Lockdown Blues

After all the speculation, all the rumors, it finally hit. We went on “lock” last Monday. In truth, we’d been on lock the whole week before with the computer blow up. Still, lockdown – like the changing of the clocks in spring and fall – is a way in here to gauge the passing of the seasons. And, as with most lockdowns at lower custody levels, it’s more hype than help. Nothing meaningful – drugs, weapons, or cellphones – is ever found. That stuff all gets hidden or flushed with the first strains of the morning P.A. announcement “Attention, attention, Lunenburg is now on lockdown. Cease all movement.”

            Lockdown. Waiting for twenty officers and staff to come in the building and rifle through all your stuff. Waiting. Waiting. I got into a habit during the week of rising at my regular 4:00 am time. I’d do my morning scripture reading and devotions, meditate, pray, and write until breakfast. Then, after breakfast I would climb back in my rack (a nicer term than “metal bed”) with a book. I’d read and drift back off to sleep until noon count. I read three books that way.

            Lockdown here means nothing but time being stolen from you. It’s not that way at higher levels. Up there, you are locked in your cell 24/7. You come out once every three days for a five-minute shower. You also come out when they shake your cell down.

            Shaking down means something at a higher level. You’re handcuffed while still in the cell, then walked out the door. Two officers move through your cell. Everything is dumped on your rack and examined. With mirrors and metal detectors they search every crevice, every corner. Homemade knives, crack pipes, tattoo guns made out of electrical adaptors, all of it has to be found. They leave all your possessions in a pile and then they leave. And you are right back in the cell where you sit – and eat, and use the bathroom, and sleep – and wait, wait for the door to open and “chow call” or “rec call” or “school call,” anything that says normalcy, prison normalcy that is, has returned. That is a real lockdown. And they can last a week, a month, sometimes a year (like after an officer is assaulted).

            Not so here. Here we have the same routine without school call and rec. We even kept our regular chow schedule. The only “segregation” (i.e. keeping us separated from other buildings) was between the “shook” and the “unshook.” Tuesday afternoon – it’s always Tuesday afternoon for us on lockdown – and 4A was shookdown. We started at 1:00 and were done by 3:00; sixty-three beds (that’s right sixty-three. It’s almost spacious in here!) all examined. Of course nothing of significance was taken. There was a collection of cracker boxes – for some strange reason, storing things in boxes inside a locker is prohibited – and the resold electronics (headphones, CD players and trimmers mostly). And there were the extra shoes.

            DOC allows one pair of boots, one pair of sneakers, and one pair of shower shoes. And most everyone has an extra pair of something. For five years, I’ve had two pair of sneakers – a workout pair and a clean, white visitation and work pair. My luck ran out on this lockdown. They found my second (size 10 Nikes). They’re waiting at visitor pickup – no sense disposing of a new pair of sneakers! In a few months, I’ll order a new pair and replace the set I gave up. That’s how it is in here. Everything can be replaced.

            Friday morning we came off lock. But, school was still closed, the aftermath of the factory computer bust. Here’s what we know: eight factory workers were fired. Six received series “100” charges for violation of DOC’s computer security regs. All six – currently still in the hole – are being transferred. Richmond sent a team of forensic computer techs up here to examine every inmate-accessible computer. The factory computers turned up porn and gambling; the kitchen computers: music videos and games. The school – with the exception of the library – was cleared.

            Friday afternoon I had to go to work – special request. See, the GED graduation is set for June 6^th and I’m responsible for invitation design and mailing, and visitor lists. And those things had to get out. “Your computer’s been cleared, Larry.” I was told. I did my work and headed back to the building. But, all the while I had a bemused smirk on my face. Come Monday everything will go back to the way it was. They’ll give us a new “contract” warning us of the repercussions of violating the DOC computer policy. We’ll sign and we’ll be back at work keeping all their programs running. And the guys in the hole? They’ll be transferred and a year from now during the next computer crisis or spring lockdown their screw up will be remembered in a different light.

            That’s prison. Lockdowns come, lockdowns go, but the cycle of life in here goes on. The faces and crises change but the song remains the same, the song is nothing but blues …