As the prison guards say: "three hots & a cot, and all the sex you can handle."
Real answer: every joint is different and the experience is largely subjective, so it depends on what specific things you're wanting to know. For example, on etiquette:
Real answer: every joint is different and the experience is largely subjective, so it depends on what specific things you're wanting to know. For example, on etiquette:
quote:
Etiquette does not apply when there is a power differential. If I've got some juice or I'm a made member of a gang or whatever and you're some fish from a McMansion housing development then I'm taking your poo poo. I'm not even taking your poo poo because if there's that kind of power differential then it's *my* poo poo already. Once you've given me all my poo poo you're going to the canteen and buying me more. Then your family is going to send me more. Then you'll give me a blowjob and maybe hold on to my drugs for me, maybe be a courier and do my deals for me. If I'm La Eme or Aryan Brotherhood then your wife will be hiding drugs in her anal and vaginal cavities and bringing them into you, so that you can swallow them and drink some shampoo when you get back to the tier and throw up my drugs for me. The bigger gangs will threaten the families, they will make weaker inmates have their visitors smuggle in contraband or the family will be targeted. The guys get so scared they agree to it.
Of course none of this barbaric bullshit happens in the brig, the etiquette was don't get in my space, no you can't sit here, this is our table (segregated by cliques of friends, not race; there were only a couple all-black cliques, the rest were diverse). Take a shower, nobody wants to smell you dumb rear end anymore, if you're an SO don't talk to me, don't be a dick and get the TV changed or turned off when my show is on. Don't sit in my gumby chair.
There were these big weird chairs in the dayroom, looked like cubes with a seat cut into it, made out of some kind of hard rubber. The idea being that they were too unwieldy to be picked up and thrown, and too soft to brain someone on. The gumby chairs, they were called. Anyway, everyone had their won gumby chair- not officially, it wasn't allowed, but everyone had their own, organized by clique. You had to wait to get another chair if it was occupied until someone went to seg or left; so for a while I couldn't sit with my friends, because the chairs were taken. Eventually I got to sit with them, and after a while I got sit in the front row with the super cool guys, that was awesome actually, one of the high points of the whole thing, I felt like I had arrived, so to speak. So stupid in the civilian world, but so cool in there. Gumby chair etiquette was huge, sometimes SO's would break etiquette and sit in someone's chair and be like "there are no assigned chairs and not moving." So now he gets hosed with, maybe go piss in his bed, wait till he's walking by an open cell that isn't his, push him in there and shut the door, so he has to hit the emergency call button which lights up the cell on the guard's panel so he can pop the door. He'll get yelled at for being in the wrong cell, you were supposed to get a write up for being in the wrong cell, but they could tell when you just got pushed in there. Everyone had badges that showed custody level and incentive level, you had to have it at all times, clipped to your shirt pocket flap. Pulling this off was called pulling someone's punk card, if someone's in your gumby chair you could pull his punk card and not give it back until he moves or tattles. You could slide the badge across the floor under a cell door (remember they're 2 or 3 inches off the floor) so now he has to go get the guard to open the door and get his balls busted for not having his badge. Or if you really want to make the whole tier laugh, wait till he's in the shower and open the shower and take his towel so he has to walk naked back to his room. Nakedness on the tier got you a write up so it was a two-fer. Repeat gumby chair offenders got threatened with physical action, none of the dumbasses ever pushed their luck with the chair to the point of a fight except for one guy.
Of course none of this barbaric bullshit happens in the brig, the etiquette was don't get in my space, no you can't sit here, this is our table (segregated by cliques of friends, not race; there were only a couple all-black cliques, the rest were diverse). Take a shower, nobody wants to smell you dumb rear end anymore, if you're an SO don't talk to me, don't be a dick and get the TV changed or turned off when my show is on. Don't sit in my gumby chair.
There were these big weird chairs in the dayroom, looked like cubes with a seat cut into it, made out of some kind of hard rubber. The idea being that they were too unwieldy to be picked up and thrown, and too soft to brain someone on. The gumby chairs, they were called. Anyway, everyone had their won gumby chair- not officially, it wasn't allowed, but everyone had their own, organized by clique. You had to wait to get another chair if it was occupied until someone went to seg or left; so for a while I couldn't sit with my friends, because the chairs were taken. Eventually I got to sit with them, and after a while I got sit in the front row with the super cool guys, that was awesome actually, one of the high points of the whole thing, I felt like I had arrived, so to speak. So stupid in the civilian world, but so cool in there. Gumby chair etiquette was huge, sometimes SO's would break etiquette and sit in someone's chair and be like "there are no assigned chairs and not moving." So now he gets hosed with, maybe go piss in his bed, wait till he's walking by an open cell that isn't his, push him in there and shut the door, so he has to hit the emergency call button which lights up the cell on the guard's panel so he can pop the door. He'll get yelled at for being in the wrong cell, you were supposed to get a write up for being in the wrong cell, but they could tell when you just got pushed in there. Everyone had badges that showed custody level and incentive level, you had to have it at all times, clipped to your shirt pocket flap. Pulling this off was called pulling someone's punk card, if someone's in your gumby chair you could pull his punk card and not give it back until he moves or tattles. You could slide the badge across the floor under a cell door (remember they're 2 or 3 inches off the floor) so now he has to go get the guard to open the door and get his balls busted for not having his badge. Or if you really want to make the whole tier laugh, wait till he's in the shower and open the shower and take his towel so he has to walk naked back to his room. Nakedness on the tier got you a write up so it was a two-fer. Repeat gumby chair offenders got threatened with physical action, none of the dumbasses ever pushed their luck with the chair to the point of a fight except for one guy.
Reagan Youth posted:
what would jews do in prison?
I only knew three Jews in the California prison (and none in Hawaii). One was an old-timer who also held a Master's in theology and lived in a section of the SO tier called the "glass house," where all the 45+ year old SO's lived. Like most of the older SO's, he knew the best way to avoid us picking on him was to stay in the glass house and when he worked with us in the kitchen to basically be nice to us and ignore any hazing/abuse. He was a cook, like many of the older guys, and would always "accidentally" make too much food so that the rest of the kitchen workers could eat extra.
One was non-practicing and we heckled, etc because he liked kiddie porn and not because he was Jewish.
The last one, nicknamed Cock N' Balls, vehemently denied being Jewish but was intensely messed with because he was 18, small, and weak- plus he talked big and tough when he first got there so we immediately targeted him. Once we found out he was an SO it only intensified. We only found out he was Jewish after we stole his mail and found a Hanukkah card in there. There wasn't any overt anti-Semitism at either of the joints I was in. There weren't any prayer services offered for them either, probably because there simply weren't enough of them.
On the other hand, when it came to "alternative" religions or big-time atheists; boy howdy were they ever hosed with. We even convinced the case manager that Wicca was a fantasy role-playing game and got it banned for months until we got a new case manager who realized that was basically illegal. Wiccans, "druids," etc. and Dawkins fanatics never lasted more than a week before saying gently caress it and giving up on it (or at least keeping it a secret).
Except for one guy. This dude in Hawaii stayed in seg for a long time because he kept asking them to let him bring his tarot cards into the dorm. They would say no, he would say it was a vital part of his religion, get carried away and fly into a rage, and get left in seg for another 3 days as punishment. Over and over this happened. He wanted to wear a pentagram in the dorm, same deal. While in seg he asked for a bible (they have to give you one, even in seg) and he ripped it up into pieces and put them in the toilet. 3 more days in seg, plus they took like 15 good days for destroying Navy property and were just tired of his antics.
Anyway, he finally comes into the dorm and by this time it's become a legend about the tarot cards, etc. You could tell this dude was beyond just introverted and nerdy, there was something obviously wrong in his head, maybe he needed Ritalin or whatever (and good luck getting a Navy doc to approve a Ritalin script for an inmate). So the minute he walks in the dorm we all go nuts, because we'd seen him in seg and heard about him; and also heard the guards bitching about him on the radio and stuff and lo and behold he looks exactly as crazy as we expected. The main thing we did was say "CAWWWL ME NOW!" Like Miss Cleo the psychic on TV because of the tarot cards. He knew what it meant because when guys went in to clean the seg block or deliver food, they would tell him about it, and that they were planning on doing it. So he predictably loses his mind and gets cuffed up and put back in seg before he even had a chance to put his blanket on his bed. One of the shortest "turnaround times" from seg->dorm->seg although not the shortest (some guys had contests).
New rules came out while he was in seg- they actually wrote down "Call Me Now is prohibited and no inmate will say it." We tested it out and found that yes, they were willing to send a motherfucker to seg for saying it. So we just said "Call," eventually that too was banned. Also prohibited was "talking in a Jamaican, Haitian, or Caribbean accent."
When the guy finally came to the dorm and stayed, it turned out that he was a hated enemy of this other doofus who'd been the whipping boy for some time- so now this idiot is constantly loving with Miss Cleo to get out from under the spotlight of being the low man in the dorm... jail or no jail that was one of the funniest 45 days of my life, watching these two half-retarded jackasses gently caress with each other.
E: The two idiots were in there for stealing large amounts of relatively inexpensive stuff from guys at their respective barracks, not exactly criminal masterminds; when you consider how dumb it is to steal something from somebody who sleeps next to you in an open bay; and then use/sell it in the same bay.
Christmas in prison.
Thanksgiving and Christmas they would do Sunday routine, usually for the whole 4-day weekend surrounding the holiday. That means relaxed uniforms (got to remove BDU blouse or dungaree shirt) or they would let you do PT gear/sweats and shower shoes, although you have to get in full uniform for meals. You can play games, watch TV or use the phone all day (except in Hawaii, you still had the 2 phone calls a week deal, some guards would let you have an extra call on the holiday if you had already used your 2- not all of them though so don't waste your calls that week). They would play movies at night and almost all the guards would be nicer than usual. They would put up a little fake tree in the tier on the guard desk. They actually make good food on those days, the actual cooks would make it instead of inmates, and they hooked it up; turkey, ham, stuffing, the whole 9 yards. You could get seconds too, and they gave you extra time to eat.
You get visitation on those days, in Cali they usually gave you extra time on your visits. Of course you still got cavity searched afterwards, but honestly after a couple times it doesn't bother you anymore. The visits were depressing if you didn't get one, I always did but then it's still depressing because you see families come visit and you know that instead of gathering around the tree at home and kids opening the presents Santa brought; that the family had packed up in the car and drove 3 to 8 hours to a prison, got herded in lines and searched to go sit by Dad in a cheap chair on a basketball court surrounded by 300 criminals. On Christmas.
On the holiday food, holidays and special occasions were completely awesome. Besides holidays the cooks would sometimes just decide to hook us up seemingly at random- sometimes they would do Surf & Turf- an actual steak and HUGE crab legs or claws... you could forgo your steak and get a double helping of crab legs, but not vice versa. Trading/sharing food was forbidden, it was considered "trafficking" and you would get yelled at or a write up for it (for food it was considered minor, you wouldn't lose good days most times and never ever got a tune up). Some guards were cool with it though (within reason), like you get up to get another drink and you fill up your buddy's cup for it at the same time- technically trafficking but they let it slide. Anyway, on those Surf & Turf days, I'm not a fan of crab, so on a holiday when guards were chill or on a S&T day when chill guys were working I'd trade my crab to a guy at my table for whatever he had- a dessert, cornbread, whatever. Guys that liked crab REALLY liked it, so most times I would just give over the crab and that guy would owe me, so for example I wanted help cleaning my room or getting all my poo poo ironed... stuff like that. Clarification: It was always help, 99% of guys would never make a guy do their work for them by themselves because gently caress that.
The times when good food was served and you was on kitchen crew it didn't matter, kitchen crew ate as much of whatever they wanted before the rest of the douchebags came through for chow. Through some miracle of statistics I was never on kitchen crew for one of those meals, although I was on many holidays and that my friends will make you forget about being in jail- they'd let you snack on the food as you were working, and when you did deep sink (where they wash al the pots and pans used to make and serve the food) you could eat whatever was in the pans as you washed them. This one cool guard, a heavyset black Navy E5 we used to call Mister Bojangles was the security for most of the holiday meals I worked kitchen; he was cool as gently caress, he would talk to you like a man, as in like you were a man, and not a piece of poo poo inmate. He would bring this boombox in, with tapes, and play whatever music the inmates could agree on. That was huge, most times it was rap or metal, but as it happened one time there was a majority of us that asked for electronic music and he was like "oh man, I have some Donald Glaude, I love Donald Glaude!" and played it... even the non-Donald Glaude fans were happy because hey, we're in jail and the drat jailer is playing house/trance for us.
Thanksgiving and Christmas they would do Sunday routine, usually for the whole 4-day weekend surrounding the holiday. That means relaxed uniforms (got to remove BDU blouse or dungaree shirt) or they would let you do PT gear/sweats and shower shoes, although you have to get in full uniform for meals. You can play games, watch TV or use the phone all day (except in Hawaii, you still had the 2 phone calls a week deal, some guards would let you have an extra call on the holiday if you had already used your 2- not all of them though so don't waste your calls that week). They would play movies at night and almost all the guards would be nicer than usual. They would put up a little fake tree in the tier on the guard desk. They actually make good food on those days, the actual cooks would make it instead of inmates, and they hooked it up; turkey, ham, stuffing, the whole 9 yards. You could get seconds too, and they gave you extra time to eat.
You get visitation on those days, in Cali they usually gave you extra time on your visits. Of course you still got cavity searched afterwards, but honestly after a couple times it doesn't bother you anymore. The visits were depressing if you didn't get one, I always did but then it's still depressing because you see families come visit and you know that instead of gathering around the tree at home and kids opening the presents Santa brought; that the family had packed up in the car and drove 3 to 8 hours to a prison, got herded in lines and searched to go sit by Dad in a cheap chair on a basketball court surrounded by 300 criminals. On Christmas.
On the holiday food, holidays and special occasions were completely awesome. Besides holidays the cooks would sometimes just decide to hook us up seemingly at random- sometimes they would do Surf & Turf- an actual steak and HUGE crab legs or claws... you could forgo your steak and get a double helping of crab legs, but not vice versa. Trading/sharing food was forbidden, it was considered "trafficking" and you would get yelled at or a write up for it (for food it was considered minor, you wouldn't lose good days most times and never ever got a tune up). Some guards were cool with it though (within reason), like you get up to get another drink and you fill up your buddy's cup for it at the same time- technically trafficking but they let it slide. Anyway, on those Surf & Turf days, I'm not a fan of crab, so on a holiday when guards were chill or on a S&T day when chill guys were working I'd trade my crab to a guy at my table for whatever he had- a dessert, cornbread, whatever. Guys that liked crab REALLY liked it, so most times I would just give over the crab and that guy would owe me, so for example I wanted help cleaning my room or getting all my poo poo ironed... stuff like that. Clarification: It was always help, 99% of guys would never make a guy do their work for them by themselves because gently caress that.
The times when good food was served and you was on kitchen crew it didn't matter, kitchen crew ate as much of whatever they wanted before the rest of the douchebags came through for chow. Through some miracle of statistics I was never on kitchen crew for one of those meals, although I was on many holidays and that my friends will make you forget about being in jail- they'd let you snack on the food as you were working, and when you did deep sink (where they wash al the pots and pans used to make and serve the food) you could eat whatever was in the pans as you washed them. This one cool guard, a heavyset black Navy E5 we used to call Mister Bojangles was the security for most of the holiday meals I worked kitchen; he was cool as gently caress, he would talk to you like a man, as in like you were a man, and not a piece of poo poo inmate. He would bring this boombox in, with tapes, and play whatever music the inmates could agree on. That was huge, most times it was rap or metal, but as it happened one time there was a majority of us that asked for electronic music and he was like "oh man, I have some Donald Glaude, I love Donald Glaude!" and played it... even the non-Donald Glaude fans were happy because hey, we're in jail and the drat jailer is playing house/trance for us.
Let's do lunch: climbing the social ladder one meal at a time.
On regular days, everyone lines up in the tier and once everyone is in line they open the door and march you out to the cafeteria; then you wait at the cafeteria door and they send you in 4 at a time- "Next four!" they yell. Because of this, when you line up in the tier you calculate the line in groups of four and make sure you're in a place in line that ensures you're with 3 other guys you're cool with. Your mealtime 4 is pretty important, if the line is off due to guys being out for work, medical, whatever, you pick someone from the back of the line to take that 4th spot. That's how most guys get into the cool cliques, if you get taken for the 4th and you're cool multiple times, then you're pretty much in with that group. That's how I got in the cool crowd right after getting there, my boy P was locked up with me in Hawaii, and had gone to Cali months before me, so right when I got to his tier he vouched for me and brought me up from the back of the line to be the 4th man at that group. Most times your day-room friends will be different from your mealtime table-group friends, and that was just understood. Mealtime you guys were tight as gently caress, other times you went to your circle of day room friends and they went to their day room group, nothing personal, no acrimony, that's just how it was. As far as table groups went I was in the 3rd or 4th one in the hierarchy, whereas I was in the #1 day-room clique. There was another clique that I was a part of, basically the guys that had funny-rear end jokes, pranksters, etc; that one didn't really rate on the hierarchy... a lot of non-sex charge guys were members of two cliques.
Sometimes you'd pick a douchebag for your 4th man, sometimes people are at work or whatever and there's no getting around having to pick a random 4th man. You'd pick the guy that was the least dumb that had previously sat with your group, even if they were an SO, because they were like a known factor- better to have an SO that knew etiquette than one that didn't. If you had to have an SO or other dumbass as your 4th man, they all knew their place, they kept their head down and didn't talk to the other 3. They also "dropped" their dessert or whatever on the middle of the table so another more worthy inmate could "discover" it and pick it up.
At the table, people called each other by their first name, it was like this special etiquette for mealtime only; first name, please and thank you, no rudeness at all. If you had one of the SO or dumbass 4th guys, they didn't get to participate in this, of course; most guys including me would not use first names or the politeness rules when we had some random douchebag as a 4th man.
Fourth man was also used to break the ice with a lot of guys though, you could tell after a few days on the tier if someone was cool or not; so if they were cool and still introverted you'd invite them up to your foursome. The established foursomes were way at the beginning of the line and the loners/douchebags were way at the end. They ate sooner and got more time to eat, and food didn't run out for them- so it's a lot better for you to be as far forward as possible. Everything having to do with foursomes, chow lines, and meal etiquette was 100% known, condoned, and probably even documented by all guards, even the dicks. Anyway, to take race as an example, if you see this black guy is cool but he has some race issues you'll invite him up to your white table group; after a while he comes around and drops the racism. Or sometimes he wouldn't drop the racism, in which case gently caress him, even some of the other blacks will shun him. Same deal with latino, white, or asian. I personally wouldn't eat with a guy that truly hated blacks or other races. A guy that tells a racial joke every now and then but will still work or play monopoly with a different race is OK, but a straight up hater- gently caress that. 99% of the inmates felt the same way, or at least acted like it even if they didn't feel it to avoid rocking the boat.
This table-group courtesy did not happen with black table groups and white loners, although there was very little overt racism by any black inmate. It never caused problems though, I worked in the kitchen with this guy R, he was cool to me, but he flat out told me, "Look, I don't like white people. So just don't talk to me about poo poo that doesn't have to do with washing these dishes." We got along fine, too. Pretty much just talked about dishes, eventually he came around though and he wound up being semi-cool with me and several other white and Filipino guys.
After the meal you'd line up 4 at a time 2 abreast in the courtyard and once everybody was in line then you went in, one "half" at a time (if you imagine it as 2 parallel lines instead of one column 2 abreast). So, some of the younger Marine guards liked to give commands in the lines, like attention, fall out, and (unfortunately) "columns of files from the right" (IIRC), which was a hard-chargin' military term for "one line at a time starting with the one on the right. Unfortunate for the guard if he's in charge of the line for the SO tier, because its gives you the opportunity to beat him to the punch and say loudly "a column of pedophiles from the right!" This degenerates all 4 lines (2 waiting to go back to the tier and 2 waiting to go to the lunchroom) into riotous laughter and catcalls; and if one of the SO's decides that's his camel-breaking straw for the day then you'll get an SO meltdown as a bonus. Then a hardass guard has to come out and punish people willy-nilly and it generally wastes a lot of their time.
On regular days, everyone lines up in the tier and once everyone is in line they open the door and march you out to the cafeteria; then you wait at the cafeteria door and they send you in 4 at a time- "Next four!" they yell. Because of this, when you line up in the tier you calculate the line in groups of four and make sure you're in a place in line that ensures you're with 3 other guys you're cool with. Your mealtime 4 is pretty important, if the line is off due to guys being out for work, medical, whatever, you pick someone from the back of the line to take that 4th spot. That's how most guys get into the cool cliques, if you get taken for the 4th and you're cool multiple times, then you're pretty much in with that group. That's how I got in the cool crowd right after getting there, my boy P was locked up with me in Hawaii, and had gone to Cali months before me, so right when I got to his tier he vouched for me and brought me up from the back of the line to be the 4th man at that group. Most times your day-room friends will be different from your mealtime table-group friends, and that was just understood. Mealtime you guys were tight as gently caress, other times you went to your circle of day room friends and they went to their day room group, nothing personal, no acrimony, that's just how it was. As far as table groups went I was in the 3rd or 4th one in the hierarchy, whereas I was in the #1 day-room clique. There was another clique that I was a part of, basically the guys that had funny-rear end jokes, pranksters, etc; that one didn't really rate on the hierarchy... a lot of non-sex charge guys were members of two cliques.
Sometimes you'd pick a douchebag for your 4th man, sometimes people are at work or whatever and there's no getting around having to pick a random 4th man. You'd pick the guy that was the least dumb that had previously sat with your group, even if they were an SO, because they were like a known factor- better to have an SO that knew etiquette than one that didn't. If you had to have an SO or other dumbass as your 4th man, they all knew their place, they kept their head down and didn't talk to the other 3. They also "dropped" their dessert or whatever on the middle of the table so another more worthy inmate could "discover" it and pick it up.
At the table, people called each other by their first name, it was like this special etiquette for mealtime only; first name, please and thank you, no rudeness at all. If you had one of the SO or dumbass 4th guys, they didn't get to participate in this, of course; most guys including me would not use first names or the politeness rules when we had some random douchebag as a 4th man.
Fourth man was also used to break the ice with a lot of guys though, you could tell after a few days on the tier if someone was cool or not; so if they were cool and still introverted you'd invite them up to your foursome. The established foursomes were way at the beginning of the line and the loners/douchebags were way at the end. They ate sooner and got more time to eat, and food didn't run out for them- so it's a lot better for you to be as far forward as possible. Everything having to do with foursomes, chow lines, and meal etiquette was 100% known, condoned, and probably even documented by all guards, even the dicks. Anyway, to take race as an example, if you see this black guy is cool but he has some race issues you'll invite him up to your white table group; after a while he comes around and drops the racism. Or sometimes he wouldn't drop the racism, in which case gently caress him, even some of the other blacks will shun him. Same deal with latino, white, or asian. I personally wouldn't eat with a guy that truly hated blacks or other races. A guy that tells a racial joke every now and then but will still work or play monopoly with a different race is OK, but a straight up hater- gently caress that. 99% of the inmates felt the same way, or at least acted like it even if they didn't feel it to avoid rocking the boat.
This table-group courtesy did not happen with black table groups and white loners, although there was very little overt racism by any black inmate. It never caused problems though, I worked in the kitchen with this guy R, he was cool to me, but he flat out told me, "Look, I don't like white people. So just don't talk to me about poo poo that doesn't have to do with washing these dishes." We got along fine, too. Pretty much just talked about dishes, eventually he came around though and he wound up being semi-cool with me and several other white and Filipino guys.
After the meal you'd line up 4 at a time 2 abreast in the courtyard and once everybody was in line then you went in, one "half" at a time (if you imagine it as 2 parallel lines instead of one column 2 abreast). So, some of the younger Marine guards liked to give commands in the lines, like attention, fall out, and (unfortunately) "columns of files from the right" (IIRC), which was a hard-chargin' military term for "one line at a time starting with the one on the right. Unfortunate for the guard if he's in charge of the line for the SO tier, because its gives you the opportunity to beat him to the punch and say loudly "a column of pedophiles from the right!" This degenerates all 4 lines (2 waiting to go back to the tier and 2 waiting to go to the lunchroom) into riotous laughter and catcalls; and if one of the SO's decides that's his camel-breaking straw for the day then you'll get an SO meltdown as a bonus. Then a hardass guard has to come out and punish people willy-nilly and it generally wastes a lot of their time.
Reagan Youth posted:
what were you in for?
edit: this was military prison, right?
Reposted from the old thread-
I was confined in Navy and multi-branch brigs from mid 01 until end of 02/beginning of 03 timeframe. I plead guilty to conspiracy to distribute a controlled substance (article 112a), disobeying orders (article 92) and witness intimidation (covered under an article 134 plea- I actually did not do this crime, but had to roll it into my main case to avoid potentially lots more time). The amount of drugs in question was 4 E pills worth about $32 (yeah...). I was locked up in Hawaii for the first part and Miramar California for the second part (the same base Top Gun was set and filmed at). My trial lasted about 40 minutes, as court-martials tend to do.
The one in Hawaii was an open bay facility, basically a big room with a bunch of beds and a desk. Someone always sits at the desk day and night to watch you, during the day there are multiple guards in the room with you. One wall is mirrored, on the other side of the mirror is the control room, all the doors are controlled from inside there, so when they want to open a door, they go on the radio and tell them their handle/"callsign" and the door number, so like "Control, Victor 4; 94 please" and then the lock opens loudly. It's like a gunshot and was one of the hardest things to get used to. The other rooms were a cafeteria, a cell block with glass cell doors that you either go as punishment or when you first get there- when you first get there everyone has to spend 3 days in a cell, to make sure you're not dangerous or a suicide risk. There was one guy that was always in there, because he killed a couple people so he couldn't come to the dorm with us. He was cool though, on the off chance you get to talk to him, laid back and kind of short/thin; definitely not the stereotype of a double-murderer. Hawaii looks like this:
The skinny killer lived in the first cell on the left in the second picture.
The one in Cali I spent most of my time in, there were individual cells there, which was great, sometimes you had a celly because they were renovating another Marine jail at the time in Pendleton so all their guys were at Miramar with us. Lot more freedom in that one, unlike Hawaii where you had to ask permission for absolutely everything, including walking across this blue tape that was everywhere (to teach you how to respect authority, or something). I mean everything, had to ask permission to get a chair, to sit in it, to get up, to put the chair away, to get a drink of water, any and everything including taking a piss and sometimes flushing the urinal depending on if the guard was a dick. Cali was more like real jail, lots more prisoners so they didn't micromanage you as much. Cell doors were loud-rear end electric ones like the doors in Hawaii, so when they wanted you to come out they just pushed the button for your door rapid-fire, and it was the loudest and most annoying noise you can possibly imagine. As in, if I concentrate I can hear that sound in my head. I don't have pictures of the Cali one, and the ones on the website intentionally make it look different (and much smaller) than it really is.
Masonity posted:
I was guessing sex offenders? Could be WAY off though.
Some of the stuff guys got locked up for was nuts. The mirror guy used to put mirrors under the bathroom doors of his house, and then jerk it while spying on his kids using the toilet. His wife caught him several times, got fed up with it and turned him in to the Air Force cops. He got 36 months. He looked funny, talked funny, and liked to tattle so he did not have a good jail experience. There was a guy that had the most weird shaped head you ever saw, like a comic book or something; he raped a bunch of kids and got like 17 years. There was an old guy that got like 22 years, we never found out what he did exactly but it was rumored that he got violent with his (child) victims in addition to raping them (remember the guy Randy only got 10 years for loving his own son from age 10 til age 13 so he was over twice as bad if you go by years).
The deal with SO's in the military is that if they "voluntarily" sign up for this 2-year treatment program, register their DNA and take birth-control shots (chemical castration) they only have to do half the normal sentence. So Randy was probably looking at a 20-year bit and signed up to get the 10.
The guards in Cali wouldn't tune you up (kick your rear end) unless it was physical contact or something, so the junior-high bullying that went on in Cali was also nuts. There was this Air Force guy Aaron M. who was in there for kiddie porn (all the kiddie porn guys- over half the SO's were only caught cause they had it on their *work computers*- thats how smart these guys are) was this scrawny dude who was like 6' 3" and was always saying he was allergic to the light, so they let him wear those plastic things they put on you when you get your eyes checked. We used to call him a vampire.
Anyway, he used to go off on people for next to no reason, such as what was on TV or someone taking the last box of cereal that he liked (actually a lot of people would go off for that). So to punish him we would throw water on him like in the Exorcist and say "the power of Christ compels you!" and tie knots in his laundry so after they got washed he couldn't untie them. One day, he decided he wasn't going to come out of his room, he hid under the bed so the guards went in and gaffled him up and took him to segregation; on his way out he was screaming something unintelligible and when he was in seg he pulled out some of his toenails. When he came back, we would say "Five! Five toenails, ah, ha, ha!" like the counting vampire from Sesame Street, you know; and he would fly into these rages and go jerk off in his room. Again, guards would tell you to knock it off, but wouldn't kick rear end unless there was fighting.
This other guy Tom S. (also an SO) was about 19 and used to go in his room and rock back and forth violently on his bed anytime he got stressed out- seriously, every time someone made fun of him or stressed him out in any way. He also used to say he was Ozzie Osborne's biggest fan and would talk about Ozzie all the time, which was pretty weird. He worked in the dishwash with me for a while until he flipped out when one of the female prisoners looked at him weird and he tried to jerk off and got sent to seg. He would move his head a lot too, and move his mouth like he was talking, but with no sound coming out.
At the time, we guessed he rocked to somehow stimulate his prostate; but I just read that autism thread where the OP said autistics do repetitive motions like that, so it may have been that too. The main thing with him is a lot of times he would try to be nice to everybody, he couldn't tell the difference if you were being sarcastic to him. This meant that you could be like "you know what would be awesome? If you did X!" Where X was anything from telling a guard to gently caress off to going into an occupied shower or basically anything. He never got in trouble for it though, because the guards knew he was too simple to think it up on his own, and that he was so susceptible to suggestion. How he made it through boot camp and technical school in the first place I'll never know.
The SO's had like this pecking order, they would segregate themselves; the chilly-mo's (child molesters) kept to themselves, and the digi-mo's (digital molesters, i.e kiddie porn) kept to themselves. Sometimes the older chilly's would take a young digi like under their wing or something, I don't know if it was part of their treatment program or what but it was fuckin' weird, and resulted in more than a few beatings. I think a lot of them were mentally ill or something, they just weren't right... some worse than others but if you ever got stuck having to work with one they were like Rain Man or something... I don't know if that's what made them do their crimes or if their counseling / medication made them that way. Everyone knew about the treatment stuff they did, they had to keep notebooks which we would steal all the time to make fun of them.
Bent Shank posted:
prison slang is the funniest
My favorite is "Buck Rogers time," that's when someone gets so much time that when they get out there will be flying cars and laser guns. For example this girl Billings, straight-up gangster chick who looked like Xzibit has a release date in 2063. They didn't even bother taking good days from her since she'll literally never get out.
Also awesome user name in a jail thread.
Bent Shank posted:
keep the stories comin
Birthday beat-down.
There was this huge guy F from Brooklyn, the Pendleton Marines* would always say, "Wait till F gets here." He was as big as they said, he was as funny as they said. He held me in a full nelson for my birthday beating.
*Camp Pendleton had a run-down shithole of a brig and the government finally got off its rear end to renovate it while I was in Cali, so they moved all the Marine inmates in with us. When all the Marines came from the Pendleton brig, those guys were all straight infantry and MP's. Those guys were cool with almost everyone, but never really cemented into any one crew; they all had that bond from Pendleton. I wound up being really tight with this guy W from Boston who was an M-240G (big-rear end machine gun) operator. This guy had no impulse control whatsoever, and looked like a fire hydrant. He seriously had ADD or something, this guy would just say whatever, do whatever was on his mind; he was constantly getting locked down in his cell for this, he was also constantly playing pranks on people. Also he liked to shift from one foot to the other all the time. But he was a real stand-up guy, type of guy that will take a stay in seg for you, take the rap for you. Also pretty good at ping pong.
Anyway, in that second tier I was in, when you came back from meals the guard stayed outside to watch the line, and inside it went around 2 corners so he can't see the front of the line. On my birthday when we were lining up to go back inside, all my buddies were like "front of the line dude, you know the drill!" Much laughter and such, so I go to the front of the line, the enormous F came too; and when we get around that corner he snatches me up- and this guy was huge, my feet were off the ground and I'm 6'3". Everyone went past and gave one shot in the stomach, ribs or chest as they went by. Some of my good friends threw 2 or 3. All in good fun but man did that poo poo hurt. The last guy barely got his hit in when the guard came in, when the back of the line gets in, the door locks and he has to go up to the front of the line to call control and have them pop the door to the tier. He was like literally coming around that corner right as the last guy was withdrawing his fist and F let go of me. I fell on one knee and the guard was like "what the hell are you guys doing?" Everyone was laughing, we go in the tier and I went right to my room and just laid in my bed trying to get my wind back, which took a while. When I came out I was still like staggering and wincing and stuff, which gets everyone laughing again. Cons were asking me if I was OK, telling me "that poo poo was hot," etc. Dumbasses and SO's obviously did not get to participate in the beating, it was more of a friendly hazing thing than a beating. A lot of cons get one of those on their last day or during their last week there; although I didn't.
How we do it in Pendleton.
This guy C supposedly brushed up against someone in the shower at Pendleton, brushed some guys dick with his rear end. The way it was described was that "the hot dog was inside the bun." This story was told over and over by the Pendleton Marines, and always saying "wait till he gets here, he won't deny it." When he finally got there the tier went apeshit. They never stopped telling that joke, they would roll up a piece of paper or something and stick it between 2 gumby chairs to re-enact it, they would ask him over and over "how was it again, how did it go again?" He took in stride, he was a cool guy and laughed along with it. Every time there were hot dogs for lunch we went nuts. He would make a big production out of eating his hot dog, half the knuckleheads in there would be re-enacting it with their food; and many cons were sure to get write-ups for disruptive behavior, and the meal was usually cut short by the guards.
Another Pendleton Marine (my boy with the ADD) got sent to seg over whether or not Boston was on the Eastern Seaboard. He said it was, this other guy said it wasn't. We were working in the kitchen, so we went out to a table to eat before we went in to gear up for the meal rush. Security was in the prep area making sure nobody was killing each other with the butcher knives, and making sure only one person went in the bathroom at a time (kitchen was co-ed that day). Just a couple of the cooks were out there with us chilling and talking to each other in Tagalog (a Filipino language).
The Marine was telling us about Boston, mentioned the seaboard thing, and some douchebag at another table pipes up and says its not on the seaboard. So the Marine is like "shut the gently caress up and mind your business" and threw a fry at him. A cook says "hey keep it down." The guy throws a fry back. The Marine is instantly out of his chair and grabs the guys neck, pushes his head down and calls him a cocksucker, then goes back into the kitchen, tells the guy to follow him and takes off his BDU blouse. He just rolls in there all the while saying how he was going to take that metal oar thing and knock him in the head with it. Like I said, no impulse control. The cooks do nothing to stop any of this. Security heard the commotion, gaffled him up and tok him to seg. The other guy got the name Fry-Guy which stuck with him forever, he was teased constantly for not fighting back, he'd come through the line and they'd give him a triple helping of fries, some guys would throw a fry at him if guards weren't looking. He'd just look down.
The Pendleton cons knew they were eventually going back to Pendleton, they didn't have programs to worry about (although they made them go to the programs while they were there), their parole and clemency hearings would be handled by Pendleton, etc. They didn't care if they got a bad rep from the staff at my place, so they were pretty free-spirited in many ways. They were quick to powder bomb, quick to fight, quick to take a towel if someone was in the shower. They played pranks on each other all the time in addition to loving with the dumbasses and SO's.
They had no shame- one guy got his towel snatched while he was in the shower and the snatcher also shut his cell door. Now he can't just sprint to his cell covering his junk with his hands. He has to wait for a guard to open the door. How you get your door popped is you go over to your door and hold the handle, yell out your door # and the guard pushes the button on the panel to pop it and you open it quick before it re-locks. If you are in the half of the tier where the panel isn't you have to be quick cause he's just going to hit the button and forget about it.
We weren't in that half but the guard was over there, so this mf'er just strolls over to his door in his Mk 1 Mod 0 birthday suit and holds his door, yelling his number. The guard comes over to our side saying "OK OK hold your horses I'm on the way- WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OVER HERE?!?!" We went nuts laughing, high-fiving, etc. Way too much fun for being in jail. Helps make up for the other 90% of the time when it's crushing boredom and depression.
He got a write-up for being naked on the tier, especially since he wouldn't say who took the towel, he was like "oh I just forgot it, this is how we do it in Pendleton."
This guy C supposedly brushed up against someone in the shower at Pendleton, brushed some guys dick with his rear end. The way it was described was that "the hot dog was inside the bun." This story was told over and over by the Pendleton Marines, and always saying "wait till he gets here, he won't deny it." When he finally got there the tier went apeshit. They never stopped telling that joke, they would roll up a piece of paper or something and stick it between 2 gumby chairs to re-enact it, they would ask him over and over "how was it again, how did it go again?" He took in stride, he was a cool guy and laughed along with it. Every time there were hot dogs for lunch we went nuts. He would make a big production out of eating his hot dog, half the knuckleheads in there would be re-enacting it with their food; and many cons were sure to get write-ups for disruptive behavior, and the meal was usually cut short by the guards.
Another Pendleton Marine (my boy with the ADD) got sent to seg over whether or not Boston was on the Eastern Seaboard. He said it was, this other guy said it wasn't. We were working in the kitchen, so we went out to a table to eat before we went in to gear up for the meal rush. Security was in the prep area making sure nobody was killing each other with the butcher knives, and making sure only one person went in the bathroom at a time (kitchen was co-ed that day). Just a couple of the cooks were out there with us chilling and talking to each other in Tagalog (a Filipino language).
The Marine was telling us about Boston, mentioned the seaboard thing, and some douchebag at another table pipes up and says its not on the seaboard. So the Marine is like "shut the gently caress up and mind your business" and threw a fry at him. A cook says "hey keep it down." The guy throws a fry back. The Marine is instantly out of his chair and grabs the guys neck, pushes his head down and calls him a cocksucker, then goes back into the kitchen, tells the guy to follow him and takes off his BDU blouse. He just rolls in there all the while saying how he was going to take that metal oar thing and knock him in the head with it. Like I said, no impulse control. The cooks do nothing to stop any of this. Security heard the commotion, gaffled him up and tok him to seg. The other guy got the name Fry-Guy which stuck with him forever, he was teased constantly for not fighting back, he'd come through the line and they'd give him a triple helping of fries, some guys would throw a fry at him if guards weren't looking. He'd just look down.
The Pendleton cons knew they were eventually going back to Pendleton, they didn't have programs to worry about (although they made them go to the programs while they were there), their parole and clemency hearings would be handled by Pendleton, etc. They didn't care if they got a bad rep from the staff at my place, so they were pretty free-spirited in many ways. They were quick to powder bomb, quick to fight, quick to take a towel if someone was in the shower. They played pranks on each other all the time in addition to loving with the dumbasses and SO's.
They had no shame- one guy got his towel snatched while he was in the shower and the snatcher also shut his cell door. Now he can't just sprint to his cell covering his junk with his hands. He has to wait for a guard to open the door. How you get your door popped is you go over to your door and hold the handle, yell out your door # and the guard pushes the button on the panel to pop it and you open it quick before it re-locks. If you are in the half of the tier where the panel isn't you have to be quick cause he's just going to hit the button and forget about it.
We weren't in that half but the guard was over there, so this mf'er just strolls over to his door in his Mk 1 Mod 0 birthday suit and holds his door, yelling his number. The guard comes over to our side saying "OK OK hold your horses I'm on the way- WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OVER HERE?!?!" We went nuts laughing, high-fiving, etc. Way too much fun for being in jail. Helps make up for the other 90% of the time when it's crushing boredom and depression.
He got a write-up for being naked on the tier, especially since he wouldn't say who took the towel, he was like "oh I just forgot it, this is how we do it in Pendleton."
This is Are Country. This is Are Inmate.
One of the worst parts about it was when I transferred to Cali, the 2 guys with me let me fly without chains (although I had to fly in uniform)- this was in November 2001- and people in the airport and plane would try to talk to us about "America standing united" and "support the troops" stuff. It made me feel like the lowest form of life on Earth, seeing the respect that people had for the military and knowing I was a fuckup inmate. I couldn't even look any of those people in the eye, it was horrible and yes, I feel I deserved every bit of it. Like, it's beyond wanting to cry, it's like this total emptiness inside you... there's no way to describe it. That's one part that sticks with me even today. Makes me respect those who've served honorably a lot though, I think even more than I would if I hadn't gotten kicked out.
To go along with that, when the towers went down on 9/11 it was really early in the morning in Hawaii; they woke us up and turned on the TV so we could watch, a couple hours later the OIC (officer in charge) came in and stood us all at attention and was like "You all made mistakes, but before you did that, you stood the watch. Don't ever forget that, you stood the watch, all of you stood the watch!" Which made us feel a little better. Everyone asked if we volunteered to go look for Osama if they would let us out, they laughed at us and locked a couple guys down. They also let anyone who had relatives in NYC use the phone all day (usually you got 2 10-minute phone calls per week, not including calls to/from your lawyer). That was huge, those 10-minute calls were like gold in there, I thought that was awesome they let those guys call as much as they wanted that day. Most of the bullshit died down for a week or so, and they had us do extra chores and upped the discipline for a while to keep our minds off it. There was a big dumb guy who was generally disliked- he snored, did dumb things, and made a big mess when he ate- we stopped hazing him for a while too; since he told everybody he couldn't get ahold of his aunt in NY, some thought he was making it up but whatever.
One of the worst parts about it was when I transferred to Cali, the 2 guys with me let me fly without chains (although I had to fly in uniform)- this was in November 2001- and people in the airport and plane would try to talk to us about "America standing united" and "support the troops" stuff. It made me feel like the lowest form of life on Earth, seeing the respect that people had for the military and knowing I was a fuckup inmate. I couldn't even look any of those people in the eye, it was horrible and yes, I feel I deserved every bit of it. Like, it's beyond wanting to cry, it's like this total emptiness inside you... there's no way to describe it. That's one part that sticks with me even today. Makes me respect those who've served honorably a lot though, I think even more than I would if I hadn't gotten kicked out.
To go along with that, when the towers went down on 9/11 it was really early in the morning in Hawaii; they woke us up and turned on the TV so we could watch, a couple hours later the OIC (officer in charge) came in and stood us all at attention and was like "You all made mistakes, but before you did that, you stood the watch. Don't ever forget that, you stood the watch, all of you stood the watch!" Which made us feel a little better. Everyone asked if we volunteered to go look for Osama if they would let us out, they laughed at us and locked a couple guys down. They also let anyone who had relatives in NYC use the phone all day (usually you got 2 10-minute phone calls per week, not including calls to/from your lawyer). That was huge, those 10-minute calls were like gold in there, I thought that was awesome they let those guys call as much as they wanted that day. Most of the bullshit died down for a week or so, and they had us do extra chores and upped the discipline for a while to keep our minds off it. There was a big dumb guy who was generally disliked- he snored, did dumb things, and made a big mess when he ate- we stopped hazing him for a while too; since he told everybody he couldn't get ahold of his aunt in NY, some thought he was making it up but whatever.
G.I Joe posted:
One more reason I will never join the military. What was the lamest crime you heard of that got someone jail time where you where held?
Probably a Marine in Hawaii that wrote down credit card numbers of other guys in his barracks and use them to make thousands of dollars in phone-sex calls. There were these two guys in Cali, one of them got busted for bringing in illegal aliens and the other was a drug case. They became good friends in there, and both got out at about the same time.
Now, after you get released you're case is usually still on appeal unless you have more than 4 or 5 years; so when you get out you're on "appellate leave." You're out of the military, basically, in that you don't get paid, don't have to cut your hair, etc. and aren't assigned to a unit; but the catch is you're still subject to the UCMJ in the even that civilian law enforcement catches you and finds out you're on appellate leave and decides to turn you over to the military (very unlikely).
What happened with these guys right after they got out was they were still dealing, and one day they went on base (the same base the brig was on) to make a delivery while high as kites. The Marine pulls them over at the gate since they were unshaven and one had dyed his hair a strange color. Right as soon as he pulls them over he can tell they're intoxicated so he detains the guy driving for suspected DUI and searches the car & finds the pills. Right back in the brig these guys go. Both of them had PTA's (pretrial agreements, like a plea bargain); and if you get caught while on appellate leave, the deal is you lose your PTA, so they wound up having to serve the difference between their sentence and their PTA's, 24 months for the one and 3 years for the other in addition to their new possession charge.
They were out for less than a week.
ZekoTheGreat posted:
But do you think that the country(subgroup:army) that locked you up for 4 pills of e, deserves a lot better and that you shouldn't be thinking yourself as a fuckup inmate.
Well, I understand the whole thing that military members need to be held to a higher standard; at the time it was just difficult to deal with in the face of everybody suddenly acting patriotic or whatever. I've pretty much dealt with it all by now, although there are some guys that carry a lot of guilt and/or shame around with them for years because of their convictions. Then again, you have others who are totally remorseless and such; but those guys usually wind up back in prison one way or the other.
E: Going to the mountains for the day, I'll answer more questions when I get back.
First let me point out the obvious. This is an alias account. I bought this account specifically to post this thread for reasons which will soon become clear. As background I'm a regular forums poster, and have been so for a while. So, hopefully it is clear why I am using this account. Once this thread dies down, I'll probably do an autoban or see if the admins will let me give it away to someone.
Second, there are a few forums members who know me in person, and you'll know who I am once you read this. I ask on good faith that you please not reveal my identity. While I'm proud of who I am and the sum of my life, I'd really rather not have to suffer through "HEY PRISON DUDE, LOL BUTTSECKZ" in every subsequent post.
Third, quite a few of you are very good Internet Detectives. All of the names, places, cities, states, and identifying bits of information are changed. There's always the chance that I'll make a mistake or give just enough information for someone to put some puzzle pieces together. I know that I can't and don't control anyone here, and I understand that I am posting this at my own peril, but again, I ask for restraint in revealing my identity. In the event that it should come out, it wont make much of a difference, I'm not ashamed of this, or my past, I just would rather it didn't.
I hope you all understand, and will support me in my attempt to inform others about life behind the wire, answer some questions, and get it off my chest. I've seen some threads here about people who have done some short stretches, mostly in county jails, but never anyone who's done a long stretch in prison, especially at a MAX facility, much less escaped... So I figured I'd contribute.
So lets see. Here's how I went to prison, escaped, got caught, got extradited back, had sex in jail (with a woman, no less!), got married in Jail, rescued a kitten, got out without being rectally violated and got my poo poo back together. Please bear with me - I'm not a very good writer.
It's the early nineties, I'm about twenty-two years old and just moseying through life, not the brightest ever kid, I suppose. Little harmless "growing up" scrapes with the law here and there, nothing to write home about. The internet is just starting to get its legs, crossing over from the FIDOnet/BBS days, and its still more of a lawless digital frontier run by extreme geeks, hobbyhackers, phreaks, and universities.
Long story short, I "come across" some interesting Government owned stuff, and like a dumbshit, I post it to a board, you know, "Hey guys look what I found, what do you think it could be?" type stuff.
Well it turns out it was rather sensitive, and some pretty important people were fairly upset about some kid getting his hands on their private stash and posting it on the internet for all to see. So I'm discovered, stuck on "con air" (an interesting experience in itself), flown to the Federal Transit hub (A big giant jail at an airport, believe it or not), and from there, hauled off to the local county Jail. (I'm omitting lots of details here for my own piece of mind.)
After selling my cars and everything else I own to pay for good lawyers, the Federal conspiracy charges are dropped (I was looking at 65 yrs, which under Federal sentencing guidelines, says I would have done a minimum of 50 on that.) But it turns out the local Judge and DA had taken something of a shine to me. So they slapped me with three counts of "obtaining money or merchandise by false pretenses." - Fair enough I suppose, having by now bounced a couple grand in checks due to this whole fiasco, as well as poor financial management on my own part.
The local DA wants to play hardball because he figures I got off easy with the Federal charges being dropped, and he is trying to make a show for the Governor, who has taken an interest in my case, for some reason - probably because it happened in a pretty military oriented state and the Federal charges were rather serious. So, despite my attorney's best wrangling, the best we can do is a guilty plea in exchange for five years. Wherein I am assured that, if I take this deal, I will be sent to the main processing/intake facility, be evaluated and booked into the state corrections system, and within a month at most, released on an ankle monitor to serve out the remainder of my sentence from home, what with being a harmless non-violent white-collar criminal with no noteworthy similar convictions in my past.
County jail is not a happy place to be. Especially if you know you're going to be doing a stretch of time. It is the slowest, most tedious time of the whole corrections experience. Also, because of the nature of a County Jail, it is the most violent. Because what you have is a combination of guys who are waiting to "pull chain", meaning they've been sentenced to time at a State prison, and are waiting for transit to come and pick them up and take them to the State Intake Facility, and they're eager to prove themselves before they get to a yard, you have the short-timers doing their DUI weekend time, or their 30 days for Domestic or breaking/entering, or battery, who have read one to many Steven King books and think that the first thing they need to do when they get into county is to win a fight with someone, again, to prove themselves, and you have the "local color" - Guys who are in and out of jail so often that they dont really give a poo poo if their stay at County gets stretched out a bit, because it's like a mini vacation from their fat slovenly wives and their truck that doesnt work, etc. And then you get your drunks who, if they put one in your cell, you never know what kind of drunk they're going to be. Oh and then the guys who think that if they cry, scream, kick their doors hard enough the Sheriff will come in and let them go, which only pisses the 'residents' off at them.
And with the turnover rate at County Jails being so quick, there isnt much of a chance to build alliances, find out who to trust, etc. So County is where you're going to see most of the fighting, crying, etc.
Also, in County, they (the system) doesnt know you very well, so you're all treated like hardcore high-risk offenders. So this means you shave twice a week, under direct supervision, your visits are "through the glass", like you see in movies, you have no real "outdoor" time to speak of, the food is horrible, and your canteen options are minimal, at best. Basic necessities only, maybe you can buy some candy if you're lucky.
Most county Jails also dont allow smoking nowadays. But like anything else, tobacco finds its way into the facility. While I'm a smoker, I quickly learned I could forego paying between $2 and $10 in canteen items in trade for a cigarette.
Your day looks like this (Depending on your facility, of course - each is different). Wake up for breakfast at about 7am, get counted eat, go back to bed until about 10am. Wake up. Shower if you're brave. Take care of any business (calls to attorneys, etc). Lunch at about noon, get counted, watch tv in the dayroom, provided nobody's hosed up so far so you're not "locked down" in your cell all day, about 2pm get counted, go "outside" (meaning a fenced-in, razorwired area usually on the roof of the jail) for 30 minutes to an hour, come back, get counted. around 4pm is mail call, when you get to find out who found the time to write you back. Count again, then at 6 is dinner. After that, call your girl if you have one and she can afford the $7.50 collect call, where you get 15 minutes, timed calls, if you're lucky. To use the phone during this time usually requires an hour wait in line. If, after two attempts you cant get trhough to anyone, you go back to the end of the line to wait to try again. 9pm is lockdown for the night. This is when you write desperate letters to old friends, ex girlfriends, etc. Anyone you think might possibly write you back. Even if its to tell you what a fuckoff you were and how much they hate you and never, ever write them again, it's a letter you will read over and over again because its something somebody took the time to put pen to paper to with you in mind. Validation that your whole existance on this Earth hasn't somehow been deleted from everyone's memory.
Each cell has a window. Usually its about one foot by three feet wide. Having no interest in television or cards when the dayroom was open, I would mostly stay in my cell and watch life happen outside the window.
Its funny about county jails. because usually they're in the middle of an urban area. So you sit there in your orange jumpsuit, and look at the world through the glass covered in scratchings of gang names, FTW's, "Sherrif Osbourne is a cocksucker", "James L was here" and horrible jailhouse poetry.
Its interesting to just watch the world happen yet be totally excluded from it.
People going to work, trains going by, cars at intersections. People on sidewalks. I never knew I'd miss just the sound of a shoe on a sidewalk.
Anyway, Like I was saying, I took the plea-bargain. It took about thirty days for me to be picked up to be brought to the State Assessment center. This is where you get medical tests, in-depth health assessments, education testing, psych assessments and interviewed several times by various people. All of this combined with your past incarceration history, etc is used to assess your general fitness and risk, and determines what Prison you're sent to, and at what security level. And they shave your head. Only if this is your first trip through the system, though. This establishes a hirearchy right off the bat. Those with shaved heads (Skinners), those with not (Folks who have done time before and know how it works).
In most states, you're given a level based on security points. The amount of security points (cumulative numbers based on all of your assessment scores and history) indicates what security level you're placed on, and that security level determines what security prison you go to.
The levels are:
Conditional Supervision (AKA Ankle Monitor)
Community/Work Release
Minumum Security: Unfenced facility, weekend passes on good behavior, no "cells" but large rooms with bunkbeds. Full contact visits (non-conjugal - thats Federal only.)
High-minimum security: Fenced facility, usually no weekend passes, no cells, some off-compound work Full contact visits
Medium security: Double fenced with razor wire, some off compound work, Full contact visits for most, others behind glass. Two-man Cells, usually has a counterpart minimum security facility.
High Medium or Low-max securty: Same as above, only the guards have shoot-on-attempt orders. This is where I spent most of my time.
Maximum: Yard time is point to point only. No loitering. Heavy supervision. Shoot-on-attempt. Two-man cells. Contact vistits but no visiting "yard", only a room.
Ultra-Max: If you're here, you're either under long term administrative segregation, or you're on the Row and waiting for your turn to visit the sleepy-sleepy room. Assessment is also Ultra-max, becuase it deals with all incoming inmates.
So I went to the Assessment center. It's a lot like jail, except you spend alot more time in your cell, because, again, you're now convicted and among other convicts, ranging from short timers like myself to killers waiting to go to Ultra-max, so you only get about two hours a day of dayroom time. The food is a little better here, though. Less beans.
In my assessment, because I was a first-time felon, convicted of a white collar crime, with a "short" sentence, with a recommendation from the judge to go directly to Conditional Supervision, that's how I was classified.
I was ready. I'd had enough and I'd learned my lesson. All I had to do was wait for my final W&W check (wants and warrants) and I was free to go begin home-incarceration a'la Martha Stewart, minus the ponies.
The next couple days were spent tossing and turning in my cell, these six months of torture were about to be over. I could taste the outside air.
Well of course the story would end here if everything went the way it was supposed to. But life being what it is, this is only the beginning.
I get called into my case manager's office, and told that I will not, in fact be going home this week. When I heard that, my jaw dropped to the ground and my heart sank like it never had before. My case manager calmly and indifferently explains to me that I have a detainer (ie warrant) pending from some county outside of Dallas, Texas for forgery of a financial instrument.
Now, here's where it gets interesting. I've never been to this county, and only driven through Texas and seen some shows in Deep Ellum. That's it. never wrote a check, certainly never forged one. But alas, there's a detainer on me, so I now have to be fully classified and assigned to a facility while this works itself out. He told me if, in fact, they dont wish to extradite me to Texas and they drop the detainer, I'll be released in mere weeks, but as long as there is anything pending over me, I cannot be released to Conditional Supervision.
So off I go to the other side of the state where I am put in a high-minimum security facility (fenced, see descriptors above). Days turn into weeks turn into months, during which time I re-establish contact with a girl that I'd dated for a few years before all this poo poo began.
We start speaking through mail, and I write letters daily. After some time, she decides to come visit me - wasn't too long after the first visit that she reaches her hand across the table at the visiting yard and is holding my hand.
Gentlemen, let me tell you, when you are confined in a facility consisting of nothing but anger, resentment, stinky men, and all the women that work there are big, fat, round nasty bullish women, the slightest touch from a girl you care about brings all those feelings from your first physical contact with a girl that wasnt your mother leaping back to mind.
Anyway, as beaurocracies go, even just seeing this warrant so I could get cranking on it was taking forever. By the time I lay eyes on the warrant, I had already been in for quite a few months. Finally my case manager calls me in and tells me that it had arrived, and showed me a copy of it. Very simply it stated that they had a detainer on me, and not to release me without notifying them beforehand so they could come pick me up.
However as luck would have it, upon closer inspection of the warrant it was discovered that it did not, in fact, in any way describe me. It called for an individual who's description is 5'7", blue eyed, white FEMALE.
Well you bet your sweet speckled pooper I threw myself into the books at the law library, taught myself how to read legalese, how the processes worked, and most importantly how to file a motion to dismiss.
The key points of my Motion to Dismiss were simply "It will be made plain by an examination of the Defendant, or any records maintained by the state of XXX, That the Defendant could not be the the person described in the detainer. First and foremost, the defendant is Male, having brown eyes, and has never resided at any address in Texas.
"With these facts being true it is asked that the honorable court see fit to dismiss the pending warrant for Forgery of a Financial Instrument, on case no XXX, on the grounds that the Defendant named in the warrant is not who is physically described, and therefore cannot be detained as such."
So this was prompltly sent off to Texas and meanwhile I occupied myself with visits from my girl on a near weekly basis, got involved in the prison band program (They had a pretty decent little setup, for a prison yard. Everything was old and off-brand, but it worked!) and we would rock out 3 times a week. Also my dedication to my own cause and research caught the eye of the Administrator of the Law Library, and offered me a job as a Law Clerk, or Leagal Research Assistant.
Up til now, my job had been "evening orderly" in my dorm, which as you can imagine sucked rear end. Cleaning toilets and showers, sweeping, mopping a dorm the size of a small airplane hangar, etc.,etc. So not only did I have my case in my own hands, I now had a ticket to eight hours a day locked in the law library to study law, the cases of others, help myself and help other people too. Everybody has to have a job, I was lucky to not have ended up in the kitchen, which is where 99% of inmates end up when they first roll in.
Plus, being a law clerk is one of the most lucrative jobs on a prison yard. Not only do you have the second-highest inmate paygrade ($60.00/month), but also, since you're now helping other inmates out, you are often given "incentives" in the form of cartons of cigarettes, canteen items, etc., in order to go above and beyond your duties for them.
Your basic responsibilities as a law clerk are to ensure that an inmates right to legal resources is protected, and to help them navigate the maze that is criminal law.
For instance if a guy came in wanting to write a motion to dismiss, like mine above, all my job entailed was to show him how to research caselaw and where the book was that contained templates for brief writing, and provide tips and information as needed.
Now if that inmate was too flustered or illiterate to do it for himself, this became a matter of incentive. He could easily have his case moved to the top of my file and his brief done the very next day for a carton of generic cigarretes and six cans of pop.
If a guy wanted me to do his whole appeal to the circuit court, (research, writing, filing, etc), why then we're talking literally, hundereds of dollars. Habeas Corpus and Mandamus ran about three hundred bucks in canteen items, easily.
And just like real lawyers, the better your reputation, the more you charged. So I was on the bottom rung, doing $20/$30 jobs here and there and helping the Big Time law clerks with their stuff for a cut, (And for the experience, too!) but loving the hell out of it.
Morally there's no conflict, despite it being against facility policy to barter, but all of the law clerks would happily provide any service required by law, for free. It was when you wanted us to do things you are supposed to do for yourself that 'money' became involved.
Time passes and The Girl and I are becoming closer and closer, rekindling our old relationship, and I work my rear end of, absorbing as much information in the law library as possible to become Certified, waiting for Texas' response to my Motion to Dismiss, rocking out with my Prison Band, covering such ditties as Santa Monica by Everclear, Purple by Stone Temple Pilots, etc. At night I'd write letters to my Girl, and listen to the radio until the noise had settled to where I could fall asleep and dream about going home.
Minimum security is pretty "easy time" as far as prison goes. Just be where you need to be, dont get into debt with other inmates, and do your time. It is also very frusturating. As months passed, I would see child molesters come in and be released on Conditional Supervision in less than three months, yet here I sat on a bounced check and a warrant, watching truly Awful people be released back into society.
A note about the child molesters: Minimum security consists of a lot of people who are very close to going home - So even the child molesters are left pretty much, um, unmolested (for lack of a better term). Nobody wants to lose their good time or get more points with a writeup for battery when they're so close. Sickening, really, but understandable.
Finally, FINALLY, the day comes where I find a note on my bunk. I open it and see that it is from the state of Texas. I am competeley terrified to read this. This one paper is the difference between my staying and my going home.
"To the Warden of XXX facility, State of XXXX, and All Concerned Parties" My Name, Case Number, Detainer number, County, etc. Then a very short and curt: "Please release our detainer on the above inmate. A dismissal has been filed in XXX County, TX for the above referenced case. Thank you."
I was home free!
Instantly I run to my case managers office.
:Video Montage of the next six months:
* Sign papers for release on Conditional Supervision, sent to governor's office for signature
* Home verification happens (where they verify I have a home to be released to)
* Papers for release sent back, as they still mention the Texas Detainer and must be redrawn
* Papers re-drawn and re-sent
* Wait 2 months
* Governor's office reports Paperwork lost
* Resent, again
* Sent to low-Minimum (Unfenced) Level Facility while awaiting signature
* Wait two-months
* No signature, paperwork is lost, Again
* An violent-offense inmate slips through the cracks, is released to Conditional Supervision. Proceeds directly to ex girlfriend's house, shoots and kills Girlfriend, Mother, Self.
* Press fiasco ensues.
* Conditional Supervision program suspended indefinitely by Governor.
Right about now we're about 1 year, three months into what should have been a six-month ordeal at most.
Yeah, thats right - As soon as I was going to get out on Conditional Supervision, they suspended the program. The kicker was EVERY INMATE WHOS PAPERWORK WAS SIGNED BY THE GOVERNOR BEFORE SUSPENSION WAS STILL GOING TO GET TO GO HOME.
And here I was, excluded because the stupid governors office "lost" my paperwork not once but TWICE.
My Girl, by now very eager to get me home so I would stop dryhumping her on the visiting yard, deluged the Governors office to make an exception in my case, as it was their fault my paperwork hadn't been signed before the suspension. She made calls, wrote letters, made appointments, was on a first name basis with the Governor's assistant and the Deputy Director of the Corrections Department.
They would not budge. Rules are rules. "As part of our core mission we would be remiss if we were to bend rules for an inmate. We are concerned about the message that would deliver." said one particulary smug response.
So here I was, to serve out the remainder of my sentence because some shitfuck other than me went and killed some people. And because the Governor's office lost my paperwork not once, but TWICE.
Didn't they realize this was a human being they were dealing with? Somebody with a future? Somebody who had never committed a violent act nor an act against a child or a minor, but had to sit here and watch these people come and go?
This simply would not DO.
Second, there are a few forums members who know me in person, and you'll know who I am once you read this. I ask on good faith that you please not reveal my identity. While I'm proud of who I am and the sum of my life, I'd really rather not have to suffer through "HEY PRISON DUDE, LOL BUTTSECKZ" in every subsequent post.
Third, quite a few of you are very good Internet Detectives. All of the names, places, cities, states, and identifying bits of information are changed. There's always the chance that I'll make a mistake or give just enough information for someone to put some puzzle pieces together. I know that I can't and don't control anyone here, and I understand that I am posting this at my own peril, but again, I ask for restraint in revealing my identity. In the event that it should come out, it wont make much of a difference, I'm not ashamed of this, or my past, I just would rather it didn't.
I hope you all understand, and will support me in my attempt to inform others about life behind the wire, answer some questions, and get it off my chest. I've seen some threads here about people who have done some short stretches, mostly in county jails, but never anyone who's done a long stretch in prison, especially at a MAX facility, much less escaped... So I figured I'd contribute.
So lets see. Here's how I went to prison, escaped, got caught, got extradited back, had sex in jail (with a woman, no less!), got married in Jail, rescued a kitten, got out without being rectally violated and got my poo poo back together. Please bear with me - I'm not a very good writer.
It's the early nineties, I'm about twenty-two years old and just moseying through life, not the brightest ever kid, I suppose. Little harmless "growing up" scrapes with the law here and there, nothing to write home about. The internet is just starting to get its legs, crossing over from the FIDOnet/BBS days, and its still more of a lawless digital frontier run by extreme geeks, hobbyhackers, phreaks, and universities.
Long story short, I "come across" some interesting Government owned stuff, and like a dumbshit, I post it to a board, you know, "Hey guys look what I found, what do you think it could be?" type stuff.
Well it turns out it was rather sensitive, and some pretty important people were fairly upset about some kid getting his hands on their private stash and posting it on the internet for all to see. So I'm discovered, stuck on "con air" (an interesting experience in itself), flown to the Federal Transit hub (A big giant jail at an airport, believe it or not), and from there, hauled off to the local county Jail. (I'm omitting lots of details here for my own piece of mind.)
After selling my cars and everything else I own to pay for good lawyers, the Federal conspiracy charges are dropped (I was looking at 65 yrs, which under Federal sentencing guidelines, says I would have done a minimum of 50 on that.) But it turns out the local Judge and DA had taken something of a shine to me. So they slapped me with three counts of "obtaining money or merchandise by false pretenses." - Fair enough I suppose, having by now bounced a couple grand in checks due to this whole fiasco, as well as poor financial management on my own part.
The local DA wants to play hardball because he figures I got off easy with the Federal charges being dropped, and he is trying to make a show for the Governor, who has taken an interest in my case, for some reason - probably because it happened in a pretty military oriented state and the Federal charges were rather serious. So, despite my attorney's best wrangling, the best we can do is a guilty plea in exchange for five years. Wherein I am assured that, if I take this deal, I will be sent to the main processing/intake facility, be evaluated and booked into the state corrections system, and within a month at most, released on an ankle monitor to serve out the remainder of my sentence from home, what with being a harmless non-violent white-collar criminal with no noteworthy similar convictions in my past.
County jail is not a happy place to be. Especially if you know you're going to be doing a stretch of time. It is the slowest, most tedious time of the whole corrections experience. Also, because of the nature of a County Jail, it is the most violent. Because what you have is a combination of guys who are waiting to "pull chain", meaning they've been sentenced to time at a State prison, and are waiting for transit to come and pick them up and take them to the State Intake Facility, and they're eager to prove themselves before they get to a yard, you have the short-timers doing their DUI weekend time, or their 30 days for Domestic or breaking/entering, or battery, who have read one to many Steven King books and think that the first thing they need to do when they get into county is to win a fight with someone, again, to prove themselves, and you have the "local color" - Guys who are in and out of jail so often that they dont really give a poo poo if their stay at County gets stretched out a bit, because it's like a mini vacation from their fat slovenly wives and their truck that doesnt work, etc. And then you get your drunks who, if they put one in your cell, you never know what kind of drunk they're going to be. Oh and then the guys who think that if they cry, scream, kick their doors hard enough the Sheriff will come in and let them go, which only pisses the 'residents' off at them.
And with the turnover rate at County Jails being so quick, there isnt much of a chance to build alliances, find out who to trust, etc. So County is where you're going to see most of the fighting, crying, etc.
Also, in County, they (the system) doesnt know you very well, so you're all treated like hardcore high-risk offenders. So this means you shave twice a week, under direct supervision, your visits are "through the glass", like you see in movies, you have no real "outdoor" time to speak of, the food is horrible, and your canteen options are minimal, at best. Basic necessities only, maybe you can buy some candy if you're lucky.
Most county Jails also dont allow smoking nowadays. But like anything else, tobacco finds its way into the facility. While I'm a smoker, I quickly learned I could forego paying between $2 and $10 in canteen items in trade for a cigarette.
Your day looks like this (Depending on your facility, of course - each is different). Wake up for breakfast at about 7am, get counted eat, go back to bed until about 10am. Wake up. Shower if you're brave. Take care of any business (calls to attorneys, etc). Lunch at about noon, get counted, watch tv in the dayroom, provided nobody's hosed up so far so you're not "locked down" in your cell all day, about 2pm get counted, go "outside" (meaning a fenced-in, razorwired area usually on the roof of the jail) for 30 minutes to an hour, come back, get counted. around 4pm is mail call, when you get to find out who found the time to write you back. Count again, then at 6 is dinner. After that, call your girl if you have one and she can afford the $7.50 collect call, where you get 15 minutes, timed calls, if you're lucky. To use the phone during this time usually requires an hour wait in line. If, after two attempts you cant get trhough to anyone, you go back to the end of the line to wait to try again. 9pm is lockdown for the night. This is when you write desperate letters to old friends, ex girlfriends, etc. Anyone you think might possibly write you back. Even if its to tell you what a fuckoff you were and how much they hate you and never, ever write them again, it's a letter you will read over and over again because its something somebody took the time to put pen to paper to with you in mind. Validation that your whole existance on this Earth hasn't somehow been deleted from everyone's memory.
Each cell has a window. Usually its about one foot by three feet wide. Having no interest in television or cards when the dayroom was open, I would mostly stay in my cell and watch life happen outside the window.
Its funny about county jails. because usually they're in the middle of an urban area. So you sit there in your orange jumpsuit, and look at the world through the glass covered in scratchings of gang names, FTW's, "Sherrif Osbourne is a cocksucker", "James L was here" and horrible jailhouse poetry.
Its interesting to just watch the world happen yet be totally excluded from it.
People going to work, trains going by, cars at intersections. People on sidewalks. I never knew I'd miss just the sound of a shoe on a sidewalk.
Anyway, Like I was saying, I took the plea-bargain. It took about thirty days for me to be picked up to be brought to the State Assessment center. This is where you get medical tests, in-depth health assessments, education testing, psych assessments and interviewed several times by various people. All of this combined with your past incarceration history, etc is used to assess your general fitness and risk, and determines what Prison you're sent to, and at what security level. And they shave your head. Only if this is your first trip through the system, though. This establishes a hirearchy right off the bat. Those with shaved heads (Skinners), those with not (Folks who have done time before and know how it works).
In most states, you're given a level based on security points. The amount of security points (cumulative numbers based on all of your assessment scores and history) indicates what security level you're placed on, and that security level determines what security prison you go to.
The levels are:
Conditional Supervision (AKA Ankle Monitor)
Community/Work Release
Minumum Security: Unfenced facility, weekend passes on good behavior, no "cells" but large rooms with bunkbeds. Full contact visits (non-conjugal - thats Federal only.)
High-minimum security: Fenced facility, usually no weekend passes, no cells, some off-compound work Full contact visits
Medium security: Double fenced with razor wire, some off compound work, Full contact visits for most, others behind glass. Two-man Cells, usually has a counterpart minimum security facility.
High Medium or Low-max securty: Same as above, only the guards have shoot-on-attempt orders. This is where I spent most of my time.
Maximum: Yard time is point to point only. No loitering. Heavy supervision. Shoot-on-attempt. Two-man cells. Contact vistits but no visiting "yard", only a room.
Ultra-Max: If you're here, you're either under long term administrative segregation, or you're on the Row and waiting for your turn to visit the sleepy-sleepy room. Assessment is also Ultra-max, becuase it deals with all incoming inmates.
So I went to the Assessment center. It's a lot like jail, except you spend alot more time in your cell, because, again, you're now convicted and among other convicts, ranging from short timers like myself to killers waiting to go to Ultra-max, so you only get about two hours a day of dayroom time. The food is a little better here, though. Less beans.
In my assessment, because I was a first-time felon, convicted of a white collar crime, with a "short" sentence, with a recommendation from the judge to go directly to Conditional Supervision, that's how I was classified.
I was ready. I'd had enough and I'd learned my lesson. All I had to do was wait for my final W&W check (wants and warrants) and I was free to go begin home-incarceration a'la Martha Stewart, minus the ponies.
The next couple days were spent tossing and turning in my cell, these six months of torture were about to be over. I could taste the outside air.
Well of course the story would end here if everything went the way it was supposed to. But life being what it is, this is only the beginning.
I get called into my case manager's office, and told that I will not, in fact be going home this week. When I heard that, my jaw dropped to the ground and my heart sank like it never had before. My case manager calmly and indifferently explains to me that I have a detainer (ie warrant) pending from some county outside of Dallas, Texas for forgery of a financial instrument.
Now, here's where it gets interesting. I've never been to this county, and only driven through Texas and seen some shows in Deep Ellum. That's it. never wrote a check, certainly never forged one. But alas, there's a detainer on me, so I now have to be fully classified and assigned to a facility while this works itself out. He told me if, in fact, they dont wish to extradite me to Texas and they drop the detainer, I'll be released in mere weeks, but as long as there is anything pending over me, I cannot be released to Conditional Supervision.
So off I go to the other side of the state where I am put in a high-minimum security facility (fenced, see descriptors above). Days turn into weeks turn into months, during which time I re-establish contact with a girl that I'd dated for a few years before all this poo poo began.
We start speaking through mail, and I write letters daily. After some time, she decides to come visit me - wasn't too long after the first visit that she reaches her hand across the table at the visiting yard and is holding my hand.
Gentlemen, let me tell you, when you are confined in a facility consisting of nothing but anger, resentment, stinky men, and all the women that work there are big, fat, round nasty bullish women, the slightest touch from a girl you care about brings all those feelings from your first physical contact with a girl that wasnt your mother leaping back to mind.
Anyway, as beaurocracies go, even just seeing this warrant so I could get cranking on it was taking forever. By the time I lay eyes on the warrant, I had already been in for quite a few months. Finally my case manager calls me in and tells me that it had arrived, and showed me a copy of it. Very simply it stated that they had a detainer on me, and not to release me without notifying them beforehand so they could come pick me up.
However as luck would have it, upon closer inspection of the warrant it was discovered that it did not, in fact, in any way describe me. It called for an individual who's description is 5'7", blue eyed, white FEMALE.
Well you bet your sweet speckled pooper I threw myself into the books at the law library, taught myself how to read legalese, how the processes worked, and most importantly how to file a motion to dismiss.
The key points of my Motion to Dismiss were simply "It will be made plain by an examination of the Defendant, or any records maintained by the state of XXX, That the Defendant could not be the the person described in the detainer. First and foremost, the defendant is Male, having brown eyes, and has never resided at any address in Texas.
"With these facts being true it is asked that the honorable court see fit to dismiss the pending warrant for Forgery of a Financial Instrument, on case no XXX, on the grounds that the Defendant named in the warrant is not who is physically described, and therefore cannot be detained as such."
So this was prompltly sent off to Texas and meanwhile I occupied myself with visits from my girl on a near weekly basis, got involved in the prison band program (They had a pretty decent little setup, for a prison yard. Everything was old and off-brand, but it worked!) and we would rock out 3 times a week. Also my dedication to my own cause and research caught the eye of the Administrator of the Law Library, and offered me a job as a Law Clerk, or Leagal Research Assistant.
Up til now, my job had been "evening orderly" in my dorm, which as you can imagine sucked rear end. Cleaning toilets and showers, sweeping, mopping a dorm the size of a small airplane hangar, etc.,etc. So not only did I have my case in my own hands, I now had a ticket to eight hours a day locked in the law library to study law, the cases of others, help myself and help other people too. Everybody has to have a job, I was lucky to not have ended up in the kitchen, which is where 99% of inmates end up when they first roll in.
Plus, being a law clerk is one of the most lucrative jobs on a prison yard. Not only do you have the second-highest inmate paygrade ($60.00/month), but also, since you're now helping other inmates out, you are often given "incentives" in the form of cartons of cigarettes, canteen items, etc., in order to go above and beyond your duties for them.
Your basic responsibilities as a law clerk are to ensure that an inmates right to legal resources is protected, and to help them navigate the maze that is criminal law.
For instance if a guy came in wanting to write a motion to dismiss, like mine above, all my job entailed was to show him how to research caselaw and where the book was that contained templates for brief writing, and provide tips and information as needed.
Now if that inmate was too flustered or illiterate to do it for himself, this became a matter of incentive. He could easily have his case moved to the top of my file and his brief done the very next day for a carton of generic cigarretes and six cans of pop.
If a guy wanted me to do his whole appeal to the circuit court, (research, writing, filing, etc), why then we're talking literally, hundereds of dollars. Habeas Corpus and Mandamus ran about three hundred bucks in canteen items, easily.
And just like real lawyers, the better your reputation, the more you charged. So I was on the bottom rung, doing $20/$30 jobs here and there and helping the Big Time law clerks with their stuff for a cut, (And for the experience, too!) but loving the hell out of it.
Morally there's no conflict, despite it being against facility policy to barter, but all of the law clerks would happily provide any service required by law, for free. It was when you wanted us to do things you are supposed to do for yourself that 'money' became involved.
Time passes and The Girl and I are becoming closer and closer, rekindling our old relationship, and I work my rear end of, absorbing as much information in the law library as possible to become Certified, waiting for Texas' response to my Motion to Dismiss, rocking out with my Prison Band, covering such ditties as Santa Monica by Everclear, Purple by Stone Temple Pilots, etc. At night I'd write letters to my Girl, and listen to the radio until the noise had settled to where I could fall asleep and dream about going home.
Minimum security is pretty "easy time" as far as prison goes. Just be where you need to be, dont get into debt with other inmates, and do your time. It is also very frusturating. As months passed, I would see child molesters come in and be released on Conditional Supervision in less than three months, yet here I sat on a bounced check and a warrant, watching truly Awful people be released back into society.
A note about the child molesters: Minimum security consists of a lot of people who are very close to going home - So even the child molesters are left pretty much, um, unmolested (for lack of a better term). Nobody wants to lose their good time or get more points with a writeup for battery when they're so close. Sickening, really, but understandable.
Finally, FINALLY, the day comes where I find a note on my bunk. I open it and see that it is from the state of Texas. I am competeley terrified to read this. This one paper is the difference between my staying and my going home.
"To the Warden of XXX facility, State of XXXX, and All Concerned Parties" My Name, Case Number, Detainer number, County, etc. Then a very short and curt: "Please release our detainer on the above inmate. A dismissal has been filed in XXX County, TX for the above referenced case. Thank you."
I was home free!
Instantly I run to my case managers office.
:Video Montage of the next six months:
* Sign papers for release on Conditional Supervision, sent to governor's office for signature
* Home verification happens (where they verify I have a home to be released to)
* Papers for release sent back, as they still mention the Texas Detainer and must be redrawn
* Papers re-drawn and re-sent
* Wait 2 months
* Governor's office reports Paperwork lost
* Resent, again
* Sent to low-Minimum (Unfenced) Level Facility while awaiting signature
* Wait two-months
* No signature, paperwork is lost, Again
* An violent-offense inmate slips through the cracks, is released to Conditional Supervision. Proceeds directly to ex girlfriend's house, shoots and kills Girlfriend, Mother, Self.
* Press fiasco ensues.
* Conditional Supervision program suspended indefinitely by Governor.
Right about now we're about 1 year, three months into what should have been a six-month ordeal at most.
Yeah, thats right - As soon as I was going to get out on Conditional Supervision, they suspended the program. The kicker was EVERY INMATE WHOS PAPERWORK WAS SIGNED BY THE GOVERNOR BEFORE SUSPENSION WAS STILL GOING TO GET TO GO HOME.
And here I was, excluded because the stupid governors office "lost" my paperwork not once but TWICE.
My Girl, by now very eager to get me home so I would stop dryhumping her on the visiting yard, deluged the Governors office to make an exception in my case, as it was their fault my paperwork hadn't been signed before the suspension. She made calls, wrote letters, made appointments, was on a first name basis with the Governor's assistant and the Deputy Director of the Corrections Department.
They would not budge. Rules are rules. "As part of our core mission we would be remiss if we were to bend rules for an inmate. We are concerned about the message that would deliver." said one particulary smug response.
So here I was, to serve out the remainder of my sentence because some shitfuck other than me went and killed some people. And because the Governor's office lost my paperwork not once, but TWICE.
Didn't they realize this was a human being they were dealing with? Somebody with a future? Somebody who had never committed a violent act nor an act against a child or a minor, but had to sit here and watch these people come and go?
This simply would not DO.
Plans were made on the visiting yard over the next few weeks. I'd show them, oh yes I would.
After paying several of my inmate friends large amounts of money to assist and maintain secrecy, one day a ball went behind a backboard, my papers and important items were shoved under some bushes, and so was I. I leapt into the trunk of my Girl's waiting car, closed it above me, and she drove. And drove, and drove.
We couldn't go back to her place, really, so I got on a bus and high-tailed it to my brother's house in another state, where I stayed until she could tidy things up and move inconspicuously to a town out west.
My brother describes it as the most surreal moment in his life. He's at home, minding his business when he gets a call. "Hey, its me." "HEY! you're out of prison? Where are you?" "Oh, downtown XXXXX, I need you to come pick me up", "When did they let you out?" "Oh, they didnt let me out." "Then how... OH MY GOD, I'LL BE RIGHT THERE".
My brother was a saint taking care of me for the next few weeks while we awaited my girl's arrival. When she showed up she stayed for a couple days and we relaxed, put our minds together, and got on the next Greyhound out west.
When we arrived at our desination we immediately set about getting poo poo together. We both got jobs - She at a camera store, and I used my previous retail management experience to land a full time job as a manager in training for a chain music store. I got a second job as well, at a resale shop, sort of an upscale salvation army - Rich people would donate their clothes, computers, toys, etc, and we'd resell them to generate funds for a battered womens' shelter.
This resale place was right around the corner from that place's county jail. So we were dealing with lawyers, deputies, jail employees, judges coming in and browsing during their lunch breaks. I couldn't help but bask in the surrealness of looking people who would be my future captors in the eye knowing I was an escaped convict.
I made pretty good friends with some, even went out to coffee on the corner with some deputies and shot the poo poo.
This all went on for months, both of us working our lil' tails off, me doing 70+ hours a week. I didnt know how it would end but I knew it couldnt go on forever. My intent wasn't to evade capture forever. My intent was to PROVE to them what I was capable of. And yeah, life was pretty good - A decent roof over our heads, thanks to some caring souls, money in our pockets, regular sex, decent food, etc.
One morning we were walking from our place to catch the bus for work, standing there just talking about mundane life-things, when out of all directions comes a poo poo-load of city cops, about five federal agents, and a god damned tv news crew, guns and cameras pointed, shouting different things all at the same time.
Jesus christ they had GUNS pointed at my girl. The only thing I could think to do was drop all my stuff, show my hands and step in front of her, in case one was trigger happy. She didn't deserve to get shot for being a supportive, caring girlfriend.
So they dropped me and cuffed me. One of the cops knew me from the resale store. "I would have never guessed in a million years", he said - he was good enough to fish my keys out of my pocket and give them to my girl. She, poor thing, in tears, went at my instruction to my store, called my manager, and, bless her heart, OPENED the store with my manager on the phone, until she could get there.
This is the real weepy and like tragic part of the story beginning. O my brothers and only friends.
Well sort of, anyway.
So into the county jail of THAT state I went to. But I wasn't without allies!
I was placed into the "pod" with high-profile offenders. If you'd been on the news or had a high-profile case in any way, you went into this pod. So here we had a seventeen year old parental muderer, a multimillion dollar embezzler, a couple other hackers, etc. Interesting to say the least. My cell had a great view of the corner, some many stories below, as well as the river.
My girl would come and stand on the corner, and tie large flowers to the lamp post every day. and wave. She could see my cell by counting windows up and over. She could only see me backlit and we would do puppet shows for an hour or so at each other. Pantomiming drawing hearts in the air.
She'd come visit me, through the glass again, sadly - but if I was REALLY good, I'd get a panty shot or two to keep my mind occupied during the week.
Having lost more than half of our income, she had to move to a hostel, but her work was kind enough, after hearing our story to allow me two collect calls during the week, on them.
Meanwhile, turns out my case manager was one of my regular customers and borderline friends from the resale shop! I fought extradition, she even wrote letters to the governor of BOTH states (the one I was in and the one I'd escaped from), asking them not to extradite me, as I was a fully rehabilitated upright citizen, and no further incarceration was necessary.
All this support from my "host" state really lit a fire under the governor of my escaped state and they accellerated my extradition hearing - which I of course, lost.
So I was extradited back to the state from who's loving arms I'd escaped from. Since my neither the original crime nor my new charge (Escape from a State Correctional Facility) were not Federal, I didn't get to go Con Air. They stuck me in a van which drove all around the country. But i didn't go directly to my Home state. it took TWELVE days of driving through states all over the place to get me back. TWELVE DAYS in a van with full shackles on. Handcuffs with the immobilizer, Leg irons, and a chain that connected the two.
The county wherein the facility was located that I escaped from was a verrrrry small county. Wich meant they had a verrrry small jail. Pretty much a mom and pop operation. I had to stay in jail to face the new charges and couldn't go back to a yard until that matter had been settled.
Funnily enough I earned myself the position of "trustee", having experience in legal matters, I was a needed resource - So eventually I got to be outside of my cell, helping other inmates with their things, and doing other chores, like laundry,etc.
Again, like I said, this was a tiny little jail - so I knew everyone from the sheriff on down to the dispatchers in no time. Before long I had free reign of the place, and hardly ever had to go back to my cell, only to sleep.
I was also still rather handy with computers, and through doing some big favors with their system, I slowly earned priveledges. Within a couple of months my cellmate and I had in our cell WITH PERMISSION from the jail staff: Carpet. Pictures. A laptop computer. A large color television. Real blankets. Tools. tapes and CD's, handheld video games. A microwave and our own food. Weekly trips to the local market to buy said food. You name it - And we could call anywhere we wanted provided we had a calling card, and we could wear street clothes, provided our shirts were stencled with "XXX County Jail Inmate" on the back, which we did ourselves.
So my Girl and I decided to stick this out - and we also decided to get married and make it official. So we registered with the county clerk in the same building, got our blood tests, and got hitched, in the recieving area of the jail with the Jailer and a Deputy as our witnesses (She (The jailer) was in tears as we said our vows).
Of course, what good is a wedding w/out consummation, right? Remember I had free movement until 2300. So one night when I was supposed to be cleaning out the courthouse side of the building I snuck my Wife in through a side-door, and we scurried up some stairs, into the court records office and into a closet. So, yeah. We honeymooned in a courthouse closet.
This was to become a regular occourance while waiting for my trial to come up. it was funny making appearances for motions in court, standing near a closet I'd hosed in the night before.
Never hosed on the judges bench though - I wanted to, but they lock that specific part with another key.
By the time it came for my sentencing hearing on my escape - which carried typically five to seven years ADDITIONALLY, I had a two page letter from the Jailer on sherrif's department stationery, stating how they'd never seen an inmate so determined to get his life on track, etc etc, and to please go lightly, and it was signed by about fifteen members of the jail staff.
The judge was amazed that I was working while escaped, and asked me why I did what I did, and I told him, to show that I could be a productive member of society.
So he said "I've never said this before, but I wish I could get away with dropping this. But I can't, so I'm going to fine you court costs and give you two years' concurrent to your remaining three on your original sentence".
What this meant is that it would run along with my remaining sentence. Essentially he sentenced me to NOTHING, except a fine.
So back through the assesment part again, head shaved again. Poked, prodded again.
This time I was assessed at Maximum Security.
Not only that but I was going to a particularly notorious yard. Rumored to be the "hardest" yard in this entire section of the country. There were pretty regular killings, and a riot some ten years before burned down over a third of the prison. Hostages were taken. Inmates were killed.
I almost peed myself when they told me what yard I was going to. I was going to get assraped and murdered. I was sure of it.
I later learned that the Governors office had an indirect hand in this.
So off I went to Maximum security.
When you arrive at the facility you get off a bus, and go through the main reception office where your identity is confirmed, your property box is taken, you're unshackled and officially booked into the facility. Then you do "the walk".
"The walk" is when your group, usually about 20 or thirty skinners are walked through the middle of the yard toward the orientation dorm. All the inmates line up on either side of the sidewalk on the way and stare you down, to put the fear of god into you. One inmate with a missing loving ear asked me, as we were walking "HEY! You play baseball?" "OH MY GOD NO, I DON'T PITCH OR CATCH OKAY gently caress YOU".
Razorwire. Oh god was there ever fences, coils of shiny razorwire, on top, then a loving PILE of razorwire on the ground, then an outer fence with razorwire and barbed wire on top of all that.
Gun towers. Yep. 40 foot high towers with men with guns pointed at you in them.
Rapists. Killers. Murderers. people serving life sentences without parole.
People who were seventy years old who had been in since they were fifteen.
This was the Real loving Deal, Bubba.
I took about a week to settle in in the orientation dorm. It was built in the early twentieth century, and looked like it. It used to house Germans during world war two while they were "relocated" during the war. (Up to that point I thought they'd only done that with the Japanese). There were places you could still see German words scratched into the walls back behind the Charlie's office.
After a week in the kitchen I was assigned to the Law Library once I proved my worth to the Boss. From there I started working some cases.
The trick to being a skinny whiteboy in the pokey and not being raped is this: Become a law clerk. Then, get the cases of someone in the Black faction and someone in the white faction. Therefore, nothing will happen to you during this time. This way they won't surprise sex you because you're working on one of their cases and if you catch out, nobody will. This gives you time to prove yourself on the yard, but do it without rectal penetration.
Use this "grace" period to buddy up with someone of your own race. (You have to - this isn't a racist statement - its the way things work behind the wire). Preferrably someone who weilds power on the yard. In this case, my saviour was Lefty.
Remember that guy who asked if I played baseball? Turns out he was sincerely curious if I played baseball, the game. They were building teams since spring was upon us. His name was Lefty. "'cause I only have one ear left," said he.
Well I didnt play baseball, but gently caress was lefty ever smart. And he saw pretty much instantly that I was no dumbass myself. We'd talk philosophy, music, etc. His story was simple, and later I'd confirm it was absolutely true.
He was seventeen, and somebody sold his sister some bad poo poo. It killed her. He killed the person that sold her the poo poo. He was sentenced to death. In the '70s the death penalty was overturned for a brief while, so his sentence was commuted to life w/out parole. Later they reinstated the death penalty, but the law prevents anyone from being put back "on" a death sentence.
So here he was, forty-something, I guess. And one of the kindest, smartest, wizest people I've ever met. If there's anyone that deserves to be out in the free world it is that man.
He took me under his wing, and introduced me to the guys. A mix of Aryan brotherhood and lifers. These were the people that ran the yard. And they all liked/respected me. I was safe.
Everywhere I went one of them always had an eye on me. If I was out walking the track, one of them on the hill playing dominoes was watching. As long as I was here, nothing bad would happen to me.
Let it be said here, though. Prison is prison. You have to handle your poo poo. So when a black guy tried cutting in the lunchline, you have to speak up or be shamed. So we were set to fight.
The way prison fights work is like this: everyone gathers out in the domino hut (a little covered place with benches, outside by the band room). Blacks behind their guy, whites behind theirs. What this is for is to ensure a fair fight. the rule is, when a man goes down, the fights over. No weapons, no bullshit.
The "groups" of people are there to ensure that. If the fight gets dirty, your guys jump in. This is often how people get killed. You're not armed, but the men behind you sure as gently caress are.
Well I lost. I was the man that went down. Busted a tooth and my lip. "You know what though," said lefty - "You fought, you took your hits, and you went down. This is over - thats all there is to it. Had you run away or hid or tried to get one of us to settle your poo poo for you, it'd have been a different story and you'd be on your own."
This is one of the many lessons I took with me. You may lose, but standing your ground and stepping up for yourself is what matters.
A year passes.
In this time I get really situated in the Law Library, gaining my certification, litigating like a motherfucker. I win cases, get inmates out of prison who had been fighting for years, I even have a few cases that are now caselaw in p2d, with regard to Double Jeopardy as it relates to administrative punishment. My wife visits every weekend, I join the band - actually join several, as there's a shortage of drummers on the yard. I'm in the rock band, the blues band and the OTHER Rock band. I eventually take over band room maintenance, too.
Larry was the singer and guitar player for the blues band. He had been in for most of his life - he was almost 70. But that motherfucker could sing like no other. I'd have been proud to take that band out and play "real" shows, we were that good, particularly him. Lefty was in the rock band. He was a great guitarist and had an outstanding work ethic. Nate was someones punk, but still a good bass player.
I've got money coming in from law clerkin', my lockers are all chock full of goodies, I'm getting letters from inmates on other yards for help with their cases via my reputation. (the letters are removed and destroyed, as inter-facility communications are forbidden), and I've "settled" into accepting this is my fate for a couple years.
My cellmates range from good to horrible. Jason was in for murder, he was stinky and messy. Ron was the leader of the AB, he was in a wheelchair from being stabbed to much. Chris was the Second in command of the AB, he ran dope, but he was my favorite cellmate, he had good porn, and was also pretty bright.
Inevitably one of you will ask for some gross stuff I saw.
Heres the story of a young kid named Jake. He came in from another yard, but really didnt have a clue. He fell in with the AB guys, and was really desperate to fit in. So he went and paid a TON of money to get AB tattoos on his arms and legs and back so he could be accepted with them. He was the kind of guy like on the forums "HAY GUYZ!" type. Nobody liked him, and he was too much of a pussy to gently caress with the big boys.
Word gets around the yard about what he's done. One thing you DON'T do is get a set's tattoos without someones approval. So when it gets to Ron that he's gone and gotten AB ink, he is confronted in the cell (I'm on my bunk trying to read) and told that he has one week to get them covered up or its going to be done FOR him.
Well unfortunately he'd spent all of his money on getting the tattoos in the first place. He was broke, and in debt. A week passes. Two. Three, and still he has his tattoos.
One day I'm sleeping in my cell and hear a scuffle and the door slams shut. I open my eyes and see three AB's pushing the kid onto the bed. I really cant get off my bunk because the cell is very small and full of people and I do NOT feel that it would be a good idea to try to say "excuse me" through a pile of enraged racists.
The next twenty minutes I spend under my covers, listening to the muffled shreiks of this kid, as he is, literally, skinned alive. Guitar strings are superheated, and dragged over his skin, burning off the tattoos, like some kind of heated cheesegrater.
Finally they all leave, and the kid is discreetely dragged to his cell, and told to keep quiet. He ends up cellbound for a week with "the flu" while he peels and grows new skin.
The people I saw killed or stabbed were killed for being dumbshits. Not much to say there.
Then one day I saw a kitten.
I was walking from work to my cell. I saw him in a little drainpipe. Scrawny. A runt. THe mother abandoned it because it wasn't going to live.
I picked it up, put it in my jacket and it mewed, I couldn't just leave it.
At this time Jason was my cellie. It is a violation to have pets in your cell, but what the gently caress were we going to do? I called my gangster racist murderer friends over and we made a plan.
Cell inspections happen twice a week. Different days for each unit. Lefty would take the kitten on inspection days since he was in another unit and they didn't inspect on the same day.
It was sickly. It was mostly blind. It had poor muscle control. It could barely hold its head up, and whenever it tried to jump up on something, it would miss, usually hitting a wall.
But every day, someone who worked in the kitchen would come by with bits of stolen food. And guys would bring milk from their breakfast every day for the kitten. And every day, guys would pop in to see how he was doing.
One day we had a random cell inspection, and we tossed the kitty in the locker when we saw the Unit Manager coming our way. But it was NOT sleepy time for kitten, because he was getting better! Healthy kittens love to play and talk! So while the unit manager was in our cell inspecting our beds, cleanliness, flushing our toilet,etc, the kitty wanted to come out and play.
I never thought it would work and it probably didnt, the unit manager probably knew, but every time the kitty would go "merewlll" WE would cough or shuffle our feet or say "HAY WHATS UP UNIT MANAGER?" "DID YOU SEE THE NEWS ABOUT THE WEATHER!!!!?"
Yeah. close call. Since I was a short-timer, I decided I didn't want the heat for the kitty. But I couldn't let him go either. He may be a little better but he was still half blind and retarded.
I did the only thing I knew to do.
I went to my boss at the Law Library. "Ron," I said... "I've got a problem..."
"oh no 655321! Is someone threatening you?"
"no"
"Are you in trouble?"
"not yet"
"WHAT, FOR GODS SAKE IS THE PROBLEM, 655321?"
"I have a kitten, boss."
"You... have a.... kitten? As in a cat?"
"yessir. It was sick. I found it by the admin building. I brought it to my cell and it wa...."
"You know that if a Law Clerk gets even a MINOR misconduct they're fired, right?"
"Yessir. And I had a close call, today, sir - That is why I need your help"
"How the hell can I help you with a kitten 655321?"
"Well if I could just somehow get it to my wife, sir.... She could take care of it"
Thus began operation Smuggle a Kitten out of Maximum Security Prison.
So Ron (not the cellmate, My boss), sent me with a box to my cell, under the pretense of getting some papers that I'd been working on. One of the new guards stopped me with my box, on my way to the unit. Because an inmate should NOT be carrying a box. If it were a guard that had been there for a while it wouldn't be a problem, most of them liked me and let me get away with poo poo. Like me and bezo's spider fights. Some would even bet with us.
Anyway this new guard stopped me with my box and asked me where I was going, and I said "to my cell to get my papers - I'm a Law Clerk". "I dont care if youre the goddamn pope you shouldn't have a box". I said "call Ron at the Law Library, he can verify".
So he does, and ron confirms I should, indeed have a box. But he doesnt let me go until he is satisfied that I dont have contraband in my box, by looking inside.
"poo poo," i thought, this fucker better be gone when I'm on my way back up.
So I make it to my cell, and put the pussy in the box. I get back up the hill without incident and surrender the pussy laden container to Ron.
Ron then puts his career and everything on the line and meets with the wife of an inmate, off prison grounds, some days later, to deliver the kitty.
It was really loving great, to hear that the kitten had made it home. A part of all of us, that we had nurtured and helped thrive and petted and played with was on the outside, a free "creature". It meant so much to all of us. Especially me. Every time I would call my wife, or see her, people would pass and ask "hey, hows the kitty doing?"
Word on kitty's progress would spread like wildfire with every update. Every new eccentricity the kitty developed (It would hypnotize itself watching the ceiling fan and get so dizzy it would fall over), would come back to me from total strangers. "Hey I heard about dizzykitty!", or when he decveloped some kind of lump on his neck and had to have a shunt attatched and my wife had to drain the kitty daily... "How's ol' spigotkitty?".
He got bigger, and dumber. More and more stories passed, even the guards were hip to it by now, so some of the "cooler" guards would ask about it, too...
Guards and inmates.... You know, one said to me once "the only difference between you and me, is you got caught". They're like inmates. Some have been there long enough, that they just want to do their time, get their paychecks, go home and watch the game and gently caress the wife. So long as we're not up to anything TOO awful, they turn their back to little things - Tattooing, smoking in the cells, weed, even consentual buttsex between a man and his punk, so long as they didnt have to hear about it. Or see it.
Some would bring us little things, like good tattoo ink, or bits and parts of stuff for us to use in our hobbycraft, etc. Some would sit and chat it up with us on a loving hot summer day out on the hill. Some would play bones with us, or say "hey, a little bird told you to get your tattoo poo poo out of the cell, you're up for a shakedown tonight".
Others. Well others were straight FUCKS. They'd write you up as soon as look at you. When it was shakedown time, instead of taking your books off your shelf neatly to see if there's contraband in/behind them, they'd toss them onto the floor. They'd try to instigate fights. They'd lock you down for no loving reason, etc.
We made the best of it. We just watched from the hill, observing, listening.
Going home...
My time finally came. All my good-time was revoked over the escape. But in the two years I was at MAX, I earned enough for the day to finally come, nearly four years after it had all begun.
You mark down the days on your calendar and it all seems like it will never end. You calculate and re calculate, and you note six months left (it might as well be six years) - Three months left (it'll never get here), One month left (Something is going to happen... Something will go wrong)... Two weeks left (your fellow convicts begin to detatch a little from you - they're still your friends but you can tell somethings a little different), Seven days left (you're waiting for a note on your bunk telling them that your Pre-release W&W check came back with a detainer in some fuckoff county), Three days left (each hour is two hours long and you can't sleep for poo poo), TOMORROW YOU'RE GOING HOME. You can't believe it. They begin the process - Your outgoing physical, all the signing of forms and papers, packing up the things that have become your worldy posessions over the years, saying goodbye to those that will be at work when you do the "walk".
The morning of. You pick up your box from the property office. You go to the main office where you're given your street clothes. You're shaking. Youre loving scared to death. What's changed in the world? How am I going to get a job? Holy gently caress I now have a WIFE to look after!
You go through the first gate, with a guard. it closes behind you. "Excited?" says the guard. you hear some disembodied voice answer in the affirmative, but everything in you wants to drop that box and go running back to where everything is regimented, where you knwo exactly what each day will bring, like clockwork. The second gate opens. You step beyond it. twenty yards away there's a yellow line. On the other side of that yellow line are your wife and a guy who you got out of prison seven years early with your law clerking, here to show his appreciation. Off to your right is the razor wire. Through that you can see fifty people, who have all gotten permission from their bosses to wave you off. Many of them will never see this side of the wire again. Many of them will never go home.
Many of them, to this day, six years later, are still in the band room, playing awful covers. Many of them are still sneaking a quick grope or a little through-the-jeans handjob on the visiting yard. They're having lunch at twelve-oh-five. Fridays they have fish.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I want to go back. Here in the world it's all me. It's all under my control. Sometimes I'm lonely. I was somebody there. I was the smart guy on the yard. I was the one to talk to if you needed help, and could afford me.
Then I remember how it felt when I got out. That I could just open my door any old time and step outside. Any time I wanted to. My first week or so home, my wife told me she would wake up and see me opening and closing our front door, just because I could. I don't remember this, though.
Who am I now? I'm your neighbor. I'm the guy with a nice car, the good house, the good job. You'd never guess me for an ex-con, unless you saw my well-hidden tattoos. I won't get them removed, I need them.
My wife and I are now divorced. It's hard to tell somebody who broke you out of prison that you dont know where your relationship is going.... But it was for the best.
Sometimes, I'll dream that I'm back there, that some freak of the law brought me back there. That the governor is loving with me some more. that my life is on hold, again. That I'm just some guy in a box behind some wire. I wake up in a cold sweat, leap out of bed, dash down the hall...
...and open my door.
After paying several of my inmate friends large amounts of money to assist and maintain secrecy, one day a ball went behind a backboard, my papers and important items were shoved under some bushes, and so was I. I leapt into the trunk of my Girl's waiting car, closed it above me, and she drove. And drove, and drove.
We couldn't go back to her place, really, so I got on a bus and high-tailed it to my brother's house in another state, where I stayed until she could tidy things up and move inconspicuously to a town out west.
My brother describes it as the most surreal moment in his life. He's at home, minding his business when he gets a call. "Hey, its me." "HEY! you're out of prison? Where are you?" "Oh, downtown XXXXX, I need you to come pick me up", "When did they let you out?" "Oh, they didnt let me out." "Then how... OH MY GOD, I'LL BE RIGHT THERE".
My brother was a saint taking care of me for the next few weeks while we awaited my girl's arrival. When she showed up she stayed for a couple days and we relaxed, put our minds together, and got on the next Greyhound out west.
When we arrived at our desination we immediately set about getting poo poo together. We both got jobs - She at a camera store, and I used my previous retail management experience to land a full time job as a manager in training for a chain music store. I got a second job as well, at a resale shop, sort of an upscale salvation army - Rich people would donate their clothes, computers, toys, etc, and we'd resell them to generate funds for a battered womens' shelter.
This resale place was right around the corner from that place's county jail. So we were dealing with lawyers, deputies, jail employees, judges coming in and browsing during their lunch breaks. I couldn't help but bask in the surrealness of looking people who would be my future captors in the eye knowing I was an escaped convict.
I made pretty good friends with some, even went out to coffee on the corner with some deputies and shot the poo poo.
This all went on for months, both of us working our lil' tails off, me doing 70+ hours a week. I didnt know how it would end but I knew it couldnt go on forever. My intent wasn't to evade capture forever. My intent was to PROVE to them what I was capable of. And yeah, life was pretty good - A decent roof over our heads, thanks to some caring souls, money in our pockets, regular sex, decent food, etc.
One morning we were walking from our place to catch the bus for work, standing there just talking about mundane life-things, when out of all directions comes a poo poo-load of city cops, about five federal agents, and a god damned tv news crew, guns and cameras pointed, shouting different things all at the same time.
Jesus christ they had GUNS pointed at my girl. The only thing I could think to do was drop all my stuff, show my hands and step in front of her, in case one was trigger happy. She didn't deserve to get shot for being a supportive, caring girlfriend.
So they dropped me and cuffed me. One of the cops knew me from the resale store. "I would have never guessed in a million years", he said - he was good enough to fish my keys out of my pocket and give them to my girl. She, poor thing, in tears, went at my instruction to my store, called my manager, and, bless her heart, OPENED the store with my manager on the phone, until she could get there.
This is the real weepy and like tragic part of the story beginning. O my brothers and only friends.
Well sort of, anyway.
So into the county jail of THAT state I went to. But I wasn't without allies!
I was placed into the "pod" with high-profile offenders. If you'd been on the news or had a high-profile case in any way, you went into this pod. So here we had a seventeen year old parental muderer, a multimillion dollar embezzler, a couple other hackers, etc. Interesting to say the least. My cell had a great view of the corner, some many stories below, as well as the river.
My girl would come and stand on the corner, and tie large flowers to the lamp post every day. and wave. She could see my cell by counting windows up and over. She could only see me backlit and we would do puppet shows for an hour or so at each other. Pantomiming drawing hearts in the air.
She'd come visit me, through the glass again, sadly - but if I was REALLY good, I'd get a panty shot or two to keep my mind occupied during the week.
Having lost more than half of our income, she had to move to a hostel, but her work was kind enough, after hearing our story to allow me two collect calls during the week, on them.
Meanwhile, turns out my case manager was one of my regular customers and borderline friends from the resale shop! I fought extradition, she even wrote letters to the governor of BOTH states (the one I was in and the one I'd escaped from), asking them not to extradite me, as I was a fully rehabilitated upright citizen, and no further incarceration was necessary.
All this support from my "host" state really lit a fire under the governor of my escaped state and they accellerated my extradition hearing - which I of course, lost.
So I was extradited back to the state from who's loving arms I'd escaped from. Since my neither the original crime nor my new charge (Escape from a State Correctional Facility) were not Federal, I didn't get to go Con Air. They stuck me in a van which drove all around the country. But i didn't go directly to my Home state. it took TWELVE days of driving through states all over the place to get me back. TWELVE DAYS in a van with full shackles on. Handcuffs with the immobilizer, Leg irons, and a chain that connected the two.
The county wherein the facility was located that I escaped from was a verrrrry small county. Wich meant they had a verrrry small jail. Pretty much a mom and pop operation. I had to stay in jail to face the new charges and couldn't go back to a yard until that matter had been settled.
Funnily enough I earned myself the position of "trustee", having experience in legal matters, I was a needed resource - So eventually I got to be outside of my cell, helping other inmates with their things, and doing other chores, like laundry,etc.
Again, like I said, this was a tiny little jail - so I knew everyone from the sheriff on down to the dispatchers in no time. Before long I had free reign of the place, and hardly ever had to go back to my cell, only to sleep.
I was also still rather handy with computers, and through doing some big favors with their system, I slowly earned priveledges. Within a couple of months my cellmate and I had in our cell WITH PERMISSION from the jail staff: Carpet. Pictures. A laptop computer. A large color television. Real blankets. Tools. tapes and CD's, handheld video games. A microwave and our own food. Weekly trips to the local market to buy said food. You name it - And we could call anywhere we wanted provided we had a calling card, and we could wear street clothes, provided our shirts were stencled with "XXX County Jail Inmate" on the back, which we did ourselves.
So my Girl and I decided to stick this out - and we also decided to get married and make it official. So we registered with the county clerk in the same building, got our blood tests, and got hitched, in the recieving area of the jail with the Jailer and a Deputy as our witnesses (She (The jailer) was in tears as we said our vows).
Of course, what good is a wedding w/out consummation, right? Remember I had free movement until 2300. So one night when I was supposed to be cleaning out the courthouse side of the building I snuck my Wife in through a side-door, and we scurried up some stairs, into the court records office and into a closet. So, yeah. We honeymooned in a courthouse closet.
This was to become a regular occourance while waiting for my trial to come up. it was funny making appearances for motions in court, standing near a closet I'd hosed in the night before.
Never hosed on the judges bench though - I wanted to, but they lock that specific part with another key.
By the time it came for my sentencing hearing on my escape - which carried typically five to seven years ADDITIONALLY, I had a two page letter from the Jailer on sherrif's department stationery, stating how they'd never seen an inmate so determined to get his life on track, etc etc, and to please go lightly, and it was signed by about fifteen members of the jail staff.
The judge was amazed that I was working while escaped, and asked me why I did what I did, and I told him, to show that I could be a productive member of society.
So he said "I've never said this before, but I wish I could get away with dropping this. But I can't, so I'm going to fine you court costs and give you two years' concurrent to your remaining three on your original sentence".
What this meant is that it would run along with my remaining sentence. Essentially he sentenced me to NOTHING, except a fine.
So back through the assesment part again, head shaved again. Poked, prodded again.
This time I was assessed at Maximum Security.
Not only that but I was going to a particularly notorious yard. Rumored to be the "hardest" yard in this entire section of the country. There were pretty regular killings, and a riot some ten years before burned down over a third of the prison. Hostages were taken. Inmates were killed.
I almost peed myself when they told me what yard I was going to. I was going to get assraped and murdered. I was sure of it.
I later learned that the Governors office had an indirect hand in this.
So off I went to Maximum security.
When you arrive at the facility you get off a bus, and go through the main reception office where your identity is confirmed, your property box is taken, you're unshackled and officially booked into the facility. Then you do "the walk".
"The walk" is when your group, usually about 20 or thirty skinners are walked through the middle of the yard toward the orientation dorm. All the inmates line up on either side of the sidewalk on the way and stare you down, to put the fear of god into you. One inmate with a missing loving ear asked me, as we were walking "HEY! You play baseball?" "OH MY GOD NO, I DON'T PITCH OR CATCH OKAY gently caress YOU".
Razorwire. Oh god was there ever fences, coils of shiny razorwire, on top, then a loving PILE of razorwire on the ground, then an outer fence with razorwire and barbed wire on top of all that.
Gun towers. Yep. 40 foot high towers with men with guns pointed at you in them.
Rapists. Killers. Murderers. people serving life sentences without parole.
People who were seventy years old who had been in since they were fifteen.
This was the Real loving Deal, Bubba.
I took about a week to settle in in the orientation dorm. It was built in the early twentieth century, and looked like it. It used to house Germans during world war two while they were "relocated" during the war. (Up to that point I thought they'd only done that with the Japanese). There were places you could still see German words scratched into the walls back behind the Charlie's office.
After a week in the kitchen I was assigned to the Law Library once I proved my worth to the Boss. From there I started working some cases.
The trick to being a skinny whiteboy in the pokey and not being raped is this: Become a law clerk. Then, get the cases of someone in the Black faction and someone in the white faction. Therefore, nothing will happen to you during this time. This way they won't surprise sex you because you're working on one of their cases and if you catch out, nobody will. This gives you time to prove yourself on the yard, but do it without rectal penetration.
Use this "grace" period to buddy up with someone of your own race. (You have to - this isn't a racist statement - its the way things work behind the wire). Preferrably someone who weilds power on the yard. In this case, my saviour was Lefty.
Remember that guy who asked if I played baseball? Turns out he was sincerely curious if I played baseball, the game. They were building teams since spring was upon us. His name was Lefty. "'cause I only have one ear left," said he.
Well I didnt play baseball, but gently caress was lefty ever smart. And he saw pretty much instantly that I was no dumbass myself. We'd talk philosophy, music, etc. His story was simple, and later I'd confirm it was absolutely true.
He was seventeen, and somebody sold his sister some bad poo poo. It killed her. He killed the person that sold her the poo poo. He was sentenced to death. In the '70s the death penalty was overturned for a brief while, so his sentence was commuted to life w/out parole. Later they reinstated the death penalty, but the law prevents anyone from being put back "on" a death sentence.
So here he was, forty-something, I guess. And one of the kindest, smartest, wizest people I've ever met. If there's anyone that deserves to be out in the free world it is that man.
He took me under his wing, and introduced me to the guys. A mix of Aryan brotherhood and lifers. These were the people that ran the yard. And they all liked/respected me. I was safe.
Everywhere I went one of them always had an eye on me. If I was out walking the track, one of them on the hill playing dominoes was watching. As long as I was here, nothing bad would happen to me.
Let it be said here, though. Prison is prison. You have to handle your poo poo. So when a black guy tried cutting in the lunchline, you have to speak up or be shamed. So we were set to fight.
The way prison fights work is like this: everyone gathers out in the domino hut (a little covered place with benches, outside by the band room). Blacks behind their guy, whites behind theirs. What this is for is to ensure a fair fight. the rule is, when a man goes down, the fights over. No weapons, no bullshit.
The "groups" of people are there to ensure that. If the fight gets dirty, your guys jump in. This is often how people get killed. You're not armed, but the men behind you sure as gently caress are.
Well I lost. I was the man that went down. Busted a tooth and my lip. "You know what though," said lefty - "You fought, you took your hits, and you went down. This is over - thats all there is to it. Had you run away or hid or tried to get one of us to settle your poo poo for you, it'd have been a different story and you'd be on your own."
This is one of the many lessons I took with me. You may lose, but standing your ground and stepping up for yourself is what matters.
A year passes.
In this time I get really situated in the Law Library, gaining my certification, litigating like a motherfucker. I win cases, get inmates out of prison who had been fighting for years, I even have a few cases that are now caselaw in p2d, with regard to Double Jeopardy as it relates to administrative punishment. My wife visits every weekend, I join the band - actually join several, as there's a shortage of drummers on the yard. I'm in the rock band, the blues band and the OTHER Rock band. I eventually take over band room maintenance, too.
Larry was the singer and guitar player for the blues band. He had been in for most of his life - he was almost 70. But that motherfucker could sing like no other. I'd have been proud to take that band out and play "real" shows, we were that good, particularly him. Lefty was in the rock band. He was a great guitarist and had an outstanding work ethic. Nate was someones punk, but still a good bass player.
I've got money coming in from law clerkin', my lockers are all chock full of goodies, I'm getting letters from inmates on other yards for help with their cases via my reputation. (the letters are removed and destroyed, as inter-facility communications are forbidden), and I've "settled" into accepting this is my fate for a couple years.
My cellmates range from good to horrible. Jason was in for murder, he was stinky and messy. Ron was the leader of the AB, he was in a wheelchair from being stabbed to much. Chris was the Second in command of the AB, he ran dope, but he was my favorite cellmate, he had good porn, and was also pretty bright.
Inevitably one of you will ask for some gross stuff I saw.
Heres the story of a young kid named Jake. He came in from another yard, but really didnt have a clue. He fell in with the AB guys, and was really desperate to fit in. So he went and paid a TON of money to get AB tattoos on his arms and legs and back so he could be accepted with them. He was the kind of guy like on the forums "HAY GUYZ!" type. Nobody liked him, and he was too much of a pussy to gently caress with the big boys.
Word gets around the yard about what he's done. One thing you DON'T do is get a set's tattoos without someones approval. So when it gets to Ron that he's gone and gotten AB ink, he is confronted in the cell (I'm on my bunk trying to read) and told that he has one week to get them covered up or its going to be done FOR him.
Well unfortunately he'd spent all of his money on getting the tattoos in the first place. He was broke, and in debt. A week passes. Two. Three, and still he has his tattoos.
One day I'm sleeping in my cell and hear a scuffle and the door slams shut. I open my eyes and see three AB's pushing the kid onto the bed. I really cant get off my bunk because the cell is very small and full of people and I do NOT feel that it would be a good idea to try to say "excuse me" through a pile of enraged racists.
The next twenty minutes I spend under my covers, listening to the muffled shreiks of this kid, as he is, literally, skinned alive. Guitar strings are superheated, and dragged over his skin, burning off the tattoos, like some kind of heated cheesegrater.
Finally they all leave, and the kid is discreetely dragged to his cell, and told to keep quiet. He ends up cellbound for a week with "the flu" while he peels and grows new skin.
The people I saw killed or stabbed were killed for being dumbshits. Not much to say there.
Then one day I saw a kitten.
I was walking from work to my cell. I saw him in a little drainpipe. Scrawny. A runt. THe mother abandoned it because it wasn't going to live.
I picked it up, put it in my jacket and it mewed, I couldn't just leave it.
At this time Jason was my cellie. It is a violation to have pets in your cell, but what the gently caress were we going to do? I called my gangster racist murderer friends over and we made a plan.
Cell inspections happen twice a week. Different days for each unit. Lefty would take the kitten on inspection days since he was in another unit and they didn't inspect on the same day.
It was sickly. It was mostly blind. It had poor muscle control. It could barely hold its head up, and whenever it tried to jump up on something, it would miss, usually hitting a wall.
But every day, someone who worked in the kitchen would come by with bits of stolen food. And guys would bring milk from their breakfast every day for the kitten. And every day, guys would pop in to see how he was doing.
One day we had a random cell inspection, and we tossed the kitty in the locker when we saw the Unit Manager coming our way. But it was NOT sleepy time for kitten, because he was getting better! Healthy kittens love to play and talk! So while the unit manager was in our cell inspecting our beds, cleanliness, flushing our toilet,etc, the kitty wanted to come out and play.
I never thought it would work and it probably didnt, the unit manager probably knew, but every time the kitty would go "merewlll" WE would cough or shuffle our feet or say "HAY WHATS UP UNIT MANAGER?" "DID YOU SEE THE NEWS ABOUT THE WEATHER!!!!?"
Yeah. close call. Since I was a short-timer, I decided I didn't want the heat for the kitty. But I couldn't let him go either. He may be a little better but he was still half blind and retarded.
I did the only thing I knew to do.
I went to my boss at the Law Library. "Ron," I said... "I've got a problem..."
"oh no 655321! Is someone threatening you?"
"no"
"Are you in trouble?"
"not yet"
"WHAT, FOR GODS SAKE IS THE PROBLEM, 655321?"
"I have a kitten, boss."
"You... have a.... kitten? As in a cat?"
"yessir. It was sick. I found it by the admin building. I brought it to my cell and it wa...."
"You know that if a Law Clerk gets even a MINOR misconduct they're fired, right?"
"Yessir. And I had a close call, today, sir - That is why I need your help"
"How the hell can I help you with a kitten 655321?"
"Well if I could just somehow get it to my wife, sir.... She could take care of it"
Thus began operation Smuggle a Kitten out of Maximum Security Prison.
So Ron (not the cellmate, My boss), sent me with a box to my cell, under the pretense of getting some papers that I'd been working on. One of the new guards stopped me with my box, on my way to the unit. Because an inmate should NOT be carrying a box. If it were a guard that had been there for a while it wouldn't be a problem, most of them liked me and let me get away with poo poo. Like me and bezo's spider fights. Some would even bet with us.
Anyway this new guard stopped me with my box and asked me where I was going, and I said "to my cell to get my papers - I'm a Law Clerk". "I dont care if youre the goddamn pope you shouldn't have a box". I said "call Ron at the Law Library, he can verify".
So he does, and ron confirms I should, indeed have a box. But he doesnt let me go until he is satisfied that I dont have contraband in my box, by looking inside.
"poo poo," i thought, this fucker better be gone when I'm on my way back up.
So I make it to my cell, and put the pussy in the box. I get back up the hill without incident and surrender the pussy laden container to Ron.
Ron then puts his career and everything on the line and meets with the wife of an inmate, off prison grounds, some days later, to deliver the kitty.
It was really loving great, to hear that the kitten had made it home. A part of all of us, that we had nurtured and helped thrive and petted and played with was on the outside, a free "creature". It meant so much to all of us. Especially me. Every time I would call my wife, or see her, people would pass and ask "hey, hows the kitty doing?"
Word on kitty's progress would spread like wildfire with every update. Every new eccentricity the kitty developed (It would hypnotize itself watching the ceiling fan and get so dizzy it would fall over), would come back to me from total strangers. "Hey I heard about dizzykitty!", or when he decveloped some kind of lump on his neck and had to have a shunt attatched and my wife had to drain the kitty daily... "How's ol' spigotkitty?".
He got bigger, and dumber. More and more stories passed, even the guards were hip to it by now, so some of the "cooler" guards would ask about it, too...
Guards and inmates.... You know, one said to me once "the only difference between you and me, is you got caught". They're like inmates. Some have been there long enough, that they just want to do their time, get their paychecks, go home and watch the game and gently caress the wife. So long as we're not up to anything TOO awful, they turn their back to little things - Tattooing, smoking in the cells, weed, even consentual buttsex between a man and his punk, so long as they didnt have to hear about it. Or see it.
Some would bring us little things, like good tattoo ink, or bits and parts of stuff for us to use in our hobbycraft, etc. Some would sit and chat it up with us on a loving hot summer day out on the hill. Some would play bones with us, or say "hey, a little bird told you to get your tattoo poo poo out of the cell, you're up for a shakedown tonight".
Others. Well others were straight FUCKS. They'd write you up as soon as look at you. When it was shakedown time, instead of taking your books off your shelf neatly to see if there's contraband in/behind them, they'd toss them onto the floor. They'd try to instigate fights. They'd lock you down for no loving reason, etc.
We made the best of it. We just watched from the hill, observing, listening.
Going home...
My time finally came. All my good-time was revoked over the escape. But in the two years I was at MAX, I earned enough for the day to finally come, nearly four years after it had all begun.
You mark down the days on your calendar and it all seems like it will never end. You calculate and re calculate, and you note six months left (it might as well be six years) - Three months left (it'll never get here), One month left (Something is going to happen... Something will go wrong)... Two weeks left (your fellow convicts begin to detatch a little from you - they're still your friends but you can tell somethings a little different), Seven days left (you're waiting for a note on your bunk telling them that your Pre-release W&W check came back with a detainer in some fuckoff county), Three days left (each hour is two hours long and you can't sleep for poo poo), TOMORROW YOU'RE GOING HOME. You can't believe it. They begin the process - Your outgoing physical, all the signing of forms and papers, packing up the things that have become your worldy posessions over the years, saying goodbye to those that will be at work when you do the "walk".
The morning of. You pick up your box from the property office. You go to the main office where you're given your street clothes. You're shaking. Youre loving scared to death. What's changed in the world? How am I going to get a job? Holy gently caress I now have a WIFE to look after!
You go through the first gate, with a guard. it closes behind you. "Excited?" says the guard. you hear some disembodied voice answer in the affirmative, but everything in you wants to drop that box and go running back to where everything is regimented, where you knwo exactly what each day will bring, like clockwork. The second gate opens. You step beyond it. twenty yards away there's a yellow line. On the other side of that yellow line are your wife and a guy who you got out of prison seven years early with your law clerking, here to show his appreciation. Off to your right is the razor wire. Through that you can see fifty people, who have all gotten permission from their bosses to wave you off. Many of them will never see this side of the wire again. Many of them will never go home.
Many of them, to this day, six years later, are still in the band room, playing awful covers. Many of them are still sneaking a quick grope or a little through-the-jeans handjob on the visiting yard. They're having lunch at twelve-oh-five. Fridays they have fish.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I want to go back. Here in the world it's all me. It's all under my control. Sometimes I'm lonely. I was somebody there. I was the smart guy on the yard. I was the one to talk to if you needed help, and could afford me.
Then I remember how it felt when I got out. That I could just open my door any old time and step outside. Any time I wanted to. My first week or so home, my wife told me she would wake up and see me opening and closing our front door, just because I could. I don't remember this, though.
Who am I now? I'm your neighbor. I'm the guy with a nice car, the good house, the good job. You'd never guess me for an ex-con, unless you saw my well-hidden tattoos. I won't get them removed, I need them.
My wife and I are now divorced. It's hard to tell somebody who broke you out of prison that you dont know where your relationship is going.... But it was for the best.
Sometimes, I'll dream that I'm back there, that some freak of the law brought me back there. That the governor is loving with me some more. that my life is on hold, again. That I'm just some guy in a box behind some wire. I wake up in a cold sweat, leap out of bed, dash down the hall...
...and open my door.
Read this last night - amazing read, it's very long, but it's well worth it.
I'll write all the 'prison guys' stuff in italics, and then all the posts/questions from forumers in bold.
Note: some sentences may read a bit wierd - apparently the imageboard he posted on blocks certain words. The main one to look out for is that when he says sister, that means girlfriend. If you don't know that it adds up to some very strange sentences!
Note #2: there's some bad language and graphic descriptions too.
Note #3: The guy went to a US prison.
----- Start of the Thread -----
So I just got out of prison
...and **** it if I've forgotten how to work a mouse and hit the submit button too soon.
Shit has changed. So many boards now. I don't know what the **** is going on. Where do I start? Two years inside and it's like the whole world has changed. Just wanted a board where things stayed the same.
I don't even recognise half the dickgirls on /di/ anymore. Has the whole world grown tits while I was gone? And who the **** if Justin Bieber?
Is. Is Justin Bieber. Lost my ability to spell. I get out and first thing I see is that little homie has a tattoo but I don't even know who the little homie is. My cable got cancelled while I was away so I can't even find out. Thank **** for wireless internet, I swear to God it's faster now too. Seriously, it's like I've traveled through time. ****ing iPads look like shit out the future. Feel like I've missed a decade of shitty memes.
Did you make a thread about this before you went in? I vaguely remember it. Update about why you went in, how it was, etc?
Sure did. Would have been middle of 2008 what I was still pretty gung ho about it, before I stupidly tried to skip bail and ended up spending a month inside before trial.
Was inside from July '08 until Tuesday this week. Feel like I've lost more than two years, like I've lost a decade or so.
This was my first time inside.
Was done for armed robbery and got 18 months on a plea bargain. Got ****ed on three parole hearings and ended up doing another four months. You hear of these guys who get out early because they were 'model prisoners' I don't know how they do it.
So while I was inside I made a list of the worst things about prison to share with the boards I used to frequent. Seemed like any discussion of prison would be all like 'lolrape' and no actual info for anons that might find themselves in my shitty situation. So here it is, the top 10 worst things about prison that you never knew about:
10. The Smell
Prison smells like shit. Smells worse than shit. You know the smell you imagine jenkem to smell like? Imagine that, only it's being rubbed on the arm pits of a sweaty mexican and then his armpit pubes are being set fire too. It's that bad. No one flushes the ****ing john. Ever. You know how clean prison looks in all the pictures? It is, because we spend all ****ing day cleaning it. And then convicts just basically shit themselves for a laugh. I switched buses on the way back and sat next to this guy wearing cologne. I'm not gay (well, as not gay as you can be after being inside) but I got a boner as soon as I smelt it. ****ing amazing.
9. White people.
After the first year, I was ashamed to be white. In the world, white people are capable of all kinds of great things, and all kinds of bad things. But inside we're just universally ****s. Aryan Brotherhood weren't a big presence in my block, but they were bad enough to make you kind of wish your mother had been raped by a ******. And that's before you meet your boss's. Correctional Services officers come in all flavours, but white screws were the worst. Black screws, you could tell were just poor ******s trying to get by in a shitty job. Only white guys ever seemed to enjoy their shit. Rape, dispite the rumours, is not a big deal inside. It doesn't happen that often. But everytime it happened on my block it was a white guy. And every time anyone got murdered, it was a white guy. There were 33 murders while I was inside, 12 of them in my block. All because white ****s couldn't keep their dicks in their pants, or else 'cut someone's eyes' which was slang for stealing someone's shit. Being black in prison would have been awesome.
8. Getting fat.
There is no gym equipment in prison. That whole, 'bunch of guys sitting around pumping iron' image you have? Forget it. Gym equipment is a weapon, and weapons are forbidden. Our block had one treadmill that would occassionaly work. You couple that with high fat food, all day, everyday, you start to go flabby really quickly. One of the things that occupies a lot convict's days is finding someway to try and do some physical activity. After about six months I could feel my muscle mass going, so me and my cellmate would deadlift each other for a few hours. Gayest thing you've ever seen, but it filled in the time.
7. Solitary
I was ****ing terrified of solitary confinement when I first went inside, which contributed to me behaving myself. Until I realised that solitary isn't something you can hold off by just not being a dick. It's a reality of life and you will, at somepoint, be put in solitary for no ****ing reason at all. Usually, because there is a remand inmate that needs to be cycled into gen pop before trial and they need to free up your cell - so you go into solitary because there aren't any other beds. I did two months of that all up. No books, no blankets, no light, 23 hour lockdown. Most they can do is 1 week at a stretch - worst part was knowing you were going to go back after a week if the block was too over crowded. You spent your whole time in gen pop just anxious as **** because you could get dragged off the chain at any moment and sent back.
6. The Drugs
After a while, drugs become a viable option inside. There is a lot on offer. If you can get it out in the world, you can get it inside - for a better price strangely enough, considering the difficulty of getting it in. That is if it is what your man says it is. I decided to get onto horse after a few months, mostly as something to do. I'd tried heroin outside, but hadn't liked it since getting on the nod seemed like a waste of time. But inside, it's great - a shot in solitary can make a week pass in no time at all. Problem is the shit it will be cut with. Flour, baking soda, jell-o crystals - all shit that should not be in a vein. After a while, you just end up doing things that outside, you never would have dreamed of. I was paranoid about getting the AIDS, so I kept this one needle the whole time I was inside. Went rusty and I ended up spending a month in sick bay with tetenus. When I couldn't score for junk, I scored for codeine tablets. Grew my thumb nail long and wrecked it on the concrete so it was sharp enough to cut open my thigh, and would stick the crushed up tablet inside.
Yeah, shit got that bad.
5. The Economy
I joked to my cell mate on the first day that at least the GFC couldn't **** us inside. He'd been done for assaulting a cop when his house got taken by the bank. But within months 'GFC ******' became the standard reply to any query as to how black market prices were suddenly going through the roof. The price of a deck of smokes tripled. There was an actual economic reason about this. I went away in Michigan, where a lot of people lost their houses, mostly poor people already. When they had to move away from the prison, it meant they couldn't bring their loved ones as much contraband group, which meant the price of what there was sky rocketed. And the worse things got, the more the people who worked in the store would wonk and take home with them, which meant stocks ran low which ****ed us even further.
Bet you didn't read about that one in the Wall Street Journal.
4. Losing everyone you ever loved.
No one ever talks about this because prison makes you a hard ass. Or at least you teach yourself to think it does. The first ones to go are your friends. They tell you they'll write and send you stuff - take every friend you've ever had, now pick one. There will be one that actually does it. But they'll stop after a few months. Then your sister - they might say they'll wait, but you know they won't. I called mine on my second week and told her it was over. Apart from the total shock of going away, I couldn't stand spending every night wondering if she was getting cranked by some other dude. Was one less thing to worry about. My kid, who was about to turn 1 when I went away, will never have any idea who the **** I am. Her mom took her away the second I went inside. Never called. Don't even know where to begin looking. My Mom and Dad were the worst. They promised me when I went inside that they'd stick by me if I stuck by them, that all they wanted was the occassional phone call to let them know I was okay, and they'd make sure they visited regularly. I was so ****ed up half the time I forgot when visiting day even was. I realised, and tried to tell the boss that I didn't want to see them, that I was too messed up. So the ****s dragged me by the hair through the block to the visiting room and propped me up on a chair in front of them and laughed. They never came back, and they haven't seen me since I got out.
3. Lonliness
An old timer told me that when he first went inside, in the 80s, prison was all about cliques. There were different gangs, people stuck together because of ethnicity, even religion. Back then there were Irish Catholic cliques, Nation of Islam cliques - even white collar guys started cliques to avoid getting stepped on.
One thing the boss' do very well is create an atmosphere of constant paranoia. If you get shaken down and you get contrapedophile group found on you, they'll stick you in solitary and finger your best friend for setting you up. If you come inside with a pre-existing gang affiliation, like a lot of black guys do, they start by stepping on your friends straight away and blaming you for it until you're a pariah. Forget about the yard being full of big groups of guys chilling together. No one hangs with anymore than three people for a stretch. If you're seen with a big group, you'll be targeted by the screws. Mostly, people do their time alone. Pacing the yard, or even just ignoring their cell mates completely.
That gets to you more than anything. The constant suspicion, and knowing you're alone.
2. Death
I saw 12 deaths inside. Three of them were at the hands of screws. One of those was a gunshot to the head while a guy was trying to escape. The other two were beatings, and I didn't know they'd died until later. It's not right to call a prison shanking a 'stabbing' because that's not how you die. Inside, we called it 'digging a hole' or 'digging a well' like 'he got a well dug in him' or 'pulled out a hole'. The reason for this is the make shift weapons used inside are not easy to kill with. You basically make a hole as fast as you can, by stabbing as fast as you can, and then you try and get a grip inside it and just start pulling. I saw this right up close one time. I had the distinct misfortune of having my cell behind a pillar, like a bulkhead kind of thing in the middle of the block. So if you wanted to shank someone, it was a great place to hide. On the flip side, it meant the boss' gave it a lot of extra attention, which was bad for rubbing one out or taking a hit. Two guys were loitering around the pillar one day, waiting for this fresh kid to wander past. Prison gossip said he's been worked over on his first night by someone who wanted him for a wife, but the kid fought back and nearly bit some ****er's nuts off. So his friends wait with a t-shirt, and a filed down toothbrush. They've cracked down on plastic toothbrushes, but there used to be enough of them that a lot of guys have them stashed away. You can file down the ends on the concrete to a point. One guy wraped a t-shirt around the kid's neck and lifted him off the ground from behind, and the other starts stabbing his gut. After a few stabs, he starts trying to get his fingers inside and he just pulls all this meat out. I thought he was going to pull out his intestines like you'd see in a horror movie, but instead, he just pulls out fist after fist of this yellow jelly shit, and then big hunks of meat like raw mince. Screw's arrived and tasered everyone. Even the kid. He was on his side, right in front of my cell, and every jolt from the taser made the big hole in his stomach smoke.
You don't see something like that and not have it **** you up worse than you already were for being incarcerated.
1. Getting Out
On my last day I started writing this list in my head, and thought it would be funny to post it on the Chans. But really, now I've written it, it's not funny. For lols, I was originally going to talk about prison rape. But really? It's a small part of doing time. On any given block, you might only have a dozen or so convicts who are likely to rape someone. And they go after the same kind of convicts every time too. Because if you try to rape the wrong guy... you might end up with your guts pulled out.
That's not to say consensual gay sex doesn't happen. I had it, and I enjoyed it. I'm not going to go and **** a man on the outside, but a combination of drugs, lonliness and boredom do strange things.
So instead of rape, the thing that tops my list was getting out. After 18 months, I felt like I had the whole prison kick down. I felt like I belonged. New guys looked up to me, like someone who'd seen shit and made it through. As I scaled back on my pretty huge habit, I started to get this kind of zen calm about incarceration, and I liked to think I helped a few guys through their first weeks.
The last months before I left was the happiest of my entire life. I started making lists, like this one. Lists of what I was going to do. Lists of things I was going to eat. Lists of places I was going to go. I almost felt like I'd had a near death experience, and now I had to live a better life. Then I left.
Two years is a long time. The world literally changes without you. I got off the bus and went to my favourite bar. It was empty. I went to a cafe my friends used to touch dicks at. None of them were there. I went to my house, pulled the boards off and went inside. Everything was just as I'd left it with two years worth of dust. Most depressing thing you've ever seen. I lay down on my bed and paranoia started setting in. I realised I was pretty much squating and was paranoid about being picked up by the cops and breaching my parole, so I went to my parents house. They let me in, but told me I couldn't stay until they were sure I was off the drugs. I checked into a motel and sat on the edge of the bed, watching MTV and ordering Pizza. I must have ordered like five pizzas from five different places, stayed up till dawn. Thing about prison, is that sleep becomes like a chore you do each day. You're never really tired, so you never really want to sleep, it just breaks up the time. I felt like I didn't want to sleep ever again. Next morning I decided to go for a drive, and thought I'd rent a car - but my driver's licence had expired. I went to get a new one, but because I'd been inside they needed me to get a letter from my parole officer. So I just wandered around for a day. Felt like everyone was staring at me.
You just feel completely lost.
How would you pay for drugs? You have money in prison?
You get a tiny allowance, but you spend most of it on food. The best and most effective way to score is to have someone on the outside pay your man's person on the outside. My preferred method was to get a bank account and deposit on using phone banking. At my worst, I was using a monthly phone call to transfer cash to my dealer's mom instead of calling my own mom. He was actually a cool guy, apart from being an AIDs infected drug dealer inside for a double rape.
If you don't have a set up like that, you can trade for candy. Weird, but that's how shit works inside. A big bag of Reece's Pieces would get you an eight ball. No shit.
I've known a few people who have been to prison, and the things I've heard frighten me to death about ever going. Did you ever have to fight while you were in? Or at least get your ass kicked?
Fighting wasn't as bad as it is on the outside to be honest. Drugs are just so pervasive inside that fights are over pretty quickly. You know, in my few sober moments, I wondered if maybe the screws weren't partly responsible for getting so much dope inside since it made us all pretty much zombies.
I got in a few, more than a few really. But I never really felt like I won a fight. Fridays, if you could keep track of days, were the absolute worst. It was like our brains were programmed to feel pumped up on a Friday for the weekend, but then you'd realise inside that all you had to look forward too was another two days of the same shit. You'd start a fight with anyone, over anything on a friday.
Only time I ever started a fight was over Dr Pepper. I don't know why, but Dr Pepper was the only thing that ever made me feel better about my ****ed up situation. Apart from Heroin. You could get Dr Pepper in these really small plastic bottles, like on planes, but they were the least cost effective snack in the store. So i'd pretty much save up for one every now and then, smuggle it back to my cell on a Friday, chill the **** out with my tape deck and drink it really slow. One time a guy stood over me for my Dr. Pepper and I completely snapped and tried to ram the thing up his nostril. Scored a week in solitary, and just as extra kick in the guts - store staff were forbidden from selling me Dr Pepper.
Apart from that, I was mostly getting the shit beat out of me by Aryans for consorting with ******s. Broke two ribs, my collar bone, my nose (twice), lost two teeth (they were weak as shit from a diet of candy and smack anyway) but blissfully, was raped only once - by a homiegot with the tiniest cock you've ever seen. I'm a fat ****, and I swear that thing barely reached my asshole through my enourmous ass cheeks. It was all I could do to not laugh.
I'll write all the 'prison guys' stuff in italics, and then all the posts/questions from forumers in bold.
Note: some sentences may read a bit wierd - apparently the imageboard he posted on blocks certain words. The main one to look out for is that when he says sister, that means girlfriend. If you don't know that it adds up to some very strange sentences!
Note #2: there's some bad language and graphic descriptions too.
Note #3: The guy went to a US prison.
----- Start of the Thread -----
So I just got out of prison
...and **** it if I've forgotten how to work a mouse and hit the submit button too soon.
Shit has changed. So many boards now. I don't know what the **** is going on. Where do I start? Two years inside and it's like the whole world has changed. Just wanted a board where things stayed the same.
I don't even recognise half the dickgirls on /di/ anymore. Has the whole world grown tits while I was gone? And who the **** if Justin Bieber?
Is. Is Justin Bieber. Lost my ability to spell. I get out and first thing I see is that little homie has a tattoo but I don't even know who the little homie is. My cable got cancelled while I was away so I can't even find out. Thank **** for wireless internet, I swear to God it's faster now too. Seriously, it's like I've traveled through time. ****ing iPads look like shit out the future. Feel like I've missed a decade of shitty memes.
Did you make a thread about this before you went in? I vaguely remember it. Update about why you went in, how it was, etc?
Sure did. Would have been middle of 2008 what I was still pretty gung ho about it, before I stupidly tried to skip bail and ended up spending a month inside before trial.
Was inside from July '08 until Tuesday this week. Feel like I've lost more than two years, like I've lost a decade or so.
This was my first time inside.
Was done for armed robbery and got 18 months on a plea bargain. Got ****ed on three parole hearings and ended up doing another four months. You hear of these guys who get out early because they were 'model prisoners' I don't know how they do it.
So while I was inside I made a list of the worst things about prison to share with the boards I used to frequent. Seemed like any discussion of prison would be all like 'lolrape' and no actual info for anons that might find themselves in my shitty situation. So here it is, the top 10 worst things about prison that you never knew about:
10. The Smell
Prison smells like shit. Smells worse than shit. You know the smell you imagine jenkem to smell like? Imagine that, only it's being rubbed on the arm pits of a sweaty mexican and then his armpit pubes are being set fire too. It's that bad. No one flushes the ****ing john. Ever. You know how clean prison looks in all the pictures? It is, because we spend all ****ing day cleaning it. And then convicts just basically shit themselves for a laugh. I switched buses on the way back and sat next to this guy wearing cologne. I'm not gay (well, as not gay as you can be after being inside) but I got a boner as soon as I smelt it. ****ing amazing.
9. White people.
After the first year, I was ashamed to be white. In the world, white people are capable of all kinds of great things, and all kinds of bad things. But inside we're just universally ****s. Aryan Brotherhood weren't a big presence in my block, but they were bad enough to make you kind of wish your mother had been raped by a ******. And that's before you meet your boss's. Correctional Services officers come in all flavours, but white screws were the worst. Black screws, you could tell were just poor ******s trying to get by in a shitty job. Only white guys ever seemed to enjoy their shit. Rape, dispite the rumours, is not a big deal inside. It doesn't happen that often. But everytime it happened on my block it was a white guy. And every time anyone got murdered, it was a white guy. There were 33 murders while I was inside, 12 of them in my block. All because white ****s couldn't keep their dicks in their pants, or else 'cut someone's eyes' which was slang for stealing someone's shit. Being black in prison would have been awesome.
8. Getting fat.
There is no gym equipment in prison. That whole, 'bunch of guys sitting around pumping iron' image you have? Forget it. Gym equipment is a weapon, and weapons are forbidden. Our block had one treadmill that would occassionaly work. You couple that with high fat food, all day, everyday, you start to go flabby really quickly. One of the things that occupies a lot convict's days is finding someway to try and do some physical activity. After about six months I could feel my muscle mass going, so me and my cellmate would deadlift each other for a few hours. Gayest thing you've ever seen, but it filled in the time.
7. Solitary
I was ****ing terrified of solitary confinement when I first went inside, which contributed to me behaving myself. Until I realised that solitary isn't something you can hold off by just not being a dick. It's a reality of life and you will, at somepoint, be put in solitary for no ****ing reason at all. Usually, because there is a remand inmate that needs to be cycled into gen pop before trial and they need to free up your cell - so you go into solitary because there aren't any other beds. I did two months of that all up. No books, no blankets, no light, 23 hour lockdown. Most they can do is 1 week at a stretch - worst part was knowing you were going to go back after a week if the block was too over crowded. You spent your whole time in gen pop just anxious as **** because you could get dragged off the chain at any moment and sent back.
6. The Drugs
After a while, drugs become a viable option inside. There is a lot on offer. If you can get it out in the world, you can get it inside - for a better price strangely enough, considering the difficulty of getting it in. That is if it is what your man says it is. I decided to get onto horse after a few months, mostly as something to do. I'd tried heroin outside, but hadn't liked it since getting on the nod seemed like a waste of time. But inside, it's great - a shot in solitary can make a week pass in no time at all. Problem is the shit it will be cut with. Flour, baking soda, jell-o crystals - all shit that should not be in a vein. After a while, you just end up doing things that outside, you never would have dreamed of. I was paranoid about getting the AIDS, so I kept this one needle the whole time I was inside. Went rusty and I ended up spending a month in sick bay with tetenus. When I couldn't score for junk, I scored for codeine tablets. Grew my thumb nail long and wrecked it on the concrete so it was sharp enough to cut open my thigh, and would stick the crushed up tablet inside.
Yeah, shit got that bad.
5. The Economy
I joked to my cell mate on the first day that at least the GFC couldn't **** us inside. He'd been done for assaulting a cop when his house got taken by the bank. But within months 'GFC ******' became the standard reply to any query as to how black market prices were suddenly going through the roof. The price of a deck of smokes tripled. There was an actual economic reason about this. I went away in Michigan, where a lot of people lost their houses, mostly poor people already. When they had to move away from the prison, it meant they couldn't bring their loved ones as much contraband group, which meant the price of what there was sky rocketed. And the worse things got, the more the people who worked in the store would wonk and take home with them, which meant stocks ran low which ****ed us even further.
Bet you didn't read about that one in the Wall Street Journal.
4. Losing everyone you ever loved.
No one ever talks about this because prison makes you a hard ass. Or at least you teach yourself to think it does. The first ones to go are your friends. They tell you they'll write and send you stuff - take every friend you've ever had, now pick one. There will be one that actually does it. But they'll stop after a few months. Then your sister - they might say they'll wait, but you know they won't. I called mine on my second week and told her it was over. Apart from the total shock of going away, I couldn't stand spending every night wondering if she was getting cranked by some other dude. Was one less thing to worry about. My kid, who was about to turn 1 when I went away, will never have any idea who the **** I am. Her mom took her away the second I went inside. Never called. Don't even know where to begin looking. My Mom and Dad were the worst. They promised me when I went inside that they'd stick by me if I stuck by them, that all they wanted was the occassional phone call to let them know I was okay, and they'd make sure they visited regularly. I was so ****ed up half the time I forgot when visiting day even was. I realised, and tried to tell the boss that I didn't want to see them, that I was too messed up. So the ****s dragged me by the hair through the block to the visiting room and propped me up on a chair in front of them and laughed. They never came back, and they haven't seen me since I got out.
3. Lonliness
An old timer told me that when he first went inside, in the 80s, prison was all about cliques. There were different gangs, people stuck together because of ethnicity, even religion. Back then there were Irish Catholic cliques, Nation of Islam cliques - even white collar guys started cliques to avoid getting stepped on.
One thing the boss' do very well is create an atmosphere of constant paranoia. If you get shaken down and you get contrapedophile group found on you, they'll stick you in solitary and finger your best friend for setting you up. If you come inside with a pre-existing gang affiliation, like a lot of black guys do, they start by stepping on your friends straight away and blaming you for it until you're a pariah. Forget about the yard being full of big groups of guys chilling together. No one hangs with anymore than three people for a stretch. If you're seen with a big group, you'll be targeted by the screws. Mostly, people do their time alone. Pacing the yard, or even just ignoring their cell mates completely.
That gets to you more than anything. The constant suspicion, and knowing you're alone.
2. Death
I saw 12 deaths inside. Three of them were at the hands of screws. One of those was a gunshot to the head while a guy was trying to escape. The other two were beatings, and I didn't know they'd died until later. It's not right to call a prison shanking a 'stabbing' because that's not how you die. Inside, we called it 'digging a hole' or 'digging a well' like 'he got a well dug in him' or 'pulled out a hole'. The reason for this is the make shift weapons used inside are not easy to kill with. You basically make a hole as fast as you can, by stabbing as fast as you can, and then you try and get a grip inside it and just start pulling. I saw this right up close one time. I had the distinct misfortune of having my cell behind a pillar, like a bulkhead kind of thing in the middle of the block. So if you wanted to shank someone, it was a great place to hide. On the flip side, it meant the boss' gave it a lot of extra attention, which was bad for rubbing one out or taking a hit. Two guys were loitering around the pillar one day, waiting for this fresh kid to wander past. Prison gossip said he's been worked over on his first night by someone who wanted him for a wife, but the kid fought back and nearly bit some ****er's nuts off. So his friends wait with a t-shirt, and a filed down toothbrush. They've cracked down on plastic toothbrushes, but there used to be enough of them that a lot of guys have them stashed away. You can file down the ends on the concrete to a point. One guy wraped a t-shirt around the kid's neck and lifted him off the ground from behind, and the other starts stabbing his gut. After a few stabs, he starts trying to get his fingers inside and he just pulls all this meat out. I thought he was going to pull out his intestines like you'd see in a horror movie, but instead, he just pulls out fist after fist of this yellow jelly shit, and then big hunks of meat like raw mince. Screw's arrived and tasered everyone. Even the kid. He was on his side, right in front of my cell, and every jolt from the taser made the big hole in his stomach smoke.
You don't see something like that and not have it **** you up worse than you already were for being incarcerated.
1. Getting Out
On my last day I started writing this list in my head, and thought it would be funny to post it on the Chans. But really, now I've written it, it's not funny. For lols, I was originally going to talk about prison rape. But really? It's a small part of doing time. On any given block, you might only have a dozen or so convicts who are likely to rape someone. And they go after the same kind of convicts every time too. Because if you try to rape the wrong guy... you might end up with your guts pulled out.
That's not to say consensual gay sex doesn't happen. I had it, and I enjoyed it. I'm not going to go and **** a man on the outside, but a combination of drugs, lonliness and boredom do strange things.
So instead of rape, the thing that tops my list was getting out. After 18 months, I felt like I had the whole prison kick down. I felt like I belonged. New guys looked up to me, like someone who'd seen shit and made it through. As I scaled back on my pretty huge habit, I started to get this kind of zen calm about incarceration, and I liked to think I helped a few guys through their first weeks.
The last months before I left was the happiest of my entire life. I started making lists, like this one. Lists of what I was going to do. Lists of things I was going to eat. Lists of places I was going to go. I almost felt like I'd had a near death experience, and now I had to live a better life. Then I left.
Two years is a long time. The world literally changes without you. I got off the bus and went to my favourite bar. It was empty. I went to a cafe my friends used to touch dicks at. None of them were there. I went to my house, pulled the boards off and went inside. Everything was just as I'd left it with two years worth of dust. Most depressing thing you've ever seen. I lay down on my bed and paranoia started setting in. I realised I was pretty much squating and was paranoid about being picked up by the cops and breaching my parole, so I went to my parents house. They let me in, but told me I couldn't stay until they were sure I was off the drugs. I checked into a motel and sat on the edge of the bed, watching MTV and ordering Pizza. I must have ordered like five pizzas from five different places, stayed up till dawn. Thing about prison, is that sleep becomes like a chore you do each day. You're never really tired, so you never really want to sleep, it just breaks up the time. I felt like I didn't want to sleep ever again. Next morning I decided to go for a drive, and thought I'd rent a car - but my driver's licence had expired. I went to get a new one, but because I'd been inside they needed me to get a letter from my parole officer. So I just wandered around for a day. Felt like everyone was staring at me.
You just feel completely lost.
How would you pay for drugs? You have money in prison?
You get a tiny allowance, but you spend most of it on food. The best and most effective way to score is to have someone on the outside pay your man's person on the outside. My preferred method was to get a bank account and deposit on using phone banking. At my worst, I was using a monthly phone call to transfer cash to my dealer's mom instead of calling my own mom. He was actually a cool guy, apart from being an AIDs infected drug dealer inside for a double rape.
If you don't have a set up like that, you can trade for candy. Weird, but that's how shit works inside. A big bag of Reece's Pieces would get you an eight ball. No shit.
I've known a few people who have been to prison, and the things I've heard frighten me to death about ever going. Did you ever have to fight while you were in? Or at least get your ass kicked?
Fighting wasn't as bad as it is on the outside to be honest. Drugs are just so pervasive inside that fights are over pretty quickly. You know, in my few sober moments, I wondered if maybe the screws weren't partly responsible for getting so much dope inside since it made us all pretty much zombies.
I got in a few, more than a few really. But I never really felt like I won a fight. Fridays, if you could keep track of days, were the absolute worst. It was like our brains were programmed to feel pumped up on a Friday for the weekend, but then you'd realise inside that all you had to look forward too was another two days of the same shit. You'd start a fight with anyone, over anything on a friday.
Only time I ever started a fight was over Dr Pepper. I don't know why, but Dr Pepper was the only thing that ever made me feel better about my ****ed up situation. Apart from Heroin. You could get Dr Pepper in these really small plastic bottles, like on planes, but they were the least cost effective snack in the store. So i'd pretty much save up for one every now and then, smuggle it back to my cell on a Friday, chill the **** out with my tape deck and drink it really slow. One time a guy stood over me for my Dr. Pepper and I completely snapped and tried to ram the thing up his nostril. Scored a week in solitary, and just as extra kick in the guts - store staff were forbidden from selling me Dr Pepper.
Apart from that, I was mostly getting the shit beat out of me by Aryans for consorting with ******s. Broke two ribs, my collar bone, my nose (twice), lost two teeth (they were weak as shit from a diet of candy and smack anyway) but blissfully, was raped only once - by a homiegot with the tiniest cock you've ever seen. I'm a fat ****, and I swear that thing barely reached my asshole through my enourmous ass cheeks. It was all I could do to not laugh.
__________________
I too am very glad you're out, OP. Thank you for an amazing thread although not to say your experiences have been in any way amazing. You have a great writing style, by the way. Very compelling and interesting.
Is it true that there's a hierarchy in prison systems with armed robbers generally being considered top of the pecking order and rapists and paedophiles at the bottom? I'm assuming not given what you've said so far but this is something I've heard a couple of times before. Also, what are you planning on doing now you're out? What made you commit armed robbery in the first place? Did you make any friends in prison that you'd stay in touch with outside? I know you said about the suspicion thing (which sounds completely ****ed up and a ridiculous thing for the authorities to want to do by the way) but you also mentioned having a laugh with your cell mate so I thought maybe you might have.
As for friends - not really. I only ever had two. Both cell mates. The first guy was this big truck driver who got busted with meth and was doing longer than me, probably because he was black. That's no joke. The fact I was white and well spoken probably went a long way toward me getting off light. I got some ink and had a pretty stupid haircut when I went in, which really sucked because any point of difference is enough to get you picked on inside. This guy, first thing he says to me is 'what did you rob? American Apparel?' and he would rag on me endlessly. He had a daughter who was the cute as **** little scene girl - seriously, you ever see a half-black scene girl? They're beautiful. We'd sit around all day and I'd tell him all the Odin awful things I was going to do to his daughter if I ever saw her at a Kaiser Chiefs concert and he'd tell me how many skinner sister homiegots she'd brought home only for him to beat up on. First thing he did was help me shave my head. We'd figure out new and interesting ways of working out together, like dead lifting each other, dead lifting our bunks - we'd tie a pair of pants around the top of our bunks and one of us would hold it tight while the other would do curls on it. He got transferred, and that was when I started using. I'd been thinking about it, but apart from using meth while driving, he was a pretty straight edge guy and I didn't want to disrespect him by getting high with him there.
My second cell mate was this kid done for weed. He was scared as ****. He wet the bed every night he came in for weeks. Worst thing I ever did to another human was share my junk with him. At the time, I just felt like it would help him adjust - but some people really can't handle it, or else seem to become addicted way to fast. I know my own limits, and know it takes a steady habit for months to get seriously hooked. Not this kid. He was getting the shakes after a few days without it.
One day he comes back for lock down, takes a hit and after a few minutes says - this isn't H, try it. And it turned out to be powdered MDMA, or Ecstacy. We both did it and ended up giving each other blow jobs. Afterward, things were pretty awkward until I said, you know **** it, we're in prison, let's make a deal that if we can score for ecstacy again we'll get each other off.
We were good friends after that. He got out before me, and I definetly don' think I'll look him up.
Jesus God of Thunder on a shitty dick, American prisons sound downright inhumane. Really, I don't know what to say here.
How're you acclimatizing back to normal society? What about your old friends, your family, anything? All gone? What are you going to do next anyway?
Well I'm on parole for the next year - but it seems downright impossible to find a job. I've got some money saved up and my plan is to get out of the States, head to Europe and find bar work. I haven't seen a soul I knew before since I got back, and I'm almost scared of seeing them now. I can't help but feel like I need to get away, but the Corrections system makes that pretty hard.
I'm thinking about maybe skipping parole and heading south, crossing the border in the Mexico and then catching a plane to London. But I don't know, I heard from one guy (inside, which is about as reliable as /b/) that US Customs are actually at Mexican International checking US passports for Visas. If that's true I'll have to wait.
Well tonight, I'm going to start on Wikipedia and read the entries for every single day I've missed since I was inside. Apparently Lady GaGa is huge now, who would have thunk it? I heard new guys talk about her inside but we don't exactly get the news. There is two years worth of music to get into, which is probably the thing I'm looking forward to the most. Then I'm going to hit Encyclopedia Dramatica and find out about all the memes I missed out on.
Thanks for reading my story.
"Does it start and end at making it so you never want to go back"
I'm curious to hear about OP's thoughts on this, especially after this;
"That, of all things, is probably what has me thinking I won't commit another stupid crime again. You see the pointlessness of life in prison. The worst part is how used to it everyone else in there is. Especially black people. They've seen their fathers, their grandfathers, their brothers and uncles go away. It's almost a part of life for them. Wasting a decade inside just doesn't seem to matter to them anymore."
I'd imagine it only works in scaring the shit out of some people.
One of the few things about prison I ever saw in a movie was that line - can't remember which film it was from - about there being 'inmates' and 'convicts'. About how an 'inmate' is a prisoner, they're scared, and they want to get out and never go back. A 'convict' knows, deep down, they're a criminal, that through their actions they've placed themselves outside the 'man's' law, and that status defines them.
Prison works at scaring the inmate. But convicts... Don't get me wrong, I never want to go back. But as I've reflected on it, in my last few weeks and the last 24 hours of freedom - I've almost found a special pride in having made it through. I was at a bus stop this morning and I struck up a conversation with someone, about how the bus was late, what she was listening to on her iPod, just random shit. And as we got on the bus I realised - that was me, that was me from before going inside talking, I'm still that person. I was really proud for having wrapped that part of me up so tightly during my time that I kept it safe.
It doesn't make me ever want to go back. But it does kind of make me feel like I could survive it again. I think that is probably true for a lot of people.
But for a lot of convicts, I think what brings them back is the adrenelin rush more than anything. Committing a serious crime is a real rush, but life inside keeps you riding this constant edge - some people would get off on the paranoia, the violence, the constant tension. You'd probably find a lot of paralels between the kinds of guys who keep signing up for tours through war zones and the kinds of guys who keeping winding up back inside.
So OP, would you agree with that whole "Prison = college for criminals" thing? Sounds like they've created an environment that reduces that sort of thing, but some older generations I've talked to said they learned all kinds of pointers when they did time.
What about any attempts at actual rehabilitation? Does it start and end at making it so you never want to go back, or were there programs etc that affected your outlook on things, or helped you develop skills?
I'm just curious as to what an ex-con's opinion on the whole "what the prison system is doing in practice" issue is, whether or not they're just removing criminals from society for a while and hopefully scaring some of them into not going back, or attempting to fix the root causes.
Every prison and county jail is different. From the way I figure it, in Michigan we have these low security camps for nonviolent offenders where they genuinely try to get you back on the straight and narrow with life skills, employment training, drug rehab. Then you have the ultra high sec - supermax or level 5, where they just need to do 'something' because the inmates are usually so bug **** psycho they either are never getting out and need their psyches managed as they adapt to that reality - or else they might be getting out soon and they need to be certain they no longer pose a threat to society.
I was in a level 5 facility, (they call in V inside because the State uses roman numerals and you don't find a lot of convicts know what roman numerals are. I Romans for that matter. ) - but it was part of a privately run string of prisons, each with anywhere between a few hundred and a few thousands convicts. To manage the population as it swells and declines seasonaly (convict rates drop through winter. no shit. no one wants to commit a crime when it's cold) people get cycled in and out, so there is really no time for re-offending programs, or programs to prevent drug abuse or any of that.
In terms of it being 'college for criminals'... It's not really the case. Even in high security, with a lot of violent offenders, the number one crime keeping people inside is drugs. Most guys learned more about drug crime from TV than they did inside. Are you really going to take advice about crime from someone who was caught? I heard so many bullshit stories your ears will bleed. About how eucalyptus oil prevents drug dogs from finding your gear. About how Glocks are really made of plastic and can't be picked up by metal detectors. Yes. Die Hard 2 came out 20 years ago and people inside still buy that story.
The storyies about getting caught I'd say were 50/50 in terms of legitimacy. No one would tell you they were ever busted dead to rights. I heard so many tall tales about how the cash straped Michigan State Cops could actually track you down with in a few feet using satelites and cell phones... A lot of interesting stories though, from dealers, about how to pick undercover cops doing 'hand to hands'. I met one guy who had been done over so many times by UCs that he would actually give up a free shot to new customers, on the condition he got to watch them take it. Last time he went away, the cop took the shot, hit it, then arrested him and he got busted for posession, distribution AND assaulting a police officer, because 'forcing someone to smoke a pipe' is really assault and all.
Once word got out that I was a stick up kid, I got a lot of guys hitting me up for information - this is actually really dangerous inside because you never know who is just an idiot that thinks prison is a crime textbook and who might be a snitch. I was initially charged with 13 offences and was convicted on 2, so I was constantly paranoid about being re-tried on new evidence.
We should set up a charity on the site to help this friend in need!
I'm cool for cash.
I feel like saying "great thread OP" is now a mandatory preface to posting, so: great thread OP.
Anyways, you seem like a well spoken individual. In fact, this post got me thinking that you could become the face and leader of the felon's rights movement. You could be, like, the next MLK Jr., man.
Also, did you get hunted down by a bounty hunter when you skipped bail?
No bounty hunter. I was picked up by highway patrol on a random stop. In response to the other queries about the robbery - I posted something about it last night but quickly took it down. I won't go into the actual crime. Got off so easy by changing my plea and taking the two charges the DA's office could prove right there, that I'm paranoid they'll charge me again if they think they could prove more. It's not an especially cool story.
Welcome back, OP. I hope you enjoy your freedom now that you're outside. If it were me, I would buy a pack of smokes and stroll around a park just enjoying the fact that I could. Then again, I didn't go through all the shit you did, so that could be naive of me. I hope you are able to get all of your shit back together. Don't try to blow off your parole like you blew off your bail, unless you don't mind ending up in prison again. If it really is that hard trying to get everything back on track in your life, maybe consider following that other guy's advice and asking to move somewhere that makes it easier for convicted felons to get work/start a new life.
Also, I hope 99chan hasn't changed too much since you were gone and that you can still touch dicks here. I personally don't remember there being as much bitching and whining two years ago, but then again people aren't wired to remember that kind of stupid shit.
Thanks for the advice. It really is true about how the little things mean a lot more to you. First thing I did was buy a real pack of smokes - because inside they're called 'free worlds', as opposed to chop tobacco. That's how you know you're free. Pack of Parliaments never tasted so good.
OP, if i may ask : How similar is the real deal to tv prison dramas ?
Of course i know tv tends to be far from reality and that prisons themselves vary quite a bit, but i am curious about what is similar and what is flat out wrong.
I always imagined Oz was fairly accurate with the mindgames sort of stuff.
I'd seen Oz, and the only similarity to my lock up was the size. You imagine these big sprawling complexes with all the gothic architecture and shit, but Oz is pretty much right about your average high sec prison. Think about 40-50 guys with a common area around two tiers of racks, with an exit to a hexagonal yard area with the other blocks (ours were really called dorms, but block is a universal term for your rack).
In terms of other movies I've seen - American History X was total bullshit. There isn't just one guard in the showers, they're in front of perspex with at least a few watching the cons to make sure nothing happens.
The most accurate depiction of prison life you'll ever see is the 2nd series of The Wire. While I think that's set in a much bigger pen, the culture and the attitudes are note perfect. In particular, the attitudes of gang members, who despite what you think have this scary calm about serving time.
You could say I'm on the other side, OP. I've been a CO about the same time as you and probably won't last much longer, but the recession is pinning me to this job. But I'm about to say **** it anyway and go back to school. I'm not a very good CO. Along with all the things you mentioned about the smell (I don't think there has been a week since I started working there that someone hasn't ****ed around with their feces) it's the long-ass hours and freezing and the uneasy feeling that I could be one of them. While I would never compare the shit I go through to the stuff that goes on inside, it is hard to hold a relationship, have kids, or have an active social life while being a CO. But most of all there are the pricks. Being a CO for any more than a year makes you a prick, and I'm not excluded. And even then I'm nicer to the inmates than any other white CO I know. 90% of my prison is black, so you just feel safer and less prickish if you have black COs.
The whole experience has made me jaded and cynical and not just prisons but humanity.
Make no mistake OP, you may no longer be behind bars but no matter how long your sentence is you are sentenced to a lifetime of unemployment (even if you find a job it will be utter shit) and being looked down upon. My advice is to just get the **** out of the US, to most sensibly a third world country somewhere. But by God if nothing else get the **** out of Michigan and go out west or something (maybe Canada, but they do scrutinize immigrant's criminal records). There are ways you can start a new identity, and as long as you don't look like a hard-ass convict with swastikas all over your face you might be able to throw dirt over your record and live a relatively normal life. Good luck whatever you do.
Respecting COs is probably the only thing that kept me alive on a few occassions, and I totally understood where a lot of them were coming from. In the beginning, it's tempting to be a smart ass but eventually, you realise prison is all about getting by. And you get by with respect. Respect means a lot to convicts, but very few of them show COs any, because of this institutional mentality that sets in. I found that greeting shake downs with a respectful 'just doing your job boss' meant a lot to COs, and it affected the way they treated you. I most respected the guys like you who were clearly just there to do a job and get the **** out. Convicts can pick guys like you. You get to know shift changes like you know times of day after a while. Most of our shake downs would happen straight after a shift change the new guys were at their sharpest, and you could always pick the pricks because they were the ones who'd stick around 'in case some shit goes down' like they were doing everyone a favour. But really, anyone who wanted to spend an extra second in that place had to be twisted in the ****ing brain.
OP, that is a wicked story you got there.
I heard from a prison guard I met at a party that the guards will basically give the biggest bastards an extra pack of smokes or quart of milk so when shit hits the fan, the big dudes wont go out and make it difficult for the officials. Is that true? By "big guys" I guess I mean all the mass murders and **** off huge buff guys who'd be pretty hard to bring down.
Anyway, I hope you readjust to society OP, have some sticky.
Actually, that is very much true. Only not smokes, guards don't distribute stock and snacks to convicts. The biggest thing in your life the COs have over you is visiting hours and phone calls. But favouritism wasn't based on being a 'big guy' or who was most feared - those kinds of convicts were put upon the worst. It hinged on how much respect you commanded, if people would listen to you, and if you could actually convey a message. If people would listen to you, the COs would use you.
The standard come on would be, when you were on the phone, they'd come up about 3 seconds before your time would be up and hang up the phone, then they'd say, there is gonna be a shake down, or a mass transfer, or a 24 hour lock down tomorrow. They'd take you into their confidence and make it clear what was expected of you. Then they'd redial the number and restart the timer, effectively doubling your phone time.
They tried it with me once and we nearly got into an argument about it. I say nearly because arguing with a boss is always a bad idea. I was at my absolute worst in terms of using, but I wasn't a bitch, and I wasn't so ****ed up that I couldn't get a word out effectively - so the boss says there is going to be a 24 hour lock down tomorrow because of an escape attempt in one of the other blocks, and he needed me to keep the peace on my tier. I basically said to him 'look at me, I can't keep my ****ing pants up let along communicate a complex idea like that to my neighbours' but it's made pretty clear I have no choice in the matter.
That afternoon, I get a chinese whisper going about the lock down, but it's a dangerous thing. Because even though the other convicts know you're the guy with the info - some of them will be wondering if you've been tipped off because you're a snitch, or else some people just shoot the messenger when it comes to bad news - or stab the messenger. I got away with it by blaming it on those ****ers from O Dorm. It was kind of funny because the boss' got wind of that, and forever after any bad news would be announced by saying it was O Dorm's fault we were all getting ****ed. You create a siege mentality and convicts will take anything.
A funny thing about lockdowns - you know how the day before a public holiday people will go crazy and hit all the stores to stock up on food? It's like that inside. The reason the boss' always leaks a lock down is so we buy as much candy as we possibly can, as many smokes, and as much gear as we can cram up our assholes and go quietly back to our cells. That particular lockdown ended up being 72 hours. As far as prison experiences go, they're the most interesting. It's kind of like going on a camp out. You often get guys 'hot racking', where they'll swap cell mates with their bros, or just apedophile groupon cells completely and move their bedding over to hold little sleep overs where they play cards and talk shit. Strangely enough, as bad as a lock down sounds, they really brought blocks together in mutual hatred, and broke up the monotony. I often wondered if the screws didn't just throw them at random to keep us interested.
Is it true that there's a hierarchy in prison systems with armed robbers generally being considered top of the pecking order and rapists and paedophiles at the bottom? I'm assuming not given what you've said so far but this is something I've heard a couple of times before. Also, what are you planning on doing now you're out? What made you commit armed robbery in the first place? Did you make any friends in prison that you'd stay in touch with outside? I know you said about the suspicion thing (which sounds completely ****ed up and a ridiculous thing for the authorities to want to do by the way) but you also mentioned having a laugh with your cell mate so I thought maybe you might have.
As for friends - not really. I only ever had two. Both cell mates. The first guy was this big truck driver who got busted with meth and was doing longer than me, probably because he was black. That's no joke. The fact I was white and well spoken probably went a long way toward me getting off light. I got some ink and had a pretty stupid haircut when I went in, which really sucked because any point of difference is enough to get you picked on inside. This guy, first thing he says to me is 'what did you rob? American Apparel?' and he would rag on me endlessly. He had a daughter who was the cute as **** little scene girl - seriously, you ever see a half-black scene girl? They're beautiful. We'd sit around all day and I'd tell him all the Odin awful things I was going to do to his daughter if I ever saw her at a Kaiser Chiefs concert and he'd tell me how many skinner sister homiegots she'd brought home only for him to beat up on. First thing he did was help me shave my head. We'd figure out new and interesting ways of working out together, like dead lifting each other, dead lifting our bunks - we'd tie a pair of pants around the top of our bunks and one of us would hold it tight while the other would do curls on it. He got transferred, and that was when I started using. I'd been thinking about it, but apart from using meth while driving, he was a pretty straight edge guy and I didn't want to disrespect him by getting high with him there.
My second cell mate was this kid done for weed. He was scared as ****. He wet the bed every night he came in for weeks. Worst thing I ever did to another human was share my junk with him. At the time, I just felt like it would help him adjust - but some people really can't handle it, or else seem to become addicted way to fast. I know my own limits, and know it takes a steady habit for months to get seriously hooked. Not this kid. He was getting the shakes after a few days without it.
One day he comes back for lock down, takes a hit and after a few minutes says - this isn't H, try it. And it turned out to be powdered MDMA, or Ecstacy. We both did it and ended up giving each other blow jobs. Afterward, things were pretty awkward until I said, you know **** it, we're in prison, let's make a deal that if we can score for ecstacy again we'll get each other off.
We were good friends after that. He got out before me, and I definetly don' think I'll look him up.
Jesus God of Thunder on a shitty dick, American prisons sound downright inhumane. Really, I don't know what to say here.
How're you acclimatizing back to normal society? What about your old friends, your family, anything? All gone? What are you going to do next anyway?
Well I'm on parole for the next year - but it seems downright impossible to find a job. I've got some money saved up and my plan is to get out of the States, head to Europe and find bar work. I haven't seen a soul I knew before since I got back, and I'm almost scared of seeing them now. I can't help but feel like I need to get away, but the Corrections system makes that pretty hard.
I'm thinking about maybe skipping parole and heading south, crossing the border in the Mexico and then catching a plane to London. But I don't know, I heard from one guy (inside, which is about as reliable as /b/) that US Customs are actually at Mexican International checking US passports for Visas. If that's true I'll have to wait.
Well tonight, I'm going to start on Wikipedia and read the entries for every single day I've missed since I was inside. Apparently Lady GaGa is huge now, who would have thunk it? I heard new guys talk about her inside but we don't exactly get the news. There is two years worth of music to get into, which is probably the thing I'm looking forward to the most. Then I'm going to hit Encyclopedia Dramatica and find out about all the memes I missed out on.
Thanks for reading my story.
"Does it start and end at making it so you never want to go back"
I'm curious to hear about OP's thoughts on this, especially after this;
"That, of all things, is probably what has me thinking I won't commit another stupid crime again. You see the pointlessness of life in prison. The worst part is how used to it everyone else in there is. Especially black people. They've seen their fathers, their grandfathers, their brothers and uncles go away. It's almost a part of life for them. Wasting a decade inside just doesn't seem to matter to them anymore."
I'd imagine it only works in scaring the shit out of some people.
One of the few things about prison I ever saw in a movie was that line - can't remember which film it was from - about there being 'inmates' and 'convicts'. About how an 'inmate' is a prisoner, they're scared, and they want to get out and never go back. A 'convict' knows, deep down, they're a criminal, that through their actions they've placed themselves outside the 'man's' law, and that status defines them.
Prison works at scaring the inmate. But convicts... Don't get me wrong, I never want to go back. But as I've reflected on it, in my last few weeks and the last 24 hours of freedom - I've almost found a special pride in having made it through. I was at a bus stop this morning and I struck up a conversation with someone, about how the bus was late, what she was listening to on her iPod, just random shit. And as we got on the bus I realised - that was me, that was me from before going inside talking, I'm still that person. I was really proud for having wrapped that part of me up so tightly during my time that I kept it safe.
It doesn't make me ever want to go back. But it does kind of make me feel like I could survive it again. I think that is probably true for a lot of people.
But for a lot of convicts, I think what brings them back is the adrenelin rush more than anything. Committing a serious crime is a real rush, but life inside keeps you riding this constant edge - some people would get off on the paranoia, the violence, the constant tension. You'd probably find a lot of paralels between the kinds of guys who keep signing up for tours through war zones and the kinds of guys who keeping winding up back inside.
So OP, would you agree with that whole "Prison = college for criminals" thing? Sounds like they've created an environment that reduces that sort of thing, but some older generations I've talked to said they learned all kinds of pointers when they did time.
What about any attempts at actual rehabilitation? Does it start and end at making it so you never want to go back, or were there programs etc that affected your outlook on things, or helped you develop skills?
I'm just curious as to what an ex-con's opinion on the whole "what the prison system is doing in practice" issue is, whether or not they're just removing criminals from society for a while and hopefully scaring some of them into not going back, or attempting to fix the root causes.
Every prison and county jail is different. From the way I figure it, in Michigan we have these low security camps for nonviolent offenders where they genuinely try to get you back on the straight and narrow with life skills, employment training, drug rehab. Then you have the ultra high sec - supermax or level 5, where they just need to do 'something' because the inmates are usually so bug **** psycho they either are never getting out and need their psyches managed as they adapt to that reality - or else they might be getting out soon and they need to be certain they no longer pose a threat to society.
I was in a level 5 facility, (they call in V inside because the State uses roman numerals and you don't find a lot of convicts know what roman numerals are. I Romans for that matter. ) - but it was part of a privately run string of prisons, each with anywhere between a few hundred and a few thousands convicts. To manage the population as it swells and declines seasonaly (convict rates drop through winter. no shit. no one wants to commit a crime when it's cold) people get cycled in and out, so there is really no time for re-offending programs, or programs to prevent drug abuse or any of that.
In terms of it being 'college for criminals'... It's not really the case. Even in high security, with a lot of violent offenders, the number one crime keeping people inside is drugs. Most guys learned more about drug crime from TV than they did inside. Are you really going to take advice about crime from someone who was caught? I heard so many bullshit stories your ears will bleed. About how eucalyptus oil prevents drug dogs from finding your gear. About how Glocks are really made of plastic and can't be picked up by metal detectors. Yes. Die Hard 2 came out 20 years ago and people inside still buy that story.
The storyies about getting caught I'd say were 50/50 in terms of legitimacy. No one would tell you they were ever busted dead to rights. I heard so many tall tales about how the cash straped Michigan State Cops could actually track you down with in a few feet using satelites and cell phones... A lot of interesting stories though, from dealers, about how to pick undercover cops doing 'hand to hands'. I met one guy who had been done over so many times by UCs that he would actually give up a free shot to new customers, on the condition he got to watch them take it. Last time he went away, the cop took the shot, hit it, then arrested him and he got busted for posession, distribution AND assaulting a police officer, because 'forcing someone to smoke a pipe' is really assault and all.
Once word got out that I was a stick up kid, I got a lot of guys hitting me up for information - this is actually really dangerous inside because you never know who is just an idiot that thinks prison is a crime textbook and who might be a snitch. I was initially charged with 13 offences and was convicted on 2, so I was constantly paranoid about being re-tried on new evidence.
We should set up a charity on the site to help this friend in need!
I'm cool for cash.
I feel like saying "great thread OP" is now a mandatory preface to posting, so: great thread OP.
Anyways, you seem like a well spoken individual. In fact, this post got me thinking that you could become the face and leader of the felon's rights movement. You could be, like, the next MLK Jr., man.
Also, did you get hunted down by a bounty hunter when you skipped bail?
No bounty hunter. I was picked up by highway patrol on a random stop. In response to the other queries about the robbery - I posted something about it last night but quickly took it down. I won't go into the actual crime. Got off so easy by changing my plea and taking the two charges the DA's office could prove right there, that I'm paranoid they'll charge me again if they think they could prove more. It's not an especially cool story.
Welcome back, OP. I hope you enjoy your freedom now that you're outside. If it were me, I would buy a pack of smokes and stroll around a park just enjoying the fact that I could. Then again, I didn't go through all the shit you did, so that could be naive of me. I hope you are able to get all of your shit back together. Don't try to blow off your parole like you blew off your bail, unless you don't mind ending up in prison again. If it really is that hard trying to get everything back on track in your life, maybe consider following that other guy's advice and asking to move somewhere that makes it easier for convicted felons to get work/start a new life.
Also, I hope 99chan hasn't changed too much since you were gone and that you can still touch dicks here. I personally don't remember there being as much bitching and whining two years ago, but then again people aren't wired to remember that kind of stupid shit.
Thanks for the advice. It really is true about how the little things mean a lot more to you. First thing I did was buy a real pack of smokes - because inside they're called 'free worlds', as opposed to chop tobacco. That's how you know you're free. Pack of Parliaments never tasted so good.
OP, if i may ask : How similar is the real deal to tv prison dramas ?
Of course i know tv tends to be far from reality and that prisons themselves vary quite a bit, but i am curious about what is similar and what is flat out wrong.
I always imagined Oz was fairly accurate with the mindgames sort of stuff.
I'd seen Oz, and the only similarity to my lock up was the size. You imagine these big sprawling complexes with all the gothic architecture and shit, but Oz is pretty much right about your average high sec prison. Think about 40-50 guys with a common area around two tiers of racks, with an exit to a hexagonal yard area with the other blocks (ours were really called dorms, but block is a universal term for your rack).
In terms of other movies I've seen - American History X was total bullshit. There isn't just one guard in the showers, they're in front of perspex with at least a few watching the cons to make sure nothing happens.
The most accurate depiction of prison life you'll ever see is the 2nd series of The Wire. While I think that's set in a much bigger pen, the culture and the attitudes are note perfect. In particular, the attitudes of gang members, who despite what you think have this scary calm about serving time.
You could say I'm on the other side, OP. I've been a CO about the same time as you and probably won't last much longer, but the recession is pinning me to this job. But I'm about to say **** it anyway and go back to school. I'm not a very good CO. Along with all the things you mentioned about the smell (I don't think there has been a week since I started working there that someone hasn't ****ed around with their feces) it's the long-ass hours and freezing and the uneasy feeling that I could be one of them. While I would never compare the shit I go through to the stuff that goes on inside, it is hard to hold a relationship, have kids, or have an active social life while being a CO. But most of all there are the pricks. Being a CO for any more than a year makes you a prick, and I'm not excluded. And even then I'm nicer to the inmates than any other white CO I know. 90% of my prison is black, so you just feel safer and less prickish if you have black COs.
The whole experience has made me jaded and cynical and not just prisons but humanity.
Make no mistake OP, you may no longer be behind bars but no matter how long your sentence is you are sentenced to a lifetime of unemployment (even if you find a job it will be utter shit) and being looked down upon. My advice is to just get the **** out of the US, to most sensibly a third world country somewhere. But by God if nothing else get the **** out of Michigan and go out west or something (maybe Canada, but they do scrutinize immigrant's criminal records). There are ways you can start a new identity, and as long as you don't look like a hard-ass convict with swastikas all over your face you might be able to throw dirt over your record and live a relatively normal life. Good luck whatever you do.
Respecting COs is probably the only thing that kept me alive on a few occassions, and I totally understood where a lot of them were coming from. In the beginning, it's tempting to be a smart ass but eventually, you realise prison is all about getting by. And you get by with respect. Respect means a lot to convicts, but very few of them show COs any, because of this institutional mentality that sets in. I found that greeting shake downs with a respectful 'just doing your job boss' meant a lot to COs, and it affected the way they treated you. I most respected the guys like you who were clearly just there to do a job and get the **** out. Convicts can pick guys like you. You get to know shift changes like you know times of day after a while. Most of our shake downs would happen straight after a shift change the new guys were at their sharpest, and you could always pick the pricks because they were the ones who'd stick around 'in case some shit goes down' like they were doing everyone a favour. But really, anyone who wanted to spend an extra second in that place had to be twisted in the ****ing brain.
OP, that is a wicked story you got there.
I heard from a prison guard I met at a party that the guards will basically give the biggest bastards an extra pack of smokes or quart of milk so when shit hits the fan, the big dudes wont go out and make it difficult for the officials. Is that true? By "big guys" I guess I mean all the mass murders and **** off huge buff guys who'd be pretty hard to bring down.
Anyway, I hope you readjust to society OP, have some sticky.
Actually, that is very much true. Only not smokes, guards don't distribute stock and snacks to convicts. The biggest thing in your life the COs have over you is visiting hours and phone calls. But favouritism wasn't based on being a 'big guy' or who was most feared - those kinds of convicts were put upon the worst. It hinged on how much respect you commanded, if people would listen to you, and if you could actually convey a message. If people would listen to you, the COs would use you.
The standard come on would be, when you were on the phone, they'd come up about 3 seconds before your time would be up and hang up the phone, then they'd say, there is gonna be a shake down, or a mass transfer, or a 24 hour lock down tomorrow. They'd take you into their confidence and make it clear what was expected of you. Then they'd redial the number and restart the timer, effectively doubling your phone time.
They tried it with me once and we nearly got into an argument about it. I say nearly because arguing with a boss is always a bad idea. I was at my absolute worst in terms of using, but I wasn't a bitch, and I wasn't so ****ed up that I couldn't get a word out effectively - so the boss says there is going to be a 24 hour lock down tomorrow because of an escape attempt in one of the other blocks, and he needed me to keep the peace on my tier. I basically said to him 'look at me, I can't keep my ****ing pants up let along communicate a complex idea like that to my neighbours' but it's made pretty clear I have no choice in the matter.
That afternoon, I get a chinese whisper going about the lock down, but it's a dangerous thing. Because even though the other convicts know you're the guy with the info - some of them will be wondering if you've been tipped off because you're a snitch, or else some people just shoot the messenger when it comes to bad news - or stab the messenger. I got away with it by blaming it on those ****ers from O Dorm. It was kind of funny because the boss' got wind of that, and forever after any bad news would be announced by saying it was O Dorm's fault we were all getting ****ed. You create a siege mentality and convicts will take anything.
A funny thing about lockdowns - you know how the day before a public holiday people will go crazy and hit all the stores to stock up on food? It's like that inside. The reason the boss' always leaks a lock down is so we buy as much candy as we possibly can, as many smokes, and as much gear as we can cram up our assholes and go quietly back to our cells. That particular lockdown ended up being 72 hours. As far as prison experiences go, they're the most interesting. It's kind of like going on a camp out. You often get guys 'hot racking', where they'll swap cell mates with their bros, or just apedophile groupon cells completely and move their bedding over to hold little sleep overs where they play cards and talk shit. Strangely enough, as bad as a lock down sounds, they really brought blocks together in mutual hatred, and broke up the monotony. I often wondered if the screws didn't just throw them at random to keep us interested.
So insightful. You're such a smart and interesting guy, OP. I showed this thread to my flatmate tonight who never ever looks at anything on here as much as I bug him to occasionally and he was amazed by you. Not to suck your dick or anything but yeah, you're very impressive.
This is a question for later or tomorrow or something because you've got enough to contend with for now but what did you miss most about sex while inside? Just the sex itself or the intimacy? I know there are cliches on both sides about that so I was wondering what your thoughts were.
This is a really interesting question. So much so I went and had a smoke and a think about it.
You know how a lot of people that hang around these boards will say how they're desensitised to sexuality? How years of the most twisted porn the Internet's underbelly can offer has made them numb? I guess I was like that going in. If you had have asked me, the day before I went inside, what my ultimate sexual fantasy was I'd have said something stupid like 'Emma Waton, a rubber tube, two mexican fighting fish, a chainsaw and a bucket of grease'.
Now, I shit you not, my answer would more likely be 'a beautiful woman that loves me'.
Every convict has a jack bank. Scraps of magazines, smuggled porn, that kind of thing. I used to keep mine under the inner sole of my sneaker. If you took a survey of what convicts keep in their jack bank, you'd be shocked to learn that mostly, it's women's faces. The single most sought after item in the common area was the TV guide. Because you'd get full page ads for movies and beautiful women. ****ing up the TV guide was a hangable offence, since our TV was pre recorded and edited to cut out the news, and anything not G rated, you needed the TV guide to keep track of what you were missing out on. As an aside, one of the most surreal moments inside was the Superbowl, all these convicts crowded around this caged screen watching a repeat of Blue's Clues - muttering about how the Superbowl was really on. It was like even though they couldn't watch it, they wanted to be a part of a national, communal activity. Two days later they replayed the Superbowl, with the ads and half time show taken out - no one watched it. How ****ing weird is that?
So yeah, I got side tracked while talking about the TV Guide. The keeper of the TV Guide would be whoever scored it out of a mail bag. Usually the guy on mail duty. And after a few weeks, you'd ask, as nicely as possible, preferebly with a gift of candy, if you could take a look, and maybe later, in return for smokes - you'd cut something out. I cut out a half page ad for The Other Boleyn Girl. Actually, i'll find it an post it here.
Now you think about the shit you can get with just three clicks from here. You can hit up one of the porn boards and be jerking away in minutes. You'd probably even not jerk off to soft core porn, because just a few clicks away, you could see some whore being cranked by 9 guys and getting glazed with cum.
I guess in the real world, where life is mundane and boring - you need those fantasies of dark sexual shit to keep you going. But inside, there is just dark shit everywhere. Violence, death, fear. You don't want it in your head. So no matter what you were like before, inside, you try and escape in your head to places that are good and just... decent I guess.
You go from having elaborate rape fantasies to having sweet, candle lit intimacy fantasies. Sounds gay, but it's true for most guys inside I think.
It changes the way you think about women. When I went inside, I was full of bitterness over the mother of my kid leaving, I felt like my sister had betrayed me, so I left her - and I thought of some of the girl's I'd used in my life and felt like they were pathetic sluts.
But inside, I would have given anything to know just one of them loved me - and when I say love, I don't mean like, I'd want to marry them, or that kind of passionate, movie love. Just that they'd consent to being intimate with me.
I don't think I mentioned it before, but I spent a few months inside under the impression that I'd been infected with hepatitis - thankfully I wasn't, but that really compounded this need for intimacy, because I felt like, even once I got out, a woman would never touch me again.
I should note too - there is a long running conspiracy theory inside that the boss' put something in the food that numbs arousal. The usual response to this is 'if so, why are you still jacking off to your mom?' or 'then why do you keep staring at my ass?' but still, it might not be a joke.
So anyway, this has all been pretty grim shit. So since I started with a list of the worst things about prison, I thought I'd leave [sic] with a list of the best things about freedom. Not sappy bullshit about your parents and sunshine - but things you probably take for granted because you've never had them taken away.
Laughter
No one laughs inside. You might occassionally fake a laugh when someone does something stupid, or gets what they deserve. But inside you laugh at straight up irony. Nothing is really funny when you're locked in a concrete bunker with seemingly no hope of getting out.
When I went inside, my favourite things were horror movies and violent video games. But now I can't stand the thought of them. I've seen too much real violence for one life time.
Instead I've burned through three seasons of 30 Rock. I haven't laughed so hard in my entire life. I find myself laughing at shit that a couple of years ago I would have been too jaded and cynical to laugh at, or thought that it wasn't cool to laugh at. Now I find myself cruising through Metacritic for the funniest films of the last two years. I liked to think that I used to be funny, but now, I realise I'm not. That I look in the mirror and there is this kind of grimness there.
So don't take laughter for granted. It can actually be taken away quite easily.
Politeness
We all think we're such ****ing abrasive bad asses that we don't need to use manners. I used to be the biggest offender. But inside, it just starts to grate on you after a while - that you're forced to be polite to the boss, but your daily interactions with convicts are typified by cursing, shoving, and basically barbaric behaviour.
Basic human decency becomes the thing you miss the most. Saying 'please' and 'thank you' and 'you're welcome' just simple shit like that reminds you you're human, that you're a part of society.
The things I've enjoyed most since I've left are just mundane things that allow me congenial interactions with people. Paying for the bus. Talking to the person you're sitting next too. Buying a sandwich. Excusing yourself when you pass someone on an escalator. Helping people. I helped a woman get her pram off the bus this morning, and she probably walked away thinking 'what a nice young man' without realising I've just spent two years locked inside cesspool of human indignity for threatening a room full of people with a firearm. That wasn't lost on me, but none the less it made me feel good about myself. Being nice makes you feel good about yourself and inside - you never feel good about yourself.
Clothes
I will never wear the same clothes two days in a row for as long as I live. Inside, I had two pairs of elastic waist track pants, two t-shirts, a wool sweater, and a peacoat with the buttons taken off. Three pairs of boxers. I started with more - but I shit myself a few times when I was high. Not proud of that. I had two pairs of laceless sneakers, like vans, and a pair of flip flops. In winter, we'd basically wear all our clothes at once.
When I got home, I was wearing the suit I stood trial in. I gave my prison clothes to a convict in return for some toothpaste. I opened my closet, and realised how all my old clothes were so black. I just wanted color. Like a hawaian shirt or something. Inside, every thing was variations on blue, beige and lime green. I wanted to wear all red like Jack White or something.
Clothes don't maketh the man - but damn if they don't make you feel better about your place in the universe. Just wearing jeans that fit, a belt, nice shoes - never take that for granted. It's not like I was ever a ****ing fashion plate or anything, but now I have this new found appreciation for looking nice.
They actually taught me how to sew inside. I've been wondering if I couldn't maybe become a tailor or something. America's first straight, ex-con fashion designer.
That last thing you should never take for granted is this - your mental health. Every day I woke up sober inside (at some points, they were rare) I'd stare at the ceiling and talk to myself. Sometime's out loud. I'd take stock of my own level of madness. How justified was my paranoia today. What did I dream of last night. What kind of bad things will float through my head if I don't control it. I'd literally have to take stock of my own psychological well being.
No one should have to do that. Because questioning your sanity is like picking at a scab - once you start it bleeding you can't help but keep picking. And by virtue of your questioning, you make it true.
I went more than a little crazy inside. The insane amount of smack I ingested might have had something to do with it. But more likely the circumstances. For me, the punishment of prison was less about separation, and more about the forced introspection.
Imagine a kind of forced autism, only without being any kind of savant. That's what prison is. Outside, you're free to keep your head in check. You're free to indulge your mind and keep it healthy. And I guess if you keep your mind healthy, you'll be less inclined to find yourself inside in the first place.
So where are you living right now, OP? Are you still at that motel? Do you have your own comp or are you posting from an internet cafe or library or something?
I'm back at my own place. Cable was disconnected while I was gone but I can get wireless. Place smells so ****ing bad because the power was cut, fridge defrosted, and the inside kind of looks like someone died in there. It's better than the men's shelter though where most parolees end up.
Strangely, I'm pretty sure the place has been broken into, probably several times, but they only took DVDs. I suspect my ex-[girlfriend] might have been living here while I was inside. But seriously this fridge looks like it's been stewing in mould for about a century. If I wasn't so distracted by looking at porn and streaming MTV and Comedy Network I'd probably look up how to clean it. As it is, I've wheeled the ****er outside.
"They actually taught me how to sew inside. I've been wondering if I couldn't maybe become a tailor or something. America's first straight, ex-con fashion designer."
I was wondering what kind of skills you have to work with - both from before and during your incarceration. Who knows, perhaps someone here might be able to hook you up with a job.
My other question has to do with solitary, because I've felt myself strangely attracted to the idea of being in solitary confinement and sometimes wonder how I would cope. Could you explain the experience a little more, and your reactions to it (if it's not too overwhelming to think about)?
It's kind of funny; but all of the things you are listing about freedom that shouldn't be taken for granted - I really do appreciate and spend time reveling in them, and then I feel like I'm odd because most people just don't. I'm not sure that I have any particular reason why I do this, either. Perhaps a penchant for introspection and pessimism (or as I like to say, realism) about the way things are forces me focus on the small joys of life. Aren't they wonderful?
Also OP, I have to say that I was nearly moved to tears by some of your recent posts. It hadn't happened up until now - perhaps because I have heard/read a few things about prisons before, or perhaps your story is becoming more personal.
Anyways, thanks for answering all these questions. I hope this conversation is benefitting you as much as the rest of us.
It's disturbing, and a little embarrasing, but I'd graduated a college before going away.
As for solitary:
The offical term for it is 'administrative segregation' or ad seg, or the dungeon. Our was a low, hexagonal building with no exits and one entry, through a wire fenched tunnel. Inside your cell, which about two, three feet smaller than a normal cell and only as narrow as the door, you have two doors, one in out into the main room where the boss' have access to the other six room, and the other door to a fenced yard no more than three paces across from corner to corner. That door would unlock for an hour, than a light would come on telling you to go back inside, than you might get one or two more hours a day if they need to hold another convict in your cell before transfer, or before being taken to infirmary. But you never see another human the whole time.
Standard time in ad seg was three days to a week. Longer for the most serious infractions.
My first time in solitary was during a mass transfer, which is when our pen would be filled with extra inmates from another pen over night before being moved on. I was there for three days. The first day wasn't so bad. In the beginning, I thought 'this is interesting' at least. And I kind of enjoyed being alone. I jacked off a lot. The second day, I read the bible. Which is the only book allowed in ad seg. The third day... I began to imagine I'd been forgotten about, and I started to panic. Like Mau-dib says "Fear is the Mind Killer". Once you start down the road, there is no going back. You think you can handle it, like being alone isn't so bad, like it's almost a relief... But they make the room just the slight little bit too small. You lose track of time. You can't see the light or figure out what day it is. You resort to counting out loud the seconds. You can't distract yourself anymore and you start pacing but there isn't enough room to pace and it just makes it worse. I'd never had a panic attack before, so I didn't know what to expect. My heart just started pounding out of my chest and I felt like I was going to faint. I wanted to faint, so I could at least sleep and waste some time. But I couldn't. I ended up by stay in ad seg screaming for help, until they came in and tasered me. I woke up back in my old cell.
The next morning, they pulled me out of bed, and said because I ****ed up in ad seg... I'd be put back in ad seg. For a week. I screamed and tried to get away on my way back so they put leg cuffs on me and didn't take them off. I got tasered again. This just made it worse.
That was when I decided to get some dope as soon as I was out.
On the plus side, I now have scary accurate recall of obscure biblical passages.
What'd you major in, OP? I'm willing to bet that it wasn't armed robbery.
This is turning out to be a very interesting thread, the best we've had in some time. Your story is very intriguing, and I'd like ti know more about the protagonist. Tell us a bit more about yourself, like what you did in school, what led you to do what you did. This way we can get a clearer image of a 'before and after'.
Also, you should really get off the drugs, man. Any way you can. Maybe you could check into re-hab.
So your parents paid for your house, but they cut the power, cable, etc... How'd you get a computer, how are you getting around, what money are you living off of and where'd it come from? I'm intrigued by the logistics of it.
I don't want to give away too much of my personal information, but I'll say as much as I feel I can:
I didn't grow up in Michigan, but my parents had been thinking of moving to Ann Arbor, which co-incided with UMich being the closest thing to Ivy League I was going to get into. I was at the LSA, College of Literature - but I flunked out of language training. Mom and Dad fronted the cash for me to study overseas, hoping I'd get to Europe and actually learn enough German / French for me to come back the next semester and finish my degree. I ended up traveling with a bunch of Australians and decided to **** off college and head to Sydney. Mom and Dad threatened to stop funding what was becoming basically an all expenses paid drug binge unless I re-enrolled, and I convinced them to pay for me to go to the University of Sydney - which is just this spectacular campus right in the heart of the city, only half an hour from some of the most beautiful beaches you'll ever see in your life. I stayed for 3 years and actually manged to piece together a degree. I told my parents I wanted to stay, and had already applied to extend my student Visa - but they told me if I did they'd cut me off.
It was the stupidest thing I ever did in my life, driven by laziness and privlidge, but I decided to go back to the States. In Australia, university is different - they don't have a distinction between college and uni - you can get your BA at 21 and off you go. Mom and Dad didn't think it was good enough so they wanted me back at Uni doing a post grad course. They're both academics and they didn't want to cut me lose without a 'proper education'. ****ing backfired because Michigan depressed me so much I ended up ****ing off to Detroit and squating, bar tending, just generally being a miscreant really. Long story short, that's where I was when we decided we could get away with a stick up job.
So basically - I was an over privlidged little **** who had the world laid out at his feet, and threw it all up down the toilet. One of the many things that prison taught me - especially after being confronted with the suffering and abject poverty of black convicts - is take what you're given and don't argue. Because you got lucky. You could have been born black with a crack pipe in your crib. Crib as in, cot, not you know, a house. I might have done time but I'm not that ebonic.
just read the thread.
i'm curious, OP, as to exactly how friendly or unfriendly people are in there. i mean if you walked by some guy (or a group of guys) you've never met, would you just stare straight ahead?
how often were you scared of being attacked? were some attacks on other inmates random?
was there a small group of guys that got shit on the most?
great thread by the way.
Well people are not friendly. You build a network like this - your cell mate, who is pretty much forced to deal with you day in and day out, then his friends - thanks to prison ethnic populations, as a white guy, if you're racked with a black guy - he'll be your best friend after lights out and during lock down, but chances are he'll spit on you if he's with his people. This isn't a big deal. You see it coming a mile off. I was lucky in that my first long term cell mate, by virtue of being an older guy, hung with a more diverse group of old timers who were more accepting. They respected, to a degree, the fact I wasn't in on drugs, so we had that in common. These guys were all stick ups and a couple of murders. But they were also deeply suspicous of my light years, and the fact I was white.
Forget what you've heard about black gangs, there is only one black gang - the black gang. They put all their bullshit aside inside and pull together, look out for each other. You really have to respect that. Aryan Brotherhood, or at least our pasty wannabe Aryans in my pen were ****s of the highest order. You didn't make eye contact with them. You didn't buy off them. Trade with them. Talk to them. Most of them couldn't even **** you up in my prison, they were weedy little shitbirds who got nasty nazi tats to look tough. But... Just by virtue of getting the brands, they could make your life hell by ****ing with you until you get a transfer... where their real brothers might be waiting.
So yeah. People are not friendly inside. It's an endless shit fight of politics and ****ery.
This one hits me particularly hard. I feel like this, but at all times. Even in my attempts to drown out massive parts of my psych, I always feel this part of me that sits and stares at all of my faults, examining, saying 'Look here! Another failing! You are faulty!' Because of you OP, I'm going to visit a psychologist tomorrow and talk to some of my best friends for help. Thank You.
I do have a question for you. I've had this belief that you can't really know yourself until you've experienced a great tragedy in your life. This can be a near death experience (this feels similar, as you surmised earlier), the loss of a loved one, or any number of extremely harrowing 'adventures'. Do you feel this is true?
It's easily evident that you have grown a lot as a person. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, as they say. Would you consider this a level of enlightenment, where your life is now more fulfilled after these experiences?
Or if you had the chance, you would roll everything back and be the man before the crime?
Thank you for even considering to continue to answer our questions.
OP here. Will still answer questions when ever I stop by since some of you get a kick out of it.
There was a kind of 'mini-riot' in our dorm not long before I got out. A fight started over something in the yard, I didn't see what, and the boss, who must have been new or something, decided the best way to deal with it was to coral convicts back into the common area and push everyone back into their cells. Me and about three other guys were all ready in our cells, which were on the top tier of our block, and so we're looking down at about 20 COs trying to push about 50-60 convicts through a set of double doors.
One of the COs was getting his face smashed in by two guys on either side of him, so another CO has gone to hit one of them with his taser.
Now I don't know what happened, I think this one boss forgot he still had a cartridge loaded - mostly in a situation like that, the COs use the 'contact' taser, which is the little pistol but they have to press it into you to shock you - so he's gone to do that, but fired off a cartridge, the one that sends off the two spikes into the target. As best anyone could figure it, one of the prongs has gone into the convict, and another has gone into the CO being pummeled. So when the convict tries to grab him, it closes the circuit and they both get zapped.
It was like dumping a bag of bloody mince into a shark pool. As soon as the boss went down, every convict in the fray just pounced on him, and even guys who couldn't possibly have seen it from our vantage point dived in, as if they could smell the sudden weakness. Me and a few other guys just watched - because we could hear the rapid response team coming. The guys with whom you did not ****.
I turned to this old timer, and by old timer I mean he's probably 30 or so, but he'd been in a decade - and said 'there are people in the free world that would pay money for shit like that'. He's nodded sagely and said 'son, life is not an extreme sport.'
I guess, in a roundabout kind of way, that's how I feel on the whole 'adversity makes you stronger' kick. Life is not an extreme sport.
Before I went away, I was kind of an adrenelin junky. That's one of the factor's that lead me to commiting my crime in the first place. I used to think you couldn't truly know yourself until you'd put your body and mind through intense experiences. But prison taught me this isn't true. That's privlidged, middle class logic.
What prison taught me was that some people are born into a life where they're going to be subjected to intense life experiences and personal tragedy on an almost daily basis.
So no, I don't think you get enlightenment after something like that. I think all anyone really wants, if they're honest with themselves, is a quiet, easy life surrounded by people that love them. Anything else is a conceit.
Simple question, what was the first thing you said to your cell-mate when you got in (and vice versa I guess)? I'm actually curious to know how that conversation goes most the time. I just can't see "sup" being the usual ice breaker.
There isn't a convict alive who over time doesn't become intimately aware of just how bad ass they seem by virtue of being inside. There isn't a guy inside who doesn't allow himself that exagerated swagger because 'he a convict' and he doesn't take shit from no one. A part of that swagger is silent intimidation. If you really want to scare someone you say nothing. So introductions to new cellmates usually begin with long periods of silence. You stand on the thresh hold, clutching your bedding like it's an anchor to the free world and your cellmate just stares at you, for a long, long time. You don't say anything, because they don't look like they're going to say anything back. You could be racked with a white collar fraudster and they'll still give you the same treatment, because back in the day they got the same treatment and so on and so forth all the way back to the first guy that ever got locked up in some dungeon thousands of years ago.
I had three cellmates I racked with for any length of time and a dozen or so more who were cycled in during transfers or when gen pop swelled over summer. Eventually, they ask you what you're in for. I always imagined there would be some kind of prison slang for this, like I'd be asked what I was in for but in some alien prison kant that I wouldn't understand. But luckily, you're just asked 'what you in for'. And then you and the other guy do a little dance around it, you ask him what he's in for, he doesn't tell you, you tell him maybe one of your charges, he tells you one of his and on and on. And then you both end up bitching about the criminal justice system. No one, and this is unexpected, no one is a total asshole to their cellmate. It's just counter productive. Even the biggest asshole inside will still show a degree of respect to the person you're going to be locked up with. Because you don't want bad blood in the cell unless you want to sleep with one eye open.
There was a guy we were inside with though, whose cell was on the low tier nearest the main door. So he was the first one to see the fresh meat. Anytime a new inmate would be brought in, he'd yell out 'he **** babies, I seen him, he ****ed a baby, I seen him before I went away ******s, he a baby ****er kill that baby ****er!' and he'd do this every ****ing time a new inmate would be brought in. And he'd go on with it for about half an hour afterwards to. So the first thing a prospective convict would hear on being greated to the dorm would be this ******, with this high pitched Canadian accent - like Steve Erkel - hollaring about how he'd seen you, and that you were a baby ****er.
So when the new inmate would be brought inside, he'd get the silent treatment the whole time this crackhead would be barking about the baby ****er. And then his cellmate would lean in real close and whisper 'you a baby ****er?'
Prison humour is never really funny. That's probably the closest thing we ever had to a running gag. I guess it was funny because we all knew child sex offenders ever got locked in with us... but the new guys didn't know that.
You know what, I had just sort of assumed you graduated from college - and didn't really realise my assumption until you made that comment. Anyways, why be embarrassed? It makes you different than many armed robbers, and you can probably use that fact and your education to your advantage.
About ad seg - that sounds scarily intense. And yes, fear would make it so much worse.
Hey, I know you've doing the ReEntry 'therapy' sessions, and talking about things here - but are you planning to tell your family about how things were? I think they'll probably ask you at some point; and it might not be a bad idea to go ahead and tell them so that they don't underestimate what you've gone through and you don't feel like you have to wear a mask in front of them. Think of it as restarting the relationship on honest terms. It's not too late to mend fences, and it sounds like they do want you to remain involved. Why not accept their help and support to get your life going again?
Literacy levels in prison are ****ing awful. If I were in a gang, when I wasn't selling crack and doing drive by shootings, I'd be making sure prospective gang members knew how to read because inside, there isn't much else to do.
A lot of cons end up teaching themselves how to read because there isn't much else to do apart from get a library book. But writing is ****ing horrendous. My spelling is bad, and as a few people have pointed out it's even worse from having studied abroad, but you would be hard pressed to find many convicts who can string a sentence together with a pen.
One of my cellmates was functionally illiterate and so with nothing else to do, I'd help him write letters for his appeals and back to his daughter. He told his people, who then started coming to me as well, so for a while, I had a steady supply of Reece's Pieces in return for helping people write letters. It wasn't a Dead Poet's Society moment or anything - I didn't teach anyone how to write and we didn't all end up holding hands and feeling we'd grown as humans. It was just a good way to pass time. But sooner or later I got asked how come I could write, and so I told them I'd been to University, thinking I'd just get put upon for a while - convicts will pick on you for anything. But instead everyone just seemed really disappointed. Instead of cracking jokes about it, they seemed genuinely upset that a white kid, with a college degree, would be so stupid as to get himself locked up inside. So I was made to feel kind of embarrased, and ashamed at having an education - a shame that I still haven't kicked having got out.
As for talking to my parents about it, I had lunch with them today. My Mom clearly doesn't want to know about it, she just seems to think that now I'm back that 'part of my life is over' - but my Dad seems really cut up over it. He keeps coming outside with me for cigarettes - he doesn't smoke, and he just stands there as if he really wants to ask me something. I know what it, I know he wants to know if I was raped inside... and it kind of pisses me off. As if he thinks that the worst thing that can happen to you in prison is being raped.
So no, I haven't really discussed it with my parents and I probably won't.
Just curious OP, have you considered doing some public speaking? The stuff in this thread is the kind of shit I would have actually payed attention to when one of those goofy preachy anti-drug groups would send speakers back when I was in high school. Being well spoken all by itself makes it better than hearing some wretched burn out ruinate the language while failing to make their point. That or maybe consider writing or whatever.
When I was inside, I felt like I should be keeping a diary, I felt like I owed it to myself. But everytime I could score sufficent paper, I would sit there and stare at the page with nothing to say.
Since getting out, I've been writing constantly. Just everything that pops into my head. I considered, briefly, getting a blog or something - but at the moment, I don't want any chance of being identified.
So I came here. I'm not going to go on a speaking circuit or anything. This story isn't unique.
Quote:
In response to the questions about my spelling:
If anons want to pick holes in things that's fine. I'm not going to get in arguments, because that's not why I wanted to post. I was really desperate to share this with anyone, under the guise of anonymity, and I thought [sic], more than anywhere else I frequently go, would be interested.
I instinctively add a u to a few words from having written a lot with a UK English spell checker and I never suffix '-iser' with a 'z'.
Of course there are holes in some things. I won't answer everything. I probably exagerate things a little to - but if you want factual and unbiased reporting you should try CNN and not.
Hey OP, great thread. I have a question that I want to ask you-
What sort of food do you usually get on a daily basis? I know you mentioned that the food is fattening- but you surely must have at least some vegetables or some proper nutritious food.
The food is not as bad as you'd think, but devoid of any nutrional value and incredibly unhealthy.
Everything inside is about limiting the aggression of convicts. If they could get away with it, we'd all cop a shot of valium every morning and another before bed. One of the best ways of doing that is to serve up food that doesn't piss people off, in big enough quantities that cons can get full, happy, and unlikely to start fights.
One of my cellmates had been in the Marine Corps, and he said the food inside was better than what he got in the Marines. But he said they had a strategy too - that bad food brought Marines together, gave them something to communally hate. They want to do the opposite inside, and not give us anything to bond over.
Prison food consists of three meals a day served in a dining hall accessed by all the other blocks / dorms. This makes it one of the most volitile places in your pen, because there is a lot of anemity between blocks over who's responsible for lock downs, and a lot of people borrow from convicts outside of their block because those people are easy to avoid until chow time. Keeping cons more interested in their food than each other is crucial to avoid confrontations.
Breakfast was always oatmeal, beans, toast and a rotating assortment of knock off cereal. Like instead of Fruit Loops you'd get 'Fruit Balls' or something from Mexico. They never tasted quite right. Milk was always powdered, in a big dispenser ironically labeled 'Fresh Milk'. We'd also get what we were told was organge juice, only it had no actual oranges in it. Was just a orange colored sugary syrup. You'd only go to breakfast if you had no food of your own stashed, except for Thursdays, where there might be powdered eggs and bacon. I kind of liked the powdered eggs, they were almost identical to the ones you get at McDonalds.
Lunch was rarely attended by anyone and would almost always be ingredients for sandwiches. Junkies would go to lunch only to hoard bread, which is an excellent filter for smack, since cotton balls were impossible to come by. You'd let the bread start to go a little bit dry, and then you'd make little balls out of it and put them over your plunger. When you suck the smack into the plunger, the impurities would get caught in the bread. Then you could ball the bread back up and stash it with the rest of your food. During a shake down, the boss would come down hard if they found cottons, that is, cotton balls with heroin residue on them, but they wouldn't be able to tell if your bread had been tainted. Then if your connect ever got shook down and you were without drugs for any length of time, you could suck on the bread balls.
The first time I went to dinner, I thought I must have came on some kind of special night, because I wasn't prepared for the 'feast' laid out for us. I can still see it in my head, because it was the same every night. From left to right: fried chicken, only because a fryer would have been too much of a brutal weapon to have in the pen, it was fried off-site and shipped in to be reheated in the microwave. So it was soggy. That was the extent of your pure protein too. Then three pizzas - these ****ers were huge, industrial sized slabs. Just a base, that resembled corrogated cardboard on the underside, with a sauce that was really just ketchup and cheese. Endless mounds of melted, processed cheese. There would be two of these, and one with pepperoni, only it wasn't really pepperoni, it had no pepper. Just a bland kind of red sausage. Each day the pizzas would be laid out in a different pattern, and I imagined that I could divine the future based on the direction the pepperoni pizza was pointed.
Then mac and cheese - this was actually the best thing on the menu, since it most closely resembled something you'd eat on the outside, then nachos, the lasagne. The nachos and lasange looked identical, being two giant trays of an unknown red meat sauce, covered in flat, yellow soggy 'chips' or 'pasta' covered in cheese. Basically tasted the same. Then there was the bean dip, which was another tray of refriend beans and the closest thing to vegetables on the menu, tiny cubed peppers and tomatos and corn. The bean dip was marked 'vegetarian'. On the first day I wondered if they saw where I'd written 'Raw Vegan' under dietry needs on my medical form. Then a giant tray of more corn chips, then a giant tray of powdered mash, a pot of gravy, which would occassionaly accompany a roast of some description on holidays. Then fruit, which was another tray of diced fruit in syrup. Usually pears and peaches.
Sugar. Salt. Fat. The key to a safe and happy correctional facility. I don't know how we didn't get scurvy.
" ... they pulled me out of bed, and said because I ****ed up in ad seg... "
This is just ****ed up. There is no reason why this should still be going on in this day and age. It isn't rehabilitation or punishment - it's just plain ****ing awful and entirely unnecessary. What ****s.
Anyway, OP. I hope you never stop writing on this thread, you know. You're just amazing. Something you said here really got me thinking like the other guy. When you said "And by virtue of your questioning, you make it true". I read that this morning and I've been reflecting on it all day and it made me realise something about an issue I've been struggling with recently. It just made me look at it from a different perspective and I realised something pretty significant and, yeah, well, I guess I've decided to walk away from that issue and with some strength now. I just want to thank you, man. I know it's not related to what you're talking about but I just wanted to tell you anyway because it goes to show I think that your self honesty and amazing attitude towards what's happened to you has a much wider and infinitely more positive impact. I know it's early days and you're out and you've got a road of some difficulty ahead of you but you are a seriously awesome human being and I think you're going to live quite a life. If you ever get to London, I'd be seriously honoured to buy you a beer or two.
In terms of people you were imprisoned with, can you give us any perspectives or stories on them? Sort of the person behind the crime kind of thing? Also, are you planning on looking up any of your old friends at all?
Also, I'll always remember this: "... real freedom. Is choosing how you waste your life". You're seriously some guy, OP. I agree with that other person that you should do talks for kids or something.
I'm glad it helped you. As far as perspectives on other cons - there weren't that many good stories in there. I guess you need to take a lot of prison stories like old fishing tales, because if they were all true than every cop would be corrupt, every judge would be on the take, every DA would be incompetent and every convict the victim of tragic, innocent circumstance.
Most people didn't talk about their personal circumstances because they were all so similar, and similarly tragic. You'd hear a lot of black inmates talking about 'the game' and 'the hustle' and they'd shoot the words around when talking about their busts - how 'they'd been rolled in the game' or 'the game played them'. They liked to use the term when talking to crackers like me to highlight how they were original gangsters arrested just trying to make their way in a crazy, white man's world that refuses to legalise crack cocaine and heroin.
But the reality was most of those guys were in on mid level possession and distribution, they were dealer's dealers or just runners, or they might just have been in a dealer's car and been stuck with a bad public defender. A lot of them would go to great pains to remind you that they were picked up on possession AND firearms, as if that important distinction meant they were a real gangster.
You go inside thinking you're going to be surrounded by all these angry, violent black men but interestingly most of them are inside for non-violent offences. White cons were the ones inside for assaults, murders and attempted murders. And because of that notion, that all black cons are murderous, crack slinging, gun toting rapists they get this siege mentality that makes them even more violent inside.
I certainly won't be catching up with any of them. Ever. And not any time soon where being seen with one could get me put back inside.
Awesome thread, please write more! Really incredible stuff. If all you say is true, I'm amazed at how bad it really is.
This might be a stupid question; but what kinds of things are you allowed to have and do in your cell? More specifically, are you allowed to have books? Or non-dangerous drawing/writing supplies? What did you (or could you) do with all the time?
Also, are the people who work there (warden, guards, etc.) complete sadists?
As we were constantly reminded, convicts did not have 'possessions' only 'things the boss allows you to keep for a time of his choosing'. Some convicts had nothing. Just the clothes on their back. Others accrued whole stockpiles of books and appliances. You could have whatever you could get away with dependant on your behaviour, your ability to protect it from theft, and your ability to share it equitably with your cellmate. You're also limited to there being one outlet in each cell, switched on for 1 hour each morning and between 3HNNNNNNNNNG0 (read: 3:30) and lights out, and a complex process of approval, disapproval, reapproval resubmission and outright begging before being sent any kind of electronic device.
I took stock of my possessions each day, counted them, touched, them, arranged them on my shelf. You basically had a square half foot of space to store things on. The COs liked them displayed clearly so they could quickly see if you had any contrapedophile group, or were obviously trying to hide anything.
I had two books that were mine - James Joyce's Finnegan's Wake and Harlot's Ghost by Norman Mailer. I was reading Harlot's Ghost because I told myself after Mailer died I was going to read his entire back catalogue, my Mom sent that one to me because it was the only book I had at their house. On the day of my sentencing, I asked my Dad to go to a bookstore and buy me a copy of Finnegan's Wake because I'd heard it was long, dense and unreadable and having already been inside for my bail breach I thought it would be the perfect book for doing time.
I didn't finish it. And I gave it away when I left.
I scored a copy of William Gibson's Mona Lisa Overdrive from another con when he left. It was a bizarre book to find inside, and was probably the best thing I read the whole time, since the library mostly stocked Ludlum-style airport novels - which I read anyway. Strangely absent from the library was The Da Vinci Code, Twilight and the Harry Potter novels. Apparently any book challenged by the State's school board - even if it makes it through, isn't allowed inside. Yet oddly enough I was able to find a copy of Bret Easton Ellis' Glamorama. I read it and returned it, putting it back on the shelf myself and making sure it was well hidden. That book would have started a riot.
Beyond my clothes, I had a small electric razor that I never used - using my time inside to grow a pretty spectacular beard. The COs preferred it if you had an electric razor, since they were harder to kill anyone with. Mine was also an excellent place to stash contrapedophile group. I had a few photos, my parents, my ex-sister and I in Thailand, my daughter when she was first born.
Prison makes you realise just how much we rely on digital photographs. I realised I didn't have any hard copies at all before I went away, everything was on my computer or my phone. My photo of my daughter was a folded up piece of paper printed out before I left.
I had a small electric urn, one coffee cup, one spoon with a hole drilled through it, and an old walkman tapedeck. CD players are forbidden inside since CDs can easily be turned into weapons. Headphones were technically contrapedophile group, but you wouldn't get shook down just for headphones.
My sister was going to make me mix tapes and send them to me, but she only made me one before we broke up. Every single song on that tape is dead to me now.
That was about it, apart from my contrapedophile group, which at anyone time was two needles and a plunger.
What are you going to do about your daughter?
That... is a good question. And if wants to offer their advice I'd welcome it.
She was born a year before I went away. Like a complete dick, I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with her, or her mother. I saw her three times that year, and on the last time, her mother said I was right - she didn't want me in her life either.
I tried not to think about her while I was away. When I did, even my thoughts about her were bad. I imagined how great it would be if her and her mom died in a car crash or something and how I'd get out to attend their funeral, and how I'd get sympathy packages from people. Selfish, jerk thoughts that you can only have when everything good that was ever in your life is slipping away from you.
She can walk now, I imagine she can talk a little bit, but probably not so much she asks where her Dad is. I wonder what she's been told about me. I'm not even sure where they are, although my Mom knows, but won't tell me. If they're out of the state I can't see them, and even if they're in the State, and I visited, and if it didn't go well my ex could just pick up the phone and I'd be back inside.
She's probably going to grow up without me, I'm accutely aware of that. But should she know who I am and why I couldn't be there for the first years of her life? Would it be better to pretend I didn't exist at all? Because I can't help but feel growing up knowing your Dad is an ex-con somehow defines you. I know it did for a lot of the guys I did time with.
Anyway, that's it for me today. Thanks for reading.
OP here: Checked back a few times during the week, kind of thought the thread was dead, but if some of you wanted an update I'll give it.
Turns out you don't get one parole officer who manages you exclusively, for whatever reason, workload, lack of staff, you get whoever is free on the day of your mandated appointment. So my first parole officer, who was chilled out and seemed happy enough with my circumstances has been replaced by some old, ex-corrections asshole who's still sore he's not fit enough to kick convicts around inside all day and ****s around parolees instead.
He's intent on breaching me for still not finding a job - but on Monday he ordered me to go to 3 Narco Anon meetings a week and imposed a curfew because I 'looked like I'd been out on the weekend drinking' even though I don't have an alcohol restriction on my parole contract and I haven't touched drugs since getting out and was willing to take a test to prove it. On top of that, I still don't have a new driver's licence because he hasn't sent some form back to the State Secretary's Office. So I have to travel an hour on a bus on Monday to get to one Parole Officer who tells me he's going to send me back inside if I don't get my shit together, two hours on a bus each way to my nearest NA meeting, on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays and then back to another Parole Officer on Friday who says ignore whatever the other asshole says. It's infuriating to have your freedom in the hands of complete, incompetent ****s and to have no way out of it. That leaves me with a few hours a day to look for work, apart from weekends, when I have a curfew that limits how far I can travel.
I finally caught up with my old friends - turns out the reason they weren't at any of their old touch dickss is because, suprise suprise, no one has a ****ing job. Most of my friends were copy writers or else worked in bars. Now almost every local magazine and paper has cut back on staff, they're all unemployed which means they're not going out which means bars are putting off staff as well. I kind of understand why no one came to visit now. These guys barely leave their houses they're so broke.
I had one interview that looks promising - as a window cleaner, but I'd have to move to Grand Rapids and I'm not sure of how I'd do that logistically with my parole.
I'm just glad that the merry-go-round of bullshit they have me on keeps me busy enough to not want to use. Ironically, going to the NA meetings makes me want to use more than anything. Listening to these people whine endlessly about how their habits have ruined their lives and how God is helping them recover... Drugs didn't ruin my life. They just got me high. In fact, had I have had an endless supply of high quality heroin, I would never have committed the crime I went inside for. I'd have been too busy crawling around the house and drooling into the carpet. You don't ruin your life on drugs. You ruin your life when you're not on drugs. You might ruin your life when you're trying to score for more - but that's your own, sober responsibility. Blaming anything on drugs is stupid. It's an abdication of personal responsibility. 'I ruined my baby's life on drugs' they keeping saying. I feel like jumping up and saying: **** you, no one ever got pregnant while high, no one can **** on the nod, you got pregnant sober, probably whoring for more crack, and it should have been enough for you to stop using but you didn't. As for God, who seems intent on being namechecked every 30 seconds at every meeting, I really don't think he cares about anyone's drug use. If I was God, I'd have bigger concerns than a few crackheads and an ex-junky ex-con. So that's demoralising. Or demoralizing for the americo-centric spelling nazis.
The parole officer says I'm arrogant. And yeah, these NA meetings are making me arrogant. I ****ed up my own life. With my own choices. That I acknowledged in a courtroom, that I signed confessions for. That I spent two years in hell making up for. That some guy in a bad suit and a sweat stained shirt in an office can send me back for another two for. I walked away from it with my sanity intact and no particular urge to keep using. I think that entitles me to a degree of arrogance when subjected to the literal dregs of humanity.
When you're inside, you know that no one is coming to help you. The Red Cross isn't going to knock on your door one day and bring you a gift basket. God himself isn't going to reach down and pluck you out of your punishment because you're pious, or because you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal lord, saviour, and catch-all excuse for stupid behaviour.
But these ****ing NA losers believe that shit. They think they're entitled to some second chance because some hippy dickwad coos over them and 'how much progress' they're making each day, and how many ****ing Bono wristpedophile groups they're wearing to show their glorious ****ing sobriety. I can't respect them, so I can't listen to them. When it's my time to share I recite platitudes and 'drug free' rhetoric until it's time to stop. Then I mainline free coffee, sign my name and **** off.
I walked out of the community hall and watched an armoured van pull up at the mall. I wandered inside and watched the guards carry these huge platters of cash in and start re-filling ATMs. And I started imagining how easy it would be. How the guard's fat fingers looked too big to slide into behind the trigger guards of the flash, nickel plated bitch pistols they had on their hips. How I'd park between their van and the front doors and have them covered before they realised what was happening - how I'd probably only need one other person with me, to cover the guy they probably had in the back with a shotgun - and how you could get one, maybe two hundred thousand out of them, on the Friday or Thursday before a holiday weekend. Enough to disappear with. How I could do it better than last time, how I wouldn't make stupid mistakes. Then a cop truck rolled past and I felt a wave of anxious panic wash over me, like they might know what I was thinking.
So I caught the bus home and waited up all night for morning. Because when I close my eyes I'm terrified I'm going to wake up back in my cell, listening to tuburculor coughs, faint weeping, sleep grunting, and the ever present deviated septum snoring of my cellmate. It's a stupid fear, but once it's dark, I get this creeping terror that maybe I'm still in solitary, having dumped a whole gram on my way in, and that this is all a fevered dream and when I wake up I'll still be inside.
This is a question for later or tomorrow or something because you've got enough to contend with for now but what did you miss most about sex while inside? Just the sex itself or the intimacy? I know there are cliches on both sides about that so I was wondering what your thoughts were.
This is a really interesting question. So much so I went and had a smoke and a think about it.
You know how a lot of people that hang around these boards will say how they're desensitised to sexuality? How years of the most twisted porn the Internet's underbelly can offer has made them numb? I guess I was like that going in. If you had have asked me, the day before I went inside, what my ultimate sexual fantasy was I'd have said something stupid like 'Emma Waton, a rubber tube, two mexican fighting fish, a chainsaw and a bucket of grease'.
Now, I shit you not, my answer would more likely be 'a beautiful woman that loves me'.
Every convict has a jack bank. Scraps of magazines, smuggled porn, that kind of thing. I used to keep mine under the inner sole of my sneaker. If you took a survey of what convicts keep in their jack bank, you'd be shocked to learn that mostly, it's women's faces. The single most sought after item in the common area was the TV guide. Because you'd get full page ads for movies and beautiful women. ****ing up the TV guide was a hangable offence, since our TV was pre recorded and edited to cut out the news, and anything not G rated, you needed the TV guide to keep track of what you were missing out on. As an aside, one of the most surreal moments inside was the Superbowl, all these convicts crowded around this caged screen watching a repeat of Blue's Clues - muttering about how the Superbowl was really on. It was like even though they couldn't watch it, they wanted to be a part of a national, communal activity. Two days later they replayed the Superbowl, with the ads and half time show taken out - no one watched it. How ****ing weird is that?
So yeah, I got side tracked while talking about the TV Guide. The keeper of the TV Guide would be whoever scored it out of a mail bag. Usually the guy on mail duty. And after a few weeks, you'd ask, as nicely as possible, preferebly with a gift of candy, if you could take a look, and maybe later, in return for smokes - you'd cut something out. I cut out a half page ad for The Other Boleyn Girl. Actually, i'll find it an post it here.
Now you think about the shit you can get with just three clicks from here. You can hit up one of the porn boards and be jerking away in minutes. You'd probably even not jerk off to soft core porn, because just a few clicks away, you could see some whore being cranked by 9 guys and getting glazed with cum.
I guess in the real world, where life is mundane and boring - you need those fantasies of dark sexual shit to keep you going. But inside, there is just dark shit everywhere. Violence, death, fear. You don't want it in your head. So no matter what you were like before, inside, you try and escape in your head to places that are good and just... decent I guess.
You go from having elaborate rape fantasies to having sweet, candle lit intimacy fantasies. Sounds gay, but it's true for most guys inside I think.
It changes the way you think about women. When I went inside, I was full of bitterness over the mother of my kid leaving, I felt like my sister had betrayed me, so I left her - and I thought of some of the girl's I'd used in my life and felt like they were pathetic sluts.
But inside, I would have given anything to know just one of them loved me - and when I say love, I don't mean like, I'd want to marry them, or that kind of passionate, movie love. Just that they'd consent to being intimate with me.
I don't think I mentioned it before, but I spent a few months inside under the impression that I'd been infected with hepatitis - thankfully I wasn't, but that really compounded this need for intimacy, because I felt like, even once I got out, a woman would never touch me again.
I should note too - there is a long running conspiracy theory inside that the boss' put something in the food that numbs arousal. The usual response to this is 'if so, why are you still jacking off to your mom?' or 'then why do you keep staring at my ass?' but still, it might not be a joke.
So anyway, this has all been pretty grim shit. So since I started with a list of the worst things about prison, I thought I'd leave [sic] with a list of the best things about freedom. Not sappy bullshit about your parents and sunshine - but things you probably take for granted because you've never had them taken away.
Laughter
No one laughs inside. You might occassionally fake a laugh when someone does something stupid, or gets what they deserve. But inside you laugh at straight up irony. Nothing is really funny when you're locked in a concrete bunker with seemingly no hope of getting out.
When I went inside, my favourite things were horror movies and violent video games. But now I can't stand the thought of them. I've seen too much real violence for one life time.
Instead I've burned through three seasons of 30 Rock. I haven't laughed so hard in my entire life. I find myself laughing at shit that a couple of years ago I would have been too jaded and cynical to laugh at, or thought that it wasn't cool to laugh at. Now I find myself cruising through Metacritic for the funniest films of the last two years. I liked to think that I used to be funny, but now, I realise I'm not. That I look in the mirror and there is this kind of grimness there.
So don't take laughter for granted. It can actually be taken away quite easily.
Politeness
We all think we're such ****ing abrasive bad asses that we don't need to use manners. I used to be the biggest offender. But inside, it just starts to grate on you after a while - that you're forced to be polite to the boss, but your daily interactions with convicts are typified by cursing, shoving, and basically barbaric behaviour.
Basic human decency becomes the thing you miss the most. Saying 'please' and 'thank you' and 'you're welcome' just simple shit like that reminds you you're human, that you're a part of society.
The things I've enjoyed most since I've left are just mundane things that allow me congenial interactions with people. Paying for the bus. Talking to the person you're sitting next too. Buying a sandwich. Excusing yourself when you pass someone on an escalator. Helping people. I helped a woman get her pram off the bus this morning, and she probably walked away thinking 'what a nice young man' without realising I've just spent two years locked inside cesspool of human indignity for threatening a room full of people with a firearm. That wasn't lost on me, but none the less it made me feel good about myself. Being nice makes you feel good about yourself and inside - you never feel good about yourself.
Clothes
I will never wear the same clothes two days in a row for as long as I live. Inside, I had two pairs of elastic waist track pants, two t-shirts, a wool sweater, and a peacoat with the buttons taken off. Three pairs of boxers. I started with more - but I shit myself a few times when I was high. Not proud of that. I had two pairs of laceless sneakers, like vans, and a pair of flip flops. In winter, we'd basically wear all our clothes at once.
When I got home, I was wearing the suit I stood trial in. I gave my prison clothes to a convict in return for some toothpaste. I opened my closet, and realised how all my old clothes were so black. I just wanted color. Like a hawaian shirt or something. Inside, every thing was variations on blue, beige and lime green. I wanted to wear all red like Jack White or something.
Clothes don't maketh the man - but damn if they don't make you feel better about your place in the universe. Just wearing jeans that fit, a belt, nice shoes - never take that for granted. It's not like I was ever a ****ing fashion plate or anything, but now I have this new found appreciation for looking nice.
They actually taught me how to sew inside. I've been wondering if I couldn't maybe become a tailor or something. America's first straight, ex-con fashion designer.
That last thing you should never take for granted is this - your mental health. Every day I woke up sober inside (at some points, they were rare) I'd stare at the ceiling and talk to myself. Sometime's out loud. I'd take stock of my own level of madness. How justified was my paranoia today. What did I dream of last night. What kind of bad things will float through my head if I don't control it. I'd literally have to take stock of my own psychological well being.
No one should have to do that. Because questioning your sanity is like picking at a scab - once you start it bleeding you can't help but keep picking. And by virtue of your questioning, you make it true.
I went more than a little crazy inside. The insane amount of smack I ingested might have had something to do with it. But more likely the circumstances. For me, the punishment of prison was less about separation, and more about the forced introspection.
Imagine a kind of forced autism, only without being any kind of savant. That's what prison is. Outside, you're free to keep your head in check. You're free to indulge your mind and keep it healthy. And I guess if you keep your mind healthy, you'll be less inclined to find yourself inside in the first place.
So where are you living right now, OP? Are you still at that motel? Do you have your own comp or are you posting from an internet cafe or library or something?
I'm back at my own place. Cable was disconnected while I was gone but I can get wireless. Place smells so ****ing bad because the power was cut, fridge defrosted, and the inside kind of looks like someone died in there. It's better than the men's shelter though where most parolees end up.
Strangely, I'm pretty sure the place has been broken into, probably several times, but they only took DVDs. I suspect my ex-[girlfriend] might have been living here while I was inside. But seriously this fridge looks like it's been stewing in mould for about a century. If I wasn't so distracted by looking at porn and streaming MTV and Comedy Network I'd probably look up how to clean it. As it is, I've wheeled the ****er outside.
"They actually taught me how to sew inside. I've been wondering if I couldn't maybe become a tailor or something. America's first straight, ex-con fashion designer."
I was wondering what kind of skills you have to work with - both from before and during your incarceration. Who knows, perhaps someone here might be able to hook you up with a job.
My other question has to do with solitary, because I've felt myself strangely attracted to the idea of being in solitary confinement and sometimes wonder how I would cope. Could you explain the experience a little more, and your reactions to it (if it's not too overwhelming to think about)?
It's kind of funny; but all of the things you are listing about freedom that shouldn't be taken for granted - I really do appreciate and spend time reveling in them, and then I feel like I'm odd because most people just don't. I'm not sure that I have any particular reason why I do this, either. Perhaps a penchant for introspection and pessimism (or as I like to say, realism) about the way things are forces me focus on the small joys of life. Aren't they wonderful?
Also OP, I have to say that I was nearly moved to tears by some of your recent posts. It hadn't happened up until now - perhaps because I have heard/read a few things about prisons before, or perhaps your story is becoming more personal.
Anyways, thanks for answering all these questions. I hope this conversation is benefitting you as much as the rest of us.
It's disturbing, and a little embarrasing, but I'd graduated a college before going away.
As for solitary:
The offical term for it is 'administrative segregation' or ad seg, or the dungeon. Our was a low, hexagonal building with no exits and one entry, through a wire fenched tunnel. Inside your cell, which about two, three feet smaller than a normal cell and only as narrow as the door, you have two doors, one in out into the main room where the boss' have access to the other six room, and the other door to a fenced yard no more than three paces across from corner to corner. That door would unlock for an hour, than a light would come on telling you to go back inside, than you might get one or two more hours a day if they need to hold another convict in your cell before transfer, or before being taken to infirmary. But you never see another human the whole time.
Standard time in ad seg was three days to a week. Longer for the most serious infractions.
My first time in solitary was during a mass transfer, which is when our pen would be filled with extra inmates from another pen over night before being moved on. I was there for three days. The first day wasn't so bad. In the beginning, I thought 'this is interesting' at least. And I kind of enjoyed being alone. I jacked off a lot. The second day, I read the bible. Which is the only book allowed in ad seg. The third day... I began to imagine I'd been forgotten about, and I started to panic. Like Mau-dib says "Fear is the Mind Killer". Once you start down the road, there is no going back. You think you can handle it, like being alone isn't so bad, like it's almost a relief... But they make the room just the slight little bit too small. You lose track of time. You can't see the light or figure out what day it is. You resort to counting out loud the seconds. You can't distract yourself anymore and you start pacing but there isn't enough room to pace and it just makes it worse. I'd never had a panic attack before, so I didn't know what to expect. My heart just started pounding out of my chest and I felt like I was going to faint. I wanted to faint, so I could at least sleep and waste some time. But I couldn't. I ended up by stay in ad seg screaming for help, until they came in and tasered me. I woke up back in my old cell.
The next morning, they pulled me out of bed, and said because I ****ed up in ad seg... I'd be put back in ad seg. For a week. I screamed and tried to get away on my way back so they put leg cuffs on me and didn't take them off. I got tasered again. This just made it worse.
That was when I decided to get some dope as soon as I was out.
On the plus side, I now have scary accurate recall of obscure biblical passages.
What'd you major in, OP? I'm willing to bet that it wasn't armed robbery.
This is turning out to be a very interesting thread, the best we've had in some time. Your story is very intriguing, and I'd like ti know more about the protagonist. Tell us a bit more about yourself, like what you did in school, what led you to do what you did. This way we can get a clearer image of a 'before and after'.
Also, you should really get off the drugs, man. Any way you can. Maybe you could check into re-hab.
So your parents paid for your house, but they cut the power, cable, etc... How'd you get a computer, how are you getting around, what money are you living off of and where'd it come from? I'm intrigued by the logistics of it.
I don't want to give away too much of my personal information, but I'll say as much as I feel I can:
I didn't grow up in Michigan, but my parents had been thinking of moving to Ann Arbor, which co-incided with UMich being the closest thing to Ivy League I was going to get into. I was at the LSA, College of Literature - but I flunked out of language training. Mom and Dad fronted the cash for me to study overseas, hoping I'd get to Europe and actually learn enough German / French for me to come back the next semester and finish my degree. I ended up traveling with a bunch of Australians and decided to **** off college and head to Sydney. Mom and Dad threatened to stop funding what was becoming basically an all expenses paid drug binge unless I re-enrolled, and I convinced them to pay for me to go to the University of Sydney - which is just this spectacular campus right in the heart of the city, only half an hour from some of the most beautiful beaches you'll ever see in your life. I stayed for 3 years and actually manged to piece together a degree. I told my parents I wanted to stay, and had already applied to extend my student Visa - but they told me if I did they'd cut me off.
It was the stupidest thing I ever did in my life, driven by laziness and privlidge, but I decided to go back to the States. In Australia, university is different - they don't have a distinction between college and uni - you can get your BA at 21 and off you go. Mom and Dad didn't think it was good enough so they wanted me back at Uni doing a post grad course. They're both academics and they didn't want to cut me lose without a 'proper education'. ****ing backfired because Michigan depressed me so much I ended up ****ing off to Detroit and squating, bar tending, just generally being a miscreant really. Long story short, that's where I was when we decided we could get away with a stick up job.
So basically - I was an over privlidged little **** who had the world laid out at his feet, and threw it all up down the toilet. One of the many things that prison taught me - especially after being confronted with the suffering and abject poverty of black convicts - is take what you're given and don't argue. Because you got lucky. You could have been born black with a crack pipe in your crib. Crib as in, cot, not you know, a house. I might have done time but I'm not that ebonic.
just read the thread.
i'm curious, OP, as to exactly how friendly or unfriendly people are in there. i mean if you walked by some guy (or a group of guys) you've never met, would you just stare straight ahead?
how often were you scared of being attacked? were some attacks on other inmates random?
was there a small group of guys that got shit on the most?
great thread by the way.
Well people are not friendly. You build a network like this - your cell mate, who is pretty much forced to deal with you day in and day out, then his friends - thanks to prison ethnic populations, as a white guy, if you're racked with a black guy - he'll be your best friend after lights out and during lock down, but chances are he'll spit on you if he's with his people. This isn't a big deal. You see it coming a mile off. I was lucky in that my first long term cell mate, by virtue of being an older guy, hung with a more diverse group of old timers who were more accepting. They respected, to a degree, the fact I wasn't in on drugs, so we had that in common. These guys were all stick ups and a couple of murders. But they were also deeply suspicous of my light years, and the fact I was white.
Forget what you've heard about black gangs, there is only one black gang - the black gang. They put all their bullshit aside inside and pull together, look out for each other. You really have to respect that. Aryan Brotherhood, or at least our pasty wannabe Aryans in my pen were ****s of the highest order. You didn't make eye contact with them. You didn't buy off them. Trade with them. Talk to them. Most of them couldn't even **** you up in my prison, they were weedy little shitbirds who got nasty nazi tats to look tough. But... Just by virtue of getting the brands, they could make your life hell by ****ing with you until you get a transfer... where their real brothers might be waiting.
So yeah. People are not friendly inside. It's an endless shit fight of politics and ****ery.
This one hits me particularly hard. I feel like this, but at all times. Even in my attempts to drown out massive parts of my psych, I always feel this part of me that sits and stares at all of my faults, examining, saying 'Look here! Another failing! You are faulty!' Because of you OP, I'm going to visit a psychologist tomorrow and talk to some of my best friends for help. Thank You.
I do have a question for you. I've had this belief that you can't really know yourself until you've experienced a great tragedy in your life. This can be a near death experience (this feels similar, as you surmised earlier), the loss of a loved one, or any number of extremely harrowing 'adventures'. Do you feel this is true?
It's easily evident that you have grown a lot as a person. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, as they say. Would you consider this a level of enlightenment, where your life is now more fulfilled after these experiences?
Or if you had the chance, you would roll everything back and be the man before the crime?
Thank you for even considering to continue to answer our questions.
OP here. Will still answer questions when ever I stop by since some of you get a kick out of it.
There was a kind of 'mini-riot' in our dorm not long before I got out. A fight started over something in the yard, I didn't see what, and the boss, who must have been new or something, decided the best way to deal with it was to coral convicts back into the common area and push everyone back into their cells. Me and about three other guys were all ready in our cells, which were on the top tier of our block, and so we're looking down at about 20 COs trying to push about 50-60 convicts through a set of double doors.
One of the COs was getting his face smashed in by two guys on either side of him, so another CO has gone to hit one of them with his taser.
Now I don't know what happened, I think this one boss forgot he still had a cartridge loaded - mostly in a situation like that, the COs use the 'contact' taser, which is the little pistol but they have to press it into you to shock you - so he's gone to do that, but fired off a cartridge, the one that sends off the two spikes into the target. As best anyone could figure it, one of the prongs has gone into the convict, and another has gone into the CO being pummeled. So when the convict tries to grab him, it closes the circuit and they both get zapped.
It was like dumping a bag of bloody mince into a shark pool. As soon as the boss went down, every convict in the fray just pounced on him, and even guys who couldn't possibly have seen it from our vantage point dived in, as if they could smell the sudden weakness. Me and a few other guys just watched - because we could hear the rapid response team coming. The guys with whom you did not ****.
I turned to this old timer, and by old timer I mean he's probably 30 or so, but he'd been in a decade - and said 'there are people in the free world that would pay money for shit like that'. He's nodded sagely and said 'son, life is not an extreme sport.'
I guess, in a roundabout kind of way, that's how I feel on the whole 'adversity makes you stronger' kick. Life is not an extreme sport.
Before I went away, I was kind of an adrenelin junky. That's one of the factor's that lead me to commiting my crime in the first place. I used to think you couldn't truly know yourself until you'd put your body and mind through intense experiences. But prison taught me this isn't true. That's privlidged, middle class logic.
What prison taught me was that some people are born into a life where they're going to be subjected to intense life experiences and personal tragedy on an almost daily basis.
So no, I don't think you get enlightenment after something like that. I think all anyone really wants, if they're honest with themselves, is a quiet, easy life surrounded by people that love them. Anything else is a conceit.
Simple question, what was the first thing you said to your cell-mate when you got in (and vice versa I guess)? I'm actually curious to know how that conversation goes most the time. I just can't see "sup" being the usual ice breaker.
There isn't a convict alive who over time doesn't become intimately aware of just how bad ass they seem by virtue of being inside. There isn't a guy inside who doesn't allow himself that exagerated swagger because 'he a convict' and he doesn't take shit from no one. A part of that swagger is silent intimidation. If you really want to scare someone you say nothing. So introductions to new cellmates usually begin with long periods of silence. You stand on the thresh hold, clutching your bedding like it's an anchor to the free world and your cellmate just stares at you, for a long, long time. You don't say anything, because they don't look like they're going to say anything back. You could be racked with a white collar fraudster and they'll still give you the same treatment, because back in the day they got the same treatment and so on and so forth all the way back to the first guy that ever got locked up in some dungeon thousands of years ago.
I had three cellmates I racked with for any length of time and a dozen or so more who were cycled in during transfers or when gen pop swelled over summer. Eventually, they ask you what you're in for. I always imagined there would be some kind of prison slang for this, like I'd be asked what I was in for but in some alien prison kant that I wouldn't understand. But luckily, you're just asked 'what you in for'. And then you and the other guy do a little dance around it, you ask him what he's in for, he doesn't tell you, you tell him maybe one of your charges, he tells you one of his and on and on. And then you both end up bitching about the criminal justice system. No one, and this is unexpected, no one is a total asshole to their cellmate. It's just counter productive. Even the biggest asshole inside will still show a degree of respect to the person you're going to be locked up with. Because you don't want bad blood in the cell unless you want to sleep with one eye open.
There was a guy we were inside with though, whose cell was on the low tier nearest the main door. So he was the first one to see the fresh meat. Anytime a new inmate would be brought in, he'd yell out 'he **** babies, I seen him, he ****ed a baby, I seen him before I went away ******s, he a baby ****er kill that baby ****er!' and he'd do this every ****ing time a new inmate would be brought in. And he'd go on with it for about half an hour afterwards to. So the first thing a prospective convict would hear on being greated to the dorm would be this ******, with this high pitched Canadian accent - like Steve Erkel - hollaring about how he'd seen you, and that you were a baby ****er.
So when the new inmate would be brought inside, he'd get the silent treatment the whole time this crackhead would be barking about the baby ****er. And then his cellmate would lean in real close and whisper 'you a baby ****er?'
Prison humour is never really funny. That's probably the closest thing we ever had to a running gag. I guess it was funny because we all knew child sex offenders ever got locked in with us... but the new guys didn't know that.
You know what, I had just sort of assumed you graduated from college - and didn't really realise my assumption until you made that comment. Anyways, why be embarrassed? It makes you different than many armed robbers, and you can probably use that fact and your education to your advantage.
About ad seg - that sounds scarily intense. And yes, fear would make it so much worse.
Hey, I know you've doing the ReEntry 'therapy' sessions, and talking about things here - but are you planning to tell your family about how things were? I think they'll probably ask you at some point; and it might not be a bad idea to go ahead and tell them so that they don't underestimate what you've gone through and you don't feel like you have to wear a mask in front of them. Think of it as restarting the relationship on honest terms. It's not too late to mend fences, and it sounds like they do want you to remain involved. Why not accept their help and support to get your life going again?
Literacy levels in prison are ****ing awful. If I were in a gang, when I wasn't selling crack and doing drive by shootings, I'd be making sure prospective gang members knew how to read because inside, there isn't much else to do.
A lot of cons end up teaching themselves how to read because there isn't much else to do apart from get a library book. But writing is ****ing horrendous. My spelling is bad, and as a few people have pointed out it's even worse from having studied abroad, but you would be hard pressed to find many convicts who can string a sentence together with a pen.
One of my cellmates was functionally illiterate and so with nothing else to do, I'd help him write letters for his appeals and back to his daughter. He told his people, who then started coming to me as well, so for a while, I had a steady supply of Reece's Pieces in return for helping people write letters. It wasn't a Dead Poet's Society moment or anything - I didn't teach anyone how to write and we didn't all end up holding hands and feeling we'd grown as humans. It was just a good way to pass time. But sooner or later I got asked how come I could write, and so I told them I'd been to University, thinking I'd just get put upon for a while - convicts will pick on you for anything. But instead everyone just seemed really disappointed. Instead of cracking jokes about it, they seemed genuinely upset that a white kid, with a college degree, would be so stupid as to get himself locked up inside. So I was made to feel kind of embarrased, and ashamed at having an education - a shame that I still haven't kicked having got out.
As for talking to my parents about it, I had lunch with them today. My Mom clearly doesn't want to know about it, she just seems to think that now I'm back that 'part of my life is over' - but my Dad seems really cut up over it. He keeps coming outside with me for cigarettes - he doesn't smoke, and he just stands there as if he really wants to ask me something. I know what it, I know he wants to know if I was raped inside... and it kind of pisses me off. As if he thinks that the worst thing that can happen to you in prison is being raped.
So no, I haven't really discussed it with my parents and I probably won't.
Just curious OP, have you considered doing some public speaking? The stuff in this thread is the kind of shit I would have actually payed attention to when one of those goofy preachy anti-drug groups would send speakers back when I was in high school. Being well spoken all by itself makes it better than hearing some wretched burn out ruinate the language while failing to make their point. That or maybe consider writing or whatever.
When I was inside, I felt like I should be keeping a diary, I felt like I owed it to myself. But everytime I could score sufficent paper, I would sit there and stare at the page with nothing to say.
Since getting out, I've been writing constantly. Just everything that pops into my head. I considered, briefly, getting a blog or something - but at the moment, I don't want any chance of being identified.
So I came here. I'm not going to go on a speaking circuit or anything. This story isn't unique.
Quote:
In response to the questions about my spelling:
If anons want to pick holes in things that's fine. I'm not going to get in arguments, because that's not why I wanted to post. I was really desperate to share this with anyone, under the guise of anonymity, and I thought [sic], more than anywhere else I frequently go, would be interested.
I instinctively add a u to a few words from having written a lot with a UK English spell checker and I never suffix '-iser' with a 'z'.
Of course there are holes in some things. I won't answer everything. I probably exagerate things a little to - but if you want factual and unbiased reporting you should try CNN and not.
Hey OP, great thread. I have a question that I want to ask you-
What sort of food do you usually get on a daily basis? I know you mentioned that the food is fattening- but you surely must have at least some vegetables or some proper nutritious food.
The food is not as bad as you'd think, but devoid of any nutrional value and incredibly unhealthy.
Everything inside is about limiting the aggression of convicts. If they could get away with it, we'd all cop a shot of valium every morning and another before bed. One of the best ways of doing that is to serve up food that doesn't piss people off, in big enough quantities that cons can get full, happy, and unlikely to start fights.
One of my cellmates had been in the Marine Corps, and he said the food inside was better than what he got in the Marines. But he said they had a strategy too - that bad food brought Marines together, gave them something to communally hate. They want to do the opposite inside, and not give us anything to bond over.
Prison food consists of three meals a day served in a dining hall accessed by all the other blocks / dorms. This makes it one of the most volitile places in your pen, because there is a lot of anemity between blocks over who's responsible for lock downs, and a lot of people borrow from convicts outside of their block because those people are easy to avoid until chow time. Keeping cons more interested in their food than each other is crucial to avoid confrontations.
Breakfast was always oatmeal, beans, toast and a rotating assortment of knock off cereal. Like instead of Fruit Loops you'd get 'Fruit Balls' or something from Mexico. They never tasted quite right. Milk was always powdered, in a big dispenser ironically labeled 'Fresh Milk'. We'd also get what we were told was organge juice, only it had no actual oranges in it. Was just a orange colored sugary syrup. You'd only go to breakfast if you had no food of your own stashed, except for Thursdays, where there might be powdered eggs and bacon. I kind of liked the powdered eggs, they were almost identical to the ones you get at McDonalds.
Lunch was rarely attended by anyone and would almost always be ingredients for sandwiches. Junkies would go to lunch only to hoard bread, which is an excellent filter for smack, since cotton balls were impossible to come by. You'd let the bread start to go a little bit dry, and then you'd make little balls out of it and put them over your plunger. When you suck the smack into the plunger, the impurities would get caught in the bread. Then you could ball the bread back up and stash it with the rest of your food. During a shake down, the boss would come down hard if they found cottons, that is, cotton balls with heroin residue on them, but they wouldn't be able to tell if your bread had been tainted. Then if your connect ever got shook down and you were without drugs for any length of time, you could suck on the bread balls.
The first time I went to dinner, I thought I must have came on some kind of special night, because I wasn't prepared for the 'feast' laid out for us. I can still see it in my head, because it was the same every night. From left to right: fried chicken, only because a fryer would have been too much of a brutal weapon to have in the pen, it was fried off-site and shipped in to be reheated in the microwave. So it was soggy. That was the extent of your pure protein too. Then three pizzas - these ****ers were huge, industrial sized slabs. Just a base, that resembled corrogated cardboard on the underside, with a sauce that was really just ketchup and cheese. Endless mounds of melted, processed cheese. There would be two of these, and one with pepperoni, only it wasn't really pepperoni, it had no pepper. Just a bland kind of red sausage. Each day the pizzas would be laid out in a different pattern, and I imagined that I could divine the future based on the direction the pepperoni pizza was pointed.
Then mac and cheese - this was actually the best thing on the menu, since it most closely resembled something you'd eat on the outside, then nachos, the lasagne. The nachos and lasange looked identical, being two giant trays of an unknown red meat sauce, covered in flat, yellow soggy 'chips' or 'pasta' covered in cheese. Basically tasted the same. Then there was the bean dip, which was another tray of refriend beans and the closest thing to vegetables on the menu, tiny cubed peppers and tomatos and corn. The bean dip was marked 'vegetarian'. On the first day I wondered if they saw where I'd written 'Raw Vegan' under dietry needs on my medical form. Then a giant tray of more corn chips, then a giant tray of powdered mash, a pot of gravy, which would occassionaly accompany a roast of some description on holidays. Then fruit, which was another tray of diced fruit in syrup. Usually pears and peaches.
Sugar. Salt. Fat. The key to a safe and happy correctional facility. I don't know how we didn't get scurvy.
" ... they pulled me out of bed, and said because I ****ed up in ad seg... "
This is just ****ed up. There is no reason why this should still be going on in this day and age. It isn't rehabilitation or punishment - it's just plain ****ing awful and entirely unnecessary. What ****s.
Anyway, OP. I hope you never stop writing on this thread, you know. You're just amazing. Something you said here really got me thinking like the other guy. When you said "And by virtue of your questioning, you make it true". I read that this morning and I've been reflecting on it all day and it made me realise something about an issue I've been struggling with recently. It just made me look at it from a different perspective and I realised something pretty significant and, yeah, well, I guess I've decided to walk away from that issue and with some strength now. I just want to thank you, man. I know it's not related to what you're talking about but I just wanted to tell you anyway because it goes to show I think that your self honesty and amazing attitude towards what's happened to you has a much wider and infinitely more positive impact. I know it's early days and you're out and you've got a road of some difficulty ahead of you but you are a seriously awesome human being and I think you're going to live quite a life. If you ever get to London, I'd be seriously honoured to buy you a beer or two.
In terms of people you were imprisoned with, can you give us any perspectives or stories on them? Sort of the person behind the crime kind of thing? Also, are you planning on looking up any of your old friends at all?
Also, I'll always remember this: "... real freedom. Is choosing how you waste your life". You're seriously some guy, OP. I agree with that other person that you should do talks for kids or something.
I'm glad it helped you. As far as perspectives on other cons - there weren't that many good stories in there. I guess you need to take a lot of prison stories like old fishing tales, because if they were all true than every cop would be corrupt, every judge would be on the take, every DA would be incompetent and every convict the victim of tragic, innocent circumstance.
Most people didn't talk about their personal circumstances because they were all so similar, and similarly tragic. You'd hear a lot of black inmates talking about 'the game' and 'the hustle' and they'd shoot the words around when talking about their busts - how 'they'd been rolled in the game' or 'the game played them'. They liked to use the term when talking to crackers like me to highlight how they were original gangsters arrested just trying to make their way in a crazy, white man's world that refuses to legalise crack cocaine and heroin.
But the reality was most of those guys were in on mid level possession and distribution, they were dealer's dealers or just runners, or they might just have been in a dealer's car and been stuck with a bad public defender. A lot of them would go to great pains to remind you that they were picked up on possession AND firearms, as if that important distinction meant they were a real gangster.
You go inside thinking you're going to be surrounded by all these angry, violent black men but interestingly most of them are inside for non-violent offences. White cons were the ones inside for assaults, murders and attempted murders. And because of that notion, that all black cons are murderous, crack slinging, gun toting rapists they get this siege mentality that makes them even more violent inside.
I certainly won't be catching up with any of them. Ever. And not any time soon where being seen with one could get me put back inside.
Awesome thread, please write more! Really incredible stuff. If all you say is true, I'm amazed at how bad it really is.
This might be a stupid question; but what kinds of things are you allowed to have and do in your cell? More specifically, are you allowed to have books? Or non-dangerous drawing/writing supplies? What did you (or could you) do with all the time?
Also, are the people who work there (warden, guards, etc.) complete sadists?
As we were constantly reminded, convicts did not have 'possessions' only 'things the boss allows you to keep for a time of his choosing'. Some convicts had nothing. Just the clothes on their back. Others accrued whole stockpiles of books and appliances. You could have whatever you could get away with dependant on your behaviour, your ability to protect it from theft, and your ability to share it equitably with your cellmate. You're also limited to there being one outlet in each cell, switched on for 1 hour each morning and between 3HNNNNNNNNNG0 (read: 3:30) and lights out, and a complex process of approval, disapproval, reapproval resubmission and outright begging before being sent any kind of electronic device.
I took stock of my possessions each day, counted them, touched, them, arranged them on my shelf. You basically had a square half foot of space to store things on. The COs liked them displayed clearly so they could quickly see if you had any contrapedophile group, or were obviously trying to hide anything.
I had two books that were mine - James Joyce's Finnegan's Wake and Harlot's Ghost by Norman Mailer. I was reading Harlot's Ghost because I told myself after Mailer died I was going to read his entire back catalogue, my Mom sent that one to me because it was the only book I had at their house. On the day of my sentencing, I asked my Dad to go to a bookstore and buy me a copy of Finnegan's Wake because I'd heard it was long, dense and unreadable and having already been inside for my bail breach I thought it would be the perfect book for doing time.
I didn't finish it. And I gave it away when I left.
I scored a copy of William Gibson's Mona Lisa Overdrive from another con when he left. It was a bizarre book to find inside, and was probably the best thing I read the whole time, since the library mostly stocked Ludlum-style airport novels - which I read anyway. Strangely absent from the library was The Da Vinci Code, Twilight and the Harry Potter novels. Apparently any book challenged by the State's school board - even if it makes it through, isn't allowed inside. Yet oddly enough I was able to find a copy of Bret Easton Ellis' Glamorama. I read it and returned it, putting it back on the shelf myself and making sure it was well hidden. That book would have started a riot.
Beyond my clothes, I had a small electric razor that I never used - using my time inside to grow a pretty spectacular beard. The COs preferred it if you had an electric razor, since they were harder to kill anyone with. Mine was also an excellent place to stash contrapedophile group. I had a few photos, my parents, my ex-sister and I in Thailand, my daughter when she was first born.
Prison makes you realise just how much we rely on digital photographs. I realised I didn't have any hard copies at all before I went away, everything was on my computer or my phone. My photo of my daughter was a folded up piece of paper printed out before I left.
I had a small electric urn, one coffee cup, one spoon with a hole drilled through it, and an old walkman tapedeck. CD players are forbidden inside since CDs can easily be turned into weapons. Headphones were technically contrapedophile group, but you wouldn't get shook down just for headphones.
My sister was going to make me mix tapes and send them to me, but she only made me one before we broke up. Every single song on that tape is dead to me now.
That was about it, apart from my contrapedophile group, which at anyone time was two needles and a plunger.
What are you going to do about your daughter?
That... is a good question. And if wants to offer their advice I'd welcome it.
She was born a year before I went away. Like a complete dick, I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with her, or her mother. I saw her three times that year, and on the last time, her mother said I was right - she didn't want me in her life either.
I tried not to think about her while I was away. When I did, even my thoughts about her were bad. I imagined how great it would be if her and her mom died in a car crash or something and how I'd get out to attend their funeral, and how I'd get sympathy packages from people. Selfish, jerk thoughts that you can only have when everything good that was ever in your life is slipping away from you.
She can walk now, I imagine she can talk a little bit, but probably not so much she asks where her Dad is. I wonder what she's been told about me. I'm not even sure where they are, although my Mom knows, but won't tell me. If they're out of the state I can't see them, and even if they're in the State, and I visited, and if it didn't go well my ex could just pick up the phone and I'd be back inside.
She's probably going to grow up without me, I'm accutely aware of that. But should she know who I am and why I couldn't be there for the first years of her life? Would it be better to pretend I didn't exist at all? Because I can't help but feel growing up knowing your Dad is an ex-con somehow defines you. I know it did for a lot of the guys I did time with.
Anyway, that's it for me today. Thanks for reading.
OP here: Checked back a few times during the week, kind of thought the thread was dead, but if some of you wanted an update I'll give it.
Turns out you don't get one parole officer who manages you exclusively, for whatever reason, workload, lack of staff, you get whoever is free on the day of your mandated appointment. So my first parole officer, who was chilled out and seemed happy enough with my circumstances has been replaced by some old, ex-corrections asshole who's still sore he's not fit enough to kick convicts around inside all day and ****s around parolees instead.
He's intent on breaching me for still not finding a job - but on Monday he ordered me to go to 3 Narco Anon meetings a week and imposed a curfew because I 'looked like I'd been out on the weekend drinking' even though I don't have an alcohol restriction on my parole contract and I haven't touched drugs since getting out and was willing to take a test to prove it. On top of that, I still don't have a new driver's licence because he hasn't sent some form back to the State Secretary's Office. So I have to travel an hour on a bus on Monday to get to one Parole Officer who tells me he's going to send me back inside if I don't get my shit together, two hours on a bus each way to my nearest NA meeting, on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays and then back to another Parole Officer on Friday who says ignore whatever the other asshole says. It's infuriating to have your freedom in the hands of complete, incompetent ****s and to have no way out of it. That leaves me with a few hours a day to look for work, apart from weekends, when I have a curfew that limits how far I can travel.
I finally caught up with my old friends - turns out the reason they weren't at any of their old touch dickss is because, suprise suprise, no one has a ****ing job. Most of my friends were copy writers or else worked in bars. Now almost every local magazine and paper has cut back on staff, they're all unemployed which means they're not going out which means bars are putting off staff as well. I kind of understand why no one came to visit now. These guys barely leave their houses they're so broke.
I had one interview that looks promising - as a window cleaner, but I'd have to move to Grand Rapids and I'm not sure of how I'd do that logistically with my parole.
I'm just glad that the merry-go-round of bullshit they have me on keeps me busy enough to not want to use. Ironically, going to the NA meetings makes me want to use more than anything. Listening to these people whine endlessly about how their habits have ruined their lives and how God is helping them recover... Drugs didn't ruin my life. They just got me high. In fact, had I have had an endless supply of high quality heroin, I would never have committed the crime I went inside for. I'd have been too busy crawling around the house and drooling into the carpet. You don't ruin your life on drugs. You ruin your life when you're not on drugs. You might ruin your life when you're trying to score for more - but that's your own, sober responsibility. Blaming anything on drugs is stupid. It's an abdication of personal responsibility. 'I ruined my baby's life on drugs' they keeping saying. I feel like jumping up and saying: **** you, no one ever got pregnant while high, no one can **** on the nod, you got pregnant sober, probably whoring for more crack, and it should have been enough for you to stop using but you didn't. As for God, who seems intent on being namechecked every 30 seconds at every meeting, I really don't think he cares about anyone's drug use. If I was God, I'd have bigger concerns than a few crackheads and an ex-junky ex-con. So that's demoralising. Or demoralizing for the americo-centric spelling nazis.
The parole officer says I'm arrogant. And yeah, these NA meetings are making me arrogant. I ****ed up my own life. With my own choices. That I acknowledged in a courtroom, that I signed confessions for. That I spent two years in hell making up for. That some guy in a bad suit and a sweat stained shirt in an office can send me back for another two for. I walked away from it with my sanity intact and no particular urge to keep using. I think that entitles me to a degree of arrogance when subjected to the literal dregs of humanity.
When you're inside, you know that no one is coming to help you. The Red Cross isn't going to knock on your door one day and bring you a gift basket. God himself isn't going to reach down and pluck you out of your punishment because you're pious, or because you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal lord, saviour, and catch-all excuse for stupid behaviour.
But these ****ing NA losers believe that shit. They think they're entitled to some second chance because some hippy dickwad coos over them and 'how much progress' they're making each day, and how many ****ing Bono wristpedophile groups they're wearing to show their glorious ****ing sobriety. I can't respect them, so I can't listen to them. When it's my time to share I recite platitudes and 'drug free' rhetoric until it's time to stop. Then I mainline free coffee, sign my name and **** off.
I walked out of the community hall and watched an armoured van pull up at the mall. I wandered inside and watched the guards carry these huge platters of cash in and start re-filling ATMs. And I started imagining how easy it would be. How the guard's fat fingers looked too big to slide into behind the trigger guards of the flash, nickel plated bitch pistols they had on their hips. How I'd park between their van and the front doors and have them covered before they realised what was happening - how I'd probably only need one other person with me, to cover the guy they probably had in the back with a shotgun - and how you could get one, maybe two hundred thousand out of them, on the Friday or Thursday before a holiday weekend. Enough to disappear with. How I could do it better than last time, how I wouldn't make stupid mistakes. Then a cop truck rolled past and I felt a wave of anxious panic wash over me, like they might know what I was thinking.
So I caught the bus home and waited up all night for morning. Because when I close my eyes I'm terrified I'm going to wake up back in my cell, listening to tuburculor coughs, faint weeping, sleep grunting, and the ever present deviated septum snoring of my cellmate. It's a stupid fear, but once it's dark, I get this creeping terror that maybe I'm still in solitary, having dumped a whole gram on my way in, and that this is all a fevered dream and when I wake up I'll still be inside.
A couple people have asked me to post this thread for a while so here goes-
I was confined in Navy and multi-branch brigs from mid 01 until end of 02/beginning of 03 timeframe. I plead guilty to conspiracy to distribute a controlled substance (article 112a), disobeying orders (article 92) and witness intimidation (covered under an article 134 plea). The amount of drugs in question was 4 E pills worth about $32 (yeah...). I was locked up in Hawaii for the first part and Miramar California for the second part (the same base Top Gun was set and filmed at). My trial lasted about 40 minutes, as court-martials tend to do.
The one in Hawaii was an open bay facility, basically a big room with a bunch of beds and a desk. Someone always sits at the desk day and night to watch you, during the day there are multiple guards in the room with you. One wall is mirrored, on the other side of the mirror is the control room, all the doors are controlled from inside there, so when they want to open a door, they go on the radio and tell them their handle/"callsign" and the door number, so like "Control, Victor 4; 94 please" and then the lock opens loudly. It's like a gunshot and was one of the hardest things to get used to. The other rooms were a cafeteria, a cell block with glass cell doors that you either go as punishment or when you first get there- when you first get there everyone has to spend 3 days in a cell, to make sure you're not dangerous or a suicide risk. There was one guy that was always in there, because he killed a couple people so he couldn't come to the dorm with us. He was cool though, on the off chance you get to talk to him, laid back and kind of short/thin; definitely not the stereotype of a double-murderer.
The one in Cali I spent most of my time in, there were individual cells there, which was great, sometimes you had a celly because they were renovating another Marine jail at the time in Pendleton so all their guys were at Miramar with us. Lot more freedom in that one, unlike Hawaii where you had to ask permission for absolutely everything, including walking across this blue tape that was everywhere (to teach you how to respect authority, or something). I mean everything, had to ask permission to get a chair, to sit in it, to get up, to put the chair away, to get a drink of water, any and everything including taking a piss and sometimes flushing the urinal depending on if the guard was a dick. Cali was more like real jail, lots more prisoners so they didn't micromanage you as much. Cell doors were loud-rear end electric ones like the doors in Hawaii, so when they wanted you to come out they just pushed the button for your door rapid-fire, and it was the loudest and most annoying noise you can possibly imagine. As in, if I concentrate I can hear that sound in my head.
Messed up thing about Cali was that is the one place in the military justice system where they send all the sex offenders for treatment; so all the pedos and kiddie-porn psychos go there for their 2-year "program" before they go to Leavenworth to do their big stretch, although some of them stay there all the time. The military will also cut your sentence in half if you volunteer for the weird treatment program, so like this dude Randy who looked like the bad guy from Ghostbusters 2 raped his son almost every day from age 10 till age 13 and only got 10 years... yeah. He wasn't even the worst. They kept them separated from the rest of us mostly, to minimize them getting messed with. The majority of people in there were for drugs, some for AWOL and assault, and then only a couple for random stuff like car theft, fraud, and one guy I knew was in for counterfeiting.
While I was in there I got clean through Narcotics Anonymous, and haven't touched coke or even smoked weed since I got out. Tried E twice in the last 4 years, both times didn't really do anything for me, so I pretty much consider myself reformed/rehabilitated. I still drink, although not to oblivion like I did before I went in. Didn't have too much trouble getting jobs either, as long as I was honest with employers they didn't seem to mind. My last job said it didn't even show up on their background check and next year will be the 7-year mark so I won't have to disclose it at most places.
Got in a couple fights (and as a result got "tuned up" by the staff members); but it wasn't like Oz or anything- the brig isn't necessarily "pound-me-in-the-rear end prison," although there were a couple rapes while I was in there, they happened on other tiers and the rapists were all caught and punished severely (like, adding 7+ years to their sentence); so in that respect it's a lot different from say a state prison. The most ironic thing is that my dad is a retired corrections worker, although we rebuilt our relationship pretty quickly after I got out.
So, feel free to ask away.
I was confined in Navy and multi-branch brigs from mid 01 until end of 02/beginning of 03 timeframe. I plead guilty to conspiracy to distribute a controlled substance (article 112a), disobeying orders (article 92) and witness intimidation (covered under an article 134 plea). The amount of drugs in question was 4 E pills worth about $32 (yeah...). I was locked up in Hawaii for the first part and Miramar California for the second part (the same base Top Gun was set and filmed at). My trial lasted about 40 minutes, as court-martials tend to do.
The one in Hawaii was an open bay facility, basically a big room with a bunch of beds and a desk. Someone always sits at the desk day and night to watch you, during the day there are multiple guards in the room with you. One wall is mirrored, on the other side of the mirror is the control room, all the doors are controlled from inside there, so when they want to open a door, they go on the radio and tell them their handle/"callsign" and the door number, so like "Control, Victor 4; 94 please" and then the lock opens loudly. It's like a gunshot and was one of the hardest things to get used to. The other rooms were a cafeteria, a cell block with glass cell doors that you either go as punishment or when you first get there- when you first get there everyone has to spend 3 days in a cell, to make sure you're not dangerous or a suicide risk. There was one guy that was always in there, because he killed a couple people so he couldn't come to the dorm with us. He was cool though, on the off chance you get to talk to him, laid back and kind of short/thin; definitely not the stereotype of a double-murderer.
The one in Cali I spent most of my time in, there were individual cells there, which was great, sometimes you had a celly because they were renovating another Marine jail at the time in Pendleton so all their guys were at Miramar with us. Lot more freedom in that one, unlike Hawaii where you had to ask permission for absolutely everything, including walking across this blue tape that was everywhere (to teach you how to respect authority, or something). I mean everything, had to ask permission to get a chair, to sit in it, to get up, to put the chair away, to get a drink of water, any and everything including taking a piss and sometimes flushing the urinal depending on if the guard was a dick. Cali was more like real jail, lots more prisoners so they didn't micromanage you as much. Cell doors were loud-rear end electric ones like the doors in Hawaii, so when they wanted you to come out they just pushed the button for your door rapid-fire, and it was the loudest and most annoying noise you can possibly imagine. As in, if I concentrate I can hear that sound in my head.
Messed up thing about Cali was that is the one place in the military justice system where they send all the sex offenders for treatment; so all the pedos and kiddie-porn psychos go there for their 2-year "program" before they go to Leavenworth to do their big stretch, although some of them stay there all the time. The military will also cut your sentence in half if you volunteer for the weird treatment program, so like this dude Randy who looked like the bad guy from Ghostbusters 2 raped his son almost every day from age 10 till age 13 and only got 10 years... yeah. He wasn't even the worst. They kept them separated from the rest of us mostly, to minimize them getting messed with. The majority of people in there were for drugs, some for AWOL and assault, and then only a couple for random stuff like car theft, fraud, and one guy I knew was in for counterfeiting.
While I was in there I got clean through Narcotics Anonymous, and haven't touched coke or even smoked weed since I got out. Tried E twice in the last 4 years, both times didn't really do anything for me, so I pretty much consider myself reformed/rehabilitated. I still drink, although not to oblivion like I did before I went in. Didn't have too much trouble getting jobs either, as long as I was honest with employers they didn't seem to mind. My last job said it didn't even show up on their background check and next year will be the 7-year mark so I won't have to disclose it at most places.
Got in a couple fights (and as a result got "tuned up" by the staff members); but it wasn't like Oz or anything- the brig isn't necessarily "pound-me-in-the-rear end prison," although there were a couple rapes while I was in there, they happened on other tiers and the rapists were all caught and punished severely (like, adding 7+ years to their sentence); so in that respect it's a lot different from say a state prison. The most ironic thing is that my dad is a retired corrections worker, although we rebuilt our relationship pretty quickly after I got out.
So, feel free to ask away.
Old stuff:
- old thread, offsite hosting (incomplete), Joe Arpaio's greatest hits.
- Documentary- Torture: America's Brutal Prisons
- Prison surprise sex survivor testimony & Human Rights Watch report on prison surprise sex
- Activist and outreach orgs-
Prison Activist Resource Center
CURE
Justice Policy Institute
Penal Reform International
The Center for Prisoner Health & Human Rights
The Sentencing Project
Commission on Safety & Abuse in American Prisons
Critical Resistance
Prison Policy Initiative
Death Penalty Focus
California Prison Focus
Middle Ground(AZ prison reform)
CAADP(AZ death penalty abolition)
New stuff:
- In Pennsylvania, despite high unemployment, business are seeking to outsource more of their labor toinmates. The one good thing about this is that the bill would require the inmates to be paid "similar" wages as free folks, instead of the 17 to 42 cents an hour inmates usually make in PA.
- In Colorado, prison system is "structured to promote failure."
- In Massachussetts, a new policy is on its way to charge inmates rent during their stay, with additional fees for things like medications, haircuts, and GED testing. It's called the "Inmate Financial Responsibility Program."
quote:
"Look, having inmates come to prison and telling them that you don't need to worry about the costs associated with running the prison is, I don't think, a good message for them," Hodgson told the Boston Globe earlier this year.
quote:
As California struggles to pay for social services for its poorest residents, it spends hundreds of millions of dollars a year on health care for a small group of sick inmates - in one case $1 million during a dying inmate's final year, according to a state audit released Tuesday.
The state also spends billions of extra dollars on the longer sentences handed down under the state's "three strikes" law in part because those inmates age in prison and need health care, the report by State Auditor Elaine Howle found.
...
he was struck by Howle's finding that the state spends about $132 million a year on overtime for prison guards who transport and guard ill inmates, many of whom are nonambulatory, because the state does not plan ahead for those costs.
...
She estimated that the additional years imposed by the [three-strikes] law are costing California $19.2 billion over the duration of those inmates' incarceration.
The state also spends billions of extra dollars on the longer sentences handed down under the state's "three strikes" law in part because those inmates age in prison and need health care, the report by State Auditor Elaine Howle found.
...
he was struck by Howle's finding that the state spends about $132 million a year on overtime for prison guards who transport and guard ill inmates, many of whom are nonambulatory, because the state does not plan ahead for those costs.
...
She estimated that the additional years imposed by the [three-strikes] law are costing California $19.2 billion over the duration of those inmates' incarceration.
- In Indiana, if you have two or more family members in prison you want to visit, you have to pick one or the other; because you can't be on more than one inmate's visit list.
- Georgia beats out Texas, Louisiana, and Cali to become the nations leader in criminal punishment. In Georgia, one in 13 people are behind bars, on probation, or on parole- more than double the national rate of 1 in 31.
Not to be outdone by 3-strikes law, Zell Miller started 2 strikes and you're out laws in 1994- along with his "7 Deadly Sins" law. One strike for one of the 7 sins is 10 years, no parole; and the second is life with no parole. After the 10 years, ex-cons are released with $25, a bus ticket, and no post-release treatment or support. A 14-year old with a cap gun can be and is punished the same as an adult with a real gun.
quote:
“If you’re going to play like a man, you need to pay like a man,” the DA said.
...
The trend held even among nonviolent offenders: the average inmate released last year on a drug possession charge spent 21 months locked up, compared with 10 months in 1990.
...
The trend held even among nonviolent offenders: the average inmate released last year on a drug possession charge spent 21 months locked up, compared with 10 months in 1990.
- In Montana, another private prison scam.
- Kicking the National Habit: The Legal and Policy Arguments for Abolishing Private Prison Contracts (pdf).
- ACLU report shows LA Central Jail is still going strong with its 30-year history of severe overcrowding, violence, and brutality. For example, when one inmate complained about being denied showers for a few weeks, the guards broke his leg and wrecked his knee bad enough to require extensive surgery.
ACLU posted:
Men’s Central Jail is a modern-day medieval dungeon, a dank, windowless place where prisoners live in fear of retaliation and abuse apparently goes unchecked. The jail is not an appropriate facility for housing prisoners with mental illness, many of whom do not receive proper treatment for their mental illness... At the root of the many problems plaguing this toxic facility is overcrowding and the only solutions are to either reduce the jail population dramatically or close it.
- Corrections Corporation of America says that despite critics & recession, business is booming.
quote:
Both "high recidivism" among felons and "inmate population growth following prior recessions" are highlighted as positives for the company in the 48-page report.
- For-profit prison to be built in OK with a twist- it will be staffed and run entirely by "born again Christians."
- Doing time on their own dime:
quote:
Hurley couldn't pay the fine because she had to pay the Georgia Department of Corrections $600 a month for room and board. Hurley spent nearly a year in prison - from a 120-day sentence -- due to her inability to pay the fine before the SCHR was able to get her released.
Some books:
Capitalist Punishment: Prison Privatization and Human Rights
Acres of Skin: Human Experiments at Holmesburg Prison
Gates of Injustice: The Crisis in America's Prisons
Prison Profiteers: Who Makes Money from Mass Incarceration
The Rich Get Richer and The Poor Get Prison
The Color of Justice: Race, Ethnicity, and Crime in America
America's Prisons: The Movement Toward Profit and Privatization
Lockdown America: Police and Prisons in the Age of Crisis
Golden Gulag: Prisons, Surplus, Crisis, and Opposition in Globalizing California ("A magnificent analysis of the political economy of super-incarceration and the slave plantations that California calls prisons.")
The Perpetual Prisoner Machine: How America Profits From Crime
Abolition Democracy: Beyond Prisons, Torture, and Empire
The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness
Texas Tough: The Rise of America's Prison Empire
and
Life Sentences: Rage and Survival Behind Bars
Capitalist Punishment: Prison Privatization and Human Rights
Acres of Skin: Human Experiments at Holmesburg Prison
Gates of Injustice: The Crisis in America's Prisons
Prison Profiteers: Who Makes Money from Mass Incarceration
The Rich Get Richer and The Poor Get Prison
The Color of Justice: Race, Ethnicity, and Crime in America
America's Prisons: The Movement Toward Profit and Privatization
Lockdown America: Police and Prisons in the Age of Crisis
Golden Gulag: Prisons, Surplus, Crisis, and Opposition in Globalizing California ("A magnificent analysis of the political economy of super-incarceration and the slave plantations that California calls prisons.")
The Perpetual Prisoner Machine: How America Profits From Crime
Abolition Democracy: Beyond Prisons, Torture, and Empire
The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness
Texas Tough: The Rise of America's Prison Empire
and
Life Sentences: Rage and Survival Behind Bars
quote:
"...required reading for all fifty United States governors and for all present and future Presidential and Vice-Presidential candidates...the most convincing argument I have read against our nationwide desire to deal with lawbreakers by 'locking 'em up and throwing away the key.'"
-- Russell Banks, The New York Times Book Review
"Life Sentences is an aberration. Out of the violence, madness and uselessness has come a work of uncommon and lasting value."
-- Colman McCarthy, Washington Post Book World
"Life Sentences is an extraordinary act of courage that should prick the conscience of every American. Rideau and Wikberg take readers inside the bowels of Angola...Within such a manmade hell, they become living proof that some can rise above the cesspool despite colossal odds."
-- Pete Earley, author of The Hothouse: Life Inside Leavenworth Prison -- Review
-- Russell Banks, The New York Times Book Review
"Life Sentences is an aberration. Out of the violence, madness and uselessness has come a work of uncommon and lasting value."
-- Colman McCarthy, Washington Post Book World
"Life Sentences is an extraordinary act of courage that should prick the conscience of every American. Rideau and Wikberg take readers inside the bowels of Angola...Within such a manmade hell, they become living proof that some can rise above the cesspool despite colossal odds."
-- Pete Earley, author of The Hothouse: Life Inside Leavenworth Prison -- Review
Prison Legal News posted:
Prison and jail employees are more out of control than ever. From state to state, north to south, east to west, sexual misconduct by guards and other staff members continues to weave its way through the fabric of our nation’s prisons. A common thread of surprise sex, debauchery and even sexual torture is present in detention facilities nationwide.
This time we bring you recent reports from 39 states, which constitute only a fraction of the tragic truth about surprise sex and sexual abuse by prison and jail workers. Indeed, it would easily be possible to publish a monthly magazine consisting of nothing but substantiated reports of the sexual assault of prisoners by their captors. It also illustrates the shortcomings of the PREA which contains no real enforcement mechanism to stop or deter sexual assaults, merely the collection of data self reported by the agencies holding the prisoners. But one result is we may now have slightly better data than we did before in a central location.
This time we bring you recent reports from 39 states, which constitute only a fraction of the tragic truth about surprise sex and sexual abuse by prison and jail workers. Indeed, it would easily be possible to publish a monthly magazine consisting of nothing but substantiated reports of the sexual assault of prisoners by their captors. It also illustrates the shortcomings of the PREA which contains no real enforcement mechanism to stop or deter sexual assaults, merely the collection of data self reported by the agencies holding the prisoners. But one result is we may now have slightly better data than we did before in a central location.
Arizona
Former prison guard Elsa Gutierrez, 33, was booked into the Yuma County Jail on October 1, 2008 after being charged with unlawful sexual conduct with a male prisoner. She had been employed at the Arizona State Prison Complex.
On November 7, 2008, Steve Edward Hiser was arrested and charged with six counts of sex crimes involving female prisoners. He was a maintenance worker at the Eddie Warrior Correctional Center when the incidents occurred; the charges include sexual battery, indecent exposure, forcible oral sodomy, sexual battery and surprise sex by instrumentation. Hiser posted a $15,000 bond; his case is still pending.
Arkansas
Former Arkansas DOC psychologist Anna Clark, 57, was convicted of third-degree sexual assault after being caught in the act of sexual intercourse with prisoner Dan Burns.
In a taped confession Clark admitted that she had sex several times with Burns, who was diagnosed as depressed and suicidal. She was sentenced in August 2007 to three years in prison and her conviction was upheld by the state Supreme Court on Sept. 25, 2008 [See: Clark v. State, 374 Ark. 292 (Ark. 2008)].
On January 16, 2009, Pulaski County sheriff’s deputy Willie Lee Owens was arrested for raping a female prisoner in a basement holding cell at the county courthouse. While Owens went to get a napkin so his victim could clean up, she wiped some of his semen on the inside of her bra and later gave it to investigators.
“The crime lab confirmed with scientific certainty that the swabs submitted by Dep. Owens and the samples taken from the bra were the same,” the arrest warrant stated.
California
In May 2008, Mark Susoeff, 45, was sentenced to 120 days in jail and three years probation for having oral sex with a female prisoner. Susoeff was a guard at the Leo Chesney Community Correctional Facility (LCCC) when the incident occurred. LCCC is a minimum-security prison run by Cornell Corrections.
Former San Luis Obispo County jail guard Steven Edward Irysh was sentenced to 45 days in jail and three years probation on October 31, 2007 for performing a sex act in front of a female prisoner. He had also been charged with indecent exposure, but that charge was dropped as part of a plea agreement. On January 11, 2008, the court allowed Irysh to begin serving his sentence in late February to accommodate his work schedule. He was also allowed to serve his jail time on weekends.
In September 2007, former Imperial County jail guard James Ray Morris pleaded no contest to having sex with female prisoners. One of his victims stated that Morris threatened to restrict her recreation time if she didn’t have sex, and that she contracted a sexually transmitted disease from him. Morris was sentenced on October 19, 2007 to 90 days in jail and three years probation.
Two prisoners have filed lawsuits against Imperial County claiming that jail guards, including Morris, pressured them into having sex. One guard, Corbin Dillon, allegedly coerced oral sex from a prisoner who was in an observation cell following a suicide attempt. [See: Fernandez v. Morris, U.S.D.C. (SD Cal.), Case No. 3:2008-cv-00601-H-CAB and Flores-Nunez v. Dillon, U.S.D.C. (SD Cal.), Case No. 3:08-cv-01881-W-CAB].
Colorado
Two female prisoners from Hawai’i, Christina Riley and Jacqueline Overturf, were being held at the Brush Correctional Facility, a private prison operated by GRW Corp., when they were sexually assaulted by prison guard Russell E. Rollison. They filed a lawsuit that was settled in January 2008; their attorney, Myles Breiner, described the confidential settlement as a “significant amount of money.” [See: Riley v. Rollison, U.S.D.C. (D. Colo.), Case No. 1:06-cv-01347-WYD-BNB].
The prisoners claimed they had been coerced by Rollison to perform a sex act, and alleged he had threatened them with disciplinary write-ups if they did not cooperate. One of the women saved Rollison’s semen and turned it over to DOC authorities.
Despite having evidence in the form of the guard’s semen, state officials called the incident a ploy by the women to get back to their home state of Hawai’i. Since the settlement, all Hawai’i prisoners at the Brush facility have been moved to the Otter Creek Correctional Center in Kentucky – where incidents of sexual abuse have continued (see below).
Rollison resigned and was charged with two counts of having felony sexual contact with a prisoner. The charges were later reduced when he pleaded guilty to menacing with a real or simulated weapon – a non-sex offense – and received probation.
Former prison Sgt. Leshawn Terrell, employed at the Denver Women’s Correctional Facility, was charged with having sexual relations with prisoner Amanda Hall. According to a subsequent lawsuit, Hall claimed that Terrell made her a “virtual sex slave” and coerced her continuously to have sex over a five-month period. Terrell sexually abused her to the point that she sustained a torn rectum that required surgery.
“She’s been assaulted in ways that are so inhumane and so offensive we can’t talk about them on TV,” stated Hall’s attorney, Mari Newman. “What I’ve learned after the [lawsuit] filing, I’ve got many many e-mails about other similar cases, and this is a problem systemwide in the Colorado Department of Corrections,” Newman said.
Hall’s federal lawsuit settled in December 2008 for $250,000 in damages and attorney fees; additionally, the DOC agreed to install more security cameras in the area where the sexual assaults took place. [See: Hall v. Colorado DOC, U.S.D.C. (D. Colo.), Case No. 1:08-cv-00999-DME-MEH].
On Oct. 28, 2008, Terrell pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor charge of unlawful sexual conduct. The judge found that he had preyed on female prisoners who were in a “unique and vulnerable position,” and imposed a sentence of 60 days in jail and five years probation, plus sex offender treatment and placement on the state’s sex offender registry.
A former secretary at the Federal Prison Camp in Florence (which houses the federal supermax) was sentenced to six months in prison and five years supervised release on January 29, 2009. Janine Sligar, who had worked for the Bureau of Prisons for 14 years, had a sexual relationship with prisoner Eric McClain that included oral sex and intercourse.
Connecticut
On August 22, 2008, former federal prison guard Michael Rudkin pleaded guilty to charges of having sex with a female prisoner and plotting with her to kill his wife.
According to prosecutors, Rudkin provided his incarcerated lover with a detailed layout of his home and agreed to pay $5,000 for the murder. He also asked her to wait until he could have a life insurance policy taken out on his wife.
The plot was discovered before his wife was harmed. Rudkin was sentenced to 15 years in prison on January 15, 2009; he had been employed at FCI Dansbury.
Florida
Former prison guard William A. Blanton was sentenced on May 22, 2008 to three years probation and eight months home detention after being convicted of engaging in a sexual act with a female prisoner.
Blanton and eight other employees at the Federal Correctional Complex in Coleman had been arrested on suspicion of smuggling and misconduct following a two-year investigation; he was the only guard charged with a sex-related offense.
On April 3, 2008, Wilfredo Vazquez pleaded guilty to sexual battery and “placing a woman in fear” during a forced sexual encounter. Vazquez, an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) employee, drove a detainee to his home and forced her to have sex with him.
The victim was being held on charges of making a false claim about her U.S. citizenship and was slated to be deported. Vazquez was responsible for transporting her from the Krome Detention Center in West Miami Dade to the Broward Transitional Center in Pompano Beach. The woman reported the incident upon her arrival at Broward, and an investigation ensued.
Vazquez accepted a plea deal to avoid being charged with aggravated sexual assault. He was sentenced in August 2008 to seven years in prison and five years supervised release.
Shaun McFadden worked for TransCor, a private transportation company, when he was arrested at a motel for having sex with two prisoners. On March 21, 2008, McFadden and a co-worker transported two female prisoners from the Bradford County Jail to another facility. After dropping off his co-worker, McFadden returned and convinced jail officials that the prisoners needed to be taken to a local hospital for a physical examination.
McFadden then drove the women to a motel where the threesome had sex. But while he was in the shower, one of the prisoners went to a pay phone and called the police.
McFadden was arrested on charges of two counts of sexual misconduct.
The women said they had agreed to have sex with McFadden in exchange for alcohol and cigarettes. A TransCor official stated this was an isolated incident, and the company did not plan to change the way it operates. There have been at least 5 other incidents of surprise sex and sexual abuse involving TransCor guards [See: PLN, Sept. 2006, p.1].
On November 8, 2008, prison guard Geno Lewis Hawkins was arrested on charges of sexual battery involving a female prisoner. Hawkins was employed at the CCA-run Gadsden Correctional Facility; he was held without bond.
Georgia
Dewayne Wood, an 18-year veteran of the Warren County Sheriff’s Department, was charged with sexual assault of a person in custody, violation of oath by a public official, and violation of the Georgia Controlled Substances Act.
The charges stem from accusations made by a female prisoner Wood had transported on August 10, 2006. A search of Wood’s patrol vehicle yielded pornographic pictures, condoms, Viagra pills and diet pills.
Wood remained free on $10,000 bond until he pleaded guilty in October 2008. He was sentenced to two years incarceration plus 8 years probation.
Former prison guard Tashala C. Johnson-Ashley received 180 days in jail and 5 years probation after being convicted of sexual assault against a person in custody and violation of an oath by a public officer.
By her own admission, Johnson-Ashley met with a prisoner working as a trusty at the Bull Creek Golf Course on April 5, 2008 and had sex with him in her car.
On December 31, 2008, Twiggs County deputies Richard Merideth and James Kristopher Baker were arrested after they acknowledged they both had sex with jail prisoner Jennifer Lyles. Lyles reported them after one of the deputies failed to bring her some cigarettes.
Hawaii
In October 2008, Markell Milsap pleaded guilty to sexually assaulting a female prisoner at the Federal Detention Center in Hawaii. Milsap worked as an electrician at the prison; he reportedly pushed the woman against a wall, pulled down her pants and had sex with her.
The prisoner, identified only as Jane Doe, filed a lawsuit against Milsap and the federal government, which is pending. [See: Doe v. United States, U.S.D.C. (D. Hawaii), Case No. 1:08-cv-00517-SOM-BMK].
Milsap received a 10-month prison sentence on March 10, 2009, and the federal judge over his case described the sexual encounter, even if consensual, as “horribly wrong.”
Milsap will be required to register as a sex offender; his victim refused to testify against him.
Idaho
Tim Gilligan, a guard at a medium security men’s facility in Boise, was arrested on March 19, 2009 on a felony charge of having sexual contact with a female prisoner. While female prisoners are allowed to work at the men’s facility in administrative and cleaning positions, they do not have contact with male prisoners – presumably because they might be sexually assaulted. Apparently the same holds true for prison staff.
Illinois
In August 2007, former Jefferson County Justice Center guard Gary Lynch was arrested on charges of sexual assault and custodial misconduct. He was accused of forcing a female prisoner to have sexual intercourse and oral sex with him.
Lynch pleaded guilty to one charge of official misconduct in June 2008 in exchange for a sentence of 30 months probation and $1,500 in costs. He was also required to serve 90 days in jail and pay incarceration fees. Under the agreement, Lynch will spend the first 45 days of his probated sentence in jail and the last 45 days in jail. However, the last 45 days will be suspended if he stays out of trouble – which presumably means if he doesn’t sexually assault anyone else.
A Dwight Correctional Center prisoner referred to by the Chicago Tribune as Jane Doe was repeatedly forced to have sex with prison guards even though she had diminished lung capacity and was hooked up to an oxygen machine.
Doe filed a lawsuit on March 3, 2008, alleging that guards would come to her cell in the middle of the night and force her to have sex in the guards’ bathroom. Doe, who is afflicted with obstructive pulmonary lung disease, became pregnant from the rapes. She was an ex-beauty pageant winner, and apparently attractive enough that the guards did not care that she had to tote her oxygen tank with her to the bathroom where they would surprise sex her.
“You can’t fight them because they grip you from behind the neck,” she said. “You don’t know if they’re going to kill you.”
Doe tried to report the attacks on numerous occasions. But instead of help, a prison administrator threatened to have a year added to her sentence. She was placed in segregation and her letters to her attorney and the media were intercepted or blocked. She was sexually assaulted 29 times, both before and after she was put in segregation.
In January 2007, after she was released, Doe gave birth to a baby boy. Her lawsuit names the warden, assistant warden, two lieutenants and eight prison guards who allegedly participated in a “surprise sex squad.” [See: Doe v. Denning, U.S.D.C. (ND. Ill.), Case No. 1:08-cv-01265].
Joseph R. Cabell, a guard with the Peoria County Sheriff’s Dept., was arrested on February 3, 2009 on charges of official misconduct and custodial sexual misconduct.
Cabell was assigned to monitor a suicidal female prisoner who had been taken to a hospital; instead, he offered to help her make bail if she would give him oral sex.
Although she performed the sex act, Cabell was unsuccessful in obtaining her release. The prisoner then reported him.
Indiana
John Kelly, a civilian employee of the Bartholomew County Sheriff’s Department, was fired and arrested in August 2008 after it was learned he had an affair with a female prisoner. The charges against Kelly include sexual misconduct and official misconduct.
In January 2009, a manager at the Marion County Juvenile Detention Center was charged with felony counts of sexual misconduct and child seduction. Michael A. Jackson is accused of forcing a 16-year-old prisoner to perform oral sex on him; the incident occurred on Christmas Eve of last year.
Iowa
On January 18, 2008, former Dallas County jail administrator Deke Gliem was sentenced to eight years in prison for having sex with a prisoner, touching and kissing other prisoners, and watching them shower. He reportedly gave the prisoners telephone cards in exchange for sexual favors. Gliem’s misconduct was discovered during an investigation into $6,000 in missing telephone cards and $2,300 in missing cash at the jail.
Kansas
Eric A. Taylor was fired from his job as a guard at the Saline County Jail on July 14, 2008, and arrested on charges of inappropriately touching three female prisoners. He posted bond immediately. Taylor was found guilty on March 12, 2009 of three felony counts of unlawful sexual relations, and will be sentenced in late April.
Jennifer Stambaugh was a case manager with the Bureau of Prisons when she had an affair with a prisoner at the federal penitentiary at Leavenworth. Stambaugh lied to a federal investigator about the affair, claiming the two had never had a sexual relationship. She also denied that they had been in touch after his release from prison.
When the truth came out, Stambaugh came clean. In April 2008 she pleaded guilty to making a false statement to a Department of Justice investigator; she was sentenced on July 14, 2008 to six months house arrest, six months probation and a $3,000 fine.
Kentucky
An unnamed guard was fired and charged with a misdemeanor for forcibly demanding sex from a female prisoner at the CCA-operated Otter Creek Correctional Center, according to an October 2, 2008 news report. The woman saved evidence from the sexual assault.
The victim, a prisoner from Hawai’i, was subsequently placed in segregation for 50 days; prison officials claimed she was segregated due to an altercation with another prisoner, but that allegation was later dismissed. CCA changed its policy at the facility to require, “whenever possible,” a female guard to accompany male guards in the housing areas.
Louisiana
On February 19, 2009, Gary Dewayne Midkiff, a social worker at the Louisiana State Penitentiary, was arrested on one count of aggravated surprise sex. Midkiff was accused of using threats of violence to perform oral sex on a male prisoner; his victim said Midkiff threatened to make false accusations against him, which would result in a beating by prison guards. The prisoner provided DNA evidence and investigators found that four other prisoners had accused Midkiff of sexual misconduct. Midkiff refused to provide a DNA sample for comparison purposes.
Maine
Glen Works was indicted in July 2008, accused of failure to report a sexual assault by another guard. He was employed at the Maine Correctional Center (MCC). Works resigned his position a week before the charges were filed; he subsequently pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor charge and was fined.
Bradford Howard was the MCC guard that Works covered for; he was also indicted in July 2008, on charges involving sex with two prisoners. Howard, a military veteran, was later sentenced to three years with all but four months suspended.
Massachusetts
Former prison guard Stanford Norman, 35, was sentenced on January 3, 2008 to two to three years for having sex with a female prisoner. Norman had sex with the woman while he was employed at the Hampden County Correctional Center.
Another former Hampden County guard, Brian Murphy, received two years probation; he was charged with luring the prisoner to the facility’s medical unit so Norman could have sex with her.
Michigan
On August 21, 2008, former Livingston County Deputy Sheriff Randy Boos pleaded guilty to three counts of second-degree criminal sexual conduct. Boos was accused of “touching the breasts and genital areas” of three prisoners while transporting them from the county jail; he will serve between 43 months and 15 years in prison.
PLN has previously reported on the systemic sexual abuse of female prisoners by guards in the Michigan DOC, and the resultant multi-million dollar verdicts in lawsuits brought by the victimized prisoners. [See: PLN, Jan. 2006, p.12; Oct. 2008, p.42].
Mississippi
On January 25, 2008, U.S. Marshals arrested former Mississippi prison guard Jennifer Danielle Readus, who had fled to Texas after she was charged with having sex with a prisoner. Readus was employed at the Central Mississippi Corr. Facility when she allegedly had a sexual relationship with prisoner Zachariah Combs.
Montana
Four female employees of the Montana State Prison were placed on paid suspension in September 2008 after they were accused of having sex with prisoners. All four later resigned, and a fifth male employee was placed under investigation. The County Attorney determined there was insufficient evidence to warrant criminal charges.
According to prisoner Michael Murphy, one of the prison employees – a mental health worker – had sex with him over 30 times. The Montana DOC took the Associated Press to court after the AP requested records related to the sexual misconduct investigation; state officials said they needed a judge to weigh privacy interests versus the public’s right to know.
“Corrections officers and officials whose work involves interacting with inmates at the Montana State Prison hold positions of high public trust involving the safety and well-being of the public, and therefore have a reduced expectation of privacy when accused of wrongdoing involving their interaction with inmates,” stated David K.W. Wilson, Jr., who represents the Associated Press. The public records suit is still pending. [See: Montana DOC v. Associated Press, 1st Judicial District Court (MT), Cause No. CDV-2008-1091].
Nebraska
Former prison guards Becky Willison and Keri Ann Brandt were charged with delivering contraband into a correctional facility, felony criminal conspiracy-escape, and giving false information to a law enforcement officer after it was discovered they had sneaked saw blades into the North Central Correctional and Rehabilitation Center. Willison was also charged with felony sexual assault and tampering with physical evidence.
Officials believe the two women were part of a foiled escape attempt hatched after Willison began having a sexual relationship with one of the three prisoners involved.
Willison pleaded guilty and was sentenced on Feb. 19, 2008 to five years in prison on state charges. In June 2008 she received a consecutive four-year sentence on related federal charges; Brandt received the same state and federal sentences as part of a plea bargain.
Former jail guard Jason Keller avoided trial on March 3, 2008 when he pleaded no contest to sexually abusing a female prisoner at the Hall County Jail. As part of the plea agreement, the County Attorney’s office recommended probation and opined that Keller would not have to register as a sex offender.
Gary Fowler was a teacher at the Omaha Correctional Facility when he engaged in an illegal sexual encounter with a 47-year-old prisoner. He was sentenced on October 14, 2008 to two years probation.
Nevada
Nye County Deputy Sheriff Daryal Taylor was arrested on March 26, 2008 after a female prisoner accused him of sexual assault while he was transporting her. Investigators obtained information that corroborated the victim’s allegations, and determined that Taylor had used his position to obtain sex from the woman.
New Hampshire
Former prison chaplain Ralph Flodin, 70, was indicted in June 2007 on nine counts of aggravated felonious sexual assault against a 24-year-old female prisoner. Flodin had been the chaplain at the Strafford County House of Corrections for over ten years. He was convicted following a jury trial in May 2008, based largely on a videotaped confession in which he admitted to touching and kissing the victim.
He was sentenced to 2 to 10 years in prison plus a 12-month suspended sentence on Sept. 5, 2008. “Sadly, what we have here is another instance when someone within the jail community has used his or her authority to coerce sexual favors,” said County Attorney Tom Velardi.
On November 18, 2008, Douglas Tower, 63, pleaded guilty to raping three women living at a halfway house. Tower was supervisor of the Shea Farm halfway house in Concord; he told the women he would return them to prison or deny visits from their children unless they submitted to his sexual demands.
As part of the plea bargain, charges involving 8 more victims were dropped. At the time of his guilty plea Tower was already serving 21 to 40 years for sexually assaulting two other residents at the halfway house. He received additional sentences of 10-20 years in the plea deal, which were suspended. Thirty female prisoners and one prison employee sued the state due to sexual abuse or harassment by Tower; the suits were settled in March 2008 for $1.9 million.
New Jersey
Cape May County jail guard Thomas Koochembere was convicted on February 28, 2008 of official misconduct and criminal sexual contact for having sex with two prisoners. Evidence presented at trial included one of the prisoner’s underwear, which contained Koochembere’s DNA.
One of his victims testified that she did not scream for help because the guard had power over her. “That man holds my freedom in his hands,” she stated. Koochembere contended that the women had in fact raped him, and that his DNA was obtained by force when they threatened him with a pair of scissors – an alleged incident he did not report at the time.
“Why did he do it?” asked Assistant Prosecutor Matthew D. Weintraub. “He did it because he could.”
Koochembere received sentences of 3 and 5 years on May 8, 2008. A federal lawsuit was filed against the county by one of the prisoners, Demetria Marshall. [See: Marshall v. Koochembere, U.S.D.C. (D. NJ), Case No. 1:07-cv-03191].
On February 22, 2009, Morris County guard Lon Sainato allegedly pressured a male prisoner performing community service work into a sex act. Sainato was charged with sexual assault and official misconduct.
New Mexico
Cibola County Detention Center guard Deandra McNeill, 20, was fired on March 4, 2009 after jail officials determined she had a sexual relationship with a prisoner. She was arrested by the State Police later that month and charged with criminal sexual penetration.
In a 2008 report, the Bureau of Justice Statistics found that the Torrance County Detention Facility in Estancia, New Mexico had the highest rate of sexual victimization by staff members in a survey of over 280 jails nationwide. The facility is operated by CCA, and on Sept. 30, 2008, county and CCA officials appeared before the Review Panel on Prison surprise sex to discuss the jail’s excessively high rate of sexual abuse.
Interestingly, CCA’s general counsel, Gus Puryear, is a commissioner on the National Prison surprise sex Elimination Commission – but has missed half of the Commission’s eight public hearings. [See: PLN, March 2009, p.6]. Apparently CCA places little importance on the prevention of sexual abuse in the company’s for-profit facilities.
New York
In December 2006, Raymond “Mickey” Dunham, Jr., a major with the Berkshire County Sheriff’s Department, was indicted on four counts of having sexual relations with a prisoner. Dunham was one of two unit managers at the Berkshire County House of Corrections.
Dunham initially insisted he was innocent, but pleaded guilty to having sex with two prisoners; he was sentenced in May 2008 to a maximum of one year and one day in prison.
Three civilian jail workers were arrested in November and December 2008, and charged with multiple counts of having sex with prisoners at the Gouverneur Correctional Facility.
The employees, all women, were Laura E. Douglass, Lisa A. Vaughn and Rachel S. Patterson.
Over the course of two years Vaughn allegedly had sex with four male prisoners. She was charged with 16 counts of third-degree surprise sex, third-degree sexual assault and official misconduct. Douglass was charged with 11 counts of third-degree surprise sex, one count of criminal sexual act and one count of promoting prison contraband. One of the women would reportedly stand lookout while the other had sex.
Patterson was charged with three counts of third-degree criminal sexual act and official misconduct, two counts of second-degree sexual abuse and one count of petit larceny.
North Carolina
It will be hard for former Bertie Correctional Facility guard Tameka Mebane to deny she had sex with a prisoner at the maximum-security prison, as one allegedly got her pregnant. She was criminally charged in February 2009. “According to her, she was pregnant from the inmate. That’s what she told me,” stated Windsor Police Sgt. Rick Morris. “I’m only human,” Mebane remarked. “Everyone makes mistakes.”
Ohio
A dark cell turned into a dark day at trial for former Richland County jail guard James N. Campain. A former female prisoner testified that Campain turned out the lights in her cell and fondled her breasts, after which she sexually gratified him.
“He unzipped his pants, and I did what I did,” she stated. Campain later gave her cigarettes.
Campain’s misconduct was exposed when another female prisoner filed a grievance against him. She testified that while she worked in the kitchen Campain would rub up against her and ask to see her breasts. Campain was a 13-year veteran at the jail; he was charged with three counts of sexual battery, one count of gross sexual imposition and ten counts of dereliction of duty.
He was found guilty at trial in January 2008, sentenced to a total of nine years, and classified as a Tier III sex offender.
Oklahoma
Custer County Sheriff Mike Burgess resigned on April 16, 2008 after being accused of using female prisoners as sex slaves. Burgess, who had been sheriff since 1994, was charged with 35 felony counts including surprise sex, forcible oral sodomy and bribery by a public official.
The allegations were brought by 12 former prisoners who testified they were coerced into participating in a variety of sexual activities for the jail’s employees, including wet T-shirt contests.
Several women testified that Burgess, who was a member of a drug court panel, threatened to send them to prison if they didn’t have sex with him. Members of the panel decide who attends the rehab program and who is incarcerated.
Burgess was convicted of 13 felony charges in January 2009, and received a 79-year sentence in March. The jury had recommended 94 years. A lawsuit has been filed against the county by Burgess’ victims. [See: McGowan v. Burgess, U.S.D.C. (WD Okla.), Case No. 5:07-cv-01168-HE].
Joi Ilene Starr, a former secretary at the Joseph Harp Correctional Center, was charged with first-degree surprise sex on June 26, 2008. Starr admitted to a prison investigator that she had sex with a male prisoner the previous year. In July 2008, Katrina Lavern Hinds (aka Katrina Black), an employee at the Lexington Assessment and Reception Center, was charged with first-degree surprise sex for engaging in sex with a prisoner. Although both Hinds and Starr’s sexual encounters were consensual, they still face up to life in prison if convicted.
In April 2009, former Jackie Brannon Correctional Center guard Stacy Marie Smith was charged with sexual battery and surprise sex by instrumentation, involving a male prisoner. She was released on $10,000 bond.
Oregon
Cindy L. Roberts was a contract nurse at the Cowlitz County Jail when she allegedly had sex with a 27-year-old prisoner. She was arrested on May 31, 2008 and charged with introducing contraband into a jail and attempted custodial sexual misconduct.
Paul Golden, a landscaper at the Coffee Creek Correctional Facility, a women’s prison, was jailed in January 2009 on charges of sexual abuse, sexual misconduct and providing contraband to prisoners.
Pennsylvania
Sex and contraband charges resulted in guilty verdicts in a wide-ranging investigation involving staff at the Monroe County Correctional Facility. Six former guards and a kitchen worker were charged. Ex-guard Mark Gutshall pleaded guilty to institutional sexual assault on Dec. 17, 2007 and received a 3-23 month prison sentence; he has since been paroled. The other jail employees, who were charged with contraband-related offenses, received probation. [See: PLN, Dec. 2007, p.1].
On July 11, 2008, former prison worker Gregory A. Williams was found guilty of four counts of institutional sexual assault and one count of official oppression; he was acquitted of four other charges. Williams was a food service manager at the Cambridge Springs Correctional Institution when he engaged in oral sex with prisoners Melissa Torres and Helen McCandless-Weiss. He was sentenced to a minimum of four months in jail on October 8, 2008.
Northumberland County Prison guard Brandon Fraim resigned on December 10, 2008 after he was caught in an amorous embrace with a female prisoner. Fraim admitted the incident happened but said, “I just got caught up with flirting with young girls. They make it sound like there was sex, but it was just kissing.”
However, videos revealed that Fraim had been sneaking into the women prisoners’ quarters since last spring. Prison guard Gregg Cupp also resigned; both he and Fraim were charged in January 2009 with having sexual contact with prisoners. Deputy Warden John Conrad had shrugged off initial reports of the guards’ misconduct as “silly talk.”
On November 13, 2008, former prison guard Michael Waters received a 23-month sentence for having sexual encounters with a female prisoner at the Delaware County Prison. He began serving his sentence, at his former workplace, later that same month.
South Carolina
On April 3, 2008, former prison guard Lori Clawson Johnson was arrested on charges of sexual misconduct with a prisoner following an investigation by the State Law Enforcement Division and the Dept. of Corrections. Johnson was employed at the Tyger River Correctional Institution when the incidents occurred.
Tennessee
Jackson County Sheriff Kenneth Bean initially refused to step down after being charged with numerous counts of sexual contact involving at least 10 female jail prisoners. A six-month investigation revealed that Bean had coerced prisoners to have sex by threatening to plant evidence against them. He was also charged with failure to secure and maintain evidence.
“[Bean] offered and gave illegal drugs and favorable treatment to inmates in exchange for sexual favors,” said special prosecutor Alan Poindexter.
In September 2008, as part of a plea bargain, Sheriff Bean resigned and pleaded guilty to a charge of simple assault. Under the plea agreement he cannot run for sheriff again for six years. Additionally, three Jackson County deputies were convicted on charges involving sex with female prisoners.
On June 13, 2008, Kevin D. Vance, a former employee of the Montgomery County Sheriff’s Office, was arrested and charged with having sexual contact with a female prisoner. Vance had worked at the jail for over three years.
Montgomery County jail employee Santiago Alcantara had been fired for the same offense a month earlier. Both Vance and Alcantara pleaded guilty in October 2008, and each received two years pre-trial diversion and probation.
Thomas Baccus was a guard at the Henderson County Jail when he was suspended in March 2008, then fired for having a sexual relationship with a female prisoner. He was arrested last June and charged with felony sexual contact and official misconduct. Baccus had previously been terminated from the Turney Center Industrial Prison, a state facility, for having white supremacy propaganda on his MySpace webpage.
Former Shelby County jail guard Antonious Totten was charged with sexual contact with a female prisoner in March 2007. Totten was supervising several women on a work detail when he decided to hook up with one of them. The two reportedly had sex in a van in full view of the other prisoners, who remained silent because they did not want to lose their jobs. After one prisoner eventually came forward they all were called as witnesses.
Totten’s attorney, Blake Ballin, called the witnesses against his client “a parade of liars, thieves, cheats and forgers.” Nevertheless, Totten was convicted and sentenced to one year in jail. The sentence was suspended except for time he had to serve on weekends.
On November 18, 2008, Angel Harris appeared in court on felony charges of having sexual contact with a prisoner. Harris was employed at the CCA-run Silverdale Detention Center in Chattanooga at the time the incident took place.
Texas
On July 2, 2008, three female guards at the Liberty County Jail, Angelia Perales, Techa Fowler and Tynisha Pierre, were arrested for having sex with prisoners. The women were employees of Civigenics, a private company that runs the jail; they were charged with violation of the civil rights of a person in custody, a felony.
“This type of offense is taken very seriously. Not only is it a violation of law, policies and procedures, it puts the safety of all people in the correctional facility at risk. If they are at risk, then the public is subsequently at risk,” said Sheriff Greg Arthur.
Guards at the South Texas Detention Complex, an immigration detention facility, have been accused of rampant sexual abuse involving detainees. Former guards at the prison went on record with local news reporters, saying that sexual abuse of female prisoners had been going on for years. According to investigators, guards threatened detainees with deportation and lied by telling them they could help them stay in the country if they had sex with them. The facility is operated by the GEO Group (formerly Wackenhut Corrections).
One guard, Joseph Canales, was fired after he reportedly got a prisoner pregnant. But whistleblowers – several of whom were fired after reporting the sexual abuse – insisted that was only one of many pregnancies that resulted from rapist guards run amok at the detention facility. The allegations have been referred to the Office of the Inspector General (OIG).
David W. Morris was sentenced on June 2, 2008 to five years probation for having consensual sex with two female prisoners. He was caught on video sneaking into the women’s cells at the Jefferson County Jail. One of the prisoners was a former sheriff’s employee who had worked with Morris before she was incarcerated.
Lindsey Ann Russell lost her job as a Coryell County jail guard after she was arrested in September 2008 for improper sexual conduct with a prisoner. The following month another guard at the jail, Richard Samuel Linn, resigned after he was indicted on similar charges.
Last year’s sexual abuse scandal involving the Texas Youth Commission (TYC) has claimed yet another casualty. On August 11, 2008, former TYC guard Janice Marie Simpson was sentenced to four years deferred adjudication, probation, and a $500 fine for having sex with an 18-year-old prisoner at the Al Price Juvenile Correctional Facility.
A number of other TYC officials, including administrators Ray E. Brookins and John Paul Hernandez, were indicted on charges of sexually abusing juvenile offenders. [See: PLN, Feb. 2008, p.1]. Brookins’ trial has been delayed due to the arrest of his attorney, Scott M. Dolin, on undisclosed charges.
On February 27, 2009, six female guards at the Montague County Jail were indicted on charges of having sex with prisoners and bringing contraband into the facility. One of the guards, Shawna Marie Herr (aka Shawna Marie McCrary), pleaded guilty on March 23, 2009 and received five years probation and a $4,000 fine.
The former sheriff for Montague County, Bill Keating, faces a state charge involving sexual misconduct with a prisoner; he has already pleaded guilty to a federal charge of coercing a woman into having sex with him to avoid being jailed. Keating will be sentenced on May 1, 2009.
Utah
Carbon County drug court supervisor Melanie Madill pleaded guilty to one count of custodial sexual relations and three counts of evidence tampering on March 24, 2009. Madill was a jail guard over the county’s drug court when she had a sexual relationship with a prisoner and helped him and other prisoners pass drug tests. She has not yet been sentenced.
Virginia
Patrick Owen Gee was head of security at the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women. He’s now serving time himself. Gee was convicted of four counts of carnal knowledge with a prisoner following a jury trial in October 2008. He entered Alford pleas to two other charges, and was sentenced on January 8, 2009 to 10 years in prison with five years suspended, plus two years of supervised probation.
Washington
In July 2007, current and former female prisoners joined together in a lawsuit against the Washington Dept. of Corrections. They accused prison officials of failing to protect them from sexual abuse by guards at the Washington Corrections Center for Women (WCCW).
The DOC promised major reforms in response to the class action suit; some of the changes include hiring more female guards, installing more surveillance cameras and having the State Patrol conduct an independent investigation. Seven male prison employees have been suspended.
The current and former WCCW prisoners are represented by Columbia Legal Services and the Public Interest Law Group; their lawsuit is still pending. [See: Doe v. Clarke, Thurston County Superior Court, Case No. 07-2-01513-0].
On November 14, 2008, Eddie Garbitt was sentenced to 1 year and 7 months after he pleaded guilty to three counts of custodial misconduct. Garbitt, a former WCCW supervisor and 15-year DOC veteran, had coerced three prisoners into having sex with him. He was originally charged with seven counts but four were dropped as part of a plea agreement.
A former mental health counselor at the King County juvenile detention center, Flo-Mari Crisostomo, began serving a six-month sentence on April 6, 2009 following her conviction on first-degree custodial sexual misconduct charges. She had sex with a 17-year-old prisoner and gave him candy and phone privileges. Her counseling license has since been revoked.
West Virginia
A guard at the Southern Regional Jail was arrested on October 21, 2008 for having sex with a prisoner. Stephen Gillespie was discovered by a supervisor, who literally caught him with his pants down; the 16-year veteran was released on $25,000 bond.
Wisconsin
In June 2008, Becky Bathke, a former Oshkosh Correctional Institution employee, was sentenced to 18 months in prison for having sex with two male prisoners. Bathke worked in the prison’s education department when she arranged sexual encounters with prisoners Ryan K. Rowe and Mark Prevatt.
On January 15, 2008, jail guard Nanette Vorath was charged with three counts of engaging in illegal behavior with prisoners. The FBI had recorded 78 phone conversations between Vorath and prisoners at the Waukesha County Jail; she reportedly had a sexual relationship with one prisoner, gave another prescription drugs and supplied a third with smuggled documents.
Vorath was an 11-year veteran. She pleaded guilty to felony misconduct charges and was sentenced to three years probation on January 8, 2009.
Brian Bohlmann, a doctor at the Stanley Correctional Institution, was charged in August 2008 with six counts of sexual assault for inappropriately touching prisoners during medical examinations. While examining one male prisoner for back problems, Bohlmann allegedly concentrated his attention on the patient’s genital and rectal area.
On September 30, 2008, Julie Alt, a sergeant at the Oak Hill Correctional Institution, was charged with second-degree sexual assault and one count of intimidation. Alt reportedly had sex with two prisoners while working at the prison.
Investigators obtained a confession from one prisoner, Darius Wade. That confession led to taped phone calls between Wade and Alt, which provided investigators with even more evidence. “I’m going to lose my job and I’m going to end up in, probably second-degree sexual assault,” Alt stated in one recorded conversation.
Paul Vick, Jr., a sergeant at the Milwaukee Secure Detention Facility, was charged on January 28, 2009 with 15 felonies related to sex involving three female prisoners. The charges include four counts of delivering illegal articles to a prisoner, five counts of second-degree sexual assault of a prisoner, one count of second-degree sexual assault by use of threat of force or violence, and five counts of misconduct in public office.
Full story.
The story of Chris J (previously posted):
HidingFromGoro posted:
Chris J. got gang-raped in prison today. He needs surgery to fix his rectum, and probably other medical attention for the rest of his injuries but he's probably not going to get it. He knows this and is thinking about the pain his rectal scarring is going to cause him for the rest of his life. He laid in his bed for a little while covered in semen and his own blood thinking about AIDS. Since shower time has come and gone, he cleaned himself up with the water in the toilet, he also sat on it for a long time trying as hard as he could to evacuate all the semen out of him. His phone card was stolen as punishment for fighting back and he doesn't have any money in his account to call anyone on the outside, so he's just trying to deal with it on his own. Many inmates and guards are already making fun of him and discussing prices for having a go at him within his earshot. After TV time he's going to have to try and sleep in his cell with 2 other guys who ain't trying to hear his sob story and may even have been involved in his attack.
The pictures of his wife and kids were taken as punishment with promises to defecate or ejaculate on them while a different man was inside him as further punishment for fighting back. He's been clean for 9 months but that heroin would make all this pain go away for just a little while. Chris is more likely than not to go back to the heroin.
Chris will never be able to fully express the pain and rage caused by his surprise sex even to a professional; and he's definitely not getting insurance which covers the help he needs when he gets out. This psychological trauma will have a severe impact on his ability to have healthy relationships on the Outside- out in the World- and will likely lead to bad arguments with his wife resulting in domestic violence. The effects his mental state has on his kids will be profound and probably irreversible. They might grow up in the sort of state in which prison is a very real possibility. When they find out what happened to dad how will they react?
His pain and anger will manifest itself in all sorts of ways and he might go off on some taxpayer in a convenience store or seriously injure someone who cuts him off in traffic. When that happens Chris will go back to prison and there will be similar ripple effects on his victims. Even if that doesn't happen remember Chris uses heroin to suppress his pain and will likely be re-arrested on a drug charge or a property crime he did to get heroin money.
Since there are no secrets in prison when Chris returns it will already be known he is a bitch who likes it in the rear end, and he will have to become someone's sex slave. Staff will encourage this. Or he can stab somebody to try get a new rep. If he wins the knife fight & isn't killed outright, the person he kills has loved ones & family members who will become enraged at this, and the violence will continue.
What happened to Chris happened to 200 people today if you go by Alberto Gonzales' DOJ. If you go by HRW it happened to more than 400 people. This does not include juveniles in programs like Nihilanthic posts.
This is every day, every state. There are no exceptions. Going by HRW's numbers it's one Chris every four minutes.
You could be the next Chris, no matter how white you are- no matter how rich your family is. The Machine cares not. It must feed and It will feed.
And the Machine will never be satisfied.
The pictures of his wife and kids were taken as punishment with promises to defecate or ejaculate on them while a different man was inside him as further punishment for fighting back. He's been clean for 9 months but that heroin would make all this pain go away for just a little while. Chris is more likely than not to go back to the heroin.
Chris will never be able to fully express the pain and rage caused by his surprise sex even to a professional; and he's definitely not getting insurance which covers the help he needs when he gets out. This psychological trauma will have a severe impact on his ability to have healthy relationships on the Outside- out in the World- and will likely lead to bad arguments with his wife resulting in domestic violence. The effects his mental state has on his kids will be profound and probably irreversible. They might grow up in the sort of state in which prison is a very real possibility. When they find out what happened to dad how will they react?
His pain and anger will manifest itself in all sorts of ways and he might go off on some taxpayer in a convenience store or seriously injure someone who cuts him off in traffic. When that happens Chris will go back to prison and there will be similar ripple effects on his victims. Even if that doesn't happen remember Chris uses heroin to suppress his pain and will likely be re-arrested on a drug charge or a property crime he did to get heroin money.
Since there are no secrets in prison when Chris returns it will already be known he is a bitch who likes it in the rear end, and he will have to become someone's sex slave. Staff will encourage this. Or he can stab somebody to try get a new rep. If he wins the knife fight & isn't killed outright, the person he kills has loved ones & family members who will become enraged at this, and the violence will continue.
What happened to Chris happened to 200 people today if you go by Alberto Gonzales' DOJ. If you go by HRW it happened to more than 400 people. This does not include juveniles in programs like Nihilanthic posts.
This is every day, every state. There are no exceptions. Going by HRW's numbers it's one Chris every four minutes.
You could be the next Chris, no matter how white you are- no matter how rich your family is. The Machine cares not. It must feed and It will feed.
And the Machine will never be satisfied.
Can we talk about those children's camps for 'correcting behaviour' too in here too?
From this thread:
http://jacksonville.com/tu-online/s...29833464.shtml:
From this thread:
http://jacksonville.com/tu-online/s...29833464.shtml:
quote:
Camp Consequence is a family affair
Attendance is not suppose to be fun. But it's supposed to work. For many parents, it has. Word of mouth has helped the program grow in several years.
CHLOE BENOIST
A pickup truck trundled along a dirt road in a forest near Callahan, two dozen or so people sitting silently, shivering on a hay wagon pulled by the truck.
At a fork in the road, a blue tarp announced ominously: "Welcome to Camp Consequence. Soon you'll be thinking 'There's no place like home.' "
For the 14 children ages 6 to 17, this cold November night in isolated tents probably looked like nothing short of a nightmare.
For their parents, life at home had become a nightmare.
Six years ago, Glenn Ellison founded the Empowered Parents program and Camp Consequence. It has become a last chance for parents to learn how to influence their out-of-control children before it's too late.
There, children and parents work in the forest, clearing areas of underbrush, painting fences or cutting firewood. The goal is for parents to realize that their children are capable of doing what they are told, and for kids to not want to do anything that will have them come back again.
"Camp Consequence is boring and uncomfortable. Horrible is the second trip," said Ellison, only half-jokingly.
At 60, the former Oakland Raider takes full advantage of his intimidating stature to get the children to respect him. But in front of the parents, Ellison is more a mentor than a scary camp counselor.
The children are not allowed to communicate with their parents during the camp. But once the kids left for their tents, the parents were finally able to talk. The main topic of conversation? What brought them there.
From drugs, fits of violent rage, blatant disrespect and suicide threats, they had seen it all with their children. One volunteer who used to go to the camp with her child said she used to wish there was a way to resign as a parent.
It was the first time at Camp Consequence for Annette Weerts and her stepson.
"We're just at wit's end," she said, voice wobbling. "He really isn't a bad kid, he's just a wonderful manipulator."
Most parents had no idea who to turn to before finding out about Empowered Parents and Camp Consequence.
"We tend to ... [turn to] the policeman, the state attorney, the Department of Juvenile Justice, and none of these can help until your kid's in their system," said Ellison. "And no good parent wants to wait until their kids get out there."
Ellison made it clear that the camp was not just about the kids.
"We're not a boot camp, we're a parent camp," Ellison said.
Parents become volunteers
Many of the volunteers at Camp Consequence are parents who went through the camp because of their situation at home.
C.J. Wright, a facilitator and the mother of two daughters in their 20s and a 6-year-old girl, recalled how unbearable life was at home. Her youngest daughter was in trouble in school nearly every day and the two argued incessantly.
"I started out as just another screwed-up parent," she said. "My then 5-year-old was eating my proverbial lunch. I was miserable."
Wright first found out about the Empowered Parents program during the summer of 2006, when Ellison spoke at a conference at the First Coast Christian Center.
"The whole time, my heart was breaking inside of me realizing how wrong I had been for so long and how simple the solution was," she remembers.
Wright said the reason why some parents wait so long before asking for help is because they are ashamed or feel guilty.
"Not only do you not know what to do, but you don't want to tell your friends and family what you're going through because it's humiliating," she said.
The lonely, only parent
Like others at Camp Consequence, Wright is a single parent.
"When you have dysfunctional families, unfortunately a lot of that originates from that scenario," Wright said.
Tonya Thomas, a mother there for the first time with her teenage son, concurred.
"It's difficult when you're the only parent. You get exhausted so you cave in, you give in to the behavior," Thomas said. "In this program, you have the support of the other parents, giving you advice, pushing you on."
Wright said her life has changed drastically since she first began attending Empowered Parents meetings and going to Camp Consequence.
She mentioned how a recent visitor commented on how peaceful her house was.
"Trust me when I say two years ago no one would have said that," she said.
For the whole family
Camp Consequence is not a punishment for the children who misbehave. Michael Bowlus, a volunteer, said he went to Camp Consequence with all of his daughters, even the better-behaved ones.
"It's supposed to be a family experience," he said. "It's not like if you have trouble with one child you should just bring him, because the changes the program is supposed to accomplish are for the whole family."
Camp Consequence alone is not enough to change things completely at home. Attendance at parent support groups and parenting classes is asked before going to the camp. The meetings take place around Jacksonville, attracting people all the way from Kingsland, Ga. The meetings are listed on the Empowered Parents Web site, ihelpparents.com.
But attending Camp Consequence can be daunting. Bugs in the summer, cold in the winter, not to mention the proximity of animals.
During the most recent camp, wild hogs could be heard grunting and squealing in the bushes by the road, and a father killed a rattlesnake close to the parents' parked cars.
A show of commitment
For Ellison, going to Camp Consequence shows the parents' commitment.
"There's only three things you need to change a behavior. Number one is desire, number two a plan, and number three, support," he said. "I can do the last two, but I can't bring desire to the table."
Ellison also told parents that going to Camp Consequence wasn't enough if they didn't act differently at home. And sometimes, it can take more than one trip to make children understand what's expected of them.
On a recent Sunday morning, exhausted, dirty and unkempt parents and children sat in front of Ellison on wooden benches under a tarpaulin frame tent. When Ellison told the children they could go ask forgiveness to anyone present, all rushed to their respective parents for a hug. All but one teenager.
And Ellison had a warning for that one.
"For the ones that don't care, don't give a flip, you'll get to know me really well, I promise you, because they [the parents] are my friends now, and I will not let them down," he said.
Attendance is not suppose to be fun. But it's supposed to work. For many parents, it has. Word of mouth has helped the program grow in several years.
CHLOE BENOIST
A pickup truck trundled along a dirt road in a forest near Callahan, two dozen or so people sitting silently, shivering on a hay wagon pulled by the truck.
At a fork in the road, a blue tarp announced ominously: "Welcome to Camp Consequence. Soon you'll be thinking 'There's no place like home.' "
For the 14 children ages 6 to 17, this cold November night in isolated tents probably looked like nothing short of a nightmare.
For their parents, life at home had become a nightmare.
Six years ago, Glenn Ellison founded the Empowered Parents program and Camp Consequence. It has become a last chance for parents to learn how to influence their out-of-control children before it's too late.
There, children and parents work in the forest, clearing areas of underbrush, painting fences or cutting firewood. The goal is for parents to realize that their children are capable of doing what they are told, and for kids to not want to do anything that will have them come back again.
"Camp Consequence is boring and uncomfortable. Horrible is the second trip," said Ellison, only half-jokingly.
At 60, the former Oakland Raider takes full advantage of his intimidating stature to get the children to respect him. But in front of the parents, Ellison is more a mentor than a scary camp counselor.
The children are not allowed to communicate with their parents during the camp. But once the kids left for their tents, the parents were finally able to talk. The main topic of conversation? What brought them there.
From drugs, fits of violent rage, blatant disrespect and suicide threats, they had seen it all with their children. One volunteer who used to go to the camp with her child said she used to wish there was a way to resign as a parent.
It was the first time at Camp Consequence for Annette Weerts and her stepson.
"We're just at wit's end," she said, voice wobbling. "He really isn't a bad kid, he's just a wonderful manipulator."
Most parents had no idea who to turn to before finding out about Empowered Parents and Camp Consequence.
"We tend to ... [turn to] the policeman, the state attorney, the Department of Juvenile Justice, and none of these can help until your kid's in their system," said Ellison. "And no good parent wants to wait until their kids get out there."
Ellison made it clear that the camp was not just about the kids.
"We're not a boot camp, we're a parent camp," Ellison said.
Parents become volunteers
Many of the volunteers at Camp Consequence are parents who went through the camp because of their situation at home.
C.J. Wright, a facilitator and the mother of two daughters in their 20s and a 6-year-old girl, recalled how unbearable life was at home. Her youngest daughter was in trouble in school nearly every day and the two argued incessantly.
"I started out as just another screwed-up parent," she said. "My then 5-year-old was eating my proverbial lunch. I was miserable."
Wright first found out about the Empowered Parents program during the summer of 2006, when Ellison spoke at a conference at the First Coast Christian Center.
"The whole time, my heart was breaking inside of me realizing how wrong I had been for so long and how simple the solution was," she remembers.
Wright said the reason why some parents wait so long before asking for help is because they are ashamed or feel guilty.
"Not only do you not know what to do, but you don't want to tell your friends and family what you're going through because it's humiliating," she said.
The lonely, only parent
Like others at Camp Consequence, Wright is a single parent.
"When you have dysfunctional families, unfortunately a lot of that originates from that scenario," Wright said.
Tonya Thomas, a mother there for the first time with her teenage son, concurred.
"It's difficult when you're the only parent. You get exhausted so you cave in, you give in to the behavior," Thomas said. "In this program, you have the support of the other parents, giving you advice, pushing you on."
Wright said her life has changed drastically since she first began attending Empowered Parents meetings and going to Camp Consequence.
She mentioned how a recent visitor commented on how peaceful her house was.
"Trust me when I say two years ago no one would have said that," she said.
For the whole family
Camp Consequence is not a punishment for the children who misbehave. Michael Bowlus, a volunteer, said he went to Camp Consequence with all of his daughters, even the better-behaved ones.
"It's supposed to be a family experience," he said. "It's not like if you have trouble with one child you should just bring him, because the changes the program is supposed to accomplish are for the whole family."
Camp Consequence alone is not enough to change things completely at home. Attendance at parent support groups and parenting classes is asked before going to the camp. The meetings take place around Jacksonville, attracting people all the way from Kingsland, Ga. The meetings are listed on the Empowered Parents Web site, ihelpparents.com.
But attending Camp Consequence can be daunting. Bugs in the summer, cold in the winter, not to mention the proximity of animals.
During the most recent camp, wild hogs could be heard grunting and squealing in the bushes by the road, and a father killed a rattlesnake close to the parents' parked cars.
A show of commitment
For Ellison, going to Camp Consequence shows the parents' commitment.
"There's only three things you need to change a behavior. Number one is desire, number two a plan, and number three, support," he said. "I can do the last two, but I can't bring desire to the table."
Ellison also told parents that going to Camp Consequence wasn't enough if they didn't act differently at home. And sometimes, it can take more than one trip to make children understand what's expected of them.
On a recent Sunday morning, exhausted, dirty and unkempt parents and children sat in front of Ellison on wooden benches under a tarpaulin frame tent. When Ellison told the children they could go ask forgiveness to anyone present, all rushed to their respective parents for a hug. All but one teenager.
And Ellison had a warning for that one.
"For the ones that don't care, don't give a flip, you'll get to know me really well, I promise you, because they [the parents] are my friends now, and I will not let them down," he said.
It seems to me that they're just extending the private prisons to deal with kids as well, but this time with parental consent or the waiving of parental rights in favour of such institutions.
All of these places seem to have so much in common with prisons it's uncanny; but now a 'corrective' environment, aka a prison experience, is offered up as a solution for young children with (perceived) problems.
i know about the camps too if anyone has any questions
e: latest attempt at legislation passed the House 295-102 in February of last year. the Senate hasn't got around to voting on it yet.
102 people voted against this:
e: latest attempt at legislation passed the House 295-102 in February of last year. the Senate hasn't got around to voting on it yet.
102 people voted against this:
quote:
(A) Child abuse and neglect shall be prohibited.
(B) Disciplinary techniques or other practices that involve the withholding of essential food, water, clothing, shelter, or medical care necessary to maintain physical health, mental health, and general safety, shall be prohibited.
(C) The protection and promotion of the right of each child at such a program to be free from physical and mechanical restraints and seclusion (as such terms are defined in section 595 of the Public Health Service Act (42 U.S.C. 290jj)) to the same extent and in the same manner as a non-medical, community-based facility for children and youth is required to protect and promote the right of its residents to be free from such restraints and seclusion under such section 595, including the prohibitions and limitations described in subsection (b)(3) of such section.
(D) Acts of physical or mental abuse designed to humiliate, degrade, or undermine a child’s self-respect shall be prohibited.
(E) Each child at such a program shall have reasonable access to a telephone, and be informed of their right to such access, for making and receiving phone calls with as much privacy as possible, and shall have access to the appropriate State or local child abuse reporting hotline number, and the national hotline number referred to in subsection (c)(2).
(F) Each staff member, including volunteers, at such a program shall be required, as a condition of employment, to become familiar with what constitutes child abuse and neglect, as defined by State law.
(G) Each staff member, including volunteers, at such a program shall be required, as a condition of employment, to become familiar with the requirements, including with State law relating to mandated reporters, and procedures for reporting child abuse and neglect in the State in which such a program is located.
(H) Full disclosure, in writing, of staff qualifications and their roles and responsibilities at such program, including medical, emergency response, and mental health training, to parents or legal guardians of children at such a program, including providing information on any staff changes, including changes to any staff member’s qualifications, roles, or responsibilities, not later than 10 days after such changes occur.
(I) Each staff member at a covered program described in subclause (I) or (II) of section 2(4)(A)(i) shall be required, as a condition of employment, to be familiar with the signs, symptoms, and appropriate responses associated with heatstroke, dehydration, and hypothermia.
(J) Each staff member, including volunteers, shall be required, as a condition of employment, to submit to a criminal history check, including a name-based search of the National Sex Offender Registry established pursuant to the Adam Walsh Child Protection and Safety Act of 2006 (Public Law 109-248; 42 U.S.C. 16901 et seq.), a search of the State criminal registry or repository in the State in which the covered program is operating, and a Federal Bureau of Investigation fingerprint check. An individual shall be ineligible to serve in a position with any contact with children at a covered program if any such record check reveals a felony conviction for child abuse or neglect, spousal abuse, a crime against children (including child pornography), or a crime involving violence, including surprise sex, sexual assault, or homicide, but not including other physical assault or battery.
(K) Policies and procedures for the provision of emergency medical care, including policies for staff protocols for implementing emergency responses.
(L) All promotional and informational materials produced by such a program shall include a hyperlink to or the URL address of the website created by the Assistant Secretary pursuant to subsection (c)(1)(A).
(M) Policies to require parents or legal guardians of a child attending such a program--
(i) to notify, in writing, such program of any medication the child is taking;
(ii) to be notified within 24 hours of any changes to the child’s medical treatment and the reason for such change; and
(iii) to be notified within 24 hours of any missed dosage of prescribed medication.
(N) Procedures for notifying immediately, to the maximum extent practicable, but not later than within 48 hours, parents or legal guardians with children at such a program of any--
(i) on-site investigation of a report of child abuse and neglect;
(ii) violation of the health and safety standards described in this paragraph; and
(iii) violation of State licensing standards developed pursuant to section 114(b)(1) of the Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act, as added by section 7 of this Act.
(O) Other standards the Assistant Secretary determines appropriate to provide for the basic health and safety of children at such a program.
(B) Disciplinary techniques or other practices that involve the withholding of essential food, water, clothing, shelter, or medical care necessary to maintain physical health, mental health, and general safety, shall be prohibited.
(C) The protection and promotion of the right of each child at such a program to be free from physical and mechanical restraints and seclusion (as such terms are defined in section 595 of the Public Health Service Act (42 U.S.C. 290jj)) to the same extent and in the same manner as a non-medical, community-based facility for children and youth is required to protect and promote the right of its residents to be free from such restraints and seclusion under such section 595, including the prohibitions and limitations described in subsection (b)(3) of such section.
(D) Acts of physical or mental abuse designed to humiliate, degrade, or undermine a child’s self-respect shall be prohibited.
(E) Each child at such a program shall have reasonable access to a telephone, and be informed of their right to such access, for making and receiving phone calls with as much privacy as possible, and shall have access to the appropriate State or local child abuse reporting hotline number, and the national hotline number referred to in subsection (c)(2).
(F) Each staff member, including volunteers, at such a program shall be required, as a condition of employment, to become familiar with what constitutes child abuse and neglect, as defined by State law.
(G) Each staff member, including volunteers, at such a program shall be required, as a condition of employment, to become familiar with the requirements, including with State law relating to mandated reporters, and procedures for reporting child abuse and neglect in the State in which such a program is located.
(H) Full disclosure, in writing, of staff qualifications and their roles and responsibilities at such program, including medical, emergency response, and mental health training, to parents or legal guardians of children at such a program, including providing information on any staff changes, including changes to any staff member’s qualifications, roles, or responsibilities, not later than 10 days after such changes occur.
(I) Each staff member at a covered program described in subclause (I) or (II) of section 2(4)(A)(i) shall be required, as a condition of employment, to be familiar with the signs, symptoms, and appropriate responses associated with heatstroke, dehydration, and hypothermia.
(J) Each staff member, including volunteers, shall be required, as a condition of employment, to submit to a criminal history check, including a name-based search of the National Sex Offender Registry established pursuant to the Adam Walsh Child Protection and Safety Act of 2006 (Public Law 109-248; 42 U.S.C. 16901 et seq.), a search of the State criminal registry or repository in the State in which the covered program is operating, and a Federal Bureau of Investigation fingerprint check. An individual shall be ineligible to serve in a position with any contact with children at a covered program if any such record check reveals a felony conviction for child abuse or neglect, spousal abuse, a crime against children (including child pornography), or a crime involving violence, including surprise sex, sexual assault, or homicide, but not including other physical assault or battery.
(K) Policies and procedures for the provision of emergency medical care, including policies for staff protocols for implementing emergency responses.
(L) All promotional and informational materials produced by such a program shall include a hyperlink to or the URL address of the website created by the Assistant Secretary pursuant to subsection (c)(1)(A).
(M) Policies to require parents or legal guardians of a child attending such a program--
(i) to notify, in writing, such program of any medication the child is taking;
(ii) to be notified within 24 hours of any changes to the child’s medical treatment and the reason for such change; and
(iii) to be notified within 24 hours of any missed dosage of prescribed medication.
(N) Procedures for notifying immediately, to the maximum extent practicable, but not later than within 48 hours, parents or legal guardians with children at such a program of any--
(i) on-site investigation of a report of child abuse and neglect;
(ii) violation of the health and safety standards described in this paragraph; and
(iii) violation of State licensing standards developed pursuant to section 114(b)(1) of the Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act, as added by section 7 of this Act.
(O) Other standards the Assistant Secretary determines appropriate to provide for the basic health and safety of children at such a program.
Serrath posted:
There was a news story last year of the California supreme court ordering the immediate release of some of cali's prison population because of crowding. What even happened with that? I never saw any follow-up news stories. The last thread had some pretty shocking statistics about california's prison overcrowding, has this ruling fixed things at all?
Are there legal challenges in other states using similar means to get higher courts to deem the current prison system as cruel and unusual? I mean the cali court, from their statements, seemed pretty outraged, what are the chances that other high court officers may visit prisons in other states and get similarly outraged?
Are there legal challenges in other states using similar means to get higher courts to deem the current prison system as cruel and unusual? I mean the cali court, from their statements, seemed pretty outraged, what are the chances that other high court officers may visit prisons in other states and get similarly outraged?
well first up, it has to do with the prison's health system which was declared to be in violation of the 8th amendment by a federal court. it's been in receivership to the federal government for a few years, but all that really means is a little bit of pressure
basically the judges will go "this is still really hosed up" then order the state to meet some kind of standards and then the state drags its feet litigating against it for as long as possible. recently, they were ordered to release a bunch of non-violent/low-risk offenders early and/or to house arrest and they fought that too because they have to try to crush all hope
e:
http://www.mercurynews.com/breaking...?nclick_check=1
basically the judges will go "this is still really hosed up" then order the state to meet some kind of standards and then the state drags its feet litigating against it for as long as possible. recently, they were ordered to release a bunch of non-violent/low-risk offenders early and/or to house arrest and they fought that too because they have to try to crush all hope
e:
http://www.mercurynews.com/breaking...?nclick_check=1
quote:
ITTSBURG — Several people expressed frustration that a public forum this week to discuss the early release of California prison inmates failed to provide the answers they wanted.
Attendees questioned the meeting's focus after Fred Haywood, a regional administrator for California's parole system, was unable to say how many early release parolees could be sent home to East Contra Costa in coming years. The forum drew about 70 people to Los Medanos College.
As many as 40,000 state prisoners considered low risk are expected to be released early over the next several years as part of legislation aimed at saving money and easing prison overcrowding and health care problems.
But instead of discussing the early release program, a handful of representatives from state and county corrections agencies, as well as leaders of a couple of parole-focused nonprofit groups, described current methods of integrating existing parolees into their communities.
However, Haywood said that "our most successful programs are not in Contra Costa County," calling that "regrettable."
Although the legislators promised to keep dangerous felons behind bars, The Associated Press reported in April that violent offenders have been among those released from some county jails as part of the program, though Contra Costa wasn't studied.
Wednesday's "Early Inmate Release" forum was organized by Contra Costa County Supervisor Federal Glover, who has formed a task force with Supervisor John Gioia to address the effects of early release on the east and west ends of the county.
According to figures provided by the state Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation, about 500 parolees are living in East Contra Costa, with most in Antioch (222) and Pittsburg (152). The county's recidivism rate for parolees is near 70 percent.
Rodney Gray, administrator of the parole division's program development unit, said NIMBY-ism ("Not in my backyard") plays a big role in why Contra Costa lacks many parole services. Many residents fear that parolees will embrace old habits once they're back in the environment where they first committed crimes.
But that fear is most often realized when the resources to integrate parolees don't exist, parole officials said. Furthermore, they said parolees should not be stigmatized — that they are former residents returning home after serving their debt to society.
"They don't have antlers," said David Fraser, Glover's chief of staff. "They are human beings."
One meeting attendee, who said he had been incarcerated from age 13 to 18 but had turned his life around since, argued that programs aimed at adult parolees come too late — that intervention has to occur before adulthood if it is to be effective.
"You're waiting too long," said Darrell Gospel, 33, of Pittsburg.
In recent months, the task force of county officials and others in the corrections and nonprofit arenas has started to develop a strategic plan to coordinate existing services and address gaps, Fraser said.
That plan eventually will be adopted by supervisors to implement countywide. Glover said the hope is that funding to put it in action will become available.
San Francisco and San Mateo are among the other Bay Area counties that have taken a similar tack, pooling local resources to fight recidivism. Richmond also has a similar network of re-entry programs that work with the city.
Attendees questioned the meeting's focus after Fred Haywood, a regional administrator for California's parole system, was unable to say how many early release parolees could be sent home to East Contra Costa in coming years. The forum drew about 70 people to Los Medanos College.
As many as 40,000 state prisoners considered low risk are expected to be released early over the next several years as part of legislation aimed at saving money and easing prison overcrowding and health care problems.
But instead of discussing the early release program, a handful of representatives from state and county corrections agencies, as well as leaders of a couple of parole-focused nonprofit groups, described current methods of integrating existing parolees into their communities.
However, Haywood said that "our most successful programs are not in Contra Costa County," calling that "regrettable."
Although the legislators promised to keep dangerous felons behind bars, The Associated Press reported in April that violent offenders have been among those released from some county jails as part of the program, though Contra Costa wasn't studied.
Wednesday's "Early Inmate Release" forum was organized by Contra Costa County Supervisor Federal Glover, who has formed a task force with Supervisor John Gioia to address the effects of early release on the east and west ends of the county.
According to figures provided by the state Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation, about 500 parolees are living in East Contra Costa, with most in Antioch (222) and Pittsburg (152). The county's recidivism rate for parolees is near 70 percent.
Rodney Gray, administrator of the parole division's program development unit, said NIMBY-ism ("Not in my backyard") plays a big role in why Contra Costa lacks many parole services. Many residents fear that parolees will embrace old habits once they're back in the environment where they first committed crimes.
But that fear is most often realized when the resources to integrate parolees don't exist, parole officials said. Furthermore, they said parolees should not be stigmatized — that they are former residents returning home after serving their debt to society.
"They don't have antlers," said David Fraser, Glover's chief of staff. "They are human beings."
One meeting attendee, who said he had been incarcerated from age 13 to 18 but had turned his life around since, argued that programs aimed at adult parolees come too late — that intervention has to occur before adulthood if it is to be effective.
"You're waiting too long," said Darrell Gospel, 33, of Pittsburg.
In recent months, the task force of county officials and others in the corrections and nonprofit arenas has started to develop a strategic plan to coordinate existing services and address gaps, Fraser said.
That plan eventually will be adopted by supervisors to implement countywide. Glover said the hope is that funding to put it in action will become available.
San Francisco and San Mateo are among the other Bay Area counties that have taken a similar tack, pooling local resources to fight recidivism. Richmond also has a similar network of re-entry programs that work with the city.
quote:
The new attorney general will decide how to deal with a federal court order to reduce the prison population, whether to challenge President Obama's healthcare reforms and how to deal with medical marijuana sales, particularly if voters approve an initiative on the November ballot that would legalize the drug.
....
State Sen. Tom Harman (R-Huntington Beach) and John Eastman, former dean of the Chapman University School of Law, are hammering Cooley over his approach to the state's three-strikes law.
Four years ago, Cooley pushed for changes that would have — with some exceptions — limited the law's 25-years-to-life sentences to criminals whose third strikes were violent or serious.
"It's a big issue," said Eastman, who has won the support of several high-profile radio talk show hosts, including Hugh Hewitt. "The supposedly tough-on-crime prosecutor is Steve Cooley, and he was to the left of Kamala Harris on this issue."
In a YouTube video, "Steve Cooley is a Loser," Harman's campaign also accused the L.A. County district attorney of endorsing liberal Democrats for judge and wanting to release hardened criminals.
....
State Sen. Tom Harman (R-Huntington Beach) and John Eastman, former dean of the Chapman University School of Law, are hammering Cooley over his approach to the state's three-strikes law.
Four years ago, Cooley pushed for changes that would have — with some exceptions — limited the law's 25-years-to-life sentences to criminals whose third strikes were violent or serious.
"It's a big issue," said Eastman, who has won the support of several high-profile radio talk show hosts, including Hugh Hewitt. "The supposedly tough-on-crime prosecutor is Steve Cooley, and he was to the left of Kamala Harris on this issue."
In a YouTube video, "Steve Cooley is a Loser," Harman's campaign also accused the L.A. County district attorney of endorsing liberal Democrats for judge and wanting to release hardened criminals.
The Machine
Required watching:
Torture: America's Brutal Prisons
Prison Nation
Recommended required reading:
The Perpetual Prisoner Machine: How America Profits From Crime
The Rich Get Richer and The Poor Get Prison: Ideology, Class, and Criminal Justice
Lockdown America: Police and Prisons in the Age of Crisis
Prison Nation: The Warehousing of America's Poor
The United States has the highest incarceration rate in the world, with 738 people per 100,000 behind bars (2005). There is speculation that China may have a slightly higher rate due to jailing of political dissidents, but so far just speculation.
A 2008 study found that more than 1 in 100 American adults are in prison or jail. One in every 31 adults (7.3 million) is in prison, or on parole or probation. One out every 45 whites is under some form of correctional control- and one out of every 11 blacks. 1 in 18 men and 1 in 89 women (races combined). Spending on corrections has risen by 400% in the last 20 years, outpacing all but Medicaid in growth.
The prison population has exploded in recent decades- a phenomenon known as "hyperincarceration," even though violent crime, "serious crime," and property crime has been declining:
The scope of this problem is difficult to overstate- especially because it necessarily includes things like prison gerrymandering, police militarization, mandatory minimum sentences, "tough on crime" politicians, for-profit incarceration, and all sorts of other things including guys with mansions talking about "2 Americas." This is generally known as the Prison-Industrial Complex, or as I (and others) call it- the Machine.
Required watching:
Torture: America's Brutal Prisons
Prison Nation
Recommended required reading:
The Perpetual Prisoner Machine: How America Profits From Crime
The Rich Get Richer and The Poor Get Prison: Ideology, Class, and Criminal Justice
Lockdown America: Police and Prisons in the Age of Crisis
Prison Nation: The Warehousing of America's Poor
The United States has the highest incarceration rate in the world, with 738 people per 100,000 behind bars (2005). There is speculation that China may have a slightly higher rate due to jailing of political dissidents, but so far just speculation.
A 2008 study found that more than 1 in 100 American adults are in prison or jail. One in every 31 adults (7.3 million) is in prison, or on parole or probation. One out every 45 whites is under some form of correctional control- and one out of every 11 blacks. 1 in 18 men and 1 in 89 women (races combined). Spending on corrections has risen by 400% in the last 20 years, outpacing all but Medicaid in growth.
The prison population has exploded in recent decades- a phenomenon known as "hyperincarceration," even though violent crime, "serious crime," and property crime has been declining:
The scope of this problem is difficult to overstate- especially because it necessarily includes things like prison gerrymandering, police militarization, mandatory minimum sentences, "tough on crime" politicians, for-profit incarceration, and all sorts of other things including guys with mansions talking about "2 Americas." This is generally known as the Prison-Industrial Complex, or as I (and others) call it- the Machine.
HidingFromGoro posted:
What don't you understand? Why don't you believe?
What more do I have to show you to make you believe?
Tanks crushing cars. Houses burned to the ground while children look on. Puppies thrown into fires while children look on. Newborn babies brain-damaged or snuffed out while their mother is shackled to a bed with a sheet up so she can't see her baby she just gave birth to.
Black guys picking cotton at gunpoint in LA. Swarms of rats chewing off fingers & eyes in IL. Indefinite sensory deprivation. Bags of feces thrown on people in VA. Arms held out of feeding-slots to shatter elbows in VA. Pregnant women beaten so hard the braces get knocked off their teeth in TX. Men forced to fight to the death in gladiator matches in CA. Men shot for sport in CA. Men overcrowded at 300% capacity nationwide. Children given life sentences without the possibility of parole- nationwide. HIV+ inmates beaten and sent to sensory-deprivation isolation with biohazard stencils and no medical treatment. Men put in sensory-deprivation isolation for up to 36 years with no contact with the outside world (including lawyers). Secret medical experiments performed on thousands of inmates in PA. Cops running brutal abuse schemes and creating their own gangs in NY. Penises amputated in WA. Feces mixed into food in CO. These are just the things which I've provided links to on major news outlets in this subforum in the past few weeks.
Stomping on an inmate's head until he involuntarily soils his pants. 41 shots on the street to kill an unarmed man. Executing a cuffed man in front of 100 witnesses and cameras. The countless videos of abuse inside prison walls and the countless more off-camera.
The tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of rapes inside each and every year. The brutal, life-altering surprise sex every four minutes.
Love one another. For God's sake, or whatever you believe in- just love one another. No matter how angry or outraged or just joking about it- whatever you do whoever and wherever you are just do this one thing. We are dying. You are dying. We are being tortured, we are in indescribable pain and hopeless despair. We are you. You lose your humanity when we get gangraped. You are us. We're all in this together.
Cry with us, bleed with us, scream with us.
It's us. All of us- you are us. We are us. We're all human, we're all Life.
All of us.
What more do I have to show you to make you believe?
Tanks crushing cars. Houses burned to the ground while children look on. Puppies thrown into fires while children look on. Newborn babies brain-damaged or snuffed out while their mother is shackled to a bed with a sheet up so she can't see her baby she just gave birth to.
Black guys picking cotton at gunpoint in LA. Swarms of rats chewing off fingers & eyes in IL. Indefinite sensory deprivation. Bags of feces thrown on people in VA. Arms held out of feeding-slots to shatter elbows in VA. Pregnant women beaten so hard the braces get knocked off their teeth in TX. Men forced to fight to the death in gladiator matches in CA. Men shot for sport in CA. Men overcrowded at 300% capacity nationwide. Children given life sentences without the possibility of parole- nationwide. HIV+ inmates beaten and sent to sensory-deprivation isolation with biohazard stencils and no medical treatment. Men put in sensory-deprivation isolation for up to 36 years with no contact with the outside world (including lawyers). Secret medical experiments performed on thousands of inmates in PA. Cops running brutal abuse schemes and creating their own gangs in NY. Penises amputated in WA. Feces mixed into food in CO. These are just the things which I've provided links to on major news outlets in this subforum in the past few weeks.
Stomping on an inmate's head until he involuntarily soils his pants. 41 shots on the street to kill an unarmed man. Executing a cuffed man in front of 100 witnesses and cameras. The countless videos of abuse inside prison walls and the countless more off-camera.
The tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of rapes inside each and every year. The brutal, life-altering surprise sex every four minutes.
Love one another. For God's sake, or whatever you believe in- just love one another. No matter how angry or outraged or just joking about it- whatever you do whoever and wherever you are just do this one thing. We are dying. You are dying. We are being tortured, we are in indescribable pain and hopeless despair. We are you. You lose your humanity when we get gangraped. You are us. We're all in this together.
Cry with us, bleed with us, scream with us.
It's us. All of us- you are us. We are us. We're all human, we're all Life.
All of us.
Here are some links to activist/outreach organizations:
Prison Activist Resource Center
CURE
Justice Policy Institute
Penal Reform International
The Center for Prisoner Health & Human Rights(created by doctors who visited a prison and discovered that instead of treating inmates with HIV/AIDS they just stenciled biohazard symbols on their jumpsuits & put them in seg)
The Sentencing Project
Commission on Safety & Abuse in American Prisons
Critical Resistance
Prison Policy Initiative
Death Penalty Focus
California Prison Focus
Middle Ground(AZ prison reform)
CAADP(AZ death penalty abolition)
Prison Activist Resource Center
CURE
Justice Policy Institute
Penal Reform International
The Center for Prisoner Health & Human Rights(created by doctors who visited a prison and discovered that instead of treating inmates with HIV/AIDS they just stenciled biohazard symbols on their jumpsuits & put them in seg)
The Sentencing Project
Commission on Safety & Abuse in American Prisons
Critical Resistance
Prison Policy Initiative
Death Penalty Focus
California Prison Focus
Middle Ground(AZ prison reform)
CAADP(AZ death penalty abolition)
Pound Me in the rear end Prison, LOL That's Hilarious Bro
or
Prison surprise sex: Real, Rampant, and Sure as Hell Not Funny
http://www.spr.org/en/survivortesti...udio/Bryson.mp3
_________/
Alberto Gonzales' DOJ admits to over 60,000 rapes per year in prison. Human Rights Watch and other NGO's involved put the number at more than twice that. For reference, this is what 60,000 people looks like:
or
Prison surprise sex: Real, Rampant, and Sure as Hell Not Funny
http://www.spr.org/en/survivortesti...udio/Bryson.mp3
_________/
Alberto Gonzales' DOJ admits to over 60,000 rapes per year in prison. Human Rights Watch and other NGO's involved put the number at more than twice that. For reference, this is what 60,000 people looks like:
HidingFromGoro posted:
Chris J. got gang-raped in prison today. He needs surgery to fix his rectum, and probably other medical attention for the rest of his injuries but he's probably not going to get it. He knows this and is thinking about the pain his rectal scarring is going to cause him for the rest of his life. He laid in his bed for a little while covered in semen and his own blood thinking about AIDS. Since shower time has come and gone, he cleaned himself up with the water in the toilet, he also sat on it for a long time trying as hard as he could to evacuate all the semen out of him. His phone card was stolen as punishment for fighting back and he doesn't have any money in his account to call anyone on the outside, so he's just trying to deal with it on his own. Many inmates and guards are already making fun of him and discussing prices for having a go at him within his earshot. After TV time he's going to have to try and sleep in his cell with 2 other guys who ain't trying to hear his sob story and may even have been involved in his attack.
The pictures of his wife and kids were taken as punishment with promises to defecate or ejaculate on them while a different man was inside him as further punishment for fighting back. He's been clean for 9 months but that heroin would make all this pain go away for just a little while. Chris is more likely than not to go back to the heroin.
Chris will never be able to fully express the pain and rage caused by his surprise sex even to a professional; and he's definitely not getting insurance which covers the help he needs when he gets out. This psychological trauma will have a severe impact on his ability to have healthy relationships on the Outside- out in the World- and will likely lead to bad arguments with his wife resulting in domestic violence. The effects his mental state has on his kids will be profound and probably irreversible. They might grow up in the sort of state in which prison is a very real possibility. When they find out what happened to dad how will they react?
His pain and anger will manifest itself in all sorts of ways and he might go off on some taxpayer in a convenience store or seriously injure someone who cuts him off in traffic. When that happens Chris will go back to prison and there will be similar ripple effects on his victims. Even if that doesn't happen remember Chris uses heroin to suppress his pain and will likely be re-arrested on a drug charge or a property crime he did to get heroin money.
Since there are no secrets in prison when Chris returns it will already be known he is a bitch who likes it in the rear end, and he will have to become someone's sex slave. Staff will encourage this. Or he can stab somebody to try get a new rep. If he wins the knife fight & isn't killed outright, the person he kills has loved ones & family members who will become enraged at this, and the violence will continue.
What happened to Chris happened to 200 people today if you go by Alberto Gonzales' DOJ. If you go by HRW it happened to more than 400 people. This does not include juveniles in programs like Nihilanthic posts.
This is every day, every state. There are no exceptions. Going by HRW's numbers it's one Chris every four minutes.
You could be the next Chris, no matter how white you are- no matter how rich your family is. The Machine cares not. It must feed and It will feed.
And the Machine will never be satisfied.
The pictures of his wife and kids were taken as punishment with promises to defecate or ejaculate on them while a different man was inside him as further punishment for fighting back. He's been clean for 9 months but that heroin would make all this pain go away for just a little while. Chris is more likely than not to go back to the heroin.
Chris will never be able to fully express the pain and rage caused by his surprise sex even to a professional; and he's definitely not getting insurance which covers the help he needs when he gets out. This psychological trauma will have a severe impact on his ability to have healthy relationships on the Outside- out in the World- and will likely lead to bad arguments with his wife resulting in domestic violence. The effects his mental state has on his kids will be profound and probably irreversible. They might grow up in the sort of state in which prison is a very real possibility. When they find out what happened to dad how will they react?
His pain and anger will manifest itself in all sorts of ways and he might go off on some taxpayer in a convenience store or seriously injure someone who cuts him off in traffic. When that happens Chris will go back to prison and there will be similar ripple effects on his victims. Even if that doesn't happen remember Chris uses heroin to suppress his pain and will likely be re-arrested on a drug charge or a property crime he did to get heroin money.
Since there are no secrets in prison when Chris returns it will already be known he is a bitch who likes it in the rear end, and he will have to become someone's sex slave. Staff will encourage this. Or he can stab somebody to try get a new rep. If he wins the knife fight & isn't killed outright, the person he kills has loved ones & family members who will become enraged at this, and the violence will continue.
What happened to Chris happened to 200 people today if you go by Alberto Gonzales' DOJ. If you go by HRW it happened to more than 400 people. This does not include juveniles in programs like Nihilanthic posts.
This is every day, every state. There are no exceptions. Going by HRW's numbers it's one Chris every four minutes.
You could be the next Chris, no matter how white you are- no matter how rich your family is. The Machine cares not. It must feed and It will feed.
And the Machine will never be satisfied.
Here's some more prison surprise sex articles
http://www.counterpunch.org/mariner08012003.html
http://www.hrw.org/legacy/reports/2001/prison/
http://www.hrw.org/legacy/reports/2...son/voices.html
http://toysoldier.wordpress.com/200...-the-abuse-too/
What I would give if only prison surprise sex was treated as seriously as non-prison surprise sex. I've held so many survivors in my arms and... well, I can't explain it. That sharing of insecurities, fears, pain, loss, and rage simply cannot be described, and I'll not try to do so except in the case of Chris who explicitily wanted it out there. The courage it takes to collapse in man's arms after another man (or men) have violated and destroyed so much of your psyche... I don't think I'll ever be as strong as Chris. My best wishes and blessings go out to all who talk to survivors, be they inmates or not.
There is a world where people look down on prison surprise sex jokes, and ostracize those who tell them- a world where that act is seen as vile and disgusting no matter what crime may have been alleged or convicted. That world is just around the corner, and we are so close, we are so close to making that a reality.
Do we even put the right people in prison?
Not necessarily:
Not necessarily:
The Innocence Project posted:
There have been 238 post-conviction DNA exonerations in United States history. These stories are becoming more familiar as more innocent people gain their freedom through postconviction testing. They are not proof, however, that our system is righting itself.
The common themes that run through these cases — from global problems like poverty and racial issues to criminal justice issues like eyewitness misidentification, invalid or improper forensic science, overzealous police and prosecutors and inept defense counsel — cannot be ignored and continue to plague our criminal justice system.
* Seventeen people had been sentenced to death before DNA proved their innocence and led to their release.
* In almost 40 percent of the cases profiled here, the actual perpetrator has been identified by DNA testing.
* The average sentence served by DNA exonerees has been 12 years- that's 2,856 man-years of prison time served by innocent people.
* Exonerations have been won in 33 states and Washington, D.C.
* About 70 percent of those exonerated by DNA testing are members of minority groups.
The common themes that run through these cases — from global problems like poverty and racial issues to criminal justice issues like eyewitness misidentification, invalid or improper forensic science, overzealous police and prosecutors and inept defense counsel — cannot be ignored and continue to plague our criminal justice system.
* Seventeen people had been sentenced to death before DNA proved their innocence and led to their release.
* In almost 40 percent of the cases profiled here, the actual perpetrator has been identified by DNA testing.
* The average sentence served by DNA exonerees has been 12 years- that's 2,856 man-years of prison time served by innocent people.
* Exonerations have been won in 33 states and Washington, D.C.
* About 70 percent of those exonerated by DNA testing are members of minority groups.
Goro, what about racism and gang activity in prison?
Stopping racial balkanization in prison would be nearly impossible today, and in many cases it's not necessarily what the administration wants. Inmates self-segregate anyway, the California system has been on the brink of all-out race war since the 1960's when gang formation was actively encouraged by prison staff to prevent things like Attica from happening. Also more and more inmates were starting to get into the whole counterculture/extreme political stuff and staff realized that a united front of inmates of all races would be extremely difficult to control. So a couple guard-sanctioned acts of violence resulted in the creation of the main power structure we've had for the last 40 years. It's no coincidence that the main prison gangs all started within a couple joints in the same part of California- the Black Guerrilla Family, Mexican Mafia & Nuestra Familia, and the Aryan Brotherhood. The main indictments and such of the AB's really only came when they started becoming too allied with the Eme's and started killing too many people on the outside.
Now, prison gangs- the indispensable enemy- are more important than ever at maintaining control. The pacification of Attica required the National Guard and the shooting of hostages. Today's prisons are so overcrowded, with many operating at 200%+ of design capacity, and understaffed with undertrained personnel that a cohesive uprising will be impossible to control. It would take the Marines, if not air strikes. This comes at the steep price of widespread prison violence. There are third-generation racially-based gang members today. Even if the government wanted to end it it would be very difficult.
The other side effect, magnified by the hyperincarceration of minorities and juveniles due to the drug war, is that all street-level gang activity is either directly or indirectly controlled by prison gangs. This is because at some point any serious banger is going to be going to prison and will then need to ally with a prison gang at first in order to avoid being killed outright, and then later for mutual benefit; and partially because in most gangs you can only get so far if you haven't been inside. Criminal trials are a good way to see if you'll snitch or cooperate. So If you're a local street gang in El Paso moving some weed across the border and doing a little local-level distribution, at some point in the chain 5% to 20% of the money is going to be given to the Eme's or NF. Same goes for white gangs selling speed- at some point the Aryan Brotherhood or the NLR's or some such is going to be getting a cut. Nearly all street-gang activity is at some level connected to prison gangs. The taxes are paid voluntarily for many reasons, not the least of which is that nobody wants to be a member of a non-paying gang and then go to prison and face the taxman; to say nothing of the very real possibility that the taxman might one day pay a visit to the neighborhood. Every prison gang has some "Davids," remember.
Wait a minute, are you saying that instutionalized gang warfare and racism are deliberate tools used by an overcrowded prison system to prevent the prisoners from unifying against their jailors?
That was part of the reason for its genesis, but I don't think even back then they realized how bad it would get or how quickly they would lose control. They started with control-units (now called SHU's) to try to keep it in check, and when that didn't work they built a prison where the whole thing was a SHU (Pelican Bay). When that didn't work they SHU'd it up too, and then when it hit 200% capacity they built another one just like it (Kern Valley). It filled up twice over as well, and it still didn't work.
In the 60's, it was thought that racial conflict inside prisons was preferable to wholesale uprisings nationwide like Attica; that the price was worth preventing total anarchy systemwide. It was thought that increased racial strife between cons could be effectively managed by increased harshness on the part of the facility. We now know this not to be true, but far too late. It was also thought at the time that the country was much closer to some kind of major upheaval than it really was. Vietnam, civil rights movement, counterculture, all of it- Nixon, not realizing Nam would end not with a bang, etc. felt that some kind of uncontrollable uprising was inevitable. Attica and the violent episodes which happened in the streets as a result of civil rights + Vietnam were seen as mere hints to some future mass revolt, instead of what they wound up being. The drug war is usually credited to Reagan but in fact it was Nixon's last, greatest war- and will be his legacy once future historians look on the matter with more educated eyes.
What the government could not have foreseen was how their initial efforts could so completely backfire. In the 60's, there were things which would be totally unheard of in prison today. There were gangs of big strong gay men who roamed the tiers, protecting all small inmates of any race from surprise sex- and killing prison rapists. This is unthinkable in today's prisons. So it started by sending groups of Hispanics in a juvenile facility into tiers with older black offenders, knowing that they would be victimized and gang up. Knowing that they would take to the adult prisons this allegiance. This was the birth of the Eme's- the Mexican Mafia, one of the most feared and powerful criminal organizations as has ever existed in this country and which will endure for the entire lifetime fo the USA. The administrators could not have foreseen this.
So, why do people even join gangs now?
Well, besides the protection it affords from prison surprise sex: The gang addresses all the needs which the facility does not, and those which the con might not have gotten fulfilled on the outside before incarceration. To join you have to be vetted- you will get a background check of sorts (and there are no secrets in prison). This is to ensure undesirables do not gain entry but gives many guys a sense of importance they may not have otherwise had. You will be mentored, taught to read & write, taught the rules- all gangs have a charter, or constitution, you will need to recite this from memory at a certain point or you will be denied entry and forced to fend for yourself (and probably punished harshly by members). This is done to ensure obedience and to weed out those who cannot follow orders, but gives a sense of belonging to something important, to have put in effort and succeeded. You'll have someone to push you for that last rep on the weight bench, to help you deal with the problems you have with your girlfriend, to send someone on the outside to look in on your kid. Many in prison did not have mentors, role models; poverty, drugs & the "baby-daddy" effect- magnified (as almost every social ill) by hyperincarceration- have seen to that.
The big brother or father is provided by the gang. People join clubs, fraternities, military, etc. looking for a sense of belonging; the sense of "tribe" or "family." How powerful would it be if you knew- not thought but knew- that the only way you get in is by taking a life, that all the others have taken one, that they will go to prison before betraying you... that they will die for you- that they will kill for you?
Since all prison gangs are racial in nature, even more importance can be assigned (tribe). There is a reason the whites use Norse runes/symbols, and Hispanics use Pre-Columbian Mesoamerican imagery and tradition. To speak the ancient language of Nahuatl allows covert communication by members, but it also allows these angry men who have stunted senses of community, belonging, importance to reach back through the centuries and identify with the invincible Eagle Warriors of the Aztec empire; same for the Norse imagery providing identification with the mighty Vikings.
By the way, the government knows how important and effective this poo poo is, and part of USMC boot camp is filling the recruits' minds with stories of Zulus, Spartans, and other legendary warriors to build up "a warrior mind" or whatever excuse they use nowadays.
This is the power of gangs- at the top they're essentially businesses, but at the bottom they fulfill these very primal needs of angry and needy people; the brains of the soldiers are effectively starved for a sense of belonging, of purpose, and once the gang provides that it's like the first shot of heroin. It's absolutely irresistible for many, many people.
Stopping racial balkanization in prison would be nearly impossible today, and in many cases it's not necessarily what the administration wants. Inmates self-segregate anyway, the California system has been on the brink of all-out race war since the 1960's when gang formation was actively encouraged by prison staff to prevent things like Attica from happening. Also more and more inmates were starting to get into the whole counterculture/extreme political stuff and staff realized that a united front of inmates of all races would be extremely difficult to control. So a couple guard-sanctioned acts of violence resulted in the creation of the main power structure we've had for the last 40 years. It's no coincidence that the main prison gangs all started within a couple joints in the same part of California- the Black Guerrilla Family, Mexican Mafia & Nuestra Familia, and the Aryan Brotherhood. The main indictments and such of the AB's really only came when they started becoming too allied with the Eme's and started killing too many people on the outside.
Now, prison gangs- the indispensable enemy- are more important than ever at maintaining control. The pacification of Attica required the National Guard and the shooting of hostages. Today's prisons are so overcrowded, with many operating at 200%+ of design capacity, and understaffed with undertrained personnel that a cohesive uprising will be impossible to control. It would take the Marines, if not air strikes. This comes at the steep price of widespread prison violence. There are third-generation racially-based gang members today. Even if the government wanted to end it it would be very difficult.
The other side effect, magnified by the hyperincarceration of minorities and juveniles due to the drug war, is that all street-level gang activity is either directly or indirectly controlled by prison gangs. This is because at some point any serious banger is going to be going to prison and will then need to ally with a prison gang at first in order to avoid being killed outright, and then later for mutual benefit; and partially because in most gangs you can only get so far if you haven't been inside. Criminal trials are a good way to see if you'll snitch or cooperate. So If you're a local street gang in El Paso moving some weed across the border and doing a little local-level distribution, at some point in the chain 5% to 20% of the money is going to be given to the Eme's or NF. Same goes for white gangs selling speed- at some point the Aryan Brotherhood or the NLR's or some such is going to be getting a cut. Nearly all street-gang activity is at some level connected to prison gangs. The taxes are paid voluntarily for many reasons, not the least of which is that nobody wants to be a member of a non-paying gang and then go to prison and face the taxman; to say nothing of the very real possibility that the taxman might one day pay a visit to the neighborhood. Every prison gang has some "Davids," remember.
Wait a minute, are you saying that instutionalized gang warfare and racism are deliberate tools used by an overcrowded prison system to prevent the prisoners from unifying against their jailors?
That was part of the reason for its genesis, but I don't think even back then they realized how bad it would get or how quickly they would lose control. They started with control-units (now called SHU's) to try to keep it in check, and when that didn't work they built a prison where the whole thing was a SHU (Pelican Bay). When that didn't work they SHU'd it up too, and then when it hit 200% capacity they built another one just like it (Kern Valley). It filled up twice over as well, and it still didn't work.
In the 60's, it was thought that racial conflict inside prisons was preferable to wholesale uprisings nationwide like Attica; that the price was worth preventing total anarchy systemwide. It was thought that increased racial strife between cons could be effectively managed by increased harshness on the part of the facility. We now know this not to be true, but far too late. It was also thought at the time that the country was much closer to some kind of major upheaval than it really was. Vietnam, civil rights movement, counterculture, all of it- Nixon, not realizing Nam would end not with a bang, etc. felt that some kind of uncontrollable uprising was inevitable. Attica and the violent episodes which happened in the streets as a result of civil rights + Vietnam were seen as mere hints to some future mass revolt, instead of what they wound up being. The drug war is usually credited to Reagan but in fact it was Nixon's last, greatest war- and will be his legacy once future historians look on the matter with more educated eyes.
What the government could not have foreseen was how their initial efforts could so completely backfire. In the 60's, there were things which would be totally unheard of in prison today. There were gangs of big strong gay men who roamed the tiers, protecting all small inmates of any race from surprise sex- and killing prison rapists. This is unthinkable in today's prisons. So it started by sending groups of Hispanics in a juvenile facility into tiers with older black offenders, knowing that they would be victimized and gang up. Knowing that they would take to the adult prisons this allegiance. This was the birth of the Eme's- the Mexican Mafia, one of the most feared and powerful criminal organizations as has ever existed in this country and which will endure for the entire lifetime fo the USA. The administrators could not have foreseen this.
So, why do people even join gangs now?
Well, besides the protection it affords from prison surprise sex: The gang addresses all the needs which the facility does not, and those which the con might not have gotten fulfilled on the outside before incarceration. To join you have to be vetted- you will get a background check of sorts (and there are no secrets in prison). This is to ensure undesirables do not gain entry but gives many guys a sense of importance they may not have otherwise had. You will be mentored, taught to read & write, taught the rules- all gangs have a charter, or constitution, you will need to recite this from memory at a certain point or you will be denied entry and forced to fend for yourself (and probably punished harshly by members). This is done to ensure obedience and to weed out those who cannot follow orders, but gives a sense of belonging to something important, to have put in effort and succeeded. You'll have someone to push you for that last rep on the weight bench, to help you deal with the problems you have with your girlfriend, to send someone on the outside to look in on your kid. Many in prison did not have mentors, role models; poverty, drugs & the "baby-daddy" effect- magnified (as almost every social ill) by hyperincarceration- have seen to that.
The big brother or father is provided by the gang. People join clubs, fraternities, military, etc. looking for a sense of belonging; the sense of "tribe" or "family." How powerful would it be if you knew- not thought but knew- that the only way you get in is by taking a life, that all the others have taken one, that they will go to prison before betraying you... that they will die for you- that they will kill for you?
Since all prison gangs are racial in nature, even more importance can be assigned (tribe). There is a reason the whites use Norse runes/symbols, and Hispanics use Pre-Columbian Mesoamerican imagery and tradition. To speak the ancient language of Nahuatl allows covert communication by members, but it also allows these angry men who have stunted senses of community, belonging, importance to reach back through the centuries and identify with the invincible Eagle Warriors of the Aztec empire; same for the Norse imagery providing identification with the mighty Vikings.
By the way, the government knows how important and effective this poo poo is, and part of USMC boot camp is filling the recruits' minds with stories of Zulus, Spartans, and other legendary warriors to build up "a warrior mind" or whatever excuse they use nowadays.
This is the power of gangs- at the top they're essentially businesses, but at the bottom they fulfill these very primal needs of angry and needy people; the brains of the soldiers are effectively starved for a sense of belonging, of purpose, and once the gang provides that it's like the first shot of heroin. It's absolutely irresistible for many, many people.
Well, bad things could certainly never happen in MY region or state!
Let's take a quick look at some correctional facilities around the country. This list is of course not exhaustive, and almost entirely reposted from previous threads I've posted in.
Starting with Louisiana:
One out of every 45 people in Louisiana is in prison. Think about that for a minute. This is the highest rate in the country (and the world) by a wide margin.
The crown jewel of the Louisiana prison system is Angola. This is one of the most backward and barbaric prisons in the world. They tell horror stories about Angola in Pelican Bay.
Angola is a former slave plantation which still maintains a massive (18,000 acres) farming operation run wholly without machinery. Inmates- overwhelmingly black- still pick cotton by hand there, along with soybeans. They work the fields with hand tools just like in the "good old days." Some of the guards there are directly descended from the slave-drivers who worked there when it was a slave plantation. Inmates also maintain a large golf course for use by the staff.
The "Angola 3" are three Black Panthers who were kept in solitary for 36 years. This is the longest time anyone has been in solitary US history as far as any surviving records indicate. This is also in violation of international treaties the US has ratified. They got let out after John Conyers visited the prison and was stunned by that fact. One of them, Robert King Wilkerson, got released from Angola after 29 years in solitary. He is now a nationally-recognized prison activist and his motto is "I'm free of Angola, but Angola will never be free of me."
Over 600 of the 5100 inmates have been in there over 25 years. 85% of them (of the 5100 not the 600) are expected to die in there due to the extreme length of prison sentences in Louisiana. Many were wrongly convicted, but due to shoddy records and shady forensics, we will never know how many. Michael Williams was 16 years old when he was wrongly convicted of surprise sex based on one eyewitness. He was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. Shortly after his 40th birthday- after 24 years in Angola- he was freed based on DNA testing. He received no compensation, because compensating people for wrongful conviction or imprisonment is illegal in Louisiana.
Torture is rampant at Angola, last year they finally had a hearing on the abuse, and practices such as the freezing treatment were at last exposed in open court. The freezing treatment is stripping someone naked and spraying them with water and throwing them in an unheated cement room with open windows in the winter time. They got to hear about jaws being broken if you talked back, forcing inmates to urinate and defecate on themselves (and beating those who refused until they lost control of their bodily functions). For example "one of the guards was hitting us all in the head. Said he liked the sound of the drums – the drumming sound that – from hitting us in the head with the stick." Medical records supported almost every allegation. The state agreed to settle without admitting liability. Some of the inmates got $7,000 settlement payments, most got nothing.
Let's take a quick look at some correctional facilities around the country. This list is of course not exhaustive, and almost entirely reposted from previous threads I've posted in.
Starting with Louisiana:
One out of every 45 people in Louisiana is in prison. Think about that for a minute. This is the highest rate in the country (and the world) by a wide margin.
The crown jewel of the Louisiana prison system is Angola. This is one of the most backward and barbaric prisons in the world. They tell horror stories about Angola in Pelican Bay.
Angola is a former slave plantation which still maintains a massive (18,000 acres) farming operation run wholly without machinery. Inmates- overwhelmingly black- still pick cotton by hand there, along with soybeans. They work the fields with hand tools just like in the "good old days." Some of the guards there are directly descended from the slave-drivers who worked there when it was a slave plantation. Inmates also maintain a large golf course for use by the staff.
The "Angola 3" are three Black Panthers who were kept in solitary for 36 years. This is the longest time anyone has been in solitary US history as far as any surviving records indicate. This is also in violation of international treaties the US has ratified. They got let out after John Conyers visited the prison and was stunned by that fact. One of them, Robert King Wilkerson, got released from Angola after 29 years in solitary. He is now a nationally-recognized prison activist and his motto is "I'm free of Angola, but Angola will never be free of me."
Over 600 of the 5100 inmates have been in there over 25 years. 85% of them (of the 5100 not the 600) are expected to die in there due to the extreme length of prison sentences in Louisiana. Many were wrongly convicted, but due to shoddy records and shady forensics, we will never know how many. Michael Williams was 16 years old when he was wrongly convicted of surprise sex based on one eyewitness. He was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. Shortly after his 40th birthday- after 24 years in Angola- he was freed based on DNA testing. He received no compensation, because compensating people for wrongful conviction or imprisonment is illegal in Louisiana.
Torture is rampant at Angola, last year they finally had a hearing on the abuse, and practices such as the freezing treatment were at last exposed in open court. The freezing treatment is stripping someone naked and spraying them with water and throwing them in an unheated cement room with open windows in the winter time. They got to hear about jaws being broken if you talked back, forcing inmates to urinate and defecate on themselves (and beating those who refused until they lost control of their bodily functions). For example "one of the guards was hitting us all in the head. Said he liked the sound of the drums – the drumming sound that – from hitting us in the head with the stick." Medical records supported almost every allegation. The state agreed to settle without admitting liability. Some of the inmates got $7,000 settlement payments, most got nothing.
The Harris County Jail in Houston, TX is the third largest joint in the country and one of the largest in the world. Only the Rikers Island (which is actually a complex of 10 different jails) and the LA County Jail (largest on the planet) are larger. 25% of the $1.5 billion Harris County budget is law enforcement, with more than $750,000 a day spent on detainees. A shortage of guards means the jail shells out $35 million a year on overtime; some guards are topping out at $100,000 a year in total pay.
An average of 10,000 people are held there per day, not counting another 1,100 bused 6 hours to and from Northern Louisiana each day. Some of them- up to 1,700 at some points- have to sleep on the floor because parts of it are unused due to severe staff shortages. When state inspectors come, the floor-sleepers are hidden in underground tunnels until the inspectors leave. It has operated without Texas Jail Standard Commission certification since 2004, in violation of state law.
quote:
My granson is in Harris County Jail. His cell has 48 beds but has 60 inmates. During the state inspections inmates sleeping on the floor are moved to the the jail tunnel system which temporarily "solves" the overcrowding situation. After the inspectors leave, the inmates in the tunnel system are returned to the floors. The county currently decides when the inspection takes place. The state should make this decision and should be able to access any facility at anytime.
The jail also operates in violation of federal law- the Department of Justice ruled that the poor access to health care in life-threatening situations, unnecessary use of physical force, denial of mental health care, and inattention to suicide prevention violates the U.S. Constitution.
Justice Department spokesman Alejandro Mayer posted:
The [DOJ] found that the jail fails to provide detainees with adequate: (1) medical care; (2) mental health care; (3) protection from serious physical harm; and (4) protection from life-safety hazards
In Harris County there is an "assembly line" set up to more quickly and efficiently certify children as adults so that they can go to adult jails & prisons. With its 162 juvenile-to-adult certifications in 2007-08, Harris County alone certified 19 more juveniles as adults than in the state’s nine other leading counties which altogether certified just 143 juveniles as adults. In Texas the juvenile system is known as the "School-to-Prison Pipeline."
quote:
Houston attorney Christene Wood represents one teenager who has mounted a legal challenge, along with Texas Appleseed, of the county’s certification process. She told the Chronicle that the judge who sent her client into the adult system laughed, surfed the Internet, and never once made eye contact with the boy before certifying him as an adult. “The certification process [in Harris County] is an absolute joke,” the attorney told the newspaper.
In its "medical tank," inmates have been left in their own blood and feces for days on end (inculding pregnant women), and the tank has a tendencey to flood.
quote:
Sarah and other women in the room kept telling the guards to take this pregnant woman first. The guards only replied with things along the lines of “Shut the gently caress up, the bitch shouldn’t have gotten herself in here to begin with. This is jail, not a country club.”
“Well, I guess my travel agent sure messed up, didn’t she?” Sarah laughed, trying for some dark humor. After spending more time in Big Baker and learning the ropes, Sarah saw that inmates tried to avoid going to Medical and she herself vowed to never report injuries or sicknesses again.
Sarah saw Officer Otto grab the woman by the back of her neck again and slam her face into the floor. By this point, Sarah had ducked into a utility closet because “You don’t really want an officer to know you’ve seen them do something like this.” Sarah heard the woman scream at him, “You fucker, I’m pregnant.” When the woman stood up, Sarah saw that her face was all bloody and busted and her braces were hanging out of her mouth. Sarah also saw that the woman was pregnant and showing.
Sarah said the guards’ nickname for her was “the Yuppie,” and they thought it was funny to send her into J-POD where the most violent offenders were housed.
“Well, I guess my travel agent sure messed up, didn’t she?” Sarah laughed, trying for some dark humor. After spending more time in Big Baker and learning the ropes, Sarah saw that inmates tried to avoid going to Medical and she herself vowed to never report injuries or sicknesses again.
Sarah saw Officer Otto grab the woman by the back of her neck again and slam her face into the floor. By this point, Sarah had ducked into a utility closet because “You don’t really want an officer to know you’ve seen them do something like this.” Sarah heard the woman scream at him, “You fucker, I’m pregnant.” When the woman stood up, Sarah saw that her face was all bloody and busted and her braces were hanging out of her mouth. Sarah also saw that the woman was pregnant and showing.
Sarah said the guards’ nickname for her was “the Yuppie,” and they thought it was funny to send her into J-POD where the most violent offenders were housed.
The Cook County Jail in Chicago is the largest single-site jail in the country. 100,000 people are admitted to the jail each year. Like other large county jails, it too operates in direct violation of state law and the US Constitution; with everything from inmates sleeping on the floor to sleeping inmates being injured by swarms of rats- and even unnecessary amputations. A bunch of inmates were also each awarded $200 settlement payments after suffering penis injuries from improperly performed STD tests.
The building itself is dilapidated, in violation of almost every applicable building code or safety regulation. After a 2007 inspection it required over 40,000 seperate work orders.
Undertrained guards, despite their brutality, have trouble actually doing their jobs there- one inmate was able to not only get a loaded pistol into the jail but from there into the courtroom simply by tucking it in to the waistband of his boxers.
DOJ found that the 8th Amendment civil rights of the inmates have been extensively and systematically violated.
Specific violations that have resulted in federal sanctions include:
1. Systematic beatings by jail guards.
2. Poor food quality.
3. Inmates forced to sleep on cell floors due to overcrowding and mismanagement (resulting in a $1,000 per inmate class action settlement).
4. Rodent infestation and injury caused to sleeping inmates by rat and mouse bites.
5. Violations of privacy during multiple invasive strip searches.
6. Failure to provide adequate medical care, including failure to dispense medications.
7. Invasive and painful mandatory tests for male STD's (resulting in a $200 per inmate class action settlement).
8. Unnecessarily long waiting time for discharge upon payment of bond, completion of sentence, or charges being dropped. Wait times are currently routinely in excess of 8 hours, nearly all of which is spent with many inmates packed into tiny cells.
Not only to they routinely fail to provide psychiatric drugs to those inmate who need them, they also forcibly inject other inmates (who DON'T need them) with unusually high doses of things like Haldol, Zyprexa, and Ativan. Misuse or overuse of Zyprexa can cause irreversible motor dysfunction. Haldol leads to severe complications in over half the people it's given to, even when properly prescribed. The drugs are prescribed over the phone without examination or proper diagnosis, which is actually a criminal offense in IL; as is forcibly injecting psychotropic drugs except under a very specific set of circumstances, none of which are met at Cook County. At least three inmates have died from overdoses of or side effects from these medications.
dethkon posted:
Man this thread is depressing.
You want depressing? Check this poo poo out:
The Holmesburg Prison Experiments
August 24th, 2008
From 1951 until 1974, inmates of Philadelphia’s Holmesburg Prison were used as experimental guinea pigs for secret medical experiments. The experiments were overseen and sponsored by the U.S. Army, the CIA, The University of Pennsylvania, and at least two private corporations: Dow Chemical Co. and Johnson & Johnson.
The Holmesburg Prison experiments are in blatant violation of the Nuremberg Code of 1947 as well as the Oath of Hippocrates yet they were carried out and financed in secret for decades. By 1963, there were 50 human experiments involving nearly 1,000 Holmesburg inmates involving anything from poisonous vapors, radioactive isotopes, mind controlling drugs, and triggers for psychological disturbance and violence. Experimenters also used inmates to study various skin diseases encountered during World War II. Dr. Albert Kligman, the director of the blatant abuses carried out at Holmesburg for decades, saw Holmesburg Prison as “acres of skin” and himself as “a farmer seeing a fertile field for the first time.”
Attention has been drawn slowly but steadily to one of the darkest moments in American medical and research history through efforts of former research subjects as Allen M. Hornblum’s “Acres of Skin: Human Experiments at Holmesburg Prison, A True Story of Abuse and Exploitation in the Name of Medical Science.” The analogy drawn between the Nazi experiments during World War II and those sanctioned by major private corporations, a well respected research institution, and the United States Government at Holmesburg is a chilling one.
Links to sources for the above passage as well as useful sites for more information:
“In Prison Air: The Cells of Holmesburg Prison”
http://www.powerhousebooks.com/titl...nprisonair.html
“Human guinea pigs demand justice”
http://www.worldnetdaily.com/news/a...RTICLE_ID=27784
“Acres of Skin: Human Experiments at Holmesburg Prison, A True Story of Abuse and Exploitation in the Name of Medical Science”
http://findarticles.com/p/articles/...104/ai_n8940481
Democracy Now’s Segment on Holmesburg Prison
http://www.democracynow.org/2000/8/1/holmesburg_prison
EDIT: Even today, the conditions at Holmesburg are clearly unacceptable:
Something more recent:
Riker's Island. The Rock. Adult inmates refer to the savage juvenile building as "Vietnam." Actually a penal colony of 10 separate jails, the Rock is the second-largest confinement facility in the entire world. When it comes to putting people in cages Cali is king, but the Big Apple gives it a serious run for its money with Riker's. The Rock has been a jail sine 1884, and has been overcrowded almost continuously since that time.
Most of the jails are dilapidated. They ran out of room to hold all the inmates, so there are huge prison barges anchored there to hold the overflow- one purpose-built, 2 modified British troop transports decommissioned after the Falklands War; and also two converted ferry boats (built in 1930) were used until 2003.
3 guards were handed a 58-count indictment earlier this year for running what known as "The Program." Here's how it worked: the guards took a group of Bloods and trained them how to deliver beatings while making sure injuries were hard to notice. This group was known as "the Team." The Team was responsible for handing down punishments for things the guards didn't like- one boy was beaten half to death with broom handles for taking too long on a phone call. They also went forth in search of new recruits for the Team, they would ask inmates "are you with it" or "are you down with it," if the answer was "no" or "down with what" a crushed eye socket or collapsed lung was the result. As compensation, Team members were allowed to extort whatever money, food, or toiletries they could find from nonmembers; and were allowed exclusive access to things like TV time and phone calls. Between July and October of 2008 the unit was locked down as a result of Program-related violence an average of once every three days.
Documents show that higher-ups at the jail were regularly briefed about the Program.
One 18 year old was killed by the Team.
Riker's Island. The Rock. Adult inmates refer to the savage juvenile building as "Vietnam." Actually a penal colony of 10 separate jails, the Rock is the second-largest confinement facility in the entire world. When it comes to putting people in cages Cali is king, but the Big Apple gives it a serious run for its money with Riker's. The Rock has been a jail sine 1884, and has been overcrowded almost continuously since that time.
Most of the jails are dilapidated. They ran out of room to hold all the inmates, so there are huge prison barges anchored there to hold the overflow- one purpose-built, 2 modified British troop transports decommissioned after the Falklands War; and also two converted ferry boats (built in 1930) were used until 2003.
3 guards were handed a 58-count indictment earlier this year for running what known as "The Program." Here's how it worked: the guards took a group of Bloods and trained them how to deliver beatings while making sure injuries were hard to notice. This group was known as "the Team." The Team was responsible for handing down punishments for things the guards didn't like- one boy was beaten half to death with broom handles for taking too long on a phone call. They also went forth in search of new recruits for the Team, they would ask inmates "are you with it" or "are you down with it," if the answer was "no" or "down with what" a crushed eye socket or collapsed lung was the result. As compensation, Team members were allowed to extort whatever money, food, or toiletries they could find from nonmembers; and were allowed exclusive access to things like TV time and phone calls. Between July and October of 2008 the unit was locked down as a result of Program-related violence an average of once every three days.
Documents show that higher-ups at the jail were regularly briefed about the Program.
One 18 year old was killed by the Team.
Bronx Assistant DA James Goward posted:
They turned jail into almost a nightmare environment.
One woman was tied up and gang-raped with a foreign object, and officials "won't talk about" how inmates managed to get into her single cell without guards noticing or putting a stop to it.
This won't be the first time Riker's will have to pay many tens of thousands of dollars as a result of guard-sanctioned violence. Previous settlements of $500K and $100K, and many more suits pending seem to indicate a pattern.
As many as 150,000 inmates were wrongfully and improperly strip-searched in violation of a 2002 court order (which itself cost the NYC taxpayers over $50M).
Well, there it is. Pelican Bay.
Califas is notorious for its prisons, and many of its joints are legendary- San Quentin, Corcoran, Folsom, Alcatraz. These are some of the toughest prisons ever built, filled with violent men and staffed by sadistic guards shielded by one of the most invincible unions in history. The names of these facilities are synonymous with cruel and brutal prison time, even among lay people- but one stands out. It doesn't really have an ominous nickname like "the Rock" or anything because its name and rep speak for itself.
Pelican Bay is the end of the line. Most times, once you go in you don't come out. Some have, and then gone to other facilities, and there are very few badges of honor in prison more respected than having survived at Pelican Bay. It became fashionable enough that inmates at many facilities have had to institute a death penalty for lying about having been there.
In fact, when other prisons come under fire from the Justice Department, one of their main defenses is "hey, at least we're not Pelican Bay."
The main line
Half of Pelican Bay is “just” a maximum security prison, and like other prisons, the general population is known as the main line. This is how they roll on the main line at Pelican Bay. Skip to 0:51 to see just how quickly a prison fight starts, and why things like martial arts, “confidence,” and the like are totally worthless in prison. Those 2 guys aren't punching him, they're stabbing him. This is prison fighting 101.
Even the guards don’t mess around:
Madrid v. Gomez posted:
"The Eighth Amendment's restraint on using excessive force has been repeatedly violated at Pelican Bay, leading to a conspicuous pattern of excessive force," Henderson wrote in describing the severe beatings then common at the facility, the third-degree burns inflicted on one mentally ill inmate who was thrown into boiling water after he smeared himself with feces, and the routine use of painful restraining weapons against others.
quote:
The four-page indictment says that Powers and Garcia told Pelican Bay prisoners that other inmates were child molesters, thus making them targets for retaliatory attacks.
On seven occasions, the two guards spread rumors about inmates to encourage attacks on them, then put them together with other inmates so that attacks could take place. In one instance, the inmate who was attacked, Watson White, died from stab wounds he received during the assault.
On seven occasions, the two guards spread rumors about inmates to encourage attacks on them, then put them together with other inmates so that attacks could take place. In one instance, the inmate who was attacked, Watson White, died from stab wounds he received during the assault.
The Forever
Pelican Bay's SHU- supermax- is considered the gold standard by which all other SHUs and control units are judged. California was a pioneer in control-unit incarceration, it’s designed to “break” inmates like you’d break a horse. For those who can’t be broken, it’s a supermax warehouse where they can be kept out of the way. 22.5 hour a day solitary lockdown, with exercise time done in a 12x28 concrete chamber (with 12 foot walls):
SHU cells are specifically designed to reduce “visual stimulation” to an absolute minimum. The cells are designed so that inmates can’t see out, or can only with great difficulty, and they aren’t allowed to put anything on the wall. No direct sunlight reaches the SHU. Inmates are fed in their cell, twice a day, through a slot.
quote:
When Dr. Craig Haney made his first visit to the prison, he was told by a guard that this was the only design flaw in the prison—that they had not figured out a way to "automatically" feed the prisoners, eliminating any need for contact with them whatsoever.[78] SHU inmates are permitted to shower three times per week.[79]
No contact visits, no phone calls, no TV, no nothing. This level of isolation requires “step-down” programs for SHU inmates. After 8-12 years in a SHU, inmates usually need a 1 to 2 year program of resocialization to adjust even to a maximum security unit. The difference between SHU and the main line is almost as drastic as the difference between the main line and the street. Many in the SHU won’t have to worry about that because they are serving indefinite SHU assignments. This is called The Forever.
Needless to say, SHU time can cause severe psychological trauma- sometimes irreversibly so.
Dr. Terry Kupers, expert witness and preeminent prison mental health expert posted:
Even when I’m enjoying myself, I’m thinking about the 2 million people who can’t enjoy themselves. It’s not just the 2 million, though. As I said, there’s between 6 and 10 million people going in and out of prison each year. But then there are all the people touched by the prison system, families and children of prisoners, which is a huge population. Children’s lives are being destroyed by the fact that they have a parent in prison. If someone has a father who is in a SHU and they know their father is being tortured and beaten, they can’t go on with their life. They can’t live to their full potential while that’s gnawing at them. You find families broken up, and you have a generational cycle where someone’s parents are in prison, which has repercussions on their livelihood. And there are effects on the community. Communities become completely unstable when so many men and women are in prison.
_______________/
Full article.
Want to build your own supermax unit? It's as easy as Legos!
Hellhole.
In California, 34,164 inmates are serving life sentences.
Full article.
Want to build your own supermax unit? It's as easy as Legos!
Hellhole.
In California, 34,164 inmates are serving life sentences.
New York Times posted:
Seven prison systems — Illinois, Iowa, Louisiana, Maine, Pennsylvania, South Dakota and the federal penitentiary system — do not offer the possibility of parole to prisoners serving life terms.
That policy also extends to juveniles in Illinois, Louisiana and Pennsylvania. A total of 6,807 juveniles were serving life terms in 2008, 1,755 without the possibility of parole. California again led the nation in the number of juveniles serving life terms, with 2,623.
That policy also extends to juveniles in Illinois, Louisiana and Pennsylvania. A total of 6,807 juveniles were serving life terms in 2008, 1,755 without the possibility of parole. California again led the nation in the number of juveniles serving life terms, with 2,623.
Note that you can still get life without the possibility of parole sentence in other states (even as a juvenile), it’s just that in the quoted states all life sentences are automatically no-parole.
quote:
Burk Foster, a criminal justice professor at Saginaw Valley State University in Michigan and an expert on the Louisiana penitentiary system, said the expansion of life sentences started at the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola, the nation’s largest maximum penitentiary, in the early 1970s, when most people sentenced to life terms were paroled after they had been deemed fit to re-enter society.
“Angola was a prototype of a lifer’s prison,” said Professor Foster. “In 1973, Louisiana changed its life sentencing law so that lifers would no longer be parole eligible, and they applied that law more broadly over time to include murder, surprise sex, kidnapping, distribution of narcotics and habitual offenders.”
Professor Foster said sentencing more prisoners to life sentences was an abandonment of the “corrective” function of prisons.
“Rehabilitation is not an issue at Angola,” he said. “They’re just practicing lifetime isolation and incapacitation.”
“Angola was a prototype of a lifer’s prison,” said Professor Foster. “In 1973, Louisiana changed its life sentencing law so that lifers would no longer be parole eligible, and they applied that law more broadly over time to include murder, surprise sex, kidnapping, distribution of narcotics and habitual offenders.”
Professor Foster said sentencing more prisoners to life sentences was an abandonment of the “corrective” function of prisons.
“Rehabilitation is not an issue at Angola,” he said. “They’re just practicing lifetime isolation and incapacitation.”
The Red Onion State Prison in Wise County, VA is identical to the Wallens Ridge prison in Big Stone Gap (pictured). These are Level 6 supermax facilities- general population here is equivalent to SHU time at other prisons. Essentially, these places are SHUs. Punishments at these facilities include being strapped spread-eagle on a steel slab in your underwear and then turning the temperature down while not allowing you up to use the toilet, and leaving you in your own filth for a couple days. This is in violation of federal law, the US constitution, international treaties, and United Nations guidelines on prisoner treatment.
quote:
The day I arrived I was...told that I was at Red Onion now and if I act up they would kill me; and there was nothing anyone could or would do about it.
There are no vocational programs, no skill training programs, no group activity of any kind, including religious services. Very little reading material is allowed, and is heavily restricted. Even the length of letters is restricted, to further isolate them from the outside world. Visits are noncontact- through glass w/ intercom phone and the inmate is shackled & chained during the visits.
3 ten-minute showers are allowed per week, but there are no doors or curtains and female guards are used at shower time to humiliate the inmates. When this was done at GITMO, they called it torture and there was worldwide outrage.
Life in segregation is even more restrictive. Nobody really knows how many inmates are in segregation because the facilities don't disclose it. Segregation in Virginia is indefinite. DOC policies provide no guidance on permissible length of time in segregation. Inmates do not know what, if anything, they can do to secure their release to general population. While the DOC’s operating procedure mandates periodic reviews of an inmate’s placement in segregation, it does not specify criteria for guiding the institution’s decision-making process. Nor does it affirm the goal of safely transferring inmates to lesser custody as soon as feasible.
Human Rights Watch has issued a scathing report on the human rights violations at Red Onion.
Connecticut used to send prisoners to WR, and when CT legislators visited the prison investigating inmate abuse, they discovered the warden's office decorated with Civil War "memorabilia" and a model of a slave ship. The practice of sending CT guys to WR has stopped as a result of an ACLU lawsuit.
Amnesty International has been unsuccessfully trying to visit Wallens Ridge to investigate inmate deaths caused by tasers and stun belts.
Amnesty International posted:
"A prison system that has nothing to hide and is serious about addressing human rights concerns should welcome scrutiny and advice," said Dr. William F.. Schulz, Executive Director of Amnesty International USA. "There are long-standing concerns about misuse of stun guns in Wallens Ridge. That misuse may now have resulted in a death, and urgent scrutiny is required if Virginia is to avoid further tragedies."
Donnell J. Blount #300349 posted:
Owens, Tomkins, and Kennedy came to cell after lights out to strip search Blount. Ransacked cell throwing hundreds of pages of transcripts, legal mail, personal mail ect around cell. Lt. Mullins, Sgt. Dat, Sgt O’Quinn, CPL Lee, CPL Nicholson came running placed legal mail /work in orange bag. Blount needed legal materials for court date on April 14, 2005. O’Quinn said “We know. gently caress you and court”. Blount said there was no need for that kind of language. Mullins whispered in Blount’s ear “I’ll gently caress you friend of the family!” Then sexually assaulted by Lt. Mullins. Mullins tried to stick finger in Blount’s anus causing scratches around the rectum and broken skin. Officers, medical staff obstructed grievance procedure. Medical staff refused to examine him with cameras around and said to say that Blount refused the search. When Blount asked for legal material back the officers laughed. (Blount is pressing charges. See copy of lawsuit for full details.
Ronald Mitchell #298888 posted:
(Reported by Kevin Johnson #189542) Sgt. O’ Quinn, Sgt. D. Tate and Lieutenant S. Mullins Upon one handcuff being applied to one of Mitchell’s wrists these three guards together yanked his arm out of the cell door’s food access hatch up to the shoulder using a nylon leash that was attached to the handcuffs. O’ Quinn then began yelling repeatedly in an excited tone “Break his goddamn arm! Break his arm!” with his extended fully outside the slot by Mullins and Tate, O’ Quinn began dropping his body weight down onto Mitchell’s arm attempting to break it at the elbow joint. (Sgt. Quinn broke both wrists of another inmate in previous years.) ROSP
Antonio Parker #281203 posted:
Assaulted by LT. Mullins while I was hog tied-They ran in on me with the shield and gas and assaulted me because I was kicking on the door because they were beating another man that was dying of HIV and could not move and because he failed to respond to them in any manner.
Kevin Johnson #189542 posted:
Fowler and R. Phipps had been propositioning an informant white inmate Dennis Webb #151452 to throw feces on me. On July 5th, despite the required search of the prisoner and his items prior to being brought out of his cell for a shower Webb had taken several bloated bags of the feces mixture to the shower. Second, only Webb, I, and one other prisoner were placed in showers in the unit next door to our own (C500 unit), which unlike our own C400 unit showers has no Plexiglas covering the shower fronts or locking covers on the handcuff slots. The C400 showers are designed this way to keep substances from being thrown from them. So, not only was Webb allowed to take the feces bags into the shower, but we were placed into showers in another unit from which Webb could easily throw the feces.
Wonderbread 2000 posted:
I'm not at all sure I want to ask, and maybe I missed it earlier in the thread, but do you know anything about ADX Florence?
ADX Florence aka "The Alcatraz of the Rockies" or "The Last Worst Place" is the federal supermax prison. The other common name is simply "Supermax," because most of the general public is unaware that supermax facilities exist in the state system. It serves two purposes, one of which is to house escapees and "worst of the worst" federal inmates, like the Aryan Brotherhood shot-caller who got tired of killing inmates and killed a couple guards while he was in maximum security. Its other purpose is to house high-proile inmates like John Gotti and mass-bomber dudes like McVeigh and Unabomber. Guys which are too high-profile like that aren't safe in regular prisons (and espceially not state systems) because if you're already serving double life you're never getting out anyway so why not be the guy who pulled a decap on John Gotti?
It doesn't look like much from the air, because the majority of it is actually underground.
This housing unit at ADX is atypical, because in most units the cells are angled diagonally in the block so that inmates can't see each others cells.
Because ADX is federal, there is much less abuse than in the other facilities I've posted here. This is not to say that there isn't any, just that it is much less. There were a group of guards known as "The Cowboys." The Cowboys were your basic abusive prison guards, mixing urine and feces into inmate food, spraying them with fire extiguishers, putting burning paper on them, forcing them to run in shackles until the shackles cut their legs to the bone. This was done primarily to nonviolent drug offenders, and heavily biased toward black inmates.
Even despite the high-tech security at ADX, inmate violence is not unheard of. A high-ranking Eme was in there, and because he was suspected of snitching on shot-callers he got taken out. Whether guards were bribed or the hitter simply waited until the right moment to take advantage of understaffing and undertraining is not clear; but it's also irrelevant. What is relevant is that ADX or no, SHU or no, snitching on an Eme shot-caller is certain death. If they want you, they're going to get you- and even the most secure supermax can't save you. Remember that this gang was essentially created by California DOC.
Many inmates in there still contniue to run gangs on the outside, because in many cases supermax is super lax.
Woody Harrelson's dad died in ADX.
ABC news did a piece called How to Survive Supermax.
