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There is no relaxing or taking a break for a few minutes. The minute you start slipping even for a second, they’re going to get you! I’m going to get you! ON MY WAY TO PRISON-PART 1
Ask any man you know and undoubtedly he will tell you that at least at one time in his life he’s asked himself the same question we have all asked ourselves. Can I survive the prison experience and come out in one piece? Yes. No. Maybe. I’m not sure. No way!!! Yeah, no problem! I’d even venture to say that with all that it implies, with all its horrifying statistics about rape and murder, or even the glamorous stereotypes, the fact is it has served as a moral compass in your life that you use to follow. A barometer to gauge and measure your behavior, your views, or your habits so you don’t end up getting in trouble with the law or with society, so as to live safely within society’s fold. And that’s fine! The fact is, most people contribute to society in order to belong to it so as not to be near or at the mercy of outlaws or people like me. People who will simply take what they want from you and keep taking it from you because we know that you know damn well you can’t, won’t, or will not stop us. We know you won’t do a thing about it besides call the police. And for that reason, they need the protection of society. They seek it wholeheartedly. But then there are those who don’t. No matter which one of these types you may be, some where along the line is the understanding that if you break some of society’s laws to a certain extent, then you may be headed to prison as a form of punishment. Whether you want to or not, whether you’re remorseful or not, or whether you can or can’t make it in there, you’re going. You may think you don’t deserve it, but in the eyes of the law, all men are created equal. You’re going for a day, a week, a month, or even a lifetime and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. Going back to my point, whether or not you’ve broken any laws, are or aren’t headed for the penitentiary, we’ve all asked ourselves whether or not we think we can make it in prison. Mentally, physically, spiritually, etc., etc. In my line of business, it’s not always the exception but the rule that we must contend with. 
And I mean contend with it at all times. But that doesn’t bother me. It only frustrates my goals. Every time you look behind your shoulder, or in the rear view mirror, or out the window of your house, you’re not only looking to see what might be coming at you but you’re also trying to determine whether or not you just got sent to prison by what ever it is that society has said we cant do. Always looking over your shoulder isn’t what I’m getting at, but it’s also there and an unfortunate side effect of this way of life. What I’m referring to is the fact that sooner or later if you do the things you do and participate in an nsayn way of life or you simply just don’t give a fuck, you have to resign yourself to the fact that you’re probably going to prison at some point in your life. There’s only so much your seemingly innocent peccadilloes, naivety, scheming, disregard, or sheer stupidity society can take from you that results most of the times in either minor infractions, hell raising, or felonious crime. And you’re going to pay for it in one way or another. There’s no escaping that. It’s just a matter of fact. In a lot of cases you’ll pay for the things you got away with that were much more serious than the actual case you caught in the first place that sends you up. Well, it was my turn and along with the case I also had to catch the chain. Let me give you a little background first though so you can understand where I’m coming from.
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As a boy the earliest remembrances I have of the memories that would loom in the back of my mind for years began every Friday when my grandparents would pick me and my little brother up for the weekend. Thirty minutes would pass as I sat in the back seat watching the concrete jungle where I lived soften up and gradually turn into the calm country side. Papaw would take a right off the main highway down an old forgotten farm road headed for their house. As Papaw drove a few miles down the road there would always be a row of men in white jumpsuits hoeing the sides of the road or a field while a couple of guys with shotguns wearing those mirrored sunglasses typical of the 1970’s sat and watched them atop horseback. Up the road there would be a large complex that I thought was just another ghetto apartment complex like the one I lived in except these apartments had watch towers and a big fence around it. I always thought of it as a big castle of some sort where the big kids would play. It wasn’t until my grandmother told my Papaw something one day where he stopped the car and turned to me and said, “Boy! you sure have an unnatural curiosity about that there prison…you best remember to behave yourself and mind your parents and the law! or you’ll end up there one day. And believe you me Boy, that’s one place you never want to visit! You too Boy, you mind that teacher of yours and your Nana too” he would warn my brother as well. “You’ll never make it in there boys… never!” he said shaking his head as we drove off.
I often look back and think that I might have enjoyed a few more years of childhood if my grandfather hadn’t been such a hard man and planted that seed in me and my little brother’s head. “That there prison Boy…” would haunt me for years to come as it turns out. It still echoes in my head years later when I think of my pimpass grandfather who reminds me of Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke.
After about 20 arrests, years of probation, and half a dozen dirty U.A.’s later I was in court standing in front of a judge again. Dressed in my best Armani suit, as I stood there next to my lawyer I couldn’t understand why this Hick, who I had just paid $40k cash to get me off, was staring at me the way he was in his second hand, thrifty store, looking suit with high waters. I wasn’t laughing though this time. Apparently it was serious. I had gotten myself hemmed up on another D.U.I. stop, my second, where I was also charged with possession of a controlled substance, intent to distribute, and resisting arrest after I told the cop who had stopped me that he had a Napoleon complex and that after I was done kicking his ass I was going to go fuck his wife and make her reimburse me my bond money afterwards if he didn’t un-cuff me! Needless to say The Beat’em up Squad was waiting for us when we got downtown where they proceeded to kick my ass with their batons. Fucking Pussys!!! Like I said, I wasn’t laughing though this time. I knew I was in trouble. Real trouble! My lawyer even told me before we went to court that there was probably a 99.9% chance I was going to have to do some time this time around. My luck had run out he told me. What he couldn’t tell me was how much time he thought I was looking at. What’s more is I was still on probation at the time, and I knew that the judge was probably going to revoke my probation. Yeah, I was looking at doing some real time. I had a new wife and young son and was facing 5 to 10 years, plus they were going to stack the sentences and make me do the the few years of probation I had left on a previous nickel my attorney had gotten me in a plea a few years back. This is why a good, expensive lawyer is worth paying high scrilla to. More than that was the certainty that hit me this time as I knew I was going to have to do some time for sure. I had been in jail at least twenty times like I said and had stayed as long as 6 months but that was County and as I was about to find out, 6 months in the County was nothing compared to one hour in a Texas Pen. I also knew that I was bound to land in one of Texas’s infamous gladiator units due to my record and overall general attitude. If I kept hitting and landing in a lot of the Rock n Roll units I knew were in Texas, I could end up there for 20 years to life. 
I spent four months in the County waiting for my ticket to catch chain. Returning from chow one evening, they called my name and told me to get ready to catch the chain the next morning. Since my lawyer had told me that I was probably looking at doing time after I had bonded out the last time, I had a few months before court to get ready. By ready I mean, I fucked everything and anything in site as well as drank and ingested every kind of drug they put in front of me. For good measure I had cycled straight through the last four cycles hoping I could use Roid Rage at opportune moments. I was so juiced up and mean as a rattlesnake when I got to County I could barely move. I spent most of my time shadow boxing, reading, and doing 1000 sit ups and push ups a day. “Line up here when your name is called and keep your God damn fucking mouths shut as you get on the bus! Understand Turds”! Here we go.
As the bus left downtown and headed out that July morning, the sun was just coming up with the promise of a beautiful hot day. We weren’t even on the road five minutes yet when the youngsters started running their mouths and acting a fool. I wondered as we rolled along if these fools had any idea where we were going or what really laid ahead for us. By hearing them talk you’d think we were going to some big party or fiesta. Some of them were bumping their gums about all their Homies that were inside and how they were going be reunited and hang out. Others talked about how once they got there they were going to hook back up with their gang and run the joint. All kinds of schemes and plans were being hatched as we went on. For the other guys who were on their way back for the 2nd, 3rd, or fourth time, they knew the score. They didn’t give it one thought except for the fact that they would have to endure it all over again, and then start their lives back up again once they got out. It seemed routine for them. As far as I could tell, whether you were on your way back or going in for the first time, we were all concerned. How much we showed it or hid it didn’t fucking matter, we were all nervous! We were walking in to a war zone and no matter how tough you are you’re subject to getting fucked up just as much as everybody else. One never knows. Dude next to me looked so scared, even I knew what was going to happen to him as soon as we landed and I hadn’t even been there yet. You could smell the fear on this poor fish. As we headed west on I-10 on our way to Beeville, where they processed all the new inmates at one of the diagnostics units called Garza West, I started thinking about the city. My city, the city I had grown up in. The city that I felt I owned and would soon return to. I would soon be back I told myself, to raise hell and reclaim what was once mine. This was certain I reassured myself. Trying not to let the fear of the unknown get to me, I promised myself that I would make it. That I would make it at all costs. See, I was physically stronger and in better shape than most of these guys, so I knew I had an advantage there. I was from the streets and grew up in one of the toughest ghettos in the city. What was also bound to help was the knowledge and experience I had of having been in at least a couple hundred fights in my life and I wasn’t afraid of any man, place, or thing. Because I knew I was mentally and emotionally stronger than most people, and inured to pain and suffering due to circumstances that had presented themselves to me at an early age in my life, I couldn’t help but think I was bound to have a lot in common with a lot of these guys on the inside. My thinking being that since they probably all came from similar backgrounds as me, the transition from the streets to prison would be fairly subtle and I would just blend in with the rest of the Cons. Man was I wrong, as this would soon become apparent! As the bus rolled on, I thought about my family and friends, and about my son who I was going to miss. I also began to think about how I was going to deal with the loss of my freedom and possibly my life if worse came to worse. I thought about Papaw and how he would stop the car and warn me about “that place there”, implying the prison that we would pass on the way to their house, and how I was to be “mindful of the rewards of living a good Christian life”. If he could see me know I don’t know whether he’d laugh or cry, but I do know it would have broke his heart. More importantly, I started thinking how I was going to busy myself with the time I would have on my hands and not get caught up in the day to day politics of prison life. How was I going to intelligently escape from the cage on a day to day basis? The only thing I began to focus on was parole and I was still on the bus. I wasn’t even in the gates yet. See, I knew before I had even been sentenced that there were only two ways to look at prison. You can do the time or the time can do you. I was coming home and that was it! Catching myself in a daze, I snapped out of it thinking there’s no room for sentimentality where I’m going. Best get on with it I thought. The County Jail is one thing, but prison I was sure would be a whole different animal all together. The County for starters, is full of people in transit for just a few hours as they wait to post bail or wait for their drunkenness to wear off. For the most part, the majority of the people in County are only there temporarily and they know that they’ll be going home soon. They’re all relatively safe and they know it. It’s just an inconvenience. That’s what keeps them together. That’s the mentality. You got old timers waiting to catch chain, young punks and gang bangers trying to prove how scared they really aren’t by running their mouths and acting like a bunch of little kids. You’ve got fags who’ve been locked up for sucking Vice Cops dicks, as well as petty thieves, and the pussy yuppies who got in a fight or picked up for P.I.. But I never had a problem in County or even gave it much thought. In fact, your biggest enemy in there is yourself. But in prison, I knew everybody knows they won’t be going home any time soon. And for some, they won’t ever be going home again. I was walking into their home. Therefore, the potential for violence escalates as it becomes a survival of the fittest.
The ride went by so fast, that before I knew it we pulled up to a twenty foot gate with a sign that read TDC Garza West. Three rows of Constantine wire encircled us as the first of three more huge gates with circles of wire swallowed up the bus. “As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no man, as I am the baddest motherfucker that ever walked the earth”, I said to myself as the door to the bus opened up. As we got off the bus and walked in the unit for the first time in single file my senses were popping. The impact of the sight and especially of the sound hit me square in the jaw. Visually, it’s bare, cold, sterile, isolated, detached, and almost demonically clinical. I can’t describe the sound. It’s loud, very loud in fact, and it’s animalistic. The echoes you can hear of the Cons yelling and screaming is unnerving to be sure. Not to be cliché, but it really is like walking in to some jungle made of iron, concrete, and steel. The smell too was something I had never smelled before in my life. I can’t even find words to describe it other than it smells like shit and baby oil. I’ll get to this later. As we got off the bus we were herded like cattle through processing. That’s how many people go through the system a year. They’ve got it down to a science. Of course, this being that for every Con, the institutions get x amount of dollars from the Federal Government. Most of us don’t really see it as such but the truth is that whether were innocent or guilty the institutions want us there for as long as they can possibly keep us. The longer they keep us the more money each institution makes. “Lift up your cock and balls. Now bend over and cough three times. Run your hands through your hair!” This is prison. This is what it’s going to be about. No privacy, no dignity, no humanity! They deloused and showered us next. After being given a test to determine our I.Q. and level of school education, came a physical and another test to determine your medical history and needs. You may be in need, but your shit out of luck. And you better hope you don’t have cavities or a toothache, because there’s only one treatment for that. That’s to pull your tooth out. Next came more tests. Then more tests, then a visit to the barber. There we are, six of us at a time but these barbers don’t take requests. The clippers are set on ooo-Triple Fucking Zero. It’s this setting on the clippers that gives you the “Grasshopper” look from the show Kung Fu. As the barber shaved all of our hair off in unison I’m sure we were all thinking the same thing in unison as well. As we walked out into the hot Texas July afternoon with the sun beating down on our clean shaven heads, we all thought, “No matter who you was in the free world you’re no one now! Right here at this moment, we are all the same now.” I remember laughing to myself seeing some of the weaker Does with their bewildered deer in the headlights look as we all kind of looked at each other in our nakedness. Hair makes all the difference in the world when you look at someone. And you must understand that in prison the book is judged by the cover not by what’s inside the book. You take what you see at that moment and that’s it! Anything more will get you fucked up the ass or just plain fucked up. When it’s gone, you’re kind of exposed to the world leaving you with a bare ass head that matches how you feel inside. Naked, bald, cold, and alone. Finally you’re tagged by the ear and sent to your stable. Let me share another pivotal moment with you where it finally hit me that I was “in prison.” It’s when I saw the 20 shitters all lined up next to each other in plain view of the dorm area where everybody sleeps. If you had any thought of privacy whatsoever, you’re fucking dreaming. Or tripping. Or both. Because there ain’t any. No where, no time!
“Chow time!!!” yelled one of the Hacks. Thank God for Commissary, because without it a man can’t survive in this place. Commissary means a lot of things in prison. But for right now I only want to talk about its benefits other than being a form of currency in prison. The institutions main concern is that the food passes the minimum requirements demanded by the FDA and State Board of Health and that’s it. Any other reason like taste, nutritional value, portion concerns, they could care less about. So ask yourself, what do you think the food tastes like with this minimum set of standards and criterion. Damn straight it’s not fit for human consumption! So you better eat it all or have plenty of Store in your locker. Many a time will you find a hair, or a roach, or a worm in your food, but if that’s all you got, that’s all you got. A lot of guys don’t have money, or family and friends who put money on their books so that they’ll have money for Store. So they do odd jobs like clean your cell, wash your draws, rob you, extort you, or blow you. This all depends on you. Some guys will just walk into your house with a pillow case and take everything you have. The only one who’s going to stop them is you. There ain’t no help from your neighbor or the guards, so get that through your head. You’re on your own! Damn, I missed my grandmother’s cooking, I thought to myself after we received our first hot of the day.
After chow we were called to yard before being assigned temporary housing. It was at this point that I knew I had to have my shit wired tight as we stepped out in to the yard. Everything credible I had heard or learned from friends about prison violence, or predatory behavior, or making friends, happened in the yard. The Yard is the center of the universe in every prison. In the yard is where it all goes down. I knew that if I could navigate the yard successfully I had a good chance of letting people know from jump I knew what was up. This and what happens next is probably the most dangerous and one daily event that takes place in prison. And if you expect to make it, then you better listen up and pay attention, because you get one shot at this and there’s no room for error.
If you have ever turned on the television and watched a show about the African safari or the jungle you’ll easily understand how to navigate the yard. The yard, you see, is where if you don’t understand and follow its politics and edicts you’ll get eaten alive. And by that I mean punked, sold, shanked, stomped, killed, or seriously fucked up. Humans I noticed will separate and segregate themselves when put together in a big mix just as animals do. You’ll have all the monkeys hanging with the monkeys. All the zebras with the zebras. And of course you’ll see all the lions chilling with the lions. What do you think is going to happen if a sole zebra or a couple monkeys walk over into the lion’s space or area? As you can well imagine, I’ve seen it happen. Instinctively I looked for my people. My kind. As I spotted them I was mindful to be every bit as careful and not cross into anybody’s or any one click’s territory. I made my way over into their general area but not, I repeat, not into their area. I kept to myself and looked at no one. You keep your head up and eyes straight just above everybody’s forehead and never look someone in the eyes unless you’re sending a message or trying to tell him something. Everybody’s eyes are on you. They have been since you first came through that gate. From the cons to the guards they’re all watching you. And they’re watching your every move. They’re sizing you up and learning all your possible strengths but more importantly your every weakness. Every look, every move, your every breath is being studied and noted. Body language is everything in prison. The faster you understand this, the better off you’ll be. And if you can’t read it, you better learn quickly if you expect to make it in here. I can still remember one of the things that made a life long lasting impression on me still to this very day. Going into the bathroom on one of the first few days I was there, I saw a guy taking a dump with his pants down but one leg completely out of his pant leg. He was just sitting there all peaceful like. He knew and I learned right there, right away, that nobody was safe from the potential for violence and you had to be ready for war at every moment if something broke off. Whether one on one, or them clicking on you, or a full scale riot. Oh, and you thought being a fucking G and going to prison was cool and glamorous. Get the fuck out of here before I give you a fucking slap! There is no relaxing or taking a break for a few minutes. And there’s nothing glamorous or cool about it. The second you start slipping even for a second, they’re going to get you. I’m going to get you! Remember that someone is always watching you as you’re always watching someone. As I left the yard on the first day, I wondered when they’d be coming for me. If you didn’t know, it’s not the guards who run the prisons, it’s the inmates. It’s a highly structured government in its own right that runs very efficiently and smoothly. 
However its rule is severe and it doesn’t suffer fools. Though were all subject to its rule, only degrees of severity distinguish it members. As a system, the prison, upon intake, has its form of diagnostics that’s not exactly the same as the inmates’ diagnostic process of classification. This one’s much more simple and easier to understand. Everyone gets tested as they come in. This is a way for the prison and its inmates to categorize and class you. Nothing happens to you until your test comes. It can come in the showers an hour after you’re processed in. It can come to you while you’re in your bunk. Maybe in the chow line while you’re getting your food, or simply by someone bumping into you. It comes in different ways and you need only concern yourself with the way yours comes. I can tell you this if your wondering who’s going to check you. You’re checked by your own race first. The old prison mentality is, “We should check him before other races do to except or reject them into the fold to save the unit from a full scale race riot. As a whole, regardless of race, the prison hates a lockdown.
A couple of days had passed and I hadn’t been checked yet, but I knew it was coming any minute now. I kept myself laced up and eyes wide open waiting for any sign that it was coming so I could get a jump on it. I had seen some crash test dummies go at it with a couple of the guys that were on the same bus when we left County and I thought, no problem, I could handle that. But I knew in my case it would be a little different. I was a seasoned veteran of the streets and I wore the stamp on my face. I was also a juiced up solid 260 pounds and only 5 foot 8. I was also in the best shape of my life because of my philosophy of always being in shape and ready for war at any time. Like I said, body language is everything and anybody that could read it saw “I’ll break you into a thousand pieces and eat your fucking liver!!!” written all over me. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t have an arrogant cockiness to it, because in this place that could get you seriously hurt or killed. There’s 6 foot 8 inch, 350 pound gorillas and corn fed white boys in there that are crazier than anything you’ve ever seen and they don’t give a fuck how tough you think you are. They’ll fuck you up!!! I knew in my case they’d be sending a couple of pipe hitting motherfuckers or at least a very tough one. “Don’t get too comfortable on that bench unless you’re going to pay us some rent.” Came a voice over my shoulder. Knowing that it was time for business I said, “Are you going to come over here and make me uncomfortable?” and it was on. Just like I knew they would, they sent a couple of tough little scrappers my way. We got our shots in and then they broke it up before the guards came in. If anything is certain, the one thing we as a whole and the Shot callers don’t want is, is to disturb the order of things with the guards and get locked down for 23 hours a day eating Johnny sacks. So everybody’s always on high alert as to the whereabouts of the guards. All they wanted to see at this point was whether or not I was a punk and whether or not I was going to be pushed around so they could extort and exploit me. I’ve never been afraid to fight. In fact I love to fight and in here you have to fight. You best remember that if you ever land in here. If you go Fist City when it’s necessary you don’t have to worry about getting punked or fucked. A black eye or a broken nose will heal but losing respect to the yard brings a host of problems you sure as hell ain’t ready for. Especially if you wont go to Fist City. By weeks end you’ll be hanging on to someone’s belt loop and being traded for 3 Free World cigarettes. Everything in there revolves around Respect. And you have to earn it and give it in return. And if you don’t have it or give it, you’ll never make it. The way I look at it is like this. When the lights go out and your hear some punk crying or whimpering in the corner cause he’s getting ass fucked, well poor pitiful him but don’t bring that shit over my way. I ain’t trying to hear that shit. There’s nothing I or anyone else can do for him that he couldn’t have done for himself. I’m sorry ladies and gentleman, this isn’t National Geographic, me or no one else is going to save this little fawn. It’s about personal survival. My personal survival. There’s no help for you in there, so don’t think someone’s going to take pity and help you. Or your friends who you knew in high school. Just like them. You’re on your own. Respect…
To be continued in the next installment of CHRONICLES OF AN O.G.: ON MY WAY TO PRISON PART 2.