Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Murder


Another duty in the jail is called "phones." The responsibility of the officer assigned to this position is to provide information to the public regarding the inmates in our custody. We were limited by the privacy act as to the type of information we could give.
We could tell anyone who called the information line if a person was in our jail or not. We could tell them their charges, their identification numbers, the release date if there was one, and if the person who was calling was on the inmate's visiting list.
The few times I got stuck with this duty were not much fun. Almost half of the people who called were demanding and rude. The phone officer winds up being a punching bag for frustrated family members. The other half are folks who are confused about the process and are thankful you spent the time to explain the situation to them. That half made up for the other half.
About two weeks before I retired, I was saddled with this duty again. Fine, I said to myself. I'll just make the most out of it. Although the night wound up testing my patience by providing me with new levels of human idiocy, I made it through the shift without wanting to go home and kick the dog.
Some people call back continuously, thinking maybe they will get a different answer if they buzz just one more time. I have had some people who actually tried to disguise their voice when calling back multiple times asking for the same information. Those I found amusing.
This night I had at least four different female voices inquiring about the same inmate. He had been arrested earlier in the day. The last caller asked, "Do you have Donald Jones in custody?" Checking the data base on the computer, I said that we did have him. Then she asked what his charges were.
Finding his booking number, I looked up his charge screen on the computer. Without any emotion tied to my voice, I said, "Murder." There wasn't even the slightest pause on the end of the line when the young lady added, "Is that all?" Without really thinking before I answered her, I incredulously said, "Isn't that enough?" Like, were you expecting the hate crime enhancement to go with it, or what? Where oh where do these people come from...

Saturday, December 24, 2005

Ralph

This excursion takes us to the section of the jail where our mentally challenged inmates are housed. You will be hearing a lot about these guys throughout this book. The story here involves one of my favorite memories of this difficult place to work and breathe.
When I say breathe, I mean it. These guys did not like water or soap, if you get my drift. The gagging stench in the hallways and cells was always a primary focal topic of the people who were part of any of the educational tours that came through our jail. Aerosols used to dampen the bouquet of decayed organic matter didn't help that much. Just smelled like someone pooped in the flowers.
At the heart of this depiction of events, enters our inmate, Ralph. He did not set a good example with jail staff from the get-go. He went straight from the booking vestibule for making terrorist threats to the safety cell for being a danger to himself and to others. He was very combative with every officer he came in contact with for most of his stay at our humble abode. Most officers were very careful around him in spite of his diminutive stature. Napoleon comes to mind.
Such is luck for Ralph. For as soon as the 36 hours and one extension of 12 hours in the safety cell had elapsed, he was transferred to one of only two camera cells in the whole jail. Both of these cells were side by side in the ding dong aisle. These cells were reserved for very high profile inmates who also carried the threat of killing themselves. Anything and everything they did could be monitored by a camera that was mounted on the ceiling of the cell. Earning a spot in one of these cells did not come easily, and even more difficult to get out of once they were there.
Every third word out of Ralph's mouth was, "mother fucker". I don't think he ever meant it as a term of endearment towards anyone. How he ever came to like me and the security officer, Chadwick, I'll never know. Perhaps, because we both would take time just to talk with him. Rather than challenge his fabricated "accomplishments", we would embellish upon them and encourage his participation in our fabrications. He could make a great fiction writer under different circumstances.
To the administration, it could have been construed as harassment, and a clear violation of jail policy. In actuality, that was not the case. We developed a different strategy for dealing with a very obstreperous inmate, and it worked very well for us. So much for following the letter of the law through administrative eyes... there is such a thing as acting as the circumstances dictate. Some things work and others don't. Our treatment of Ralph worked.
Ralph was always getting rule violations for confrontations with other officers and destroying county property. He loved ripping phones off the wall. However, when officer Chadwick and I were on duty, there was not one single incident with this inmate for the six months we were assigned to that floor. That included the times when the previous shift would really piss him off and he had already been acting out.
As soon as he found out that Chadwick and I were on the floor, he would calm down and tell us the harrowing stories of mutant officers who wanted to kill him. We would listen, then tell him how to avoid being tortured and maimed for life. He was always thankful for the cloak-and-dagger information. My imagination was really challenged trying to keep pace with the thought processes that originated from somewhere in the bowels of a Neptune alien on too much LSD.
The thing that worked best for us was to recruit Ralph as a candidate for the agency we were secretly working for... the CIA. We told him that we were impressed with his ability to lie and could really use a person like that in our operations to rid the world of duerestonomy... whatever that is. His only requirement for passing the tests was that he could not lie to us. He agreed.
Eventually, Ralph was released from jail. The DA dropped the charges about 10 months down the road. Don't know why. Never heard from Ralph again, so he must be staying out of trouble. I would not be fearful of this inmate if I ran across him on the street. I'd just tell him I had a mission for him to undertake.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

For Our Benefit

Mail coming into the jail, or leaving it, is scanned for the protection of the community, staff, and other inmates. Much information about continuing or past crimes is discovered by quickly running through a letter while looking for "Key" words. This next prize of literary magnificence was read in its entirety because of repeated key words. If no key words are spotted, the letter is left with as much privacy as possible.


This is a female inmate writing to her fiancé. At the end, I will translate it for you.

"All these suckas out there & something like a 'pimp' bitches over here ain't knowing near nada bout being 'real' let alone a pimp... But by riding 4 each other, hell yeah till the muthafuckin wheels fall off, well be 4-ever sucka-free... So even though I gotta pimp this pisa for the time being, It's for our benefit. This really real thugged out down ass chica loca is goina do whatever to get this life started for me & you & our KIDS!"

Everybody got that? It kinda sorta means this:

Everyone either in or out of jail doesn't know anything. Even the girls here in jail who think they do, really don't because they aren't familiar with playing the real game. But if you and I stick together to the very end, we won't have to tolerate easily fooled people. So, even though I have to continue to take advantage of another man through deception and give some up for his money, it is for our benefit. This genuinely crazy life-of-crime girl is going to do whatever it takes to for us to be together with the children we have already produced.

Folks, this is why you don't let your kids play on the wrong side of the tracks. Know who your kids are hanging out with...

Specifically

I am here to tell you that my lack in writing ability can be directly related to reading the letters and request slips turned in over the past 10 years by inmates who even have a hard time addressing an envelope. When you read this stuff over and over, it can be easy to absorb some of the same "talent". Of course, I may never have had an ability to write. I just think I do okay because of my comparison to the wit of these inmates.
In these "writing skills" pages, you will find many references to request slips. For the period of time an inmate is incarcerated, we officers are responsible for their care and to see that their day to day issues are taken care of in a realistic timely manner. When they want to change their visiting list, be seen by medical staff, want to know when their court days are, need a haircut, and a variety of other things, an inmate request form is filled out and turned in to the officers on the floor. The request slips are answered and returned relatively quickly. Most are answered before an 8-hour shift has elapsed.
Below is an example of an actual request slip turned in by an inmate who wants to know the name of the process of writing to the judge to see if he/she will reduce that inmate's sentence. It is called a letter of modification. In the letter to the judge, an inmate is better served by expressing remorse, a willingness to do better in his life, and not to repeat his criminal behavior. In other words, he needs to eat a lot of crow. Many letters concerning modification of a sentence are ignored or denied by the court mostly due to habitual and similar behavior exhibited by the inmate. The inmate stands a better chance if they get some supporting evidence from those who will endorse him in one way or another. This is especially so if the inmate can find someone who will give him a job if he is released early. Here is his request as it was turned in to be answered by staff:
"I want to know what it is pacificly called when you rite to a judge when you all ready did more than half of your time."

Three Feet


Every day we officers must show up 12 minutes before the beginning of our shift for briefing. It is here that we learn of the updates, incidents at the jail, and proper procedures we must follow from departmental policy.
One particular week, we were being schooled on the procedures we must follow for those inmates who have been placed into the safety cell. More often than not, the safety cell is used for suicidal inmates. Sometimes for extremely aggressive and assaultive inmates. We always seem to have a ding-dong in one of the 5 cells that we have for this purpose. There is a 36-hour maximum time that the inmate can be placed into the cell.
On the first day, when the officers were asked if they had questions, officer Rich sang out from the back of the room. "Where did they come up with three feet of toilet paper?" This was in reference to allowing only three feet of paper when the inmate requests it for relieving himself. No one really had an answer, but it generated a few comical responses. One of which was, "three feet would never be enough for officer Cane." This generated a good heehaw.
The following day, the briefing sergeant gave us a scenario in which we were to provide the continuum of steps to be taken for a particular situation. He said, "If you are walking by the safety cell and notice that the inmate has a bump on his forehead and he has smeared feces all over the walls, what do you do?" Again, from the back of the room, officer Rich said, "Give him three feet of toilet paper!"