wallet robbed by the homeless man, chasing the thief out of the house and hitting him with a baseball bat. I was doing time for moving drugs for income and false allegations that I was larger than life.
I finished making my 2 inch thick mat for a bed on a concrete slab and went back to the cell door where I would spend almost half my day studying. I had Scott come to the cell door and asked, "How long have the Chicans and Blacks been locked down?" "A couple months. It popped in the gym when I first got here a month ago. The Crips took it to the Mexicans. I heard they were sick of the way the Mexicans were trying to run everything." I had to ask a vital question, "Are there any Mexican Mobsters here?" Scott looked like he was excited to have answers. He nodded his head and said, "There is now but there wasn't when the riot kicked off."
I imagined the circumstances. Without any Mexican Mobsters, the Mexicans had too many little chiefs and no Indians. That meant they were all hungry to make a name for themselves that would carry recognition and validation for their street gang, neighborhood and even in a misguided way their real blood family. It was pride rearing its ugly head. With that kind of climate the Mexicans were pushing rules and regulations that got too forceful and infringed too deeply and the Blacks responded like gangsters and caught them slipping. That meant there was a round 2 coming.
I looked at the gun tower. From the angle of our cell I could see the cells that started with 150 on the bottom and 250 on the top all the way to where the row I was in started. Had I have been in 210 or any lesser number cell down to 200 line the gun tower would have been in the way to see the last couple of cells, 248, 249, 250 and those same cells below. The cells with the best view were down the middle directly across from the gun tower in the mid 20's. The tower didn't get in the way and the only cells they had trouble seeing were the ones in their row. I studied the occupants inside cells who stood at cell doors. I could see the outline of bodies and determine what kind of shape they were in and study the way they stood and observed things. It would tell me a lot about the person.
My attention was drawn to a short Mexican downstairs and across in cell 140. I asked Scott, "Who are the Mexican Mobsters and where are they housed?" Scott, the ever happy chap with information said, "Little Bird is in this building across the way in 140 and Droopy is in Building 1." I looked at Little Bird. He was watching me like an Eagle. Good, I'd be doing the same. It would only take extending my hand in greeting and some follow up to find out how I felt. I knew he anticipated the same thing.
Chapter 4
The next morning I watched the building release for yard at 9 AM. The top tier released only and I knew the bottom tier would get afternoon yard. This prison would end up releasing over 500 inmates to yard when the Mexicans and Blacks came off lockdown. The prison I had just come from being even higher security only released a little over a 100, much easier to deal with when your race’s population is only 8%. I watched my new little buddy Scott head to yard. He walked to the stairs and met the only other two White men on the tier. Both were in their 40's and looked like brothers with the same builds, 200 plus lbs of prison bulk, not that coordinated looking, typical shaved heads.
That night when I went to sleep my mind began to acclimate to the sounds and rhythms’ of my new building. Certain cells snored, a few cells coughed and wheezed and the sound of the vestibule handle made a clanking noise just before that vestibule door opened, then closed loudly. It signified shift change at 4 AM…Time to rise.
The next week went by stuck in the cell but I made the best of it by writing drug war scripts for Hollywood, writing letters and reading my Bible. I decided to work on my
I finished making my 2 inch thick mat for a bed on a concrete slab and went back to the cell door where I would spend almost half my day studying. I had Scott come to the cell door and asked, "How long have the Chicans and Blacks been locked down?" "A couple months. It popped in the gym when I first got here a month ago. The Crips took it to the Mexicans. I heard they were sick of the way the Mexicans were trying to run everything." I had to ask a vital question, "Are there any Mexican Mobsters here?" Scott looked like he was excited to have answers. He nodded his head and said, "There is now but there wasn't when the riot kicked off."
I imagined the circumstances. Without any Mexican Mobsters, the Mexicans had too many little chiefs and no Indians. That meant they were all hungry to make a name for themselves that would carry recognition and validation for their street gang, neighborhood and even in a misguided way their real blood family. It was pride rearing its ugly head. With that kind of climate the Mexicans were pushing rules and regulations that got too forceful and infringed too deeply and the Blacks responded like gangsters and caught them slipping. That meant there was a round 2 coming.
I looked at the gun tower. From the angle of our cell I could see the cells that started with 150 on the bottom and 250 on the top all the way to where the row I was in started. Had I have been in 210 or any lesser number cell down to 200 line the gun tower would have been in the way to see the last couple of cells, 248, 249, 250 and those same cells below. The cells with the best view were down the middle directly across from the gun tower in the mid 20's. The tower didn't get in the way and the only cells they had trouble seeing were the ones in their row. I studied the occupants inside cells who stood at cell doors. I could see the outline of bodies and determine what kind of shape they were in and study the way they stood and observed things. It would tell me a lot about the person.
My attention was drawn to a short Mexican downstairs and across in cell 140. I asked Scott, "Who are the Mexican Mobsters and where are they housed?" Scott, the ever happy chap with information said, "Little Bird is in this building across the way in 140 and Droopy is in Building 1." I looked at Little Bird. He was watching me like an Eagle. Good, I'd be doing the same. It would only take extending my hand in greeting and some follow up to find out how I felt. I knew he anticipated the same thing.
Chapter 4
The next morning I watched the building release for yard at 9 AM. The top tier released only and I knew the bottom tier would get afternoon yard. This prison would end up releasing over 500 inmates to yard when the Mexicans and Blacks came off lockdown. The prison I had just come from being even higher security only released a little over a 100, much easier to deal with when your race’s population is only 8%. I watched my new little buddy Scott head to yard. He walked to the stairs and met the only other two White men on the tier. Both were in their 40's and looked like brothers with the same builds, 200 plus lbs of prison bulk, not that coordinated looking, typical shaved heads.
That night when I went to sleep my mind began to acclimate to the sounds and rhythms’ of my new building. Certain cells snored, a few cells coughed and wheezed and the sound of the vestibule handle made a clanking noise just before that vestibule door opened, then closed loudly. It signified shift change at 4 AM…Time to rise.
The next week went by stuck in the cell but I made the best of it by writing drug war scripts for Hollywood, writing letters and reading my Bible. I decided to work on my
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