Wine, the “N” Word, and Blood

At any time, in any prison, you’ll have guys trying to make wine. It’s not a tough process: fermenting fruit, sugar, yeast and a container you can burp. The other day, three idiots in “5A” decided to drink their bagful. Given how things go around here, the stuff was probably no more than four weeks old. Anyway, these three Mensa members drink a gallon or so of the homebrew and start feeling good; and by good, I mean they start feeling like they’re Leonardo DiCaprio on the bow of the Titanic. They are “King of the World!”

            

Three stupid, drunk young white guys in a building racially mixed: Hello gasoline, here comes the match! One of the guys goes by the name of “Smoot.” He’s early twenties and thinks he’s a “bad man.” No. He’s another in a never-ending parade of redneck knuckleheads who keep getting busted for sniffing, or shooting up, anything they can get their hands on. This is his second trip to the rodeo (as they say), both three-year stints.

            

He thinks he’s a tough guy. And, the alcohol in his system tells him he can take on anyone. So, he walks up and down the aisle in “5A” laughing and carrying on and then decides to tell people what he thinks. “I hate livin with n-----s,” he starts shouting. “I hate n-----s.” Smoot, say goodnight.

            

A young black kid – Chris, one of my former students who earned his GED last year – stands up and tells Smoot to “sit your ass down!” Smoot says, “Make me.” They head into the bathroom and in less than five minutes, Smoot is a bloody mess, unconscious on the floor. A few minutes later someone alerts the booth, and officers respond. Medical is called and the bloody, broken, passed out Mr. Smoot is loaded on a stretcher. And his two friends? They’re suffering from “STD,” “Scared To Death” that the black guys will turn on them. Both walk up to the COs on the floor and confess - 1. That they’re also drunk, and 2. There’s another bagful of wine hidden in a locker. Those two are handcuffed and led out for resettlement in building “7,” a/k/a, “the hole.”

            

Smoot, on the stretcher, wakes up and is pissed. He does what any drunken idiot would do; he rolls off the stretcher, stands up and lunges at one of the COs, trying to land a punch. He is gang tackled, hog-tied and taken to medical first, then “7” until the next day when – with an assault on an officer charge in hand – he is shipped to a higher level.

            

And “5A” is torn apart. The COs and drug sniffing dogs swoop in and lock the building down. Every locker searched, every guy strip-searched. That’s what happens when knuckleheads carry on. For the rest of us, it’s just another day at LCC.