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,

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.

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.

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."

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.

Leaders are Leaders

Kip was gorgeous. He was 6'1", brown curly hair and a buff body only seen on television, a beach show, or in the jail yard during exercise time. The only difference about Kip was that he only had one leg. A shoot-out with a drug dealer cost the dealer his life and Kip his leg.

Most of the time Kip used a wheel chair. He was the unchallenged leader of the dorm and he managed it very well. Whatever was coming into the dorm, legal or illegal, Kip controlled it. He checked out the other residents received during visits. He ordered some deliveries himself. He always got some part of the gifts that came from families. He was the chief and he expected tribute. No one defied him.

Even the officers respected him because he kept fighting at a minimum. If there was a resident that I thought need protection, I could ask Kip to keep him safe and if there wasn't some special conflict, Kip would see that he was protected. Residents come and go. Once a leader, always a leader.

One day a resident who came in. He was from a rival gang faction on the street. He challenged Kip. Kip came up from his wheel chair and stood on his one leg. His other leg had been amputated at the hip. His body did not waver. He was as steady as a tree. He beat up the interloper and there was no more trouble.

Kip kept what was his and no one came looking for him again.

Kip said that when he gets out, he is going to develop body building exercise tapes for other who are disabled. He said that he might open a body building studio when he comes in 8 1/2 to 12.

Communication is Inportant

Clyde was brought into the Communicable Disease Unit when his x-ray indicated an area of concern on his left lung. The Communicable Disease Unit (CDU) houses residents in individual units when they are suspected of having tuberculosis or other infectious diseases. The residents are placed in these isolation units until it is determined medically that there in no danger to them or to the general population. The unit was very helpful in cutting down the number of people infected with TB because many of our residents do not seek medical attention when they are not in jail. In addition, since some residents are infected with HIV, they are more susceptible to infections and need additional protection.

The units have a very elaborate air-filter system with two locking door to allow for the air exchange. All personal wear masks when these patients are out of their units for medical treatment. The units are equipped with a shower, toilet, phone, a shelf with an attached seat bolted to the floor, and a television. Meals are placed a shelf between the inner and outer door. Both door are locked unless there is a reason and both door are only open when the patient comes out to see the doctor or nurse. On occasion, a nurse, doctor or mental health professional may go into the cell to speak with a patient. Whenever I go in, I always ask permission. I always ask permission to sit at the table. After all, this is his cell and I am entering only with his consent. Good manners are as important here as they are anywhere else.

The fourteen units are in a semi-circle. The fourteen units are separated by two sets of security door operated by an electrical system house in a building called the Sprung. It is a modern equivalent of a Quonset hut. Each door is opened by an officer with a key. There is a system whereby all the doors can be opened at once in case of an emergency. As with many newly built facilities all doors do not operate exactly as planned. One of the biggest complaints is about the phone system. The intercom that connects the resident with the outer world and the Correction Officer is frequently out of order. The Correction Officer can not see into each unit unless he/she takes a tour and the units are not visible from the nurses station.

The phone is the single most important privilege for a resident. He is usually given two phone calls each day. He is given a pin number as his identification number. He has six minutes of phone time. Residents may use their commissary money to charge additional phone calls. Only one resident can use the phone at any time. He must call the officers to have his phone turned on. The patient can cannot ask the officer to use the phone if the intercom doesn't work.

Clyde was a very well-groomed young man with a British accent. His manner were charming. He said that he was born in Jamaica but raised in London. He said that he went to Eton and was graduated from Oxford with a first in literature.

He was settled in a second unit, which was to the left of the officer's station and out of sight of the nursing station as well. Clyde was a model patient and resident. He was always polite, always pleasant and made no demands on anyone. He seemed to spend time on the phone but no officer remembered opening his line. Since no one remembered anything but complaints, no one took notice of Clyde beyond the usual nursing administrations and the meal deliveries.

Mental Health has the responsibility to see that every patient in isolation is at least well enough to respond by acknowledging a greeting. Clyde was always obliging. One day however, it was nearly time for Clyde to be discharged to general population. The scar on his lung was determined to be benign. He invited me into his cell and asked me to convey his thanks and appreciation to all the staff for their many kindnesses toward him. I told him that he had been a model patient and I wondered how he was able to pass his time so peacefully, without stress. "I'm always on the phone, you see. I talk to my friends and family all over the world." he said. My first reaction was fright. Had I missed some florid psychotic process? "Don't be alarmed " he said. "I'm a computer expert. I am able to tap into the computer here to make my calls. If you don't believe me, give me any phone number any place in the world and I'll connect you." I gave him the number of my sister's office in Cincinnati and he connected me. "All the calls are undetectable. They won't show up on any bill because I re-route them. I'm never bored, you see. For my next trick, would you like to see me open my cell door...all the cell doors in the unit?" I thanked him kindly but declined. The security breeches were too profound and I could not even contemplate the consequences.

A few weeks later, I went into a cell to speak with a patient. The officer opened the door to let me in. Unbeknownst to me, he was a meal relief officer. My conversation with the patient went on for some time and when I was ready to leave, I press the intercom and typically it was not working. Unfortunately when the regular officer came back from lunch, his relief did not tell him I was in the cell. It was not until the shift changed, three hours later, that the new tour began that the incoming officer checked all the cells and found me. The patient and I had watched the afternoon soaps operas together. Since I am not generally available between noon and three to watch television, the patient was kind enough to tell me the plots. It was a very pleasant way to spend an afternoon.