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THE ROOMMATE CHAPTER 10 SHU AND CONTEMPLATION
From Chapter 9
"Water is restored for cells eleven through fifteen." I knew that Beau could now flush. Then came my turn, and I was ready. I moved to the stainless steel tower and had my hand poised on the flush button.
"Water is now restored for cells sixteen through twenty." I pushed the button and heard the rush of water as my cell's toilet flushed. I smiled in appreciation for this privilege and then looked at myself in the polished metal mirror above the tower. This is the level which inmates in the SHU existed. I was physically and emotionally grateful and happy that those who controlled me completely had allowed me to flush my toilet. I wondered if my appreciation for this ability to flush would remain with me for long upon my return to society. I did know that now I truly did understand what Beau had been saying about Northern prisons. Could working in a coffle, with a steel collar on my neck and steel cuffs on my ankles and wrists, and chains locking me into the coffle be worse than this? I had been so positive and absolutely sure that Northern justice was so superior. Now I had to admit that I no longer was so positive.
Would I admit this reassessment to Beau? I did not know.
I turned and went to the bars of my cell door. I stood there and looked at the white wall, and listened to the yelling. Before when I heard all the noise I had determined that there was nothing in it but just that – noise. Now as I was in the center of the noise, I began to see that although the noise was loud, and there were many voices speaking almost at the same time, that I could determine that there were conversations going on, and that if you really knew the voice of the other person, you could really make a conversation.
Now that I had that thought, I smiled atmyself. Well, only in the strange world of the SHU could brief comments yelled between cells, somewhat bouncing words off the white wall to another cell, could be called a conversation.
"Chicago, did you see" ...lost in the noise "...17 come down the block?"
"Yah" ... noise ... "new hulk in 15." "Walked .." noise... "butt busted"..."red tail." laughter.
I began to figure out that I was the new inmate who had has his "butt busted."
Tiring of trying to make sense of the yelling, or perhaps because I did not wanting to hear any more comments about myself from the other inmates of these tiny cells, I did realize that Beau and I were of great interest to the other inmates if only because we were new.
I was beginning to understand that in the SHU there was a mind-numbing absence of stimulation.
There was no tv, and the inmates seemed to have little allowed in the cell to entertain themselves. I truly came to understand that it was not just the isolation and the hours being locked in a tiny cell that was the extreme punishment of the SHU. It was also the deprivation of the social intercourse – the stimulation of conversation with other persons that was the true extreme of the punishment of being locked in the SHU. I made a mental note to ask Beau how much interaction – being physically with – and more importantly being able to interact with and support other involuntary servants who slaved away on his plantations and even were servants in their homes.
Out of my boredom I then began to really examine the walls of this tiny space – my cell – my home. Here again I saw the desperate need of a human to communicate, and to make some mark of his presence.
There were not as many messages on the walls as I would have expected. Then I realized that the planners and builders of the SHU did not want an inmate to have even this little individuality.
The walls were cement block, covered with a thick off-white shiny paint and when I touched it, I could get a feel for how hard its surface was. I could not feel the cement blocks on which it was painted. I could only feel that absolute smoothness of the painted wall covering. I wondered if my father and the others who helped create this ultimate house of punishment really understood just how cruel they were being in their deliberate isolation of each inmate even to this almost traditional little freedom of "leaving your mark" on the walls of the cell into which you were forced to live.
The subject matter was actually not terribly interesting, but when you have nothing but the background of noise of all the inmates yelling at the guards or trying to talk to another inmate, and a white wall to look at, any different stimulation becomes very interesting. Almost all of the other few painstakingly produced scratched were names...or rather prisoner nick names, and some vituperative tirade against the guards or the SHU. "Chicago Cool" was one of the first of these scratched mementos I was able to read. "Fuck the Screws." was another original entry.
As I was working at trying to decipher other three names and other short messages on the walls of the area around the bed, I saw a guard appear at the door. Immediately I got up thinking that perhaps now that the lockdown was over that Lt. Hughes had arranged for Beau and me to be released. However that was only my hope. What the guard actually brought was dinner.
I thought how could this be time for dinner? It was still only late afternoon. Then, as I rose to go to the little opening that the guard was unlocking, I remembered meals were another aspect of the strange world of a prisoner. I remembered that inmates were given breakfast starting for some pods as early as 4:30 am, and I suppose even in the isolation and distance of the SHU breakfast was no later than 5:30 am. On normal days I could not imagine having to be up and ready to have my breakfast so early.
As the guard pushed a plastic tray with a Styrofoam lid. "Cold meal today. Inmates who work in kitchen were locked down, and so civilian staff made sandwiches. I took the tray inside my "house" as I had heard the inmates call their cells.
I opened the lid, and there was probably the worst looking meal I had even seen. The worst of the worst school meal looked and smelled delicious in comparison. The bread looked a bit stiff as it was either old, or had not fared well on the long trek from the main prison to the SHU. I pulled the two slices apart and was confronted by a thin smear of peanut butter, topped by a hint of some reddish substance which I guessed was institutional jelly. I held it up to my nose thinking perhaps I could determine what this smeared dash of red might be. I gave up. It was as generic and tired as the bread. I then opened the little plastic cup. It was again a normal item you might pack for a lunch on a trip, with a thin covering of some metal like substance to "seal in the goodness" I remembered reading on the top of one of these objects when I had been exiled to summer camp in my early years. After I opened it, I found myself looking at what I remember was called "heavy syrup" on a can of peaches I had once opened. However, that can was absolutely stuffed with fruit compared with what I found in the cup. There were several little cubes of yellow that I could only guess were part of a peach some years ago. The pieces were not only few, but tired looking. I took the little plastic spoon and decided I would try a taste.
Big mistake. The think syrup succeeded in killing any taste from the tiny yellow cube. I was hungry but I was not sure I could keep the "fruit" or the stiff old bread with its thin coat of peanut butter and the slight embellishment of red mystery fruit down my stomach if I did eat it.
I finally gave my attention to the little chunk of celery which finished the meal. I picked it up. It was limp. I was hungry, but I decided I would just put up with my hunger until I could eat real food.
I picked up the tray and began to place it on the little shelf made by the door which the officer had left open when he had left the try on it. I had placed the tray there, but not released it from my grasp when I began to think like a convict. What would happen if I returned the tray with nothing eaten? Would my unwillingness to eat these items which almost any civilized person would dismiss as garbage be considered by the officers of the SHU as an act of defiance, or rebellion, which were the reasons why inmates were brought to punishment in the SHU.
Suddenly I thought again of my still sore butt. I did not want another trip to the punishment room. What might happen to my butt if I violated the rules again so soon after my first defiance...as determined by a recording? I took the tray back, and took a second bite of the sandwich and then dumped the peaches and the celery into the toilet. I stood looking at the sandwich, deciding that I could not face more of it.
The taste was stuck in my mouth like the peanut butter which was smeared on the bread. I then also deposited the sandwich also in the toilet and flushed. I was relieved to see it disappear to it deserved final resting place.
I returned to gingerly sit on the sleeping shelf, and again began trying to read the names and messages on the walls, when the guard returned and took the tray.
"Miller, inmates are not allowed to waste food. If you again flush your food down the toilet you will go without the regular food for a week and be restricted to one slice of bread... Really old bread.. and the water you can drink from the water spigot on the toilet tower. Do you understand convict?"
I looked at the officer, and felt real fear. I realized that somehow there were cameras watching even inside this tiny space, and that there was no privacy here at all. However, my increasing sense of survival kicked in and I replied, "I am sorry officer. I did not realize that I was violating regulations, and I will not do it again, SIR."
"Make sure you don't!" was the comment as the officer slammed shut the little door, which had for a few moments would have allowed me to have a three by ten inch open view of the relatively open space outside the cells in the SHU. My world again was the cell, and what I could see in the little space between the bars of my cage door. I went to my shelf sleeping area, and after sitting there momentarily, moved over on my left side so I could see the bars of the door to the cell, and through the opening between the bars to the white wall. I came to realize that even the huge expanse of white painted cement blocks were just another planned part of the hell of the SHU. Even the wall you could see from your cell provided you with no stimulation.
as you looked at the wall, and wondered whether the designers actually planned for this wall of white nothingness. I looked at the wall, and the answer became obvious – of course they did.
BEAU'S STORY My time of learning to walk in shackles did make me realize that the state's insistence that our involuntary servant workers have their ankles shackled all the time really did keep them from being able to work as efficiently as they could without those leg shackles. I had always thought the jangle of their chains clanking along as they worked was a rather pleasant accompaniment to their work. I realize now that my appreciation for the sound of the chains clanking was a constant reminder of the difficulty the servants had wearing chains in accomplishing the tasks they had to accomplish to avoid punishment. Well I knew that there was no changing the minds of the citizens and legislators of the my state about keeping these servants be chained, but I could see what I could do to make sure the difficulty of accomplishing some tasks while shackled be taken into consideration by the overseers when applying a whip or baton to a servant to have them work faster or better.
I was taken and inserted into my cell and the door closed behind me. I had a feeling of claustrophobia. I could touch both side walls of the cell while standing in the little floor space between the concrete shelf at the back which had a mattress on it, and therefore could be identified as the bed. The two sides I could touch at the same time, and the bars across the front of the cell that very effectively kept me inside, just like the bars on the cage of a wild animal in a circus keeps those animals confined and separated from people. The bars on the front of the cell didn't give the inhabitant of the cell much feeling of open space. From the inside of the cell, the bars were what you saw first, and was what your eyes fixed o.
I then concentrated on the stainless steel tower which was sink, drinking fountain, and toilet.
I noticed a little round seat folded up against the left side of the cell as I looked out.
I pulled it down and discovered that it was a little seat, but not one made for a gluteus maximus as generous as mine. When I tried to sit on it, I discovered it so left the most of me hanging over the edge. I would not be sitting on the seat in my time in this little space.
Since there was only one other choice for seating in this tiny cage was the bed I moved back and sat on it. I could tell that the thin mattress was not really much help in softening the feel of sitting on hard concrete. There I sat listening to the other inmates shouting at each other. As I listened I was amazed that I could hear that it was possible to distinguish some voices in the din and therefore it would be possible to carry on a sort of conversation between cells.
As I listened I suddenly realized several of the shouts were directed toward me.
"Hey! Big butt! Ask the guard to let me in your cell. I'll give you a warm, personal welcome by my cock up your big ass." I realized that this welcome came from the cell just to my left.
"Sweet cheeks, Love to plow you and make you mine." That came through clearly from the cell on my right.
I heard bits and pieces of references to myself in the din which was communication in the cell block, but I concentrated on being at the cell bars when Frank came down past me to his cell after punishment.
Soon after I had made my initial appraisal of my accommodations, I heard another increase in the volume of shouting coming down from the wall that connected this cell house to the rest of the SHU building, and I immediately wondered if the cause for this increased shouting might be Frank's arrival. I soon saw that it was and I saw Lt. Hughes coming down the line with Frank.
I was shocked at how different Frank appeared. He was sort of bent over and he shuffled rather than walked. He no longer looked like the independent, confident, and positive person I knew.
He looked like a shadow of a person, who was a defeated, broken, and servile.
I stood at the bars, and tried to make eye contact with Frank as he was supported by Lt. Hughes on his journey. He shuffled along with the chain connecting his ankles dragging on the concrete floor. He did not really walk but with Lt. Hughes help, he sort of shuffled along. He looked defeated and dispirited.
He sort of glanced in my direction, and I could see the redness of his eyes. My eyes looked at a person who had been broken. Had he really been an inmate, he would be one compliant zombie-like ideal inmate. He would not cause any trouble, and just a glance from a co would bring fear to his total being. I wondered if away from this place my old Frank would reappear.
I was worried.
After he was out of my sight, I thought again of how sure Frank had been that this northern justice was do much more humane, less destructive of the person, and infinitely better way to deal with law breakers than the involuntary servitude system of Tennessee and most other states.
I could not speak for every situation into which an involuntary servant might be placed, but I was very sure that the involuntary servants who worked on our enterprises were infinitely better off than the inmates in the SHU, and I thought I could make a pretty good case for involuntary servitude as being better across the board.
After Frank's little parade was past, I sat down to look at the graffiti on the walls. There was not as much as I expected but on closer examination of the painted wall covering, I could see a very few marks. I think I could decipher "Fuck Screws," and a couple of "Yea's" and that was about it. I wondered at how the inmates could find anything strong enough to scratch their messages on the thick paint on the cement block of the walls.
I was just beginning to think how boring time was in a cell in the SHU when I heard an announcement that the prison was on lockdown, and water and electricity was being shut off in the cells. I had not felt any need to use the toilet until it was announced that the water was shut off, and then suddenly I felt the waste from the enormous lunch that we had had at Tony's Grinders indicating that it was time to eliminate. Automatically I unsnapped my jumpsuit, and realized that to shit I would need to actually get almost completely get out of the jumpsuit.
Finally I unsnapped enough snaps to drop the jumpsuit to my ankles, dropped the scratchy boxers and planted my buns on the smooth stainless steel of the seat for the toilet.
"SHIT!" was out of my mouth automatically as my butt registered how cold that steel was.
I then laughed. Indeed shit was the plan.
After I sat there a while of course I warmed the steel, and reaching to the little opening in the tower found the toilet paper, which when I used it, I decided could double as sand paper. After finishing my paperwork, I got up, and pushed the little rectangle button at the side of the tower which was etched with the word "FLUSH." I pushed the button. NOTHING HAPPENED.
Then I remembered that it had been announced that the block was going on lockdown, and that the water was being turned off. I could not figure out why it was designed not to flush when the water was turned off since it would flush down the body waste, but them it suddenly occurred to me I was not thinking prison. The water was turned off because the authorities wanted to be sure that the inmates could not flush contraband literally "down the toilet."
I was relieved that actually the toilet did not smell, and went over and crawled up on the sleeping shelf and went to sleep.
I do not how long I napped, but I was awakened when the announcement was made that lockdown was over, and then water was turned on by sections. When my cell 115 was listed, I did what others had done, and immediately flushed.
Soon after the adventure of lockdown, a guard came by and unlatched the little rectangular door toward the bottom of the cell door. The door was solid steel and when opened form a sort of shelf in all the bars. The guard placed a Styrofoam tray on the shelf. He left and for a time I would have an unobstructed view of ----- a totally white painted cement block wall. "Cold dinner. Inmate cooks could not be released to prepare the hot dinner." was his bored comment.
I supposed he made this announcement at every cell.
"Shit," I thought. Isn't it early for dinner. Then I remembered that Frank said that in the crazy world of the prison, breakfast was at 4:00 am to 5:00 am, and so dinner at 4:30 or 5:00 whatever the time was would be about right.
I took the tray inside and looked at too semi-stiff pieces of bread, which I pried open to reveal a slightly shiny thin coating of peanut butter, with some mysterious reddish substance which I assumed would be called jelly spread on the top stiff slab of bread. This item was not at all something I would eat, and so I investigated the little plastic cup deal with a pull tab top. I pulled the tab and there was a really thick syrup in which there were several little cubes of some yellow fruit. I opened the plastic spoon from its plastic covering, and thrust it into the cup. I was able to retrieve a couple of the yellow cubes, but could not catch the cubes without also capturing a large amount of the syrup. My taste buds registered a very sweet syrup, and the little cubes of a peach. I looked the little pieces of peaches in the thick and plentiful syrup. My quick estimate was that perhaps the manufacturer could get at least twenty cups from one normal sized peach. Finally I examined green stock and figured it was celery. It also was still somewhat crunchy, but not as fresh as I was used to. It was not something I would like to eat.
The contrast to the magnificent grinders at Tony's could not be more dramatic. I finally tried the last item on the tray, which was the beverage. This turned out to be a bottle of water. It was also not cold, and so I opted for a drink from the stainless steel tower.
I made a last survey of dinner. I had eaten the few chunks of peach that was in the cup, and been forced to also consume a bunch of the thick syrup. I had looked at and rejected eating the peanut butter and jelly sandwich after taking it apart and finding its composition unacceptable. I had decided that water from the stainless steel tower was actually better than the tepid bottled water, and I had actually not tried to consume the somewhat tired chunk of celery. I then smiled. Soon we would be released, and we would leave Hampden, drive back to Frank's home and have a delicious meal. I could wait. I looked at the opening in the steel bars of my door. If I were to sit down on the floor, AND lean over a bit I imagine that I could have looked at the white wall unencumbered by bars. This opportunity was not thrilling enough to cause me the difficulty of scrunching down to sit on the floor.
Instead I sat back down on my "bed" shelf, and waited for something to happen. I did notice was the sounds of the little slot doors in the steel bars of our cells being closed. I assumed that this was the guard coming around to collect the trays of our magnificent dinner. I rose, picked up the Styrofoam tray which still contained almost my entire dinner. He came to the door, I did put the tray on the shelf. The guard looked at the almost totally untouched items on the tray.
"Inmate, are trying to begin a hunger strike?"
"No Sir."
"Then why are there so many items on this tray that have not been consumed?"
I contemplated answering that when I was released from this educational experience I would be traveling to a home at there I would be eating five star rated food, and therefore I was totally uninterested in affronting my stomach with this crap.
However I know that response would not be good. Instead I replied, "Sir I just did not feel like eating this meal, Sir." I thought that with two Sir's that reply would be servile enough to suffice. I was wrong.
"Inmate, as I said there are rules in the SHU about refusing food. There will be no hunger strikes in the SHU. Since you are new, I will have you take the tray again, and consume your dinner. I also warn you that you are not allowed to flush food down the toilet, as your buddy found out.
Refusal to obey this order will result in a level one violation, and you will join your buddy having a session in the punishment room." I had seen Frank after his session, and I did not want to join him in misery, and so I caved in.
"Sir, this inmate did not understand these rules SIR. Sir if you will allow this inmate some time, this inmate will consume the meal as required..." I paused, and then thought better of leaving matters at this point, and added another "SIR."
The guard gave me a look but left. I took the tray inside and placed it on the little table again, and took the sandwich in my hand, and closing my eyes so as to only taste this insult to the word "food" and not also have to look at it also. I decided that I needed a plan. What was the order of items from worst to least worst. I decided the sandwich was the worst and so I took as big of bites as I could, and chewed as rapidly as possible. I believe sawdust would have been easier to force myself to eat. After several horrible bites of the sandwich, I got it down. It was truly terrible. I followed that up with the limp piece of celery. I mentally amused myself with an observation that had the sandwich been more limp and the celery more crisp and solid, the meal might have at least felt like food fit for human consumption. I then moved to the syrup and few bits of peaches still in the cup. I spooned out two spoonfuls of that irritatingly sweet syrup with I suppose a couple more chunks of peach. Finally I opened the water battle and used a couple gulps of water to try to take the horrible aftertaste of the supposed food I had eaten. I then dutifully placed the try on the shelf. Soon the guard returned, and looked at the tray.
"I agree with you convict, the food is normally not good, but this lockdown shit of always awful.
I am sorry to make you eat it, but even guards are subject to observation in the SHU, and I would get into trouble if I did not make you follow the rules."
"Officer thank you for your comments, SIR." I said. "A little bit of normal human conversation does help, SIR"
The officer looked at me, and there was a vestige of a smile on his face, and then he returned to his business. I realized now that we were not the only ones always under the gaze of Big Brother.
"I can leave the flap down until my next round if you would like." the guard said.
I really did not care, but I realized that this offer of the ability to look outside my cage without looking through bars was really a kindness to me that was extra. To have refused would have been poor manners, and we in the South are reared to always show proper manners.
"Thank you officer. I would appreciate that opportunity to look without having bars frame or obstructing whatever I could see outside this cell."
The guard looked at me with a little look of surprise. I suspect that civility had been beaten out of the inhabitants of the SHU, and so any normal civility was unusual.
Truthfully, the huge expanse of white block wall was about as interesting without bars in my foreground, but I indeed did sit on the floor and look at the wall.
Two thoughts popped into my mind.
One was that happiness is a relative term. Never would I have thought that I would find an unobstructed view of a wall as a privilege, but I now did so.
The second was that I really did still believe our southern use of inmates was much more humane than this barbaric system I was experiencing, but when I was in control of our family estates, I would do what I could to make the lives of our slaves (suddenly I noted that I had just called these persons under involuntary servitude "slaves," which we in the South who used these individuals as a very cheap work force were trained never to do.) have a little better life. I would look into the housing of our servants and ameliorate it if possible.
As I was sitting and looking at the ever interesting white wall, I again heard a rise in volume to my left, and with the benefit of experience I knew that some authority person was coming down the line. As I sat there looking at the floor and the wall, I suddenly also saw perfectly shined black shoes, and cuffs at the end of perfectly pressed slacks. I knew instantly that Lt. Hughes was before the door to my cell.
"Open 15." I heard the Lieutenant say into his shoulder, as usual.
The door to my cell began to open, and I stirred to begin to stand up.
"Stay on your knees convict. Remember a convict does not leave a cell unless in his chains."
Indeed I now heard the clanking of the chains, which I knew the captain would have over his shoulder and in his hands.
I turned around so that now I faced my luxurious bunk, and out of habit I placed my hands at my sides.
Soon I felt the leg shackles being locked around my ankles.
Then I felt Lieutenant Hughes lifted me up, and reached around and locked a belly chain around my waist, and then firmly lock first my right and then my left wrists into the handcuffs which were dangling on chains from the belly chain which locked my wrists and hands at my thighs.
Lieutenant Hughes then firmly grasped my left elbow and helped me get up on my feet.
"Back up slowly convict." he ordered.
I slowly shuffled backward and soon was outside the bars and looking inside the call. The feeling of relief and happiness...yes happiness...which overwhelmed me at being outside the cell was something that surprised me at its intensity. I had not thought being locked inside that small area, and looking at the rest of the world----as small as that world was---- through bars would have affected me so much that my relief at being outside really excited me deeply.
"Close 15" Lieutenant Hughes again said into his shoulder, and the door began its journey closing and locking the opening.
With his hand still firmly on my elbow, I shuffled in my shackles down the line to the door which I knew led to the still locked area just outside the cell block, but was a picture of spaciousness compared to my most recent total area of habitation.
As we traveled down the line I again was treated to cat calls and verbal abuse.
"Boy, don't you want to stay longer? Boy was it something we said? Hey shit head couldn't cut it so mommy got you release?" These were some of the comments I heard on my trip. Several more were in prison slang, and I did not know what they meant exactly, but I certainly was sure it impugned my masculinity, my sexuality, and my adulthood.
Soon we arrived at the door and once again a call from Lt. Hughes allowed the door to open, and we then traveled, with his still holding on to my elbow and controlling me through my belly chained wrists and my shackled ankles.
Soon once again I was left standing as Lt. Hughes found the right key to open the door to the clothing room. After he had unlocked the door, and once again guided me into the room, he --- hopefully for the last time—guided me down on my knees, and I felt first my right and then my left ankles being released from the leg shackles. While I was still helpless on my knees...and I can assure you that you are helpless because I wanted to get up in the worst way... but with your hand chained to your sides, I don't know how you could do it. Once again I realized that there was method to the method of doing everything. All procedures were set up to maximize the control of the officer and the dependence or helplessness of the inmate. I suppose that these methods had been developed over time, and as far as I could tell, were very effective. I heard the clinking of the leg shackles as Lt. Hughes placed them over a hook on the wall.
Lt. Hughes then returned and helped me get on my feet again by using the handy elbow control system which the belly chains and side cuffs provided the officer. Once on my feet Lt. Hughes unlocked my wrists, and as he held the chain encircling my waist he demonstrated that I still was not a free man yet. Once I heard the padlock snap open and felt the chain release the pressure around my waist, I truly felt free again.
"While I am going out to get Frank, you can change out of your jumpsuit and be get back to looking like a college student on a field trip and not a convict receiving discipline."
"Yes SIR," I replied. I saw my clothes, and almost before Lt. Hughes had turned around and left the room my jump suit was on the floor, and by the time he was out the door, my prison boxers were gone, and I was once again in my soft silk-like boxers and in my "Free world, let's visit a prison" outfit. As I stood in this room realizing that I still had a limited area of freedom, and that without Lt. Hughes or some other officer, I still was locked inside the SHU building...although more comfortably clothed and with a vast amount more freedom of movement.
FRANK When I heard the increased volume of noise, and heard in moving down the line, I knew that a correction officer was moving down the line. I stood up and went to the bars. As I arrived, the thought again crossed my mind that I was indeed...in so short of time... adopting the ways of an inmate. That thought was followed almost immediately by my realization that inmate behavior was actually natural and normal adaption of a human to his environment. As I stood there I saw the officer "and realized it was Lieutenant Hughes. "Open 17" he said to his shoulder microphone.
The door to my cell opened, but I knew that I should not move until told what to do.
"Turn around and face the back of the cell and then get on your knees so you can be cuffed." Lt.
Hughes ordered.
Of course I immediately did as ordered. As soon as I was on my knees, I felt the cuffs for my leg shackles being locked and tightened around my ankles.
I then felt Lt. Hughes take hold on my arm.
"Stand up convict." he ordered.
With his help I was soon on my feet, and then I again felt the chain being put around my waist, and then heard and felt it being locked snugly around me. Then, Lt. Hughes firmly grasped my right wrist and locked it into its cuff, followed immediately by my left wrist.
"We are going to leave the cell block convict." he said.
"Sir yes SIR" I replied.
Soon with Lt. Hughes now leading me by the familiar guidance of holding on to my elbow wing caused by the belly chain cuffs, we began our walk down the cell block toward the door to the entry hallway. All the way down the clock I heard other inmates yelling at me and Lt. Hughes.
To me it was just noise. I paid no attention to it. It was just racket that accompanied anyone moving down the block. I also knew that the yelling was each inmate exercising perhaps his only freedom to react to an officer without the expectation that any wrong comment could make him somehow be in even worse circumstances than he now was experiencing.
I smiled to myself knowing that if I were here I would be a champion of the yellers. As we walked I realized that I would be broken to being an inmate with very little work from the institution. The SHU had worked its magic on me. I knew that I would be a model and obedient inmate from now on.
I was in my dream world, and was only snapped out of it when I heard Lt. Hughes have the door that brought an inmate into this terrifying world, also now made the door open to release this broken inmate out.
We crossed the lobby like space and Lt. Hughes unlocked the door to the clothing room as I stood obediently exactly where he left me.
"Enter the clothing room inmate." LT. Hughes ordered, and I immediately replied "Yes Boss."
and entered.
Lt. Hughes guided me into the center of the room and he again used my cuffed elbow wings to guide me to the floor. I felt my leg shackles unlocked and removed. I could hear Lt. Hughes move them to the wall and hang them up. He returned and I felt the wrist cuffs being removed, and then the belly chain unlocked. I instinctively began to rub my wrists.
"Frank, get up and change back into your clothes." Lt. Hughes said, and I almost said " Sir, yes SIR." but I did catch myself in time.
I got up, and looked over a Beau, who was smiling at me, but also seemed to be waiting for me to say something. I could not think of anything to say. Was I afraid to speak without permission? I made a conscious effort to get my mind back to being Frank Wilkinson.
"Shit" I said...surprised at my crude remark. "My ass with be tender for days, and I think I will be saying, "Yes SIR." to anyone in authority for some time.
"I am a little concerned Frank that the paddling broke you into an inmate." Lt, Hughes said, looking at me intently.
I paused as I began to go over to where my civilian clothes were, and as I took them down, and then began to unsnap my jumpsuit, I looked at him.
"Lieutenant, the SHU and corporal punishment are like magic, I'll have to admit. It felt weird, but I really think you broke me into a real convict."
"Well get dressed in your clothes. We'll hope that the old saying that clothes make the man will work magic and return you to your real self."
I nodded at the Lieutenant, and continued undressing. I stripped off my prison undershirt, slipped out of my prison sandals and white socks, and dropped my stiff prison boxers to the floor. I momentarily realized that I did so without thinking about it and with little concern for being naked in front of Beau and the Lieutenant. I then walked over and grabbed my marvelously soft and luxurious boxers, and then went on to reacquaint my body with my marvelously comfortable, non-institutional clothing.
"Lieutenant, I was sure nothing could be worse than that strip search. I now know that there are worse things."
Lieutenant Hughes looked at me very intensely. "Yes, you have gone through an experience that I am sure you will never forget. However, as you go back to your old environment, and to your real life, I am sure this experience will become less a dominant part of your whole life."
"I am not sure how much I will forget...ever." I said slowly as I was truly thinking over Lt, Hughes' comment. "But I will certainly always value my freedoms more than I ever have before."
"Well boys, we are later than you were supposed to leave, but I have called your Father, Frank, and explained that due to the lockdown I, and indeed no officer, was available to walk you back to the outside. I will not mention your extra time and experience in the SHU, and so if you do not bring it up to your Father, he will never know."
"Lieutenant I do not imagine my Father will ask too many questions, and right now I am willing to keep this last experience between us."
And with this remark I also looked directly at Beau.
"You don't have to worry buddy. What happens in the SHU, stays in the SHU." Beau replied.
Back in civilian clothes, Beau, the Lieutenant, and I retraced out steps out through the door to the building that was the SHU, and around the exercise pens, which I glared at for their part in my painful punishment, up the hill, and across the central area, and soon were back at the triple gates leading to the visitor's and administrative center. All across the walk Beau and Lt. Hughes were talking, and I was still lost in my thoughts.
When we were processed through the several gates, and were back in the administrative building Lieutenant Hughes dropped one last bomb shell on us.
"Frank and Beau, since you have been in very restricted areas of the facility, I must again strip search you before you may leave. Frank I'll do you first. Just go into the search room and close the door, and I will be in there shortly. Do not do anything until I arrive"
I shuddered a bit, but did as ordered, I opened the door, closed it, and went to the chair and sat down...carefully.. on it to await the search.
I did smile to myself. "The strip search I thought was the most demeaning thing that would happen to me ever. Sometimes you just have no idea.
When he entered, he looked at me. Frank stand up, and do as you are instructed. Then he showed me a card which said, the video usually made of the strip searched is not being made in the normal way. Strip down to you shorts, and the camera has been repositioned not to catch that you are not naked.
We went through the routine as he did the first time except when he told me to step out of my boxers, I pretended to do so, but did not. Likewise Lt, Hughes pretended to do his checks but did not. Soon I was instructed to put my clothes on and I left the room I went to the outer waiting room for Beau to finish his exit strip search, and soon he too left shaking Lt. Hughes' hand with genuine vigor.
We walked out of the administration building, and headed for my car.
"Well that was certainly educational...especially for one of us I bet. Sometime soon we will have to renew that discussion of involuntary servitude and the punishment of incarceration in a non-slave state prison. But all that can wait." Beau said as we walked away toward my car.
I looked at him, but said nothing but just nodded.
"By that way." Beau said as he assessed my sudden speechlessness. "Do you want me to drive so relieve you of excessive movement on your posterior?"
I smiled. "Good idea. I may just sit lightly in the passenger seat."
"While we're driving back to Williams, we'll have a long talk."
Again Beau gave me his most laconic smile and nodded.