Monday, May 17, 2010
What Makes a Woman?
When Catlin came into the dorm I knew it was a mistake. She looked every bit the woman. Her long blonde hair was beautifully arranged in a high style that screamed Madison Avenue stylist. Her make-up was an art. Catlin wore a tan cashmere sweater, a brown tweed skirt and over the knee dark brown suede boots. I took her back to my office at once. Catlin began to cry. "This a a mistake. I was accused of shoplifting. It is not true. I have plenty of money to pay for anything I want. Please, let me call my friend. Once he knows where I am, he will bail me out immediately."
Catlin used my phone and reached her friend who said that he would go to the closest police station and bail her out at once. Unfortunately, 'at once' can be 24 hours. I didn't know how I was going to protect her now.
Catlin told me that she had gone through most of the treatment to complete her sex change. Her body certainly made that clear. However, she had one more operation to be completed. According to the Department of Corrections, as long as the penis is attached, the person was considered male.
After some thought, I asked Paul to come into my office and asked Catlin to wait outside to stay very close by. Although Paul is a small man, not very strong, and a paraplegic, he ran the dorm. Rumor had it that he was a very important drug dealer and was very well connected. There was no one who would disrespect him. Whatever he was on the street, his reputation followed him and he was the man in charge.
I asked Paul if he would protect Catlin while she was in the dorm and he agreed to place her in his charge. I brought Catlin back in and introduced them. Paul was a perfect gentleman. He treated her with courtesy and kindness. I knew she would be safe. She was safe and she was released the next day.
A few weeks later, Paul came into my office ans showed me some pictures. They were pictures of Catlin as a model. There were pictures of her in an evening dress, a pants suit, and pictures of her in a tiny bikini. Catlin was a beautiful woman and even in a bathing suit there was no evidence that she was anything else. Paul and I were very pleased.
When I come home to the upper east side of New York, I feel as if I am on another planet...a white bread planet. I miss the energy of jail. I am easily bored by talk of fashion, new restaurants, or choice of another vacation. I can't talk to these people about my job because they can't relate to it. They think that the people in jail are worthless. It is their fear that makes them anxious but their disdain makes me angry. I am not a bleeding heart liberal. I don't see my job as saving or serving the under privileged. My job is great because the beautiful the people I work with are great. The Correction Officers, the medical staff, the other civilians but it is mostly the residents. It is their greatness of heart, their generosity of spirit, and their wonderful sense of humor that makes me love this job. It makes me happy to go to work on Monday. It makes me excited to pass through the gates. It makes me feel special because they make me feel special. I would rather have their respect and affection than most of the people on Planet White bread.
Catlin used my phone and reached her friend who said that he would go to the closest police station and bail her out at once. Unfortunately, 'at once' can be 24 hours. I didn't know how I was going to protect her now.
Catlin told me that she had gone through most of the treatment to complete her sex change. Her body certainly made that clear. However, she had one more operation to be completed. According to the Department of Corrections, as long as the penis is attached, the person was considered male.
After some thought, I asked Paul to come into my office and asked Catlin to wait outside to stay very close by. Although Paul is a small man, not very strong, and a paraplegic, he ran the dorm. Rumor had it that he was a very important drug dealer and was very well connected. There was no one who would disrespect him. Whatever he was on the street, his reputation followed him and he was the man in charge.
I asked Paul if he would protect Catlin while she was in the dorm and he agreed to place her in his charge. I brought Catlin back in and introduced them. Paul was a perfect gentleman. He treated her with courtesy and kindness. I knew she would be safe. She was safe and she was released the next day.
A few weeks later, Paul came into my office ans showed me some pictures. They were pictures of Catlin as a model. There were pictures of her in an evening dress, a pants suit, and pictures of her in a tiny bikini. Catlin was a beautiful woman and even in a bathing suit there was no evidence that she was anything else. Paul and I were very pleased.
When I come home to the upper east side of New York, I feel as if I am on another planet...a white bread planet. I miss the energy of jail. I am easily bored by talk of fashion, new restaurants, or choice of another vacation. I can't talk to these people about my job because they can't relate to it. They think that the people in jail are worthless. It is their fear that makes them anxious but their disdain makes me angry. I am not a bleeding heart liberal. I don't see my job as saving or serving the under privileged. My job is great because the beautiful the people I work with are great. The Correction Officers, the medical staff, the other civilians but it is mostly the residents. It is their greatness of heart, their generosity of spirit, and their wonderful sense of humor that makes me love this job. It makes me happy to go to work on Monday. It makes me excited to pass through the gates. It makes me feel special because they make me feel special. I would rather have their respect and affection than most of the people on Planet White bread.
Monday, May 3, 2010
The Lfe
Leo's stomach took up all of his lap. His hair, what was left of it was just a rim around the back of his head. It looked like the smile on a happy face. His tired eyes signed more poignantly than the sound that came out of his mouth.
"When I was nineteen, I came to New York from the south. I had never been in a big city before but I knew I could make it. I didn't use drugs and it look too dangerous to sell them. Besides, there was too much competition. I didn't think I wanted to fight it. I knew that the one thing I did know about was the ladies. I knew how to love them. You wouldn't believe it but I was one of the most successful pimps in New York. I has seventeen beautiful women on the street and each one of them loved me. I took good care of my ladies and they took good care of me. I used to go to the barber shop every day to get my hair trimmed.. I was down to my shoulders and I was very particular the way it looked. It was my trade mark.
Every two years or so, I would take all of my ladies to the Players Continenal Ball. Pimps from all of over the world came to the ball. Each on eof us would dress our ladies in the finest clothes, furs, and jewels. The men would have all their clothes tailor made by the best. Everybody tried to outshine everybody else. It was a great time. I had it all.
Then one day a new lady came to work for me. This beautiful young woman came from Philadelphia. She had lovely long red hair. Her eyes were green and she could see into my heart. Fool that I was, I opened my heart to her. My mistake. My downfall. No one can fool a lady. They know when your heart goes wandering. None of my ladies were jealous when they knew I loved them all but they all got jealous when they knew I loved just one.
My beautiful Maie knew that she had me and soon she was showing off to all the other ladies. It didn't take too much time before the ladies began to drift off. I was too much of a gentleman to threaten them or hurt them so I let them leave.
For awhile, I thought that I might settle down with my beautiful Marie. I had some money set aside. I even thought we might get married and have a baby or two. I was seriously in love. I started to talk to Marie about our future. By that time all my other ladies had found other careers or other people to love. When Marie saw that they were all gone and it was just us, she was very surprised. Hey Leo, she said, "I really liked being that best of all your ladies but I don't like to be your only lady. I guess I'll be moving out too."
With her gone, I was never the same again. I guess I can't take rejection. I just let myself fall apart. I went from one hustle to another, from one slide bid to another. I really thought I knew the ladies but I guess no one does."
Leo left the office. As he left, his bald head had just a little rim of hair. I looked like the grin on a smiley face. I saw him now and again and we would talk for awhile. Whenever I hear a real deep sigh, I remember Leo.
"When I was nineteen, I came to New York from the south. I had never been in a big city before but I knew I could make it. I didn't use drugs and it look too dangerous to sell them. Besides, there was too much competition. I didn't think I wanted to fight it. I knew that the one thing I did know about was the ladies. I knew how to love them. You wouldn't believe it but I was one of the most successful pimps in New York. I has seventeen beautiful women on the street and each one of them loved me. I took good care of my ladies and they took good care of me. I used to go to the barber shop every day to get my hair trimmed.. I was down to my shoulders and I was very particular the way it looked. It was my trade mark.
Every two years or so, I would take all of my ladies to the Players Continenal Ball. Pimps from all of over the world came to the ball. Each on eof us would dress our ladies in the finest clothes, furs, and jewels. The men would have all their clothes tailor made by the best. Everybody tried to outshine everybody else. It was a great time. I had it all.
Then one day a new lady came to work for me. This beautiful young woman came from Philadelphia. She had lovely long red hair. Her eyes were green and she could see into my heart. Fool that I was, I opened my heart to her. My mistake. My downfall. No one can fool a lady. They know when your heart goes wandering. None of my ladies were jealous when they knew I loved them all but they all got jealous when they knew I loved just one.
My beautiful Maie knew that she had me and soon she was showing off to all the other ladies. It didn't take too much time before the ladies began to drift off. I was too much of a gentleman to threaten them or hurt them so I let them leave.
For awhile, I thought that I might settle down with my beautiful Marie. I had some money set aside. I even thought we might get married and have a baby or two. I was seriously in love. I started to talk to Marie about our future. By that time all my other ladies had found other careers or other people to love. When Marie saw that they were all gone and it was just us, she was very surprised. Hey Leo, she said, "I really liked being that best of all your ladies but I don't like to be your only lady. I guess I'll be moving out too."
With her gone, I was never the same again. I guess I can't take rejection. I just let myself fall apart. I went from one hustle to another, from one slide bid to another. I really thought I knew the ladies but I guess no one does."
Leo left the office. As he left, his bald head had just a little rim of hair. I looked like the grin on a smiley face. I saw him now and again and we would talk for awhile. Whenever I hear a real deep sigh, I remember Leo.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Whatever Makes It Happen For You
"Heroin made me walk again. You don't believe it? Let me tell you a story." Sidney was new to the support group. He was a stocky man in his late forties. His hair was beginning to turn grey but his voice was strong and clear. "I had a stroke a few years back. I was lying flat on my back in the hospital. I couldn't move the right side of my body. I couldn't speak very well. As I started to get my speech back, I kept asking for my wife. It was several days before she could understand what I was trying to tell her. Finally she got my message. I want some heroin, I told her. Now you have to understand, my wife is a churchwoman. She doesn't do drugs, she doesn't drink, and she doesn't tolerate people who do. She is my wife but she hates my addictions. I think she loves me but she doesn't like the way I live. She is a fine woman and I respect her. However, no one else came to visit me. She was the only one. I began to plead with her to get me some heroin. I begged her. I threatened her as much as a man paralyzed can do. Nothing helped. No matter how much I tried, she refused.
When she would leave the hospital, I would spend the rest of the day trying to move just one toe. it took me nearly two weeks but finally, I could move one toe. Little by little, I practiced moving that one toe, and finally, I got another toe to wiggle. By the end of three weeks, I could move my whole foot. From there and in a month, I could move my leg and then my arm. In the second month I was released from the hospital. My wife took care of me at home. Every day she was gone to her job, I forced myself to do a little more. Eventually, I could walk to the kitchen. Once I could walk to the kitchen, I could walk out the door. It was a short walk to cop some dope. I got my heroin.
I know that if it weren't for heroin, I would still be paralyzed. Of course I got arrested shortly after that but as you can plainly see, I can walk just fine. It was the heroin that made me walk. I didn't walk too far but I proved one thing. If you want to do something...anything bad enough, you can do whatever you need to do to get it."
When she would leave the hospital, I would spend the rest of the day trying to move just one toe. it took me nearly two weeks but finally, I could move one toe. Little by little, I practiced moving that one toe, and finally, I got another toe to wiggle. By the end of three weeks, I could move my whole foot. From there and in a month, I could move my leg and then my arm. In the second month I was released from the hospital. My wife took care of me at home. Every day she was gone to her job, I forced myself to do a little more. Eventually, I could walk to the kitchen. Once I could walk to the kitchen, I could walk out the door. It was a short walk to cop some dope. I got my heroin.
I know that if it weren't for heroin, I would still be paralyzed. Of course I got arrested shortly after that but as you can plainly see, I can walk just fine. It was the heroin that made me walk. I didn't walk too far but I proved one thing. If you want to do something...anything bad enough, you can do whatever you need to do to get it."
Monday, March 8, 2010
Baseball, The Great American Sport
Yancey's hand has a huge bandage. His small face, large dark eyes, and slim body all seemed minimized by the bandage. "I lost three fingers in the dough mixing machine. I was working in the bakery. I was my first real job. I was pushing dough in the machine because it was going so slow. It ripped off three of my fingers. When I went to the hospital, the cops arrested me for a drug sale. Can you imagine? I was in the hospital screaming about my fingers when they came in."
That was two days ago and Yancey was recuperating from the accident. A few days later, Yancey asked me if there was a GED class in the building. "I'm twenty years old and I was studying for my test before I got arrested. I will get out of here soon and I want to pass the test so that I can apply to college. You see, I am a very good baseball player. I want to get a college scholarship so I can play. Then I will get seen by a baseball scout and I will play in the major leagues. I know that I an good enough. I was studying for the test before the accident and I am not going to stop now just because I got hurt. You know, there is a baseball player with only one arm. If he can do that, I can play with three less fingers."
If you ever hear about a baseball player who plays with three missing fingers, it will be Yancey. He is so determined. I hope he makes it.
That was two days ago and Yancey was recuperating from the accident. A few days later, Yancey asked me if there was a GED class in the building. "I'm twenty years old and I was studying for my test before I got arrested. I will get out of here soon and I want to pass the test so that I can apply to college. You see, I am a very good baseball player. I want to get a college scholarship so I can play. Then I will get seen by a baseball scout and I will play in the major leagues. I know that I an good enough. I was studying for the test before the accident and I am not going to stop now just because I got hurt. You know, there is a baseball player with only one arm. If he can do that, I can play with three less fingers."
If you ever hear about a baseball player who plays with three missing fingers, it will be Yancey. He is so determined. I hope he makes it.
Monday, February 22, 2010
It Is Always a Woman
Leo is very upset about being in jail. He cries copious tears and has a very difficult time controlling himself well enough to be understood. This is particularly unsettling coming from a 6'5", two hundred and fifty pound man who would honor a football team, at least in size.
Between sobs, I was able to learn that Leo had spent the last year, and the first year of being out of prison as a model citizen. He fully intended to stay out of trouble and stay on the streets. However, as may be expected, a woman was the cause of his problem. Actually, it was the woman's cousin who really caused the problem.
Troy, Leo's fiance's cousin asked him to drive him to New York to pick up his daughter. Leo had been living in New Jersey and came to New York as infrequently as possible. Leo said that he wanted to avoid trouble. Troy, newly arrived from Atlanta, had never been to New York but his ex-wife lived there with his five year old daughter. Marie, Leo's fiancee, asked for this favor. Leo was reluctant but was finally persuaded to go to New York to pick up Troy's daughter. Marie and Leo waited in the car while Troy went into the house to get Jesse, his daughter. About fifteen minutes later, Troy returned without Jesse. Troy said that Jesse went to visit her grandmother and the trip was wasted.
As the three started back to New Jersey, a patrol car signaled them to stop. Leo, always afraid of the police and worried about being in New York, a violation of his parole to leave the state, panicked and tried to out run the police. He was driving too fast and hit a parked car. The police pulled them over. Leo was arrested to hitting the parked car and refusing to obey the officer's order to stop.
Somehow a package of drugs was found under the car when the officer stopped the car. Although it would be hard to prove that the drugs had been in the car, it was hard to prove that Leo had not violated his parole by being in New York. It was also hard to prove that Leo has not obeyed the officer's order to stop the car.
The damage to the parked car was not in debate. Leo's tears of sadness were also not in debate.
When I asked Leo why he had been upstate, he said that it was a drug sale conviction. I wondered why Leo was so devastated by the news that Troy was buying drugs, because surely, having been in the drug business himself, he might have been suspicious of Troy's eagerness to go to New York. Leo's explanation made sense. "I thought Troy was too new to New York to have made any connection That's why I believed him." Leo continue to cry and nothing anyone can say seems to help.
Between sobs, I was able to learn that Leo had spent the last year, and the first year of being out of prison as a model citizen. He fully intended to stay out of trouble and stay on the streets. However, as may be expected, a woman was the cause of his problem. Actually, it was the woman's cousin who really caused the problem.
Troy, Leo's fiance's cousin asked him to drive him to New York to pick up his daughter. Leo had been living in New Jersey and came to New York as infrequently as possible. Leo said that he wanted to avoid trouble. Troy, newly arrived from Atlanta, had never been to New York but his ex-wife lived there with his five year old daughter. Marie, Leo's fiancee, asked for this favor. Leo was reluctant but was finally persuaded to go to New York to pick up Troy's daughter. Marie and Leo waited in the car while Troy went into the house to get Jesse, his daughter. About fifteen minutes later, Troy returned without Jesse. Troy said that Jesse went to visit her grandmother and the trip was wasted.
As the three started back to New Jersey, a patrol car signaled them to stop. Leo, always afraid of the police and worried about being in New York, a violation of his parole to leave the state, panicked and tried to out run the police. He was driving too fast and hit a parked car. The police pulled them over. Leo was arrested to hitting the parked car and refusing to obey the officer's order to stop.
Somehow a package of drugs was found under the car when the officer stopped the car. Although it would be hard to prove that the drugs had been in the car, it was hard to prove that Leo had not violated his parole by being in New York. It was also hard to prove that Leo has not obeyed the officer's order to stop the car.
The damage to the parked car was not in debate. Leo's tears of sadness were also not in debate.
When I asked Leo why he had been upstate, he said that it was a drug sale conviction. I wondered why Leo was so devastated by the news that Troy was buying drugs, because surely, having been in the drug business himself, he might have been suspicious of Troy's eagerness to go to New York. Leo's explanation made sense. "I thought Troy was too new to New York to have made any connection That's why I believed him." Leo continue to cry and nothing anyone can say seems to help.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Subways Are For...
Greg was a very neat, small man. He was immaculately groomed. I don't know how he managed to iron his clothes but his pants always had a knife crease and his shirt were perfectly pressed. Since there are no such services in jail and residents don't have closets, he was unique.
"I am an expert on the New York subways system. I have always lived for the subways since I was a young child. I read everything that was ever printed about them. I know the history of every line. I can tell you when it was built, how it was built, and why it was built. I can tell you the architect, the engineer, and the company that built the cars. I would rather talk about the subways than anything else in the world. Even when I am home, I would rather read about the subway than make love to my wife. Would you say that I was obsessed by subways?
All I wanted to do when I grew up was to work as a subway conductor. I am an expert. I have even written a book about the subway and it is published. You can buy it in stores. I have the best collection of memorabilia in the country. I spent all my money buying information about the New York subway. There are somethings that are not for sale. Unfortunately, I felt that I had to have them anyway. That is why I am in jail."
Greg is still in jail because the district attorney is trying to make a case for grand larceny. By law there must be a law library in every jail to help residents look for ways to help themselves and their public defenders. I asked Grey if there was any precident for materials stolen from non-circulating libraries. Surely this is not the first incident of stolen books and I wonder how many people had been jailed for eight months without going to trial.
Greg returned the books, refurbished them and has offered to pay restitution. So far, the district attorney had refused and apparently has decided to take the case to trial. I wonder if the expense of keeping Greg in jail for these many months and the cost of the impending trial was a good use of tax payer money.
"I am an expert on the New York subways system. I have always lived for the subways since I was a young child. I read everything that was ever printed about them. I know the history of every line. I can tell you when it was built, how it was built, and why it was built. I can tell you the architect, the engineer, and the company that built the cars. I would rather talk about the subways than anything else in the world. Even when I am home, I would rather read about the subway than make love to my wife. Would you say that I was obsessed by subways?
All I wanted to do when I grew up was to work as a subway conductor. I am an expert. I have even written a book about the subway and it is published. You can buy it in stores. I have the best collection of memorabilia in the country. I spent all my money buying information about the New York subway. There are somethings that are not for sale. Unfortunately, I felt that I had to have them anyway. That is why I am in jail."
Greg is still in jail because the district attorney is trying to make a case for grand larceny. By law there must be a law library in every jail to help residents look for ways to help themselves and their public defenders. I asked Grey if there was any precident for materials stolen from non-circulating libraries. Surely this is not the first incident of stolen books and I wonder how many people had been jailed for eight months without going to trial.
Greg returned the books, refurbished them and has offered to pay restitution. So far, the district attorney had refused and apparently has decided to take the case to trial. I wonder if the expense of keeping Greg in jail for these many months and the cost of the impending trial was a good use of tax payer money.
Monday, January 11, 2010
The Street of Fashion
Sean was the Madison Avenue Bandit. They even had his picture posted on pole in areas that had expensive antique stores. They even drew a small mask around his eyes. "I hate that poster. My mother saw it and I was very embarrassed. Just because I only went to the eigth grade in school doesn't mean I don't know about fine art. I can tell a fake, a reproduction, or a damaged piece in seconds. Sometimes a piece of fine crystal has been sitting in the sun too long. If you know what you are looking for, you see that the streaks are permanent. They won't come out.
I know which marks an artist uses and I can tell if someone is trying to pass some mark as if it is real. I can tell you what date silver was made and what it's worth. I can tell an original from a copy. I know about brush strokes and pigment. I could appraise a painting for other people but I don't deal in paintings too much myself. Painting is fragile and I would never hurt a fine work of art.
I was a consultant to other people. They would ask me what I thought they could get for it. Look, we aren't talking about people who are going to sell things at Christy's or Sotheby's. The people who brought things to me wanted to know what they could expect from our client/buyers. People bring me stuff. I know who will buy it and not ask questions. I used to hang around the diamond district. People knew where to find me. They knew I was an expert just like the diamond merchants. I was in good company...the company of experts. Sure I can talk to you. I am doing my time. I am out of business."
I know which marks an artist uses and I can tell if someone is trying to pass some mark as if it is real. I can tell you what date silver was made and what it's worth. I can tell an original from a copy. I know about brush strokes and pigment. I could appraise a painting for other people but I don't deal in paintings too much myself. Painting is fragile and I would never hurt a fine work of art.
I was a consultant to other people. They would ask me what I thought they could get for it. Look, we aren't talking about people who are going to sell things at Christy's or Sotheby's. The people who brought things to me wanted to know what they could expect from our client/buyers. People bring me stuff. I know who will buy it and not ask questions. I used to hang around the diamond district. People knew where to find me. They knew I was an expert just like the diamond merchants. I was in good company...the company of experts. Sure I can talk to you. I am doing my time. I am out of business."
Monday, January 4, 2010
No Credit Cards, Cash Only
"When they picked me up, I was living at the Waldorf-Astoria Tower. I always live well because no cheap place will take checks." Jeff is a very elegant, well-spoken gentleman. It is not a surprising considering that he was graduated from a first rate ivy university after attending a prestigious prep school.
"My first arrest came after a million dollar con. I can sell anything. That time I sold a manufacturing plant that hadn't been built. I spent less than two years in jail and most of that was used in trying to convince the court that I was not competent to stand trial. I can sell anything. I was the top car salesman in the company. I have had four Rolls Royces, two at the same time. I had a successful flooring company in Cleveland. I can do it legal and I can do it illegal. I do whatever comes along. Does that make me mentally incompetent? Can I use that defense again?
"My first arrest came after a million dollar con. I can sell anything. That time I sold a manufacturing plant that hadn't been built. I spent less than two years in jail and most of that was used in trying to convince the court that I was not competent to stand trial. I can sell anything. I was the top car salesman in the company. I have had four Rolls Royces, two at the same time. I had a successful flooring company in Cleveland. I can do it legal and I can do it illegal. I do whatever comes along. Does that make me mentally incompetent? Can I use that defense again?
Friday, December 11, 2009
Don't Bother Mr, I'm Working
Lloyd asked me for some bottle caps. "I'm losing me skill by being idle in here. I run a Three-Card Monte operation on 42nd Street. Actually, I use bottle caps and hide the pea." Lloyd is too fat, too sloppy, and too silly for anyone to take him seriously. The other residents, especially the younger ones made fun of him. They thought he was slow, maybe dim-witted. He wanted to be taken for a fool. He wanted people to think he was none too bright and that he could easily be taken advantage.
After he practiced with his bottle caps for awhile, some of the other residents tried to challenge him. For several days they took all of his cigarettes. When they were sure they could beat most of the time, Lloyd suggested a few small wagers. After he had taken all their money and their commissary, he had them doing his laundry, bringing him his meals, and running little errands for him, he stopped.
One day he took me aside and said, " Don't ever come watch if you see me on the street. When I'm working, I can't watch out for you. I know you are smart enough not to play me, but my partners will pick your pockets clean. They don't know that you and I are friends. Just wink at me when you go by and let me know you remember me."
I keep a watch out for Lloyd and I know that one day I will see him and I will wink as I go by.
After he practiced with his bottle caps for awhile, some of the other residents tried to challenge him. For several days they took all of his cigarettes. When they were sure they could beat most of the time, Lloyd suggested a few small wagers. After he had taken all their money and their commissary, he had them doing his laundry, bringing him his meals, and running little errands for him, he stopped.
One day he took me aside and said, " Don't ever come watch if you see me on the street. When I'm working, I can't watch out for you. I know you are smart enough not to play me, but my partners will pick your pockets clean. They don't know that you and I are friends. Just wink at me when you go by and let me know you remember me."
I keep a watch out for Lloyd and I know that one day I will see him and I will wink as I go by.
Friday, November 20, 2009
When I interview a Rikers resident for the first time, I have a series of questions to ask. It is mostly demographic information but it also verifies my time with the client. As I was going through the initial questionnaire, I asked Jack why he was in jail. He said that it was because he was caught stealing. Then I asked him what he did for a living before he came to jail. He looked as if I hadn't hear him the first time. "I am a thief. Didn't you hear what I said? I am a thief and that is my profession." He said that he would never burglarize a person's home. "In all my years, I think that I only invited three people into my home. I consider it a real privilege if some one asks me into his home. I would never go into a person's home to steal anything. It would be a terrible thing to do. If your things aren't safe where you live, where are they safe. I only steal from companies. I am a pretty good thief but I have my own morale code, you know."
Monday, November 9, 2009
God's Choice
Charles may well have been gravely ill but he was always cheerful, helpful, and energetic. He spent a great deal of his time reading and writing in his journal. He talked to the other residents and occasionally spoke to me but he seems to be more concerned with his writing.
One day, he came to me and said, "I think that I figured it out. People say that they are Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, or Hindu but what does God think about it? Does anyone ever wonder whether God accepts what people say they are. I have been wondering about that. If you ask someone what religion they are, they will tell you but I wonder if God accepts them."
This was really deep and I wasn't sure how to stay in this conversation without offending Charles or saying anything stupid. His idea was interesting and I did want to know more.
"Every religion was its own set of rules and laws. If someone says they are Christian but steals from his neighbors, cheats on his wife, and doesn't live by the rules, does God accept him as a Christian? A person can call themselves anything they want but it only matters if God believes in him. If a person says they are Muslim but tortures people, kills them, and only accepts one type of Muslimisn, does God accept him as a Muslim? Maybe God rejects them even if they don't know it. You can't be some thing if the head doesn't accept you. If you say you are Jewish and don't keep the laws, are you really Jewish? You can't be in a religion if you don't obey the laws."
"God has a set of rules and laws for every religion and if you don't obey them, then maybe God doesn't accept you either. I think that it makes God angry when we do bad stuff and say that we are doing it in his name. That is when he casts us out. I believe that God loves us but he doesn't accept us when we don't obey his word.. He rejects us no matter what we call ourself.
I think God will forgive someone if he thinks about his ways and then tries to live up to the way it is supposed it be. I think that God will forgive us and take us back. People take God for granted. They think that He lives by our rules and we can do anything and still be in His church. I don't think that is true. I think you have to live by God's message. If you don't he won't keep you.
I don't know if this is true but it is what I believe." Charles went back to his journal and we never talked about this again but I have never forgotten our conversation.
One day, he came to me and said, "I think that I figured it out. People say that they are Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, or Hindu but what does God think about it? Does anyone ever wonder whether God accepts what people say they are. I have been wondering about that. If you ask someone what religion they are, they will tell you but I wonder if God accepts them."
This was really deep and I wasn't sure how to stay in this conversation without offending Charles or saying anything stupid. His idea was interesting and I did want to know more.
"Every religion was its own set of rules and laws. If someone says they are Christian but steals from his neighbors, cheats on his wife, and doesn't live by the rules, does God accept him as a Christian? A person can call themselves anything they want but it only matters if God believes in him. If a person says they are Muslim but tortures people, kills them, and only accepts one type of Muslimisn, does God accept him as a Muslim? Maybe God rejects them even if they don't know it. You can't be some thing if the head doesn't accept you. If you say you are Jewish and don't keep the laws, are you really Jewish? You can't be in a religion if you don't obey the laws."
"God has a set of rules and laws for every religion and if you don't obey them, then maybe God doesn't accept you either. I think that it makes God angry when we do bad stuff and say that we are doing it in his name. That is when he casts us out. I believe that God loves us but he doesn't accept us when we don't obey his word.. He rejects us no matter what we call ourself.
I think God will forgive someone if he thinks about his ways and then tries to live up to the way it is supposed it be. I think that God will forgive us and take us back. People take God for granted. They think that He lives by our rules and we can do anything and still be in His church. I don't think that is true. I think you have to live by God's message. If you don't he won't keep you.
I don't know if this is true but it is what I believe." Charles went back to his journal and we never talked about this again but I have never forgotten our conversation.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Repeats
When Larry came back I recognized him right away. His short cropped blond hair, light blue eyes, and missing leg made it easy. We used crazy glue to try to patch up that fiberglass leg that kept cracking near the appliance that attaches the leg to Larry. "You were just here a few months ago. Why are you back", I asked him. "It's always the same thing, driving with a suspended license. I got 90 days again. You would think they would learn." he said."Why were you driving with a suspended license?" I asked. "I tried to get a handicap parking pass. They refused. I got thousand of dollars in parking tickets because I can't walk that far on my leg. I can't pay the tickets because I don't have that kind of money. I can't buy car insurance either so I can't get my license renewed. I am a car mechanic. After I fix a car, I have to drive it to be sure that it works right. I get picked up for driving with a suspended license and they put me in jail. It costs them a lot more to keep me in jail than if they paid off my tickets. If I could get a handicap parking pass, I wouldn't get any more tickets. Then I could make some money and buy car insurance. I would be able to fix cars and test them. My driver's license would be good. It would be cheaper for them. But no. I can't afford a lawyer to help me with the tickets. I can't afford to pay the tickets so I guess that I'll just have to come back to jail every few months. I wish they would time it better. The weather is good. I could be making money. I would rather be in jail when the winter comes and it's to cold to work outside."
Monday, October 26, 2009
The Toasts To The Sportin' Life
Howard is a teacher. He is in his mid thirties and has spent many of those years in prison. He is forceful, direct, and people listen to him. I think that it is the sound of his voice that makes him so attractive. He said that he was from North Carolina but it has been years since he has been back. There is something about the south that remains. Howard told me that he has a fifth grade education and that his writing and spelling aren't very good. His memory is very good.
Howard can recall "Toasts" and he can recite them for hours. "Toasts" are folk tales that have been told for many, many years. They are most likely to be told in prison. Some of the most famous ones are "The Titanic", "Signifying Monkey", and "King Heroin". Howard knows them and a great may more. Many of the residents, especially the younger ones who have not been upstate have never heard of the Toasts. The young residents know rap songs but they soon recognize that Toasts are an earlier, more sophisticated part of the oral tradition. Many of the residents are so young that they don't even know "Dozens". No matter how bad these young residents think they are, no matter how much power they think they have in or out of jail, in gangs, on the street, or how they outwardly disdain anyone over twenty-five, they come to listen to Howard, the older gentleman. They gather around when he begins to recite. The TV is turned off, the phones are silent. They gather around to hear, not to miss a single word. They try to remember the words. Howard is good. His voice is rich and he makes his characters come alive. He is passing on a rich tradition to a new generation. It is easy to see Howard as a teacher, passing on information from the elders to the young.
Howard can recall "Toasts" and he can recite them for hours. "Toasts" are folk tales that have been told for many, many years. They are most likely to be told in prison. Some of the most famous ones are "The Titanic", "Signifying Monkey", and "King Heroin". Howard knows them and a great may more. Many of the residents, especially the younger ones who have not been upstate have never heard of the Toasts. The young residents know rap songs but they soon recognize that Toasts are an earlier, more sophisticated part of the oral tradition. Many of the residents are so young that they don't even know "Dozens". No matter how bad these young residents think they are, no matter how much power they think they have in or out of jail, in gangs, on the street, or how they outwardly disdain anyone over twenty-five, they come to listen to Howard, the older gentleman. They gather around when he begins to recite. The TV is turned off, the phones are silent. They gather around to hear, not to miss a single word. They try to remember the words. Howard is good. His voice is rich and he makes his characters come alive. He is passing on a rich tradition to a new generation. It is easy to see Howard as a teacher, passing on information from the elders to the young.
Monday, October 19, 2009
The Natural
His name is Ennet but they called him Annette. He is tall, attractive with a smile that could light up a dark room. He is always generous with his commissary, his clothing, and everything else his family brings him. He will always help another resident and will care for him when necessary. He formed an AIDS support group in the dorm and we run it together. We bring in new information, reading material, and occasionally outside speakers to keep in touch with other resources in the community.
Ennet is out there as they say and he has always wanted to be grand. When he is on the street, he wants people to see him as special. He does it by having money, having drugs, knowing the latest fashion, bars, restaurants, and every other currency of being in.
Ennet has the personality, the humor, the generosity of spirit, and the loving nature to he grand if he didn't have a dime. The sad thing is that Ennet doesn't know that he is grand just the way he is.
Ennet is out there as they say and he has always wanted to be grand. When he is on the street, he wants people to see him as special. He does it by having money, having drugs, knowing the latest fashion, bars, restaurants, and every other currency of being in.
Ennet has the personality, the humor, the generosity of spirit, and the loving nature to he grand if he didn't have a dime. The sad thing is that Ennet doesn't know that he is grand just the way he is.
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Sleeping Giant
Paul is a giant. He is seven feet tall. He doesn't look like the jolly green giant or any camera-loving athlete. He looks like a major force. He has a lot of dark hair that is well groomed after the barbers come in but not for long after. His eyes are dark but his heavily hooded eyelids make it difficult to see them. His beard is heavy and even when he shaves, it doesn't take long before his face begins to look dark again. He stands very straight and looks very large. I have had a few brief conversations with him so I know that him to be articulate and polite. He doesn't speak often and most of the other residents avoid him. The C.O.s keep a respectful distance.
One morning the captain called me because he said that Paul had gone crazy. He said that Paul was running around the dorm screaming. The captain said that he was going to have the men suited to take him down. When officers suit up, they are wear helmets, flack jackets. and body plastic shields. They carry large wood batons and are able to use them freely. They are fondly called the ninja turtles.
I went to the dorm because I didn't want to see anyone get hurt. When I got there, I saw a dorm of 49 men crushed to one side of the room and a very large man running around, screaming words I couldn't understand. He seemed to be ignoring everyone. I went into the dorm and stood by the officers. Paul stopped running and stood panting beside the entrance to the bathroom. In a few moments, I walked over to him. I took his hand and led him to his bed. "Sit down," I said. "No one is going to hurt you." I realized that Paul was sleep running and had no idea what he had done. I said, "Paul, wake up. No one will hurt you." I spoke to him very softly and he started to wake up. He looked confused for a minute but as he woke up more completely, he said, "I do walk in my sleep. I have done since I was a little kid. I am sorry if I bothered anyone." With that , he turned over on his stomach and went to sleep. This time he stayed in his bed and the dorm went back to normal.
When he woke up, he came to me, bowed deeply, and kissed my hand to thank me,
One morning the captain called me because he said that Paul had gone crazy. He said that Paul was running around the dorm screaming. The captain said that he was going to have the men suited to take him down. When officers suit up, they are wear helmets, flack jackets. and body plastic shields. They carry large wood batons and are able to use them freely. They are fondly called the ninja turtles.
I went to the dorm because I didn't want to see anyone get hurt. When I got there, I saw a dorm of 49 men crushed to one side of the room and a very large man running around, screaming words I couldn't understand. He seemed to be ignoring everyone. I went into the dorm and stood by the officers. Paul stopped running and stood panting beside the entrance to the bathroom. In a few moments, I walked over to him. I took his hand and led him to his bed. "Sit down," I said. "No one is going to hurt you." I realized that Paul was sleep running and had no idea what he had done. I said, "Paul, wake up. No one will hurt you." I spoke to him very softly and he started to wake up. He looked confused for a minute but as he woke up more completely, he said, "I do walk in my sleep. I have done since I was a little kid. I am sorry if I bothered anyone." With that , he turned over on his stomach and went to sleep. This time he stayed in his bed and the dorm went back to normal.
When he woke up, he came to me, bowed deeply, and kissed my hand to thank me,
Friday, September 4, 2009
Professional Pride
Robbie was a very handsome man. He was tall, elegant, and well-spoken. His dark, curly hair was well cut. His brown eyes never leave mine and he maked me feel as if everything I said is new.
"I'm a burglar," he said, "and a very good one. My last job, the one before this got me $150,000. This one was was small and I won't get much time. I used to be a drug dealer but I decided that it was too much risk. When I considered new career choices, I decided to go to school to become a burglar. I knew that I would need the skills of a locksmith, a welder, and an electrician to be good at my new profession. Since I was upstate in prison doing 2 to 4 on a drug charge, I figured that I would use my time wisely and go to school to learn locksmith, welding, and electrical work. No only did my dedication impress the parole board, it developed the necessary skills to become a burglar. It was become a very successful choice. I will go upstate again for this arrest. Maybe it will be time to think about other possibilities. I won't know until I find out what opportunities are being offered. Prison is a good place to learn about future opportunities and to become prepared. You never know who you will meet upstate, especially now. Maybe I will make a new choice for my future career."
One night I was coming home from the theater about 11 o'clock. I was alone. My neighborhood is quiet and usually safe. However, shortly after I got out of the subway and was about two blocks from my apartment, I found myself closely followed by a small group of young men. One of the men asked me for a dollar. The translation is "give me your money". I told him that I wouldn't give him any money. As I found myself surrounded, I turned to the young man nearest to me and said, "Back off. I work on Rikers Island and I deal with men like you every day. If you bother me, I promise you that I will get you arrested and when I find out where you are housed you will do very hard time." He knew that I wasn't playing and he backed off because he knew that I could do what I said I could. It all about having friends in low places.
My fantasy has always been that if I were mugged, the intended mugger would recognize me and say, "Gee, Dr. Posner, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you." That is my fantasy. The other night was a reality but I wasn't frightened. I knew exactly what to do and felt confident that I could handle it. It is all in having an attitude. Again, thank you, my good friends.
"I'm a burglar," he said, "and a very good one. My last job, the one before this got me $150,000. This one was was small and I won't get much time. I used to be a drug dealer but I decided that it was too much risk. When I considered new career choices, I decided to go to school to become a burglar. I knew that I would need the skills of a locksmith, a welder, and an electrician to be good at my new profession. Since I was upstate in prison doing 2 to 4 on a drug charge, I figured that I would use my time wisely and go to school to learn locksmith, welding, and electrical work. No only did my dedication impress the parole board, it developed the necessary skills to become a burglar. It was become a very successful choice. I will go upstate again for this arrest. Maybe it will be time to think about other possibilities. I won't know until I find out what opportunities are being offered. Prison is a good place to learn about future opportunities and to become prepared. You never know who you will meet upstate, especially now. Maybe I will make a new choice for my future career."
One night I was coming home from the theater about 11 o'clock. I was alone. My neighborhood is quiet and usually safe. However, shortly after I got out of the subway and was about two blocks from my apartment, I found myself closely followed by a small group of young men. One of the men asked me for a dollar. The translation is "give me your money". I told him that I wouldn't give him any money. As I found myself surrounded, I turned to the young man nearest to me and said, "Back off. I work on Rikers Island and I deal with men like you every day. If you bother me, I promise you that I will get you arrested and when I find out where you are housed you will do very hard time." He knew that I wasn't playing and he backed off because he knew that I could do what I said I could. It all about having friends in low places.
My fantasy has always been that if I were mugged, the intended mugger would recognize me and say, "Gee, Dr. Posner, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you." That is my fantasy. The other night was a reality but I wasn't frightened. I knew exactly what to do and felt confident that I could handle it. It is all in having an attitude. Again, thank you, my good friends.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Hard Choices
Pat was an ex-marine. He had several tattoos in honor of his ten years of service. He was also a power weight lifter. "I left the service because my wife didn' t like the life. She didn't want to travel with me and she got lonely at home. I really loved the marines. I did well. As a weight lifter, I was well-known and I considered trying out for the Olympics. I was a sergent. and my future looked bright. But I saw her point. We had three kids. It was hard on her. I resigned from the marines and I got a job selling advertising for the local newspaper and it was OK. The money was all right and I was home every night. I got to spend a lot of time with my kids and that was great too. I never used drugs and I had a can of beer once in awhile. I had never been in trouble in my life but I knew how to take care of myself.
One night, I was coming home from work and I was attacked by three guys. I guess I just looked like some fat guy in a suit. I was defending myself when I hit the guy. Maybe he was sick. Maybe we will find out at the trial. Anyway, he died and I'm here. I can't believe this happened to me.
One night, I was coming home from work and I was attacked by three guys. I guess I just looked like some fat guy in a suit. I was defending myself when I hit the guy. Maybe he was sick. Maybe we will find out at the trial. Anyway, he died and I'm here. I can't believe this happened to me.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Songs and the Singer
Bob writes songs. He sings them to anyone who will listen. Bob is in his 30's and looks like everyone else. He looks like a good guy, a straight arrow. His sandy hair is short, his brown eyes are direct and engage you immediately. Some of his songs are very good. Some of them even sound familiar. As soon as he finishes writing a song, he takes it to the law library and has his name notarized as the author. He uses that to copyright each song. I asked him if he ever wrote one to be sung by a particular artist. "Sure I do. I know exactly who I write each one for." I asked if he ever sold any. "I sell most of my songs and they are usually on the best seller charts. I make a very good living writing songs." So I asked the obvious question, "OK, then why are you here?" "Well," he said, "I'm gay even though I don't look and most people can't guess but I have this macho thing. I tell drug dealers that I'm a cop and they offer me money. I don't take the money but I get busted for impersonating a police officer. This is my third arrest. Hey, we all do what we do."
Monday, July 20, 2009
I Know My Rights
When Fred came into the CDU he was angry. "I am fifty years and I have no business being in jail. I was arrested for no reason. I had some chukka sticks in my backpack. This is not illegal. They're not considered a weapon. If I hadn't been poor, the police never would have hassled me and searched by backpack"
Everyone has an x-ray when they come to jail and Fred's x-ray was read as suspicious. He was sent to the CDU and was required to provide three sputums. If these sputums came back negative, Fred would be released to general population. "The mark on my lungs is the result of some scar tissue I got from a stab wound. I have had it for thirty years."
Fred refused to give sputums. By law, a resident can not go to court if medical services
says that he may be infected with a contagious disease. Fred did not go to court. The court date was rescheduled. Fred refused to give sputums. As a matter of fact, Fred did not leave his cell. He refused all contact with the medical staff. I saw him regularly to see if he was deteriorating mentally. If there was any sign that he might have a mental problem that might prevent him from cooperating with medical advice, it might be possible to get a court order. However, in practical terms, even with a court order, it would be difficult to force Fred to spit into a cup.
Since it was winter, some of the staff thought that Fred might have found a home with "three hots and a cot", the common expression for three meals and a bed. This is not unknown and jail population always increases when the weather gets cold. However, Fred had been here for six months. I realized that he wasn't getting any new court dates. It seemed as if the court had forgotten about him. Theoretically, that meant that Fred could spend the rest of his life locked up in this cell. Fred said that he was making a political statement about false arrest. I thought that he was spending an inordinate amount of taxpayer money. I really believed that he knew his medical condition and that he had an old scar from a stab wound.
April was warm and spring looked like was here to stay. It looked as if Fred was here to stay too. I couldn't find the lawyer assigned to the case but I was able to locate the district attorney. She couldn't believe that the case hadn't been settled and that Fred was still in jail. She asked me to call the judge. The judge say that he would have only gotten about 20 days if he had been convicted. The judge said that he would write the order the release him.
When Fred left, he winked. I still don't know if he was actually morally indignant about about his "false arrest" or if he preferred the CDU to a shelter.
Everyone has an x-ray when they come to jail and Fred's x-ray was read as suspicious. He was sent to the CDU and was required to provide three sputums. If these sputums came back negative, Fred would be released to general population. "The mark on my lungs is the result of some scar tissue I got from a stab wound. I have had it for thirty years."
Fred refused to give sputums. By law, a resident can not go to court if medical services
says that he may be infected with a contagious disease. Fred did not go to court. The court date was rescheduled. Fred refused to give sputums. As a matter of fact, Fred did not leave his cell. He refused all contact with the medical staff. I saw him regularly to see if he was deteriorating mentally. If there was any sign that he might have a mental problem that might prevent him from cooperating with medical advice, it might be possible to get a court order. However, in practical terms, even with a court order, it would be difficult to force Fred to spit into a cup.
Since it was winter, some of the staff thought that Fred might have found a home with "three hots and a cot", the common expression for three meals and a bed. This is not unknown and jail population always increases when the weather gets cold. However, Fred had been here for six months. I realized that he wasn't getting any new court dates. It seemed as if the court had forgotten about him. Theoretically, that meant that Fred could spend the rest of his life locked up in this cell. Fred said that he was making a political statement about false arrest. I thought that he was spending an inordinate amount of taxpayer money. I really believed that he knew his medical condition and that he had an old scar from a stab wound.
April was warm and spring looked like was here to stay. It looked as if Fred was here to stay too. I couldn't find the lawyer assigned to the case but I was able to locate the district attorney. She couldn't believe that the case hadn't been settled and that Fred was still in jail. She asked me to call the judge. The judge say that he would have only gotten about 20 days if he had been convicted. The judge said that he would write the order the release him.
When Fred left, he winked. I still don't know if he was actually morally indignant about about his "false arrest" or if he preferred the CDU to a shelter.
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