Category Archives: Views From The Inside

Texas Death Row’s Mixed-Bag Psychology

“Fuck your religion!” yelled an irate Polo, attempting to defend his stance in a one-sided debate with another inmate, Bob Cook, a professed Christian, though he never read the Bible.  Not once.  He never attempted to read it either. He possessed an NIV version that sat quietly on top of his rusted cell’s table, collecting dust.  “All He was, was the original MGM magician – no better than David Copperfield!”

Polo was a celebrated and outspoken atheist and verbally strong-armed the one-sided debate about religion. Of course, Bob wouldn’t have anyone disrespecting his faith, his Jesus, whom he felt was God’s son, although he never totally understood the ‘how’ aspects within his beliefs.  Bob was a typical, middle-aged, white Southerner with traditional Texan pride. He was short and round in stature, built in the mold of Barney Rubble from the Flintstones with hair as white as cotton and alopecia taking over the center of his head.  He was a goodhearted guy and my neighbor for about three years.  When you are held within the close quarters of Texas Death Row, in solitary cells 24 hours a day, you learn a lot about your neighbors. You get a better understanding of who they are.

I knew Bob well, perhaps better than anyone on the planet. He had a genuinely cuddly personality, always attentive to the needs of others more than his own.  He was not one to argue and would often display dumbness when others were attempting to explain something asinine, just so the talker could get whatever it was they wanted to say off their chest.

He didn’t have much and lived on about 20 bucks a month.  To put things in perspective, he didn’t have shit, but what he had – anyone who wanted it, could have.  That was one of his flaws – he was too kind and an easy target to be taken advantage of.  He was guilty of the crime that landed him on death row, though it could be contested that his crime did not fit the criteria for a death sentence. Nonetheless, he was riddled with remorse, often saying, “I’m going to hell.”

When I asked him why, he said the chaplain told him that the Bible said, “Thou shall not kill.”  Texas death row chaplains carry no sway with me ever since one told me that my being executed was God’s will.  I calmly told him, “Bullshit.”

I then took out my Bible and read several scriptures to Bob, leaning on my studies from when I was enrolled in theology classes. One reason why he never read the Bible was because he couldn’t. He was illiterate. I read to him about forgiveness, faith and salvation, which he appreciated, and in time he gained hope that he might have a chance to get to heaven.

Of course, ‘perfection’ has never been a Christian strong suit, Rome wasn’t built in a day and some dogs refuse to let go of old tricks. So when Bob had enough of Polo’s Christian diatribes, he declared “May Jesus Christ forgive me now for what I’m about to say.  Fuck you, Polo!” and with that, he walked away from his cell’s door, steaming mad, and went to sit on his bunk.

Polo began to laugh at Bob’s parting cussing. His handsome and smooth caramel colored facial skin was shining like polished armor due to his overuse of commissary bought baby oil that he used daily.  He liked the smell that reminded him of when he was a baby and being smothered with the loving hugs of his mother as he was held between her tender arms and her comfy bosom.  He was thirty-two, and had been incarcerated more than he had been in the free world.  He was arrested at the age of 15, held in the county jail until he was 17, and then sent to death row. He would be executed/murdered before the USSC’s decision to ban all executions of juvenile offenders.  Like most youngsters who grew up around environmental dogma, he was rough around the edges, not cordial and trusted no one. He spoke in waves which often confused the listener as well as himself to some degree, because his ideologies were a perplexing mixed bag of black power, black militant-ism, Malcolm X-ism, Islamic beliefs that he adopted from others, and the scratch your head in utter disbelief performances he often acted out as he mimicked Bill Cosby’s Fat Albert show character with the line, “Hey, hey, hey, it’s Fat Albert!”

I often psychoanalyze people, trying to understand why they do the things they do.  Polo, perhaps, still felt as if he was fifteen-years-old and living in a thirty-two-year-old body.  Maturity never found an outlet within his mind in which to become liberated.  His actions and attitude were a reflection of the way he thought – childlike.  What else could you expect?

Polo stood alone in the middle of the section’s day room.  No one stood at their cell’s door that he could argue with.  Since arriving in the Polunsky Unit in 2000, group recreation, work programs, televisions, and any form of physical contact have been banned from the all-male branch of Texas Death Row.  So he began the redundant activity that we all do when we find ourselves alone in the day room with no one to talk to – walking in circles.  Consciously or unconsciously we lower our heads as if in shame and count in our minds the steps we take to make a full circle.  One… two… three… four… five…  It actually takes seventeen strides to complete a full circle in the dayroom.  I watched Polo from a distance as I sat in my cell, counting along with him. It would be the last time I was to see Polo in the flesh – alive.

Texas death row inmates are housed in a building called Twelve Building. It’s encased inside electrical razor wired fencing. On some mornings you can see the dead carcass of a stray cat or dog that didn’t get the memo about not touching the fence. Did these creatures not see one of the several bright yellow postings that warn, ‘Electrical Shocking Fence.  DO NOT TOUCH’?  Mayhap the animals were illiterate too.

There are six pods within Twelve Building, each lettered either A, B, C, D, E or F.  Within each pod are six sections, also lettered A, B, C, D, E or F.  Each of the six sections can hold fourteen cells for fourteen inmates.  Each man is alone, twenty four hours a day.

Inmates communicate by yelling loudly at the guy they are trying to have a civil conversation with. Though in a normal setting, yelling to obtain a civil conversation is indeed madness in nature. Ninety percent of the cells leak when it rains, some more than others. Black mold has run amuck within every cell on death row. The building was cheaply designed and constructed, and the infrastructure is weak and crumbling. Fighting spiders, mosquitoes and other critters is a daily chore.

The failures of the infrastructure are so timely and repetitive that one can’t help but assume there is a conspiracy going on, because nothing works as it should here. Every year during the summer, the water is going to get cut off for a day or two straight. There won’t be fresh water to drink, no water to shower with and no water to flush the accumulated shit and piss that will idly stew. And let me tell you, once the sun’s rays bake this concrete building’s back wall, the structure becomes an oven, causing any religion you thought you had to get temporarily thrown out the window due to the foul odor.  If anyone asks us if we are comfortable or okay at that point – they are often greeted with the same aggravated, “Muther fucker, what do you think?”

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Charles “Chucky” Mamou is living on Death Row in Texas.  His last appeal has been denied and he maintains his innocence.

He can be contacted at:
Charles Mamou #999333
Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53
3872 South FM 350
Livingston, TX 77351

Loading

Butterflies, Cats And A Turtle

It was noon when she arrived.  I hadn’t seen her for weeks – a single, female cat, just seeking a little companionship.

The prison recently sealed all the screens, so she must have found a way to circumvent security, and she made her way to my casa.  Animals somehow know to seek me out.  I fixed her some mackerel and warm milk, and eventually, she left the way she came, whatever way that was.  Her name is Rae, if you see her.  She’s a ginger colored tabby, with low mileage and good tires.

It wasn’t thirty minutes later before Rae’s adopted son strolled in – a black as coal Tom with paws I hope he never grows into because he may be mistaken for a panther.  I was out of mackerel, so we shared a package of vienna sausages and the rest of the milk.  He thanked me for the meal and was on his way.

I was feeling content at that point and decided to take a nap.  It had just stopped sprinkling, and the weather had cooled to about 85 degrees, a lot better that the 95 it had been.  I fell asleep easily, listening to Jonny Lang, and slept the sleep of someone with a clear conscience.  It was around 1:30, and I had a little time before dinner and the next insulin shot.

When I woke, what I saw on my window took me by surprise.   There were about five or six blue and black butterflies, not swallowtails, but with rounded wings and light blue markings on the edges.  Like monarchs, but not.  They were looking in at me.  The visiting butterflies wouldn’t be so unusual, but I had just dreamed about those same butterflies.  They were an omen.

And, then it was Saturday.  At around 2:30 p.m., I look out the window and saw my next visitor.  It was in the alley between the buildings, crawling through the little bit of water left behind by the showers – a turtle.  It was about the size of my hand and making his way to an important turtle meeting.  Or maybe he was in a race against a rabbit that can’t possibly win – turtles never lose a race.

I’m grateful I’m alive. I wish I were home with all my heart, but in the meantime, I’ll wait faithfully for my Father to deliver me there. I am loved, wanted and entertained, all in the same breath.  No one could ask for more.  But I will…

 

ABOUT THE  AUTHOR.  Shipwrecked and found.  John is currently doing a two-year set off, after 25 years of incarceration.  He is a frequent contributor as well as the author of Life Between The Bars, a unique and heartwarming memoir.  John can be contacted at:
John Green #671771
C.T. Terrell Unit A150
1300 FM655
Rosharon, TX 77583

Loading

A Dreamer’s Story

I’ve never done anything like this, but I can’t sleep.  Maybe these words will remain my secret, and I will try to make sense of things on my own, for better or worse.  But whichever way the wind that makes up my life blows, this is me and this is my story.

Whomever you may be, rest assured of one thing, I’ve never shared or trusted anyone with these thoughts.  Maybe I am now because you’re far removed from anything and everything I know, maybe because you’re a complete stranger, or maybe because I know there’s a likely probability I don’t send this out, and it’s nothing more than an entry of words on paper that I can look at, dissect, and try to assign a tangible solution to. Even though I know it’s unrealistic to think the reality of my situation can be fixed by reading it over and over on a piece paper.

But, here goes the reality of my life –  what it is the grown man behind this ink has made it to be.

The possibility of my release is accompanied by a very real possibility. It’s probable that my life will come to its end.  I’ve thought about this enough to know that I’m not afraid. That, in and of itself, saddens me.  Has it really gotten to the point that my own death is a concept that I welcome with open arms?  No, not welcome, but rather ‘accept’.  I guess everything I’ve been through and done has conditioned me to accept the reality of a violent death. I guess what saddens me is that I know by ‘accepting’ what’s to come, I failed her. I failed my hero…

Mine is the typical ‘Hispanic kid from the other side of the track’ story.  As a boy, Spiderman was my superhero. I refused to wear any underwear that didn’t have Spiderman emblazoned on them, and I refused to go to school if I didn’t have my Spiderman backpack and Spiderman lunchbox safely packed inside.

It wasn’t until one person after another started giving up on me for my poor life choices, that I realized my real ‘hero’ had actually always been a beautiful woman who lived in my home. My hero was my grandmother. My beautiful grandma, my mother, and she was stronger than Spiderman.

I was 13 years old when I learned my ‘mom’ was actually my grandmother and to what extent she had gone to make sure I was a part of her life. You see, I was born in El Salvador, and a mother’s loving embrace was not meant for me.  My real mother was rejected by my father, so I was, in turn, rejected by my mother.  After she delivered me, she gave me away in El Salvador before returning to the U.S.

My hero would not be denied her grandson though.  When her daughter came back home without her expected child and eventually confessed to what she’d done with me, my hero made a very costly and dangerous trip to a very poor and violent country to retreat the little guy who turned out to be me. If you were to ask her though, she’d say she only did it because she was told I had pretty green eyes – and I do.

So yes, I’m a ‘Dreamer’, or more accurately – I was. With the immigration issues dominating the political spectrum, I prefer not to mention it because there are men and women who have made far better choices and accomplished so much more than myself.  It would be unfair to them, in my opinion, to include myself in a conversation that would better serve them if those such as myself were far removed from it. From the depth of my heart I admire and am deeply proud of the men and women who were able to accomplish things that would otherwise not have been possible in our country. They made our people more, our lives relevant, and lifted us high. I’m truly sorry for every way I failed in my part and gave the Trump administration ammunition to use against us.

So while my hero did everything she could to protect me, there was one person she couldn’t save me from.  Me.  She couldn’t save me from myself.  I became a part of the street life that surrounded me. I’m not sure what hurt the most, the tears running down my hero’s face with every dollar discovered in my jeans while doing laundry (jeans she could not have afforded), knowing it was drug money she was looking at, or the way she would promise in a soft voice, with tired eyes, that things would get better and we would move to a nicer place. Then I’d watch her work harder and longer hours at a chicken plant that had a history of discriminating against immigrant workers, paying them below the minimum wage.  It was a common practice all the way through the 90’s.

What I now know, as a grown man who has been in prison for the last 13 ½ years, is that it was her love and the memory of her soft voice that got through to me eventually in a way nothing else could. You see, I was never supposed to know a mother’s love, but God sent me an angel when I was nothing more than a tiny little guy.  That angel will always and forever be my hero.

I had always viewed evil as a universal principle, and not so much as a malignant driven entity. It was just another way of doing things, the opposite of doing things the ‘right’ way, as defined by the law. And in my world, ‘evil’ was stronger and much more effective than ‘good’. I became fully absorbed in a lifestyle that brought me face-to-face with the government’s war on drugs, not to mention the reality of the wars behind drugs – attempted kidnappings of my person and the tragic loss of close friends to murder, suicide and kidnapping when the money or drug ransom could not be met.

My education throughout my teenage years and until I came to prison consisted of stratagems that minimized competition. A favored approach was one that required patience and time, something not found in abundance in a teenager’s life, but something taught by the older and more learned individuals on the corner. The stratagem was to force a drastic fluctuation in prices. This required preparing in advance and aligning yourself with a very deep well to pull from. Selling dope is a poor man’s hustle, regardless what rappers preach.  And poor men are seldom trusted with money or financial instruments. As a rule, only those who save more than they spend financially survive this tactic.

I learned that most followed the creed promoted by rappers, spending in abundance, completely confident the drug game would be there tomorrow.   And it will be, but only for those who are not in debt and understand the stratagems.

The end result, however, often led to the ghetto version of unemployment. Violent confrontations, home invasions, kidnappings, to name a few, took place to supplement the lack of income. That led to a deeper understanding of working and moving within a decentralized unit or group, often of only three, waiting and watching for other units to stabilize and establish their identity and then re-negotiating everything into an effective network again, weeding out the weak, unnecessary, and problematic players. Until you have to do it all over again.

Thus was my education, and the engine that brought me here.   I didn’t fully grasp the English language until sometime around middle school, and my first comprehendible sentence was something along the lines of, “Don’t play with me, Bitch.”

I was 21 years old when I came to prison, with my reputation flawlessly intact. Four years into my sentence, the state of Texas confirmed me as an active member of Mexikanemi, otherwise known as the Mexican Mafia, and placed me in administrative segregation, where I have been ever since – nine years and counting.

Why am I writing this?  I’m, honestly, not sure. All I know is that I can’t sleep. I lost my hero, and I’m just trying to make sense of what’s in front of me. I’m being deported to a country I haven’t visited since I was first abandoned there. Sometimes, I whisper words into the wind, hoping they find my hero and let her know I’m going back to where it all started, alone and among strangers.  Maybe I had always been destined to die there.  There’s no family awaiting me there and nowhere to go. Yet, I can honestly say I’m not afraid and not sure why.  I know I’m going to die there.

Maybe I’m writing this to reach out and seek the only thing I can arm and defend myself with – knowledge, wisdom, and an understanding of what I can expect once I reached El Salvador.  I suppose what I am looking for is someone of my nationality who could guide me and explain what I can expect once I reach El Salvador.

So, this is me, and this is my story, and if this reaches the House of God and the doorway to heaven, please send word to my hero.   Tell her I love her, and I’m going home…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.   Wilmer Portillo has an amazing ability to express himself through writing, and I hope he hears from someone in El Salvador.  He can be contacted at:
Wilmer Portillo #01356973
McConnell
3001 South Emily Drive
Beeville, TX 78102

Loading

Attention

I live my life like a ghost. The less notice that’s paid me, the better I feel – especially when it comes to this place.  I’ve actually had correctional officers ask me, “When did you come back?”

I tell them I’ve never left, and they sadly shake their head, telling me they haven’t seen me in a couple years.

That’s why I’m still here…

I made a horrible, reactionary decision, and I take responsibility for it.  I did it, and I’ve made changes in my life.  I’ve learned that no matter the situation – I will seek guidance and help, turn the other cheek, and walk in the other direction.  My horrible decision cost me 25 years of my life, my family, my friends, my possessions, and most importantly, someone’s life.

I can’t change what happened.  If I could, I would – NOT because I would have avoided this pain, but because no one else would’ve suffered.

I’m not a bad person. I’m a good person, and I made a horrible mistake.  The system is full of people like me.  I’ve met them, I’ve talked with them, I’ve eaten meals with them and cried with them.

I support law enforcement and the justice system.  I support victims’ rights and advocacy groups.  But an eye for an eye approach doesn’t remedy the hurt.  For the ‘over incarcerated’ it only adds to the heartbreak.  It doesn’t make anyone safer. It breeds despair, racial tension and frustration.  It overburdens an already overpopulated prison system and makes rehabilitation next to impossible.

Instead of letting go harmless, old convicts whose criminal careers ended decades ago, the parole system releases and tracks younger, criminals, who have yet to learn the lessons of life.  They let these offenders go only to have them return three or four times.

It’s been proven time and again that older convicted felons are less likely to reoffend, especially when they’ve done long stretches of time and have shown repentance for their crimes and have maintained a disciplinary free life while incarcerated.

I’ll show you it’s true…  Let me go.  I’ll show you what a good person who has made a terrible mistake can accomplish.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Shipwrecked and found.  John is currently doing a two-year set off, after 25 years of incarceration.  He is a frequent contributor as well as the author of Life Between The Bars, a unique and heartwarming memoir.  John can be contacted at:
John Green #671771
C.T. Terrell Unit A150
1300 FM655
Rosharon, TX 77583

Loading

A New Beginning

I was somewhat relieved when I got locked up – I needed some rest.

As I lay in my bunk, I resigned myself to the pain as heroin withdrawal made its appearance.  The powerful pull of addiction would have made me pull the door off the hinges if I’d had the strength, but I didn’t.  I gave in because I was tired of fighting.

Then came the crippling sensation that a huge hole was being punched through my chest, excising my vital organs and leaving ragged, unhealed gashes around the edges that continued to throb and bleed despite the passage of time.  Rationally, I knew my lungs must still be intact, yet I gasped for air, my head spinning from the effort that felt as if it was yielding me nothing.  My heart must have been beating, but I couldn’t hear the sound of my pulse in my ears.  My hands felt blue with cold.  I curled inward, hugging my ribs to hold myself together.  I scrambled for numbness and denial, but it evaded me.

Yet, I found I could survive.  I was alert.  I felt the pain – the aching loss that radiated from my body, sending wracking waves of hurt through my limbs and head – but it was manageable somehow.   I could live through it.  It didn’t feel like the pain weakened over time, but rather that I grew strong enough to bear it.

Whatever it was that happened that day – whether it was past memories of withdrawal or the situation I found myself in – I came to an understanding of what I wanted for my future.  It woke me up.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what to expect in the morning.  It was a new beginning…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  John Saenz is a talented writer with a smooth, honest style, and I hope to share a lot more of his work.  He is serving a Life Sentence in Texas and can be contacted at:
John A. Saenz #1113101
Ramsey Unit
1100 FM 655
Rosharon, TX  77583

Loading

The Arrival

The van stops near a long concrete ramp.  Peering through wire mesh covered windows, I marvel at a group of general population prisoners trudging – like herding animals – towards the dilapidated, century old state prison, the sole surviving beast of an extinct species.  The bodies merge into a single line as they approach the stone incline.  They all have the same mechanized movements – listless gaits that suggest they are subjects of an indoctrination designed to discourage hope, promote subjugation, and dissuade betterment of self.  Scowling at the spectacle, I shake my head in disgust, loathing those heartless enough to support such dehumanization.  My mind wanders back to yesterday…

I was standing in the same courtroom where, just a month earlier a jury of my ‘peers’ – if, by any stretch of the imagination, one could find even a modicum of socio-economical or cultural parallels between a group of middle to upper class white suburbanites and a poor, black urbanite – had convicted me of murder and recommended that I be executed.

More than happy to oblige my ‘peers’, the Judge took all of sixty seconds to pronounce my fate.  I already knew the sentence would be death, just as I had known the verdict would be guilty.  “May God have mercy on your soul,” he concluded, before banging his gavel in an authoritatively dismissive manner, almost god-like himself.

Thus, my ill-fated journey began.

Arriving at my final destination on earth, carrying a box filled with my sole possessions, I am now to enter the belly of the beast, a condemned soul, to someday exit its bowels a lifeless configuration of justice, solace and closure.

The passenger side guard, a plump, red-faced ‘good ole boy’ spits a stream of brown tobacco juice as he exits the van, removes a padlock from the door, and slides it open.

“Get out,” he says – no, maybe he yells.  I have difficulty gauging the volume because my heart is pounding so hard, my pulse thumping thunderously in my ears, drowning out external sounds.  It is the kind of tumult only fear can produce.

Although I’ve never been to prison, I have lived vicariously through quite a few prison tales – gory, vile stories of rapes, maimings and murders – crimes perpetrated by both prisoners and guards.  I know what to expect; still, it does nothing to assuage the amount of trepidation sweeping over me.

I am certain that the ominous orifice gobbling up GP prisoners as they reach the top of the ramp, serves a duplicitous and gluttonous beast, an unrelenting savage that devours individuals, strips them of any remaining dignity and replaces it with hatred, wickedness, and rapacity, while dragging them – some kicking and screaming, others, willingly – deeper into the viscera of nothingness.

“Let’s go,” the driver says impatiently, turning to stare me down, his gaze malicious.  Then he exits the van and walks to the rear to fetch my box, which he drops next to his partner.  Both now wait for me to exit.

I try to move.  Nothing.  What the – something is wrong. I feel numb – paralyzed.  I close my eyes and swallow hard.  Shit!  Come on. This can’t be happening.  And to make matters worse, the intemperate July heat and humidity – thick, fiery, brazen – envelopes me, white hot against my skin and unapologetic for their suffocating affects.

I’m immobilized by the reality of the situation that awaits me – from which the sweltering van provides my only refuge – and by the shackles and handcuffs that have been deliberately clasped to cut off my circulation.  I take a deep breath.  I wiggle my toes.  Ohhhh…  Shit!  A million tiny needles poke my feet.  I move my right foot and the shackles dig further into my ankles, shooting a bolt of pain up my leg.  Ugh.  Come on, please. 

“Bob, ya may have to gittin ‘er an yank ‘is black ass out,” the driver twangs.

On cue I slowly inch sideways, sliding along the bench seat, moving closer to the door, the tiny needles poking me everywhere.  This pain is nothing compared to what I’ll feel if they decide to drag me out.   I use it as motivation to reach the edge of the seat and the open door.  There I struggle to get to my feet.  My body is waking up.  The pain.  Stooping, I slide one foot forward, then the other, until I’m at the edge of the floorboard.  I twist my left hip, turning my right hip outward and extending my right leg towards the ground, but the chain that connects the manacles is too short for me to reach the ground.  I retract my leg, returning to my original stooped position, and look up at the guards.  They watch with foreknowledge – they’ve seen this dilemma play out repeatedly – but make no attempt to help me.

“Don’t look at us,” expelling another stream of brown goo toward the ground.

With limited exit strategies, I steady my nerves and prepare for what I believe is my best option. I put my feet together, take a deep breath and a leap of faith. Thank God, I stick the landing, a small but pleasing victory.

“Grab yo shit, and let’s go, asshole,” spews the driver pointing a finger at the box, visibly disappointed that I didn’t fall flat on my face, never mind that my hands are cuffed, tethered to a chain, wrapped and padlocked around my waist, preventing me from reaching to grab anything.

Dammit! This heat!  Sweat pours. The prison uniform I’m in is soaked. Sweat drops into my eyes, stinging me further. I squint and try to collect myself, so I can focus on the task at hand.

“You goin’ pick up yo’ shit,” bitterly stated, rather than asked.

I looked down at my hands, separate them, turn my palms up, and gaze with one eye at the guards.

“Well, would ya look there, Bob. We got us a smart ass,” turning to look at his partner, before taking a step towards me.

“It’s too hot for this cockamamie bullshit,” Bob retorts, snatching up the box, stepping in front of the driver and nudging him aside.  “Here,” he growls, shoving the box into my chest.

The restraints make it impossible to grab in a normal manner, with a hand underneath each end.  All I can do is lean back as far as possible, center both hands beneath and press my chin against the top.  That’s when I notice a vulgar, rank glob of tobacco spit splattered on top  and slowly oozing towards my face.

Just as my eyes are clearing, more sweat. This time, both eyes.  I squeeze them shut as the brown blob creeps towards me. This can’t be real.  Fluttering my eyes, I attempt to clear them.

Everything hurts – ankles, legs, arms, back, and pride not far behind.

“We ain’t got all day, boy.”

Through fluttering eyes, I see both guards turn and head for the ramp. I take a tentative step.  Aargh! The shackle bites into my ankle, the pain red-hot. Trying not to grimace, I inch my rear foot forward, and the same searing pain attacks that ankle. I try to ignore it by focusing on a positive.  The sweat has cleared from my eyes. And not a moment too soon as I see the driver turn his head back towards me and spit his venom. I feel it splat on my shoe. Because I know he’s trying to bait me into giving him an excuse to pounce, I concentrate on holding the box.

Besides, I won the first contest when I successfully exited the van. Giving them the pleasure of seeing me drop the box ties the series and reverts home court advantage – even though I’m a one-man team with no home or real advantage – back in their favor. Neither of us would have much interest in this little ‘game’ I’m being forced to play if not for the predators – masters at detecting mental and physical weaknesses they will exploit without hesitation – lurking amongst the nearby prisoners. While the guards’ interests are purely sadistic, my interest is quite vested – my manhood could be at stake.

TO BE CONTINUED…

©Reshi Yenot

Loading

Sweet, Sweet Mercy

I write not often.
Mostly, I wait.
For inspiration.
For motivation.
For a streak of fire to light
The starless night,
For rough winds to break waves
In the still waters
Of my lonely life.
I wait.
I wait to feel.
I wait for the pain to come
Like a heavy breeze,
For shadows to fill the horizons
Of my mind, and fate
To weigh weary on my bones.
Only then will she come.
When I hear whispers in the dark
And can no longer bury in silence
The echoes of my thoughts.
When necessity – iron necessity –
Demands that I give in,
That I grant rest to a restless soul
That knows naught but suffering.
Only then does she embrace me.
She cares not that my pen lay dormant
For season upon season;
The trades of men
Are no concern of hers;
She is no muse.
She is mercy.
Sweet, sweet mercy.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Robert McCracken is a gifted poet, and a welcome contributor.

Robert can be reached at:
Smart Communications/PADOC
Robert McCracken LG8344
Sci-Greene
P.O. Box 33028
St. Petersburg, FL 33733

Loading

The Ineffable, But In Words

Comrade Issabella,

I hope you’re okay, and I love you.  Sometimes, I wonder how or even why.  Yet, none-the-less, “I do.”

I’m cold right now.  Not physically, but emotionally.  I’m lonely.  I even feel desperate at times.  In fact, right now I feel abandoned, neglected and even worse – forgotten.  Some of my feelings are unexplainable.  It’s not that I can’t place my feelings into words.  It’s that there are no sufficient adjectives to describe them. 

I’m Tired.

I need a different type of rest.  Maybe I’m suffering from emotional insomnia.  I long to feel something or to be felt by someone.  I never knew the significance of a hug.  To be embraced by someone says more than that you’re wanted.  It shows that someone likes the fact that they want you.

This has to be the most difficult time in my life…. 

From shout outs to hide outs. 

I’m sure we all go through things in life.  Some worse than others, but who’s to say whose is worse? On what scale are pain and hurt weighed?  I believe they’re weighed by the balances of one’s heart.

My fellow people in bondage are kicking their doors now.  We’re locked down, and they want out.  I guess that’s basically what I’m sayin, huh?  I want out. 

I just had an epiphany!

The forsaken man never had anyone in the first place.  They only came around to forsake him.

No one can understand prison but prisoners.  But prisoners understand freedom.

Issabella, my love, I hurt.  Please…  Help me – please.

Your King,
In Tenderness,
Tracy

FROM THE AUTHOR:  Issabella is a fictitious entity – she does not exist.  However, I felt more comfy exposing my vulnerability to feminine energy.  I saved face, and it’s more soothing this way.

Dr. Tracy Edgar Greer, Jr., D.D.  is a writer, poet, spoken  word artist and qualified religious and spiritual counselor.  He can be contacted at:

Tracy E. Greer #1153032
SCCC-255 W. Hwy. 32
Licking, MO 65542
Email:  Jpay.com

Loading

April Fool’s

In 1980 I was arrested, charged, tried and sentenced to life in prison.  I was sent to one of Texas’ largest plantations – The Coffield Unit, deep in East Texas.  They called it ‘The Glass House’ because it had so many windows.

By April of 1982, I was knee deep in the bowels of the Texas prison system.  Texas inmates aren’t paid, and I had to slave my way up from a field hand.  The officers were addressed as ‘Boss’.  If you wanted to talk to the ‘Boss’, you had to take your hat off and walk to the left side of his horse.  The ‘Boss’ could say all kinds of things to you, anything from calling you a worthless nigger to telling you your mammy was no good for having you.  Working in those fields was the most degrading and humiliating job I’ve ever had in the system.

From August to December of that year, the ‘field hands’ picked cotton – clean up to Christmas Eve.  Once we reached the back slab of the Coffield Unit, a Field Captain stood on a platform and shouted, “Ya’ll did a mighty fine job for the State of Texas, and I just want to wish ya’ll niggers a Merry Christmas!”  The ones who understood what he said, stood butt naked with their boots and socks in one hand and their clothes in the other, tears running down their faces.

Things were transitioning in the system though, and it was a relief when I got a job in the kitchen.  Ruis V. Estelle was changing how the Good Ole Boy’s conducted their business.  Inmate guards had run the Texas prison system for years, and inmates weren’t sure how it would turn out with civilian guards doing the job of a convict.

I was assigned to the kitchen – Food Service Department.  I worked my way from the scullery (dishroom), to the chow hall floor, to the cook’s floor.  In one year, I went from a regular cook to head cook.  Head cooks were shot callers, with the power to hire and fire.

On April 1, 1983, I strolled through the Chow Hall making my way to the cook’s floor.  Kitchen policy was that when one shift came on, one got off.  The inmates getting off were to wait in the chow hall until the kitchen officer took them to shower.

It was a Saturday morning, and I can still recall everything about that day.   I heard feet patting cross the concrete floor, pat, pat, pat, pat.  No words were spoken.   One group ran through the cook’s floor area, and seconds later another group came running through.

Officer Hamilton came running through with his head tilted back, looking like Fat Albert on the Cosby Show.  He weighed about 300 pounds, and even running, he seemed to be barely moving.

I stopped a white boy, Rory Nicoson, and asked what was going on.  With eyes wide, he shouted, “They are killing them niggers out there!”

At first I thought it was a riot, and the officers were whipping the inmates.  Then Rory spoke more clearly, “The Mexicans got knives, and they are sticking every black they see!”

By this time, the food service manager on duty, Mr. Till, called me to go with him. When he opened the door to the B-Side Chow Hall, I witnessed a massacre.  Blood was everywhere, black inmates had been stabbed, some in critical condition, one had his guts in his hands, and a little fellow named Wilson was under a chow hall table with two Mexicans stabbing him.  He died under the table, getting stabbed while he tried to take his last breath.

Mr. Till only stood about five foot seven, but he was a hard nose East Texas redneck who knew there wasn’t an inmate in the place who was going to do anything to him.  Mr. Till marched right in the midst of a war zone with me in tow. I will never forget what he told Simone, who was charging our way with a knife in his hand.  “Boy!  Gimme dat knife!” he shouted in his southern drawl.

Simone gave it to him without a fuss.  By this time the Chow Hall doors were opening.  Warden Jack Gardner walked in.  I was still standing right beside Mr. Till, taking in the bloody scene.  Blood was everywhere.  It was so thick in the air, it smelled like a human slaughter house.  You can never forget the smell of blood like that once it touches your senses, just like a sour lemon or oil based paint.

Warden Gardner instantly took control.  He started taking up the knives and handcuffing inmates.  No inmate was going to buck Warden Gardner.  He had a huge black inmate henchman by the name of Big Potts that stood about six foot seven and weighed about 350.   The man already had a reputation for killing inmates with his bare hands on the Eastham Unit.  Warden Jack Gardner was part of a dying breed that still had a squad of officers who would take you off the count if you tried to buck his system. When Warden Gardner told the Mexicans to give him the knives, they filed one behind the other and placed all six knives in his hands.  Mr. Till had already confiscated one.

The inmates were escorted to lock up, and the medical department and prison administration began to clean up the mess.  There was no hope for Wilson.  He only weighed about a buck fifty.  There was no way he could defend himself against two inmates.  After all was said and done, there were eighteen men wounded and one dead.

The Warden made us pair up, and had us escorted to our cell blocks. You could have heard a mouse, it was so quiet. Two hours passed before my cell door was opened, and I was instructed to step out. The kitchen captain, Captain Holder, wanted his ten most trusted workers to clean up.

Once in the kitchen, I couldn’t believe the stench.  Blood was on the floor, on the tables, on the doors, and even the door handles.  There was blood all over the windows, on the red brick wall, on the water dispenser – it was everywhere.  It had been a blood bath.

We were issued about eight plastic garbage cans of bleach water.  I personally threw bleach everywhere, poured it everywhere and wiped it everywhere.  After three hours of massive cleaning, the Chow Hall smelled of bleach, not blood. But somehow, it still didn’t seem clean.

It’s 35 years later, and when I shave and nick myself – I can smell the blood.  It often takes me back to that horrific scene I stood in the midst of.  When I look in the mirror, I can hear the hollering, screaming, and see Mitchell, an inmate, swinging water pitchers trying to survive and Sandman with his guts in his hands.  And, even though Mr. Till has been dead since the late 80’s I can still hear his ole Texas Southern drawl, “Boy!  Gimme dat knife!”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:  Earl McBride Jr. is serving a Life Sentence.  He can be contacted by writing
Earl McBride #00315371
Ramsey 1
1100 FM 655
Rosharon, TX 77583

Loading

UPDATE

Mouseketeer UPDATE:

Fifel has been spotted here and there throughout the A-wing dorms.  As of late, commissary bags under bunks have been chewed into.  It seems Fifel lost his love of peanut butter and now has a taste for, of all things – flour tortillas.

Oh, and, yes.  Fifel is a rat.  A big one, at that!

He won’t visit my house anymore, either.  Actually, Fifel wants nothing to do with me.  Childhood trauma?   Possibly.  That could also explain his aversion to peanut butter…

Loading