The Professor's Practicum
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Chapter 5
I awoke the next morning, and tried to sort out the feelings from last night. I decided I had a classic approach-avoidance situation. I both was frightened by my experience getting a mug shot, and also very stimulated by it.
I went downstairs and began my usual breakfast -- Cheerios with chopped strawberries, and orange juice to drink. I looked at the paper, but my mind was elsewhere. Again I heard my doorbell ring. Absently I thought that over the years I had lived in my home, rarely had I heard the doorbell ring because I had a note on the door that stated "We do not answer the door to someone we do not know. If you are not a friend and have not called to confirm you are coming, you don't have any reason to ring the bell. We will not answer." There was of course no "we" only "me" but it sounded better to let strangers believe that more than one person lived in the home. Since Jim's dinner having someone know at my door, and my answering the door had become a much more common occurrences. And I might add Jim never called ahead. So much for truth in advertising.
Jim was there at the door in Bermudas and a white "T." I opened the door and let him in.
"Well how did an overnight sleep affect your reaction to being mugged?" I like bad puns myself but did not react to this bad one from Jim.
"Well it was informative but not pleasant." Lame reply I thought to myself. Where were all the thoughts I had had during the experience? Where was my reaction to being cuffed, stuffed in the back of the cruiser, and led around the station like a common criminal. Secretly I knew where these comments were -- in my secret desire for bondage and the libido that caused this desire. I had asked for these experiences, and secretly fantasized about them, but I could not reveal these ideas, and so I came out with the lame comment I just uttered.
"Well all the pieces are coming together. The trial judge will be off Friday to make a speech, and Jim Cox's sentencing has been scheduled for Friday. You will need to work fast to let everyone know you will be out of town rather than perhaps up the river?
[Historic note: "Up the river is a phrase primarily out of New York City. Those sentenced to prison geographically but not literally went "up the river (The Hudson) to Sing Sing Prison]
As he looked at me, he must have seen some reticence in my eyes or body language. "I'm sorry your atrocious sense of humor seems to have worn off onto me. But with that look I guess I need to know if you are still going to go through with this. If not tell me now. I can still pull this hearing, and quash the whole deal."
I knew that my point of decision was at hand. I was afraid after last night. Last night told me that fantasy and reality were really very different in the criminal justice system. I was afraid, and I feared that I would break under the pressure of being a prisoner, and as a convicted convict, I knew that I would not be given a mulligan and released after I told guards my story. I knew that all I would get for telling the story of being a college prof who volunteered to do six months in prison as research, would be at best some time with a shrink... who would not believe me... and more likely some solitary disciplinary time for bothering officers with this type of a con story.
I would like to say that in the end my desire for knowledge and my desire to better help prisoners was the reason I decided to continue but honestly my secret fantasy life was more a reason for my continuing with this crazy charade than a professor going on an extreme practicum.
"No I am determined to have this experience, and this experience will make me a much better advocate and valuable as a lawyer to prisoners unjustly convicted or abused in the criminal justice system" I wondered if that speech sounded like so much crap to Jim as it did to me.
"OK. You need to make all the arrangements, and I will be around 7:30 Friday morning to take you downtown. Here is my private cell phone number. Call me if you have questions" With that Jim left, and I felt my heart racing.
From Jim's walking out the door until Friday morning, I did the complete checklist of list of suspending deliveries and telling the university I would not be available by phone as I would be traveling to places where I would not have access to phones. I knew prisoners did have access to phone calls, but I also knew that this access was controlled, and Jim Cox would have no believable reason to need to put the Dean of the state university law school, or the chair to the criminal justice department. The whirlwind of activities ended and Thursday night I went to bed, and I tossed and turned all night. Finally I got to some sort of sleep but I would not call it restful sleep.
My alarm woke me up and 6:30 am, and I went downstairs and had my last cheerios and strawberry and orange juice breakfast. To be honest, after I had it, I was not sure I could keep it down, but I did go upstairs and shower, and put on the clothes that I decided to wear to me sentencing. Jim had approved my wearing some decent clean blue jeans... not new... but acceptable in our current informal society to wear to most situations. I also wore a decent, but not designer sports shirt, in a solid dark blue color. The shirt and jeans, as well as my J,C, Penny blue print boxers were actually mine. I finished my outfit off with a pair of black leather shoes rather than tennis shoes.
I was ready and then waited for my ride. I sat down to watch tv only to find that I had suspended my cable beginning today, and today began at midnight. I was watching for Jim, and so when he began walking toward my house, I took a last look around, and went out through the garage and met Jim in the driveway. Jim had actually watched my house two years earlier when I was on a legitimate sabbatical in Europe, and so when I handed him my remote for the garage door, and my list of codes for the alarm system and other information that would allow him to keep the house safe and running for my time away. I just glanced at the cards.
"Looks like the list you gave me two years ago when you were in Europe all summer."
"Yes, I don't think much has changed."
"Well I suppose it something really does come up, I can find out where you are in the DOC website and come to visit you as one of the arresting officers."
I had not thought about that I would be now officially listed and locatable by and free citizen who just knew my name...or my name as of this morning.
"Yah. I guess you could both find me and I would definitely be available to you when you wanted me."
"That's right...You'll be a captive audience."
With that remark, we had arrived at Jim's black Ram truck, and I hesitated to see if I was going to ride there in cuffs or free.
"We'll just go down as a friend taking you down, and not as a policeman hauling you down." Jim clearly understood the reason for my hesitation in just opening the door and entering the truck.
In a sense I was anticipating the life of a prisoner when most doors were not opened or closed by the inmate, but were controlled by others. An inmate requests or begs for a door to be opened. Others decided if and under what conditions that inmate might have it open and even how he might be allowed to go through it.
The ride downtown was mostly quiet. I was very nervous. Normally when I am nervous I talk, but in this ride I found myself still second guessing my leap into another world. I smiled as I thought that unlike Alice in Wonderland, I was going into a crazy world in which I might indeed be unprepared for all the persons and situations I would be facing.
Finally we got downtown, and Jim parked in a parking lot across from the fifteen story office building which contained the city and county government offices including the county courts.
When we got inside, Jim showed his police badge and ID, and still had to pass through a special police scanner. I went through the normal person scanner, and had to show put my billfold and watch etc. in the basket. I had little to take off, and so I also sailed through the check point. I could not decide whether it was my paranoia or did the officer running the security scanner recognize the sparse belongings of a person who would not be leaving the building by the front door.
Jim was through, waited for me, and then gently grabbed my arm to lead me to the bank of elevators. I had been in the building many times, and did not need the assistance, but accepted his guidance or perhaps his unconscious realization that soon I would be handled and controlled by officers.
Up the elevators we went to the third floor. Jim somewhat led me the way to Courtroom 307D, and opened the door for me.
We sat down toward the back, and say that the court was already in business dispensing justice. There were several lawyers at the front in a sort of queue. When each lawyer reached the front of the line, he addressed the court rather informally like "Judge this is a standard issue, and all I need is for an order to allow me access to the financial records of Mr. so and so."
The judge then would look over a set of papers in front of him. Clearly he had received all this stack of papers earlier, and the lawyers were in order of his stack of papers. If the judge had a question he asked it, and if not, the lawyer got the "I have examined this order, and it is so ordered." He then tapped his gavel, signed the paper, and off the lawyer went. Justice on the assembly line.
Finally the line was done,
"The court will take and fifteen minute recess" the judge announced, again tapped his gavel and disappeared through the door on the left of the courtroom from the observers' viewpoint. I looked at my wrist to see what time it was, and realized that my wrist watch was one of the items that I had left at home, as Jim had advised me that they were not allowed in the department of corrections. I looked around and saw a clock at the back of the courtroom. It was now 9:35, and I was 35 minutes after I had been instructed to be in court. I now realized, I was already being controlled. I had to be there in case the Judge wanted to do something with me, but the system did not feel any requirement to follow the schedule it had imposed on us. It was subtle, but even at this early part of being UNDER the justice system's control I was learning that I would be at their control and leisure, and my needs and interests were not important.
I suddenly felt my orange juice had traveled through my digestive system, and I needed to piss. I got up, and by the time I got to the back of the courtroom Jim was there with a concerned look on his face. I realized that he was afraid that I was bolting.
He was rapidly beside me, and so I leaned over and whispered "I've got to piss. Orange juice goes through me fast,"
Jim nodded, and I continued out the door. I realized that I had no idea where the rest rooms were.
"Down the hall to the left, around the corner to the elevator area, past the elevators and on the right." Jim informed me.
I started fairly rapidly moving down the hallway, and soon became aware that Jim was traveling with me. "Might as well squeeze out some piss too,"
he said smiling.
We got to the rest room, went in and found placed at the urinals. I suddenly realized that Jim was just making sure I was not bolting, much more than also taking a seriously necessary leak.
As we walked together back to the courtroom, I just asked "You just came with me to be sure I didn't take an elevator downstairs and out of the building didn't you." It really wasn't so much a question as an accusation.
"Yes Andy, I was worried. You are now more Jim than Andy, and there would be severe consequences for both of you had you decided to take off."
"I can see that," I replied, and I really could but it did really signal that as Jim Cox I was in a much different position in society than as a professor and lawyer.
Together we returned to the courtroom.
A bailiff noted my return also. "You Cox?" was his question as he moved up beside me.
"Yes Sir" I surprised myself by my differential reply to this court functionary. In my former life I would have looked at a court bailiff as well below me in every possible way. Now in some way, I had become Jim Cox, and was aware that soon persons like the bailiff would have great power over me.
"If you need to leave the courtroom again before you appear before the judge, check with one of the court bailiffs. We will accompany you wherever you need to go, or we will let you know if you should not go at all."
I was already under scrutiny and supervision and I had not even changed my plea yet. However, I could see that the court bailiffs had been briefed on who would be appearing today, and had seen my mug shot and knew to keep an eye on me,
As I re-entered the courtroom, now with the bailiff in tow, he escorted me to the front row, and I noticed that he and another bailiff stood in the aisles at the end of the rows of seats just behind me.
We waited for another fifteen to twenty minutes. It was hard to keep track of time as I no longer had a watch and the clock was behind me.
Finally closer to 11:00 than 10:30 the bailiff at the front of the room intoned, "All rise, Superior Court 6, in and for the Marion County, the Honorable Judge Anthony Fisher Presiding is now in session."
When the Judge sat, we all sat down.
"Call the next case bailiff" the judge ordered.
"State vs. Jim Cox, sentencing hearing." was the announcement. I was on.
The bailiff nudged me, and I stood and stood in front of the judge. I was on the floor, and he was at least one step above me. I looked up to him. He looked down at me. I suddenly saw this arrangement for what it was -- an intimidation of the offender.
The judge began reading the file in front of him. "Do you have anything to saw before sentence is imposed?" I realized the question was routine, and the judge was expecting the standard "No Your Honor." reply.
"Yes, Your Honor. I would like to change my plea to `Guilty.'" I thought about asking for mercy, but one look at the Judge told me that would be wasted breath.
"The Court notes your change of plea." There was now a pause as the Judge read through more of the sentence recommendation.
"James M. Cox, the Court accepts your plea of `Guilty' and will follow the sentencing recommendation. You are hereby sentenced to no less than six months and no more than five years in the custody of the state Department of Corrections. Bailiff take charge of the prisoner."
The gavel banged, and I felt strong hands grab my wrists, and handcuffs being snapped on my wrists. As soon as the handcuffs were snapped and locked on my wrists I felt strong hands grab my pinioned arms and begin to lead me to the door on the opposite side of the front of the courtroom. There was no doubt now that I was in custody, and others would control where and how I moved.
One bailiff opened the door, and we entered a cement block hallway. Gone was the wood paneled and carpeted courtroom. I was on a concrete floor, walking down a hallway with no door toward a set of bars.
When we arrived at the bars, one of the bailiffs stepped forward, and with a rattling of keys opened a doorway in the bars, and I entered into being literally behind bars. Down that hallway, we turned a corner and there was a two inch thick wooden bench, which was fixed onto the wall by heavy steel brackets about every two feet. It was clear that the wooden bench was not going to be moved from the wall, and was much too think to be moved up or down.
There were already others seated on the bench. There were four black men---two of whom looked to be teens, and one other Caucasian. All of them looked over at me as I arrived. My look of shocked surprise must have identified me as new to this process.
I was placed on the bench, and my handcuffs were removed only to be replaced by cuffs that were attached to a long chain which rested on the steel supports for the bench. I was now part of a chain gang. I noticed that there were two more cuffs awaiting two more prisoners.
When I was seated and locked into the connecting chain, I was facing a cement block wall, painted an institutional yellowish green, and on which in very large letters. "PRISONERS WILL REMAIN QUIET WHILE AWAITING TRANSPORT."
Quiet was no problem for me. I did not want to talk to any of my follow prisoners.
After what seemed to me to be a fairly long time, the other two handcuffs on the chain were filled by another orange jump suit clad white teen, and another black in jeans and a shirt.
We were then order to get up, and form a line. The connecting chain was to our right. We had about a yard between each of us. We were herded into a steel lined elevator. The officer fished out a key to activate the controls, and down we went clanking to the first floor. When the door opened we were met by another officer, and clanking across the floor we went out a public door, being watched by ordinary citizens. I could tell workers in the city-county building as we were ignored by them. Persons not used to seeing six men some in bright orange jump suits, and the others in jeans and mostly in "T's" clanking across the lobby just stared. One guard called one of the security officers on the first floor to "Get the Door" and he held it open so that out little parade could clank out. Then, with one officer holding the connecting chain and leading us, and another holding the end of the chain behind us, and another with a drawn shotgun traveling slightly behind us, we traveled on public sidewalks across a main street, by a parking lot, and to lastly to a door at the four floor county jail.
The door was labeled, as I was to discover almost all doors were in the jail.
This one stated, "INMATE INDUCTION."
An officer talked to someone on his shoulder radio, and so to the sound of keys jingling the door opened, and I entered the first of my places of incarceration as a convict -- the county jail.
CHAPTER 6
Our clanking chain gang entered the door which was slammed shut behind us. We were facing a wall of bars.
A man in uniform released us in turn. I followed all of my fellow members of the chain gang who rubbed their wrists after wearing the cuffs for so long.
We just stood there waiting. I realized again that we were items to be processed not persons to be consulted or informed. Then a new superior to us appeared, and his uniform was different than the ones who had guarded and brought us to this little anteroom. "More important goon." was my thought.
With a nod to the others, he looked at us "For inmates returning form a line at the gate in front of you. Those of you entering this jail for the first time, when you are released from the cuffs immediately grasp you hand to your opposite elbow and move over to the wall to your left. Put your toes and you nose ON the wall and await further orders.
A man in different uniform but not police came by and released us in turn. I followed all of my fellow members of the chain gang who rubbed their wrists after wearing the cuffs for so long.
I was third in line to be released, and the second to move immediately to the wall. I could not reach to grasp the opposite elbow, and so grasped the arm as close to the elbow as I could. I put my nose on the wall first, and then wiggled my feet up to touch the wall. This position is extremely uncomfortable. As I stood in this very uncomfortable position, I knew that I had indeed been very stupid to agree to this experience, but there was no hope. I had stood in front of a judge and pled guilty to a crime, accepted a sentence, and it was too late to say "Oops." I have already found that I hate being so totally being reduced from free citizen to totally controlled inmate.
We heard the other inmates being moved to the gate, and then the guard in charge give orders, "Just check their wrist bands. Two are supposed to he in Third West, and the rest are in Two Bullpen." We heard the door in the bar wall opened, and we heard the other inmates' feet trudging away from us.
"I'll take these two to be processed" the man in charge stated. I realized that we were just like some item on a production line... to be put through a series of steps to transform us from persons until we were turned into an numbered, not named, object; locked up, not free, watched and counted, controlled and punished, and not totally human, but more an animal-like convict.
As I was going through this thought process, apparently I missed some command and my introduction to the smaller version of a patrol officer's baton which when brought firmly across your butt did command your attention.
"BOI! PAY ATTENTION!" was the command. "Yes Sir," I responded loudly. I guess there is a connection from butt to brain, and the primitive brain recognizes that one who can inflict that pain on you is your superior, making you a child no matter what your age might be, and therefore deserves the title of one of a higher rank, "SIR" when addressed by an person or less than total person of much lower rank.
"Nice try asshole, unclasp your hands for cuffing." was this superior's response to my acknowledgement of his superiority. I moved my wrists side by side and was rewarded by the already becoming familiar feeling of handcuffs being slapped onto your wrists hard enough for the movable part of the cuff to travel around and latch into the immobile part of the cuff. I wondered how long it would take before my wrists were toughened enough so that it would not hurt so much when it was done to you.
The officer who controlled us, unlocked the opening in the bars, and indicated by his club for us to walk through. We did so and moved down the hallway, but carefuuly did not try to get away from the man in charge.
"Turn left at the hallway" was the order, and we did so. The other newbie inmate was ahead of me, but I soon noted we were headed to another set of bars, and through the bars I saw another of the heavy benches identical to the ones outside the court area on which I had just spent my first time as a convict. "I mused that perhaps I could ask my superior if the city and county got some sort of special price for buying several of these industrial grade benches especially designed to be able to keep anyone seated on it secure, with no chance to move the bench. I immediately decided this amount of professorial witticism would not be well received, and I had no desire for another baton across the butt experience.
When we got to the bench "SIT" was the order, and we docilely sat.
"Charlie, two for induction mugs and body shots, showers, and uniforms."
"Yes Captain" came a voice from somewhere in another caged area to our left. I noted there was some sort of counter and a lot of shelves.
Charlie soon appeared with two small cardboard boxes, which he placed on the counter, and looked at the two of us.
The Captain gave Charlie our folders and Charlie looked at the one on top, which happened not to be mine.
"Thomas follow me!" he ordered and my fellow newbie rose and followed him around a corner.
"Left. Right. Front." Were orders. I heard some sounds clicks and of equipment moving, and then "Left, Right, Front, Back."
I guessed Thomas was being photographed, and not just his mug, but all of him. In my mind I could see him, and soon me, being positioned by a large measuring stick.
"Strip down!" was the next order. There was a pause, and I could almost watch Thomas stripping, and then standing naked in front of Charlie. I wonder if he did the normal male deal of holding his hands in front of his cock and balls to give them whatever little covering was possible with no clothes.
"Any tats?"
"Yes Sir, on my right and left arms, SIR."
"K Hands by your sides."
"Turn"
"You didn't mention that little design on your let butt cheek."
"Sorry SIR. I guess I forget that one, SIR."
At that point Charlie reappeared, and picked up one of the two cardboard boxes and took it into the little room.
"Place all your clothes in the box, and write your name on the label."
When Thomas was finished with putting his clothes and whatever items were in his clothes into the box, Charlie took the box from him, and told Thomas, again to sit on the bench. I wondered what the bench felt like on s his naked bottom, and what he thought of sitting naked in this open hallway.
"Hands behind you back, and grasp elbows." Was the order from the Captain. Thomas sat and did as ordered. Thomas and I were sufficiently cowed by our surroundings, and I how clearly and completely it was clear we were objects who were to follow orders without delay and definitely without comment.
"COX!" was the order and it was my turn. I entered the room and saw a camera and again a wall with a large line measuring height.
"RIGHT," adjustments of the camera. "LEFT" click. "FRONT" and I was was not just mug shot but totally shot. I again thought of one of my professor puns. "Help I'm being shot!" I thought would be a great funny joke in the coffee room of the offices at the university. I of course knew this humor would at the least earn me another stroke across my butt if mentioned outside. I must have allowed my musing to show on my face.
"Something funny asshole?" was Charlie's comment
"Sir no SIR. Sir sorry SIR!" was my response.
"Just you be careful fish or we can arrange some real fun times for you upstairs." was Charlie's threat, which I took very seriously.
"STRIP." was the order now, but I was prepared, and knew there was no alternative but to do as ordered.
"ANY TATS!" this was yelled in my ear as if I were hard of hearing.
"No SIR"
"FRONT , HAND AT YOUR SIDES"
I did as ordered. Charlie moved the camera on a bit of track to which it was attached, and I was photographed front back and sides naked.
"For your protection. These photos document what you looked like upon admission." Charlie then stated. It was in a monotone and might have been recorded for all the involvement Charlie really put into the information.
I also then placed all my clothes into the box, and sat.
Charlie then placed the boxes somewhere behind the counter, and then ordered "Follow me."
We followed, and went down another short hallway to the left, and then made another short right turn and soon were stopped by an opening in the wall to our right.
"You have three minutes to shower. Make sure you wash completely, I don't want to smell you. Especially make sure your privates are clean."
I mentally thought. If Charlie were bright enough, I would accuse him of a very bad pun. There was nothing about either of us now that was private.
We entered the shower area which could accommodate probably twenty or more. Suddenly a set of four shower heads sprang to life.
"Soaps on the board under the shower heads. GET MOVING!"
The water was cold I thought, but I knew complaining about the temperature would only get me yelled at and so shivering and I began using the soap and washed myself. We were being watched by Charlie, and so I went to turn around to soap my cock and balls."
"Keep turned this way. We need to be sure you do a proper job."
Part of me was thinking over all the prison regulations I knew about, and decided that probably prisoners had no rights to take a shower without being watched.
"I know that little prick of yours is probably no more than three inches, but make sure it is clean." Charlie ordered. I blushed and soaped my cock, which had always been an embarrassment to me. He was right it was only about three inches soft, and didn't get all that much bigger when stimulated.
After I soaped my tackle acceptably. I reached around to soap my butt.
"Reach back there and spread the cheeks, and get that crack and hole clean."
Charlie moved in my mind from being a neutral sheriff's jail functionary to sick voyeur as he examined from his post at the opening into the shower area my thoroughness of soaping by butt crack and hole. On the other hand Charlie had probably watched this intro shower so many times that we were just two more naked males being processed and being naked and open to inspection and control just was a part of our new life and his job.
"One minute left. Finish up!" Charlie intoned.
We both finished, and looked for a towel. None appeared. We appeared to be required to drip dry, and indeed we stood and shivered as Charlie disappeared only to return with two orange jumpsuits. There was a thin pair of boxer shorts each with the word "JAIL" stenciled across the butt on top of the pile of orange. We also got a pair of white socks, and a sort of soft sandal footwear.
As we passed the desk again on our trip around the intake area, I saw a sign on the area where Charlie worked which, in large black block letters announced "INTAKE." I mentally noted how concentrated on what was happening to me I had become that I could miss the sign earlier. We were stopped at the desk area again, and this time around our left wrists one of those labels inside plastic was fastened around our left wrists. While I could see my left wrist as I anticipated that soon I would be cuffed behind my back, I noted that I was 2012 -- 1197 and I guessed my intake companion would became 2012 -- 1198.
"Keep track of your number, Names can be confusing so we normally just use your intake number . We expect you to respond with a respectful Yes Boss' or Yes Sir' when you report to whatever officer has called your number. Do you understand?"
Charlie received two fairly prompt " Yes Boss's." We thus showed that we were trainable.
Now shod and clothed in our prisoner identifying orange and shoes, the Captain re-appeared.
"State tier on Four for these two.: I'll call for an officer to take them up, Lock'em on the bench until he gets here."
We were led back to the bench, and when we were seated, Charlie leaned behind us and soon we were cuffed again, but this set of cuffs had a connecting chain to the strut connecting the bench to the wall.
We were now photographed to document exactly how we totally looked as we entered this strange world, and were hitched awaiting someone who was above us... that was almost anyone NOT in a jumpsuit,... to take us to where we would be kept until our transfer to the state prison.
I hated being so totally helpless and so totally controlled. I hated my warped mind that overruled reason and got me into this mess. I mused that the old saying that all men have two heads, and it is the smaller of the two that gets all males into trouble.
Yup
As I finished my mental castigation of myself, the Captain reappeared. "I just checked. I want 97' in B-14, and 98' in A-6.'"
"Yes Sir," was Charlie's respectful reply. I smiled to myself to see that in replies to the Captain, Charlie was just the same as us inmates.
"Something funny asshole." was Charlie's sudden and irritated remark. Since he was glaring at me, I quickly replied. "Boss no Boss." and mentally reminded myself that I had to guard myself from either thinking or letting my face reflect what I was thinking. I mentally wondered which skill thinking or freezing my face would come first in my new world.
At this point the Captain exited, and Charlie was on the phone. "Escort needed in Intake."
As I sat in my thin boxers, and bright orange jumpsuit, my ID tag. and cloth sandals, with my hands cuffed behind my back, and chained to a immovable object, I realized how easily and quickly I was turned into an object and no longer a person and citizen.