yesterday, Gooden said he regrets the decision and that his attorneys
did not prepare him for how difficult prison life would be.

That lesson began on April 17 when Gooden went to RMC. He spent 10
days in that one-man cell, never permitted to go outside. He had no
contact with his family. He would tell time only by when he was fed.

"I still haven't recovered from that," Gooden said. "That was
torture. It was like you're an animal. It was horrible."

Gooden was transferred to Gainesville on April 27, not a country club
but more humane. The campus of one-story, red and white cement
buildings does not look like the penitentiaries portrayed in movies
other than the high barbed-wire fences surrounding it. In an
unbelievable twist, it is the same prison that once housed Darryl
Strawberry, Gooden's longtime teammate.

Most of his days are spent in the drug and alcohol treatment program.
In Gainesville, Gooden is not in a cell but is housed in a dormitory
that resembles an Army barrack with rows of bunk beds. He arises at
3:30 each morning from his top bunk, eats breakfast at 4:30, then
begins his day. The prison has a boot-camp feel. When groups of
inmates move from building to building, they march military style and
sing cadences.

Gooden has done his best to avoid trouble but he did have to write a
250-word essay after not making his bed properly.

"It's been the hardest thing I've ever went through," he said. "I
can't say some days are better than others. Some hours are better than others."

When he arrived, inmates asked Gooden about baseball constantly. He
was the No. 1 draft pick in the prison's softball league, but opted
not to play.

"When I first got here I had the shame, the embarrassment, the guilt
because of the name and everybody knows who you are," he said. "These
guys are all inmates, too - most of these guys are nice guys - but
they're looking at me like I'm different than them. Because of my
background they look at you and say, 'Man, you don't belong here.' "

Gooden still hasn't figured out what triggered his relapse. Maybe it
was an argument with his fiancee, Monique. Maybe it was the memories
of his father's death that flooded back to him after attending a
funeral days earlier. Maybe it was missing baseball as spring
training hit full swing.

Whatever the cause, Gooden pulled into a Raceway convenience store on
his way home from his mother's house near Tampa, looking for alcohol.

One beer, he told himself. You can handle it.

The first Budweiser went down quickly. He barely enjoyed it, he was
so nervous about being spotted. He began to head home, then turned
the car around. The second beer "set him off."

From the convenience store, he traveled to St. Petersburg to see a
cocaine dealer he knew. The dealer wasn't home on his first visit but
Gooden returned. This time, a woman at the house gave Gooden the
dealer's phone number. A few days later, Gooden's urine test came back dirty.

Gooden had been clean for six months. He had attended rehab for
three, and been an outpatient for three more. Today, he regrets not
calling his sponsor when the urge to use came over him.

"My problem is, my ego still gets in the way," he said. "I figure I
can handle it myself and I don't want to bother anybody."

As he sits in prison, Gooden worries most about his family. He has
not been allowed any visitors yet, and the only person he's spoken to
on the phone is his fiancee. He misses his six children and worries
what effect this will have on their lives. His oldest child, Dwight
Jr., has already spent time in jail for cocaine possession. He tries
to follow the Yankees and his nephew, Gary Sheffield, but is only
allowed to watch TV on the weekends.

On Mother's Day, he thought of his elderly mother and what this has
done to her. When he last saw her at his sentencing in April, he
thought she had aged 10 to 15 years since his latest arrest. Mother's
Day also fell on the 10th anniversary of his no-hitter for the
Yankees, the highlight of his 16-year career.

"It was like a double whammy," he said. "It was a bittersweet day."

This year is also the 20th anniversary of the 1986 Mets' World Series
championship. Gooden's face goes lifeless as he talks about not being
a part of the celebration planned at Shea Stadium later this year.
For him, that season also represents the beginning of his cocaine use.

"I look back at '86 and I remember when that season was over, that's
when I first got started with cocaine," he said. "Now here we are 20
years later, the team is celebrating that year and I'm in prison
because of cocaine. It's a sad story, really."

Gooden could be released as early as November. He is unsure what he
will do when he gets out. His first priority is reconnecting with his
children and repairing some of the damage he's done. Before his
relapse, George Steinbrenner had spoken with Gooden about returning
to his role as a special assistant with the Yankees once his
probation officer said it was OK. After his latest embarrassment,
Gooden said he would not even ask Steinbrenner for a job.

"I respect him too much to go back to him and ask for a job after all
this stuff has gone on," he said.

He thinks about coaching his kids' Little League teams or helping out
a high school team.

Mostly, though, he thinks about staying clean. He knows people are
skeptical, but this time, he insists, will be different.

"I'm tired of hearing myself say I'm going to change and be
different," he said. "Now it's just actions. All I can say is follow
my actions."

He hopes the memory of prison will keep him straight.

"I can't come back here," he said. "I'd rather get shot than come
back here . . . If I don't get the message this time, I never will."