Three Monkeys

Almost everyone is familiar with the three monkeys: one has his hands over his eyes; the next covers his ears; the last covers his mouth. “See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil.” I found myself thinking about those three monkeys this week as events unfolded in here.

            There is a great deal of transitioning going on here. The population is at its low point: 930 plus or minus five on any given day. That’s a good thing. Building sides are now down to 60 to 74 men. But this decrease in number comes at a price. There are a lot of new faces every week. Men show up here for re-entry at the twelve to eighteen month remainder of their sentence. A good number of these men are short-term, guys doing only two or three years. They are young. And, young and short means chaos. And, chaos means trouble.

            There’s been an uptick in gang activity, more and more young guys wanting to “fit in” so they join. There’s been an increase in drug use. Almost every day I see a handful of young guys loopy-glazed eyes, practically drooling. Heroin is the drug of choice but pills of all kinds are plentiful.

            Then there’s theft. All over the compound guys are having property stolen. Almost six years in and I’ve never even had a paperclip taken until last Tuesday morning. As back-story, I sleep with my watch off, sitting in a small tray on the corner edge of my bed. Every morning at 3:00 am, when the door opens and the COs head in for count I wake up and look at my watch. An hour later – 4:00 am – my alarm goes off. Everything is normal on Tuesday at 3:00. I fall back asleep waiting on the alarm …

            Which never rings at 4:00. I awake with a start – it’s 4:15 am. Why didn’t my alarm go off? What the f---! My watch is missing! The booth COs see me scrambling around. They wave me up to the front. “What’s the matter? And why’d you sleep in?” See, my schedule is like clockwork. I explain my missing watch. They check the logbook and note four guys – all new – who were walking around on the floor between 3:15 and 3:45 am (I never knew they logged that in!). Here’s the problem: I had to wait for the investigator to come on shift to check the building video feed which wouldn’t be until after 8:00 am.

            So I’m pissed. I’m trying to read my morning devotions and pray and write, but all I can do is obsess on my watch. Morning routine starts – 6:00 am count, breakfast, and work call and everyone in the building knows: we have a thief. And there’s an older guy who just got here two weeks ago; he has eighteen months left and is here for re-entry; he transferred in from the Federal system – 16 years there; and, he’s an “OG” – a big hitter in an NYC street gang; he has talked to me a few times, needed help on college enrollment, stuff like that. He comes over to me, “Larry, we can’t have a thief in here; that’s disrespectful. You push it with the investigator. And, when they find out who it is, you let me know.” “Let me know” – I’ve had gang leaders tell me that before; that’s a serious offer.

            11:30 count and another guy makes an announcement: “We got an f------ thief in here. Give the watch back!” I go to lunch and see the investigator. “I’ll look at the tape. We’ll figure it out.” The rest of the day, sans watch, runs normal. Except, after lifting weights (5:15 pm) I come in and “low and behold” my watch is in the bathroom. The band is torn and the back a little loose (where someone tried to get the battery out) but it’s usable. And the thief? Two different guys have been pulled out of the pod to talk to the investigators; the video’s grainy but both those guys were around my bunk.

            For almost six years I’ve never locked anything. I figured, if someone wants something of mine they’ll peel the locker back. But, a building thief – in such close quarters – throws everyone’s rhythm off. With a thief inside there is “see no evil.” He’ll get found out and pummeled and the COs will look the other way.

            Two building and a guy on “B” side is in debt for over $150 to an “A” side store box. He does the calculus and decides, “I ain’t payin.” And, candidly, at this level most store box guys write off deadbeats. At higher-level prisons not paying leads to broken bones or worse. So the “B” side debtor goes to take a shower. Meanwhile, a “door break” is called and the “A” side store man goes to the “B” side, walks in (a 100 series violation – being in the wrong building) and heads to the debtor’s bunk where he takes 1. Debtor’s TV; 2. Debtor’s Timberland boots; and 3. Debtor’s Nike sneakers. Debtor returns from the shower and sees his stuff missing. He knows without asking who has it. He calmly walks up to the front of the building and enters “A” side; heads to the store box man’s bunk and a brawl ensues.

            “Take that shit outside,” the floor officer calls out (great response instead of “break it up!”) and pops the rear door to the ball court. The two combatants comply and throw down against each other only … only the debtor isn’t going to just engage in a boxing match. He pulls a thin metal stake out, the size of a pencil, and starts jabbing the store box man around the chest, neck, and back. And blood is spilling, and the tower sees and pandemonium breaks out. COs and counselors are running from everywhere toward 2 building. “Cease all movement on the compound! Cease all movement!”

            The PA is blasting the message over and over. On the ball court the store box man is yelling. “He stuck me! He stuck me!” Both men are tackled. Debtor is cuffed and hauled to “7” building – he’s facing “street charges” (malicious wounding) which will add 7 to 10 years to his sentence (the next day he was moved for “security reasons” to a higher level compound). Store box man? Fortunately no organs were hit. A few stitches and he was back to normal except he’s facing charges for running a store box, stealing debtor’s property, entering “B” side, fighting, and a few others. He’ll lose all his good time and his security level will rise so he too will move to a “more secure” facility.

            The facility, like the monkey covering his ears, doesn’t want to hear about the discord. Ok, so 2B was on lock for a few hours while they looked for more blades; but, the fact is men are constantly rotating from building to building – that creates tension; that breaks down community. Add to that, the transitory nature of guys now means there are a lot more con games being run – not paying debts, stealing.

            Finally there’s Chase and his chemo treatments. After months of misdiagnoses and delays Chase began chemo Monday. He left the building at 4:00 am and was driven the 75 miles to Richmond and MCV. By 6:00 pm, he was back in the building. By Wednesday, Chase was weak, unable to eat the food they serve in the chow hall; nausea, vomiting, faint feeling – that was Chase. I asked him if medical was “doing anything” for him. “If I walk down to medical they’ll give me nausea medicine,” he told me.

            That night, during 9:30 pm count, Chase fell out. He was helped to his chair by two of his bunk neighbors. The building officers called medical but they waited until count “cleared” at 10:00 pm to come with a wheelchair and get Chase. I constantly challenge my fellow incarcerated to “show empathy; be compassionate,” and yet the very system in place is not empathetic. What does it say about Virginia policy that a man – within 6 months of completing his sentence – is treated so cavalierly where a cancer treatment is involved? What does this say about society’s righteousness?

            “Patriotism consists not in waving the flag,

            But in striving that our country shall be

            Righteous as well as strong.”

            James Bryce’s words must be taken to heart. We cannot be like the third monkey and fail to speak out when government in the name of criminal justice behaves in an immoral manner. And, treating even convicts the way Chase is being treated is immoral.

            “See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil.” Three monkeys making a point … or are they running Virginia DOC?

This and That This Past Week

Little things happen in here that when placed against the backdrop of “outside living” show how screwy prison life really is.



Prison is all about rules. There is a tension between the COs and the inmates over interpretation and enforcement of “the rules”. Inmates skirt them as best we can; officers look the other way (sometimes) or bust guys over the head.


The other day “Rock” – a vocational aide, was busted, sent to the hole and fired, all within about ten minutes time. His crime? He was caught listening to music CDs on his work computer. Rock was heading up the boulevard to work when he was pulled down by “13”. 13 is the number for the officer on boulevard duty. Every building, every location has a number to direct officers over the radio. Every inmate knows every code number as well.


This day, “13” was a real a—hole of an officer. As he patted down Rock, he discovered the CDs. Inmates are not allowed personal items not related to their jobs outside the building. 13 tells Rock to take the CDs back to his building; Rock tells 13 to go have relations with his mother. 13 calls the investigator. He goes to Rock’s desk in the classroom, sees the CDs and proceeds to haul Rock to the hole.


Here’s the thing. Every vocational aide has music loaded at work (things are different for academic aides). Rock forgot who he was dealing with. Most COs don’t sweat little stuff. 13 that day was one of the COs here who likes to throw their weight around. In a battle between officers and inmates, inmates almost always lose.


Officers and inmates hate paper pushers. There are some guys here who are notorious for “dropping paper” on everything. As I tell guys I work with, you have to pick your battles. Every day in here you face a set of illogical rules and regulations specifically in place to keep you contained and, in many ways, break your identity.


DOC lost a major censorship case a few months ago. As a result, inmates can now receive books and magazines paid for by friends and family. It used to be that every purchase had to go through property with about six different forms. I found ways back then to beat the system. My biggest way to “work around” DOC rules? I treat the officers with respect. I’m polite. Same with Big S and most of the guys I know.


Now, I get called to property (no paperwork filed) and the female officer says “Honey, looks like someone’s suprisin’ you with books.” But, not so for “breast pump” (called that because he has man boobs and insists on walking around in tank tops).


“Breast pump” is notorious for “dropping paper”. Anytime things don’t go his way, he sends in a grievance. He’s so bad about it, and considers himself “above the inmates” that one day Big S asked him “What’s your state number?” When BP gave it, Big S looked at him and said “So, you have a number just like everyone else.” The ironic thing about BP is, he’s in here for getting his eight year old stepdaughter to perform oral sex on him. He’s been persecuted (so he thinks); the rest of the guys in here are just scum.


COs hate paperwork. They have to respond and most COs, like most inmates, can’t write a simple sentence to save their lives. BP is a pain in their backsides. He files paper – they make his life miserable.


Breast Pump’s mom sent him books. Property won’t give them to him until he files “the proper forms”. As the officer told him “No request form, no books”. He’s pissed. He asked me what he should do. I told him, tongue in cheek, “file a grievance”.


The great fight in here last week proved once again that most inmates, for all their talk about hating snitches, will run their mouths to cover their own butts in a blink of an eye. Both guys were at fault. An argument turned into punches and BAM “Man” connects with a multiple combination to G’s face leaving it a bloody mess.


Fighting is usually a 200 series charge. Small penalty (10 days in the hole plus loss of visits). But, an assault is a 100 series (raised security level, removed from compound, loss of good time, possible street charges). You get in a fight you take the 200. That’s the rule – not for G. He wasn’t even to the hole before he told the investigator he was “minding his own buness” when he was jumped by Man. Result? G’s back in the barbershop working and Man is heading to a level 3 facility. Loyalty is in short supply, whether it be prison, marriage or just friendship. You find someone who will stick it out, “for better or worse”, and you hold on to them dearly.


G is a rat. Period. I knew the day I was arrested, it’s better to accept the blame yourself than spread it around. Every day you have to watch yourself in here for guys who will curry favor with the COs by talking. The system creates that mentality and it’s one of the worst things about prison.


Then there’s shopping. I had to order a new pair of running shoes. I kept the old pair over a year. “On the street”, I’d buy two new pair of $100 Asics every four months. In here, a $50 pair of Nike's does the trick. Making $54 a month, having 5% withheld (under a new state law requiring every inmate withhold that amount for court fines and restitution); 10% to savings and tithing 10% to a church, doesn’t leave me much. I’ve decided to get real boots, a pair of Levis, a denim shirt and a winter coat to replace the threadbare things DOC provides. Total cost: just under $300.


Back before my arrest I’d spend $300 in a day. I’d give my wife $1000 to go shopping with her friends; $200 for groceries at an upscale grocery; $100 to my son “for the weekend”. It will take over a year to get my clothes.


Money means something different in here. Now it’s to supplement a bland, poor diet and to get a few comforts of “outside living”. Things I used to take for granted – like a pair of Levis or Timberland boots – now matter. It’s an interesting way to learn the value of things.


I saw on the news this morning that a college kid was arrested at the Richmond airport for protesting TSA’s new aggressive pat down policy. He stripped down to nothing but running shorts. On his chest and back he wrote the words to the Fourth Amendment which says we are free from unreasonable searches. I found his protest encouraging, but misplaced.


After every visit I am subject to a strip search to make sure I’m not carrying any contraband. Every day going in and out of school, I’m subjected to pat downs. Leaving chow there is a random pat down.


Twice a year the investigators come in and shake us down and strip search everyone. You are subject to random drug screens with an officer standing directly beside you watching you urinate. Random locker checks happen each week.


It’s amazing what you learn to live with, including the loss of basic privacy and simple dignity. As I said before, I applaud the young man’s courage for challenging the TSA pat down. Yet, I expect this young man has a cell phone, a Facebook page, an email account. He probably uses credit cards. All these things allow someone to track you, invade your personal space.


In here I never have privacy. I use the bathroom in front of 95 other guys; same with the showers.


Privacy and freedom are wonderful concepts. I’ve realized how precious they are having lived in this environment. I’ve also come to realize folks “outside” don’t realize how little privacy and freedom they actually have.


Every week in here reinforces little pieces of the prison puzzle. Every week teaches me something I hadn’t given much thought to before my arrest. Every week offers a little more of this and that.