The History Lesson

Ralph is forty-nine years old. He has been in jail for twenty-eight of those years. "I've become an old man in jail. When I first started coming in, I had all my hair. It wasn't turning gray like now. I had all my teeth. I got most of the scars on my face and body upstate. I got into more fights there than on the street. You would think that I knew how to get along incarcerated by now." Ralph's body was was stooped and his hands shook a little from "his nerves". He said that he was not proud of all his time upstate but he said that it does give him some expertise in the jail system. He said that he knows more than the correction officers who don't have seniority. Most of his arrests come from minor drug charges. He is more disgusted in how the the jail population has changed over the years. "Years ago, you knew what to expect from the officers. They knew what to expect from you. You were safe in jail but that was before the gangs. Now the gangs run the jail. The officers are more afraid of them than we are. There was a time when you respected the officers. There was no talking in the halls. When an officer told you to move, you moved. Now you only move for the gangs. The gangs control everything. They control the drugs coming. They control the "kites" (the internal mail system). You know,jail is more stressful than prison. You know what time you are going to do, in jail, you come in you've been drugging. Until you get connected, you got to be drug free. You don't know if you are going to beat your case. You don't know if they are will try you on your record on just this bid. You don't know how your family is making out. You don't know who your friends are and what enemies are here with you. Jail is really tough and getting tougher all the time. Besides, there aren't many things to do in jail. There are a lot more programs and activities upstate. I don't know why I keep coming in here. I am too old for this. It isn't safe anymore...not for me, not for the officers.

The Writer

C.O. Lottie, a Correction Officer who is the regular A officer on Dorm 3 called me. She said that an resident had given her book a he wrote and there was a suicide note enclosed. C.O. Lottie is a very sharp woman who has been on this post for several years. Although she may look like a fashion model, actually she is a professional ballet dancer on the weekends. She has walked this street for long enough to know all the cracks. She is not easily alarmed and never without a very good reason. "Please see him as soon as possible. He has me worried." Preventing suicides is my primary duty. No one wants any hang ups on their tour and the Department of Corrections doesn't want them at any time. When I first asked Charles to talk with me it was too near the count to bring him into my office. We met in the intake officer's office. It is hostile territory and neither of us liked to be there. Charles was about 32 years old with dark hair, dark eyes, and a new scar ran from his eye to his mouth. "I finished my book and now I want to die. I am tired of fighting. They killed two of my brothers and they are threatening the rest of my family. I've been cut 7 times. This one on my face is just the last one. They say that I told on them but I didn't. There is a contract on my life for $50,000. If I go upstate again, I am dead. They don't say bad things about the dead. They only say good things. When I die, they will only remember the good things that I did."

I don't know why residents always threaten suicide on Friday afternoon. I had to decide if I thought he would stay alive over the weekend or if was safer to sent him to the hospital. The hospital prison psychiatric ward would probably send him back and I didn't think that bus therapy was going to work with Charles. I asked him if I could meet with him again on Monday before he made up his mind to kill himself immediately. I told him that I would like to discuss the book more and see if there was anyway he could think of that would allow him to live. Charles promised to think about it and meet me on Monday. Meanwhile I put him om suicide watch which means that the officers have to check him on him every 15 minutes around the clock.

Monday Charles was not a lot better but we had the privacy of my office which was more neutral territory. Charles said that he had been upstate for dealing drugs. "I got six to life which means that I am on parole for the rest of my like. No matter what I get picked up for, I'm in trouble, I got busted for a robbery I didn't do. I do not do robbery. I do drugs. Anyway, I wrote this book because if I'm going to be called a snitch, I might as well tell what I know. They are going to kill me anyway." Charles was very depressed. I asked him to go into the mental observation unit. He said that he didn't want to go because he had a few people he trusted in this dorm. He knew that they wouldn't let anyone get him while he was asleep. I respected his request not to go to the mental health unit because if he didn't want to go, he would deny that he has any intention of hurting himself and they would send him back to general population.

Charles and I began to meet every day. About a week later, he offered to let me read his book. The book was amazing. It was so real. Every time I read a book of fiction and the author tries of sound like he is an inmate, I cringe at the bogus language. Charles' book was real. The next time we met I told him that I was impressed I asked him if he ever thought of having his book published. It seemed like a good therapeutic intervention. If Charles would think longer term. perhaps the suicidal ideation would become more remote. Charles said that he hadn't though about it but he had something to say the young people who thoughts that the streets were so cool. I told him that a national magazine had run article about the streets and young people and maybe they would like to follow it up with some of the things that he had to say. I showed him a recent copy of the magazine and showed him the address of and name of the editor. "You know, three years ago I couldn't read or write. When I was upstate, an old man would sit in the yard with me and everyday, he would give me ten words. When I got back to my cell, I would write the words and study what they meant. That's how I learned to read and write. I passed my GED the first time and got a good score on the SATs." Two days later, C.O. Lottie called me late in the afternoon. "You've got to come quick! Charles has something to show you." When I went to the dorm, Charles brought me a letter. "I didn't write to the editor of the magazine. I just called her and to her about my book. She said that she would get back to me." The letter was from the editor of the magazine. She gave Charles the name of a book agent and told the agent to call Charles. Residents can not receive phone calls. Charles call the agent and the agent wasn't in. I gave Charles my beeper number to give to the agent. Charles left my beeper number. The agent beeped me later that afternoon. I spoke to the agent because I didn't recognize the number on my beeper. The only people who have my beeper number are people I work with in jail and residents' attorneys that I am trying to reach. Anyway, the agent said that the editor had given him Charles' name. He told me about the book that Charles presented and the editor and the agent were impressed. I told Charles to call the agent now. They spoke and Charles arranged to have his sister pick up the book from Rikers and take it to the agent. A few days later, the man who wrote the article for the magazine beeped me. He said that the editor of the magazine and the agent called him. He said that the agent gave him my beeper number. He said that he was was very interested in talking to Charles. When I left on Friday, Charles was having a phone interview with the writer.

Charles told me that he wants to write more books. He said that he has a lot of information about the street and about drug dealing and about life. He said that instead of killing himself, he would like to get into the witness protection program because that way, he will be safe and he will still be able to write. I asked him if he wanted to get off the suicide watch, he said, "no it's just someone esle to watch my back"

Information

A dorm has anywhere from thirty to sixty residents. The beds are lined up on each side of the room in two rows, placed head to head in the center. Between each bed is a metal locker that is about three feet high and one foot square, It is used for personal items like cosmetics, clothing, pictures, legal papers, and books. At one end of the dorm, there are showers and toilets. Most disputes are settled here. Sometimes the arguments are settled peacefully and sometimes they are not. When a controversy reaches the point when one resident invites another resident to meet in the shower it is unlikely that blood will not be shed.

At the other end of the dorm is the day room. The day room is used to watch TV, play cards, chess, dominoes, or talk. There are plastic chairs in the room that can be grouped or set apart for privacy. Meals are served in the day room. Assigned residents on work deatil bring large containers of food that is prepared in the kitchen. The meals are served cafeteria style. The choice is between regular food and a mealwithout pork to meet the religious restrictions. The day rooms have two long tables with attached seats. Both are bolted to the floor. Breakfast is served at 4:30 AM, lunch at 10:30 AM and dinner at 4:30 PM. This allows all meals to be served on one shift. It is a security issue. It was found that the most fights and riots began when large numbers of residents were moved from one area to another. To cut down on the traffic, meals are served in the dorm.

The D.O.C. (Department of Corrections) shifts are 7 AM to 3PM, 3PM to 11 PM, and 11PM to 7 AM. Each dorm, or pair of dorms has an "A" officer. He or she sits in a Plexiglas area. This area, often encased in metal bars to prevent attacks on the officer, is called the "bubble". In some dorms, usually smaller ones with 30 residents, the bubble is between to dorms and the A officer is responsible to both. There is a "B" officer in each dorm. The B officers usually sits by the door to be able to watch the whole room from that vantage points. The officer in the bubble is in charge. The A officer is responsible for the whereabouts of all residents. The A officer has the keys to the dorms and to the outside corridor. No one can leave or enter the dorm without the officer's permission. This also included all medical, mental health or other civilian personnel. There are never any problems for civilians. Even if there is a fight going on, the residents will always see that we are not involved. We are not seen as the enemy and are therefore worthy of protection.

The officers logs residents who are out for work detail, sick call, recreation, court appearances, visits, law library, and religious services.

The "count" is taken several times a day. Each resident stands by his/her bed so that the B officer who is stationed inside the dorm can be sure that all residents are counted. If a resident is missing or unaccounted for, an alarm goes out. This is serious. The entire jail is locked down until the resident is found or accounted for.

When I go into the dorm it is with permission of both officers. The A officer's post is usually a steady post. Most officers are on duty for four day and off for two days. The regular officers usually know all of the residents assigned to their dorm. When the regular officer is on their "pass days" non-working days, there is a substitute officer who is often on the "wheel", meaning that the officer does not have a permanent post and will fill in during any shift, at any post. These officers are usually new officers or new to the jail. When they are on, the residents are often the best source of information because they know the whereabouts of all the other residents.

The intake area is the entrance and exit of all residents. There is a counter, behind which, the officers log in and out the residents as they come in or leave. There are two holding cells where residents waiting to be transferred to court, clinics, other jails, or to the street. They wait for transportation to move them from place to place. They have their own door and they pass through a metal detector. The intake office is in the bubble where the captain can watch. It is not often used because all the activity is on the floor.

A "shakedown" or search is conducted without notice. Officers from other buildings come into the dorm and strip down the beds, take everything from the metal lockers, and look everywhere for contraband. That includes drugs, weapons, forbidden clothing, gang related beads, headscarves, or lotions that may be flamable. An AirNikes has chambers that could be used to transport drugs and is classified as contraband. The residents are sent to the day room with their backs against the window so that they cannot watch the search. They may take some personal exception to the officer who is going through their property. Searches are frequent and necessary but disruptive.

Ask An Expert

My daughter told me that someone tried to steal her bike from the garage. The bike was chained to a pole but the thief had tried to cut the chain with cutters. Apparently he was interrupted before he completed his mission.
I asked Mark. Mark is a very sweet man. He is about 42 years old. Hie is 6 feet tal with black hair and black eyes. He would be more attractive if he had a few more teeth. Nevertheless, his smile is bright and very warm. Although he doesn't have a great deal of formal education, he tries to use good grammar and refrain from cursing. He takes pride in his efforts to speak well and to behave as a gentleman. However, he also takes pride in rarely stepping away from a fight if he feels that he is being treated with a lack of respect. For example, Mark was using the phone when a gang member thought that Mark should hang up the phone and give to him. Mark took this attitude as a sign of disrespect and took out several of the intruder's teeth with the phone receiver. In any case, Mark was the terror of the Westside. "I can steal any car within 60 seconds. Forget about The Club or car alarms. They are only for amateurs. A professional can disable any of the systems in less than 10 seconds. I can spray Freon on The Club and it was crack in less than 30 seconds. Car alarms annoy the neighbors. No one cares about the car. People are so used to noise that the are angry when it wakes the up. They are not about to try to see if anyone is stealing the car. For all they know, I could be the car's owner. Alarms make money for the people who sell them. They won't stop anyone. I can get a car to a chop shop in five minutes. In less than an hour, I can have a car in pieces that look like an excellent surgeon was operating. I can dissect a car for parts on less time than it takes for a doctor to remove a wart. I am so good that it looks like the car manufacturer placed "cut on this line" for me. Now if you really want to protect your car, there is a "U" shaped lock. If you put but a good one made of hardened steel, no one is going to steal your car. Tell your daughter to remove that rear wheel, place the lock around the mainframe and the rear wheel. If she put that lock around the pole, no one is going to steal her bike. Also, there is a chain that is used to hook subway cars together. It is a little heavy but it would take a blow torch to break that. The thief would have burned up the garage before he got the chain off."
Mark is a street mechanic and a very good one. He was no business card but if you need any car repairs, he is the best around. He has given me a great deal of advice about my car. He told me what certain repairs should cost and how to know if the repairs are necessary. I have a great deal of confidence in Mark. Unfortunately he will not be available to the next three and a have years. He did recommend a friend for me to use in the meantime.

The Carrier

Milo spoke no English. His chart said that he was nineteen but he looked twelve. Slim, small boned, frail, curled up in a fetal position on his bed weeping. I asked Joe, a twenty year old Latino to translate. Joe helped Milo into his wheel chair and came into my office. Between sobs, Milo told me that he had just arrived from Venezuela, his first time in the United States. He said that he collapsed in the airport. At the hospital they removed balloons filled with heroin. Two of the balloons had burst. Naturally he was arrested immediately. According to Milo, he had been forced to swallow the heroin by a drug dealer in Venezuela who told him that he had seen the dealer's face and now he had no choice. The dealer also told that there was a contract on his life if the delivery did not take place. The police told Milo that he would get a fifteen year sentence. Milo was terrified. His mother was hysterical. She had no idea that her son was carrying drugs. I went to speak to my friendly drug dealer in the next dorm. He said that it sounded as if Milo was carrying about a million dollars worth of heroin. He thought that it was possible that there was a contract out on his life but if he kept his mouth shut he would be OK because the danger came from the Venezuelans, not the locals. As far as the sentence, my friend said that it was more likely that he would get six months and then be deported because it was cheaper for our government than keeping him in prison. He said that he was pretty sure that Milo would be all right but he would check around outside. A few days later, my friend confirmed his information and that somehow he was allowed to talk to Milo and reassure him. It is important to know where to go to for expert advice.

This Hat Is Mine

Sammy was a very little man. He was not more than 5'3 inches. He was skinny with very knobby knees. He wore shorts although it was January when he was arrested. He had huge blue eyes and a very sweet smile. He wore a worn brown hat called a pork pie when I was very young. On the inside of the hat was were pictures of a very beautiful, very famous super model. Sammy loved her. Actually that was why Sammy was in jail. Although he would say that he just wanted to see her as often as he could, the police called it stalking. He admitted that he did wait at her apartment for her to come home. He made friends with the doorman so he could find out when she went out in the morning. "I don't stalk her. I just want to see her. Why couldn't she love me. I'm not a bad guy. I am a real gentleman. I know how to treat a lady. After all, I've got everything but money and hey, she doesn't need my money. She has plenty. I would never hurt her so what's the problem." Sammy had another problem. The problem was the hat. Someone in the dorm coveted the hat. This someone was used to controlling things and the hat became the object of his control needs. Sammy probably would have given him the hat to save his life. I could have come to that but Sammy was not going to give up the pictures of his fail lady. Sammy scratched his head. I thought that he was just thinking. Sammy continued to scratch his head. He took off this hat and peered inside. He spotted something. He picked it up between two fingers and then squashed. The person who coveted the hat watched in disgust and walked away. Sammy looked at me and winked.

The Woman's World

Although there are several hundred women at Rikers, I don't usually work with them. However there was one woman I do remember vividly. Bernice was a pleasant woman about forty-two years old. She looked like every third woman you see on the bus. She had brown hair, just starting to get gray. I thought that she would probably get a red color rinse to hide the gray when she got out. It is possible to dye your hair in jail, to bleach it, and to get any other cosmetic product. Most of it is illegal contraband but if you are really well connected you can get anything including drugs. Anyway, she usually wore a nylon sweat suit with sneakers. She always looked very clean and eager to please. Attractive, a little overweight and very pleasant. This was her first incarceration and she had never been in trouble before. She said that she was in jail for writing bad checks on her employer's account. "I was a bookkeeper for a small linen supply company and my husband was a machine shop foreman. My husband and I worked hard for everything. We bought a nice house; we had two cars and even managed a vacation once in a while. Everything was great until my husband got laid off. Then the bills started to pile up. I tried to pay everyone some of what I owed. I figured that before long Mike would go back to work and we would catch up. Then Mike hurt his back. My insurance didn't cover all the doctor's bills and I didn't think that Mike could do his old job even if they did call him back. Then I had some woman trouble and needed an operation. Even then there were problems because I don't think the doctors did the right thing for my condition. You know, when you are down, nothing seems to come except more trouble. The bill collectors were hounding us. We borrowed all the money we could but it still wasn't enough. We lost our house and I just didn't know what to do so I started writing some checks out of my office's accounts. Finally my boss caught on. He said that he was sorry but he called the police and I got arrested. " I guess that there are millions of people with the same stories. I really felt sorry for her. She didn't use drugs. She was so middle class and that is very unusual in the jail population. Even the Correction Officers felt sorry for her. The captain gave her a job in his office and told her that she could apply for a job as a civilian when she served her time. I saw her for the last time just before she went downstate for her prison assignment. Downstate is the processing facility. Sentenced inmates go to Downstate, from there they are sent to various prisons though out the state. She gave me a fond good-bye and thanked me for listening to her these past several weeks. "By the way, "she said, "you know, I just spoke to my husband and he said that the lawyer called and said that I would get a check for 11 million dollars for the surgery that the doctor's botched up." She was gone before I could ask any questions. I will never know.