Month: October 2005

As the ‘slider’ (a large steel door that slides open and closed) opened up into D Pod, I was greeted with a volley of shouts of “There he is!” and “he’s the one!”, all bullshit, really, and I was to learn that everyone was greeted that way, for the most part. Since I was new I was escorted into an enclosed area, separated from the rest of the pod by large Plexiglas windows. There were 4 cells in the enclosure. All the cells were the same, as were the pods, differentiated only by their pod color. As I said before, D-Pod was blue/gray. The diagram at the top is what they looked like.

I unpacked my meager belongings and stored them in the cubby under my steel bunk. No bedsprings here. This was a state-of-the-art jail, with no bars, only 3 inch thick steel doors with narrow windows leading into a 6’w x 10’l x 12’h room. At the opposite end of the room room the door was the window that gave me a view of the outside perimeter, surrounded by razor wire. The steel doors were controlled by an electronic/magnetic deadbolt. The Co’s console had the release switch for all the doors. It was dark and gloomy, so I turned on the light. The long enclosed fluorescent flickered on quickly and illuminated me with the only type of light that I would see on a regular basis for the next 19 months. As I was reading through my paperwork and settling in, it suddenly hit me:

I was in jail. And not just overnight. I had learned my lesson, but no one was letting me out anytime soon.

There was a payphone in the enclosure and I hurried to make a call to home. I was not allowed to say goodbye to my family in court. The judge would not allow this to take place. So I made my first of hundreds of phone calls using the jail collect call system. The sound of my mother’s voice crushed me as she answered. There was a pause while the system connected us, and there she was, as if she was right next door. I couldn’t contain myself. I said, “Oh, Momma, I’m so sorry…” We both started crying, and she said that she was sorry, too. She asked about some of the formalities, making small talk, I think. Then we cried some more. She told me to be strong, that I’d make it through this, that she’d be there for me, that we would all be together again soon. I told her that I loved her, and that I’d call her again soon. Then we hung up.

I walked to the CO’s desk and asked for a pen. He handed me the pens used by inmates; a rubbery thing made up of a short ballpoint inkstem and a flexible type of grip. I went back to my cell-I had no cellmate-sat down at my bolted-to-the-wall steel desk, took out the only paper I had, which was a copy of the rules and regulations, found a blank spot, and began to write. Nothing survives of the first 4 days of this ordeal. Where the writing went, I do not know. Maybe I didn’t write anything at all. My first entry begin on January 12, 2003:

“5 days in-physical assault is a possibility. The powers that be say that they are here to protect us from ourselves as well as other stuff. I’ve already had one offer from the protection rackets. $30 in an (canteen) account and he’ll protect me. Very illegal-for me as well. I was non-committal about acceptance.”

Looking back I can see how I was assessing my survival situation, the way a shipwrecked sailor may assess his own predicament. He would make sure he wasn’t hurt, tally his meager possessions, and set about building shelter, maybe make a fire if he could. With that first sentence I was able to stake a claim on my own existence. If I had paid the protection money, there would have been no end to the swindling. Once that door is opened my life would be over. By not accepting the offer, I showed that I was not easily swayed by the scary rumblings of the natives. This offer would come around a couple more times and I would rebuff it every time. My small holdings at that time were few, but important. I had my wits, my intelligence, and, thank God, my sobriety. I came in to jail with a program. AA would be my light in the darkest of days yet to come. My sobriety gave me power, and an edge, over others. I was focused on today, just today, and getting through it. My first lesson had been learned: I only had to worry about today.

That night I cried myself to sleep.

#1229

So I am writing about my time in jail…

On the van ride over to the jail I was astounded at the casualness that some of the fellow riders were showing towards their future incarceration. Phrases like “Fantasy Island” were used and conversations about the chow hall menu ran around the back of the van. I stayed silent, and no one spoke to me. These guys were used to this kind of life, and as I would learn, it was an integral part of the world in which they lived. It was becoming apparent that jail was a step up in the world and a definite improvement over a cold and wet January on the streets. They would be fed, receive free medical treatment, sleep well, have clean clothes, cable TV, etc…No hassles. It was obvious that I came from a different, more privaledged, world. In my world no one starved or was forced to live outside or ever went without. This was a step in the wrong direction, I thought. But in the grand scheme of things I was able to remain fully accountable for my actions and served my time well. But I’m jumping ahead…

The van arrived at the jail and we unloaded into a holding area, with 2 large glassed in cells and a large desk with several Sheriff’s Deputies (COs [Correctional Officers]) at the ready. I was led to the desk and my paperwork was handed over to the CO in charge. It turned out that “2 years” meant “2 years, non-mandatory” which meant that if I worked hard and kept my nose clean, I could be out in 18 months. This was a ray of hope, however dim, suddenly lightening my bleak future. I was brought into a large tile and stainless steel bathroom and ordered to strip. My street clothes were bundled up and placed in a plastic bag, which was labeled. I then signed for the bag and its contents. Still naked, I was made to squat and cough. They looked in my mouth, ears, nose, ass, and between my toes. I suppose there are myriad ways to smuggle contraband. I was then handed a collapsible plastic bin with my new clothes (size large) and all of my bedding. I dressed in the un comfortable and cold clothing, all dark blue, with the letters “BCHC” stenciled on the back of the shirt. The style was essentially hospital scrubs. No pockets or belt loops. I didn’t have sneakers yet so I was given a cheap pair of rubber flipflops which I put on over my socks. Afterwards I was fingerprinted and my eyes were scanned for the optical scan, which is much more precise than a fingerprint. I had a basic medical history taken by a guard, some blood drawn to check for hepatitis, gonnorhea, and other diseases (but not HIV, that they charged for) and then handed my final paperwork. My ID tag was given to me. It was a small rectangular yellow plastic card, like a credit card, with my name, DOB, and inmate number. I was #1229. I was no longer Johnnyboy, or John, or anything else. I had left that identity wadded up with my suit in a clear plastic bag.

I was led to one of the large holding cells and told that if I wanted something to eat, dinner would be around soon. I was suddenly ravenous., so I said OK to that. When it finally arrived, the food was in an amber colored plastic tray with a lid. Inside were 4 compartments. In one was a small pile of overcooked broccoli. In another was a small pile of soggy egg noodles. There was a plastic cup of coffee (decaf), a half-pint of milk, and the piece de la resistance, the entree, baked cod. When I opened the lid of the tray, I almost swooned. The combination of odors from the broccoli and the fish almost killed me, but my mouth watered anyway, and I ate with a need I have yet to experience again. I was truly in a basic survival mode, and needed to eat.

With dinner finished the door opened and I was escorted down a well lit, extremely clean hallway towards what would be my home for the next month, D Pod. D Pod is where the newcomers were taken for final processing until they were able to be sent to one of 3 ‘population’ pods, either E, F, or H. Fate would send me to one of those pods, not my own doing. The large metal door slid open and I was in D Pod, which was painted gray-blue. There were about 40 other guys there, watching TV, playing cards, whatever. I was led to a special cell, where all the recent inmates are taken. It was in direct line of vision with the CO’s desk. It was the suicide watch cell. This was just a precaution. I wasn’t unique in that fact. Soon I would lose all belief in being unique, or different, or special. I would become Inmate # 1229.

The map at the top is a rough sketch. All the pods were laid out the same, so one map suits them all. So until tomorrow…

Inmate #1229