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First let me point out the obvious. This is an alias account. I bought this account specifically to post this thread for reasons which will soon become clear. As background I'm a regular forums poster, and have been so for a while. So, hopefully it is clear why I am using this account. Once this thread dies down, I'll probably do an autoban or see if the admins will let me give it away to someone. Second, there are a few forums members who know me in person, and you'll know who I am once you read this. I ask on good faith that you please not reveal my identity. While I'm proud of who I am and the sum of my life, I'd really rather not have to suffer through "HEY PRISON DUDE, LOL BUTTSECKZ" in every subsequent post. Third, quite a few of you are very good Internet Detectives. All of the names, places, cities, states, and identifying bits of information are changed. There's always the chance that I'll make a mistake or give just enough information for someone to put some puzzle pieces together. I know that I can't and don't control anyone here, and I understand that I am posting this at my own peril, but again, I ask for restraint in revealing my identity. In the event that it should come out, it wont make much of a difference, I'm not ashamed of this, or my past, I just would rather it didn't. I hope you all understand, and will support me in my attempt to inform others about life behind the wire, answer some questions, and get it off my chest. I've seen some threads here about people who have done some short stretches, mostly in county jails, but never anyone who's done a long stretch in prison, especially at a MAX facility, much less escaped... So I figured I'd contribute. So lets see. Here's how I went to prison, escaped, got caught, got extradited back, had sex in jail (with a woman, no less!), got married in Jail, rescued a kitten, got out without being rectally violated and got my poo poo back together. Please bear with me - I'm not a very good writer. It's the early nineties, I'm about twenty-two years old and just moseying through life, not the brightest ever kid, I suppose. Little harmless "growing up" scrapes with the law here and there, nothing to write home about. The internet is just starting to get its legs, crossing over from the FIDOnet/BBS days, and its still more of a lawless digital frontier run by extreme geeks, hobbyhackers, phreaks, and universities. Long story short, I "come across" some interesting Government owned stuff, and like a dumbshit, I post it to a board, you know, "Hey guys look what I found, what do you think it could be?" type stuff. Well it turns out it was rather sensitive, and some pretty important people were fairly upset about some kid getting his hands on their private stash and posting it on the internet for all to see. So I'm discovered, stuck on "con air" (an interesting experience in itself), flown to the Federal Transit hub (A big giant jail at an airport, believe it or not), and from there, hauled off to the local county Jail. (I'm omitting lots of details here for my own piece of mind.) After selling my cars and everything else I own to pay for good lawyers, the Federal conspiracy charges are dropped (I was looking at 65 yrs, which under Federal sentencing guidelines, says I would have done a minimum of 50 on that.) But it turns out the local Judge and DA had taken something of a shine to me. So they slapped me with three counts of "obtaining money or merchandise by false pretenses." - Fair enough I suppose, having by now bounced a couple grand in checks due to this whole fiasco, as well as poor financial management on my own part. The local DA wants to play hardball because he figures I got off easy with the Federal charges being dropped, and he is trying to make a show for the Governor, who has taken an interest in my case, for some reason - probably because it happened in a pretty military oriented state and the Federal charges were rather serious. So, despite my attorney's best wrangling, the best we can do is a guilty plea in exchange for five years. Wherein I am assured that, if I take this deal, I will be sent to the main processing/intake facility, be evaluated and booked into the state corrections system, and within a month at most, released on an ankle monitor to serve out the remainder of my sentence from home, what with being a harmless non-violent white-collar criminal with no noteworthy similar convictions in my past. County jail is not a happy place to be. Especially if you know you're going to be doing a stretch of time. It is the slowest, most tedious time of the whole corrections experience. Also, because of the nature of a County Jail, it is the most violent. Because what you have is a combination of guys who are waiting to "pull chain", meaning they've been sentenced to time at a State prison, and are waiting for transit to come and pick them up and take them to the State Intake Facility, and they're eager to prove themselves before they get to a yard, you have the short-timers doing their DUI weekend time, or their 30 days for Domestic or breaking/entering, or battery, who have read one to many Steven King books and think that the first thing they need to do when they get into county is to win a fight with someone, again, to prove themselves, and you have the "local color" - Guys who are in and out of jail so often that they dont really give a poo poo if their stay at County gets stretched out a bit, because it's like a mini vacation from their fat slovenly wives and their truck that doesnt work, etc. And then you get your drunks who, if they put one in your cell, you never know what kind of drunk they're going to be. Oh and then the guys who think that if they cry, scream, kick their doors hard enough the Sheriff will come in and let them go, which only pisses the 'residents' off at them. And with the turnover rate at County Jails being so quick, there isnt much of a chance to build alliances, find out who to trust, etc. So County is where you're going to see most of the fighting, crying, etc. Also, in County, they (the system) doesnt know you very well, so you're all treated like hardcore high-risk offenders. So this means you shave twice a week, under direct supervision, your visits are "through the glass", like you see in movies, you have no real "outdoor" time to speak of, the food is horrible, and your canteen options are minimal, at best. Basic necessities only, maybe you can buy some candy if you're lucky. Most county Jails also dont allow smoking nowadays. But like anything else, tobacco finds its way into the facility. While I'm a smoker, I quickly learned I could forego paying between $2 and $10 in canteen items in trade for a cigarette. Your day looks like this (Depending on your facility, of course - each is different). Wake up for breakfast at about 7am, get counted eat, go back to bed until about 10am. Wake up. Shower if you're brave. Take care of any business (calls to attorneys, etc). Lunch at about noon, get counted, watch tv in the dayroom, provided nobody's hosed up so far so you're not "locked down" in your cell all day, about 2pm get counted, go "outside" (meaning a fenced-in, razorwired area usually on the roof of the jail) for 30 minutes to an hour, come back, get counted. around 4pm is mail call, when you get to find out who found the time to write you back. Count again, then at 6 is dinner. After that, call your girl if you have one and she can afford the $7.50 collect call, where you get 15 minutes, timed calls, if you're lucky. To use the phone during this time usually requires an hour wait in line. If, after two attempts you cant get trhough to anyone, you go back to the end of the line to wait to try again. 9pm is lockdown for the night. This is when you write desperate letters to old friends, ex girlfriends, etc. Anyone you think might possibly write you back. Even if its to tell you what a fuckoff you were and how much they hate you and never, ever write them again, it's a letter you will read over and over again because its something somebody took the time to put pen to paper to with you in mind. Validation that your whole existance on this Earth hasn't somehow been deleted from everyone's memory. Each cell has a window. Usually its about one foot by three feet wide. Having no interest in television or cards when the dayroom was open, I would mostly stay in my cell and watch life happen outside the window. Its funny about county jails. because usually they're in the middle of an urban area. So you sit there in your orange jumpsuit, and look at the world through the glass covered in scratchings of gang names, FTW's, "Sherrif Osbourne is a cocksucker", "James L was here" and horrible jailhouse poetry. Its interesting to just watch the world happen yet be totally excluded from it. People going to work, trains going by, cars at intersections. People on sidewalks. I never knew I'd miss just the sound of a shoe on a sidewalk. Anyway, Like I was saying, I took the plea-bargain. It took about thirty days for me to be picked up to be brought to the State Assessment center. This is where you get medical tests, in-depth health assessments, education testing, psych assessments and interviewed several times by various people. All of this combined with your past incarceration history, etc is used to assess your general fitness and risk, and determines what Prison you're sent to, and at what security level. And they shave your head. Only if this is your first trip through the system, though. This establishes a hirearchy right off the bat. Those with shaved heads (Skinners), those with not (Folks who have done time before and know how it works). In most states, you're given a level based on security points. The amount of security points (cumulative numbers based on all of your assessment scores and history) indicates what security level you're placed on, and that security level determines what security prison you go to. The levels are: Conditional Supervision (AKA Ankle Monitor) Community/Work Release Minumum Security: Unfenced facility, weekend passes on good behavior, no "cells" but large rooms with bunkbeds. Full contact visits (non-conjugal - thats Federal only.) High-minimum security: Fenced facility, usually no weekend passes, no cells, some off-compound work Full contact visits Medium security: Double fenced with razor wire, some off compound work, Full contact visits for most, others behind glass. Two-man Cells, usually has a counterpart minimum security facility. High Medium or Low-max securty: Same as above, only the guards have shoot-on-attempt orders. This is where I spent most of my time. Maximum: Yard time is point to point only. No loitering. Heavy supervision. Shoot-on-attempt. Two-man cells. Contact vistits but no visiting "yard", only a room. Ultra-Max: If you're here, you're either under long term administrative segregation, or you're on the Row and waiting for your turn to visit the sleepy-sleepy room. Assessment is also Ultra-max, becuase it deals with all incoming inmates. So I went to the Assessment center. It's a lot like jail, except you spend alot more time in your cell, because, again, you're now convicted and among other convicts, ranging from short timers like myself to killers waiting to go to Ultra-max, so you only get about two hours a day of dayroom time. The food is a little better here, though. Less beans. In my assessment, because I was a first-time felon, convicted of a white collar crime, with a "short" sentence, with a recommendation from the judge to go directly to Conditional Supervision, that's how I was classified. I was ready. I'd had enough and I'd learned my lesson. All I had to do was wait for my final W&W check (wants and warrants) and I was free to go begin home-incarceration a'la Martha Stewart, minus the ponies. The next couple days were spent tossing and turning in my cell, these six months of torture were about to be over. I could taste the outside air. Well of course the story would end here if everything went the way it was supposed to. But life being what it is, this is only the beginning. I get called into my case manager's office, and told that I will not, in fact be going home this week. When I heard that, my jaw dropped to the ground and my heart sank like it never had before. My case manager calmly and indifferently explains to me that I have a detainer (ie warrant) pending from some county outside of Dallas, Texas for forgery of a financial instrument. Now, here's where it gets interesting. I've never been to this county, and only driven through Texas and seen some shows in Deep Ellum. That's it. never wrote a check, certainly never forged one. But alas, there's a detainer on me, so I now have to be fully classified and assigned to a facility while this works itself out. He told me if, in fact, they dont wish to extradite me to Texas and they drop the detainer, I'll be released in mere weeks, but as long as there is anything pending over me, I cannot be released to Conditional Supervision. So off I go to the other side of the state where I am put in a high-minimum security facility (fenced, see descriptors above). Days turn into weeks turn into months, during which time I re-establish contact with a girl that I'd dated for a few years before all this poo poo began. We start speaking through mail, and I write letters daily. After some time, she decides to come visit me - wasn't too long after the first visit that she reaches her hand across the table at the visiting yard and is holding my hand. Gentlemen, let me tell you, when you are confined in a facility consisting of nothing but anger, resentment, stinky men, and all the women that work there are big, fat, round nasty bullish women, the slightest touch from a girl you care about brings all those feelings from your first physical contact with a girl that wasnt your mother leaping back to mind. Anyway, as beaurocracies go, even just seeing this warrant so I could get cranking on it was taking forever. By the time I lay eyes on the warrant, I had already been in for quite a few months. Finally my case manager calls me in and tells me that it had arrived, and showed me a copy of it. Very simply it stated that they had a detainer on me, and not to release me without notifying them beforehand so they could come pick me up. However as luck would have it, upon closer inspection of the warrant it was discovered that it did not, in fact, in any way describe me. It called for an individual who's description is 5'7", blue eyed, white FEMALE. Well you bet your sweet speckled pooper I threw myself into the books at the law library, taught myself how to read legalese, how the processes worked, and most importantly how to file a motion to dismiss. The key points of my Motion to Dismiss were simply "It will be made plain by an examination of the Defendant, or any records maintained by the state of XXX, That the Defendant could not be the the person described in the detainer. First and foremost, the defendant is Male, having brown eyes, and has never resided at any address in Texas. "With these facts being true it is asked that the honorable court see fit to dismiss the pending warrant for Forgery of a Financial Instrument, on case no XXX, on the grounds that the Defendant named in the warrant is not who is physically described, and therefore cannot be detained as such." So this was prompltly sent off to Texas and meanwhile I occupied myself with visits from my girl on a near weekly basis, got involved in the prison band program (They had a pretty decent little setup, for a prison yard. Everything was old and off-brand, but it worked!) and we would rock out 3 times a week. Also my dedication to my own cause and research caught the eye of the Administrator of the Law Library, and offered me a job as a Law Clerk, or Leagal Research Assistant. Up til now, my job had been "evening orderly" in my dorm, which as you can imagine sucked rear end. Cleaning toilets and showers, sweeping, mopping a dorm the size of a small airplane hangar, etc.,etc. So not only did I have my case in my own hands, I now had a ticket to eight hours a day locked in the law library to study law, the cases of others, help myself and help other people too. Everybody has to have a job, I was lucky to not have ended up in the kitchen, which is where 99% of inmates end up when they first roll in. Plus, being a law clerk is one of the most lucrative jobs on a prison yard. Not only do you have the second-highest inmate paygrade ($60.00/month), but also, since you're now helping other inmates out, you are often given "incentives" in the form of cartons of cigarettes, canteen items, etc., in order to go above and beyond your duties for them. Your basic responsibilities as a law clerk are to ensure that an inmates right to legal resources is protected, and to help them navigate the maze that is criminal law. For instance if a guy came in wanting to write a motion to dismiss, like mine above, all my job entailed was to show him how to research caselaw and where the book was that contained templates for brief writing, and provide tips and information as needed. Now if that inmate was too flustered or illiterate to do it for himself, this became a matter of incentive. He could easily have his case moved to the top of my file and his brief done the very next day for a carton of generic cigarretes and six cans of pop. If a guy wanted me to do his whole appeal to the circuit court, (research, writing, filing, etc), why then we're talking literally, hundereds of dollars. Habeas Corpus and Mandamus ran about three hundred bucks in canteen items, easily. And just like real lawyers, the better your reputation, the more you charged. So I was on the bottom rung, doing $20/$30 jobs here and there and helping the Big Time law clerks with their stuff for a cut, (And for the experience, too!) but loving the hell out of it. Morally there's no conflict, despite it being against facility policy to barter, but all of the law clerks would happily provide any service required by law, for free. It was when you wanted us to do things you are supposed to do for yourself that 'money' became involved. Time passes and The Girl and I are becoming closer and closer, rekindling our old relationship, and I work my rear end of, absorbing as much information in the law library as possible to become Certified, waiting for Texas' response to my Motion to Dismiss, rocking out with my Prison Band, covering such ditties as Santa Monica by Everclear, Purple by Stone Temple Pilots, etc. At night I'd write letters to my Girl, and listen to the radio until the noise had settled to where I could fall asleep and dream about going home. Minimum security is pretty "easy time" as far as prison goes. Just be where you need to be, dont get into debt with other inmates, and do your time. It is also very frusturating. As months passed, I would see child molesters come in and be released on Conditional Supervision in less than three months, yet here I sat on a bounced check and a warrant, watching truly Awful people be released back into society. A note about the child molesters: Minimum security consists of a lot of people who are very close to going home - So even the child molesters are left pretty much, um, unmolested (for lack of a better term). Nobody wants to lose their good time or get more points with a writeup for battery when they're so close. Sickening, really, but understandable. Finally, FINALLY, the day comes where I find a note on my bunk. I open it and see that it is from the state of Texas. I am competeley terrified to read this. This one paper is the difference between my staying and my going home. "To the Warden of XXX facility, State of XXXX, and All Concerned Parties" My Name, Case Number, Detainer number, County, etc. Then a very short and curt: "Please release our detainer on the above inmate. A dismissal has been filed in XXX County, TX for the above referenced case. Thank you." I was home free! Instantly I run to my case managers office. :Video Montage of the next six months: * Sign papers for release on Conditional Supervision, sent to governor's office for signature * Home verification happens (where they verify I have a home to be released to) * Papers for release sent back, as they still mention the Texas Detainer and must be redrawn * Papers re-drawn and re-sent * Wait 2 months * Governor's office reports Paperwork lost * Resent, again * Sent to low-Minimum (Unfenced) Level Facility while awaiting signature * Wait two-months * No signature, paperwork is lost, Again * An violent-offense inmate slips through the cracks, is released to Conditional Supervision. Proceeds directly to ex girlfriend's house, shoots and kills Girlfriend, Mother, Self. * Press fiasco ensues. * Conditional Supervision program suspended indefinitely by Governor. Right about now we're about 1 year, three months into what should have been a six-month ordeal at most. Yeah, thats right - As soon as I was going to get out on Conditional Supervision, they suspended the program. The kicker was EVERY INMATE WHOS PAPERWORK WAS SIGNED BY THE GOVERNOR BEFORE SUSPENSION WAS STILL GOING TO GET TO GO HOME. And here I was, excluded because the stupid governors office "lost" my paperwork not once but TWICE. My Girl, by now very eager to get me home so I would stop dryhumping her on the visiting yard, deluged the Governors office to make an exception in my case, as it was their fault my paperwork hadn't been signed before the suspension. She made calls, wrote letters, made appointments, was on a first name basis with the Governor's assistant and the Deputy Director of the Corrections Department. They would not budge. Rules are rules. "As part of our core mission we would be remiss if we were to bend rules for an inmate. We are concerned about the message that would deliver." said one particulary smug response. So here I was, to serve out the remainder of my sentence because some shitfuck other than me went and killed some people. And because the Governor's office lost my paperwork not once, but TWICE. Didn't they realize this was a human being they were dealing with? Somebody with a future? Somebody who had never committed a violent act nor an act against a child or a minor, but had to sit here and watch these people come and go? This simply would not DO. Number 655321 fucked around with this message at 04:43 on Dec 11, 2005 |
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Dec 10, 2005 11:03
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Plans were made on the visiting yard over the next few weeks. I'd show them, oh yes I would. After paying several of my inmate friends large amounts of money to assist and maintain secrecy, one day a ball went behind a backboard, my papers and important items were shoved under some bushes, and so was I. I leapt into the trunk of my Girl's waiting car, closed it above me, and she drove. And drove, and drove. We couldn't go back to her place, really, so I got on a bus and high-tailed it to my brother's house in another state, where I stayed until she could tidy things up and move inconspicuously to a town out west. My brother describes it as the most surreal moment in his life. He's at home, minding his business when he gets a call. "Hey, its me." "HEY! you're out of prison? Where are you?" "Oh, downtown XXXXX, I need you to come pick me up", "When did they let you out?" "Oh, they didnt let me out." "Then how... OH MY GOD, I'LL BE RIGHT THERE". My brother was a saint taking care of me for the next few weeks while we awaited my girl's arrival. When she showed up she stayed for a couple days and we relaxed, put our minds together, and got on the next Greyhound out west. When we arrived at our desination we immediately set about getting poo poo together. We both got jobs - She at a camera store, and I used my previous retail management experience to land a full time job as a manager in training for a chain music store. I got a second job as well, at a resale shop, sort of an upscale salvation army - Rich people would donate their clothes, computers, toys, etc, and we'd resell them to generate funds for a battered womens' shelter. This resale place was right around the corner from that place's county jail. So we were dealing with lawyers, deputies, jail employees, judges coming in and browsing during their lunch breaks. I couldn't help but bask in the surrealness of looking people who would be my future captors in the eye knowing I was an escaped convict. I made pretty good friends with some, even went out to coffee on the corner with some deputies and shot the poo poo. This all went on for months, both of us working our lil' tails off, me doing 70+ hours a week. I didnt know how it would end but I knew it couldnt go on forever. My intent wasn't to evade capture forever. My intent was to PROVE to them what I was capable of. And yeah, life was pretty good - A decent roof over our heads, thanks to some caring souls, money in our pockets, regular sex, decent food, etc. One morning we were walking from our place to catch the bus for work, standing there just talking about mundane life-things, when out of all directions comes a poo poo-load of city cops, about five federal agents, and a god damned tv news crew, guns and cameras pointed, shouting different things all at the same time. Jesus christ they had GUNS pointed at my girl. The only thing I could think to do was drop all my stuff, show my hands and step in front of her, in case one was trigger happy. She didn't deserve to get shot for being a supportive, caring girlfriend. So they dropped me and cuffed me. One of the cops knew me from the resale store. "I would have never guessed in a million years", he said - he was good enough to fish my keys out of my pocket and give them to my girl. She, poor thing, in tears, went at my instruction to my store, called my manager, and, bless her heart, OPENED the store with my manager on the phone, until she could get there. This is the real weepy and like tragic part of the story beginning. O my brothers and only friends. Well sort of, anyway. So into the county jail of THAT state I went to. But I wasn't without allies! I was placed into the "pod" with high-profile offenders. If you'd been on the news or had a high-profile case in any way, you went into this pod. So here we had a seventeen year old parental muderer, a multimillion dollar embezzler, a couple other hackers, etc. Interesting to say the least. My cell had a great view of the corner, some many stories below, as well as the river. My girl would come and stand on the corner, and tie large flowers to the lamp post every day. and wave. She could see my cell by counting windows up and over. She could only see me backlit and we would do puppet shows for an hour or so at each other. Pantomiming drawing hearts in the air. She'd come visit me, through the glass again, sadly - but if I was REALLY good, I'd get a panty shot or two to keep my mind occupied during the week. Having lost more than half of our income, she had to move to a hostel, but her work was kind enough, after hearing our story to allow me two collect calls during the week, on them. Meanwhile, turns out my case manager was one of my regular customers and borderline friends from the resale shop! I fought extradition, she even wrote letters to the governor of BOTH states (the one I was in and the one I'd escaped from), asking them not to extradite me, as I was a fully rehabilitated upright citizen, and no further incarceration was necessary. All this support from my "host" state really lit a fire under the governor of my escaped state and they accellerated my extradition hearing - which I of course, lost. So I was extradited back to the state from who's loving arms I'd escaped from. Since my neither the original crime nor my new charge (Escape from a State Correctional Facility) were not Federal, I didn't get to go Con Air. They stuck me in a van which drove all around the country. But i didn't go directly to my Home state. it took TWELVE days of driving through states all over the place to get me back. TWELVE DAYS in a van with full shackles on. Handcuffs with the immobilizer, Leg irons, and a chain that connected the two. The county wherein the facility was located that I escaped from was a verrrrry small county. Wich meant they had a verrrry small jail. Pretty much a mom and pop operation. I had to stay in jail to face the new charges and couldn't go back to a yard until that matter had been settled. Funnily enough I earned myself the position of "trustee", having experience in legal matters, I was a needed resource - So eventually I got to be outside of my cell, helping other inmates with their things, and doing other chores, like laundry,etc. Again, like I said, this was a tiny little jail - so I knew everyone from the sheriff on down to the dispatchers in no time. Before long I had free reign of the place, and hardly ever had to go back to my cell, only to sleep. I was also still rather handy with computers, and through doing some big favors with their system, I slowly earned priveledges. Within a couple of months my cellmate and I had in our cell WITH PERMISSION from the jail staff: Carpet. Pictures. A laptop computer. A large color television. Real blankets. Tools. tapes and CD's, handheld video games. A microwave and our own food. Weekly trips to the local market to buy said food. You name it - And we could call anywhere we wanted provided we had a calling card, and we could wear street clothes, provided our shirts were stencled with "XXX County Jail Inmate" on the back, which we did ourselves. So my Girl and I decided to stick this out - and we also decided to get married and make it official. So we registered with the county clerk in the same building, got our blood tests, and got hitched, in the recieving area of the jail with the Jailer and a Deputy as our witnesses (She (The jailer) was in tears as we said our vows). Of course, what good is a wedding w/out consummation, right? Remember I had free movement until 2300. So one night when I was supposed to be cleaning out the courthouse side of the building I snuck my Wife in through a side-door, and we scurried up some stairs, into the court records office and into a closet. So, yeah. We honeymooned in a courthouse closet. This was to become a regular occourance while waiting for my trial to come up. it was funny making appearances for motions in court, standing near a closet I'd hosed in the night before. Never hosed on the judges bench though - I wanted to, but they lock that specific part with another key. By the time it came for my sentencing hearing on my escape - which carried typically five to seven years ADDITIONALLY, I had a two page letter from the Jailer on sherrif's department stationery, stating how they'd never seen an inmate so determined to get his life on track, etc etc, and to please go lightly, and it was signed by about fifteen members of the jail staff. The judge was amazed that I was working while escaped, and asked me why I did what I did, and I told him, to show that I could be a productive member of society. So he said "I've never said this before, but I wish I could get away with dropping this. But I can't, so I'm going to fine you court costs and give you two years' concurrent to your remaining three on your original sentence". What this meant is that it would run along with my remaining sentence. Essentially he sentenced me to NOTHING, except a fine. So back through the assesment part again, head shaved again. Poked, prodded again. This time I was assessed at Maximum Security. Not only that but I was going to a particularly notorious yard. Rumored to be the "hardest" yard in this entire section of the country. There were pretty regular killings, and a riot some ten years before burned down over a third of the prison. Hostages were taken. Inmates were killed. I almost peed myself when they told me what yard I was going to. I was going to get assraped and murdered. I was sure of it. I later learned that the Governors office had an indirect hand in this. So off I went to Maximum security. When you arrive at the facility you get off a bus, and go through the main reception office where your identity is confirmed, your property box is taken, you're unshackled and officially booked into the facility. Then you do "the walk". "The walk" is when your group, usually about 20 or thirty skinners are walked through the middle of the yard toward the orientation dorm. All the inmates line up on either side of the sidewalk on the way and stare you down, to put the fear of god into you. One inmate with a missing loving ear asked me, as we were walking "HEY! You play baseball?" "OH MY GOD NO, I DON'T PITCH OR CATCH OKAY gently caress YOU". Razorwire. Oh god was there ever fences, coils of shiny razorwire, on top, then a loving PILE of razorwire on the ground, then an outer fence with razorwire and barbed wire on top of all that. Gun towers. Yep. 40 foot high towers with men with guns pointed at you in them. Rapists. Killers. Murderers. people serving life sentences without parole. People who were seventy years old who had been in since they were fifteen. This was the Real loving Deal, Bubba. I took about a week to settle in in the orientation dorm. It was built in the early twentieth century, and looked like it. It used to house Germans during world war two while they were "relocated" during the war. (Up to that point I thought they'd only done that with the Japanese). There were places you could still see German words scratched into the walls back behind the Charlie's office. After a week in the kitchen I was assigned to the Law Library once I proved my worth to the Boss. From there I started working some cases. The trick to being a skinny whiteboy in the pokey and not being raped is this: Become a law clerk. Then, get the cases of someone in the Black faction and someone in the white faction. Therefore, nothing will happen to you during this time. This way they won't rape you because you're working on one of their cases and if you catch out, nobody will. This gives you time to prove yourself on the yard, but do it without rectal penetration. Use this "grace" period to buddy up with someone of your own race. (You have to - this isn't a racist statement - its the way things work behind the wire). Preferrably someone who weilds power on the yard. In this case, my saviour was Lefty. Remember that guy who asked if I played baseball? Turns out he was sincerely curious if I played baseball, the game. They were building teams since spring was upon us. His name was Lefty. "'cause I only have one ear left," said he. Well I didnt play baseball, but gently caress was lefty ever smart. And he saw pretty much instantly that I was no dumbass myself. We'd talk philosophy, music, etc. His story was simple, and later I'd confirm it was absolutely true. He was seventeen, and somebody sold his sister some bad poo poo. It killed her. He killed the person that sold her the poo poo. He was sentenced to death. In the '70s the death penalty was overturned for a brief while, so his sentence was commuted to life w/out parole. Later they reinstated the death penalty, but the law prevents anyone from being put back "on" a death sentence. So here he was, forty-something, I guess. And one of the kindest, smartest, wizest people I've ever met. If there's anyone that deserves to be out in the free world it is that man. He took me under his wing, and introduced me to the guys. A mix of Aryan brotherhood and lifers. These were the people that ran the yard. And they all liked/respected me. I was safe. Everywhere I went one of them always had an eye on me. If I was out walking the track, one of them on the hill playing dominoes was watching. As long as I was here, nothing bad would happen to me. Let it be said here, though. Prison is prison. You have to handle your poo poo. So when a black guy tried cutting in the lunchline, you have to speak up or be shamed. So we were set to fight. The way prison fights work is like this: everyone gathers out in the domino hut (a little covered place with benches, outside by the band room). Blacks behind their guy, whites behind theirs. What this is for is to ensure a fair fight. the rule is, when a man goes down, the fights over. No weapons, no bullshit. The "groups" of people are there to ensure that. If the fight gets dirty, your guys jump in. This is often how people get killed. You're not armed, but the men behind you sure as gently caress are. Well I lost. I was the man that went down. Busted a tooth and my lip. "You know what though," said lefty - "You fought, you took your hits, and you went down. This is over - thats all there is to it. Had you run away or hid or tried to get one of us to settle your poo poo for you, it'd have been a different story and you'd be on your own." This is one of the many lessons I took with me. You may lose, but standing your ground and stepping up for yourself is what matters. A year passes. In this time I get really situated in the Law Library, gaining my certification, litigating like a motherfucker. I win cases, get inmates out of prison who had been fighting for years, I even have a few cases that are now caselaw in p2d, with regard to Double Jeopardy as it relates to administrative punishment. My wife visits every weekend, I join the band - actually join several, as there's a shortage of drummers on the yard. I'm in the rock band, the blues band and the OTHER Rock band. I eventually take over band room maintenance, too. Larry was the singer and guitar player for the blues band. He had been in for most of his life - he was almost 70. But that motherfucker could sing like no other. I'd have been proud to take that band out and play "real" shows, we were that good, particularly him. Lefty was in the rock band. He was a great guitarist and had an outstanding work ethic. Nate was someones punk, but still a good bass player. I've got money coming in from law clerkin', my lockers are all chock full of goodies, I'm getting letters from inmates on other yards for help with their cases via my reputation. (the letters are removed and destroyed, as inter-facility communications are forbidden), and I've "settled" into accepting this is my fate for a couple years. My cellmates range from good to horrible. Jason was in for murder, he was stinky and messy. Ron was the leader of the AB, he was in a wheelchair from being stabbed to much. Chris was the Second in command of the AB, he ran dope, but he was my favorite cellmate, he had good porn, and was also pretty bright. Inevitably one of you will ask for some gross stuff I saw. Heres the story of a young kid named Jake. He came in from another yard, but really didnt have a clue. He fell in with the AB guys, and was really desperate to fit in. So he went and paid a TON of money to get AB tattoos on his arms and legs and back so he could be accepted with them. He was the kind of guy like on the forums "HAY GUYZ!" type. Nobody liked him, and he was too much of a pussy to gently caress with the big boys. Word gets around the yard about what he's done. One thing you DON'T do is get a set's tattoos without someones approval. So when it gets to Ron that he's gone and gotten AB ink, he is confronted in the cell (I'm on my bunk trying to read) and told that he has one week to get them covered up or its going to be done FOR him. Well unfortunately he'd spent all of his money on getting the tattoos in the first place. He was broke, and in debt. A week passes. Two. Three, and still he has his tattoos. One day I'm sleeping in my cell and hear a scuffle and the door slams shut. I open my eyes and see three AB's pushing the kid onto the bed. I really cant get off my bunk because the cell is very small and full of people and I do NOT feel that it would be a good idea to try to say "excuse me" through a pile of enraged racists. The next twenty minutes I spend under my covers, listening to the muffled shreiks of this kid, as he is, literally, skinned alive. Guitar strings are superheated, and dragged over his skin, burning off the tattoos, like some kind of heated cheesegrater. Finally they all leave, and the kid is discreetely dragged to his cell, and told to keep quiet. He ends up cellbound for a week with "the flu" while he peels and grows new skin. The people I saw killed or stabbed were killed for being dumbshits. Not much to say there. Then one day I saw a kitten. I was walking from work to my cell. I saw him in a little drainpipe. Scrawny. A runt. THe mother abandoned it because it wasn't going to live. I picked it up, put it in my jacket and it mewed, I couldn't just leave it. At this time Jason was my cellie. It is a violation to have pets in your cell, but what the gently caress were we going to do? I called my gangster racist murderer friends over and we made a plan. Cell inspections happen twice a week. Different days for each unit. Lefty would take the kitten on inspection days since he was in another unit and they didn't inspect on the same day. It was sickly. It was mostly blind. It had poor muscle control. It could barely hold its head up, and whenever it tried to jump up on something, it would miss, usually hitting a wall. But every day, someone who worked in the kitchen would come by with bits of stolen food. And guys would bring milk from their breakfast every day for the kitten. And every day, guys would pop in to see how he was doing. One day we had a random cell inspection, and we tossed the kitty in the locker when we saw the Unit Manager coming our way. But it was NOT sleepy time for kitten, because he was getting better! Healthy kittens love to play and talk! So while the unit manager was in our cell inspecting our beds, cleanliness, flushing our toilet,etc, the kitty wanted to come out and play. I never thought it would work and it probably didnt, the unit manager probably knew, but every time the kitty would go "merewlll" WE would cough or shuffle our feet or say "HAY WHATS UP UNIT MANAGER?" "DID YOU SEE THE NEWS ABOUT THE WEATHER!!!!?" Yeah. close call. Since I was a short-timer, I decided I didn't want the heat for the kitty. But I couldn't let him go either. He may be a little better but he was still half blind and retarded. I did the only thing I knew to do. I went to my boss at the Law Library. "Ron," I said... "I've got a problem..." "oh no 655321! Is someone threatening you?" "no" "Are you in trouble?" "not yet" "WHAT, FOR GODS SAKE IS THE PROBLEM, 655321?" "I have a kitten, boss." "You... have a.... kitten? As in a cat?" "yessir. It was sick. I found it by the admin building. I brought it to my cell and it wa...." "You know that if a Law Clerk gets even a MINOR misconduct they're fired, right?" "Yessir. And I had a close call, today, sir - That is why I need your help" "How the hell can I help you with a kitten 655321?" "Well if I could just somehow get it to my wife, sir.... She could take care of it" Thus began operation Smuggle a Kitten out of Maximum Security Prison. So Ron (not the cellmate, My boss), sent me with a box to my cell, under the pretense of getting some papers that I'd been working on. One of the new guards stopped me with my box, on my way to the unit. Because an inmate should NOT be carrying a box. If it were a guard that had been there for a while it wouldn't be a problem, most of them liked me and let me get away with poo poo. Like me and bezo's spider fights. Some would even bet with us. Anyway this new guard stopped me with my box and asked me where I was going, and I said "to my cell to get my papers - I'm a Law Clerk". "I dont care if youre the goddamn pope you shouldn't have a box". I said "call Ron at the Law Library, he can verify". So he does, and ron confirms I should, indeed have a box. But he doesnt let me go until he is satisfied that I dont have contraband in my box, by looking inside. "poo poo," i thought, this fucker better be gone when I'm on my way back up. So I make it to my cell, and put the pussy in the box. I get back up the hill without incident and surrender the pussy laden container to Ron. Ron then puts his career and everything on the line and meets with the wife of an inmate, off prison grounds, some days later, to deliver the kitty. It was really loving great, to hear that the kitten had made it home. A part of all of us, that we had nurtured and helped thrive and petted and played with was on the outside, a free "creature". It meant so much to all of us. Especially me. Every time I would call my wife, or see her, people would pass and ask "hey, hows the kitty doing?" Word on kitty's progress would spread like wildfire with every update. Every new eccentricity the kitty developed (It would hypnotize itself watching the ceiling fan and get so dizzy it would fall over), would come back to me from total strangers. "Hey I heard about dizzykitty!", or when he decveloped some kind of lump on his neck and had to have a shunt attatched and my wife had to drain the kitty daily... "How's ol' spigotkitty?". He got bigger, and dumber. More and more stories passed, even the guards were hip to it by now, so some of the "cooler" guards would ask about it, too... Guards and inmates.... You know, one said to me once "the only difference between you and me, is you got caught". They're like inmates. Some have been there long enough, that they just want to do their time, get their paychecks, go home and watch the game and gently caress the wife. So long as we're not up to anything TOO awful, they turn their back to little things - Tattooing, smoking in the cells, weed, even consentual buttsex between a man and his punk, so long as they didnt have to hear about it. Or see it. Some would bring us little things, like good tattoo ink, or bits and parts of stuff for us to use in our hobbycraft, etc. Some would sit and chat it up with us on a loving hot summer day out on the hill. Some would play bones with us, or say "hey, a little bird told you to get your tattoo poo poo out of the cell, you're up for a shakedown tonight". Others. Well others were straight FUCKS. They'd write you up as soon as look at you. When it was shakedown time, instead of taking your books off your shelf neatly to see if there's contraband in/behind them, they'd toss them onto the floor. They'd try to instigate fights. They'd lock you down for no loving reason, etc. We made the best of it. We just watched from the hill, observing, listening. Going home... My time finally came. All my good-time was revoked over the escape. But in the two years I was at MAX, I earned enough for the day to finally come, nearly four years after it had all begun. You mark down the days on your calendar and it all seems like it will never end. You calculate and re calculate, and you note six months left (it might as well be six years) - Three months left (it'll never get here), One month left (Something is going to happen... Something will go wrong)... Two weeks left (your fellow convicts begin to detatch a little from you - they're still your friends but you can tell somethings a little different), Seven days left (you're waiting for a note on your bunk telling them that your Pre-release W&W check came back with a detainer in some fuckoff county), Three days left (each hour is two hours long and you can't sleep for poo poo), TOMORROW YOU'RE GOING HOME. You can't believe it. They begin the process - Your outgoing physical, all the signing of forms and papers, packing up the things that have become your worldy posessions over the years, saying goodbye to those that will be at work when you do the "walk". The morning of. You pick up your box from the property office. You go to the main office where you're given your street clothes. You're shaking. Youre loving scared to death. What's changed in the world? How am I going to get a job? Holy gently caress I now have a WIFE to look after! You go through the first gate, with a guard. it closes behind you. "Excited?" says the guard. you hear some disembodied voice answer in the affirmative, but everything in you wants to drop that box and go running back to where everything is regimented, where you knwo exactly what each day will bring, like clockwork. The second gate opens. You step beyond it. twenty yards away there's a yellow line. On the other side of that yellow line are your wife and a guy who you got out of prison seven years early with your law clerking, here to show his appreciation. Off to your right is the razor wire. Through that you can see fifty people, who have all gotten permission from their bosses to wave you off. Many of them will never see this side of the wire again. Many of them will never go home. Many of them, to this day, six years later, are still in the band room, playing awful covers. Many of them are still sneaking a quick grope or a little through-the-jeans handjob on the visiting yard. They're having lunch at twelve-oh-five. Fridays they have fish. Sometimes, just sometimes, I want to go back. Here in the world it's all me. It's all under my control. Sometimes I'm lonely. I was somebody there. I was the smart guy on the yard. I was the one to talk to if you needed help, and could afford me. Then I remember how it felt when I got out. That I could just open my door any old time and step outside. Any time I wanted to. My first week or so home, my wife told me she would wake up and see me opening and closing our front door, just because I could. I don't remember this, though. Who am I now? I'm your neighbor. I'm the guy with a nice car, the good house, the good job. You'd never guess me for an ex-con, unless you saw my well-hidden tattoos. I won't get them removed, I need them. My wife and I are now divorced. It's hard to tell somebody who broke you out of prison that you dont know where your relationship is going.... But it was for the best. Sometimes, I'll dream that I'm back there, that some freak of the law brought me back there. That the governor is loving with me some more. that my life is on hold, again. That I'm just some guy in a box behind some wire. I wake up in a cold sweat, leap out of bed, dash down the hall... ...and open my door.
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Dec 10, 2005 11:04
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r2tincan posted:PRISON BREAK IS REAL. Thank you, I'm not very conficent in my writing - And no its not really - Most applications for jobs ask if you've ever been convicted of a felony and to please breifely describe. So I put "yes" and "Bounced check - discharged october 1999". Reintegration on the other hand is difficult. People stand very close to you in society. You're very nervous about people behind you. The lack of regimentation is difficult to adjust to... Lots of things. Edit: if this thread is still alive tomorrow I'll go into greater detail about this part - Reintegration is pretty interesting, all the things you notice. Right now, I'm so sapped from going through all that again, in my head, I need some mental rest. Number 655321 fucked around with this message at 11:39 on Dec 10, 2005 |
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Dec 10, 2005 11:15
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killing_field posted:Either you just pulled a killing_field or that's one hell of a long CC. I enjoyed it though, good style, intriguing story. I like the E/Ns that aren't all omg my gf dumped me. I wrote it all in wordpad then copied it over. Again, glad you liked it. It means a lot that this part of my life resonates with people.
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Dec 10, 2005 11:16
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MariusMS posted:Sorry justinonfire, I'm gonna have to out you here. Nope, I'm not justinonfire. Guitar strings come from the bandroom. People would pay $20 for ONE string to use in a tattoo gun. (Or skin someone, I guess). Edit: as I explained in the first few paragraphs, please dont try outing anyone here. This isn't the place for it. If you think you know who I am, try emailing the account you think it is. If you get "me", I'll confirm it, I guess, if it will keep the Internet Detectives happy. Just dont guess in the thread. I'd really rather that didn't happen, though. Number 655321 fucked around with this message at 11:20 on Dec 10, 2005 |
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Dec 10, 2005 11:17
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jbltk posted:But wasn't Alex released after being treated with/suffering the Ludivico technique? NOSIR! (And stop looking at my penis like that.)
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Dec 10, 2005 11:34
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DesperateDan posted:Voted 5, also requesting information about the kitty. Sadly Prisonkitty passed. He got out one day and had an unfortunate meeting with a car.  And no, Wife and I divorced afterward. I think the whole prison experience and what we went through really taxed our relationship. Our divorce was civil, but very emotionally difficult for both of us.
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Dec 10, 2005 11:36
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kolby posted:How long did you think this would last? No, REALLY dude, I'm not justinonfire. I'm sure you can PM an admin and they can look at my account and verify that I am indeed not him. Now please dont gently caress up my thread, okay? In Fact, I openly invite an admin to ban this and my "real" account if, in fact, I am him. Fair enough?
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Dec 10, 2005 11:43
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BiRD BoY posted:that's intense, I need to go to Jail now! No, you really don't. Even though I know you meant this as a compliment/joke, Where I was at when i was at MAX takes an incredible personal battle of allowing just enough institutionalization to creep in so you can make the most of each day, so you can have good times with your buddies, be silly til your eyes tear up from laughing so hard, pull pranks on the administrators etc, but still manage to not surrender yourself to it completely. It takes a long time of hating the world, to get past that "Crawling out of your own skin" phase.
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Dec 10, 2005 11:52
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totalnewbie posted:Good read, glad you are alive. You know what, I would have different answers to that on different days. I essentially doubled my time by escaping, but on the other hand, the most valuable experiences from the whole thing I got while in MAX. That's where I learned the most about myself, the world, and other people. While I wouldn't trade my experiences for anything in the world, I can't say I'd do it again if I knew it would lessen my time. I *can* tell you that had I not escaped and done the rest of my time, I would be a completely different person than what I am now, and not necessarily in a positive way, either.
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Dec 10, 2005 11:55
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Tree Ninja posted:That was an interesting read. Made me smile to hear about everyone working together to save a kitty, usually the stories would have you believe that the harder guys in prison would torture the thing for entertainment. Yeah it really doesnt happen. There was a stray dog that it was rumored people had hosed, but I think that was Prison-urban-legend. No they really don't torture animals there, you respect their freedom in a way. You want to be friends with ANYTHING that can come and go as it pleases. For entertainment, they watched COPS religiously.  "HEY EVERYONE LOOK, ITS LARRY!!!!"
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Dec 10, 2005 11:57
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GO DAIM posted:I am really just shocked that your (ex)wife and you got divorced after all that poo poo that she did to support you like the flowers and breaking you out of prison and such. I mean I don't know the circumstances, but it seems kind of like a "gently caress you" to divorce when she isnt needed anymore, which is how it comes off. I understand that - I didnt mean it to come off that way, rather the opposite - We mutually decided to divorce. Neither one of us was the instigator. We were out at dinner one night and it was quiet quiet quiet. I said "Do you think this is still working?" and she said "I'm not really sure... I don't feel like it is." and it went from there. Does that make better sense?
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Dec 10, 2005 11:59
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jeisai posted:Are you and the ex still friends at least? We havent talked in a while - She's in a relationship she's very happy in, and I, better or worse, don't have a place in that picture. As long as she's happy, because, yeah, she went far above and beyond for me, and I definitely appreciate it. All I want in the world for her is to be as happy as she can be.
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Dec 10, 2005 12:03
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ToasterThief posted:I verify that this is true, and that it's not Justin boy. Thank you. Rent-A-Cop posted:
yes and no. I'm at peace with my "Good enough to get through life but nothing fancy" writing skills, but I dont think I could do REAL writer quality stuff. Lots of people who know me have suggested that I do a book, including other interesting life things that have happened but... I just don't know, it seems like writing a book is something you do when you've lved out most of the parts of your life worth writing about. I'm not done, yet. Number 655321 fucked around with this message at 12:09 on Dec 10, 2005 |
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Dec 10, 2005 12:06
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totalnewbie posted:
I think I'd have a lot less appreciation for the day-to-day. I know I didnt before I went in. Now, there's no such thing as a boring day, anymore. This sounds dumb, but a day that nothing is happening, is a day that still has walks, drives, people, malls, fast food restaurants, and a stunning lack of people with guns pointed at you. Had I not escaped, I'd have done the remainder of my time at a minimum security facility which LITERALLY had golf. Its different in there. Its like a waiting room. It's too easy to not learn anything.
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Dec 10, 2005 12:13
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BigSuave posted:No, it's really not. I'd really rather not at this point, that information could make it a little easier to "out" me. Like I said I'd like to maintain normalcy in my regular account. I'll just say that it wasnt anything really important and that the Military classifies some of the dumbest poo poo.
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Dec 10, 2005 12:16
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ManicJason posted:Did you have any interest in pursuing law study after your release? You learned enough that you could probably do it easily, but I can understand never wanting to talk to another lawyer. I absolutely DID! I love the law, I love how it works, I'm fascinated with it and I would love to work in torts or even criminal defense. However, ironically, I'm a felon, and I can't. Even when I tried (admittedly only once) to get a job at a firm, and showed the people that I'd personally done appeals that had made the books, which a lot of lawyers themeselves don't do for years after law school, they wouldn't consider me. I do have a legal secretary diploma from a correspondence school that I earned while in the hoosegow, though.
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Dec 10, 2005 12:19
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ddblue posted:
Deaf folk do their time in a regular facility if they're able and if the faclity has at least two people skilled in ASL on staff. The one we had, would write things on paper to people who couldn't sign. He was pretty fast. Blind people I think go to a special medical-oriented prison.
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Dec 10, 2005 12:22
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ManicJason posted:D'oh, that sucks. I have a family member who was convicted of a felony some 15 years ago, and he/she's still having a hell of a time getting voting rights back and such.. the little things of which we take advantage. That differs in each state. For instance, I can vote. And there is a movement to allow voting from prison as well, and to make it specifically unconstitutional to suspend the voting rights of incarcerated American citizens. Your family member should be able to apply for a pardon from your state's governor, if his past 15 have been free of any repeat activity. That will restore all of his rights, and are more common than you'd think. Some states have different laws about being eligible for a pardon. For instance some are the length of your sentence plus a third, and you can put in for a pardon.
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Dec 10, 2005 12:26
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brimstone posted:What are other small things you find, to this day, amazing? (For instance, being able to open a door and walk out any time you please) hahaha. Lots of things. Knives for one. I'm still like "holy poo poo I ate food by cutting it with my spoon for years!" every time I open my silverware drawer. Just the ability for free movement still amazes me a little, other things too - Sometimes I wistfully stare out a window and just HAVE to go outside and walk, just because I can. Theres more, too - I'll list them as they come to me, again, probably tomorrow. AB stands for the Aryan Brotherhood. Peckerwoods, basically.
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Dec 10, 2005 12:34
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Trilobite posted:This was fascinating reading. Interesting. See the thing is, I hated it but at the same time, I wouldn't trade it for the world. The experience in itself is so valuable to me. It changed me for the better. I like who I am a lot more than I did before I went in. That said, I did write a letter to the Warden, which I slipped into the facility mail as I was leaving. It went like this: Warden XXX, Today I am leaving here a changed man. I will go back into society and be a functioning, participating part of it, and do my part to change the world, just a little bit for the better, for my having been in it. If you hear should ever hear about the good things that have come of my life, DO NOT FOR A SECOND think about patting yourself on the back for a job well done. All the changes I've made in my life, for better or for worse, are a result of my own hard work, determination and self-improvement. Even my experiences in here are not anything you have had a direct influence over. I can't stop you from using my success as a statistic to back up the success of overincarceration to fatten the state's coffers, between you and me, as men, I want you to know that who I am is in no way a reflection of what you've done. See you on the other side, 655321 I can't help but wonder what he thought of it.
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Dec 10, 2005 12:41
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Ringlet_Bob posted:That was gripping, your writing style is really very good, very natural. Forks were okay. They were even metal. In a way, more lethal than a butter knife, but still a knife of any kind was conspicuously absent. No she didnt get any repercussions for helping. As far as I know, nobody really knew the extent of her role in it. I was far from the best husband, but I'd never ever let her face anything for trying to do right by me, if I had any control over it. Even if they did know, I doubt that they'd charge her with anything - after all they knew that she was aware that I had escaped, but decided not to charge her with accessory, conspiracy or anything. Its very rare that that happens, actually.
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Dec 10, 2005 12:47
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totalnewbie posted:Speaking of AB... as I recall, the AB is, well, racist. Understandably, many of their members would be racist. Also of note, as you mentioned, it is important to have people on your side and willing to back you up. Since the AB is a rather powerful group behind bars, this naturally leads to the situation wherein people may join the AB without wholeheartedly agreeing with its principles. At least, that is what my logic would tell me... did you see this to be the case? Or were there other "organizations" that one could turn to, when behind bars? If the former, were there many people who were in the AB but were not racist, or was it something along the lines of "If you join us and we find out you're not racist, we kick your rear end"? Hmmm. Good question. You don't have to agree with their principles - Everyone knew I didn't. But it is true (and anyone, black white or mexican, who has been in will tell you it is honestly for the best), that while you're in prison you stick with your own kind. Not all whites were in AB, but if you wanted to be a power player on the yard, you had to be. I became a roller on the yard by default - because I fell in with the right people, and because I had a very in-demand proven skill. Again, I reiterate I was never a member of the aryan brotherhood. I was offered a patch status, which is actually a High honor, meaning I'd have gotten a particular tattoo, which non-overtly indicated I was a highly regarded friend of AB rollers, and if I ever went back to prison, my reputation would not be questioned, and my security would be guaranteed. However, I don't plan on going back, and I politely refused. The guys understood. On the other hand, Lefty, being an AB associate, was in a band with me, which as I mentioned had a punk in it. This kid (white) was a voluntary punk to a black guy. So things like this were overlooked. Hell the AB guys would often do business with the black fellows, or just shoot the poo poo. Its not about "KILL DEM NEGROES", its about looking after your own. Does that make sense?
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Dec 10, 2005 13:20
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Sanctum posted:Do they go blind after some 'incident' in prison or are there actually some blind people who have committed crimes bad enough to get them into maximum security prisons? And if so, what crimes? most of the blind folk were old age, so they have that clouding-of-the-eye condition, I forget what it is called.
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Dec 10, 2005 13:21
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hihifellow posted:Here's a question that I'm surprized no one else has asked yet. I keep in touch with some. I send Lefty money every christmas and a card. I'm still working on his case when I can, he will update me with what's going on and I'll offer advice. I want him out more than anything. But I have to balance. I have to keep a certain emotional distance, to keep my head right. If he ever sets foot out of prison, I'll be the first motherfucker there waiting to help him reintegrate in any way I loving can... I'll never, EVER forget him. He was a father figure to me after a while, I really looked up to and admired his strength, tenacity and sheer drive to endure. One thing I thought was very cool about him, when you talked to him about anything, it would go like this. "Say, Lefty, whats the deal with so-and-so on whats-the-what?" *pause for three seconds or more* "He did this-and that with so-and-so". Okay this looks dumb, I cant express it in typing. It was him pausing to THINK about everything he was going to say. He never wasted any words. He thought everything through. It was him listening and considering everything you just said to him, and formulating a worthwhile response, and not just waiting for his chance to talk. And no, Nobody other than Lefty and one other have gotten in touch with me since/if they've gotten out. To be fair, I've moved a few times since then. I do often wonder about them though. Number 655321 fucked around with this message at 13:34 on Dec 10, 2005 |
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Dec 10, 2005 13:26
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el oso posted:It's been said many times already, but great story. One of the best things I've seen on GBS. This is another question I'm going to set aside for tomorrow if you don't mind. I have some thoughts on this that I wouldn't mind sharing. ...and this one, too... This is my repository for things I'm gonna think about more.... Rozoga posted:Amazing. Simply amazing story. Addin' Dis: Defsac posted:
Number 655321 fucked around with this message at 14:07 on Dec 10, 2005 |
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Dec 10, 2005 13:28
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AwkwardKnob posted:
Thanks but I'm really not... If you ever met me in person you'd wonder how I made it through with my sphincter unwidened. I'm pretty frail-looking. Its all in how you carry yourself, how you treat others, how you step up when you need to, and a little luck. In fact I'd go so far as to say, The world at large could learn something from prison's little society-within-a-society.
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Dec 10, 2005 13:31
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AwkwardKnob posted:That's an interesting point to make. I wonder how society would be like if people kept to themselves, quit loving with other people for no reason, and watched each other's backs. I could do without the racism though. YES, sorry, DEFINITELY Minus the racism.
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Dec 10, 2005 13:34
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gogobunny posted:What happens to someone who doesn't belong to one of the 3 majority racial groups in prison? Say you're Arabic, or Asian, or Indian or whatever, and you can't turn to your "own kind". Excellent question. Usually they fall in with one of the three major groups, or they are part of General Population. Not everyone is affiliated with a group. It doesnt mean much other than, say if you're walking back from the canteen with your bag of groceries you bought with your pay or money your girlfriend put on your books for you and someone rolls you, you don't really have anyone to turn to to help get your poo poo back, and stuff. Also things cost less. Weed, for instance was $30-40 per "cap" (A cap being exactly that - a chapstick-cap full), but if you were within the clique, it ran about $20-25.
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Dec 10, 2005 13:48
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KiwiBoi posted:That was a very cool story, thanks. That's a huge compliment, to be compared to some of the best-regarded posters here. thank you.
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Dec 10, 2005 13:49
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deviant. posted:Perhaps he knows the OP and posted to confirm that the story is true? Negative. He does not.
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Dec 10, 2005 13:54
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numeric_atrophy posted:
I really wouldn't know where to begin. Its far too daunting for me to even really consider with any amount of seriousness. Who wouldn't love for their life to be a movie? Seriously. But when its your own life, you really don't know where to begin, what's interesting, what's not... How to make it captivating, etc. quote:Your story reminded me of "I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang" I've never seen that. If its similar I'd love to check it out. I'll see if I can find it at blockbuster next week. quote:Also, Now I HAVE seen those, and I love Cool hand luke. Shawshank was, believe it or not, a fairly accurate representation of prison, even nowadays. Moreso than what little I've seen of "oz", which is utter tripe. It is to prison what Sopranos are to the Mob. quote:There's enough uniqueness in here, though, that it could make a good screenplay. It would require heavy involvement of yourself though. LOL, if there's a big enough option in front of me, I'll involve myself til the cows comehome. PICK MY BRAIN (but pay my rent).  Seriously though, I can't tell you how difficult it was, emotionally, to write the first post. I want to tell everything, I dont know what to leave out, and at the end of it, like right now, I'm emotionally wrung out. But at the same time, I'm closer to these memories than I have been for a long time, and I think it is good for me. While I am at it, THANK YOU ALL for your supportive words so far, it really means a lot to a guy who doesnt get to talk about this part of his life as much as he should.
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Dec 10, 2005 14:03
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numeric_atrophy posted:Whoah. Yes, see it. It's a social commentary. It was banned in Georgia because of how it reflected their system. Holy poo poo! That sounds awesome. What year is the movie and what time is it set in? Funny anecdote with my re-capture - When I was in front of the judge for my sentencing on the escape, he said "I almost feel bad doing this (meaning fining me) - I mean, you paid taxes while you were an escapee." Someday I willl get the transcript of the actual sentencing hearing. The judge was pretty drat cool. Also I have NO idea what state could have a non-extradition policy for cryin' out loud. If only I'd known that back then... Just kidding - I'm glad its over. I cant tell you what a stressor it was to never know when the hammer would drop.
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Dec 10, 2005 14:19
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LeMonje posted:Great thread (made me miss lunch!). nearly four years all told. I was released in October 1999. Just in time for the millennium. Also, thankfully, I missed the entire macarena craze. I can honestly say I'm glad I was behind bars for that.
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Dec 10, 2005 14:27
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Okay folks, I am going to call it a night for now. Thank you for your time and all the wonderful compliments. In the morning I'll answer the other qeustions I've postponed as well as any new ones if they've popped up... And maybe, if I'm really feeling like dredging some memories some more, I'll add some other stories. 4 years, means quite a few tales, my friends. >>>>I'd like to make a rather odd request to the Mods at this time.<<<< If this becomes an identity guessing game/Internet Detective thread in ANY WAY, I am asking you to please immediately gas the thread and ban this account. Other readers, the mods can't stake out this thread 24/7, so for those of you that respect my privacy, if you see any such monkey business, please report it to a mod or admin. I know it's unusual, but thanks. If you (mods/admins) have any questions or concerns please feel free to email me via the address used to sign up for the account. Good night, Goons and I'm NOT looking forward to my dreams tonight. Can o' worms and all that. Edit: Maybe more stories tomorrow, too. Who knows? Number 655321 fucked around with this message at 15:36 on Dec 10, 2005 |
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Dec 10, 2005 14:56
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Good Morning, Goons. Wow, this has really grown. Lots of excellent questions that I will get to in as much detail as I can. I'll get crackin' in a couple hours. I need to shower and get cigarettes and cat food, and then I'll answer each of your questions. See you in a bit. Thanks again for listening.
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Dec 10, 2005 23:13
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Okay I am back and seated with coffee and water and ready to do some serious answering. I'm going to take the easy ones first, then get to the ones requiring more thought after this. Xythar posted:
Very sadly, No. K posted:
My father and I had been estranged for many years before that, and through the incarceration. However once I got out, I took steps to initiate talking to one another again. I realised that my time with my family is limited and precious, and that forgiveness is priceless. I forgave my father for what he did that caused estrangement, because grudges get you nowhere in life. I learned that every man needs a dad, no matter how old you are or who your dad is. If it's at all possible, anyway. It turned out to be one of the wisest decisions I ever made and my dad and I get along very well, now. He was really unaware of my escape until after the fact. My mom wrote me a couple of letters. She's the other black sheep in the family, and had done some small time for prostitution and posession. But she wrote all of, maybe, three times. My mom was unreachable during my escape, but now when I go visit her, its one of her favorite stories to tell her friends about me. Not that she's proud of the prison time and the escape, but that I went through it and came out stronger for it. My grandparents sent me christmas cards - But I really didnt expect much more. I mean what can you hope for your grandparents to do, in that situation? Christmas cards were more than enough. Other than that my extended family really didnt have much interest, and I didn't want to involve anyone else, if I could avoid it, in the escape. Rhune posted:I have two questions. I don't know if you smoked the weed or really paid attention to it, but was it bad weed, regular weed, nice nuggets, or some kind of advanced strain? What did the person say to Lefty's sister, and did just the words drive her crazy to where she had a breakdown and died, or did the person kill her, or were you just figuratively saying it killed her? I didn't smoke weed until the day before I left, because a dirty UA would give you a misconduct report and time in the hole. A misconduct meant they could take away good time and I wanted nothing doing with that. I smoked a joint the night before I left with my friends, as celebration, and that even if I was caught there was no way they could get a misconduct through in time to take away good time. Weed quality inside varies just as much as it does on the street. Depends on who is bringing it in, really. But it was mostly average quality 'normal' weed. Nothing horrible but nothing to write TCC about. Lefty's sister was killed by bad crank (I'm pretty sure), so the person didnt say anything to her, he was already gone when she did it. The problem with the case was that Lefty killed the dealer after a couple days, with premeditation and malice aforethought in a particularly gruesome manner. While he was enraged, the crime of passion exception didn't apply due to the time between the incicents, so he met the tests to qualify for the Death Sentence. IdiotBoy posted:But this one just seems to hit me harder. Maybe because it's so possible to happen to any of us. Simple internet/computer crimes should not go punished so harshly, but a law is a law, I suppose. You're very correct here. First, I never did and never will say I didn't deserve to go to prison. I did the crime, I have no problem with doing the time, so to speak. Just not so much of it, hahaha. It is important to remember though, that while there is a joke that "you'll never meet more "innocent people" than you will in a jailhouse", here is something to consider: While I certainly wasn't innocent, I can think of two people right off the top of my head who are in prison, with whom I have no shadow of a doubt that they're innocent. I'd bet everything I own on it. It really could happen to you. Any one of us. And you're at the mercy of the system when you're in there. No matter how innocent you are, you're subject to the same beaurocracies, soulless paper shuffling, etc. while you fight for what essentially is part of your life. So yes, Appreciate every day. quote:Thank you for sharing your story and making me rethink some of the stupid things I've done, and how lucky I am to be where I'm at. Yes. Do this. A lot. Rethink everything. Master Ninja posted:
I have quarter sleeves on each arm. One is a tribal design, done in FREEHAND by bezo. He did an entire polar landscape (bears, igloos, etc) on lefty's back. My right arm is a flash picture and underneath that, the wrods "remember, learn, become" in runes. Remember where I came from, learn from it, and become something better. Anyway, Bezo was a professional tattooist before he went in for attempted homicide and concealing stolen property. So he, of course charged more than jeff up the rail who charged less, but was more or less an amaturer. I had some touchup done by him, and he turned me into loving hamburger. And yeah, you can get a tattoo of whatever you want if you can afford it. My flash piece has twelve colors in it (each of which had to be smuggled in in someones rear end). Its not so much a matter of getting right ones, as it is to avoid getting the wrong ones, as demonstrated in my OP. Fraxas posted:
See the thing is, I think prisons are necessary. I think they do good things for society and individuals who are so sociopathic they need to be kept out of society, or those, like me, who need a good firm kick in the rear end to get back on track. The problem with prisons, is that in economically depressed states, Prison becomes a growth industry. Sometimes their only industry. So it becomes something that feeds off of itself. More prisons = more jobs = stronger economy. More people in prison = a need to build more prisons = federal funding. See the inherent problem? So thats how we end up with drug related offenses getting outrageously large amounts of time, etc. My views have changed in strange ways. I am ALWAYS sure to go out and vote, every time I can, and since I saw some of the poo poo my taxes are frittered away on, I'm a registered republican (Fiscally conservative, socially liberal), and I think there needs to be a lot less focus on prison itself and more on corrective action before it gets to that point. I believe in the death penalty, but I think the tests need to be like the biblical seven witnesses. I believe in order to qualify for the Death penalty, you should have Video/DNA/Witness corroboration (and/or a confession), at the VERY LEAST. Mantra posted:Great read, I was sorry it was over. Question, did you ever find out how they found you after you had escaped? I'm really not sure. I suspect that because I made no attempt to disguise my identity, they probably tracked me down via my w-4 and/or bank account. It sounds dumb but I knew I'd get caught, eventually, and I wanted to abide the letter of the law until I did. That or my wife's parents told. Can't say I'd blame them, but I dont know how they'd get the info. She didn't hide from them, once we were gone - After all, I didnt want anyone thinking I'd abducted or killed her, so she called once we got to the state we went to and said "hey, I'm alive, I'm fine, here's what's going on". agent_mango posted:
They do, infact have interested, eligible inmates tutor others. I can't say its much of a "power position", but its still very valuable. again, its not only who you know and what you do, but also how you carry yourself that will keep you from getting ManFraknkie up in your stuff. _______________________________ More coming soon.
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Dec 11, 2005 01:28
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Straker posted:Awesome story, saw a few other people beating around the bush and didn't see you answer yet, so I just wanted to ask if you thought they (either whatever agencies were involved at the start, or the governor's office afterwards) were trying to make an example of you. I'm familiar with all the early-90s literature re: law enforcement being utterly incompetent/scared shitless of "hackers" ( Hmm... Yes, I think they were definitely trying to make an example of me, not only with the initial Federal charges but also with pursuing the extradition for the escape. The country was very sensitive to anything appearing even the least bit out of sorts, in regard to national security, even on a low level, This is during the time of WTC 1, and OKC bombing, bear in mind. While none of these were computer-related, they did cast what I did in a "OMG TERRIST" light, initially. As to the escape, the Governor was overall pretty pissed at/about me. Because 1) I "got away" with the Federal stuff, and 2) because after the escape I had a small but relevant lobby of people in important places behind me. He saw that as pretty sassy. When I got to MAX, before I'd settled in, I asked to be put on the High-Minimum security yard, because I *technically* qualified. But the Director of the Corrections Department wrote back saying: "RE: Request To Staff/Minimum Security Dear Mr. 655321, In response to your Request to Staff the following information is provided. The reason for denying your transfer to minimum security was your escape from XXXXX Correctinal Center on XXXX 00, 1997. It is very obvious you have the desire to escape and the means to avoid capture for some time. Based on your security points (4) you are eligible for minimum security. Therefore, you have been overridden to Low Maximum security due to the recency of the escape and the apparent support network you have in place. This constitutes a risk I am not willing to take. I trust this information has adequately addressed your issue. Sincerely, Mister Meanface." So you can sort of see that they were kind of carrying a lil' grudge against me. As to my wife, she was indeed a great person, and I'm sure she still is. I will always be grateful for the time we spent together, and what she showed me about unconditional love/caring for someone. Unfortunately I think we both weren't ready for a "real" marriage outside the fence, and I, myself, still had some learning to do, even after I got out. Edit: Thank you for the rocking avatar, whoever you are!
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Dec 11, 2005 01:54
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), raiding homes with dozens of agents, seizing basically everything that uses electricity and never giving it back, and being absurdly hard on the few that were caught to make up for missing so many, and your story reminded me of all that even though you basically started from the point where you were in custody. Did any of that happen to you? How well-known were you at the time and such?
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Dagny posted:That intensely touching and inspiring. Haha, you guys are gonna love this - I'm a network administrator. quote:What about women? Have you had any serious relationships since you and your wife split? Two. One I hosed up becuase I'm a typical dumbass guy, and the other we split after dating for quite a few years, because I moved. Both were with great women. I'm now single. :hello ladeez lookin for the bad boy:  quote:I guess you gave so many details about what life was like in there, I'm curious as to what it's like now. Life is pretty good - Even though I still think about the experience in some small way, daily, it doesnt dominate my every waking moment like it used to. I'm pretty back to normal, as you'll see when I get to the reintegration questions posted earlier. Athaalin posted:Ok Number, I got a question for you. In all your experiences, which group of people seemed to be 'out for you' the most? Whenever I hear stories like this it's always someone in a position of power who's decided to take their frustrations out on some poor guy who can't do anything about it. It seemed like the governer's office was the one that tried to gently caress you over the most but was there any person or group of people that wanted to see you 'hang' so to speak despite your efforts at seriouslly trying to reform? I really dont think it was some kind of active hate-filled conspiracy so much as it was I was an annoying fly in the air and the more they heard my name the more they hated me. I can't honestly say that it was 100% a conspiracy to lose my paperwork. A beaurocracy of this size, it is truly possible. Besides, how would they know the guy was going to get out and go killin', and cause suspension of the program? I think the Governor was just sick of hearing my name, toward the end, and probably saw me as some snotty little poo poo who thought he could get his way and have rules bent for him due to his "connections". Hell, looking at it that way, I can't say I'd blame him, you know? So yeah, I'd go with "make an example of" as opposed to "conspire against". enotnert posted:Damned great read. My mom works with a local county sherrifs department (well she's under a judge now, but that's another story) and I've usually seen in that place the best of the best get hosed up by the system and your atypical "I raped your mother and punched my pregnant wife in the gut while loving her sister" type folks just walk out, then come back next week. "under" a judge, you say? Sorry cheap joke, but it was there. Yeah I saw this too. Justice is a sticy wicket, to be sure. Law is big. It's loving HUGE. And it changes every day through case-law. But I really do believe we have the best system for the size of our Nation. Reform will come, but it comes in piece-parts. There will never be sweeping reform of the Corrections System. It's pretty impossible, because not only do the prisons and how they're run and funded need to be reformed, but the laws that put certain people away and others do a weekend for beating their wife are actually reflections of the social barometer more than a corrupt system. When I told a guard, at the beginning that I was in for 5 yrs for bounced checks he said "Holy poo poo, dont gently caress with a man's money," which is true. Crimes against banks and/or companies will almost ALWAYS generate a stiffer penalty than domestic battery will. Your average child molester is sentenced to 26 months and will do 7-9 of those months incarcerated. quote:Congrats on the story, and hope your experiences prove true to you in the future. If you ever want to talk it out (I've got some friends in a publishing company that are good with editing/helping writing and could do an anon kind of thing probably) you could register a fake AIM handle and IM me. I don't want your identity, but this story is great. quote:One of the worst things I've seen in the prison scene (I only deal with county on occasion, since mom works there, and they want me to fix their computers sometimes) is one of the guys that used to work with us got involved in a CDV. He didn't hit the woman, she literally called her sister to their house, and had her punch her. Then she called the cops saying he was being abusive, and long story short. He went into jail for a year or so, can no longer vote, own guns or anything. He might not be high class, but a respectable guy who taught me all I know of the arts of "grillfu". He wouldn't harm a fly, much less a human being, and the system hosed him up. Thats very sad, and there are lots of people like that. Its tough to look at laws like that and try to find a fair way to change them and still protect the rights of a woman against domestic violence.
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Dec 11, 2005 02:21
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lazybones posted:Wow, amazing read. Very interesting. Tattoo artists were pretty much universal, there were two on my yard that had "decent" guns (made of a fan motor or tape player motor, part of a BIC pen, and sharpened guitar string as the needle), and one in particular was an outstanding artist. Yeah, if they were good their status was pretty high. If they were poo poo, they were just another inmate with a hustle. Burk posted:You're a better writer than you give yourself credit for. Have you looked much further into getting work in the legal business? Different states have different ways of restoring felons civil rights, although I didn't think that a private law firm would be that restricted by the government. Perhaps other firms would give a more positive reaction to your zomg computer hacker felony. Then again, you already know more about both sides of the law than me. I dont think its a matter of the law restricting me from working in a law office, more than it is the potential stigma. Thats not to say I wouldn't LOVE to do it if I had a chance, but I'm happy with my job now. If a position at a law office were to fall into my lap, though, I'd definitely take it, but I don't really want to search for one - It's hard to take your resume seriously when it says "related experience: Prison Law Clerk". Also, my actual conviction was for bounced checks. PistachioShell posted:
Yes, this is true. Especially in county. Well in county, they'll just get a beating from a long-timer. On a minumum or even some medium yards, they're pretty safe because most of the people there are short-timers and dont want to catch more time for putting one down. However on a MAX yard, its some serious poo poo. God forbid you be a baby-toucher and go to a max yard and happen to get "found out" (often times the guards will leak this information if its particularly sick). The one guy I saw was drilled up pretty good for what he did to a three-year old. It was disgusting. I have to say I did NOT walk away when I saw what was going down and why. jbltk posted:I'm gonna buck the trend and say don't write a screenplay. This story is perfect for a short story medium, but not as a movie. This isn't enough of a story to stand alone as a movie, and they would simply hack it up and make it something barely resembling the truth and slap on a "based on a true story" label. I agree with you. Like I said if someone wanted to interview me for hours and try to make a treatment out of it and cut me in on the dough, I wouldn't say no, for sure. But on the other hand, I think its perfect where it is. The closest I've ever come to wanting to write a book was sort of a "convict's survival guide" with resources, facts, a prison-slang to english dictionary, how to use a law library, how to use your resources, what rights you have, what rights you DONT have, and tips on how not to gently caress up - ie "Under NO circumstances, ever, ever, ever get into debt with someone you dont know VERY well." And a section for those on the outside, WHY it is important to write every day if possible, what resources there are for family members, visiting protocols, etc. But again, I'd need a partner to do that and organize it and, well, essentially write it. Something similar was written in the '70;s called "So, you're going to Prison!" but I dont think it's been updated since. Mr. Vol posted:
Well it wasn't so much the law that put me in prison, it was my violation of it that did. So I couldn't resent the laws themselves. They do serve a very constructive purpose. Its the human error element that hosed my poo poo up. I love the law because it is so dynamic. It all ties together. It's all arguments with logic, facts, research, notation. And then when you see what your opposition argues back, its fascinating to see what holes they poke, and sometimes when, by researching their cited cases some more, you can use their own caselaw against them. Its a giant puzzle, and a giant match of wits. I guess its sort of like if you get into a car accident. You dont hate the car, you just learn how to drive it better in the future. DKCecil posted:It makes me wonder if my dad's gone through any of the same things; he's about to finish up a five-year jail sentence in early February. I'm just glad that you've seem to come out of it alright. Gives me hope for my father. When he comes home, it will make him acclimation a trillion times easier if you shine a light on him every hour and pretend to count him while he's sleeping. Also shake down his room once a week, and dont be surprised if you find all the kitchen knives have disappeared and are now under his bed. Seriously, best of luck, and give him a hug when he comes home. The first thing he will want is a god-damned real loving burger. The next thing he'll want is a living vagina to put his penis into. After that, he will want a real loving shower. Let him talk. He's going to talk a lot. About things that might not make much sense. But let him get it all out. Ask questions, be interested - Show him (without pity) that he has nothing to be ashamed of, and that he is not less of a father or a man to you. He's going to fear being pitied. Let him know you still admire and respect him, because this could be the difference between someone who gets out and sits in front of the TV, and one who gets his poo poo together, gets a job, and gets the momentum of conficence going that the world doesnt see him as a guy with his corrections number tattooed across his face. Remember also, baby steps. Don't take big trips, or large excursions right off the bat and do NOT take him to target or a movie theater for at least a month. Best wishes to you and him. Also, he will hate bob barker. We ALL hate bob loving barker. Number 655321 fucked around with this message at 02:59 on Dec 11, 2005 |
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Dec 11, 2005 02:51
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