The Rules of the Game

I’m sure you’ve heard the old saying, “You learn something new every day?”  Despite the routine of the prison experience, I’ve discovered that this saying is more true here than anywhere else I’ve lived.  And what you learn in prison is likely to fall into a category along the lines of “I Couldn’t Make this Stuff Up.”  For instance, allow me to introduce one of my neighbors, Billy Joe.  An Appalachian mountain man in his late 60s, Billy Joe could easily be the model for half a dozen characters from the tv show Justified.  He has spent most of his adult life as a guest of the federal or state prison systems.  I’d stayed clear of him and couldn’t imagine that he might be able to share anything interesting from his limited experience of life on the outside.  This all changed one day when he sat down opposite me and commanded me to listen up.  Usually something of a goofball, his seriousness at this moment caught me off guard.  I put down my book, thinking that maybe I had misjudged Billy Joe, and readying myself for some homespun mountain wisdom.

Satisfied that he had my attention, Billy Joe opened with, “Listen up city boy, I’s about to learn you somethin’ good.”  My mind raced, what could it be?  Some pearl of wisdom about life in prison?  How to deal with the tedium? The boredom?  The loneliness?  Possibly a cautionary tale so I wouldn’t end up a lifer like him?  No, Billy Joe had more important fish to fry.  He was ready to share an ultimate, hard won secret, which he labeled “My Rules for Runnin’ Whores.”  This being your lucky day, allow me to pass along this knowledge to you, pretty much verbatim as he said it:

Rule One:  One, two, three, or four whores is good, but five are too many.  Just trust Billy Joe, he said, five are hard to manage.  Plus, they don’t all fit in a sports car.

Rule Two:  Never keep your guns, dope, money, and women in the same place.  If you get busted, you lose everything and your charges will be worse.  Plus, you can never trust a woman not to steal your dope and guns.

Rule Three:  Don’t ever hit your women.  It’s much better to control them with dope.  (Apparently, on the Pimp Humanity Scale, hitting is less advisable than enabling an addiction to a deadly drug such as meth, crack or heroin). 

At this point, Billy Joe paused, and I thought he was finished.  But he had more wisdom to impart, boy did he have more.  He had to think about whether I could be trusted with his final and most important rule.  As a newbie to prison life and a city boy, he wasn’t sure I was ready.  He took a deep breath, thought things over.  Then made a decision.  The theme song from Shaft played in my head as I prepared myself for his gift of the Holy Grail of Appalachian Pimpin’, which I here quote:

Rule Four:  “Get a midget, a sexy midget.  Guys will pay anything for a midget.”

This was it.  No explanation needed.  He stopped, as if he had imparted a known law of the universe.  Gravity, Inertia, Entropy, and Midget Prostitutes.  Period.  Lesson over.  You can thank me later.  Billy Joe wore a satisfied smile on his grizzled face.  He stood up and walked away without another word.  Class Dismissed!

The Hardest Part

      I have gotten used to people wanting to talk about “what is the hardest part of being locked up?”  If we take away the most obvious – missing your family and friends horribly – I think my answer often surprises people.  Not that it doesn’t make sense, it’s just something about which most people don’t think.  My informal polling of those who have written, visited, and called has provided the top three contenders for perceived hardest part of being locked up:

1) A forced schedule – not being able to do what you want when you want
2) The people – the common view that convicts are bad people
3) The food – prison food, ‘nuff said.

Let’s take a look at these and I will tell you why each is not as bad as you might think.

      A Forced Schedule.  In jail, you are told when to eat, when to exercise, when to shower, when to do your laundry, the list goes on and on.  While this can be annoying, it does add structure to your day.  It helps you avoid the trap of sitting on your bunk all day wallowing in self-pity.  Do I miss the impromptu trip to Starbucks or the day of meandering errands around town?  Of course, but the imposed schedule is not the hardest part about being locked up.

     Okay, so if not the enforced schedule, it must be the People, right?  Again, I disagree.  Most of the men I have met in jail are just normal guys who made a mistake.  Often they did nothing that many others don’t do, except get caught.  The majority of convicts want to stay out of trouble, serve their time, and rebuild their lives, even those convicted of more serious crimes.  Do you have your hardened criminals, your unstable recidivists, your outright sociopaths?  Yes, but they are the minority and can generally be avoided.  I found that the people may be different from what you are used to, but people are people and you can make friends anywhere.

     That leaves us with the Food.  I am not going to lie to you, we are not talking fine dining.  In fact, you would be hard pressed to even compare it to Denny’s.  Some of the meals served are truly disgusting – mystery meat covered in mystery sauce, with a side of soggy mystery vegetables.  However, at least every other day, one of the meals will actually be tasty, palatable enough to keep you going until another good one comes along.  Surprisingly, no matter how awful you think something is, someone else will like it.  You can enter the world of Jailhouse Barter and double up on the meals you like in exchange for those you don’t.  You learn to live with, and at times even appreciate, the food.  So if it’s not the Schedule, the People, or the deadly un-gourmet Meals, what is the hardest part of being locked up?

     To answer the question, I want you to think about something.  On average, how many times per day do you think you have physical contact with another person?  From something as brief as a pat on the back, to a hug, a cuddle, a kiss…anything?  10?  20?  30?  I know my number on the outside would have been pretty high.  I hugged and wrestled and and snuggled quite a bit with my wife and kids.  Now try to go a whole day without coming into physical contact with anyone, not even your pets.  Imagine doing that every day for a week, or a month, a year, 5 years.  No one to hug when feeling down or to celebrate a happy moment, to roughhouse, to encourage – nothing!  That is the hardest part.  The deprivation of touch, the lack of the most basic human instinct of physical companionship.  Simply put:  It sucks and it’s lonely!

A Hail Mary

 

I had spent almost 60 days in custody when my lawyer pulled off a minor miracle.  We’re talking a 99-yard Hail Mary pass as time expires, a 40-foot buzzer-beating 3-pointer, a walk-off Grand Slam.  You get the picture.  After being told I had little to no chance, I was granted bond while awaiting trial.  I would get to go home for a little bit.  Try to mend some of the wounds I had caused.  See my family.  Talk to a therapist.  Strengthen myself physically and mentally for the difficult road ahead.

People had told me it would happen, but it surprised me when I got this weird feeling of actually missing jail.  Human beings are amazingly adaptable and take comfort in the “known”.  I had come to know what to expect each and every day in jail.  I was now faced with the unknown.  How would my family treat me?  Who would be mad?  Sad?  Who would abandon me?  Who would and could still love me?  I now understand those guys I met in jail who spoke of life being easier for them on the inside than out in the real world.  I made a vow to myself to never let that happen.  It will be just another hill to climb and I will face it when I come to it.  Reclaiming my life will be a long battle, one I am only just beginning.  I think many years from now, when I look back, it will have all started with the Hail Mary!

You Gotta Have a Plan

          One thing you quickly learn behind bars is that inmates always have a plan.  This plan may be as large as beating their charges or as small as getting an extra lunch tray or brokering a deal for surplus sugar packets in exchange for salt and pepper.  Regardless of how realistic or outlandish the plan, they will be convinced that it will work, with the fervor of an evangelical preacher.  What follows is one of my first experiences with a fellow prisoner who stuck to his plan until the bitter end – while in the meantime mightily amusing the rest of us.

            The quiet of our 4-man block was broken by the sound of a door opening and a new guy being dragged down to Cell #5.  He kept asking the C.O. (Corrections Officer), “Can I make a phone call?”  He was told that he had a call before coming down and it wasn’t his time for the phone.  He would have to wait until later.  In this jail, the guards came by  twice per hour.  Cell #5 stepped up his game a bit:  “C.O., I gotta call my Mama!” 

            “No.”

            “C.O., can I make a call, I gotta call my Grandmama!”

            “No!”

            At this point, one of the guys asked what he was doing, because if he ticked off the guards, we would ALL feel the repercussions, mainly in the loss of some privileges.  Cell 5 told us not to worry, adding, “I got a plan!”  Well, we might as well have popped some popcorn to settle in for the show.  About an hour later, after dinner trays, #5 once again called out, “C.O., I don’t feel well!”  The guard came in to ask a few questions.  #5 said he was dizzy, warm and thirsty.  The guard asked if he needed some ice, or what would help and, you guessed it, #5 said, “If I could just call my Mom.”  The answer was, of course, no, and that he should shut the ____ up.  The rest of us were now having trouble stifling our laughter.  We figured this to be the end of it, but #5 still had plenty of Plan left.  He had fallen quiet when we next heard the jiggle of keys signaling the guard’s return.  Mildly disappointed, we assumed he had given up and that the show was over.  I would never again underestimate the power of “A Plan” and the determination to see it through.  As soon as the cell block door opened, #5 started moaning and clutching his chest like Fred Sanford (for you younger readers, look up the old tv show Sanford and Son on the Internet), calling out, “C.O., I think I’m having a heart attack!”

            The guard was in a tough spot.  He probably figures that the guy is faking, but he can’t take the risk of an inmate dying on his watch, so he calls the nurse and the show resumes.  Within minutes, a nurse, a medic and three guards come bursting in and open #5’s cell.  If he isn’t having a heart attack, he is putting on a pretty good impression of one.  The nurse finally decides that this is just a case of indigestion.  One inmate points out that #5 did eat everyone’s serving of butter-soaked, salt-coated collard greens for dinner.  The nurse calmed her patient, gave him some Maalox and was getting ready to leave when she asked, “Have you ever had this before?”

            To which #5 replied, “Yeah, you know what would help?  If I could call my Mama.”  In unison, the guards shouted, “No!”, closed the cell and stomped off.  Any reasonable person would assume that to be the end of it.  But in here, you have to leave reason at the Cell Block Door.  We encouraged the guy to give it up, but he told us he had one last trick that was sure to work.  Next time he heard the guard coming, he started flipping out, yelling and screaming, banging on the bars.  The guard hurried in to see what was up and #5 said the magic words to get attention, “I am going to hurt myself.”  In a flash, three guards rushed in and carried him away  kicking, screaming, and flailing about like a maniac.  We all assumed he had really lost it this time.  Then, at the very last moment before rounding the corner the noise stopped and we heard, “Before you throw me in the Hole, can I make a phone call?”  Even the guards laughed.  And for the record, it did not work – no phone call!