Apparently, I am my Brother’s Keeper and Other Prison Oddities

Dear Readers, This is a piece Kent wrote for another blog that is published by the family of another inmate. Kent had heard through the grapevine that the blog existed  and told me the name of it. I was able to look it up and tell Kent the name of the author. From there, he discovered that he works in the chow hall with this inmate, and he occasionally submits guest pieces for that blog.

Posted on April 14, 2012

When one first sets foot inside the stark confines of a prison or jail, the first lesson to be learned is that this is an entirely different world. Everything one has learned up to that point about to live life is placed on ho and a whole new set of instructions comes into play.

For example, here at Oakdale, we take our meals in a dining hall comprised of about 50 four-man tables. When you finish your meal and prepare to leave, you knock on the table. The others seated with you respond by each providing an answering knock.

During my first week here, I asked someone the meaning behind this odd custom. I learned that it was a throwback to a time when inmates were not allowed to speak during meals. (This situation still endures at some higher level facilities.) When someone prepares to get up from the table, his knock is meant to convey the following message: “Excuse me. I am getting up now. This only means that I am leaving. I have no intention to attack you.” The answering knock implies: “We understand. Thank you for not attacking us. We appreciate it. Good bye.” This custom is one that I have not adopted. Instead, as I rise, I usually say “Have a good day” (or evening.) This seems to work just as well in conveying the message that I do not intend to beat up anyone.

Another timeless custom is the “cool” prison nickname. This is often employed s a defensive measure. For example, if one is named Marvin or Ronald, this does not serve to keep others at bay nearly as effectively as “Killer” or “Bruiser.” However, in practice, I have noted that some of the nicknames tend to defeat their purpose by turning out to be . . . well I’ll just say it, kinda silly.

In my unit alone, we have a “Boo-Boo”, (shades of Yogi Bear) a “Ya-Ya” and silliest of all in my opinion, a “Hot Sauce.” I have thus far resisted the temptation to address him as “Mr. Sauce.” You see, “Hot Sauce” sports the tear-drop tattoo. A single teardrop under one eye is meant to convey that the wearer has killed someone. “Hot Sauce” has a whole splash of them so I have opted to avoid him altogether and remain off his radar.

These customs and many others like them are generated among the inmates themselves. But occasionally, I come across one that has originated with the prison staff.

Last year, our unit counselor came upon an entire trash bag full of hooch. (“Hooch” is a prohibition-era term for illegal alcohol.) One inmate in my unit had created the forbidden elixir from pilfered oranges and the yeast from bread. You should know that most people in the prison population turn into McGiver complete with the ability to turn a paperclip into a Gatlin gun.

While I have never imbibed, I am told this “hooch” ferments for only a week or so in a trash bag, so I am surmising that it does not have the woodsy tang of Jack Daniel’s that has steeped for twelve years in a specially treated oaken barrel. But I’m guessing that it gets the job done nevertheless.

Anyway, the unit manager assembled us all and announced that our beloved microwave ovens were being removed until further notice. I looked around to see who was going to raise his hand and object to the idea of punishing over two hundred men for the actions of a single individual but no one did. The microwaves were not returned for another six months.

About a month ago, another bag of “hooch” was found, another meeting hastily assembled and once again, the microwaves were gone. This time, I raised my hand to ask the obvious question and the unit manager replied, “You are all responsible for policing your own unit.” This was news to me. Foolishly, I had assumed that my job was to follow the rules but now I was being told that I was expected to enforce them as well. The inmates refer to the Corrections Officers t here as “the police”, so it was a fairly natural assumption that they would be the ones doing the policing.

I have not been successful in obtaining any information as regards what specific steps I need to be taking should I encounter anyone manufacturing “hooch.” Do I beat him senseless? Do I merely threaten to do so? In either case, I would be in violation of the rules and sent to the SHU (Special Housing Unit or as it is lovingly referred to by one and all here, THE HOLE.) Do I snitch on him? Well, if I do that, then I am the one who will be beaten senseless. Do I shake my finger at him and say, “Bad inmate”?

Yeah, that’ll work.

So I am left to ponder the imponderable. The only answer that I am left with is that the staff is saying with a wink and a nod: “Take care of this dude however you want. Just don’t let us know about it.” From my point of view, the easier course is to just do without the frickin microwaves.

I cannot, in the course of a single article, begin to cover all the ways in which prison life differs from that of the free world. That would take an entire book and a very fat one at that.

Perhaps one day I’ll write it.

But for now, I am content to observe at a distance as prisoners bump fists rather than shake hands, hold extended conversations at the top of their lungs with others on the opposite side of the compound, or smuggle ten-pound rump roasts out of the kitchen concealed in their underwear.

What do I know? It’s their world. I just live in it.

 

Highlights of July

Dear Readers, It has been almost two months since I last updated this blog. No excuses other than having a busy spring. So I’m going to make up for it by pulling highlights from several letters, thus bringing the blog through July, 2011. Kent’s way of processing each Sunday’s spiritual work is to write me telling me about the sermon and the readings he did, so between that and answering my letters to him, there is lots of material.   ~Dee

June 26, 2011

Dear Dee,

Thank you for making me part of your flower communion service by sending the hymn lyrics and the picture of your irises. They were beautiful. I taped it to my locker door so I see it every day. I wish there was more beauty around here, but I’m getting expert at staring at the clouds. I’m sure people wonder what I’m looking up at. I also watch birds in flight—free birds—and think of Maya Angelou’s poem.

I want you to know as you search for sermon material that you need not limit yourself to topics that relate to my present situation. While those have been good for me and helpful, the whole point of UU is becoming a better person. So any topic that promotes that is fine with me.

Today’s chalice lighting was by AB celebrating her joy at singing. I was always lamenting my lack of singing ability but my dirty little secret is that when I’m alone, I sing. Somehow, I’ve trained my brain to make it seem in my head as though it sounds great. I’ve just had to learn never to record it and play it back.

July 3, 2011

Today’s chalice lighting was by PE when she was about to become a senior in high school. She talks about clichés and how they made her hate middle school--how they promoted hate, discrimination and the marginalization of individuals. This topic was relevant because a similar social structure exists here. There are tables in the dining hall that are reserved for certain ethnic groups or gangs. I have commented before how much this situation is akin to middle school. I am marginalized by my age (which will be 68 in a couple of weeks—how did that happen??). I have no real friends here. There a some who will talk to me or share a table, but there is no one with whom I have bonded.

I have finished the Jefferson Bible, having read twenty pages each Sunday. Next week, I will finish The Field, which I find fascinating. I’ve always thought that subjects like mutual telepathy or healing by thought or touch were bunk. But in this book, you’ll see how it has all been subjected to legitimate scientific study and it appears that these phenomena are a part of “the field;” a strong indication that we are all linked as I have always believed. The book shows how the cells in our bodies communicate with each other—and not only with each other, but with the cells in the bodies of others. Prayer—particularly when it is a large joint effort—can have a physical effect. It is believed to be the result of focused thought. I now see the energy field I always believed in as existing in inanimate objects as well as living things. Why? Because they are all composed of atoms, which are never at rest, but always in motion.

July 10

Sunday. Stovetop hot out there.—too sultry to walk the track.

I’m fresh out of your sermons so I turned to Quest, the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF) newsletter, and read a piece by Rev. Steve Edington about the value of thankful prayer, even if you don’t know who it is you’re thanking. Works for me. In my nightly prayer, I begin by giving thanks for another day of life and asking for the strength to get through the next one. As you might have guessed, in my mind, I’m praying to the collective consciousness of The Field.

Have you begun the weekly process of checking the census count at Terminal Island? I want to see if it goes up or down so I can determine whether to apply for my transfer in November or wait. I do admit to getting excited about the approach of the day I’m eligible to apply (which is after I’ve been here 18 months).I try to keep in touch with someone I met at a county lockup whose charge is similar to mine and who has been sent to Terminal Island. I write to him through his sister as inmates a not allowed to correspond with each other. From your research and what I’ve heard from him, TI is not nearly as gang-oriented as here nor as biased against sex offenders, and they offer more opportunities. But don’t worry, I am taking the approach of hoping for the best and preparing for the worst.

July 12

I read an article in the NY Times for May of last year about the federal judge who was protesting the mandatory minimums What he was doing, in violation of procedure, was informing the juries before deliberation what the result of a guilty verdict would be. In a number of cases, this swayed them to bring in “not guilty” verdicts. However, the federal government does its best to avoid trials by forcing defendants to accept a plea agreement. They inform the defendant that if a jury finds them guilty, their sentence would be double that of what it would have been if they had pled out. I keep hoping against hope that the U.S. Sentencing Commission will take some action that could shorten my sentence. But again, hoping for the best, preparing for the worst.

July 17

This morning’s chalice lighting was by FT who calls on us to “be more and do more.” I look forward to being on the outside and fulfilling that to my maximum potential.

The sermon was by Nate Walker of Philadelphia on the virtues of CLF. I couldn’t agree more. I love that UU extends itself beyond the walls of its churches to reach those who can’t come inside. When I was being processed into the system, I was asked my religion. I told them, but Unitarian Universalism didn’t show up on the list of boxes to check. The guy interviewing me said, “I ain’t never heard of that ‘un.” I wanted to say, “That’s okay. It’s only been around for 500 years.”

I still do food service—off on Sunday and Monday. Here’s how my day lays out: I’m up at 5:15 and at work by 6. I’m back in the housing unit by 7:15 and I usually go back to sleep. I go back to work at 10, eat an early lunch, then serve till about 12:15. Then back to the unit for my afternoon nap, which goes until about 2. Read some, have mail call and go to dinner between 4:30 and 5. Then may be a little TV (around three nights a week), read some more or write letters, then in bed by 9. I usually can’t fall asleep until the noise level abates, somewhere around 11. I never sleep through the night, though. These beds are so bloody uncomfortable (1 ½ inch mattress on a metal slab) that I wake up every time I turn over, which is frequently. So that’s why I’m so tired during the day. Sometimes I vary the routine and go to the library, especially if I’m writing. Also, I might go to the rec yard and walk the track, but only if it’s not too darned hot.

It’s a good night if I can sleep uninterrupted long enough to dream. Dreams are my “get out of jail free” card; a chance to go to other places and be with other people. I very seldom dream of being in prison, but when I do, it’s never this one.

July 24

This morning’s “service” was based on the Fourth of July service at your church focusing on freedom. The reading by Thich Nhat Hanh on freedom had a considerable impact on me, starting with its title, “Be Free Where You Are.” My first thought was, “Okay, this really does not apply to me.” But then I noticed it was from a talk given in prison, so I read on with great interest. It had never really occurred to me that I could create my own freedoms in here. I have held that freedom was something I would have to wait five more years to experience. One of the tenets he espouses is freedom from despair, which has been a big problem for me. This is one that I will hang onto and refer back to from time to time.

Part of my effort in here has been to hang onto my individuality, something that is very difficult to achieve in an environment that is designed to take it away from you. I remember a similar struggle when I was in the Navy. For example, twice a day—three times a day on weekends—we have something called “stand up count.” We are required to stand quietly in front of our cells as the guards come through counting heads. Intellectually, I understand the practical need for this process in a prison. But when you have to do it every single day, the aggregate effect is that you begin to feel like a piece of meat that is being inventoried. So I have come up with a small adjustment that makes this process more tolerable. As soon as they call count, I grab a book and start reading. I stand, as required, but I give the book my full concentration. The net result is that I’m doing something for myself; something that I enjoy. If they want to count me while I’m doing it, that’s their  business. You can’t imagine how much that shifts the balance of power back to me. It’s something very small that no one notices and it breaks no rules, but it makes me feel more like a human being. And I now realize in the writing of Mr. Thich that it also makes me free. I need to look for more ways to do this.

Please convey to John that I was very moved by his story that he related in the July 4^th service. Sometimes we forget how recent it was that racism was so naked and overt. It’s still with us today, only underground and much more subtle. And in this environment, it is again in the forefront as I see the races—black, brown, and yellow—voluntarily segregating themselves, as in the dining hall.

Thank you for the NPR interview with Wilbert Rideau, the guy who created the first uncensored prison magazine in the country. There is great value in being reminded that, as awful as this experience is, it is worse elsewhere. And this guy did 44 years—11 of them in solitary. I did eight days in solitary when I was in county and thought I was going to go crazy. It’s good to step back and get some perspective once in a while.

You asked what my cell looks like. It’s a 15-foot by 12-foot cubicle with three sets of double deck bunk beds in it. There’s about four feet between the beds. There are two lockers at the end of each bed where we keep all of our things. The spaces were designed for four men, but they jammed in that center set of bunks because of overcrowding. The front is open with no door and open windows with no glass.

July 31

My food service job has been taken away. One of my cellmates told the kitchen staff that I was slow and not doing a good job. This is someone who I did favors for in the past and I have no idea why he did that or why they listened to him. My job now is folding flatware into napkins. The days have grown longer because my workday is now over by 7:30 AM, and I spend the rest of my day with my nose in a book. I’m sleeping a little better at night because I changed rooms to get away from the guy who betrayed me and no longer have the cellmate who gets up every hour to go to the bathroom. So I’m less tired during the day and don’t nap as much. Sounds like a god thing, but then it does also contribute to making the day even longer.

I’m out of sermons again, but I still have a couple of months worth of CLF newsletters to get me through. Also, I now have a CLF penpal. He’s a retired stockbroker and sends me stock tips, even though I am, of course, in no position to take advantage of them. He has promised to send sermons as well, so the pressure is eased on you a bit.

Looking forward to you next letter,

Love, Kent