Bob Marley (Part 2 by Guest Blogger Mark Nelson)
This is a continuation of Mark’s story about his time in prison in Venezuela.
In the morning the gang boss sent one of his men to fetch me. He was on the roof of the prison. He pointed across at another wing of the prison, and told me they were at war. He then pulled out a 9mm pistol and started shooting. This was my introduction to life in a Venezuelan prison.
Over the next few months, I met lots other Europeans: Dutch, Italian, French, Polish, Estonian. The Venezuelans kept all the foreign prisoners together in one prison. We were all mixed in with the locals, except they slept in the general cell, whereas the Europeans slept in boogaloos. We had to pay for these cells. The guy running my wing asked me for €300. I told him it wasn’t possible – I had no money and no-one on the outside supporting me. So he pulled out his gun.
I said, “If you want to shoot, you shoot, but there will be lots of problems with the guards.”
He knew that I got money every three months from Prisoners Abroad. King Kong told me that I could sleep in his boogaloo.
The guy then wanted money from King Kong, so I told him “You’re not the boss, you’re just his workman. Let’s go and talk to the boss.” Thankfully, the boss let me sleep there until I managed to get some money from my family to get my own cell – which was about 3 metres by 2 metres.
Being in prison was a whole new experience for me. There were bundles of drugs everywhere: cocaine, marijuana, speed, crack. The police, prison guards and prisoners were all in it together. There was a lot of corruption.
King Kong and I, together with some of the other foreigners, all worked together. We had a routine for meals – who cooked, who prepared. A Dutch guy who was fluent in Spanish helped me learn the language. I also met a local woman, who was visiting her brother in the prison, and she got me a Spanish text book. It’s not like a British prison – the visitors are free to mingle with the prisoners – there were even rooms for couples!
The prisoners are also free to wander where they want to – there are no guards or locked doors inside the prison. This could be a problem, as some of the local gangs liked to walk around looking to make trouble with foreigners. They saw foreigners as weak prey. I saw gangs walk up to foreigners who are just sitting down and start hitting them with their guns, for no reason. It happened to me one time.
One guy called Thomas came up to me and started calling me every name he could think of.
I tried to stay calm, and said “Que pasa?” – what’s up?
He responded by hitting me with his gun. I reacted by pushing him away, and he fell over. Some of the other gang members came over to find out what was going on. I told them that Thomas was a big problem, causing trouble. I told them that if he kept on troubling me it would end with him and me fighting – which it did. He pointed his gun in my face, but I managed to knock the gun away and punch him in the face. The others managed to stop the fight, as fighting wasn’t allowed without the permission of the boss.
The boss came, and said to me, “Do you want to fight him?”
“Yeah, I wanna fight,” I said.
Click here for Part 1
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Shaun Attwood
Bob Marley (Part 1 by Guest Blogger Mark Nelson)
This is one of the most gripping true stories I’ve ever read. I came across it while doing some editing for Prisoners Abroad. Reading it, I kept thinking, Thank God I didn’t get arrested in Venezuela. It’s a tribute to Mark’s spirit that he made it out alive. I’m going to run the parts back to back this week.
I went to Venezuela on holiday to see some friends. One of them introduced me to a drug deal, and I made a decision. Unfortunately, I got arrested at the airport. The arresting officers quizzed me about what I did in England. I told them that I was involved in music, and that I was a religious man, a Rastafarian. Hearing this, they decided that my new name was Bob Marley.
“My name is Mark,” I told them.
But they just said, “In England your name is Mark, but in Venezuela your name is Bob Marley!”
I was taken to San Antonia prison, on Margarita Island, which is in the Caribbean. When I got there, I couldn’t believe what I saw. It didn’t look like a prison to me. It looked like a smashed up building or factory. In the reception there was a cage with lots of people, all with their hands outstretched, and they were all shouting at me “Gringo, Gringo.”
One of the women officials took me to one side and told me, “You ain’t seen nothing yet. This is just your first day. Keep your money safe, and be careful as there are some things you won’t like inside, so be strong.”
As I went in the front door into the prison itself I saw four inmates, and they all had guns. They called me over, and asked if I spoke Spanish. One of them spoke a little English and translated for the man who I later learnt was the boss, the gang leader. I told them that my name was Mark, but they said “No – the guards have told us that your name is Bob Marley.” So for the next four years I was Bob Marley. They asked if I was a “bad boy.” I told them I wasn’t, but they wouldn’t listen. He said, “Listen Gringo. You see that guy over there? I want you to fight him,” and he gave me a knife. He said, "These are the rules in San Antonio – anyone who comes in has to fight a guy so that we can see what type of man you are, a bad boy or a wimp." So I said to myself, this is survival, picked up the knife, and stood up. The other guy came for me, but I managed to hit him.
The boss put up his hand to stop the fight and said “Bob Marley, you are a bad boy.” He then introduced me to another English guy, who went by the name of King Kong.
As I went into the main cell block, the room was so dark I could barely see. I could just make out all these heads poking out from behind little curtains. This was the way they divided the one big cell into lots of mini cells which they called boogaloos. I found King Kong, an English guy called Wesley, and he simply said “Welcome to hell.” I asked him what he meant, and he said “In the morning you’re going to see.”
Post comments and questions below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
This is one of the most gripping true stories I’ve ever read. I came across it while doing some editing for Prisoners Abroad. Reading it, I kept thinking, Thank God I didn’t get arrested in Venezuela. It’s a tribute to Mark’s spirit that he made it out alive. I’m going to run the parts back to back this week.
I went to Venezuela on holiday to see some friends. One of them introduced me to a drug deal, and I made a decision. Unfortunately, I got arrested at the airport. The arresting officers quizzed me about what I did in England. I told them that I was involved in music, and that I was a religious man, a Rastafarian. Hearing this, they decided that my new name was Bob Marley.
“My name is Mark,” I told them.
But they just said, “In England your name is Mark, but in Venezuela your name is Bob Marley!”
I was taken to San Antonia prison, on Margarita Island, which is in the Caribbean. When I got there, I couldn’t believe what I saw. It didn’t look like a prison to me. It looked like a smashed up building or factory. In the reception there was a cage with lots of people, all with their hands outstretched, and they were all shouting at me “Gringo, Gringo.”
One of the women officials took me to one side and told me, “You ain’t seen nothing yet. This is just your first day. Keep your money safe, and be careful as there are some things you won’t like inside, so be strong.”
As I went in the front door into the prison itself I saw four inmates, and they all had guns. They called me over, and asked if I spoke Spanish. One of them spoke a little English and translated for the man who I later learnt was the boss, the gang leader. I told them that my name was Mark, but they said “No – the guards have told us that your name is Bob Marley.” So for the next four years I was Bob Marley. They asked if I was a “bad boy.” I told them I wasn’t, but they wouldn’t listen. He said, “Listen Gringo. You see that guy over there? I want you to fight him,” and he gave me a knife. He said, "These are the rules in San Antonio – anyone who comes in has to fight a guy so that we can see what type of man you are, a bad boy or a wimp." So I said to myself, this is survival, picked up the knife, and stood up. The other guy came for me, but I managed to hit him.
The boss put up his hand to stop the fight and said “Bob Marley, you are a bad boy.” He then introduced me to another English guy, who went by the name of King Kong.
As I went into the main cell block, the room was so dark I could barely see. I could just make out all these heads poking out from behind little curtains. This was the way they divided the one big cell into lots of mini cells which they called boogaloos. I found King Kong, an English guy called Wesley, and he simply said “Welcome to hell.” I asked him what he meant, and he said “In the morning you’re going to see.”
Post comments and questions below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Letter to Mom (by the Occult Killer)
Dubbed the Occult Killer by the media, Brandon is serving 6 to 12 years in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania Department of Corrections. His crime: he killed his best friend in a drunk-driving accident. When police investigators discovered Gothic paraphernalia in his bedroom, they naturally concluded Brandon had committed a sacrificial murder for the benefit of Satan.
There’s no need to feel that stopping by less often needs any justification. There were times when you’d visit that I could plainly see how worn out and exasperated it made you. Not the visit itself, but the circumstances of it. The anxiety of the night before, driving to the end of the state to come here of all places, then back home again. There are times I’d like to just have a video conference, so I could see you guys in a natural setting. All the hectic stuff going on, trying to have a sit down dinner, random people running through the house at odd intervals. I’d like to say “hi” via satellite to someone who just woke up, rooting around for cold cereal in a bathrobe. On the other hand, I could show you my crappy little cell. I’ve gotten rather comfortable with it, actually.
Click here to read the Occult Killer’s previous blog.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Post comments and questions for the Occult Killer below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Dubbed the Occult Killer by the media, Brandon is serving 6 to 12 years in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania Department of Corrections. His crime: he killed his best friend in a drunk-driving accident. When police investigators discovered Gothic paraphernalia in his bedroom, they naturally concluded Brandon had committed a sacrificial murder for the benefit of Satan.
There’s no need to feel that stopping by less often needs any justification. There were times when you’d visit that I could plainly see how worn out and exasperated it made you. Not the visit itself, but the circumstances of it. The anxiety of the night before, driving to the end of the state to come here of all places, then back home again. There are times I’d like to just have a video conference, so I could see you guys in a natural setting. All the hectic stuff going on, trying to have a sit down dinner, random people running through the house at odd intervals. I’d like to say “hi” via satellite to someone who just woke up, rooting around for cold cereal in a bathrobe. On the other hand, I could show you my crappy little cell. I’ve gotten rather comfortable with it, actually.
Click here to read the Occult Killer’s previous blog.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Post comments and questions for the Occult Killer below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Question Time
Matthew asked: Your presentation at Cromwell Communiy College has left a question in my head that I really want to know. When you came out of prison and got back to England, what was the first thing you wanted to do/eat?
Shaun: The first thing I wanted to eat was Indian food. I used to eat it almost daily before my arrest. According to the police reports, undercover cops used to sit in Indian restaurants to spy on me, and try to record my conversations. Before getting to London as a free man, I’d been in prison transport, travelling for days with hardly any food, so I was starving. My family took me to an Indian restaurant, and I ate till I was so full I could barely move. After the "red death" meal at Arpaio's jail that sometimes had dead rats in it, I'm still a vegetarian to this day. The first thing I did when I got off the plane was give my mum, sister and dad a hug.
Anonymous asked: Have you had any word about Two Tonys' health?
Shaun: I haven't heard from Two Tonys in a while, but I got news from another prisoner that he is no longer in a medical unit, he is back on a regular yard, so I can only take that a sign that his health has improved.
Anonymous asked: I would be really interested in a write up from you about the HBO TV series ‘Oz’ about a prison in America (it may cut a little close to the bone – or else you might think it is ridiculous).
Shaun: I haven't watched Oz, but I did catch some Prison Break last Xmas. As an ex prisoner, I found it fascinating even though a lot of it was impossible. They nailed a lot of detail, but the fact that the two brothers would end up in the same prison is implausible as there are numerous prisons in California, and you generally don't get short timers rubbing up with guys on death row. But having said that, I still really enjoyed it, especially the characters and the staff. They represented some of the types I met in prison.
Anonymous asked: Why are there bits left out of your blog?
Shaun: There were things I wrote that I couldn’t post to the Internet when I was in prison as they could have caused immediate danger for me and other prisoners. I have what I wrote in a collection I call The Parallel Blogs. This could be material for a third book.
Click here for the previous Question Time
Matthew asked: Your presentation at Cromwell Communiy College has left a question in my head that I really want to know. When you came out of prison and got back to England, what was the first thing you wanted to do/eat?
Shaun: The first thing I wanted to eat was Indian food. I used to eat it almost daily before my arrest. According to the police reports, undercover cops used to sit in Indian restaurants to spy on me, and try to record my conversations. Before getting to London as a free man, I’d been in prison transport, travelling for days with hardly any food, so I was starving. My family took me to an Indian restaurant, and I ate till I was so full I could barely move. After the "red death" meal at Arpaio's jail that sometimes had dead rats in it, I'm still a vegetarian to this day. The first thing I did when I got off the plane was give my mum, sister and dad a hug.
Anonymous asked: Have you had any word about Two Tonys' health?
Shaun: I haven't heard from Two Tonys in a while, but I got news from another prisoner that he is no longer in a medical unit, he is back on a regular yard, so I can only take that a sign that his health has improved.
Anonymous asked: I would be really interested in a write up from you about the HBO TV series ‘Oz’ about a prison in America (it may cut a little close to the bone – or else you might think it is ridiculous).
Shaun: I haven't watched Oz, but I did catch some Prison Break last Xmas. As an ex prisoner, I found it fascinating even though a lot of it was impossible. They nailed a lot of detail, but the fact that the two brothers would end up in the same prison is implausible as there are numerous prisons in California, and you generally don't get short timers rubbing up with guys on death row. But having said that, I still really enjoyed it, especially the characters and the staff. They represented some of the types I met in prison.
Anonymous asked: Why are there bits left out of your blog?
Shaun: There were things I wrote that I couldn’t post to the Internet when I was in prison as they could have caused immediate danger for me and other prisoners. I have what I wrote in a collection I call The Parallel Blogs. This could be material for a third book.
Click here for the previous Question Time
Question Time with Lifer Renee
Renee - She was only a teenager when she received a 60-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. 15 years into her sentence, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
Chris Phoenix asked: Could these things (screwdriver etc.) actually help in an escape attempt? Or is Jackie just suffering some kind of compulsive-theft syndrome, or perhaps stealing for resale, and the guards are claiming escape because it's the easiest answer?
Renee responded: I guess a screwdriver could aid in an escape, and also from the staff’s point of view it could be used as a weapon or allow an inmate to jimmy locks and get into panels…
I believe Jackie is a compulsive thief, but then this environment breeds thieves because no one is given anything.
The guards claimed escape because it is the worst ticket you can get.
Syncopated Eyeball asked: Hi again, Renee. Will Jackie be allowed back eventually? I guess that remains to be seen. I'm also wondering what you ARE allowed to keep in your cells?
Renee responded: Fortunately, Jackie is back. God was looking after her or someone because the guards wrote the paperwork wrong, so she beat the disciplinary ticket on a technicality. Now they’re just preventing her from getting a decent job, but she is alright. She’s scared to death to get a ticket now. I think maybe she lost the sticky to her fingers.
As to what we’re allowed in our cells. I have a 13 inch TV, a Walkman CD player, some CD’s and tapes, a small digital clock, 3 storage boxes (which is the maximum amount allowed per inmate), my bedding, 2 blankets, 2 sheets, 1 pillow case, a stinger, a 9 inch fan, a small lamp, 1 bowl, 1 cup, clothing (7shirts, 2 shorts, 3 pants, 4 bras, 10 panties, 7 socks, 2 sweat suits, 1 jacket, shoes), books, mail, store items (hygiene, food, writing material).
As I look, all of these items are items I bought from the inmate store. I do not remember the last time the state provided me with something.
When they do “clothing exchange,” they exchange items with used items, and I’m sorry but I draw the line at wearing someone else’s used panties. If you know someone who works in laundry, you can get the “homey hook up” i.e.) new stuff, but I’m not real good at kissing ass and playing nice.
I take really good care of my stuff.
Click here for Renee’s previous blog
Post comments for Renee below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Renee - She was only a teenager when she received a 60-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. 15 years into her sentence, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
Chris Phoenix asked: Could these things (screwdriver etc.) actually help in an escape attempt? Or is Jackie just suffering some kind of compulsive-theft syndrome, or perhaps stealing for resale, and the guards are claiming escape because it's the easiest answer?
Renee responded: I guess a screwdriver could aid in an escape, and also from the staff’s point of view it could be used as a weapon or allow an inmate to jimmy locks and get into panels…
I believe Jackie is a compulsive thief, but then this environment breeds thieves because no one is given anything.
The guards claimed escape because it is the worst ticket you can get.
Syncopated Eyeball asked: Hi again, Renee. Will Jackie be allowed back eventually? I guess that remains to be seen. I'm also wondering what you ARE allowed to keep in your cells?
Renee responded: Fortunately, Jackie is back. God was looking after her or someone because the guards wrote the paperwork wrong, so she beat the disciplinary ticket on a technicality. Now they’re just preventing her from getting a decent job, but she is alright. She’s scared to death to get a ticket now. I think maybe she lost the sticky to her fingers.
As to what we’re allowed in our cells. I have a 13 inch TV, a Walkman CD player, some CD’s and tapes, a small digital clock, 3 storage boxes (which is the maximum amount allowed per inmate), my bedding, 2 blankets, 2 sheets, 1 pillow case, a stinger, a 9 inch fan, a small lamp, 1 bowl, 1 cup, clothing (7shirts, 2 shorts, 3 pants, 4 bras, 10 panties, 7 socks, 2 sweat suits, 1 jacket, shoes), books, mail, store items (hygiene, food, writing material).
As I look, all of these items are items I bought from the inmate store. I do not remember the last time the state provided me with something.
When they do “clothing exchange,” they exchange items with used items, and I’m sorry but I draw the line at wearing someone else’s used panties. If you know someone who works in laundry, you can get the “homey hook up” i.e.) new stuff, but I’m not real good at kissing ass and playing nice.
I take really good care of my stuff.
Click here for Renee’s previous blog
Post comments for Renee below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Shit Slingers I (The Early Years Part 2 by Polish Avenger)
Polish Avenger – A software-engineering undergraduate sentenced to 25 years because his friend was shot dead during a burglary they were committing. In Arizona, if a burglar gets killed, the accomplices can get 25-year sentences.
Picking up from part 1, we saw that I’d been hired as a Biohazard Porter. At the time it hadn’t really sunk in that there were five of us. That meant there were frequent and large enough spills of poop, blood, urine and phlegm to actually justify a five-man mop-up crew.
And yes…there was. And then some!
So the question naturally comes to mind: just where was all that gooey organic matter coming from? And why? This was a supermaximum prison after all, where you hardly ever got out of your cell to even make a mess. The source of all these biodegradable stink cookies was a particularly nasty subculture of the prison community known as “shit slingers.”
Shit slinger: the name is appropriate. Note the similarity to gun slinger; a high degree of skill and creativity is implied – no animalistic poop flings here! No, we had certified Masters of Weaponized Fecal Distribution. Truly the cutting edge of Defecatory Ballistic Science. To be sure it was a veritable think tank – nay, stink tank – of methods to douse one’s enemies in a thick layer of drippy infectious ooze.
What’s that? It was deliberate, you ask? Most assuredly! Since it was ultra-lockdown, the usual methods of conflict resolution (beating, stabbing, etc.) were very seldom an option. How do you assault someone from behind a steel mesh door? You got it – liquid poop soup!
Here’s the official recipe shit slingers use:
Ingredients
1 empty shampoo bottle, 16 oz
1 ballpoint pen tube (the outer part)
1 plastic spoon or other stirrer – disposable!
1 razor blade or nail clippers
tape (optional but recommended)
large amount of poo – adjust to taste
1) Defecate liberally into container of your choosing (baggie, floor… hell, even the toilet, if you’re into that sort of thing!) When enough has accumulated, carefully hand pack into shampoo bottle. Add a dash of water. With spoon or stirrer, whip into a smooth frappé. Set aside.
2) With razor or clippers, make an X-shaped cut in the cap of the shampoo bottle. Jam the pen tube quarter of the way through. Seal with tape if available.
3) Screw the cap on. You now have a Dookie Uzi.
4) Point the pen barrel out of the mesh at the front of the cell, take aim, and forcefully squeeze. You can easily get a solid stream to 30 feet away with great accuracy.
Hint: For added ick factor, let the poop sit for a couple of weeks until mold forms on the top. It’s really infectious then!
OK, OK, I hear you shouting at me: PA, are you serious? Surely no one in their right mind would build such a diabolical and degrading weapon of ass destruction! Sigh. If only I were making it up. No, friends, it is all too real in prison. These fellows were not in their right mind! And I cleaned up after hundreds of such devices.
In the next post we’ll explore just why somebody would go and do such an impolite act.
DISCLAIMER: I in no way encourage or condone drenching anyone in fecal matter. I’m just a historian!
Click here for “The Early Years Part 1” by Polish Avenger
Click here to read why Polish Avenger is in prison
Click here for Question Time with Polish Avenger
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Post comments and questions for Polish Avenger below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Polish Avenger – A software-engineering undergraduate sentenced to 25 years because his friend was shot dead during a burglary they were committing. In Arizona, if a burglar gets killed, the accomplices can get 25-year sentences.
Picking up from part 1, we saw that I’d been hired as a Biohazard Porter. At the time it hadn’t really sunk in that there were five of us. That meant there were frequent and large enough spills of poop, blood, urine and phlegm to actually justify a five-man mop-up crew.
And yes…there was. And then some!
So the question naturally comes to mind: just where was all that gooey organic matter coming from? And why? This was a supermaximum prison after all, where you hardly ever got out of your cell to even make a mess. The source of all these biodegradable stink cookies was a particularly nasty subculture of the prison community known as “shit slingers.”
Shit slinger: the name is appropriate. Note the similarity to gun slinger; a high degree of skill and creativity is implied – no animalistic poop flings here! No, we had certified Masters of Weaponized Fecal Distribution. Truly the cutting edge of Defecatory Ballistic Science. To be sure it was a veritable think tank – nay, stink tank – of methods to douse one’s enemies in a thick layer of drippy infectious ooze.
What’s that? It was deliberate, you ask? Most assuredly! Since it was ultra-lockdown, the usual methods of conflict resolution (beating, stabbing, etc.) were very seldom an option. How do you assault someone from behind a steel mesh door? You got it – liquid poop soup!
Here’s the official recipe shit slingers use:
Ingredients
1 empty shampoo bottle, 16 oz
1 ballpoint pen tube (the outer part)
1 plastic spoon or other stirrer – disposable!
1 razor blade or nail clippers
tape (optional but recommended)
large amount of poo – adjust to taste
1) Defecate liberally into container of your choosing (baggie, floor… hell, even the toilet, if you’re into that sort of thing!) When enough has accumulated, carefully hand pack into shampoo bottle. Add a dash of water. With spoon or stirrer, whip into a smooth frappé. Set aside.
2) With razor or clippers, make an X-shaped cut in the cap of the shampoo bottle. Jam the pen tube quarter of the way through. Seal with tape if available.
3) Screw the cap on. You now have a Dookie Uzi.
4) Point the pen barrel out of the mesh at the front of the cell, take aim, and forcefully squeeze. You can easily get a solid stream to 30 feet away with great accuracy.
Hint: For added ick factor, let the poop sit for a couple of weeks until mold forms on the top. It’s really infectious then!
OK, OK, I hear you shouting at me: PA, are you serious? Surely no one in their right mind would build such a diabolical and degrading weapon of ass destruction! Sigh. If only I were making it up. No, friends, it is all too real in prison. These fellows were not in their right mind! And I cleaned up after hundreds of such devices.
In the next post we’ll explore just why somebody would go and do such an impolite act.
DISCLAIMER: I in no way encourage or condone drenching anyone in fecal matter. I’m just a historian!
Click here for “The Early Years Part 1” by Polish Avenger
Click here to read why Polish Avenger is in prison
Click here for Question Time with Polish Avenger
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Post comments and questions for Polish Avenger below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Question Time
Lonnie: Shaun, were you allowed to shave your head in prison, or would that cause you beef with skinheads?
Shaun: In prison, I did shave it. Nearly everyone did. Hair is not a good thing to have if you get attacked, plus the less hair then the more your head cools off in the heat. With nearly everyone shaving their heads, it is not a problem for the skinheads.
Lonnie: I had no idea they would let you shave your head in prison because I thought they would be all worried about you turning the razor into a shank or something.
Shaun: In America, jail and prison are different. Jail is where you are held unsentenced, and after you are sentenced you go to prison to serve the balance of your sentence. In both jail and prison, there are many different security levels ranging from minimum security to supermaximum, and your security level dictates what you can or cannot have.
You asked about prison. In prison, as you work your way down to the lower security level yards, there are more things available. In medium and minimum security, I had a Norelco plug-in razor. At the higher security levels, there were very few things allowed, so I had to rely on an inmate barber.
In the jail, the guards brought really useless razors in the middle of the night, so you had to wake up if you wanted one. They gave us so many minutes to shave, and we had no mirrors, so we had to shave by touch. There were people going around with all kinds of gashes and cuts on their faces. To get a haircut you could see the inmate barber or find someone who knew how to cut hair with a stolen razor. There was usually a Mexican with a stolen razor offering haircuts for a couple of items of candy.
Click here for the previous Question Time
Lonnie: Shaun, were you allowed to shave your head in prison, or would that cause you beef with skinheads?
Shaun: In prison, I did shave it. Nearly everyone did. Hair is not a good thing to have if you get attacked, plus the less hair then the more your head cools off in the heat. With nearly everyone shaving their heads, it is not a problem for the skinheads.
Lonnie: I had no idea they would let you shave your head in prison because I thought they would be all worried about you turning the razor into a shank or something.
Shaun: In America, jail and prison are different. Jail is where you are held unsentenced, and after you are sentenced you go to prison to serve the balance of your sentence. In both jail and prison, there are many different security levels ranging from minimum security to supermaximum, and your security level dictates what you can or cannot have.
You asked about prison. In prison, as you work your way down to the lower security level yards, there are more things available. In medium and minimum security, I had a Norelco plug-in razor. At the higher security levels, there were very few things allowed, so I had to rely on an inmate barber.
In the jail, the guards brought really useless razors in the middle of the night, so you had to wake up if you wanted one. They gave us so many minutes to shave, and we had no mirrors, so we had to shave by touch. There were people going around with all kinds of gashes and cuts on their faces. To get a haircut you could see the inmate barber or find someone who knew how to cut hair with a stolen razor. There was usually a Mexican with a stolen razor offering haircuts for a couple of items of candy.
Click here for the previous Question Time
Postcards from Long Island (8)
Long Island - Promising young cellmate I taught to trade the financial markets. Released on the 11th of December '05 and rearrested February ’08. Alleged to have committed forgery and hit an officer with a car. He’s writing from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Lower Buckeye jail.
It’s all over, and it’s not good. I signed a plea bargain for a 10½ year sentence. I can’t believe it ended like this. They have a new program called ROPE. It’s the repeat offender program. Because there were so many jewellery stores involved, I got ROPED. They brought in a special prosecutor, and I was lucky to get what I got. The final nail in my coffin was when we proved that the ballistics didn’t match the police report, so the cop’s partner lied about where he was shooting and the judge ruled against us. The cop also claimed he ended up on the hood of my car, which never happened. He was never even touched.
The only good thing is that I’ve been in here for so long, I have plenty of back time. After almost 2½ years, I’ll be leaving Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s stinking, rotting playground.
Click here for Long Island’s previous blog.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Post comments for Long Island below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Long Island - Promising young cellmate I taught to trade the financial markets. Released on the 11th of December '05 and rearrested February ’08. Alleged to have committed forgery and hit an officer with a car. He’s writing from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Lower Buckeye jail.
It’s all over, and it’s not good. I signed a plea bargain for a 10½ year sentence. I can’t believe it ended like this. They have a new program called ROPE. It’s the repeat offender program. Because there were so many jewellery stores involved, I got ROPED. They brought in a special prosecutor, and I was lucky to get what I got. The final nail in my coffin was when we proved that the ballistics didn’t match the police report, so the cop’s partner lied about where he was shooting and the judge ruled against us. The cop also claimed he ended up on the hood of my car, which never happened. He was never even touched.
The only good thing is that I’ve been in here for so long, I have plenty of back time. After almost 2½ years, I’ll be leaving Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s stinking, rotting playground.
Click here for Long Island’s previous blog.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Post comments for Long Island below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
The live cockroach is a Dubia cockroach. I purchased them from http://insectsdirect.com/ who sell them as reptile food. They cost £6.99 for 10 adults - almost 2 inches long - and were delivered by mail in a plastic live food tub. Its alias is the "Guyana spotted cockroach," as it is indeed of South American descent. Unlike my old pal, the American cockroach, it has a mellow disposition - it doesn't dart around and has difficulty scaling vertical surfaces - which makes it easy to photograph and film. Once I was used to the tickling sensation and had screamed a few times in a hysterical high pitch, I didn't mind them crawling on my face. At one point, there were several of them partying on my head, including two that looked as if they were having sex. The hardest part was when they were running over my eyelids. A week before this, I mentioned what I was up to with the cockroaches to a group of therapists I did a talk to at Regent's College, and they counselled me on ways to deal with them, so I wouldn't have a bad reaction such as flashbacks to Arpaio's jail.
Publicity photos for Hard Time recently shot in London in Sheriff Joe Arpaio's famous black and white bee striped jail outfit.
Tags: cockroaches jail prison phoenix arizona sheriff joe arpaio shaun attwood hard time inmate prisoner human rights maricopa county insects cell police cops guards jon's jail journal blog
Shaun Attwood
Sheriff Joe Arpaio's Jail Clothes
Publicity photos for Hard Time recently shot in London in Sheriff Joe Arpaio's famous black and white bee striped jail outfit.
Tags: cockroaches jail prison phoenix arizona sheriff joe arpaio shaun attwood hard time inmate prisoner human rights maricopa county insects cell police cops guards jon's jail journal blog
Shaun Attwood
Publicity photos for Hard Time recently shot in London in Sheriff Joe Arpaio's famous black and white bee striped jail outfit.
Tags: cockroaches jail prison phoenix arizona sheriff joe arpaio shaun attwood hard time inmate prisoner human rights maricopa county insects cell police cops guards jon's jail journal blog
Shaun Attwood
Matt (Part 4 by Warrior)
Warrior - Serving fourteen years for kidnapping and aggravated assault. Half Hispanic and Scottish-Irish with family still in Mexico. Brought up by a family steeped in drug commerce. He writes some of the best prison-fight stories on the Internet.
Click here for Matt Part 3, which left off with Matt and Midget squaring off in the corridor.
Midget scowled at Matt, and called him a “Fu**in’ punk” with a tone of discontent.
What happened next caught me by total surprise.
Matt no longer resembled an old crack addict, more like a fighter in his prime. He sidestepped the officer escorting Midget, and rushed Midget against the wall. Caught by surprise, Midget’s eyes widened.
The sickly thin female officer moved out of the way, and began to scream in horror. It was clear she was not only new, but a virgin to prison fights. The older escorting officer was equally in disbelief. Struggling to retrieve her radio to call for backup, it caught somewhere on her utility belt and remained stuck.
I stepped between the officers and the two prisoners fighting, hoping to give the females a little comfort. Whether it did, I can’t say. At the same time, I wanted Matt to handle his business with no interference.
Matt had Midget pinned against a wall, and his height was a great advantage. As he towered over Midget, he leaned his hips and forearms into Midget’s body. He kept Midget pinned as his right fist repeatedly found Midget’s face. Midget focussed on protecting his face by rotating his head in every direction to avoid contact, but it was no use, Matt found his mark. It was obvious that Matt had that old man strength. He was sinewy in muscle, and his tendons looked as strong as steel cables as he kept Midget locked against the wall.
The young officer continued to scream an annoying high pitched squeal. It irritated me to the point of exhaustion. I turned to her and yelled, “Shut the f**k up!” Her eyes widened, and she shut up.
By then, the older woman was repeatedly requesting backup.
I heard the trampling of boots and jingling of keys swiftly gaining speed and volume in our direction. I looked down the linoleum hall and noticed a blur of brown uniforms becoming rapidly large in our direction. It was other staff, and they were angry.
I yelled at Matt, “Heads up! They’re coming!” I jumped out of the way and hit the floor, face down as was the procedure for a fight.
Matt just kept at it. He knew as well as I that he couldn’t let Midget go without losing the advantage. He just had to wait it out to where the staff would separate them.
Face down, I felt a knee on the back of my legs. My wrists were zip-tied behind my back.
Three burly guards jumped on Matt, another three on Midget, pulling them apart. Holding a huge can of chemical spray by Matt’s face, one officer yelled, “You make a fu**in’ move, I spray your fu**in’ eyes out!”
Matt didn’t move one bit.
I was the first prisoner picked up and placed in a holding cell, away from Matt and Midget. After an hour, I was sent back to the yard. Matt and Midget both ended up in the hole for a few days to cool off. Then they were both sent back on the yard, but to opposite sides. Administration does that to reduce tension.
I never saw Matt after that. Last I heard, he made it out. I have yet to hear he has come back again. I don’t know what was going through Matt’s mind that made him jump on Midget. Maybe his patience had worn thin, maybe he felt he needed to show he could handle his own business. Whatever reason, it was another side of Matt I was unaware of. It goes to show that we never really know people like we think we do.
My hope for Matt is that he finally got it together for the sake of his family and himself. I like to believe so.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Links to more prison stories by Warrior:
Warrior v Big E.
Rapist on the Yard
Bucket of Blood
Central Unit
Post comments and questions for Warrior below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Warrior - Serving fourteen years for kidnapping and aggravated assault. Half Hispanic and Scottish-Irish with family still in Mexico. Brought up by a family steeped in drug commerce. He writes some of the best prison-fight stories on the Internet.
Click here for Matt Part 3, which left off with Matt and Midget squaring off in the corridor.
Midget scowled at Matt, and called him a “Fu**in’ punk” with a tone of discontent.
What happened next caught me by total surprise.
Matt no longer resembled an old crack addict, more like a fighter in his prime. He sidestepped the officer escorting Midget, and rushed Midget against the wall. Caught by surprise, Midget’s eyes widened.
The sickly thin female officer moved out of the way, and began to scream in horror. It was clear she was not only new, but a virgin to prison fights. The older escorting officer was equally in disbelief. Struggling to retrieve her radio to call for backup, it caught somewhere on her utility belt and remained stuck.
I stepped between the officers and the two prisoners fighting, hoping to give the females a little comfort. Whether it did, I can’t say. At the same time, I wanted Matt to handle his business with no interference.
Matt had Midget pinned against a wall, and his height was a great advantage. As he towered over Midget, he leaned his hips and forearms into Midget’s body. He kept Midget pinned as his right fist repeatedly found Midget’s face. Midget focussed on protecting his face by rotating his head in every direction to avoid contact, but it was no use, Matt found his mark. It was obvious that Matt had that old man strength. He was sinewy in muscle, and his tendons looked as strong as steel cables as he kept Midget locked against the wall.
The young officer continued to scream an annoying high pitched squeal. It irritated me to the point of exhaustion. I turned to her and yelled, “Shut the f**k up!” Her eyes widened, and she shut up.
By then, the older woman was repeatedly requesting backup.
I heard the trampling of boots and jingling of keys swiftly gaining speed and volume in our direction. I looked down the linoleum hall and noticed a blur of brown uniforms becoming rapidly large in our direction. It was other staff, and they were angry.
I yelled at Matt, “Heads up! They’re coming!” I jumped out of the way and hit the floor, face down as was the procedure for a fight.
Matt just kept at it. He knew as well as I that he couldn’t let Midget go without losing the advantage. He just had to wait it out to where the staff would separate them.
Face down, I felt a knee on the back of my legs. My wrists were zip-tied behind my back.
Three burly guards jumped on Matt, another three on Midget, pulling them apart. Holding a huge can of chemical spray by Matt’s face, one officer yelled, “You make a fu**in’ move, I spray your fu**in’ eyes out!”
Matt didn’t move one bit.
I was the first prisoner picked up and placed in a holding cell, away from Matt and Midget. After an hour, I was sent back to the yard. Matt and Midget both ended up in the hole for a few days to cool off. Then they were both sent back on the yard, but to opposite sides. Administration does that to reduce tension.
I never saw Matt after that. Last I heard, he made it out. I have yet to hear he has come back again. I don’t know what was going through Matt’s mind that made him jump on Midget. Maybe his patience had worn thin, maybe he felt he needed to show he could handle his own business. Whatever reason, it was another side of Matt I was unaware of. It goes to show that we never really know people like we think we do.
My hope for Matt is that he finally got it together for the sake of his family and himself. I like to believe so.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Links to more prison stories by Warrior:
Warrior v Big E.
Rapist on the Yard
Bucket of Blood
Central Unit
Post comments and questions for Warrior below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
The risky road to ruin (and back again)
At the Stoke Newington Literary Festival, I was interviewed by Maryam Omidi from Dow Jones Financial News. Click here for the story.
At the Stoke Newington Literary Festival, I was interviewed by Maryam Omidi from Dow Jones Financial News. Click here for the story.
Shane Illegally Censored from Jon’s Jail Journal by Prison Authorities
Shane - After being denied psychiatric medication by ValueOptions, Shane turned to illegal drugs financed by burglaries. For stealing a few hundred dollars worth of goods, he was sentenced by Judge Ron Reinstein to eleven years. Shane is the author of the blog Persevering Prison Pages.
The Arizona Department Corrections – who banned us from corresponding last year – are now violating Shane's human rights even further by refusing to give him some of his mail – mostly stuff related to blogging.
From Shane:
ADOC’s sneaky mail-monitoring staff have taken a special interest in mail to and from me, printouts of my blogs and related blog sites like Jon’s Jail Journal, and correspondence of a miscellaneous nature. Mainly, my incoming mail is intercepted. Recently, copies of “Avoidable Tensions” a story I wrote for Jon’s Jail Journal, and copies of Shaun Attwood’s interview in Not Shut Up Magazine were contrabanded. Despite the fact that I personally wrote “Avoidable Tensions” and have multiple copies, ADOC spent valuable time and hard earned tax dollars to intercept all of this correspondence.
The content of this intercepted blog entry is constitutionally protected free speech, is based on facts, observations, opinions, and is all public information. It therefore could not pose a threat to institutional security, as ADOC Publication Review Staff have asserted at the Lewis Complex.
This minor annoyance will not interfere with my blogging and guest writing covering ADOC and similar subjects. Nor will it discourage me from continuing my push for reform, rehabilitation and progressing forward past “prison life.” I’m hardheaded and fearless when it comes to expressing myself. Only time will tell whether it’s my fatal flaw or saving grace.
Click here for Shane’s latest entry – “Operation Eagle Point” – at his own blog
Click here for the first blog about Shane at Jon's Jail Journal
Click here for an article on the censorship issues I faced to keep Jon’s Jail Journal going
Our friends inside appreciate your comments
Post comments for Shane below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity
Shaun Attwood
Shane - After being denied psychiatric medication by ValueOptions, Shane turned to illegal drugs financed by burglaries. For stealing a few hundred dollars worth of goods, he was sentenced by Judge Ron Reinstein to eleven years. Shane is the author of the blog Persevering Prison Pages.
The Arizona Department Corrections – who banned us from corresponding last year – are now violating Shane's human rights even further by refusing to give him some of his mail – mostly stuff related to blogging.
From Shane:
ADOC’s sneaky mail-monitoring staff have taken a special interest in mail to and from me, printouts of my blogs and related blog sites like Jon’s Jail Journal, and correspondence of a miscellaneous nature. Mainly, my incoming mail is intercepted. Recently, copies of “Avoidable Tensions” a story I wrote for Jon’s Jail Journal, and copies of Shaun Attwood’s interview in Not Shut Up Magazine were contrabanded. Despite the fact that I personally wrote “Avoidable Tensions” and have multiple copies, ADOC spent valuable time and hard earned tax dollars to intercept all of this correspondence.
The content of this intercepted blog entry is constitutionally protected free speech, is based on facts, observations, opinions, and is all public information. It therefore could not pose a threat to institutional security, as ADOC Publication Review Staff have asserted at the Lewis Complex.
This minor annoyance will not interfere with my blogging and guest writing covering ADOC and similar subjects. Nor will it discourage me from continuing my push for reform, rehabilitation and progressing forward past “prison life.” I’m hardheaded and fearless when it comes to expressing myself. Only time will tell whether it’s my fatal flaw or saving grace.
Click here for Shane’s latest entry – “Operation Eagle Point” – at his own blog
Click here for the first blog about Shane at Jon's Jail Journal
Click here for an article on the censorship issues I faced to keep Jon’s Jail Journal going
Our friends inside appreciate your comments
Post comments for Shane below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity
Shaun Attwood
Stoke Newington Literary Festival
If you're in the London area and fancy hearing my talk this Saturday June 5th at 1pm, click here for more info.
If you're in the London area and fancy hearing my talk this Saturday June 5th at 1pm, click here for more info.
Matt (Part 3 by Warrior)
Warrior - Serving fourteen years for kidnapping and aggravated assault. Half Hispanic and Scottish-Irish with family still in Mexico. Brought up by a family steeped in drug commerce. He writes some of the best prison-fight stories on the Internet.
Click here for Matt Part 2.
As Matt and I headed back down the linoleum hall to the transportion area to retrieve our ID’s, we passed a masonite desk and dry erase board. The escorting officer was a female, fiftyish, short, stout, with graying blond hair. Her reading glasses resting on the edge of her nose made her seem grandmotherly as she peered over them. She gave us our ID’s, careful not to let our fingers touch – most female staff are cautious about the smallest contact.
We walked the 50-yard hall, passing each holding cell. Some prisoners were at the windows, wondering who they’d see go by. Others were caught up in conversations that echoed down the corridor. The topics ranged from wives and family to first-crime stories and gossip about other convicts throughout the system.
As we approached the last holding cell to the right, there was a corridor a few paces in front. Another female officer was stood at attention, telling the inmate behind her to halt as we were to pass by.
Prison instinct dictates, know ones surroundings, recognize frames, postures and faces immediately. Every inmate has a list of rivals, hostile parties, or arch enemies he has to watch out for. Personalities clash moreover in prison.
The female guard that intersected us was sickly thin, about 5’ 2”, with black hair. Her premature frame exaggerated her radio and cuff belt. She looked like a young girl costumed up for Halloween.
I immediately recognized the inmate behind the young guard. He was short, but bull-like in frame. He had a pointed nose like a hawk, razor-shaved head, and close set eyes that appeared to be crossed. He was sleeved in ink from neck to wrists. Swastikas. Iron crosses. The traditional white prison tattoos. It was Midget.
My first thought was, What are the chances of this? Life’s coincidences are ironic like that: talk smack about someone and the next thing you know they’re standing right behind you. My next thought was, This isn’t good.
Midget in turn recognized me. The largest figure is always sized up first, and I was the largest out of Matt and me. Midget said nothing to me as his eyes moved over to Matt. Their eyes met. A feeling rose from the pit of my stomach, the hairs on the back of my head stood on end. After so many years, a sixth sense for violence becomes second nature, as automatic as breathing. Something was about to happen, but I didn’t know how severe it would be. I braced myself.
The hostility between Matt and Midget was apparent. The tension in the air between them suffocated me as well. Midget, Matt and I were tensed up as though waiting to hear the starting gun of a race. Then – bang! – the gun sounded.
Midget scowled at Matt, and called him a “Fuckin’ punk” with a tone of discontent.
What happened next caught me by total surprise…
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
The final part of this story will be posted next week.
Links to more prison stories by Warrior:
Warrior v Big E.
Rapist on the Yard
Bucket of Blood
Central Unit
Post comments and questions for Warrior below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Warrior - Serving fourteen years for kidnapping and aggravated assault. Half Hispanic and Scottish-Irish with family still in Mexico. Brought up by a family steeped in drug commerce. He writes some of the best prison-fight stories on the Internet.
Click here for Matt Part 2.
As Matt and I headed back down the linoleum hall to the transportion area to retrieve our ID’s, we passed a masonite desk and dry erase board. The escorting officer was a female, fiftyish, short, stout, with graying blond hair. Her reading glasses resting on the edge of her nose made her seem grandmotherly as she peered over them. She gave us our ID’s, careful not to let our fingers touch – most female staff are cautious about the smallest contact.
We walked the 50-yard hall, passing each holding cell. Some prisoners were at the windows, wondering who they’d see go by. Others were caught up in conversations that echoed down the corridor. The topics ranged from wives and family to first-crime stories and gossip about other convicts throughout the system.
As we approached the last holding cell to the right, there was a corridor a few paces in front. Another female officer was stood at attention, telling the inmate behind her to halt as we were to pass by.
Prison instinct dictates, know ones surroundings, recognize frames, postures and faces immediately. Every inmate has a list of rivals, hostile parties, or arch enemies he has to watch out for. Personalities clash moreover in prison.
The female guard that intersected us was sickly thin, about 5’ 2”, with black hair. Her premature frame exaggerated her radio and cuff belt. She looked like a young girl costumed up for Halloween.
I immediately recognized the inmate behind the young guard. He was short, but bull-like in frame. He had a pointed nose like a hawk, razor-shaved head, and close set eyes that appeared to be crossed. He was sleeved in ink from neck to wrists. Swastikas. Iron crosses. The traditional white prison tattoos. It was Midget.
My first thought was, What are the chances of this? Life’s coincidences are ironic like that: talk smack about someone and the next thing you know they’re standing right behind you. My next thought was, This isn’t good.
Midget in turn recognized me. The largest figure is always sized up first, and I was the largest out of Matt and me. Midget said nothing to me as his eyes moved over to Matt. Their eyes met. A feeling rose from the pit of my stomach, the hairs on the back of my head stood on end. After so many years, a sixth sense for violence becomes second nature, as automatic as breathing. Something was about to happen, but I didn’t know how severe it would be. I braced myself.
The hostility between Matt and Midget was apparent. The tension in the air between them suffocated me as well. Midget, Matt and I were tensed up as though waiting to hear the starting gun of a race. Then – bang! – the gun sounded.
Midget scowled at Matt, and called him a “Fuckin’ punk” with a tone of discontent.
What happened next caught me by total surprise…
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
The final part of this story will be posted next week.
Links to more prison stories by Warrior:
Warrior v Big E.
Rapist on the Yard
Bucket of Blood
Central Unit
Post comments and questions for Warrior below or email them to writeinside@hotmail.com To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
Another Day (by Lifer Renee)
Renee - She was only a teenager when she received a sixty-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. Fourteen years into her sentence, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
I scrambled to get out of the call center. I logged out, submitted my time sheet, and Jen told me we were locked down. I thought, Well, there go all my plans for the day. So much for exercising.
We asked the guards why we were locked down. Sergeant Nash said we could be locked down five days a week as long as he is here, and we only have two officers on duty.
I walked across the hot dusty track that has been freshly grated. All I could think about were the staph infections, herpes and strep throat that have been running rampant.
I walked in the gate to have my door accessed. It was 90 degrees with no air on. I knew my room was going to be an oven. I opened the door, and I was welcomed to a cell that has no air circulating. I spent an hour trying to position my little fans to move the air around me. I covered the windows just enough to block the sun, but not enough to get into trouble.
A girl was taken from SMA in an ambulance. She’d hung herself, but I don’t know if she died.
Click here for Renee's previous blog
Download my jail book, Hard Time, for FREE
Renee - She was only a teenager when she received a sixty-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. Fourteen years into her sentence, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
I scrambled to get out of the call center. I logged out, submitted my time sheet, and Jen told me we were locked down. I thought, Well, there go all my plans for the day. So much for exercising.
We asked the guards why we were locked down. Sergeant Nash said we could be locked down five days a week as long as he is here, and we only have two officers on duty.
I walked across the hot dusty track that has been freshly grated. All I could think about were the staph infections, herpes and strep throat that have been running rampant.
I walked in the gate to have my door accessed. It was 90 degrees with no air on. I knew my room was going to be an oven. I opened the door, and I was welcomed to a cell that has no air circulating. I spent an hour trying to position my little fans to move the air around me. I covered the windows just enough to block the sun, but not enough to get into trouble.
A girl was taken from SMA in an ambulance. She’d hung herself, but I don’t know if she died.
Click here for Renee's previous blog
Download my jail book, Hard Time, for FREE
Shaun Attwood