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Chapter 7
No one seemed to rush down to escort us anywhere. Fidgeted a bit as my butt was tired of sitting on the hard bench. When I fidgeted, I clanked. The chain connecting my cuffs to the strut moved and made the sound.
Charlie gave a stare from the counter, and I knew that I needed to keep my chains of restraint quiet so as not to disturb my jailors.
After what was probably not all that long, but when one has to both stay quiet and stay as motionless as possible time drags, and I was really feeling that I had to do a major stretch soon, and I did not want to guess what would happen if I did the total rearrangement of my body that I wanted to do. Part of me wanted to do it reasoning that what more could they do to me. However, the other part of my brain did control me with the thought – "They probably DO have more that they can do tome with impunity. I don't want to find out. I also mused that when I had played bondage games with some other men when I traveled to other cities for conferences, I was never this controlled, and usually the TOP would come over to be sure I was not too uncomfortable, and after some time of playing, I would be totally released from handcuffs, leg shackles and sometimes even a straight jacket. I would perhaps be tired, but also stimulated by my play bondage.
Reality – at least jail reality – is very different. The persons who owned my ass now were not concerned at all about my comfort. Indeed they seemed to be happier if those under their control were NOT comfortable. For already only the last of many times I thought to myself. "You are an intelligent, and even knowledgeable man about the life of inmates in this state's prison system, and still Jim was able to let your libido make you volunteer to be sitting here, handcuffed tightly and uncomfortably, and chained to a steel brace connecting this hard plant bench to a solid wall.
For the last of many times already I said to myself in thought "DUMB, DUMB, DUMB, DUMB..." I might have continued this litany of "Dumb," had not the rattling of keys and the sound of the door in the bars being opened that brought me out of my self pity and castigation.
Walking past us, and talking only to Charlie, the six foot and very fit looking uniformed man yelled out "Hey Charlie these the two perps for the state tier?Charlie wondered from behind the counter. "Yup. Two more losers on their way to pay for their stupidity."
Mentally I agreed with Charlie. I was indeed on my way to pay for stupidity.
"Yah. 97 in B-14 and 98 in A – 6.`Damn the Captain is still micromanaging our block, but what the fuck am I able to do or say anything about it." In my former life at this point I would have mentioned that myself and the other lowly inmates also could not do anything about these assignments, but again, I was already learning to keep my mouth shut. I smiled to myself remembering a phrase I occasionally used on students. "It is better to keep your mouth shut and let people think you're stupid, then open it and confirm their opinion." I smiled. I thought that my smile was mental and not real, but apparently I had not learned to keep my smiles to myself.
"HEY SHITHEAD. SOMETHING FUNNY?!" I knew I and again allowed myself to act like a person.
"SIR no SIR." I said immediately.
"Then wipe that smile off your face." To Charlie, in a much changed tone and volume, he added, "I guess that one needs to have my special loving care to explain its new position in life.
"SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT" I thought to myself. I just knew this bastard could do what he had just promised, and I was going to pay. I guess I still did need to learn to be an inmate. I almost smiled, but caught myself just in time to prevent my actually begin smiling. I just knew a smile would only infuriate a man who probably could think of even more to make my life miserable in B-14.
Charlie then walked over, and leaned behind us and released our cuffs from the chain to the strut.
"On you feet shits." Charlie commanded, and we both moved to try to rise as quickly as possible I immediately found that getting up from a bench like this one usually was accomplished by using one's hands to push off. This was not possible, and so we struggled awkwardly onto our feet. "You two are sure inmate material. You can't even get you asses off a bench without making a mess of it.
""Shut up...Shut up...Shut up" kept running through my mind. I needed to try to keep my free man mind from getting me into more trouble. I had a feeling the officer who now grasped my cuffed hands and yanked me up was going to amuse himself with my instruction.
We were guided to the bar barrier. I was pushed up against the bars and my companion followed quickly. "Press yourselves against the bars and do not move until instructed."
I started to do as ordered, when for another time my butt felt a painful swat of his baton. Again I was not aware that jailors had these batons and were allowed to use them. I was sure that the batons would violate the prohibitions about corporal punishment, but how could I protest? Who could I complain to? I knew the answer. NO ONE. Those in charge would do about anything they wanted to do to prisoners because prisoners lost all standing in courts and in the prison system. I had never felt this powerlessness and this much frustration in my whole life. I was beginning to really understand the prisoner mentality. In less than a day I understood why some prisoners who I tried to talk into allowing me to file a suit against a guard or against a prison rule would beg me not to do so, and would tell me that if I pursued filing it, that they would deny the they had ever told me about any such action. On the power rating scale, the prisoner had a "0" and the authorities had a "100."
When the gate was opened, we were ordered to move through the opening. His hand grasped my cuffs and used them to guide me down the hall, making a right turn and down another hall until we reached an elevator. Our superior pushed the button, and we waited. I tried to seem as docile, compliant, and tractable as possible. When the door opened, the guard ordered.
"To the back wall facing the wall!" was the order and with a push on our cuffs we moved to the stainless steel back of the elevator, and at lest I tried to press myself against that steel as tightly as possible.
Our guard did seem to notice our attempt to be good obeyers. "You two may be able to be trained after all," was his comment, and I felt some relief – or perhaps satisfaction – that we had performed correctly and had even been complimented. As we were riding up to the fourth floor, I again mused to myself that I would never have imagined that so quickly I would change and become an inmate – mentally as well as physically. I realized that this thought was the same that had surprised me earlier. On the ride up to the fourth floor, I knew that for all the six months of my imprisonment I would do my best to do as ordered, and to make my owners – the guards and probably any free person...happy.
When the bell rang to announce that we had arrived, out guard order us turn and face the doors, when they open take one step into the corridor and stop immediately.
We did exactly as ordered, and again we were guided or manhandled down a corridor. We passed several locked doors. There was the sound of muffled talking and activity from each of the locked as we passed. I saw through some windows that we were passing a cell block in which there were cells around the walls and in the middle were several tables and benches clearly fastened to the floors, with orange jump suited inmates sitting and standing around. They seemed to be moving around freely, if that term could be used for inmates in a cell block.
We finally got to the end of the corridor, and faced a solid door.
"Open 4F." our officer said into his shoulder radio. "Two newbies being brought in." The door slowly slid open. We moved forward, only to face a second door.
When we were all in the space between the doors, the door behind us closed, and then the door into the block opened. There seemed to be about twenty orange clad inhabitant of this cage. Now the noise was much, much louder. Inmates were yelling to each other across the open common area between the individual cells which lined to the two side walls. There were probably eight of nine round tables with and attached little benches all tightly bolted to the floor. I glanced to the right and saw an opening like we had entered to go to our shower, and I heard the sound of running water and more shouting from there also. I was overwhelmed with all this racket. No wonder guards stayed behind thick glass and just watched the show. I suspected that if any of the inmates thought about it, they were realize they were indeed like animals in the zoo, and the guards were like the visitors watching the animals at play, commenting to themselves how amusing or disgusting watching these animals was. When the second door opened, the noise was even louder. I wondered why the inmates felt they had to yell at each other. The officer steered us both toward a barred cell with "A – 6" stenciled above it. The cell door was open. My companion was uncuffed, and sent into the cell.
"You will be upper bunk. Your mattress and personals will be delivered to you before lock up tonight. I noticed there was a stainless steel combination sink and toilet right by the door. I had seen these before, but as an inmate suddenly I realized that you would shit and piss basically in view of anyone who cared to watch. My companion was uncuffed and left to allowed to look around his new home. I saw one inmate separate himself and begin heading over to the cell. I am sure both of us realized that the inmate would be his cellie, and he was coming over to orient the newbie on expectations and requirements – both of the guards and by the inmates. My studies had indeed examined the conflict between the convict code and the prison's rules, and how, not infrequently, an inmate had to decide to follow convict code or do something the authorities were ordering. Most inmates knew that the right answer, literally for your life, was to follow the convict code. The sound level which had gone down somewhat at our interest seemed to return to its previous bedlam level. New inmates, (fish) were not especially unusual occurrences, I am sure after my companion had been given the rules for his cell by his cellie, that he would be introduced to others in the bullpen, and, if he were smart, listen more than talk. I was then guided up the stairs and again our guard spoke into his microphone "Open B-14." A door down the walkway opened, and immediately I realized that my door was not barred but solid steel. It was like the ones I had seen from the outside in talking to some of the inmates I had wanted to interview who were in solitary confinement. I had to talk to them through a little slot toward the bottom of the door, which hinged at the bottom. On those occasions I had crouched on the floor to have my conversation with them. The opening was really to deliver food trays. There was also a small window at normal eye level. It also had a steel cover that could be closed so that the inmate locked inside could not look out. With both doors closed the door would present a solid steel barrio between the inmate victim inside and contact with any other human – guard or inmate. I was guided into the cell by my escort. His hands on my cuffed wrists were a constant reminder that I was now one under the authority of others. As soon as we were inside the doorway, my handler paused and fiddled with the keys and unlocked and removed my cuffs. As he manipulated my wrists and arms, I looked in front of me. As I looked ahead I saw the wall at the back of the cell. That wall was apparently concrete as I did not see the lines of cement blocks. There was a slit of a window. I would guess a yard or so long, but only three to five inches wide. It was definitely too small to get through, and I would guess served only to tantalize you with images of people who were freely walking around.
Of course the stated justification for this torture of an inmate was :"to let the inmate has a chance to have natural light in his cell." I could hear the architect with his platitude. I would mull over whether architects placed these little slits of the free world to those locked in those cells and who were locked away from that free world and even the little freedom of the bull pen, more to make the inmate have a constant reminder of what he no longer had, or to gain some additional money because windows were more expensive than just solid walls. My guess was money, as I was already becoming more convinced than ever that free people did not want to reform of inmates but that the inmates be made miserable because society wants revenge and punishment. Anyway, I looked at this little window, and noted the stainless steel sink and toilet combination by my legs... right at the front of the cell. To my left was the steel shelf bolted to the side wall that I knew would be my bed. Just down from the toilet was another little steel desk bolted to the wall with a small round seat at the end of a steel strut which was also bolted to the wall.
I would guess I had only 18 to 24 inches between the stool and desk and the side of my bed shelf. A swat on my ass served to bring me out of my inventory of my cell. "Pay attention asshole." No need for guards to know the names of inmates. As far as guards were concerned all of us were criminals, offenders, deeding punishment, and therefore correctly labeled as "assholes," something polite people hide away from others, and which they knew exists but wants not to see. "You will be in this cell 23 hours per day and on the hour outside the cell. Once a week you may take a shower in the shower at the end of the tier. You will need to buy shower shoes for the shower from your commissary account. Without shower shoes you are not allowed to take a shower. If you have no funds there is an appeal procedure for you to ask for the prison to supply these for you." I imagined how demeaning... and probably purposely so...it would be to have to beg for shoes.
Immediately I started a mental chant of "SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, etc."
I remember Jim told me to put some money and old cards in a billfold which would be taken from me, but the money in it would be deposited for me into a jail account for me to obtain some necessities. In my preparations and nervousness, I had not picked up that billfold just before we left. It was still on the half wall which separated my foyer from the formal living room. I had no funds to be confiscated for my commissary. As I was mentally castigating myself, I heard the guard order, "Step inside four paces and hold that position until you hear the door lock."
I felt the door close and lock, I sat on the metal platform of my bed, looked around and again mentally said to myself "You are one dumb fuck." There is nothing exciting or interesting in where you are now. You are just miserable. I realized that when I pissed off the Captain I gained for myself solitary boredom and lack of help. After a period of time of self pity, I forced myself to examine my view through the window. It was the only stimulation I had in this bare cell. I went to the window, and stood looking down to see cars moving on the street and a few people walking along the sidewalk. I stood there for some period of time, and did not even turn around.
Finally I turned around. I noticed that the slot in the door through which food would come into me was closed, and the cover was also over my window. I was totally cut off from my real world, and could only look at my lost world.
You would think an educated man would know that reality and fantasy are different. The orange jumpsuit was stiff, and looking at bare walls, bare steel shelves for a bed and a desk, and a steel door was not exciting. It was depressing, I just sat and felt sorry for myself. I just continued sitting and feeling sorry for myself. Jail for me was a room that was so small that I could almost reach from one side wall to the other one. It was deeper, but ended in a window that was like a siren's song. I wanted to look out, but looking out only reminded me that I had actually volunteered to experience. I found that I really could not stop looking at the back of the door. It certainly was NOT a door to freedom, but it was a door thar prevented me from talking to another person. It was a door which prevented me having something to do with my time, even if that was watching tv, which I had always dismissed as beneath my intellectual acumen. I would even be thrilled to learn to play card games – another activity that I had always dismissed as intellectually beneath me – even games like bridge or gin rummy... really. Every one of these activities now seemed desirable and pleasurable. What I did have was that door. It was mostly smooth steel. I did go over to it, and feel its cold smoothness. I really examined the two openings. One was down about two feet from the door's bottom. The hole was on my side of the door, and the hole interrupted the smoothness. But the opening was closed by another small door. I now could understand using this small door to communicate with the world outside the cell required the inmate to almost crawl on the floor. Demeaning? YES! An accident? NOT.
I also looked higher. There was the thick glass I could feel. It was also a potential of connection outside, but it also was closed... keeping my whole world the size of my cell. I yearned for a paper and pencil. If I had those I could write about my thoughts...talk about the casual cruelty or perhaps worse, deliberate cruelty of locking a human being...by nature a social being... away from interaction with others.
I do not think I had ever appreciated the power of a door before. Now I did know its power. I cowered before its power.
As I busily was writing my essay on the psychological and physical impact of being inside a locked door, the covering to the window opened, and I could see light and persons on the other side. I WAS THRILLED! Then even better the door covering the rectangular little opening toward the bottom of the door opened. I started to fall to my knees to look out, and to indicate my apologies for disrespecting my earlier lack of understanding and appreciating the proper attitudes I needed to have in my new status. However, even as I mentally composed my confession, and profession of remorse, and resolution to follow all rules and especially to totally respect the superior of those in control of me, a authoritative voice commanded.
"Offender Cox go to the back of the cell by the window. Hands grasping elbows."
I scurried to obey. I wanted to be known as an obeyer. I would show them I could and would learn the correct behaviors I needed to follow. As fast as I could move I got up and dashed to the back wall, facing the door, with my hands behind my back and prepared to obey any and all further commands.
Keeping my eyes averted from looking directly at the little window in the cell door, I did see a face looking at me.
I heard the voice say "Open door to B-14." The door slid open noisily but I remained exactly as I had been ordered.
"Cox there is some hope for you perhaps." The officer than stood aside, and another inmate appeared carrying a rolled up thin vinyl pad that was a sort of dirty gray color. Rolled inside the mattress was a gray blanket and a small pillow. These were held by another inmate judging from his blue jumpsuit. The inmate came into my little house, dropped the mattress and blanket on the shelf I had figured out was my bed, and then placed a paper bag on the little desk. The blue clad inmate then retreated outside my little home.
"You are responsible for keeping the blanket and mattress in good shape. Any damage will be assessed to your account, or worked out by time in the hole. The bag contains a toothbrush, razor, some shaving cream, small bar of soap, and small washrag and a small towel. These are yours to use as long as you show proper respect for the county's property. DO YOU UNDERSTAND OFFENDER?" was the louder final part of the officer's speech.
"SIR YES SIR!" was my almost instantaneous response. I saw a smug smile of approval by the officer, and an faint sneer of contempt from the inmate."Tomorrow, if you show progress in adjusting to your proper attitude and behaviors perhaps we can leave the bean slot and window open."
"Thank you sir." was out of my mouth almost as soon as the officer finished speaking.
When the door closed, both access points of window and little slot were shut, and again I heard the door's locking mechanism snap shut and rushed over, open my bag of goodies, and felt better. "You are a wimp, and a sniveling coward" part of my mind said. "I will do what I have to do to survive." another voice said. I concentrated on smoothing out my mattress and arranging my little set of possessions. I was an inmate. I knew I was an inmate, and I knew I was an inmate who would obey those who had power over me. I knew the officers had that power. I did not appreciate yet that they were not the only ones.
Chapter 8
After my visitors left, I tried to listen to the noise coming from the cell block that I could hear through my totally locked door. The noise was almost constant but muffled. Only occasionally could I hear a yelled, "FUCKER, ASSHOLE," and "SHIT" and finally just a yelled "YAH" or some other exclamation. I assumed these came when somebody won a card game. Their vocabulary was not very extensive nor distinguished. I would also go to the window and look at traffic and the sunlight, and try to make calculation about the time. When traffic built and then waned, I guessed that rush hour had come and gone, and now the downtown was only populated by those who lived downtown, the visitors to our hotels, and the few more who would travel from the burbs to eat at some downtown restaurant. Finally there was no real reason to out he window.
I switched. I looked through my package of essentials again and again. I arranged them and organized them on my little bed. I moved them over to the desk. I thought that these items took a lot of space, but that else did I need the desk space for? NOTHING!!!
Then I found the paper bag in which the government had so generously and graciously had provided essentials for my daily hygiene. (I did not forget that toilet paper WAS in a little round opening on the side of my toilet sink stainless steel column.
I looked at the bag itself. The outside only had my new home address "B-14" which I thought to myself now also defined me. I was cell B-14 in the jail inventory. I began to carefully look over how the bag was constructed. I knew about the folds and the glue which fastened the bottom of the bag together. However my minute investigation also discovered a glued seam on the back of the bag. I knew it was the back because "B14," now my new name, was on the opposite side.
I began to very slowly and meticulously begin undoing all the glued seams and folds of the paper bag itself. By trial and error I learned which way to get a little stream of water that clearly was to allow the inmate to get drink like at a drinking fountain, and how to use that same function to fill the sink with water for face and hand washing. (I originally called these activities my daily ablutions, but decided that was not an appropriate term for use by a jail inmate.) I was proud of my success in mastering these skills as no one had explained it to me...nor of course was there any booklet available entitled "How to Use Your Beautiful Stainless Steel Sink and Toilet." I had finished all but the final one of the folds on the bottom of the bag with my carful wetting and gentle separating of each glued fold when the bean slot dropped, and a plastic tray was placed on the tiny shelf (the door made a sort of shelf as it hinged at the bottom.)
I was so intensely involved in my unfolding of the bag that I did not move quickly enough to the slot. I knew this fact because as I was getting up from my little round seat, I heard "Get you butt over here NOW ASSHOLE, or I'll mark you as refusing food."
It was not a long journey to the slot, and I grasped the tray, saying loudly "Thanks SIR. I'll try to do better next time."
My politeness was met by a "Dumb SHIT!" and my little shelf slammed shut.
There was a plastic cover over a plastic tray – much like those used in school lunches...although a bit smaller I think My memory of school lunch trays is that they were maybe 18 to 20+ inches long, and probably at least a foot wide. This one was sized for my bean slot or perhaps twelve to fourteen inches max. At he most it was a foot wide, and I do mean at the VERY most.
When I opened the top I saw at the bottom spaghetti...somewhat matted together in a lump. The spaghetti had a little bit of red sauce on it, although most of the strands of spaghetti had some red smudges on them. There were lumps also which I guessed were meat of some kind. I did not worry too much from what animal the meat came as there was so little of it that the source was immaterial. At the top were green beans. I liked my green beans al dente, but these things were beaten to death. They stared up at me like limp lumps of green. Finally I looked to the last compartment. I was not sure, but I thought it might be peach puree. Aside from the pale yellowish color, and the fact the few lumps were in an ocean of syrup told him the peaches had come in a large can, and he had not gotten to peaches but the syrup. Finally I realized that there was nothing to drink. I realized that water and not wine was my beverage d' jour. Finally I saw a plastic spoon with little teeth like edges around the bowl. It was a forkspoon was no choice two implements all in one. Well I knew that my choice was no choice - eat what I had or starve.
I decided I would eat slowly to that as awful as it was it would seem more as I measured and spread out my meal for a long time. I knew that if I ate slowly my body would psychologically think it was eating more, and I would feel more fell, even though I was in actuality eating not so much.
That plan died in a sound that shocked and made me shake in fear. The slot door opened. "TRAY!" was the order.
"SIR I am not finished." I managed to yell at the door.
"Listen you dumb fuck. I have to get these trays back so that the kitchen crew can wash them and get the kitchen ready for breakfast. I have three more trays to pick up on this tier, by the time I am returning that tray had better be on the slot ready for pick up, or your tray tomorrow with by cereal with piss and shit sausage!"
Part of my mind thought the threat not to be possible. However, I was not too sure that tomorrow I would either have shit and piss for breakfast or gabble down the remaining stuff as fast as possible and get the try out there. I slurped up the peaches, and dumped the remaining spaghetti and green beans in the sink, and placed the empty tray on the door flap. I noticed these was some of the huge volume of syrup on the side of the tray and managed to wipe it off with the microscopic sized napkin that was in the plastic covering with the spoonfork. Just as I finished wiping and put the trash on the try, it was snatched away, and the door powerfully slmmed shut.
The meal was terrible, but the pain in my stomach was more from the terror I had just experienced than the questionable food I had just eaten.
I continued to work on my project to turn my paper bag into a piece of writing paper, but found my nerves were not up to the task. I decided to lay down on the bunk and try to calm myself. Against all logic I feel asleep.
I do not know how long I slept, but when I awoke it was dark outside and the light far overhead was on. I went back to the bench and thought about starting my paper project again, when a speaker that must be in the light fixture sprang to life.
"TEN MINUTES TO LIGHTS OUT. STOW GAMES, AND TAKE YOUR LAST PISS AND SHIT."
I thought perhaps that the water would be turned off for my little sink and toilet. Later I would find that the announcement was for the rest of the state tier. There were no toilets in the two man cells into which the bullpen prisoners were locked overnight. Therefore it some prisoner had to piss of shit overnight they had to wave their hands out of the bars, and get the guard's attention who was in the control room at the end of the cell block opposite the windows. I mentally realized that the little doors I had seen on my trip down the jail corridors led to these control rooms, and these control rooms looked over the cell block. From the control room one officer could safely control the doors of the whole block. There would be none of the grab a guard and get his keys stuff of tv and movies. I soon heard a gurgling sound from my toilet and I guessed that many inmates on the bottom two-man cell tier were indeed taking their last potty break for the night.
"ONE MINUTE!" was the next I heard, and then there was a klunking noise that I later figured out was all the switches on all the overhead lights being thrown at once, and then darkness in my cell. I had just a little light coming in from the window.
I moved over easily lay down on my plastic mattress and pulled the blanket over me. I did not go immediately to sleep. I lay there thinking that last night I was nervous but excited, and after putting clothes and billfold out so that I would not forget anything for my great adventure, I had gone to sleep in my king sized bed, with that absolutely comfortable king sized mattress, between very high thread count sheets that felt almost like silk to my almost naked body. (I slept only in my boxers.)
I actually thought abut removing my jumpsuit, but there was no place to put it, and I suspected I needed its warmth. I was amazed that actually fairly quickly, I went to sleep.
A awoke the next morning with a start as again the loudspeaker both in my little cell, and I could also hear from outside from the apparently very large speakers in the open cell area announced the following:
"CELL INSPECTION IN TEN MINUTES.
ALL INMATES MUST HAVE CELLS READY FOR INSPECTION IN TEN MINUTES
WHEN CELL DOORS OPEN INMATES ARE TO LEAVE THE CELL AND STAND AT ATTENTION IN TO THE LEFT OF THE CELL OPENING.
I had to assume that this announcement did not apply to me, but I decided that I should be ready. I got up. Looked at the desk and noted it was a bit messed up with my sack deconstruction project and my little supply of personal items sitting on the floor because I did not have room for them on the desk as I worked on the paper bag.
I decided my first task would be to smooth out the blanket and the mattress. As I looked at my attempt to smooth out the blanket, it would look better to have it folded neatly and have it at the foot of the bed. I stewed over whether to put the pillow on the blanket or keep it at the head of the bed... at least as far as I had decided it last night. I had the head facing the window, which made it close to the door. I folded the blanket a couple of times to get things even, placed the pillow which I did my best to plump up on top of the blanket. I looked at the personals on
the floor. They looked bad just lined up by the wall on which the desk and little seat were attached. I decided I would put them neatly under the steel platform of the bed. I put these items as neatly as I could under the blanket end of the bed. I then addressed the mess on the desk. I straightened the items on which I had been working, but there was little way to make it flat, as there was still one fold attached. I opted to refold the paper bag as much as possible. And then leave it folded on the desk. I looked around my little living space. I certainly had little to clutter the cell.
As I stood there, the door opened and a guard came to the opening. I recognized the uniform like the captain's from yesterday. He looked at the clipboard he had in his hand.
"COX, Why in the hell are you not in your inspection position?" he yelled at me.
I did not know what to do. Where was I supposed to be?
I was saved by the regular jailor who was with the captain. "SIR Cox just arrived here yesterday afternoon, SIR. SIR, Cox was not given the orientation lecture according to the notes I have here."
"COX did an officer give you a handout of inmate requirements and outline morning inspection?"
"SIR no SIR." I answered as manly as I could muster. I realized that this environment required you to be represent yourself as a man, but also to know your place. I was learning fast that being in a jail had so much more to it than I ever dreamed. I was absolutely shaking in fear.
I wanted to say, "But even without knowing did you notice may work in trying to make the bed, and clean up the cell?" I however had learned enough in less than one day as an inmate that silence was a better choice unless asked a direct question.
"Officer give Cox a handout, and you be sure some jailor gives him verbal directions."
"Yes SIR" was the jailor's reply.
The Captain did look over my cell. "Cox, I can see you did make some effort at preparing for inspection. I note you have worked on the bed and the desk. The sink needed to be cleaned and the inmate in solitary is to be at attention in front of the window when the door opens, but you have made an attempt." As the Captain was telling me these points he was also looking over some papers.
"I note that Captain Sims ordered that the window and bean slot were to remain closed until he ordered otherwise. I am superior to Captain Sims, and I am noting that this inmate may have the door window uncovered, and the slot door opened. Make a note of this change on this inmates standing orders."
"SIR yes SIR." the jailor replied.
I started breathing again. I had not realized how tense and almost terrified I had been in this encounter with one who held such power over me.
The jailor gave me a piece of paper. "Read over the rules COX and I'll be back later to review them with you."
"SIR yes SIR. SIR THANK YOU SIR!" I replied with genuine gratitude.
I made a mental note that although there were power freaks in the group of officers who controlled and ran the jail, there were also officers and jailors who were much less arbitrary and capricious.
As I thought of my mental use of the phrase "arbitrary and capricious" I was slipping into my knowledge of legal jargon. I needed to guard my tongue.
The door shut, but the two openings that allowed me some break in the door's isolation of me from the rest of the inmates were open. I had some sight, and some increased sound connection with the other inmates from the first floor cell block.
I sat on my little round seat, and put the list of rules down to read. But before I began the read, I realized that twenty-four hours ago I was so different from today. Yesterday I lived by myself in a four bedroom home in a upped middle class area of the city. Yesterday I was a respected member of the faculty of a large university in the city, and by wealth and position, I was one of the citizens of the city with more than the average rights and privileges of citizenship.
This morning I am a convicted criminal; and have been remanded to the custody of the state Department of Corrections. "Custody" is a polite term meaning the Department of Corrections owned my body. I could be sent where they determined. I would live in the level of control they determined. I would be allowed or denied more of slightly less levels of humanity... totally at the Department's discretion. I remembered the book entitled I am Third. I guess my book would be titled I am 0, and the Department is Everything.
As I read through the section on "MORNING INSPECTION" I could see that I had guessed correctly on the blanket and the pillow, but not my personals and definitely not in washing out and shining the sink. I also saw that my wash cloth and towel were also to be on the desk. I needed to plan ahead for tomorrow's morning inspection before I went to bed, I decided.
After I finished reading the instructions, and began thinking about tomorrow, and deciding that it was the paper bag that belonged on the floor.
As I was looking at the general rules, which mostly began with the phrase "Inmates will..." At the end there was also a list of "Inmates will not..." My life was now ordered not by myself but by a one page list of rules.
Society indeed was determined to make a point to persons convicted of violating its rules. You moved from freedoms to almost free less. I was already writing my book on how dramatically the criminal justice system reduced an American citizen to an American serf.