The journal of Bryan Page
1 December 2006
I still don't know why I am on a max prison even why I am still in prison. I am a non-violent, non-sexual offender serving 12 years for shoplifting $18.59 at Wal-mart. This is my seventh year here and have been denied parole twice and my mandatory discharge twice. This is odd because in all this time I have been a model prisoner and have never had a disciplinary case. I have attended college, drug-rehab, changes classes, and every voluntary class available. I have a beautiful family with two sons and every reason for the Parole board to let me go and no reason for all the denials. I have even proved that I am being kept illegally, but they courts refuse to hear my case.
Oh well, I am a man and I will survive, for my sons, for a shot at one day making this system become aware of it's own injustice.
I am in a dorm that holds 111 men. The building has four dorms. Each man has a cubicle with 3 Ω foot walls dividing our bunks. Sometimes these dorms are ok and sometimes they are a nightmare. Right now this one is a nightmare. A lot of the violent or in my opinion "insane" men are gathered in this dorm. I am in here because I signed up for Trade school and when you are in trade school you don't have a labor job. If you don't work the factory (textile) but you haven't broken any prison rules to be sent back to the buildings, you come here. It's still better than a lot of places on this unit but this dorm is known for is knuckleheads.
The showers in the center of the dorms are always broken and either they don't work or they will run 24/7 for months at a time before maintenance comes to fix them.
The gambling and black market are the main industries in here with cigarettes being $2.00 a piece for a toothpick sized cig. Men have to hustle to survive if they don't have loved ones to put money on their books and often become caught up in these traps and end up extending their prison sentence by disqualifying themselves for parole.
Those of us who are lucky enough to get outside funds often employ indigent inmates to perform jobs like doing laundry, cleaning cells, drawing, or cool little craft works. People on the outside may see one prisoner doing another prisoner's laundry as wrong or manipulative (they get 25 cents per item) but in here these men are respected because they keep the flow of postage, food, and hygiene products moving into the hands of men and women who would have no other way to get them. This cuts back on stealing and eases extortion to the extent that prison officials are willing to overlook it. It is not uncommon for an industrious person to do so well with is laundry or janitorial business that he actually hires other inmates to do the work (sub-contract).
This really is common in here. Someone who has never been in here will never know the difference in lifestyle that $5.00 a week makes to someone who gets nothing. This difference is brushing your teeth with baking soda and salt or brushing your teeth with Colgate.
Right now I am sitting here in an enormous cavern like dayroom with men crowded around us. One side is watching college football and holding little gambling tickets in their hands praying for either team to win. A win for them could mean eating good store bought food from the commissary, or eating the bland often nasty prison chow hall food all week. Many fights in the shower will result either way. The shower is the place everyone goes to fight because although it is in plain sight of everyone, it is not in view of the cameras. It's nickname is the killing grounds.
The other side, where I am sitting right now is watching regular t.v. Everyone here is hoping for a shot or camera angle of a pretty girl to remember looking for common threads in the program for things that remind me of home or their past. It is the only outside connection that a lot of these men have and it is becoming hard for them to separate t.v. from reality. You often find men talking about a t.v. movie like it is for real or not able to separate themselves from the characters. There is one man in here who has been locked up sixteen years and has never done anything in his life (arrested at 17), yet he goes around all day saying and believing that he is world famous. In a regular conversation with him, he will make random statements of "I am worldwide", "A superstar." In fact, that is how he introduced himself to me at school. I said, "Are you a rapper?" he said "no." I said "How are you worldwide?" He said with a perfectly seriously intent, "because I am baaaad!"
This man is a victim! He is an example of the horrible justice system. There is nothing here to keep him in reality. I struggle with all my heart not to fall into this trap. It is a reason I am recording this journal. TO STAY SANE!!!
As far as the man sitting here, I am a living contradiction. I am from a poor but proud family. Raised in the country the youngest of 6 kids and one (not legally) adopted brother making me the baby of 7. With no friends of my own I hung around my brothers and their friends. The turning point in my life, I can point to clearly, is what led me to prison, what has ruined most of my life up to this day. I was 14 or 15 years old and our family was going through the wringer. Our house had just burned down leaving us with nothing. My brother two years older than me and my best friend started disappearing for days at a time. Something had changed in him and he was avoiding me. I watched him coming and going into a trailer down the street where I had seen a pretty lady living in the past weeks. I thought "aha" he's getting laid and I wanted to meet this woman 30-35 years old. What I didn't know was that my brother had been sucked into a machine of destruction that would ruin his life.
I knocked on his door (her door) one morning on the way to school to see if he was coming to school that day. I also was trying to get a sneak peak at Marsha the woman. Kevin (my brother) met me at the door and told me to "go away" and he kept the door at an angle so I couldn't see inside. I left hurt and a little pissed off and resolved that I would find out what the hell was going on.
The next morning I went to the trailer and knocked and when Kevin opened the door and told me to go away, I said, "Fuck that- what the hell are you doing" and I struggled and opened the door. Inside there were several men, huge, bikers mostly and they were sitting around with little plates or trays in front of them. They looked a little freaked out by my barging in. Kevin grabbed me and started saying "be cool, be cool." I was at this point scared to do anything, I had expected to find a half naked beauty and instead found a group of people I would avoid on the streets.
Kevin pulled me down the hall and kept saying, "Act like you know what you're doing." At that point I could see he was a little afraid also. He said I'm gonna get you outta here. We got to the bathroom and when I went in I was shocked. There was a woman sitting on the toilet, there was syringes all over the place, a large mirror with white powder piled on it, but what I couldn't stop staring at was the blood. There was blood in the sink, blood all over the bathtub, everywhere. This woman Marsha was stabbing herself in the arms over and over with a syringe. I later learned that she couldn't find any veins to shoot-up in and the dope (methamphetamine) would harden with small amount of blood in it, so she would spray the blood and dope all over the place trying to unclog the syringe.
Kevin said, "Marsha, this is Bryan my little brother, he's cool." He said, "wait here." Then he went back up front. I guess Marsha was nervous with me standing there staring at her cause she said, "come here."
I walked over and she took my arm and shot me up with speed. Just like that. The first time I had ever even seen hard drugs. A hooker shot me up in a shooting gallery (drug house).
Kevin came back and seen me walking in a circle repeating to myself "Good shot Good shot Good shot". He said, "OH SHIT Dad's gonna kill me." He took me in the bedroom and told me to lay down. I heard him shouting at Marsha. Kevin left to go to the store to get some milk and as soon as he walked out the door Marsha came into the bedroom. She held my arm and gave me another shot. Only this one wasn't the mindblowing rush and erotic surge that tore through me of the first one. This one hurt like hell. It doubled me up and locked me into fetal position for three days. I laid on that mattress for three days. My parents were freaking out looking for me and I guess someone told me dad where I was cause on the second day I heard pounding on the front door. I heard my dad yelling he was going to kick the door in. Marsha was yelling through the door that I wasn't there but my dad wouldn't give up. I heard him yell my brother's name and say "Kevin, send Bryan home, he's better than this." My Dad left. The whole time I remember thinking, "here I am dad, kick the door in and come get me" but I was not able to even stretch out.
The next day I was able to move and after a while, I got my ass out of there. I walked home and walked in and there was my dad sitting there. He looked me straight in the eyes and held me there for a few seconds, then he looked at his feet and never said a word. He knew. I had broken a beautiful father and son bond. He thought I had chosen that, and I was so ashamed of myself that I didn't say anything either. My father died never knowing how sorry I was, how ashamed I was, or how much I loved him.
I hate drugs for that. I hate that drugs so easily steals your innocence, your family, then your freedom. I hate drugs with every ounce of passion n me. With the zeal of a fanatic attacking sin. Yet, I'm addicted. I have been since that day. I lose over and over to the one thing I truly hate.
So you see, I'm a living contradiction, I would be the man on capital hill passing these drug laws, but I am the addict spending his youth in prison begging for mercy.
9 December 2006
It is an odd feeling to be surrounded by so many people all the time, but still feel so alone. I often wonder if everyone feels this way or is it just me. Even though I am a prisoner and I am guilty of my crime, I feel like I don't belong in hell.
I feel like if I am released on parole I can get it right. I fight hard not to become institutionalized and part of that is to always keep part of myself hidden from everyone here. It is the real me that I have to keep hidden: the loving husband who is faithful and adores his wife, the caring father who delights in every aspect of his children, the hard working neighbor who excels at his job and is active in his community. These are considered weaknesses here and it is hard to tell if everyone is really only hiding that part of themselves or if they truly don't exist in them anymore.
A funny thing for a prisoner to think, and I certainly do, is that I am glad there are prisons. There are people here who I really hope never get out. In fact prison is too good for some of these men. On the other hand, most of these people are decent people.
I would like to know them in the world and I see that this prison is killing them, changing them. I wonder if anyone sees the same changes in me. I actually have knots in my stomach hoping they don't.
These people don't need to be here. They need their first good job. They need a drug program, they need money, but they don't need to be here. Unfortunately, this system is designed to destroy them instead of help them.
One case in point is me. I have been trying to get an education before my release. College and vocational. I am getting close to my associates degree and was so proud of my accomplishments. Yesterday I go to enroll for the next two classes on my degree program and find out I am denied further classes because I have a default on a student loan from 1988. I couldn't pay my loan because I was incarcerated. I was incarcerated because I didn't have an education (9th grade dropout) and now I can't get an education because I can't pay the loans. They were letting me take the classes on reimbursement. That means I can take the classes and the payment for them goes on my parole payments. When I get out, I go to my parole visit to make a payment and the cost of my education is added into the payment. Instead of $18.00 it is $48.00 or something like that. There's no way around it, if you don't make a payment, you go back to prison! It is a perfect idea with very little risk to the lender. Now, I can't even do that. Is there anyone who can help me or will? No. The hardest part for me about this is that I am over half way there, I have maintained all A's and my goal was to graduate with honors. Can you imagine that!! ME!! Addicted at 15, in prison by 18, now a 38 year old man 3 times in prison and would have graduated with honors! Anyway, if I could pay the $110.00 per class I would. My wife is a waitress making $2.00 an hour plus tips, raising four kids on her own and that is not going to happen. I wrote the Federal Education Center and begged in a three page letter last night to please discharge that default status. That's not going to happen either.
So I'm sitting here depressed and pissed and feeling hopeless. I won't give up though, I want a life, my family and I deserve it. I don't want to do this anymore.
I am sitting here in a very large dayroom. Square stainless steel tables are scattered out (seat 4), four TVs are hung up on center beams in the center of it all, and rows of maroon benches are lined up in front of the TVs. There may be 75 of the 111 prisoners standing around and one guard sitting on a table watching basketball. The table next to me has four black men playing dominos slam, the domino rings out loud against the steel table top. They are having fun, enjoying themselves. Playing for either commissary or push-ups. Before the end of the day, they will be fighting. Every weekend! It is a Texas Prison Ritual. My ritual is to write this. It's only my second attempt at this ritual, but I like it.
The tattoo man wants to 'touch-up' my leg. He has a pattern he wants to try out and I am one of the few people here whose body is a blank canvas. That's what he calls me: "blank canvas!"
I am afraid of disease and the fact that if I get caught I will lose my shot at parole. It is my fifth time up and they vote in six months on me. If I get a disciplinary case, it is a mandatory denial. If some of these people knew I was coming up, they might try to wreck me. This is a maximum security prison and most people here are never going home. I am here shoplifting $18.00 at Wal-mart, and they would love to see me wrecked.
Even though I have seven years already the murderers and rapists know that they have no hope, and witnessing someone with hope in their eyes is like a stab in the heart.
My sons deserve my best behavior. They deserve my every chance at coming home and how stupid, how absolutely mindless would I have to be to deny them that chance.
Anyway, I can't concentrate because of the noise, and I have got to figure out how to get back in school soÃ--see ya!
Does anyone out there know how to get a default student loan discharge, or where I can get the money for my classes? Is anyone even out there?
You will never believe what I saw today, I am a little shocked: a random act of kindness countering a random act of violence.
I attend college classes here, (at least I do until the end of the semester or this Friday, unless I figure out how to get an 18 year old student loan default discharged ñ still pissed about this one) and in my class there are students of all custody levels, safe keeping, general population, segregation, etc.
Well, when we turn out of our blocks to go to class, they keep us in a little cage to wait for about an hour. The whole section of the unit that holds the worst of the worst passes by us on the way to chow.
There is this little homosexual man in my class and there was a predator that had been trying to catch him to rape him or harm him. As fate would have it, this predator would get into the cage after my classmate, and he was worried constantly this guy would catch him. Well today, he did. The Mexican (the predator) comes into the cage and starts threatening and forcing my classmate (a Mexican) to the back of the cage. Well Ferguson (my gay classmate) knows what is coming and pushes back. The predator begins an all out assault and smashes Ferguson twice in the face, hard, solid blows. He falls backwards and the predator starts to move in on him for a severe beating when another classmate steps in between them. A tall black guy. He just stands in between them staring at the predator. The predator started to go around him when another classmate, a Mexican, blocks him off. Now two people are standing in between them. Just standing there staring not a word said. The predator is still talking shit, saying what he was going to do to my little homosexual classmate. Slowly more people started standing up and moving toward the predator. He realizes what is going one. He is about to get his ass tore-up by a group of pissed off men, and not terrorize a weak scared man. He got out of that cage lickety-split.
I don't even know if anyone else even realizes the significance of this action. It was monumental. It wasn't very long ago, that this was a breach of prison code. We were trained that if something like this was happening, you saw nothing, heard nothing, and did nothing. It was the first rule of survival in here. Mind your own business. Now I realize who wrote that code: "predators" wrote it. It is only designed to ensure that they can prey on un-checked. When we do something about it, they slither back under the rock they crawled out from under.
The thing is, that type of person only makes up about 2% of the population. They should be afraid of the people who are trying to be better men, the 98%. This incident encourages me that all the years of isolation and violence these men have endured didn't permanently damage them all. The good in us still comes to the surface. Empathy still exists. Everyone there saw it as the right thing to do and the first two men who stood up for the weak are heroes in my opinion.
15 December 2006
I just took my last final exam. I have taken eleven college classes and made eleven A's. unless I can figure out a way to pay for the remaining classes on my degree plan, or have an old student loan from the 80's discharged it is the end of my education. This is such a blow to me. I was so excited! My wife and kids were excited. They are coming this weekend for my Christmas visit and I am so nervous. I don't think that I will tell them yet. I am going to try every thing in my power to change my future.
I haven't seen my sons in awhile, wife either. I have been locked up for seven years now and the visits have been getting farther and farther apart. I want this to be a good visit and I will lie to them and tell them everything is good. My wife earns $2.00 an hour plus tips as a waitress and raises four kids. I am kind of afraid she may feel guilty that she can't send me the money to continue my classes and I don't want that.
She is my hero. She has managed to do a better job raising our kids, poor and alone, than most rich couples do raising their kids. You should see my kids. Yea, I know, parents praise, but that's not it. My thirteen year old son scored the highest in math and science on the SAT test in our region. He got a letter from Duke University. I don't know all the details yet, I'll tell you next entry. My sixteen year old has such strength of character and intelligence that is amazes me. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they had to grow up quick without me in their life. Be the man of the family, etc.
Anyway, we can't catch a break. Every time things really start to go well for my family, something happens. Twice it has been my own fault. My failures! But some of it is the way this system and our society is set up. There is no forgiveness. No such thing as a real second chance.
This refusal of my classes is the prime example. The reimbursement for the classes doesn't involve any real risk. The money is added to my parole payments. If I don't pay, I come back to prison. Not much room for default and perfectly acceptable to me in exchange for my education. I will pay it because I want a life. I have been in prison 12 of the last 18 years and I'm tired. I want a life, I want a life for my sons. I want to be a lover to my life. I want it all. The deal is I will do anything to prove my worth to society, my family, and myself, anything. There is no reason to pull the rug out from under me now, especially for something I owe from when I was seventeen years old. Ahhh!!!
I have got to come to terms that there is no hope. No one cares if I make it but one woman, a couple children, and me. I can see that no matter how hard I try, how much I care or my how much I do, the Gods, fate, karma, whatever is set on my future. I feel like giving up. Like there is no use in trying. Then I think about those three people (plus two nephews that live with us), five really, that do care.
They need me to overcome. They need to know the me that I have become. Know who I am. They deserve that. I will fight, but I am learning the true meanings of hate. Screw 'em! Screw 'em all!
Screw all those wealthy people who have done far worse than my petty theft and never spent a night in jail. Then look down their nose at me and my family.
Hahaha. You know this is so sad it's almost funny. I needed to let off steam and rant about injustice, while in prison, and I had to do it to some stranger in some strange state I have never, probably never will, meet.
I cant tell my family, I have no one here I can talk to so I'm glad to think someone out there might actually read this. Now, I'm suffering from your standard Christmas depression. Sheesh! No wonder people go crazy in here.
16 December 2006
Reading is what I do everyday to escape from here. I can tell you, that if someone ever reads this book on the outside, they are going to publish it: NY Times best seller. This man is the literary find of the century (my opinion) and probably he will live, die and no one will ever know. I know!
If by chance anyone out there ever reads this journal, please find a way to tap the potential of a lifer who can contribute to modern literature and history in a significant way. I will mail you a copy of his manuscript with his permission if you want to read his book. One book! I challenge anyone to write him (college professors) and find out. Otherwise his potential will never go farther than this unit. Darrin Mayfield #571949.
I come up for release in June 2007 but I have already been turned down 4 times so I have no reason to expect they will let me go this time. I have never had a disciplinary case. I have been in every required program and voluntary program in the system. Since my last denial in 2005, I have completed a vocation, taken 11 classes, gotten on the job training in the garment factory, enrolled in Cognitive Intervention, stayed out of trouble and somehow my family is still hanging in there, but they will give me the same answer as the last four times"'Prior conviction' denied.
There is no rehabilitation consideration in this state. The actual answer says "goodtime does not reflect potential for rehabilitation". In fact, my good time is perfect! Flawless pursuit of freedom is my latest crime.
I have my case before a federal Judge right now asking that they force the state to release me. I also am a plaintiff on a huge law suite (class action) against Texas right now. Check out texasparolereform.com/paroleform.com.
The house is in a fight over the abusive way the parole board has kept thousands of us non-violent offenders in prison, years after our eligible release date, for no other reason than, 'we need workers'.
4 February 2007
Texas is a magnificent state. This land has it all: mountains, deserts, forests, valleys and plains. If you have ever tubed down the corral or Guadalupe rivers, hiked the Davis mountains, doe off the cliffs of Dale Face park or clipped into the ice cold spring fed waters of Barton springs you will know what I'm talking about. I come from an area called the "Lost Pines" in Bastrop, Texas where our trees go all the way to the slay.
This state also has a very hard time being reasonable. I guess with our size and beauty we are raised with instilled pride. The problem is when this pride turns into an ignorant-cockey- meanness. This state will answer on its official statements 'we're the state-we can do what we want' even when it knows its wrong. Bush is an example.
The largest prison industry in the world happens right here in good ole Texas. We have more prisoners here than a lot of countries! For the past decade we have had a steadily rising prison population.
The state has no clue as to why this is happening, in their minds everyone must be turning criminal.
When I say the state in this sense, I mean the people-the citizens. It is hard to believe that the same state that's capital city is Austin, a great city that is both liberal and conservative, full of heritage and new age, a city that cares, comes from a state with so many assholes.
As far as a lot of people here are concerned, there is no difference between a hot-check writer and a child molester. They both should have 'the key thrown away.' In their ignorance they want a DWI to serve the same time as a serial rapist or murderer, in the same place. This leads to a state government who are elected and key positions in the prison industry being appointed to people who classify everything from misdemeanor to felony as 'permanent danger to the public.'
Us prisoners here are trying to stand up for ourselves. We have decided that our freedom is worth more than candy bars and sodas and we have started sending our commissary money to a lawyer to start a class action lawsuit in our name. Over 600 of us so far. If we get our certification, we will finally have our day in court.
I will give you one example- my case. I was caught shoplifting $18.00 from Wal-Mart. I have a drug problem. I sat in jail for a year waiting for my day in court. My sentence should have been a ticket, with a two year sentence maximum. My court appointed lawyer told me that because I had been in trouble at 17, and again at 23, that the Judge wanted to make sure I had a longer 'supervision' period. They enhanced my sentence to 12 years in prison. He said I would be eligible to go home in two years-parole! He said because of the nature of the crime 'non-violent-non-sexual' that I was sure to be released then. He also said worst case scenario-I could stay out of trouble, work a factory job (for free), attend rehabilitation programs and 'worst case' Sept.11, 2005, my discretionary discharge date. They would have to release me.
Well I agreed. I came down here to find out that the Parole Board in no way has to honor the judge's sentencing. I was denied parole in 2002 for, of all things, nature of offense. 2003-same thing. Then I came up to my short way discharge date.
I have a perfect conduct record, no cases either minor or major (very hard to do). I have completed trade school, taken college courses, taken rehab programs called Changes, peer-pressure-wall talk, wellness center, cognitive intervention and NA-AA classes. I have worked a factory job as a machine operator for years. Completed on the job training as offered by project R.I.O. I have a family in support, a job waiting for me and a petition from all my neighbors and friends stating the civic and volunteer work I had done prior to my relapse. All this and never having ever committed a violent act or sexual misconduct act in my LIFE, and they took away my discharge date saying I had been in trouble earlier in life, 17 and 23, and I was a danger to the public.
The judge who sentenced me looked at all the info and facts surrounding my case and sentenced (barring bad behavior) me to be eligible for parole and discharge date. The parole board changed my whole sentence without provocation and now I am serving the whole 12 years in a maximum security prison and doing the same amount or more time than violent and sexual offenders. I am ashamed of my crime but I have not committed any crime worthy of this treatment. I no longer feel like the criminal here, I feel like a victim and the bitterness and hate building up is something very hard to control.
The Parole Board has even had to violate my constitutional and civil rights to deny my short-way discharge. I had a liberty interest at stake. Anyway you probably are saying "quit whining, if you can't do the time don't do the crime". At east that is what the people here in Texas are saying. Thus, I have forsaken the pleasure of snacks and treats meant to pacify me and I send my money to Normal Sirak, a fighter for truth and justice for all. The only person brave enough to lead us in our challenge to fight the state. www.fighttexasparole.com. That's us.
To top everything else happening here, guess what? A panel of Texas congressmen and Reps have investigated the Parole Board and found that they have been violating their own rules and guidelines. I have been kept in prison not for 'public safety' but because the state needs low risk workers in its many plants, factories, offices, etc. In the words of my own officials-see enclosed articles from Austin American statesman-I have been wrongly held in prison. The chairwoman of the Parole Board is married to the Deputy Director of Texas Department of Criminal Justice? What the hell?? The woman responsible for letting me go home is married to the man who needs me working his factories?? What the Hell!!!
How do you think this makes me feel? How do you think it makes my wife and children feel?
There are thousands of people, men and women, who are suffering and feeling these same injustices here in Texas. We need help cause you already know what the state of Texas is gonna say:
"We're the State-we can do what we want".
What Texas is really breeding with this kind of evil intent is a future of thousands of normal people who now have a violent hate for this state.
Anyway, sorry I went on and on I just needed to vent. Sometimes I feel helpless and I hate that feeling. I am at 7 years now and my timesheet show I have served 121% of my sentence. What the hell?
Things here are pretty bad. We are on day eight of a unit-lockdown. We are confined to our cells 24-7. No Rec. No T.V. No dayroom. No fresh air.
They feed us what in Texas is called 'Johnies.' They are small brown paper bags that are served to us in our cells. For a fact it is a bread and water diet. They classify it as something else by addition of an odd ingredient. It's like thisÃ--for breakfast we get in our sacks two slices of white bread, one spoon of peanut butter, one tiny (for a man) carton of cereal, one tinier milk. For lunch we get four slices of white bread, one spoon of peanut butter, one slice of bologna, and six prunes (sometimes). For supper two slices white bread, one spoon peanut butter, one boiled egg. For variety sometimes supper is served for breakfast, breakfast for lunch and lunch for supper or vice versa? I am starving!! I am dying for a hot meal! They do this partly to remind us of how bad they can make it for us. No matter how long they keep us down I will not bow, blink, or break. No matter if I starve to death! I won't, it only feels like it. Not a complaint, not a curse. Never let 'em see you sweat! God how sad is this-ha ha ha.
I hope I get a visit next wknd. My wife's father died and I would like to give her a hug. It is times like this when I feel like a big piece of crap. I should be out there for my family. Even after all this is happening with parole and the state, I am not so naive as to not know that this is all my fault. I put myself here. Not matter how they screw me now it always comes down to that. Anyway, I hope she comes cause I would like to offer what little comfort I can. Also, I am kind of interested to see what she looks like. She recently lost one of her front teeth and she writes that she looks like a hillbilly! Hahaha. I shouldn't laugh I know. She has a devastatingly beautiful smile. Had? I'll see. My sons have been making fun of her. They are my sons when they act up! It is the first letter I have gotten since early December and I am still reading and re-reading it. Over and over.
I'll sign off here, I'll tell you later if she in fact does look like a hillbilly!
5 February 2007
Wooo hoooo yeah Baby! Breakfast for supper :/
8 June 2007
It has been a while since my last entry. I had been hoping to make my next entry from my computer at home but that is not going to happen. I have been denied my discharge date for the third time. The same answer. This makes five denials for the same reason on a low-risk property crime. Two parole dates, three discharge dates. I am positive this is retaliation against me because I am fighting for my rights. I am a plaintiff on a class action lawsuit against the parole board and I have a federal judge about to rule whether or not I am being held in prison illegally.
It is a real sad things actually cause the legislators here in Austin have confined the truth of it and just passed a bill called 909. It is supposed to be the most comprehensive bill on prison reform ever passed. I hope so. Yet, here I am.
I want to continue my education and get my degree while I wait for the slow process of justice. I wrote the department of education but who knows. I won't give up. I am trying to find a loan place that can give me $360 a semester for 3 classes. $120 each. I can get my first degree in four semesters and then start on my bach.
Anyway, let me tell you a little about prison life and current events. There are quite a few characters here around me that I observe from my little bunk area. Jerry is an old guy who is a cowboy in the world. He's been here 20 years and he is broke down now. About 45 to 50 years old he has basically given up on life. He works with me in the textile plant and generally keeps good attitude but when he comes back to his cell he ties a sock around his eyes and lays down. All day, every day. His only interaction comes through the officers who come through at count time. When he hearts 'count time,' he raises up and when they walk by he either jokes around with them or jumps all over their ass about some imaginary complaint. His latest complaint was about calling the chow late…they always call chow late. When the officers walk away up the stairs, the sock goes on and he disappears under the sheets. I am convinced this ritual has become his last act of defiance. He is clinging to some thread of resistance. Clinging to his sanity.
My wife is supposed to bring my sons up here for a visit tomorrow. I am pretty nervous. I hear my soon to be 17 year old son went and got a Mohawk haircut the day after school let out. I hope this is not some beginning of rebellion or a sign of future behavior. Texas will imprison him for the slightest infraction. They have to feed their industrial complex and what better fodder than the children of convicts. If one of my sons comes to prison then that means I have failed at the one thing every father is morally and spiritually bound to doâ€"teach and raise their children to become good people and help them to excel past their own accomplishments. As of yet, I don't count myself out in this fight. It is still not too late for me to make an influence and positively change my boys' lives. They are good kids, my wife has done a fantastic job. But if, if, I allow this state to get its hands on my sons…then I will have nothing else to fight against. Nothing else to live for.
I can't talk about these fears anymore.
Until next time
28 June 2007
There are some peculiar habits her in prison. Most of them come from years of experience and conditioning. I am going to tell you about a few of them that everyone seems to practice.
In an attempt to keep us off guard and kept from getting too comfortable, we are constantly moved from dorm to dorm, building to building and prison to prison. Usually only dorms that are used for factory workers will maintain the same prisoners for any length of time (like this one). It is when you stay in the same cell for any length of time that you really get to observe habits.
Prisoners caught in the constant move cycle have to enter into a strange and potentially hostile environment. Do I have any enemies? Is this a hard dorm? Is it gang infested? These are questions we all ask ourselves every time we are thrown into a new environment. I have noticed these common safety measures that everyone seems to use.
When you first come into a new area you and your property are totally exposed. Everyone can see exactly what you have in your bags. A common method of feeling safe for the new prisoner (no matter how much time he has done) is to put your property on your bunk, take off your shirt and stand and face the dorm. This is a signal that you will fight if you have to. After a few seconds of scanning the day room, you walk out into it and make a route through, usually under pretense of using the rest room or getting a drink. This move allows the people in the day room to either make a challenge (by saying something stupid) and also letting any potential old or new friends to say hello.
After the day room check, which comes from earlier prison years where everyone who entered a prison dorm or wing was challenged to a fight (sometimes multiple!) called a heart check, then you go and unpack your property. In case of a fight it is easier to be packed for a lock-up and no sense in unpacking first.
After unpacking, everyone always goes straight to the shower and showers and takes care of his hygiene, even if he has just done that 30 minutes before in his previous dorm. This tells the dorm that he is not a dirty person, which is about 40 to 50% of the cause of fights in here. A dirty person smells and we have no ventilation in here so it travels easy.
So in the first half hour after arriving in a new dorm, you have transmitted the message 'I will fight' and 'I am a good clean person' which are two of the golden rules in here that increase our survival rate.
The dorm reacts the same every time a new person enters. They immediately discuss whether this guy is a snitch, a coward, a punk (gay), or if he has a shame crime. A shame crime in here is any crime against women and children. Even though the world considers all prisoners to be rapists and child molesters, most people are here for drug related crimes, theft, DWI, robbery, etc. If you have a shame crime, you can hide it temporarily, but it always comes out. I once shook the hand of the I-45 rapist. I didn't know who he was and he even bought my bible (before I become a heathen ☺) When I found out and what he did to those women, I wanted to kill him. He tried to shake my hand later and I couldn't stomach even looking at him. How does one person do that to another. I don't care how many Hail Mary's he says, he makes me skill crawl.
Anyway, to continue on the peculiar habits
A few hours later, after everything is unpacked, radio set, coffee water heating up in his little pit, the new guy will make his next habit-formed move.
He will attempt to communicate with the natives. New guy gets his photos and some writing material and comes out into the dayroom and sits at one of the tables. He will open up his photo album or scatter a few photos out (usually of hot chicks) and act like he is writing to them. The photos are like a bright light to a bug if there are chicks involved and people will be walking by and see all the pictures laid out where you can't miss them and put the brakes on
This is how it goes: "Hey man, what's up?"
New guy: "Not much just writing home."
Native: "This is your family?"
New Guy "Nah just some friends."
Native "Who's this?" and so on and so on.
The new guy will either adapt to the flow of the dorm or he will conflict it and not last very long. If you gain acceptance, you're in and things run smoothly. If not, well that's prison life.