Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Tent City (Part 1 by Guest Blogger Daniel Horne)
Daniel Horne spent almost a year in Tent City. He is a business executive, husband, and father of two. Following a car accident, Daniel was not charged with drunk driving, but with aggravated assault – in Arizona’s legal system a car can be classified as a weapon you assault someone with. He is the author of the book, Accidental Felons and blog.
The van pulled into the entrance to Tent City; the entire compound was ringed with razor wire and video cameras. We exited the cramped confines of the van and were led to a holding cell not much larger than a department store dressing room. I thought that worse was impossible after the Matrix, but I was wrong. The small, cramped holding cell was already filled with prisoners when we arrived. The guards crowbarred us inside with the door pressing firmly against the bodies of the prisoners closest to it when it closed. This set a new standard for inhumane treatment by the Sheriff’s Office. On the single bench, long enough to seat three men comfortably, five men sat shoulder to shoulder. The rest of us stood, butt to penis; seventeen prisoners were crammed into one tiny concrete room. The smell of years of body odor and urine in the cell was overwhelming, and the tiny room was hot.
I began to feel claustrophobic. I couldn’t breathe. I was becoming dizzy, so I asked the men around me to catch me if I passed out. A small food tray door in the main door had been left open by the guard. It was our only source of fresh air, and the inmates began shuffling around so I could be near it. At the door, I knelt to breathe through the small opening and get away from the hot stale air. I knelt there for four hours. During that time I realized what was happening to me, the sudden claustrophobia, the difficulty catching my breath, the overwhelming fear — I was having an anxiety attack, a terror I had overcome more than forty years ago had returned.
BAM! The food tray slot in the door slammed shut in my face. The shadow of a guard passed by the door’s glass insert above my head. My peering out of the cell into the open area where the guards were milling about had upset one of them. I closed my eyes and quietly began to pray. I fought to control the feelings of helplessness and panic overtaking me.
It seemed an eternity by the time the holding cell door opened and we filed out to line up against the wall for handcuffs. The lot of us resembling the typical Happy Hour crowd more than a dangerous pack of felons. Our group was led outside the building onto a concrete pad under a large open tarp where laundry bins were filled with clothing stacked in neat piles. We were ordered to strip naked in the frigid air. I stood shivering in the pre-dawn morning of January wearing only my pink rubber bath slippers. The cold wind cut into my skin like microscopic shards of glass tearing at my flesh. My teeth clattered with the loud, rhythmic sound of deer antlers colliding in the mating season.
Two guards dressed in thick winter coats and black beanie hats stood at the end of the line of laundry bins talking and laughing. From their demeanor it appeared they were laughing at us. The humiliation I felt was that of a naked slave at the market. I walked down the line of clothing donning socks, boxer shorts, and another pair of striped pajamas as quickly as the slow-moving line of shivering men permitted. I was issued one sheet, one towel, and six paper thin blankets. (The normal issue in winter, I later learned, was two blankets, but sickness had forced the Sheriff’s Office to allot prisoners four more this year.) The bins that were supposed to contain sets of cotton thermal underwear were empty by the time I got to them. One other prisoner and I stood there, without the much needed protection, waiting to see what would happen next.
“You two guys will have to come back tomorrow afternoon when more clothing arrives from the laundry to request the additional clothing,” the DO said with a shrug, his gloved hands stuffed into the pockets of his heavy, thick coat and a wool beanie pulled down low over his ears to just above his eyebrows. I would need to make due as best I could to survive the night in a cold, arctic air mass blanketing Phoenix that January of 2007. Just two weeks earlier, the temperature had reached a record-breaking low of 14 degrees. Tonight it was 35 degrees and I stood in the night air holding my bedding dressed for the searing heat of summer. I was in trouble — serious trouble.
Part 2 coming next week.
As this is Daniel’s first post for Jon’s Jail Journal, your comments would be greatly appreciated.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
DNA Evidence Clears Innocent Prisoner After 27 Years
(CBS) There's been some bitter soul searching going on in Dallas County, as one man after another is being released from prison after being convicted, years ago, of crimes they did not commit. As correspondent Scott Pelley reports, it happened again just last week with the release of a man who had been proclaiming his innocence, behind bars, for 27 years.
So far, 17 men have been cleared in Dallas - that's more than most states. All were put on trial by prosecutors who worked for the legendary District Attorney Henry Wade. Wade was Dallas' top prosecutor for more than 30 years. He never lost a case he handled personally. But it turns out the record of Wade's office was too good to be true. And now, a new Dallas district attorney is focusing on the Wade legacy - it's a search for innocent men waiting to be exonerated.
James Woodard went away in 1981, convicted in the murder of his girlfriend who had been raped and strangled. He was prosecuted by the office of District Attorney Henry Wade. For nearly 30 years, he never gave up writing letters, and filing motions. But no one was willing to grant him a hearing-until now.
60 Minutes was there last year when Woodard gave the DNA sample that would determine his true guilt or innocence. Since 2001, there has been a series of men in Dallas County who have walked from prison into freedom.
The exonerated include Eugene Henton, James Waller, who did almost 11 years, Greg Wallis, who was in for nearly 19, and James Giles, who did 10 years; Billy Smith was convicted of aggravated sexual assault and served nearly 20 years for a crime he didn't commit.
James Waller rejected a plea bargain for a rape he didn't commit. "They offered me three years. I turned it down. And I said, 'We go to trial.' And I came out with 30 years," he tells Pelley.
Asked why he turned down the deal, Waller says, "I know one day that I was gonna have to die, and I didn't want to go before God saying I did something that I didn't do."
"Greg, what did you lose in all that time?" Pelley asks."Well, I didn't get to see my boy growing up. He was two and a half when I left," Wallis says.
Wallis says his son is now 22 years old.
"To me, an apology, it won't do, because an apology can't bring back the time that I spent. It can't bring back my loved ones my loved ones. I lost ten family members while I was incarcerated. I never got to go to the funeral of any one of them. There are a lot of things that I could say that I lost. But then there's a lot of things that I could say that I can't tell you what I lost, 'cause I don't know," Billy Smith says.
"What do you mean you don't know what you lost?" Pelley asks.
"It's just like a part of me that's just gone. You know? I'm 20 years behind time. I was 35 when I got arrested. I'm 55 now," Smith explains. "But when I was ready for release, I wasn't excited about getting out. I still don't understand that today."
Asked how he could not be excited about getting out after all that time, Smith says, "Well, that's a part of me that I lost."
Michelle Moore and Jeff Blackburn are lawyers for The Innocence Project of Texas, a nonprofit group investigating wrongful prosecutions.
"What was the history of the Dallas County DA's office from, say, the 1950's to the 1990's," Pelley asks.
"Prosecute at all costs," Moore says. "It doesn't matter what they have as far as evidence. But if they've got anything that could tie this person into the case, then they were going to pursue the case against that person, even if it meant that they overlooked other suspects in a crime."
"Dallas got a reputation as the hardest, roughest county in the state. This was the one county that you did not wanna get accused of a crime in, because in this county, if you got charged with a crime you were likely gonna go to prison," Blackburn adds.
It was the late Henry Wade, a Texas legend, who ran the district attorney's office from 1951 to 1987.
Wade prosecuted Jack Ruby in the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald. He's the Wade in "Roe v. Wade," the abortion case. His deputies played hardball, but Moore says they didn't always play by the rules.
"And we have found, in some of those cases, that there was evidence that was not given over to the defense. So, the defense could not adequately prepare," she tells Pelley.
"You're saying that prosecutors had evidence that suggested innocence, and they didn't pass that on to the defense attorneys?" Pelley asks.
"That's correct," Moore says.
"But that's the law, isn't it?" Pelley asks.
"It is the law, but there's no penalty for prosecutors who don't give over evidence. You get a slap on the hand but you still get promoted because you got the conviction," Moore says.
"Prosecutors break the law, pay no penalty," Blackburn says. "Men get wrongfully convicted, and they can't get out because the system conspires to cover up their case. That's a crooked system."
The investigation of the Wade legacy picked up speed last year when Craig Watkins became the district attorney in Dallas-the first black D.A. in the history of Texas. His office is now spending $400,000 a year looking back at old cases.
"We have a responsibility to go back and right the wrongs of the past and free the innocent," Watkins tells Pelley.
"You know, some people say that you're wasting time and money that you're looking back at these old cases when you're sitting in the middle of the city that has the highest crime rate in the nation," Pelley remarks.
"You know, I disagree with that," Watkins says. "The job of the district attorney is to seek justice. And when justice has failed, then we have to fix it."
"You know, we were sitting with some of these men who'd been in prison for 20 years, been in prison longer than that and as I was sitting there, it occurred to me that if these guys sat in prison that long, it's likely that somebody who didn't commit the crime was executed. Do you fear that that's the case?" Pelley asks.
"I fear that and that causes me to lose sleep every day," Watkins says.
In an almost revolutionary step, Watkins has teamed up with The Innocence Project of Texas, opening all of the prosecution files to the project's lawyers and law students. He's backing them with subpoena power so they can get a hold of witnesses and evidence. The students are opening files that have been closed, some since the 1970's.
"We take a lot for granted, I think. And we say, 'Oh, well, if the state, if the government said that he did it, he obviously did.' But that's not necessarily true," one of the students told Pelley.
The students said they don't get paid or college credit for their work.
Asked what they are getting out of the experience, one of the students said, "Well, the satisfaction that I'm doing something for people who can't do it themselves."
Law student Alexis Hoff selected James Woodard's file for review, almost three decades after he went to prison, convicted of killing his girlfriend.
60 Minutes was with them last November when Hoff started questioning Woodard, along with The Innocence Project's Michelle Moore.
"James, at any point in time during this process, did you ever admit to being guilty of this?" Moore asked.
"No, ma'am," Woodard replied.
"What is your ultimate goal?" Moore asked.
"To clear my name," he replied.
Woodard gave a DNA sample back in November; it was processed by the Orchid Cellmark lab in Dallas. In most places it wouldn't be possible to reach back years for a DNA match, but Dallas has an unusual policy of saving physical evidence from cases that are decades old.
This past Monday, Alexis Hoff and Jeff Blackburn brought James Woodard the results of his DNA test.
"The conclusion of the test was that there was not a match. It means that someone else raped Beverly Ann Jones," Hoff told Woodard. "It is my honor to be here today to tell you that after spending 27 years in jail for a crime that you did not commit you will walk out of this courthouse tomorrow, a free man."
"I'm speechless. That’s about it. You’ll have to give me a minute to gather myself, to sink this all in," Woodard reacted.
When Woodard went to prison in 1981, Alexis Hoff had not yet been born.
"I mean, don't crack jokes now," Woodard said.
"No. It’s really happening. I know," Hoff replied.
"Are you sure I get out tomorrow?" Woodard asked.
"Yep," Blackburn said.
The next day, last Tuesday, James Woodard went to court. In addition to the DNA, District Attorney Watkins' office discovered that the prosecutors, 27 years ago, failed to tell the defense and the jury that Woodard's girlfriend had been in the company of another man the night of her death, a man who was charged in another sexual assault.
"Mr. Woodard, we'd like to apologize to you. Not only on the part of the district attorney’s office for the state of Texas but for the failures of the criminal justice system throughout this country," Watkins told Woodard.
State District Judge Mark Stoltz set Woodard free. "Unfortunately, Mr. Woodard you're not getting justice today. You're just getting the end of injustice," the judge said.
"It seemed like I was looking at it from afar, like a movie," Woodard tells Pelley. "It was well worth the wait I mean just to hear that, you know. Just to hear someone admit that they were wrong, they did me wrong."
Asked why it was worth the wait, Woodard says, "For so many years everyone told me, 'Well hey, you’re guilty.' I mean well let me put it this way, they treated me as if I was guilty."
When he went in, Woodard had just turned 28; he is 55 years old now.
From the very beginning, Woodard wrote letters to District Attorney Henry Wade.
"I don't know your philosophy of life but I would assume that you wouldn't take a man's freedom just because you can. That's why I keep sending these letters to you," Woodard recalls.
Wade's office wrote back to say that the letter would be referred to an assistant. Woodard never heard anything from them again.
"I have to wonder after 27 years how did you stand it?" Pelley asks.
"You can only go one day at a time ever. I don’t really know myself. I just did the best I could. Just you know every day I have hope well maybe today will be a better day," Woodard says.
"You had hope?" Pelley asks.
"That’s all a man has," Woodard says. "I had hope for parole. I think I came up about 12 times."
"When you appeared before the parole board what did they say to you?" Pelley asks.
"They always told me, as long as you deny your guilt its saying something about you, you know you are not willing to own up to your deed. And we gonna deny you," Woodard says.
But Woodard refused to admit guilt. "I wasn't guilty," he says.
"You chose truth over freedom," Pelley remarks.
"I mean, a man has to stand for something," Woodard says.
James Woodard became the 17th prisoner in Dallas to be set free after a wrongful conviction. He walked from the courthouse into a hometown he could no longer recognize. At 27 years and four months, he became the longest serving inmate in the nation to be cleared with the help of DNA. The Dallas D.A.'s office and The Innocence Project of Texas are still investigating another 250 cases.
The case of James Woodard is one of the saddest stories I’ve ever read. In 2006, I wrote about Ray Krone, an innocent man who spent 10 years on death row thanks in part to the corrupt prosecutor, Noel Levy. It was Levy who helped frame another innocent person, Debra Milke, to death row almost 20 years ago, where she still languishes to this day. Noel Levy qualifies as one of the most evil people working in Arizona’s justice system.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
(CBS) There's been some bitter soul searching going on in Dallas County, as one man after another is being released from prison after being convicted, years ago, of crimes they did not commit. As correspondent Scott Pelley reports, it happened again just last week with the release of a man who had been proclaiming his innocence, behind bars, for 27 years.
So far, 17 men have been cleared in Dallas - that's more than most states. All were put on trial by prosecutors who worked for the legendary District Attorney Henry Wade. Wade was Dallas' top prosecutor for more than 30 years. He never lost a case he handled personally. But it turns out the record of Wade's office was too good to be true. And now, a new Dallas district attorney is focusing on the Wade legacy - it's a search for innocent men waiting to be exonerated.
James Woodard went away in 1981, convicted in the murder of his girlfriend who had been raped and strangled. He was prosecuted by the office of District Attorney Henry Wade. For nearly 30 years, he never gave up writing letters, and filing motions. But no one was willing to grant him a hearing-until now.
60 Minutes was there last year when Woodard gave the DNA sample that would determine his true guilt or innocence. Since 2001, there has been a series of men in Dallas County who have walked from prison into freedom.
The exonerated include Eugene Henton, James Waller, who did almost 11 years, Greg Wallis, who was in for nearly 19, and James Giles, who did 10 years; Billy Smith was convicted of aggravated sexual assault and served nearly 20 years for a crime he didn't commit.
James Waller rejected a plea bargain for a rape he didn't commit. "They offered me three years. I turned it down. And I said, 'We go to trial.' And I came out with 30 years," he tells Pelley.
Asked why he turned down the deal, Waller says, "I know one day that I was gonna have to die, and I didn't want to go before God saying I did something that I didn't do."
"Greg, what did you lose in all that time?" Pelley asks."Well, I didn't get to see my boy growing up. He was two and a half when I left," Wallis says.
Wallis says his son is now 22 years old.
"To me, an apology, it won't do, because an apology can't bring back the time that I spent. It can't bring back my loved ones my loved ones. I lost ten family members while I was incarcerated. I never got to go to the funeral of any one of them. There are a lot of things that I could say that I lost. But then there's a lot of things that I could say that I can't tell you what I lost, 'cause I don't know," Billy Smith says.
"What do you mean you don't know what you lost?" Pelley asks.
"It's just like a part of me that's just gone. You know? I'm 20 years behind time. I was 35 when I got arrested. I'm 55 now," Smith explains. "But when I was ready for release, I wasn't excited about getting out. I still don't understand that today."
Asked how he could not be excited about getting out after all that time, Smith says, "Well, that's a part of me that I lost."
Michelle Moore and Jeff Blackburn are lawyers for The Innocence Project of Texas, a nonprofit group investigating wrongful prosecutions.
"What was the history of the Dallas County DA's office from, say, the 1950's to the 1990's," Pelley asks.
"Prosecute at all costs," Moore says. "It doesn't matter what they have as far as evidence. But if they've got anything that could tie this person into the case, then they were going to pursue the case against that person, even if it meant that they overlooked other suspects in a crime."
"Dallas got a reputation as the hardest, roughest county in the state. This was the one county that you did not wanna get accused of a crime in, because in this county, if you got charged with a crime you were likely gonna go to prison," Blackburn adds.
It was the late Henry Wade, a Texas legend, who ran the district attorney's office from 1951 to 1987.
Wade prosecuted Jack Ruby in the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald. He's the Wade in "Roe v. Wade," the abortion case. His deputies played hardball, but Moore says they didn't always play by the rules.
"And we have found, in some of those cases, that there was evidence that was not given over to the defense. So, the defense could not adequately prepare," she tells Pelley.
"You're saying that prosecutors had evidence that suggested innocence, and they didn't pass that on to the defense attorneys?" Pelley asks.
"That's correct," Moore says.
"But that's the law, isn't it?" Pelley asks.
"It is the law, but there's no penalty for prosecutors who don't give over evidence. You get a slap on the hand but you still get promoted because you got the conviction," Moore says.
"Prosecutors break the law, pay no penalty," Blackburn says. "Men get wrongfully convicted, and they can't get out because the system conspires to cover up their case. That's a crooked system."
The investigation of the Wade legacy picked up speed last year when Craig Watkins became the district attorney in Dallas-the first black D.A. in the history of Texas. His office is now spending $400,000 a year looking back at old cases.
"We have a responsibility to go back and right the wrongs of the past and free the innocent," Watkins tells Pelley.
"You know, some people say that you're wasting time and money that you're looking back at these old cases when you're sitting in the middle of the city that has the highest crime rate in the nation," Pelley remarks.
"You know, I disagree with that," Watkins says. "The job of the district attorney is to seek justice. And when justice has failed, then we have to fix it."
"You know, we were sitting with some of these men who'd been in prison for 20 years, been in prison longer than that and as I was sitting there, it occurred to me that if these guys sat in prison that long, it's likely that somebody who didn't commit the crime was executed. Do you fear that that's the case?" Pelley asks.
"I fear that and that causes me to lose sleep every day," Watkins says.
In an almost revolutionary step, Watkins has teamed up with The Innocence Project of Texas, opening all of the prosecution files to the project's lawyers and law students. He's backing them with subpoena power so they can get a hold of witnesses and evidence. The students are opening files that have been closed, some since the 1970's.
"We take a lot for granted, I think. And we say, 'Oh, well, if the state, if the government said that he did it, he obviously did.' But that's not necessarily true," one of the students told Pelley.
The students said they don't get paid or college credit for their work.
Asked what they are getting out of the experience, one of the students said, "Well, the satisfaction that I'm doing something for people who can't do it themselves."
Law student Alexis Hoff selected James Woodard's file for review, almost three decades after he went to prison, convicted of killing his girlfriend.
60 Minutes was with them last November when Hoff started questioning Woodard, along with The Innocence Project's Michelle Moore.
"James, at any point in time during this process, did you ever admit to being guilty of this?" Moore asked.
"No, ma'am," Woodard replied.
"What is your ultimate goal?" Moore asked.
"To clear my name," he replied.
Woodard gave a DNA sample back in November; it was processed by the Orchid Cellmark lab in Dallas. In most places it wouldn't be possible to reach back years for a DNA match, but Dallas has an unusual policy of saving physical evidence from cases that are decades old.
This past Monday, Alexis Hoff and Jeff Blackburn brought James Woodard the results of his DNA test.
"The conclusion of the test was that there was not a match. It means that someone else raped Beverly Ann Jones," Hoff told Woodard. "It is my honor to be here today to tell you that after spending 27 years in jail for a crime that you did not commit you will walk out of this courthouse tomorrow, a free man."
"I'm speechless. That’s about it. You’ll have to give me a minute to gather myself, to sink this all in," Woodard reacted.
When Woodard went to prison in 1981, Alexis Hoff had not yet been born.
"I mean, don't crack jokes now," Woodard said.
"No. It’s really happening. I know," Hoff replied.
"Are you sure I get out tomorrow?" Woodard asked.
"Yep," Blackburn said.
The next day, last Tuesday, James Woodard went to court. In addition to the DNA, District Attorney Watkins' office discovered that the prosecutors, 27 years ago, failed to tell the defense and the jury that Woodard's girlfriend had been in the company of another man the night of her death, a man who was charged in another sexual assault.
"Mr. Woodard, we'd like to apologize to you. Not only on the part of the district attorney’s office for the state of Texas but for the failures of the criminal justice system throughout this country," Watkins told Woodard.
State District Judge Mark Stoltz set Woodard free. "Unfortunately, Mr. Woodard you're not getting justice today. You're just getting the end of injustice," the judge said.
"It seemed like I was looking at it from afar, like a movie," Woodard tells Pelley. "It was well worth the wait I mean just to hear that, you know. Just to hear someone admit that they were wrong, they did me wrong."
Asked why it was worth the wait, Woodard says, "For so many years everyone told me, 'Well hey, you’re guilty.' I mean well let me put it this way, they treated me as if I was guilty."
When he went in, Woodard had just turned 28; he is 55 years old now.
From the very beginning, Woodard wrote letters to District Attorney Henry Wade.
"I don't know your philosophy of life but I would assume that you wouldn't take a man's freedom just because you can. That's why I keep sending these letters to you," Woodard recalls.
Wade's office wrote back to say that the letter would be referred to an assistant. Woodard never heard anything from them again.
"I have to wonder after 27 years how did you stand it?" Pelley asks.
"You can only go one day at a time ever. I don’t really know myself. I just did the best I could. Just you know every day I have hope well maybe today will be a better day," Woodard says.
"You had hope?" Pelley asks.
"That’s all a man has," Woodard says. "I had hope for parole. I think I came up about 12 times."
"When you appeared before the parole board what did they say to you?" Pelley asks.
"They always told me, as long as you deny your guilt its saying something about you, you know you are not willing to own up to your deed. And we gonna deny you," Woodard says.
But Woodard refused to admit guilt. "I wasn't guilty," he says.
"You chose truth over freedom," Pelley remarks.
"I mean, a man has to stand for something," Woodard says.
James Woodard became the 17th prisoner in Dallas to be set free after a wrongful conviction. He walked from the courthouse into a hometown he could no longer recognize. At 27 years and four months, he became the longest serving inmate in the nation to be cleared with the help of DNA. The Dallas D.A.'s office and The Innocence Project of Texas are still investigating another 250 cases.
The case of James Woodard is one of the saddest stories I’ve ever read. In 2006, I wrote about Ray Krone, an innocent man who spent 10 years on death row thanks in part to the corrupt prosecutor, Noel Levy. It was Levy who helped frame another innocent person, Debra Milke, to death row almost 20 years ago, where she still languishes to this day. Noel Levy qualifies as one of the most evil people working in Arizona’s justice system.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Another Arpaio/Tent City Documentary
The title, "Chain Gang: Maricopa County," makes it seem as if the latest reality show to be shot in Sheriff Joe Arpaio's jails concentrates on the novelty of inmates chained together. But it's more about those inmates' stories, the producer says.
"Despite the fact they may have done something that's offensive, you may end up empathizing with them," Michael Hoff said. "Just a simple twist of fate, I might end up there as well."
The hour-long special, which airs on the Discovery Channel on Monday, Oct. 5, follows a group of inmates housed in Tent City as they join the infamous chain gang. The show was filmed in June.
The network will see how the audience receives the show before deciding whether to order more episodes, Hoff said.
"If the (jail) is agreeable, we'd be very agreeable," he said.
This is the second special Hoff has created by following inmates on the Maricopa County chain gangs. The first, "Chain Gang Girls" aired on the female-focused WEtv network and followed a group of women on the shackled work crew.
"Despite the provocative title, it was very informative about the lives of these women," Hoff said.
Hoff, who is based in Northern California, said he didn't set out to make the inmates the focus of the shows, but the women's stories were surprisingly compelling.
"It gave you a microcosm of the prison system . . . and what makes it hard for people to succeed," he said. "How people can fall into potholes in life and unexpectedly end up in places.”
Hoff saw that the men have great stories, too, and shopped this idea to Discovery.
"They're different, but equally interesting," he said.
Ashley Adams, the director of photography, said there was no trouble getting inmates to talk on camera.
"It's amazing how quickly they warm up," she said.
Adams led two crews that tracked inmates in the tents outside Durango Jail and followed them as they did roadside clean-ups on the chain gang. It was her third time at the jail, having worked on the previous two women inmate specials, and said county personnel worked well with her.
Earlier this year, the Fox Reality Channel aired the three-episode "Smile! You're Under Arrest" special, which featured sheriff's deputies luring low-level fugitives into handcuffs with actors and stunts.
Here, Adams said, all her crews needed from jail staff was access. She was after "the real deal."
Arpaio was interviewed, Hoff said, but "he's not the driver of the show."
The Maricopa County Sheriff's Office did not return a request for comment on the show.
As for the tents themselves, Adams said they were hot, but not uncomfortable.
"Honestly," she said, "I thought I would rather be out in the tents than in a hot, humid jail cell."
My guest blogger next Monday is Daniel Horne, the author of Accidental Felons. He spent a year in Arpaio’s Tent City, and he’ll be taking us right in there with his writing.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
The title, "Chain Gang: Maricopa County," makes it seem as if the latest reality show to be shot in Sheriff Joe Arpaio's jails concentrates on the novelty of inmates chained together. But it's more about those inmates' stories, the producer says.
"Despite the fact they may have done something that's offensive, you may end up empathizing with them," Michael Hoff said. "Just a simple twist of fate, I might end up there as well."
The hour-long special, which airs on the Discovery Channel on Monday, Oct. 5, follows a group of inmates housed in Tent City as they join the infamous chain gang. The show was filmed in June.
The network will see how the audience receives the show before deciding whether to order more episodes, Hoff said.
"If the (jail) is agreeable, we'd be very agreeable," he said.
This is the second special Hoff has created by following inmates on the Maricopa County chain gangs. The first, "Chain Gang Girls" aired on the female-focused WEtv network and followed a group of women on the shackled work crew.
"Despite the provocative title, it was very informative about the lives of these women," Hoff said.
Hoff, who is based in Northern California, said he didn't set out to make the inmates the focus of the shows, but the women's stories were surprisingly compelling.
"It gave you a microcosm of the prison system . . . and what makes it hard for people to succeed," he said. "How people can fall into potholes in life and unexpectedly end up in places.”
Hoff saw that the men have great stories, too, and shopped this idea to Discovery.
"They're different, but equally interesting," he said.
Ashley Adams, the director of photography, said there was no trouble getting inmates to talk on camera.
"It's amazing how quickly they warm up," she said.
Adams led two crews that tracked inmates in the tents outside Durango Jail and followed them as they did roadside clean-ups on the chain gang. It was her third time at the jail, having worked on the previous two women inmate specials, and said county personnel worked well with her.
Earlier this year, the Fox Reality Channel aired the three-episode "Smile! You're Under Arrest" special, which featured sheriff's deputies luring low-level fugitives into handcuffs with actors and stunts.
Here, Adams said, all her crews needed from jail staff was access. She was after "the real deal."
Arpaio was interviewed, Hoff said, but "he's not the driver of the show."
The Maricopa County Sheriff's Office did not return a request for comment on the show.
As for the tents themselves, Adams said they were hot, but not uncomfortable.
"Honestly," she said, "I thought I would rather be out in the tents than in a hot, humid jail cell."
My guest blogger next Monday is Daniel Horne, the author of Accidental Felons. He spent a year in Arpaio’s Tent City, and he’ll be taking us right in there with his writing.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Question Time With A Blood (Part 5)
Bones of the South Side Posse Bloods is serving sixteen years for leading a gang, assisting a crime syndicate, kidnapping and aggravated assault.
Jose in San Diego wrote:
Good post ESE! Me being from Califas [California] I am foreign to how things are run in Arizas [Arizona]. I have heard tidbits here and there about the cars [gangs] in the pintas [prisons] in Arizona, and it is quite interesting how politics differ etc.
Bones replied:
Jose, yeah, you’re right, things were pretty much the same as Califas back in the days. Such as having to line up with your race regardless of which hood you represented. But, yeah, I know and you know that a black can be from a Hispanic gang, and a white can be accepted as Chicano if they are from the same barrio. But this is where I think we as Hispanics are being hypocritical. Because the above is ok for Hispanic, but if it's the other way around, a Hispanic being from a black or white gang, it is forbidden! And that does not sit right with me.
Back in the days my first time down when I hit the yard all was good. Back in 1990, I did 3 years. The Mexicans back then helped you out and it didn't matter what hood you were from.
I was one of the first from our hood to go to prison. I believe there were two others there before me. The Mexicans would give you hygiene, stamps, clothes, etc. when you hit the yard if you needed it. My first time down, the Mexicans in prison had never even heard of our hood. I had been down a little over a year before issues started to rise about my hood. Because other vatos my age started to hit the prison from other hoods, and I scrapped a few times with these vatos. But the older vatos told me and the others, whatever happen on the streets stays on the streets. Well that changed the second time down. I did 1½ years. If you were from Posse [South Side Posse Blood Gang] there was a green light on you. In other words it was ok to fuck up or take out a South Side Posse member without getting any repercussions for it. And as a member of South Side Posse, you had a choice to either cover up the tattoo S.S.P. or put hx after the P, So it would read South Side Phx [Phoenix]. Or if you chose not to, you would get beat down or even a helicopter ride to the hospital. I ran into homies that covered it up and some that put S. S. Phx. I also know a few homies that held on strong and made it through and back out to the streets and never covered or put S. S. Phx, and some that ended up where they ended up at. And I got much love for them too, “for not bowing down.”
Jose, in your comment you have pedo {problems] with Norteños [Northerners] who align themselves with the blacks. Well, you see back in my hard gang banging days we never aligned ourselves with blacks, or Mexicans, or whites, or paisas.
Back then we went to war with anyone, it didn't matter if you were from a Crip, Mexican, paisa, white or another blood gang. If you started pedo with us, we would come to your hood to handle it.
Shoot, nowadays there are all kinds of different Mexican Blood gangs in Arizona. There’s even a South Side Posse in Tucson now. There was one gang I remember that we used to have beef with called Brown Pride in South Phoenix. But then we ended up being cool with them, but I don't know how it is now. That was back in 1994.
Yes, there is or was two fractions of EME [Mexican Mafia] in Arizona, also you can't forget about the paisas {Mexican nationals] too. For a little while all Califas boys had their own yards as well as the paisas and the Arizona boys. But now they are all mixed into one yard again.
But nowadays it’s not the same as the old days. Now you have a guy in each yard or building that is called the mail man. Which means whether you are sending out personal letters to the streets or a kite, inmate letters, or Health Needs Request forms or any paperwork out, it has to go to the mail man in your building for inspection. Man, to me that’s crazy. It was never like that back in the days. Or if you’re Mexican and run a store on the yard, you have to give a % of your profits to the head honcho on the yard. It didn't used to be that way before. And if you’re doing the onda [drugs], the head honcho gets a quarter of whatever your bring in. And if you’re programming, getting your G.E.D., A.A. [Alcoholics Anonymous], N. A. [Narcotics Anonymous] or a college course etc., you have to go with another Mexican. You can't roll out on your own. No playing poker on another race's poker table because you’re making them a profit. You can play spades with white dude for fun, but if you’re playing with black dudes you have to be gambling.
And if you work in the kitchen you must cut off your mustache, they don't want hair in the food. And its mandatory everything: chow, recreation, and when you’re at rec you have to do something productive. Not just kicking it.
Now this is the only one I agree with, no talking to a C.O. [Corrections Officer] by yourself. Man, it’s just real crazy. It’s like being on probation or even house arrest. A lot of these rules didn't apply back in the days. To me, if you have to have a mail man or be escorted from one place to another, then the man in charge is paranoid or is not on top of his game. To me, if you’re on top of your game, you shouldn't have to worry about who's mailing what or going wherever. In other words, they need to check the people in their circle more than people outside of the circle.
Yeah, the Califa Guard and the New Arizona Guard are or where going at it. Well their may be several reasons why they go at it, but I believe the main reason is because the Califa Guard don't agree with the way the Arizona Guard are running things. And it’s like I told you, it’s real crazy over here. Not only do you have the new AZ [Arizona] guard, but they are even split between each other and now there’s a new, new AZ guard. In my opinion, I don't even think that the Mexican Mafia in AZ is recognized by other Mexican Mafia affiliations in other states. I hate to talk about my own state like that, but shit is really fucked up here.
Jose, you seem well educated. I will say that you have studied your gang history.
I think that is one of the problems with gangs anywhere. Gang members are not well educated. So they don't think thinks out. Their solution to a problem is, “Fuck it, smash him.” Also jealousy and envy, greed and dope are problems.
Hey, Jose, I have one question for you. (K) You say it’s interesting to see Mexicans claim Bloods. And that you, your hood, have pedo with Norteños, who align themselves with blacks. And if I'm not mistaken Norteños out there in Califas wear red clothing, right. You being a Sureño [Southerner] in Califas. I've asked this to several dudes here from southern Califas this question. And could not get a good and quick response. Why do Sureños in Califas wear blue clothing?
Click here for Question Time With A Blood (Part 4)
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email questions or comments for Bones to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity. Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Shaun P. Attwood
Bones of the South Side Posse Bloods is serving sixteen years for leading a gang, assisting a crime syndicate, kidnapping and aggravated assault.
Jose in San Diego wrote:
Good post ESE! Me being from Califas [California] I am foreign to how things are run in Arizas [Arizona]. I have heard tidbits here and there about the cars [gangs] in the pintas [prisons] in Arizona, and it is quite interesting how politics differ etc.
Bones replied:
Jose, yeah, you’re right, things were pretty much the same as Califas back in the days. Such as having to line up with your race regardless of which hood you represented. But, yeah, I know and you know that a black can be from a Hispanic gang, and a white can be accepted as Chicano if they are from the same barrio. But this is where I think we as Hispanics are being hypocritical. Because the above is ok for Hispanic, but if it's the other way around, a Hispanic being from a black or white gang, it is forbidden! And that does not sit right with me.
Back in the days my first time down when I hit the yard all was good. Back in 1990, I did 3 years. The Mexicans back then helped you out and it didn't matter what hood you were from.
I was one of the first from our hood to go to prison. I believe there were two others there before me. The Mexicans would give you hygiene, stamps, clothes, etc. when you hit the yard if you needed it. My first time down, the Mexicans in prison had never even heard of our hood. I had been down a little over a year before issues started to rise about my hood. Because other vatos my age started to hit the prison from other hoods, and I scrapped a few times with these vatos. But the older vatos told me and the others, whatever happen on the streets stays on the streets. Well that changed the second time down. I did 1½ years. If you were from Posse [South Side Posse Blood Gang] there was a green light on you. In other words it was ok to fuck up or take out a South Side Posse member without getting any repercussions for it. And as a member of South Side Posse, you had a choice to either cover up the tattoo S.S.P. or put hx after the P, So it would read South Side Phx [Phoenix]. Or if you chose not to, you would get beat down or even a helicopter ride to the hospital. I ran into homies that covered it up and some that put S. S. Phx. I also know a few homies that held on strong and made it through and back out to the streets and never covered or put S. S. Phx, and some that ended up where they ended up at. And I got much love for them too, “for not bowing down.”
Jose, in your comment you have pedo {problems] with Norteños [Northerners] who align themselves with the blacks. Well, you see back in my hard gang banging days we never aligned ourselves with blacks, or Mexicans, or whites, or paisas.
Back then we went to war with anyone, it didn't matter if you were from a Crip, Mexican, paisa, white or another blood gang. If you started pedo with us, we would come to your hood to handle it.
Shoot, nowadays there are all kinds of different Mexican Blood gangs in Arizona. There’s even a South Side Posse in Tucson now. There was one gang I remember that we used to have beef with called Brown Pride in South Phoenix. But then we ended up being cool with them, but I don't know how it is now. That was back in 1994.
Yes, there is or was two fractions of EME [Mexican Mafia] in Arizona, also you can't forget about the paisas {Mexican nationals] too. For a little while all Califas boys had their own yards as well as the paisas and the Arizona boys. But now they are all mixed into one yard again.
But nowadays it’s not the same as the old days. Now you have a guy in each yard or building that is called the mail man. Which means whether you are sending out personal letters to the streets or a kite, inmate letters, or Health Needs Request forms or any paperwork out, it has to go to the mail man in your building for inspection. Man, to me that’s crazy. It was never like that back in the days. Or if you’re Mexican and run a store on the yard, you have to give a % of your profits to the head honcho on the yard. It didn't used to be that way before. And if you’re doing the onda [drugs], the head honcho gets a quarter of whatever your bring in. And if you’re programming, getting your G.E.D., A.A. [Alcoholics Anonymous], N. A. [Narcotics Anonymous] or a college course etc., you have to go with another Mexican. You can't roll out on your own. No playing poker on another race's poker table because you’re making them a profit. You can play spades with white dude for fun, but if you’re playing with black dudes you have to be gambling.
And if you work in the kitchen you must cut off your mustache, they don't want hair in the food. And its mandatory everything: chow, recreation, and when you’re at rec you have to do something productive. Not just kicking it.
Now this is the only one I agree with, no talking to a C.O. [Corrections Officer] by yourself. Man, it’s just real crazy. It’s like being on probation or even house arrest. A lot of these rules didn't apply back in the days. To me, if you have to have a mail man or be escorted from one place to another, then the man in charge is paranoid or is not on top of his game. To me, if you’re on top of your game, you shouldn't have to worry about who's mailing what or going wherever. In other words, they need to check the people in their circle more than people outside of the circle.
Yeah, the Califa Guard and the New Arizona Guard are or where going at it. Well their may be several reasons why they go at it, but I believe the main reason is because the Califa Guard don't agree with the way the Arizona Guard are running things. And it’s like I told you, it’s real crazy over here. Not only do you have the new AZ [Arizona] guard, but they are even split between each other and now there’s a new, new AZ guard. In my opinion, I don't even think that the Mexican Mafia in AZ is recognized by other Mexican Mafia affiliations in other states. I hate to talk about my own state like that, but shit is really fucked up here.
Jose, you seem well educated. I will say that you have studied your gang history.
I think that is one of the problems with gangs anywhere. Gang members are not well educated. So they don't think thinks out. Their solution to a problem is, “Fuck it, smash him.” Also jealousy and envy, greed and dope are problems.
Hey, Jose, I have one question for you. (K) You say it’s interesting to see Mexicans claim Bloods. And that you, your hood, have pedo with Norteños, who align themselves with blacks. And if I'm not mistaken Norteños out there in Califas wear red clothing, right. You being a Sureño [Southerner] in Califas. I've asked this to several dudes here from southern Califas this question. And could not get a good and quick response. Why do Sureños in Califas wear blue clothing?
Click here for Question Time With A Blood (Part 4)
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email questions or comments for Bones to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity. Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Shaun P. Attwood
Prison Politics (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.
It was dinner time, and three guys were sat with me at the chow table.
“Hey, did you vatos catch that shit on the news?” Casper asked.
“Nah, what?” Chino said.
“The State’s talking about releasing a grip of us,” Casper said.
“What?” Chino said.
“I caught bits and pieces of that,” Balla said.
“The State’s also talking about changing the sentencing guidelines again. Dropping it down from eighty-five percent to sixty-five or seventy percent,” I said.
“Yeah, they said the prisons are too overcrowded and shit,” Casper said.
“You really think they’ll really do that, Warrior?” Chino asked.
“I’d like to hope so,” I said. “I heard some shit on the news about the Feds asking the State where’s all this unaccounted for money they gave the State.”
“Anybody with any sense knows politicians pocket the shit,” Casper said. “Arizona is a retirement state. Politicians retire here, so they line the pockets of the legislators when it comes to law. Or they exchange cash for Capitol Hill favors. Remember that Fife Symington? Our dirty old governor got busted and found guilty of all kinds of real-estate fraud. Didn’t do a minute in jail. If that was a Mexican, he’d be doing life.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Balla said.
“That’s not the only reason,” I said. “Most people don’t understand the law, even the difference between a felony and a misdemeanor. It was the Reagan Era that set the stage for where we are today with the prison system. It went from rehabilitation to punishment, and all those prison riots popped off in the eighties. Two Bushes later, and we’re in this do-eighty-five-percent-of-your-time mess, and they’re locking people up faster than they can build prisons. All the rehab programs and educational funding got cut to build prison, and line the pockets of politicians. Now we have the most people incarcerated per capita in the world.”
“And Arizona’s one of the dirtiest in this game,” Balla said. “I don’t think they’ll release any of us early.”
“Balla’s right,” Chino said.
“True, but peep this,” Casper said. “Cali did it.”
“And you vatos know that Arizona follows suit with Cali a lot,” I said. “Many of our laws are surrogates from Cali. Once Cali passes a law, Arizona waits to witness a loophole, amends it, then implements it. That’s why we get fucked.”
“I didn’t know that,” Balla said.
“Not many do,” I said. “Prison’s big business. With all the money to be made per each incarcerated individual, you think politicians want to make it easy for us to get out? The politicians have prison conventions, where it’s like a state fair. Instead of ‘Knock down the milk bottles to win a prize,’ it’s ‘Stab the shank through the vest and win one-hundred dollars.’ And they label us crazy!”
“Are you serious?” Chino asked.
“That ain’t the half of it,” I said. “Texas prisons make Eddie Bauer clothes. If you vatos ever get a chance, read Going Up the River: Travels in a Prison Nation by Joseph T. Hallinan. It’ll open your eyes.”
“Time will tell if we get out early or not,” Casper said.
“At least something good might come from this fucked-up economy,” Balla said.
We all nodded in hopeful agreement.
Click here to read Warrior’s previous blog.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments and questions for Warrior to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. 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.
It was dinner time, and three guys were sat with me at the chow table.
“Hey, did you vatos catch that shit on the news?” Casper asked.
“Nah, what?” Chino said.
“The State’s talking about releasing a grip of us,” Casper said.
“What?” Chino said.
“I caught bits and pieces of that,” Balla said.
“The State’s also talking about changing the sentencing guidelines again. Dropping it down from eighty-five percent to sixty-five or seventy percent,” I said.
“Yeah, they said the prisons are too overcrowded and shit,” Casper said.
“You really think they’ll really do that, Warrior?” Chino asked.
“I’d like to hope so,” I said. “I heard some shit on the news about the Feds asking the State where’s all this unaccounted for money they gave the State.”
“Anybody with any sense knows politicians pocket the shit,” Casper said. “Arizona is a retirement state. Politicians retire here, so they line the pockets of the legislators when it comes to law. Or they exchange cash for Capitol Hill favors. Remember that Fife Symington? Our dirty old governor got busted and found guilty of all kinds of real-estate fraud. Didn’t do a minute in jail. If that was a Mexican, he’d be doing life.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Balla said.
“That’s not the only reason,” I said. “Most people don’t understand the law, even the difference between a felony and a misdemeanor. It was the Reagan Era that set the stage for where we are today with the prison system. It went from rehabilitation to punishment, and all those prison riots popped off in the eighties. Two Bushes later, and we’re in this do-eighty-five-percent-of-your-time mess, and they’re locking people up faster than they can build prisons. All the rehab programs and educational funding got cut to build prison, and line the pockets of politicians. Now we have the most people incarcerated per capita in the world.”
“And Arizona’s one of the dirtiest in this game,” Balla said. “I don’t think they’ll release any of us early.”
“Balla’s right,” Chino said.
“True, but peep this,” Casper said. “Cali did it.”
“And you vatos know that Arizona follows suit with Cali a lot,” I said. “Many of our laws are surrogates from Cali. Once Cali passes a law, Arizona waits to witness a loophole, amends it, then implements it. That’s why we get fucked.”
“I didn’t know that,” Balla said.
“Not many do,” I said. “Prison’s big business. With all the money to be made per each incarcerated individual, you think politicians want to make it easy for us to get out? The politicians have prison conventions, where it’s like a state fair. Instead of ‘Knock down the milk bottles to win a prize,’ it’s ‘Stab the shank through the vest and win one-hundred dollars.’ And they label us crazy!”
“Are you serious?” Chino asked.
“That ain’t the half of it,” I said. “Texas prisons make Eddie Bauer clothes. If you vatos ever get a chance, read Going Up the River: Travels in a Prison Nation by Joseph T. Hallinan. It’ll open your eyes.”
“Time will tell if we get out early or not,” Casper said.
“At least something good might come from this fucked-up economy,” Balla said.
We all nodded in hopeful agreement.
Click here to read Warrior’s previous blog.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments and questions for Warrior to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Mentored (Part 7)
Thanks to the Koestler Trust, I am now being mentored by Sally Hinchcliffe, a published author with an M.A. in Creative Writing from the University of London.
I’ve received some emails asking what’s going on with the mentor sessions, and the book. It’s good news all around. With the help of my literary agent and Sally, I’ve been readjusting the structure of my jail memoir. Sally said her work is done on coaching me with that book now, and that we need to move on to what I’m going to write next. I only have a few more sessions left with her, so I hope to make the most out of them. My agent is giving the latest draft of the book a proof read, and if all is well he’ll be talking to publishers about it soon. I started taking jail notes back in 2002, so the book has been a seven-year work in progress. I’ve never spent that long on a single project before, so you can probably imagine how excited I am to be almost at the finishing line.
Before the latest revisions, the structure became problematic towards the end. Here are Sally’s comments on the end chapters of the book:
This section really doesn’t work as stands. The blog material is too patchy and interrupts the arc of the story – your relationship with Claudia and what is at stake with the plea bargain and sentencing hearing.
You need to concentrate on those elements which show the inhumane conditions of the jail – for once without the leavening of humour. You also need to show what has happened to people who don’t plea bargain and make it clear that one-by-one your codefendants are plea-bargaining. What’s at stake isn’t clear.
Make your feelings about the plea bargain much clearer. Why you took the decision. How it felt to do it. The letters you used are too distancing and abrupt.
You also need to show the aftermath of your break-up with Claudia. What you did during the next hour, day, week, month. Your reaction at the time. Not how you think of it now. Don’t worry about coming across as self-pitying. Stick to what actually happened as it felt at the time and it should not come across that way.
Disembowel yourself in those penultimate chapters. Don’t hide yourself behind letters and blogs. Show it through stories and incidents. Crank up the tension. Make it felt. Write it in the frame of mind from when it was actually happening, and you didn’t know what was going to happen next.
Then, when you have got everything set up properly, the last chapter [the sentencing hearing] can speak for itself.
Acting on that advice, I ditched all of the material culled from the blogs, and added anecdotes to show what was at stake with my legal situation, and how I felt about the break-up with Claudia. The blog material was written in a humorous voice that didn’t suit such a serious juncture of the book.
Sally also recommended I read The Gathering by Anne Enright, which won the 2007 Man Booker Prize.
The final thing the agent requested was a preface. He wrote:
Preface can be short - a couple of hundred words - just to familiarise the reader, at least in the UK, who will be unfamiliar with Arpaio and his jail system.
So this month’s excerpt is my draft of the preface:
Joe Arpaio of Maricopa County, Arizona boasts he is the most famous sheriff in the world. He feeds his inmates green bologna, and garbs them in pink underwear. He calls himself “America’s toughest sheriff,” but never mentions that he is the most sued sheriff in America due to the deaths, violence and medical negligence in a jail system subject to investigation by human-rights organisations including Amnesty International and the American Civil Liberties Union.
Arpaio was voted into office in 1992. He won four more elections, but his margin of victory plummeted – in part due to several highly-publicised deaths at the hands of his staff. They include Charles Agster, a mentally-challenged 33-year-old arrested for loitering. He was hog-tied, jumped on, punched and strapped into a restraint chair, where he stopped breathing. And Brian Crenshaw, a partially-blind shoplifter who the guards pulverised for failing to produce his ID. He was found comatose on his bunk with a broken neck, toes, and severe internal injuries. The list goes on, and Arpaio actually promoted some of the guards the court found responsible, earning him the “Angel of Death” nickname by his critics.
The majority of the inmates housed in Arpaio’s jail system are unsentenced. They have not actually been found guilty of the crimes for which they are being held. Yet the conditions in the jail system are far worse than those in the prison system where convicted criminals are housed.
Despite all of the adverse publicity and investigations by various departments of the federal government, Arpaio has managed to stay in charge and command a support base bordering on the fanatical. He’s had two books published, and was awarded his own prime-time reality TV show, Smile...You're Under Arrest!
Click here for Mentored Part 6
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Thanks to the Koestler Trust, I am now being mentored by Sally Hinchcliffe, a published author with an M.A. in Creative Writing from the University of London.
I’ve received some emails asking what’s going on with the mentor sessions, and the book. It’s good news all around. With the help of my literary agent and Sally, I’ve been readjusting the structure of my jail memoir. Sally said her work is done on coaching me with that book now, and that we need to move on to what I’m going to write next. I only have a few more sessions left with her, so I hope to make the most out of them. My agent is giving the latest draft of the book a proof read, and if all is well he’ll be talking to publishers about it soon. I started taking jail notes back in 2002, so the book has been a seven-year work in progress. I’ve never spent that long on a single project before, so you can probably imagine how excited I am to be almost at the finishing line.
Before the latest revisions, the structure became problematic towards the end. Here are Sally’s comments on the end chapters of the book:
This section really doesn’t work as stands. The blog material is too patchy and interrupts the arc of the story – your relationship with Claudia and what is at stake with the plea bargain and sentencing hearing.
You need to concentrate on those elements which show the inhumane conditions of the jail – for once without the leavening of humour. You also need to show what has happened to people who don’t plea bargain and make it clear that one-by-one your codefendants are plea-bargaining. What’s at stake isn’t clear.
Make your feelings about the plea bargain much clearer. Why you took the decision. How it felt to do it. The letters you used are too distancing and abrupt.
You also need to show the aftermath of your break-up with Claudia. What you did during the next hour, day, week, month. Your reaction at the time. Not how you think of it now. Don’t worry about coming across as self-pitying. Stick to what actually happened as it felt at the time and it should not come across that way.
Disembowel yourself in those penultimate chapters. Don’t hide yourself behind letters and blogs. Show it through stories and incidents. Crank up the tension. Make it felt. Write it in the frame of mind from when it was actually happening, and you didn’t know what was going to happen next.
Then, when you have got everything set up properly, the last chapter [the sentencing hearing] can speak for itself.
Acting on that advice, I ditched all of the material culled from the blogs, and added anecdotes to show what was at stake with my legal situation, and how I felt about the break-up with Claudia. The blog material was written in a humorous voice that didn’t suit such a serious juncture of the book.
Sally also recommended I read The Gathering by Anne Enright, which won the 2007 Man Booker Prize.
The final thing the agent requested was a preface. He wrote:
Preface can be short - a couple of hundred words - just to familiarise the reader, at least in the UK, who will be unfamiliar with Arpaio and his jail system.
So this month’s excerpt is my draft of the preface:
Joe Arpaio of Maricopa County, Arizona boasts he is the most famous sheriff in the world. He feeds his inmates green bologna, and garbs them in pink underwear. He calls himself “America’s toughest sheriff,” but never mentions that he is the most sued sheriff in America due to the deaths, violence and medical negligence in a jail system subject to investigation by human-rights organisations including Amnesty International and the American Civil Liberties Union.
Arpaio was voted into office in 1992. He won four more elections, but his margin of victory plummeted – in part due to several highly-publicised deaths at the hands of his staff. They include Charles Agster, a mentally-challenged 33-year-old arrested for loitering. He was hog-tied, jumped on, punched and strapped into a restraint chair, where he stopped breathing. And Brian Crenshaw, a partially-blind shoplifter who the guards pulverised for failing to produce his ID. He was found comatose on his bunk with a broken neck, toes, and severe internal injuries. The list goes on, and Arpaio actually promoted some of the guards the court found responsible, earning him the “Angel of Death” nickname by his critics.
The majority of the inmates housed in Arpaio’s jail system are unsentenced. They have not actually been found guilty of the crimes for which they are being held. Yet the conditions in the jail system are far worse than those in the prison system where convicted criminals are housed.
Despite all of the adverse publicity and investigations by various departments of the federal government, Arpaio has managed to stay in charge and command a support base bordering on the fanatical. He’s had two books published, and was awarded his own prime-time reality TV show, Smile...You're Under Arrest!
Click here for Mentored Part 6
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Shaun P. Attwood
The Death of Marcia Powell and Outdoor Cages (by Warrior)
On the same day the cops at Perryville left Marcia Powell out in a cage with no water in 106 °F weather, until the heat finally claimed her, over here at Buckeye prison, two SSU guards left me and 25 other individuals outside in the cages for two hours. They gave us only one 8 oz cup of water and expected us all to drop UA’s. We all said, “No. No one can drop.” One prisoner had to be taken inside due to symptoms of heat exhaustion. We all got booked for refusing to provide urine samples, though no one had enough water to urinate.
Now, since Marcia Powell died, state-wide policy doesn’t allow any inamtes to remain in the cages whatsoever. All over the yard and on the prison directory channel on TV are warnings about heat exhaustion, and tips to stay hydrated along with detailed descriptions about what the Arizona sun can do to a person.
What about us on that day? I bet if someone died over here, none of us would be getting booked for a refusal ticket. Right now, the Arizona Department of Corrections can’t afford another scandal of the same caliber, so we’re all guaranteed to be guilty for refusing to urinate, so they can cover their dirty tracks over here.
The system is just as corrupt as the inamtes. The only difference between us and the staff is the color of the costume.
Click here for Warrior’s previous prison story.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments and questions for Warrior to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
On the same day the cops at Perryville left Marcia Powell out in a cage with no water in 106 °F weather, until the heat finally claimed her, over here at Buckeye prison, two SSU guards left me and 25 other individuals outside in the cages for two hours. They gave us only one 8 oz cup of water and expected us all to drop UA’s. We all said, “No. No one can drop.” One prisoner had to be taken inside due to symptoms of heat exhaustion. We all got booked for refusing to provide urine samples, though no one had enough water to urinate.
Now, since Marcia Powell died, state-wide policy doesn’t allow any inamtes to remain in the cages whatsoever. All over the yard and on the prison directory channel on TV are warnings about heat exhaustion, and tips to stay hydrated along with detailed descriptions about what the Arizona sun can do to a person.
What about us on that day? I bet if someone died over here, none of us would be getting booked for a refusal ticket. Right now, the Arizona Department of Corrections can’t afford another scandal of the same caliber, so we’re all guaranteed to be guilty for refusing to urinate, so they can cover their dirty tracks over here.
The system is just as corrupt as the inamtes. The only difference between us and the staff is the color of the costume.
Click here for Warrior’s previous prison story.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments and questions for Warrior to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Guards Disciplined for the Death of Marcia Powell
Earlier this year, Renee, writing for Jon’s Jail Journal, revealed that her friend, Marcia Powell had died from heat exposure after being locked in an outdoor cage by the guards. Here’s today’s news story on what happened to the guards responsible.
PHOENIX (AP) - Sixteen Arizona corrections employees have been fired, suspended or otherwise disciplined for their roles in the death of an inmate left in an outdoor holding cell for four hours in triple-digit heat and for a "wait-them-out" practice at the prison where she died.
Three of those disciplined were fired, two stepped down in place of being fired, 10 received suspensions ranging from 40 to 80 hours, and one was demoted. Two others will be disciplined after they return from medical leave.
Arizona Department of Corrections Director Charles Ryan announced the moves Tuesday, calling the death the "most significant example of abuse" of an inmate that he's aware of within the department.
Marcia Powell, who was serving a 27-month sentence for prostitution, died from heat-related complications hours after she collapsed May 19 in an uncovered outdoor cell at the Perryville prison in the west Phoenix suburb of Goodyear. She had been in the cell for nearly four hours, despite a policy that set a two-hour limit.
Powell, 48, was being held in the outdoor cell while being transferred from one section of the prison to an observation ward after seeing a psychologist. An autopsy report showed she had first- and second-degree burns on her face and body and a core body temperature of 108 degrees.
"That is an absolute failure," Ryan said Tuesday. "The inmate should not have been left in the enclosure that length of time."
The autopsy also found that Powell's death was an accident and that she had anti-psychotic drugs in her system. Such drugs are known to make people more susceptible to heat-related illnesses.
Ryan declined to provide the names of the corrections employees who were disciplined, saying it would be inappropriate considering they have the right to appeal their punishments. Those disciplined included a deputy warden, a prison psychologist, a chief of security and various officers.
A call to the union that represents Arizona corrections workers was not immediately returned Tuesday evening.
During the administrative investigation of Powell's death, Ryan said investigators with the Office of the Inspector General uncovered a so-called "wait-them-out" practice at the Perryville prison that went on for about a year. Inmates were placed in outdoor and indoor holdings cells for hours at a time as an alternative to using force, he said.
While Powell was not in a holding cell under that practice, Ryan said, an inmate was left in an outdoor cell for 20 hours three days before Powell's death; she did not require medical treatment. He said no one died under the "wait-them-out" practice.
The state prisons system ended its use of outdoor prison cells weeks after Powell's death. Arizona's 10 prisons had 233 outdoor cells for temporarily holding inmates awaiting transfer to punishment wards, medical units, other prisons or work assignments.
Ryan said the cells at Perryville are now used as exercise or short-term waiting areas. They are now shaded, and have misters and benches.
The criminal investigation into Powell's death is finished and at the Maricopa County attorney's office, which will decide if any corrections employees will be charged.
Donna Hamm, director of Tempe-based Middle Ground Prison Reform, said the employees' punishment helps show other prison workers that they will be held accountable for their actions.
"There was an established policy, and had it been followed, Marcia Powell would be alive today," Hamm said.
She said County Attorney Andrew Thomas should charge the employees involved in Powell's death.
"If that happens, the message is crystal clear to department employees about their responsibilities and the consequences of not following their own policy," Hamm said.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Earlier this year, Renee, writing for Jon’s Jail Journal, revealed that her friend, Marcia Powell had died from heat exposure after being locked in an outdoor cage by the guards. Here’s today’s news story on what happened to the guards responsible.
PHOENIX (AP) - Sixteen Arizona corrections employees have been fired, suspended or otherwise disciplined for their roles in the death of an inmate left in an outdoor holding cell for four hours in triple-digit heat and for a "wait-them-out" practice at the prison where she died.
Three of those disciplined were fired, two stepped down in place of being fired, 10 received suspensions ranging from 40 to 80 hours, and one was demoted. Two others will be disciplined after they return from medical leave.
Arizona Department of Corrections Director Charles Ryan announced the moves Tuesday, calling the death the "most significant example of abuse" of an inmate that he's aware of within the department.
Marcia Powell, who was serving a 27-month sentence for prostitution, died from heat-related complications hours after she collapsed May 19 in an uncovered outdoor cell at the Perryville prison in the west Phoenix suburb of Goodyear. She had been in the cell for nearly four hours, despite a policy that set a two-hour limit.
Powell, 48, was being held in the outdoor cell while being transferred from one section of the prison to an observation ward after seeing a psychologist. An autopsy report showed she had first- and second-degree burns on her face and body and a core body temperature of 108 degrees.
"That is an absolute failure," Ryan said Tuesday. "The inmate should not have been left in the enclosure that length of time."
The autopsy also found that Powell's death was an accident and that she had anti-psychotic drugs in her system. Such drugs are known to make people more susceptible to heat-related illnesses.
Ryan declined to provide the names of the corrections employees who were disciplined, saying it would be inappropriate considering they have the right to appeal their punishments. Those disciplined included a deputy warden, a prison psychologist, a chief of security and various officers.
A call to the union that represents Arizona corrections workers was not immediately returned Tuesday evening.
During the administrative investigation of Powell's death, Ryan said investigators with the Office of the Inspector General uncovered a so-called "wait-them-out" practice at the Perryville prison that went on for about a year. Inmates were placed in outdoor and indoor holdings cells for hours at a time as an alternative to using force, he said.
While Powell was not in a holding cell under that practice, Ryan said, an inmate was left in an outdoor cell for 20 hours three days before Powell's death; she did not require medical treatment. He said no one died under the "wait-them-out" practice.
The state prisons system ended its use of outdoor prison cells weeks after Powell's death. Arizona's 10 prisons had 233 outdoor cells for temporarily holding inmates awaiting transfer to punishment wards, medical units, other prisons or work assignments.
Ryan said the cells at Perryville are now used as exercise or short-term waiting areas. They are now shaded, and have misters and benches.
The criminal investigation into Powell's death is finished and at the Maricopa County attorney's office, which will decide if any corrections employees will be charged.
Donna Hamm, director of Tempe-based Middle Ground Prison Reform, said the employees' punishment helps show other prison workers that they will be held accountable for their actions.
"There was an established policy, and had it been followed, Marcia Powell would be alive today," Hamm said.
She said County Attorney Andrew Thomas should charge the employees involved in Powell's death.
"If that happens, the message is crystal clear to department employees about their responsibilities and the consequences of not following their own policy," Hamm said.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Guest Blogger Submission Guidelines
If you are an ex-prisoner or know someone in prison with a true story that you’d like to share with the readers of Jon’s Jail Journal, here are the submission guidelines:
Please keep the story within the context of this blog. Only prison stories (and occasionally crime stories) are acceptable, and they must be written by the prisoner/criminal involved.
The readers of Jon’s Jail Journal like to make up their minds for themselves, so please don’t go overboard railing against your place of incarceration or the unfairness of the legal system. Detail your situation or environment, take the readers right there with you through your words.
To determine what has worked best in the past with the readers of Jon’s Jail Journal, please read the blog entries. Here are some of the blogs that have attracted the most comments:
Polish Avenger
Rapist on the Yard
Interview with a Blood
Stories that have worked have ranged from a gangster whacking a gangster to something as simple as a prisoner smuggling peanut butter into a classroom via his sock.
Along with the story, please send a short bio. Just a few sentences long describing your age, crimes, sentence length, and the name of your place of incarceration. If you wish your name and prison to remain anonymous, please state so.
If you are no longer in prison, the story should be typed up (preferably in Microsoft Word) and sent as an email attachment to attwood.shaun@hotmail.co.uk
If you are still in prison, my prefence is for you to mail it to a family member who can type it up and email it to attwood.shaun@hotmail.co.uk If you have no outside support, then I will accept the story via snail mail.
Please feel free to hyperlink your own website or blog to the story or bio.
Stories from female prisoners are also most welcome as there are few on the Internet.
Please keep the story within the context of this blog. Only prison stories (and occasionally crime stories) are acceptable, and they must be written by the prisoner/criminal involved.
The readers of Jon’s Jail Journal like to make up their minds for themselves, so please don’t go overboard railing against your place of incarceration or the unfairness of the legal system. Detail your situation or environment, take the readers right there with you through your words.
To determine what has worked best in the past with the readers of Jon’s Jail Journal, please read the blog entries. Here are some of the blogs that have attracted the most comments:
Polish Avenger
Rapist on the Yard
Interview with a Blood
Stories that have worked have ranged from a gangster whacking a gangster to something as simple as a prisoner smuggling peanut butter into a classroom via his sock.
Along with the story, please send a short bio. Just a few sentences long describing your age, crimes, sentence length, and the name of your place of incarceration. If you wish your name and prison to remain anonymous, please state so.
If you are no longer in prison, the story should be typed up (preferably in Microsoft Word) and sent as an email attachment to attwood.shaun@hotmail.co.uk
If you are still in prison, my prefence is for you to mail it to a family member who can type it up and email it to attwood.shaun@hotmail.co.uk If you have no outside support, then I will accept the story via snail mail.
Please feel free to hyperlink your own website or blog to the story or bio.
Stories from female prisoners are also most welcome as there are few on the Internet.
Question Time With Frankie
Frankie - A Mexican Mafia hit man and leader of prison "booty bandits" who has been proposing our gay marriage ever since he saw me rubbing antifungal ointment on the bedsores on my buttocks at the Madison Street jail. He was there on murder charges he subsequently beat.
Chris wrote: I know work is supposed to build character, but earning $6 a week is ridiculous. It's almost as though they wanted to create an irresistible incentive for drug trafficking. Nah, couldn't be. Anyway, good on you, Frankie, for resisting! Stay strong, get out, do good, do well.
Frankie replied:
Chris, I’m going to paint you a quick little picture of how corrupt this system is. The Arizona Department of Corrections is awarded $30,000 plus per year for each inmate. Times 40,000 prisoners equals over $1 billion. Are we to believe with this amount of money they can’t pay us more than $6 a week to live off? You tell me how is someone supposed to build character like that? In fact it’s the other way around, they force you and put you in a situation where you have to supplement your income with irregular activity. Not only that, this so called prison would rather spend money protecting child molesters and rapists.
Bottom line, I got busted for drugs in prison and I’m paying for it.
Chris, no disrespect whatsoever. Just thought I’d throw a little something your way. Much respect, Frankie.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments or questions for Frankie to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Frankie - A Mexican Mafia hit man and leader of prison "booty bandits" who has been proposing our gay marriage ever since he saw me rubbing antifungal ointment on the bedsores on my buttocks at the Madison Street jail. He was there on murder charges he subsequently beat.
Chris wrote: I know work is supposed to build character, but earning $6 a week is ridiculous. It's almost as though they wanted to create an irresistible incentive for drug trafficking. Nah, couldn't be. Anyway, good on you, Frankie, for resisting! Stay strong, get out, do good, do well.
Frankie replied:
Chris, I’m going to paint you a quick little picture of how corrupt this system is. The Arizona Department of Corrections is awarded $30,000 plus per year for each inmate. Times 40,000 prisoners equals over $1 billion. Are we to believe with this amount of money they can’t pay us more than $6 a week to live off? You tell me how is someone supposed to build character like that? In fact it’s the other way around, they force you and put you in a situation where you have to supplement your income with irregular activity. Not only that, this so called prison would rather spend money protecting child molesters and rapists.
Bottom line, I got busted for drugs in prison and I’m paying for it.
Chris, no disrespect whatsoever. Just thought I’d throw a little something your way. Much respect, Frankie.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments or questions for Frankie to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Two Tonys Reunited with Frankie (by Frankie)
Two Tonys - A whacker of men and Mafia associate serving multiple life sentences for murders and violent crimes. Left bodies from Tucson to Alaska, but claims all his victims "had it coming." Recently diagnosed with liver cancer, and is in chemotherapy fighting to prolong his life.
Frankie - A Mexican Mafia hit man and leader of prison "booty bandits" who has been proposing our gay marriage ever since he saw me rubbing antifungal ointment on the bedsores on my buttocks at the Madison Street jail. He was there on murder charges he subsequently beat.
I finally made it to Tucson prison with Two Tonys. The first day here I was sitting in the kitchen and one of my friends tells Two Tonys, “Guess who’s here?” And Two Tonys turns around, and starts looking, and once he sees me, his eyes got real watery, and he ho chokes up, went straight for me and we hug. He almost had me crying.
Two Tonys is very sick. He’s on medication. But since I’ve been here, I take him out for walks, out in the rec field, and we bullshit for the whole of rec. We’re back together like the old days.
Two Tonys told me if he dies now, he will die happy cuz he seen me again. He thought he wouldn’t have seen me cuz they weren’t letting me come here. But I’ve been behaving, and my score is 25-21, so they didn’t have a choice.
Click here for Frankie’s previous blog.
Click here for Two Tonys previous blog.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments or questions for Frankie and Two Tonys to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Two Tonys - A whacker of men and Mafia associate serving multiple life sentences for murders and violent crimes. Left bodies from Tucson to Alaska, but claims all his victims "had it coming." Recently diagnosed with liver cancer, and is in chemotherapy fighting to prolong his life.
Frankie - A Mexican Mafia hit man and leader of prison "booty bandits" who has been proposing our gay marriage ever since he saw me rubbing antifungal ointment on the bedsores on my buttocks at the Madison Street jail. He was there on murder charges he subsequently beat.
I finally made it to Tucson prison with Two Tonys. The first day here I was sitting in the kitchen and one of my friends tells Two Tonys, “Guess who’s here?” And Two Tonys turns around, and starts looking, and once he sees me, his eyes got real watery, and he ho chokes up, went straight for me and we hug. He almost had me crying.
Two Tonys is very sick. He’s on medication. But since I’ve been here, I take him out for walks, out in the rec field, and we bullshit for the whole of rec. We’re back together like the old days.
Two Tonys told me if he dies now, he will die happy cuz he seen me again. He thought he wouldn’t have seen me cuz they weren’t letting me come here. But I’ve been behaving, and my score is 25-21, so they didn’t have a choice.
Click here for Frankie’s previous blog.
Click here for Two Tonys previous blog.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments or questions for Frankie and Two Tonys to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
From Xena (Letter 5)
Xena - A transsexual giant and Wiccan priest. The charismatic leader of Cult Of Xena (COX). Tattoos include a wasp on Xena’s penis and ant trails running up Xena’s legs. Cut off a testicle while in prison, and almost bled to death.
My Dear Friend Shaun,
I love and miss you! I hope that your new girlfriend is the one.
I have sworn off men, and now it seems I am very well hated in here. Ironic!
You are always on my mind. I have a little more than ten years left to do. Will you still be aware of me then? I hope so. I want to see you again. You changed my life dramatically, and when you left my life again was so bland. And now I feel the old anger and torment, which is a part of the prisoners’ deception of their likelihood, flowing back into my consciousness. I try to fight it. I have no friends in here to help me with the strain of its pull. I therefore must rely on memory of the one who knew how to live in here without becoming trapped by the sheer weight of time, and the pressure of its employees and other prisoners who look human yet under their skins lurk deformed atrocities, and whose purpose is to pick at the foundations of people’s faith and strength. I feel the temperament of pressure. It is heavy. It is cold, and yet I feel burned.
I am happy you are enjoying your life. I wish I could know freedom. I want to go swimming in a cold lake again, and to feel the shining of the sun on my skin afterward. The taste of honey dew and coconut with vanilla ice cream Yum! And I want you looking in my face, telling me I will be OK.
Love Xena ---XXX---
Click here for Xena’s previous letter.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments and questions for Xena to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Xena - A transsexual giant and Wiccan priest. The charismatic leader of Cult Of Xena (COX). Tattoos include a wasp on Xena’s penis and ant trails running up Xena’s legs. Cut off a testicle while in prison, and almost bled to death.
My Dear Friend Shaun,
I love and miss you! I hope that your new girlfriend is the one.
I have sworn off men, and now it seems I am very well hated in here. Ironic!
You are always on my mind. I have a little more than ten years left to do. Will you still be aware of me then? I hope so. I want to see you again. You changed my life dramatically, and when you left my life again was so bland. And now I feel the old anger and torment, which is a part of the prisoners’ deception of their likelihood, flowing back into my consciousness. I try to fight it. I have no friends in here to help me with the strain of its pull. I therefore must rely on memory of the one who knew how to live in here without becoming trapped by the sheer weight of time, and the pressure of its employees and other prisoners who look human yet under their skins lurk deformed atrocities, and whose purpose is to pick at the foundations of people’s faith and strength. I feel the temperament of pressure. It is heavy. It is cold, and yet I feel burned.
I am happy you are enjoying your life. I wish I could know freedom. I want to go swimming in a cold lake again, and to feel the shining of the sun on my skin afterward. The taste of honey dew and coconut with vanilla ice cream Yum! And I want you looking in my face, telling me I will be OK.
Love Xena ---XXX---
Click here for Xena’s previous letter.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments and questions for Xena to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Postcards from Long Island (7)
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.
Shaun,
As for your questions about what it’s like at Arpaio’s Lower Buckeye jail. The pod has a blue and gray color scheme. The control tower is surrounded by windows with a little trap for mail. The cell doors slide open with an access button on the inside. There are 36 cells in each pod with 2 staircases to the upper tier. There’s a door in the pod that leads to a 10x10 ft concrete rec area. Two other doors lead to Medical and a classroom. It’s designed to keep the area completely contained. We don’t have to go anywhere for anything.
It’s alright in the pod, but Visitation sucks. Our visits are via a TV screen. They have little phone booths in the pod with cameras and TV screens in them. Our visitors stay downstairs and we never leave the pod.
I can think of only one noise and smell that stand out far above the rest. The noise is the unbelievably jarring sound of metal crashing against metal every time one of those doors opens and shuts.
The smell above all smells has got to be my celly. The Mariachi has a prostate the size of a cucumber, but refuses to go to Medical because he’s afraid he has cancer. So when he pees it sprays all over the place like a cat. He does his best to clean it up, but he never gets it all. It smells like a public restroom in my cell. He can pee when he sits down, but he doesn’t like to because I tell him he pees like a woman when he sits down! He gets so mad, it’s hilarious!
I’ll probably be signing a plea shortly. If the number is right that is. I think it will be. I’ll write again soon.
Your friend,
Long Island
Click here for Long Island’s previous blog
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments for Long Island to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. 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.
Shaun,
As for your questions about what it’s like at Arpaio’s Lower Buckeye jail. The pod has a blue and gray color scheme. The control tower is surrounded by windows with a little trap for mail. The cell doors slide open with an access button on the inside. There are 36 cells in each pod with 2 staircases to the upper tier. There’s a door in the pod that leads to a 10x10 ft concrete rec area. Two other doors lead to Medical and a classroom. It’s designed to keep the area completely contained. We don’t have to go anywhere for anything.
It’s alright in the pod, but Visitation sucks. Our visits are via a TV screen. They have little phone booths in the pod with cameras and TV screens in them. Our visitors stay downstairs and we never leave the pod.
I can think of only one noise and smell that stand out far above the rest. The noise is the unbelievably jarring sound of metal crashing against metal every time one of those doors opens and shuts.
The smell above all smells has got to be my celly. The Mariachi has a prostate the size of a cucumber, but refuses to go to Medical because he’s afraid he has cancer. So when he pees it sprays all over the place like a cat. He does his best to clean it up, but he never gets it all. It smells like a public restroom in my cell. He can pee when he sits down, but he doesn’t like to because I tell him he pees like a woman when he sits down! He gets so mad, it’s hilarious!
I’ll probably be signing a plea shortly. If the number is right that is. I think it will be. I’ll write again soon.
Your friend,
Long Island
Click here for Long Island’s previous blog
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments for Long Island to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Wild Man Arrives at the Big House (Part 2)
Wild Man – My large and fearless raving partner from my hometown. He is one of the main characters in my jail memoir. He looked out for me in the jail when we first went in. He was sentenced before me, and ended up having various adventures in the prison system.
In Part 1 Wild Man knocked out an envoy from the Aryan Brotherhood who asked to see Wild Man’s charges. Now the Aryan Brotherhood intend to deal with Wild Man at recreation.
“Next day, I wake up for chow,” Wild Man said. “It’s breakfast. Rec’s at 10. After breakfast a couple of woods come up to me and say, ‘Put yer shoes on. You need to go to rec.’
I kinda thought about it, Do I go out swinging or listen to what they’ve got to say? I thought I’d just wing it.
I walk out to rec with three woods, and there’s six more waiting for me at the poker table. These six are the heads of the whites from all of the yards.”
“Hold on a minute. What do the heads look like?” I asked.
“Three of them are about my size. Bald heads. WHITE PRIDE on all of them. All affiliated with the Aryan Brotherhood.”
“So they would do some serious damage if they started on you?”
“Definitely. I woulda took one or two out, but I woulda got severely hurt.
I walk up, and one called Boon says, ‘Alright, Wild Man. It’s been a long time. How you doin’?’ and gives me a hug. Boon’s running Building 5.
The main guy, Jody, says to Boon, ‘You know him?’
Boon laughs, and says, ‘Yeah. He fucked a lotta dudes up at Towers jail.’
Boon whispered something to Jody, and then Jody turns to me and says, ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’
I said, ‘I didn’t know where the guy was coming from. Whether he was asking me am I a PC-case, by asking for my paperwork. I didn’t wanna leave any unanswered questions, so I gave him a left. I didn’t mean to knock him out, and embarrass him. I’m English, and that’s what you do in English prisons.’
One – with WHITE PRIDE right on the back of his head in German – started laughing. Boon was laughing. But three of them shook their heads.”
“So they were split about what to do with you?” I asked.
“Yes. Then Jody said, ‘Are you willing to apologise to him? The only reason we are not dog-piling you right now is because Boon knows about you from Towers. He said you beat the shit out of a baby shaker, and that goes a long way with us. But don’t get things fucked up. You can’t just go around hitting our heads.’
So I said to the guy I knocked out, ‘Soz about that.’
He didn’t know what soz meant. He just shook his head.
After that, I was going to rec, kicking it with Boon and the heads. I did a couple of missions for them on big guys. I’d only work one-on-one. I don’t believe in dog-piling. They were impressed with my work. They gave me the go ahead, and material to make hooch for the heads and me. Then they give me the green light on the job of the guy I knocked out.
So four weeks after knocking him out, I go up to him and say, ‘I’m having the dorm now. I’ve got the go-ahead from the heads. What you gonna do about it?’
He says, ‘You can have it. I’ll roll over. I’m going home in two months. But to save face, will you talk to me about what decisions you make, so the rest of the fellas still think I’m your right-hand man.’
Looking him dead in the eye, I tell him, ‘I’ll throw a dog a bone,’ meaning I’ll do that for him. That’s how I ended up running the dorm.”
“That’s incredible!” I said. “Only you can get away with beating up an envoy from the Aryan Brother your first day on the yard. I think they saw what a gladiator you are and figured they’d be better off putting you to good use. How many more stories you got like this one you can share at Jon’s Jail Journal?”
“About fifty.”
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Shaun P. Attwood
Wild Man – My large and fearless raving partner from my hometown. He is one of the main characters in my jail memoir. He looked out for me in the jail when we first went in. He was sentenced before me, and ended up having various adventures in the prison system.
In Part 1 Wild Man knocked out an envoy from the Aryan Brotherhood who asked to see Wild Man’s charges. Now the Aryan Brotherhood intend to deal with Wild Man at recreation.
“Next day, I wake up for chow,” Wild Man said. “It’s breakfast. Rec’s at 10. After breakfast a couple of woods come up to me and say, ‘Put yer shoes on. You need to go to rec.’
I kinda thought about it, Do I go out swinging or listen to what they’ve got to say? I thought I’d just wing it.
I walk out to rec with three woods, and there’s six more waiting for me at the poker table. These six are the heads of the whites from all of the yards.”
“Hold on a minute. What do the heads look like?” I asked.
“Three of them are about my size. Bald heads. WHITE PRIDE on all of them. All affiliated with the Aryan Brotherhood.”
“So they would do some serious damage if they started on you?”
“Definitely. I woulda took one or two out, but I woulda got severely hurt.
I walk up, and one called Boon says, ‘Alright, Wild Man. It’s been a long time. How you doin’?’ and gives me a hug. Boon’s running Building 5.
The main guy, Jody, says to Boon, ‘You know him?’
Boon laughs, and says, ‘Yeah. He fucked a lotta dudes up at Towers jail.’
Boon whispered something to Jody, and then Jody turns to me and says, ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’
I said, ‘I didn’t know where the guy was coming from. Whether he was asking me am I a PC-case, by asking for my paperwork. I didn’t wanna leave any unanswered questions, so I gave him a left. I didn’t mean to knock him out, and embarrass him. I’m English, and that’s what you do in English prisons.’
One – with WHITE PRIDE right on the back of his head in German – started laughing. Boon was laughing. But three of them shook their heads.”
“So they were split about what to do with you?” I asked.
“Yes. Then Jody said, ‘Are you willing to apologise to him? The only reason we are not dog-piling you right now is because Boon knows about you from Towers. He said you beat the shit out of a baby shaker, and that goes a long way with us. But don’t get things fucked up. You can’t just go around hitting our heads.’
So I said to the guy I knocked out, ‘Soz about that.’
He didn’t know what soz meant. He just shook his head.
After that, I was going to rec, kicking it with Boon and the heads. I did a couple of missions for them on big guys. I’d only work one-on-one. I don’t believe in dog-piling. They were impressed with my work. They gave me the go ahead, and material to make hooch for the heads and me. Then they give me the green light on the job of the guy I knocked out.
So four weeks after knocking him out, I go up to him and say, ‘I’m having the dorm now. I’ve got the go-ahead from the heads. What you gonna do about it?’
He says, ‘You can have it. I’ll roll over. I’m going home in two months. But to save face, will you talk to me about what decisions you make, so the rest of the fellas still think I’m your right-hand man.’
Looking him dead in the eye, I tell him, ‘I’ll throw a dog a bone,’ meaning I’ll do that for him. That’s how I ended up running the dorm.”
“That’s incredible!” I said. “Only you can get away with beating up an envoy from the Aryan Brother your first day on the yard. I think they saw what a gladiator you are and figured they’d be better off putting you to good use. How many more stories you got like this one you can share at Jon’s Jail Journal?”
“About fifty.”
Do we want more Wild Man prison stories?
Email comments for Wild Man to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Wild Man Arrives at the Big House (Part 1)
Wild Man – My large and fearless raving partner from my hometown. He is also Hammy’s cousin, and one of the main characters in my jail memoir. He looked out for me at Arpaio’s Towers jail when we first went in. He was sentenced a year before me, and ended up having various adventures in the prison system. I recently asked him to share some of his prison stories. Click here to read the previous blog I did on him.
“So what was it like your first day arriving at a prison yard?” I asked.
“It was around July ’03,” Wild Man said, “and I’d just got 8 years. I’d already done 14 months at Arpaio’s jail, where I was with you. I’m sentenced, so I’m going straight to the big house. I walk into Steiner Unit at Buckeye prison, a high-medium yard, and go to the end of the dorm. It was a twenty-five-man dorm. Four bunk beds. The rest single cubicles. I put my net bag on the top bunk, and this big wood comes over all slung down with political ink, and a big WHITE PRIDE across his chest.”
“Someone the Aryan Brotherhood’s sent to check you out?”
“Yes. He walks up to me and says, ‘What’s up, wood! I’m the head of the white boys in this dorm.’
I say, ‘I’m Wild Man, and I’m having a bad day. I just got 8 years. I’ve been in transport all day. I’m going to get my head down for a few hours. Could you wake me up?’
He says, ‘I need to see your paperwork.’
I said to him, ‘What the fuck did you just ask me?’
He said, ‘You heard. Where is your paperwork? I need to see it.’
Well, the next thing you know, I swung a big ol’ left that caught him on the jaw. He fell like a bag of turd, and was knocked out.”
“Holy shit!” I said. “How were you planning on getting away with that?”
“He shouldn’t have come at me like that. I’d had a hard day in transport. You know how it is, Shaun.
So his boys come rushing in, saying, ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You’re not gonna get away with that! We’ll handle this at rec.’”
“How did that make you feel?” I asked.
“I went to sleep for a few hours. I was tired.”
“Unbelievable!” I said.
“Next day, I wake up for chow. It’s breakfast. Rec’s at 10…”
Wild Man – My large and fearless raving partner from my hometown. He is also Hammy’s cousin, and one of the main characters in my jail memoir. He looked out for me at Arpaio’s Towers jail when we first went in. He was sentenced a year before me, and ended up having various adventures in the prison system. I recently asked him to share some of his prison stories. Click here to read the previous blog I did on him.
“So what was it like your first day arriving at a prison yard?” I asked.
“It was around July ’03,” Wild Man said, “and I’d just got 8 years. I’d already done 14 months at Arpaio’s jail, where I was with you. I’m sentenced, so I’m going straight to the big house. I walk into Steiner Unit at Buckeye prison, a high-medium yard, and go to the end of the dorm. It was a twenty-five-man dorm. Four bunk beds. The rest single cubicles. I put my net bag on the top bunk, and this big wood comes over all slung down with political ink, and a big WHITE PRIDE across his chest.”
“Someone the Aryan Brotherhood’s sent to check you out?”
“Yes. He walks up to me and says, ‘What’s up, wood! I’m the head of the white boys in this dorm.’
I say, ‘I’m Wild Man, and I’m having a bad day. I just got 8 years. I’ve been in transport all day. I’m going to get my head down for a few hours. Could you wake me up?’
He says, ‘I need to see your paperwork.’
I said to him, ‘What the fuck did you just ask me?’
He said, ‘You heard. Where is your paperwork? I need to see it.’
Well, the next thing you know, I swung a big ol’ left that caught him on the jaw. He fell like a bag of turd, and was knocked out.”
“Holy shit!” I said. “How were you planning on getting away with that?”
“He shouldn’t have come at me like that. I’d had a hard day in transport. You know how it is, Shaun.
So his boys come rushing in, saying, ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You’re not gonna get away with that! We’ll handle this at rec.’”
“How did that make you feel?” I asked.
“I went to sleep for a few hours. I was tired.”
“Unbelievable!” I said.
“Next day, I wake up for chow. It’s breakfast. Rec’s at 10…”
.
Do you think the Aryan Brotherhood will retaliate against Wild man for knocking out one of their woods?
.
Email comments for Wild Man to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
.
Shaun P. Attwood
Convictions of a Juvie (by Shane)
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.
“This is your bunk,” the balding middle-aged man told me, his crooked finger pointing at an empty lower bunk.
As my tired eyes scanned the small bedroom containing four bunk beds, the smell of sweat assaulted my olfactories. “Can I get something to eat?” I asked, still unsure of whether the group-home parent was anybody to worry about.
His inebriated response told me how it was going to be with him. “No. Breakfast is a privilege here. You ain’t with your mommy and daddy anymore.”
As soon as John the house parent left the room, a toe-headed youngster sat up in the bed across from mine. “It’s OK, he’s an asshole to us all. I’ll get you something to eat.” He climbed out of the bed, and tiptoed to the door. He looked to be about ten-years old, which wasn’t a surprise to me. In my thirteen years, I’d learned that the world had unwanted kids of all ages.
Sneaking out of the room, he left the door slightly ajar. Minutes later he returned with a girl of around fifteen years with black hair.
“Jimmy says, you’re new here and hungry. My name’s Alexis. I live down the hall. Here’s a muffin. This should get you until breakfast.” She told me with a coquettish smile.
Accepting the muffin, I thanked her. The three of us sat around for a few minutes in whispered conversation before she snuck back to her room and we all went to sleep. Exhausted, I fell asleep fairly quickly.
Awoken by the sound of a loud menacing voice yelling, “Who the fuck did it?” I jumped up and quickly ran out of the door towards the racket. As I stood in the doorway of Alexis’ room, I saw four girls in their underclothes standing in a row with John before them, clearly in a rage. He had startled them awake and lined them up still half asleep. Scared, they hadn’t even noticed their near nakedness.
“Who ate my fucking food?” John yelled again, still unaware I was there.
I could see the fear in Alexis’ pretty hazel eyes as John approached her face to face. Looking at her up and down in a lecherous manner, John asked, “You ate my muffin?”
On the verge of tears, and now painfully aware of her near nakedness, Alexis looked ready to break.
Before I could even think it over, I blurted out, “I ate your stupid muffin!”
Surprised, John turned on me, dumbfounded. His look of astonishment quickly turned to fury. He took a step toward me, so I quickly turned and dashed down the hall, finding myself in a dining room. The house was foreign to me, making me that much more panicked.
When John quickly entered the dining room, my mind was already in flight mode. As he came around the table, I picked a candle holder off a table and flung it at him.
Ducking, it narrowly missed his head. Now even more enraged, he ran around the table, but I’d already shot out an open door into the kitchen.
Grabbing a small plastic jug sitting on the counter top next to the refrigerator, I threw it at the open door. Just as I’d hoped, the jug and its contents hit John in the chest as he entered.
“Get the hell away from me!” I yelled, watching the water soak his shirt. Spying a door that locked outside, I shot towards it. Please be open, I thought as I reached for the doorknob. Moving too frantically, I fell out the door as it opened, sending me stumbling into some bushes in the backyard.
Fighting back the tears from fear and the pain from the scrapes and scratches, I got to my feet and was gone. Hitting the back fence, I was up and over in seconds, sprinting down the alleyway.
Days later, I’d be arrested for being out past curfew. To my disbelief, I learned that John had filed a police report saying I’d stolen $20 from his wallet and assaulted him when he confronted me.
I was charged with petty theft, adjudicated guilty and sent to Juvenile Detention for this “crime.” I’ve committed my share of crimes over the years. I deserved punishment, but who doles out the punishment for those working the system for their benefit?
Click here for Shane's previous story
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments for Shane to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. 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.
“This is your bunk,” the balding middle-aged man told me, his crooked finger pointing at an empty lower bunk.
As my tired eyes scanned the small bedroom containing four bunk beds, the smell of sweat assaulted my olfactories. “Can I get something to eat?” I asked, still unsure of whether the group-home parent was anybody to worry about.
His inebriated response told me how it was going to be with him. “No. Breakfast is a privilege here. You ain’t with your mommy and daddy anymore.”
As soon as John the house parent left the room, a toe-headed youngster sat up in the bed across from mine. “It’s OK, he’s an asshole to us all. I’ll get you something to eat.” He climbed out of the bed, and tiptoed to the door. He looked to be about ten-years old, which wasn’t a surprise to me. In my thirteen years, I’d learned that the world had unwanted kids of all ages.
Sneaking out of the room, he left the door slightly ajar. Minutes later he returned with a girl of around fifteen years with black hair.
“Jimmy says, you’re new here and hungry. My name’s Alexis. I live down the hall. Here’s a muffin. This should get you until breakfast.” She told me with a coquettish smile.
Accepting the muffin, I thanked her. The three of us sat around for a few minutes in whispered conversation before she snuck back to her room and we all went to sleep. Exhausted, I fell asleep fairly quickly.
Awoken by the sound of a loud menacing voice yelling, “Who the fuck did it?” I jumped up and quickly ran out of the door towards the racket. As I stood in the doorway of Alexis’ room, I saw four girls in their underclothes standing in a row with John before them, clearly in a rage. He had startled them awake and lined them up still half asleep. Scared, they hadn’t even noticed their near nakedness.
“Who ate my fucking food?” John yelled again, still unaware I was there.
I could see the fear in Alexis’ pretty hazel eyes as John approached her face to face. Looking at her up and down in a lecherous manner, John asked, “You ate my muffin?”
On the verge of tears, and now painfully aware of her near nakedness, Alexis looked ready to break.
Before I could even think it over, I blurted out, “I ate your stupid muffin!”
Surprised, John turned on me, dumbfounded. His look of astonishment quickly turned to fury. He took a step toward me, so I quickly turned and dashed down the hall, finding myself in a dining room. The house was foreign to me, making me that much more panicked.
When John quickly entered the dining room, my mind was already in flight mode. As he came around the table, I picked a candle holder off a table and flung it at him.
Ducking, it narrowly missed his head. Now even more enraged, he ran around the table, but I’d already shot out an open door into the kitchen.
Grabbing a small plastic jug sitting on the counter top next to the refrigerator, I threw it at the open door. Just as I’d hoped, the jug and its contents hit John in the chest as he entered.
“Get the hell away from me!” I yelled, watching the water soak his shirt. Spying a door that locked outside, I shot towards it. Please be open, I thought as I reached for the doorknob. Moving too frantically, I fell out the door as it opened, sending me stumbling into some bushes in the backyard.
Fighting back the tears from fear and the pain from the scrapes and scratches, I got to my feet and was gone. Hitting the back fence, I was up and over in seconds, sprinting down the alleyway.
Days later, I’d be arrested for being out past curfew. To my disbelief, I learned that John had filed a police report saying I’d stolen $20 from his wallet and assaulted him when he confronted me.
I was charged with petty theft, adjudicated guilty and sent to Juvenile Detention for this “crime.” I’ve committed my share of crimes over the years. I deserved punishment, but who doles out the punishment for those working the system for their benefit?
Click here for Shane's previous story
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments for Shane to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Central Unit (Prologue 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.
In this story, the guards at Central Unit are staging human cockfights, and part 7 left off with Warrior almost getting attacked by a Mexican.
In my time at Central Unit, I saw a lot. The numerous ways of causing harm were unbelievable. From the physical to the psychological. I took advice from the wise, examined the minds of the sadistic, and observed the actions of the mentally ill. My comprehension began to blossom.
My time there reminded me of Plato’s parable of the cave. Few want to come out of their cave and question what they believe to be true.
It’s even worse when a system designed to serve and protect operates like Central Unit. Or when a system contributes to the maintenance of its own job security at the expense of lives, society and the innocent.
Jail a man, degrade him, harm him psychologically and physically, provide no rehabilitation, then release him out into society. What will he do? How will he survive? By the same brutal inhumane ways that sustained him in prison. When you don’t know any better, you rely on the survival skills that have always worked.
The unfortunate outcome is recidivism. Another crime or victim, lives damaged, lives lost.
In the end we are all held accountable for our works, the systems we design, even the subtle contributions we think are on the periphery of the universe’s vision.
Click here to read Central Unit Part 1
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments and questions for Warrior to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. 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.
In this story, the guards at Central Unit are staging human cockfights, and part 7 left off with Warrior almost getting attacked by a Mexican.
In my time at Central Unit, I saw a lot. The numerous ways of causing harm were unbelievable. From the physical to the psychological. I took advice from the wise, examined the minds of the sadistic, and observed the actions of the mentally ill. My comprehension began to blossom.
My time there reminded me of Plato’s parable of the cave. Few want to come out of their cave and question what they believe to be true.
It’s even worse when a system designed to serve and protect operates like Central Unit. Or when a system contributes to the maintenance of its own job security at the expense of lives, society and the innocent.
Jail a man, degrade him, harm him psychologically and physically, provide no rehabilitation, then release him out into society. What will he do? How will he survive? By the same brutal inhumane ways that sustained him in prison. When you don’t know any better, you rely on the survival skills that have always worked.
The unfortunate outcome is recidivism. Another crime or victim, lives damaged, lives lost.
In the end we are all held accountable for our works, the systems we design, even the subtle contributions we think are on the periphery of the universe’s vision.
Click here to read Central Unit Part 1
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments and questions for Warrior to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Question Time with Shane
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.
Shane responds to the comments on his $115,000 court victory over the Arizona Department of Corrections.
Thank you Leigh and Chris Phoenix for your encouragement and support. I appreciate your comments. All those who recognize prisoners are human beings and must be treated as such under the law are wise.
In response to Sweet Kitty’s comments, I can only say that it’s a pity you hold these feelings/ideals. What message are you teaching children? Condemnation, unforgivingness, distrust, justice for some not for others…
I commend you on your contributions to teaching kids and cancer research. If nothing more, I hope that by reading Shaun’s and my own blog, you’ll learn something you can share with a kid. Try reading some of my past entries on drugs and my childhood.
Maybe one day, when Shaun or myself are speaking to your kids at their school auditorium, you’ll shake our hand on an even playing field. Don’t be surprised if they listen to me. I’ve been in prisons, jails, done the drugs, committed crimes, survived a rotten childhood…I speak from experience and knowledge.
In closing: I committed a crime and broke the law. I’m paying for this by being incarcerated for 11¼ years. Everybody who breaks the law should pay their dues – just like I am. Nobody is above the law. Call it hypocrisy or whatever helps you sleep, but it’s the truth.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments for Shane to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. 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.
Shane responds to the comments on his $115,000 court victory over the Arizona Department of Corrections.
Thank you Leigh and Chris Phoenix for your encouragement and support. I appreciate your comments. All those who recognize prisoners are human beings and must be treated as such under the law are wise.
In response to Sweet Kitty’s comments, I can only say that it’s a pity you hold these feelings/ideals. What message are you teaching children? Condemnation, unforgivingness, distrust, justice for some not for others…
I commend you on your contributions to teaching kids and cancer research. If nothing more, I hope that by reading Shaun’s and my own blog, you’ll learn something you can share with a kid. Try reading some of my past entries on drugs and my childhood.
Maybe one day, when Shaun or myself are speaking to your kids at their school auditorium, you’ll shake our hand on an even playing field. Don’t be surprised if they listen to me. I’ve been in prisons, jails, done the drugs, committed crimes, survived a rotten childhood…I speak from experience and knowledge.
In closing: I committed a crime and broke the law. I’m paying for this by being incarcerated for 11¼ years. Everybody who breaks the law should pay their dues – just like I am. Nobody is above the law. Call it hypocrisy or whatever helps you sleep, but it’s the truth.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments for Shane to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Words to Live By (by Rocky)
Rocky has just under a year left to serve at Safford, Arizona. He was sentenced for two separate cases: burglary and aggravated assault.
Last September we were out on a 4 yard for our 2 hours rec. The yard had been live for days because there was a lot of black [heroin] and almost everyone had been high for three days or so. 4 yards are dangerous anyway because they house the next highest classification inmates below 5. But it seemed to be really on edge that day.
Pokey, Taz and I were just sitting around shooting the shit. We were commenting on the thickness of the air on the yard. The dope debts were heavy at the time, which caused a lot of tension between the races.
Taz spotted a Native American walking into the gym with the straight end of a shovel sticking out by his boot and the handle rising up the pants’ leg. We knew it was about to get real live. We were working our way to the entrance of the gym, about 10 foot from the door, when three guys came out, all natives. They walked by us like they were on their way out of a burning building.
Taz pushed the door open and stepped into the gym as the door closed behind him. We stayed outside the door to keep point.
No sooner did the door close behind him, I heard “Motherfucker! Motherfucker!” at the top of the lungs.
I pushed the door open to see Taz flipping and flopping, sliding around, trying to get to his feet in the biggest pool of blood I have ever seen to date. Next to him was the headless body of a Mexican in the middle of the pool of blood with his head about 10 feet away, eyes open, mouth open, and staring straight at me with an expression on his face of terror.
The three Native Americans had held this guy down and chopped off his head with the shovel. You could see the hack marks on the chest and what was left of the neck.
I turned to help Taz get up, and got pulled down into the bloody mess.
Just then a C.O. busted through the door, and said, “Spread-fuckin’-eagle on the floor now!”
I couldn’t have ran if I wanted to. It was like being in baby oil on hard wood.
They cuffed us up, and took us to SMU1 where we sat under investigation for murder for 7 months. They saw the whole thing on camera, but tried for 7 months to tie us into it. We were finally cleared.
Now if a guy gets stabbed to death in front of me in the chow line, I know to just step over the body and go eat real fast because there will be lockdown coming for sure. Now I don’t see anything, hear anything, or say anything. These are words to live by in prison.
Click here for Rocky’s previous blog.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments and questions for Rocky to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
The Occult Killer Goes to Medical with a Rash (by 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.
Took a little adventure for myself yesterday. I’d been dealing with this rash on my hands for a little while that looks like hives or nano-bee stings or something. It never progressed from the back of my hands, so I tried to wait it out. Though it never got worse, it persisted even over the weekend, which began to spook me, so I finally talked to my boss in the prison laundry. To keep inconvenience to a minimum, I asked to go when we were on break after 1600 count. How long could it take, right? I went up at 1630 when count cleared, blasting past the chow halls, foregoing dinner. I wanted it addressed, ASAP.
I go to the waiting room adjacent to the dispensary (where the pills are given out, as the name may suggest) and check my pass with the cop on duty. And I wait. And wait. Insulin Line is called. I know those guys take priority, so I settle in further for a longer haul. And I wait. It takes so long, the cop tells me I should go eat before they stop running dinner, which happens around 6pm.
Upon returning from my hamburger, I’m called in. A nurse gets my info, looks me over, and takes my vitals. Before I know it, I’m sitting with my arms outstretched, a cuff on my right bicep, thermometer in my mouth, and a pulse clamp on my right index finger, cables all running into a single machine. Tests complete, she removes the apparatus and we discuss the possibilities of my ailment’s origin.
Her conclusion is constant exposure to something in the workplace, be it protective gear or chemicals and detergents, has garnered a spontaneous allergic reaction. I explain I’m not the allergic type and provide the anecdote that I’ve lived around and worked in a dental lab all my life, contacting all sorts of dangerous chemicals from irritants to carcinogens, AND all manner of gloves. This being my 1st run-in with medical, I’m trying to make the best of impressions. My demeanor is calm and mild, my manner, polite, i.e. nowhere near argumentative. After her services are rendered, I thank her for her time and she asks me to wait for the doctor outside, for only he can prognose and prescribe.
In the interim, a group of about a dozen have gathered for the optometrist, who isn’t here yet. Treatment Line guys come and go. 1900 Pill Line comes and goes. I see a few co-workers who, through the glass, contort their faces and raise their arms as if to say, “What the hell are YOU doing in there?” I convey my exasperation with the appropriate exaggerated head-shaking and shoulder-shrugging that can only mean “I don’t even know anymore. I give up.”
The optometrist somehow turns up, alive, and takes guys one by one for 15-min-long check-ups. Nearly everyone is gone by the time I see the doctor after EIGHT o’clock. Mind you, I still have to check back in to work to tie up loose ends, go back to the block to cross my name off the CI out-count list so 2100 count is right, and get a shower.
Finally seeing the doctor, rejuvenates my appreciative, easy-going side. He was an Indian guy, with only the thickest of accents. He looks over the nurse’s paperwork, gives me a secondary check-up, and provides his assessment.
DR: Okay, what you will do is apply cold compress, no ice, just cold water, and then some hy-dro-cor-ti-sone cream. (turns to the nurse) Do we have hydrocortisone?
NURSE: Yes, we do. (she hands me about 10 HC condiment packets)
DR: Okay, cold compress and hydrocortisone cream, twice a day. Now, I’ll give you a script for Benadryl…
NURSE: You’ll have to come to Pill Line for that, morning, noon, and night.
DR: …50 mg, forty times a day for three days…(I knew instantly is was four, but it sounded like forty).
NURSE: We can only give it three times a day.
DR: …3 times a day for three days, okay…
The whole time this is going on, I’m imagining him prescribing me pilgrimages to the Ganges, to bathe in it three times a day for three days, or plug my nose with cotton soaked in the urine of a pregnant cow. If I wasn’t wholly ignorant of the culture, I could more accurately and descriptively make jokes at its expense.
“You will journey to the ashram, and feed the holy stale bread to the sacred rats who divinely infest that hallowed place, then your hands shall be cured of their bumpiness.”
So, in the end, I got my creams, my pill pass for Benadryl super doses, two days off work, then went about my business. They gave me one for the road, said it might make me drowsy. There weren’t kidding. Couple hours later, I wasn’t any good to anybody, slurring my words and nodding out.
The whole deal took nearly four hours, too long really. It’s their policy to cover work-related injury, however slight, but they fight you sometimes. Plus I have to hash out my pay. With a medical lay-in as I’m on, you’re compensated for hours missed at the normal rate, minus the bonus. That’s great, I don’t expect a bonus for time I didn’t put in. What they in turn will claim is because I missed more than 10% of the work month, I’ll only receive a half bonus for the hours I did work. Sneaky, sneaky. I have no control over a medical lay-in, I can’t be punished for it, sigh…
Click here to read Occult Killer’s previous blog.
Click here to read more from the Occult Killer at Prison Mom by Sue O.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments and questions for the Occult Killer to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. 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.
Took a little adventure for myself yesterday. I’d been dealing with this rash on my hands for a little while that looks like hives or nano-bee stings or something. It never progressed from the back of my hands, so I tried to wait it out. Though it never got worse, it persisted even over the weekend, which began to spook me, so I finally talked to my boss in the prison laundry. To keep inconvenience to a minimum, I asked to go when we were on break after 1600 count. How long could it take, right? I went up at 1630 when count cleared, blasting past the chow halls, foregoing dinner. I wanted it addressed, ASAP.
I go to the waiting room adjacent to the dispensary (where the pills are given out, as the name may suggest) and check my pass with the cop on duty. And I wait. And wait. Insulin Line is called. I know those guys take priority, so I settle in further for a longer haul. And I wait. It takes so long, the cop tells me I should go eat before they stop running dinner, which happens around 6pm.
Upon returning from my hamburger, I’m called in. A nurse gets my info, looks me over, and takes my vitals. Before I know it, I’m sitting with my arms outstretched, a cuff on my right bicep, thermometer in my mouth, and a pulse clamp on my right index finger, cables all running into a single machine. Tests complete, she removes the apparatus and we discuss the possibilities of my ailment’s origin.
Her conclusion is constant exposure to something in the workplace, be it protective gear or chemicals and detergents, has garnered a spontaneous allergic reaction. I explain I’m not the allergic type and provide the anecdote that I’ve lived around and worked in a dental lab all my life, contacting all sorts of dangerous chemicals from irritants to carcinogens, AND all manner of gloves. This being my 1st run-in with medical, I’m trying to make the best of impressions. My demeanor is calm and mild, my manner, polite, i.e. nowhere near argumentative. After her services are rendered, I thank her for her time and she asks me to wait for the doctor outside, for only he can prognose and prescribe.
In the interim, a group of about a dozen have gathered for the optometrist, who isn’t here yet. Treatment Line guys come and go. 1900 Pill Line comes and goes. I see a few co-workers who, through the glass, contort their faces and raise their arms as if to say, “What the hell are YOU doing in there?” I convey my exasperation with the appropriate exaggerated head-shaking and shoulder-shrugging that can only mean “I don’t even know anymore. I give up.”
The optometrist somehow turns up, alive, and takes guys one by one for 15-min-long check-ups. Nearly everyone is gone by the time I see the doctor after EIGHT o’clock. Mind you, I still have to check back in to work to tie up loose ends, go back to the block to cross my name off the CI out-count list so 2100 count is right, and get a shower.
Finally seeing the doctor, rejuvenates my appreciative, easy-going side. He was an Indian guy, with only the thickest of accents. He looks over the nurse’s paperwork, gives me a secondary check-up, and provides his assessment.
DR: Okay, what you will do is apply cold compress, no ice, just cold water, and then some hy-dro-cor-ti-sone cream. (turns to the nurse) Do we have hydrocortisone?
NURSE: Yes, we do. (she hands me about 10 HC condiment packets)
DR: Okay, cold compress and hydrocortisone cream, twice a day. Now, I’ll give you a script for Benadryl…
NURSE: You’ll have to come to Pill Line for that, morning, noon, and night.
DR: …50 mg, forty times a day for three days…(I knew instantly is was four, but it sounded like forty).
NURSE: We can only give it three times a day.
DR: …3 times a day for three days, okay…
The whole time this is going on, I’m imagining him prescribing me pilgrimages to the Ganges, to bathe in it three times a day for three days, or plug my nose with cotton soaked in the urine of a pregnant cow. If I wasn’t wholly ignorant of the culture, I could more accurately and descriptively make jokes at its expense.
“You will journey to the ashram, and feed the holy stale bread to the sacred rats who divinely infest that hallowed place, then your hands shall be cured of their bumpiness.”
So, in the end, I got my creams, my pill pass for Benadryl super doses, two days off work, then went about my business. They gave me one for the road, said it might make me drowsy. There weren’t kidding. Couple hours later, I wasn’t any good to anybody, slurring my words and nodding out.
The whole deal took nearly four hours, too long really. It’s their policy to cover work-related injury, however slight, but they fight you sometimes. Plus I have to hash out my pay. With a medical lay-in as I’m on, you’re compensated for hours missed at the normal rate, minus the bonus. That’s great, I don’t expect a bonus for time I didn’t put in. What they in turn will claim is because I missed more than 10% of the work month, I’ll only receive a half bonus for the hours I did work. Sneaky, sneaky. I have no control over a medical lay-in, I can’t be punished for it, sigh…
Click here to read Occult Killer’s previous blog.
Click here to read more from the Occult Killer at Prison Mom by Sue O.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments and questions for the Occult Killer to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Top Ten Funny Prison Tattoos I’ve Seen (by Polish Avenger)
Polish Avenger - A software-engineering undergraduate sentenced to 25 years because his friend was shot dead during a burglary they were both committing. Author of the classic "Shit Slinger" series.
These all really exist – people put some strange things on themselves.
10) “F**** YOU” right across the knuckles of both hands. Hmm, what are you trying to say?
9) “F*** WHAT YOU THINK” in Old English letters across the neckline.
8) “F*** THE POLICE” on the back of the neck. This may affect one’s employment opportunities!
7) Barbed wire, gun towers, and chain-link fences. What, we don’t have enough to remember prison by already?
6) A person’s last name in huge letters across the back. Makes it hard to run from the police!
5) The telephone area code where you live. Did you forget?
4) The traditional hometown across the extremely tender strip above your belly button. The guy from Ohio gets off easy. God help the one from Massachusetts!
3) Spider webs – but not on the elbows like most cons. Nope, these were on the guy’s balls. Now that’s dedication!
2) An explicit scene from a porno book. Including a giant wiener. Seriously.
1) Anything misspelled. The very best was one guy with “F*** AUTHORITY” across his back in 2-inch lettering, and “F***” was spelled wrong! Ha ha ha!
Click here for Polish Avenger’s previous blog on prison ink.
Click here for some of the best stories at Jon's Jail Journal.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments and questions for Polish Avenger to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. 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 both committing. Author of the classic "Shit Slinger" series.
These all really exist – people put some strange things on themselves.
10) “F**** YOU” right across the knuckles of both hands. Hmm, what are you trying to say?
9) “F*** WHAT YOU THINK” in Old English letters across the neckline.
8) “F*** THE POLICE” on the back of the neck. This may affect one’s employment opportunities!
7) Barbed wire, gun towers, and chain-link fences. What, we don’t have enough to remember prison by already?
6) A person’s last name in huge letters across the back. Makes it hard to run from the police!
5) The telephone area code where you live. Did you forget?
4) The traditional hometown across the extremely tender strip above your belly button. The guy from Ohio gets off easy. God help the one from Massachusetts!
3) Spider webs – but not on the elbows like most cons. Nope, these were on the guy’s balls. Now that’s dedication!
2) An explicit scene from a porno book. Including a giant wiener. Seriously.
1) Anything misspelled. The very best was one guy with “F*** AUTHORITY” across his back in 2-inch lettering, and “F***” was spelled wrong! Ha ha ha!
Click here for Polish Avenger’s previous blog on prison ink.
Click here for some of the best stories at Jon's Jail Journal.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments and questions for Polish Avenger to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun Attwood
From Frankie (Letter 13)
Frankie - A Mexican Mafia hit man and leader of prison "booty bandits" who has been proposing our gay marriage ever since he saw me rubbing antifungal ointment on the bedsores on my buttocks at the Madison Street jail. He was there on murder charges he subsequently beat.
7-28-09
What’s up, Englandman?
Yes, it’s been a while my friend, but you’re not forgotten and the love will always be here. (smile)
How could I forget a hairy ass like yours?
Anyway, I’ve been real busy, going to school from 8am to 10:30am, then I go to work from 12:30pm to 8:30pm 7 days a week in the kitchen, so I really haven’t had any time for anything.
It’s not that I lost faith, I had to do something to survive in this place. I honestly stopped messing around with drugs, so now I’m living off of $12 every 2 weeks as I’m making 20 cents an hour.
At times some of my friends come by and try to put some stuff in my hands, so that I can make money, and it’s very tempting, but I continue to refuse.
I should have been out already if it wasn’t for that dope I got busted with, and when my release date came that’s when I felt it the most.
As of now, I have 16 months left on the 4 ½ years and I’m not messing that up. Unless in the next month Sept! they change the 85% release to 65% then I’ll be home a lot sooner.
My friend, I ain’t written a letter in such a long time that my hand is already hurting. Damn! I need to get back into it.
As always, I’m still the greatest in chess. Many have tried to take the crown, but haven’t been able to.
Well, my friend, I’m going to close for now. Give my L&R to your mom and dad.
Much Love & Respect,
Frankie
Click here for Frankie’s previous letter.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments or questions for Frankie to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
Frankie - A Mexican Mafia hit man and leader of prison "booty bandits" who has been proposing our gay marriage ever since he saw me rubbing antifungal ointment on the bedsores on my buttocks at the Madison Street jail. He was there on murder charges he subsequently beat.
7-28-09
What’s up, Englandman?
Yes, it’s been a while my friend, but you’re not forgotten and the love will always be here. (smile)
How could I forget a hairy ass like yours?
Anyway, I’ve been real busy, going to school from 8am to 10:30am, then I go to work from 12:30pm to 8:30pm 7 days a week in the kitchen, so I really haven’t had any time for anything.
It’s not that I lost faith, I had to do something to survive in this place. I honestly stopped messing around with drugs, so now I’m living off of $12 every 2 weeks as I’m making 20 cents an hour.
At times some of my friends come by and try to put some stuff in my hands, so that I can make money, and it’s very tempting, but I continue to refuse.
I should have been out already if it wasn’t for that dope I got busted with, and when my release date came that’s when I felt it the most.
As of now, I have 16 months left on the 4 ½ years and I’m not messing that up. Unless in the next month Sept! they change the 85% release to 65% then I’ll be home a lot sooner.
My friend, I ain’t written a letter in such a long time that my hand is already hurting. Damn! I need to get back into it.
As always, I’m still the greatest in chess. Many have tried to take the crown, but haven’t been able to.
Well, my friend, I’m going to close for now. Give my L&R to your mom and dad.
Much Love & Respect,
Frankie
Click here for Frankie’s previous letter.
Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
Email comments or questions for Frankie to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
Shaun P. Attwood
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