I’d noticed all week that from first door break on, there
were huge groups of guys (15 to 20) milling around the picnic tables which are
spread out mid rec yard separating the softball field from the volleyball pit
and weight pile. It was a poorly kept
secret that high stakes poker was going on at the tables. Twenty dollar buy-in, quarter chips, tobacco,
stamps and pills getting you in the game.
By my run Wednesday morning there were three tables active, forty guys
huddled around.
I started my slow jog (I’d been on the DL for a week having
suffered a hip flexor ten days earlier, my running was coming back but I wanted
to take it easy) and headed to the dip bars to get a set in. I suddenly found myself in the middle of a
Doobie Brothers concert. I jogged
through a grey smoky fog that gave me a sudden urge for Oreos and pretzel
sticks. Somewhere in the distance I heard
the Steve Miller Band singing “The Joker”.
This wasn’t a little weed. This was
major smoking going on by more than one or two guys.
I got my entire workout in by 9:00, ending as I always do
with yoga. Time- mysteriously – flew by
that morning. I headed back in the
building and began doing what I do every day:
write. Around 10:15, the floor
officer’s radio squawked to life (she was sitting in the dayroom watching Jerry
Springer or some other socially relevant show) “close east year; close east
yard. Lock everyone on ball courts.” The officer yawned and got to “battle
stations” (actually, she slowly moved to the door saying “Shit, better be a
stabbin. I’m missing my show.” – I can’t
make better stuff up!). A few of us
headed to the front door and saw warden dumb with assistant warden dumber and
about eight officers heading through a side gate and onto the yard. The inmates at the tables were
scrambling. Guys were running by the
port-o-johns, other guys were jogging toward the building fences. It was chaos, and it was hilarious. Officers – overweight, huffing and puffing,
were chasing younger guys all over the yard.
As dumb as the officers looked, the guys looked dumber. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to
hide. I told the guys standing at the
door “do they know they’re on a prison rec yard?”
And then we saw it:
Andre running from the lead investigator. I don’t know if I can adequately describe the
scene. Andre is a coal black, buck
toothed, 45 year old teacher’s aide with me in the GED program. He’s back on his third cocaine distribution
conviction. He’s personable, funny,
goofy and always a target of the investigators because; well because he always
has his hands in something. He’s a con’s
con – he knows and participates in every hustle. Usually, he’s too slick to get hemmed
up. Not this time.
I watch as a chase scene unfolds in slow motion. Andre, arms and legs being heaved to the
heavens is running zigzag around the yard.
He’s chewing up papers and substances with every step. On his heels, the rolli polli
investigator. As slow as Andre’s running,
the investigator is slower. Then, Andre
runs out of gas. But, so does the
investigator. Andre starts jumping side
to side; the investigator has his hands on his hips, sucking in every bit of
air possible. And then it happens. Andre gives up. Handcuffs are slapped on him and he’s led by
the Keystone Cops to the hole.
The po-lees (that’s inmate lingo for the officers) raided
the yard twice more Wednesday. Four guys
ended up locked up. But, by Thursday,
the card games and weed were back on the yard.
And Andre? His job is gone. Running is a major charge. Plus he had a dirty urine. He’ll lose his good time and get moved to a
level 4 probably.
It was hilarious to watch, but there’s the sobering
realization that some of these guys just don’t get it. I’m no choir boy, but I choose to live a
certain way in here. Andre, lives and
acts just like he did on the street. If you
can’t stay clear of drugs, prostitution, theft, extortion in a closed environment
like prison, how are you going to make it out there? And that is the biggest hurdle facing my
fellow inmates and me. We’re our own
worst enemy. We make it easy for
politicians to lie about us and people to shun us. We’ve got to stop running and standup for
ourselves.
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