When I hold substance abuse groups, I often ask the members "what is the worst thing that would happen if you stopped using drugs?". I get some very interesting answers. Sometimes I even get the truth.
Jay told the truth, "when you get out of prison, you look good. You put on weight, you work out, build some muscles. Everyone knows you just came home from up north. Pretty soon somebody will offer you some drugs. They don't even charge you. They give them to you for free. When you get hooked, then they charge you. They know you are a customer again and you are theirs for life. It's never your men friends who will get you to go back to drugs, They may stay clear of you but they won't try to get you to use again. No, it is Suzy Hotpants who walks by. She says just buy me a little and I'll show you how wild I can be. She takes a hit on the pipe and just sets down where it is in easy reach. You are on your own then and it isn't easy. One day when I was on the block I ran into a real good friend of mine. He said "look, I've got $800. I remember allthe times you took care of me. I'm going to buy you some new clothes . I'm going to take you out for the best dinner. You are my best friend and I really owe you." Just then , Suzy Hotpants walks by. She is walking slowly, giving both of you time to see just how good she looks. In no time, she says to me, "let's you and me get together. Tell your friend that you'll be back later." My friend takes off. He says to me, "see you later". "It starts with getting her something. You may take a little hit and that's all it takes. That is the way it happens all the time. And that's the truth." I believe Jay and I know that he speaks the truth. He is a small man, missing more than a few teeth. In another life, he would have made a great stand up comic. His delivery and timing were excellent.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The Tattoo Artist
Timothy was a victim of drugs. He was 25 going on 50. His hair was red, balding on top, shaggy on his neck. His face was covered with freckles. Timothy had tattoos on his neck, shoulders, arms, chest and legs, and even on his ears. "Every time I got high, I got a new tat. Just imagine all the fun I had when the police asked me if I had any identifying marks. It took a whole page just to catalog my pictures. I'm some kind of an art gallery." "You know, " he said, "I used to be pretty good at my job. I learned electrical maintenance when I did a bid as a kid. They say that no knowledge is ever wasted. I put it to good use. I figured out how to pass alarm systems. That was my thing and I had been a pretty successful burglar. My specialty was robbing video stores and selling the tapes to other dealers. People placed orders with me and I would rob a store and sell them the videos they wanted. I was very reliable and I had a lot of steady customers. People liked me and they knew I could be trusted to deliver. I seldom got caught and I was pretty proud of my ability until I started to use cocaine. I got sloppy. I stopped going to see my parole officer, my urine was dirty. I had a bunch of warrants and the police were beginning to notice me and watch me. When I used cocaine, I thought that I was invisible. I was invisible until I used so much that I began to see things. One day I was so sure that I was being chased by tigers that I began to run frantically to find some place to hide and get away. I was so scared that I ran into the back of a police car to escape. Is that being scared or what? I got 9 1/2 to 18 years. No more tigers."
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Not On The Forbes List, But...
On of the most successful drug dealers I met was Joe. Joe did not look like anyone that Central Casting would send to a movie audition for the part. He looked like TV's idea of a very successful, well-respected business leader. And he was. His hair was dark brown and well timed as if he frequented and expensive stylist. And he did. His brown eyes were clear, alert and attentive. Despite his current address, he wore well-pressed slacks with a fit that was a tribute to his tailor. There was nothing on the rack that was good enough for this gentleman. If his picture were on the cover of a financial magazine, it would be appropriate. He might look a little younger than the average billionaire but not if he were a venture capitalist or a computer designer. He was not aggressive, he was just clearly in charge. The other residents knew it and so did the officers. The man had presence. He was shorter than average just like many financial tycoons and movie actors. His eyes were calm and all knowing. He spoke in a quiet, soft-spoken tone that one had to listen to very carefully or miss. Everyone listened very carefully because no one wanted to miss a word he said. His shirts were always ironed. Since there is no such service in jail, he must have has a special delivery service to send his laundry in and out.
Joe moved through the dorm as if he were on his own plantation. The residents moved aside in a natural way without seeming to resent or fear him. I thought that Joe probably provoked the same reaction wherever he was, in jail or on the street. Most successful drug dealers are not in jail but he was unlucky for the minute.
He explained that it takes a lot of hard work to run a successful drug business just like any other successful business. He said that that people didn't realize that it takes a lot more than guns to keep a territory and make it profitable. The competition is fierce, loyalty is problematic. Iimporting, manufacturing, and distribution had to be planned carefully. No detail was overlooked. He said that he knew his market and knew that he has to persuade consumers that his product was superior to other similar products. He told me that it took a great deal of research and development to produce a grade of drug that was sufficiently satisfying yet profitable. He was concerned about profit margins. He said that he also like the prestige of being successful because people in the community looked up to him when he walked down the street. People stepped aside and women were thrilled to be seen with him. I kept wondering what made him different from any other successful businessman, except for the product he was selling.
Joe told me that you can tell who is the salesman and who is the salesperson by the car he/she drives. You can also tell what product is being sold by the color of the car.
Joe said that there is a great of prestige is being a successful dealer. All he was doing was selling the wrong product because he could not go public. He may be a venture capitalist. He bailed himself out. As a parting message, he said that never underestimate the skills of a successful drug dealer. If you can sell one product, you can sell another one just as easily.
Joe moved through the dorm as if he were on his own plantation. The residents moved aside in a natural way without seeming to resent or fear him. I thought that Joe probably provoked the same reaction wherever he was, in jail or on the street. Most successful drug dealers are not in jail but he was unlucky for the minute.
He explained that it takes a lot of hard work to run a successful drug business just like any other successful business. He said that that people didn't realize that it takes a lot more than guns to keep a territory and make it profitable. The competition is fierce, loyalty is problematic. Iimporting, manufacturing, and distribution had to be planned carefully. No detail was overlooked. He said that he knew his market and knew that he has to persuade consumers that his product was superior to other similar products. He told me that it took a great deal of research and development to produce a grade of drug that was sufficiently satisfying yet profitable. He was concerned about profit margins. He said that he also like the prestige of being successful because people in the community looked up to him when he walked down the street. People stepped aside and women were thrilled to be seen with him. I kept wondering what made him different from any other successful businessman, except for the product he was selling.
Joe told me that you can tell who is the salesman and who is the salesperson by the car he/she drives. You can also tell what product is being sold by the color of the car.
Joe said that there is a great of prestige is being a successful dealer. All he was doing was selling the wrong product because he could not go public. He may be a venture capitalist. He bailed himself out. As a parting message, he said that never underestimate the skills of a successful drug dealer. If you can sell one product, you can sell another one just as easily.
Friday, January 30, 2009
The Psychic Connection
When I first started to work on Rikers in 1989, I met Mason. He was about 30 years old but had no teeth. His hair was thick and classically shaped by the inmate barbers. Inmate barbers are literally the cutting edge. They are the point men of fashion or as they phrased it, they are on Avenue A (the front line). Mason's skin was smooth and if it wasn't for the small blue teardrop tattooed beneath is right eye, he would have looked much younger. The tattoo was in memory for a close friend or enemy who had been killed. Mason could neither read nor write but he never forgot anything. His memory was uncanny. He never forgot a movie he had ever seen, a television show, every piece of music and every lyric. He could repeat long passages from the bible and sermons that he had heard. More than remembering, he could also process the information and draw his own conclusions. His conclusions were sophisticated and erudite. His opinions were developed as a result of several different pieces of data he heard from different sources. People thought that he was stupid because he was illiterate but his memory was remarkable. However, Mason also told me about aliens, little green men who visited him in his cell. I listened, Then he told me stories about the affairs of celebrities who were having marital troubles, who was having drug problems, who would soon be indited for illegal activities, and who was going to jail. Since these events had not been reported, I took it about as seriously as the stories about the little green visitors. But every time there was a newspaper report of the event Mason had predicted, he brought me a newspaper article confirming the story.
Mason never predicted lottery numbers or stock tips but he was not wrong on the messages he did get from wherever.
Mason never predicted lottery numbers or stock tips but he was not wrong on the messages he did get from wherever.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Flour Flowers
When Scott entered the doorway, he blocked out the light. He was about 6 foot 6, three hundred pounds and had less fat than skim milk. He told me that he had been in Special Forces and could kill a man with his hands in at least 12 ways. He wasn't proud of his skill and mentioned them casually. He said that he went into the service at eighteen and was trained to be a killer. He said that he was good at it but that there wasn't much else he could do well. Scott was depressed with the world and its violence. He was particularly concerned about young people and the gangs. Scott wanted to start an Alternative to Violence program in the dorm but he said that the other men seemed too intimidated to believe that he wanted to teach something besides hurting. He said that there were certain disadvantages to his size because people made assumptions that were not true. He said that he really wanted to be a teacher and he would especially like to teach youngsters about art, classical music, and great literature. "I don't want to think about killings", he said. "I want to think about love and the beauty of the world. I know that I have been sentenced to life without parole but even in prison I can teach someone." He wrote poetry and loved music.
One day he brought me a flower. The vase was the top of a shampoo bottle. The flower was made of bread. The stem and leaves were colored green by string beans. The flower was red with beet juice. It seemed incredibly tiny in his huge hand. I kept it until it finally returned to the flour from whence it came.
A friend and I were watching TV and she asked me if I thought that there were really men who were built like those buff guys on the beach. I told her that I see hard bodies every day. I see more hard bodies than on all TV shows and on all beaches.
There was a very nice young man and with a six-pack and cuts on his whole body. His was gorgeous and he was a paraplegic. A bullet severed his spine. It was not an accident. He was selling drugs out of his territory and the dealer wanted to make a point. This is not uncommon. Anyway, this young man was going up north for 6 1/2 to 12 and said that he wanted to keep in shape in case there was some research drugs or surgery and he wanted to be a candidate for clinical trials. He had hopes in a cure. He wanted to be part of it.
One day he brought me a flower. The vase was the top of a shampoo bottle. The flower was made of bread. The stem and leaves were colored green by string beans. The flower was red with beet juice. It seemed incredibly tiny in his huge hand. I kept it until it finally returned to the flour from whence it came.
A friend and I were watching TV and she asked me if I thought that there were really men who were built like those buff guys on the beach. I told her that I see hard bodies every day. I see more hard bodies than on all TV shows and on all beaches.
There was a very nice young man and with a six-pack and cuts on his whole body. His was gorgeous and he was a paraplegic. A bullet severed his spine. It was not an accident. He was selling drugs out of his territory and the dealer wanted to make a point. This is not uncommon. Anyway, this young man was going up north for 6 1/2 to 12 and said that he wanted to keep in shape in case there was some research drugs or surgery and he wanted to be a candidate for clinical trials. He had hopes in a cure. He wanted to be part of it.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Before soup was served last Tuesday evening, dressed by Bijou, manicured by Bergdorf, and haircut by Barney, my dinner partner told me that his very good friend, a Forbes billionaire was not caught into the Madoff mess because he was too smart to be fooled by the investment fund. The gentlemen to my right, schooled at Harvard and Oxford, and seasoned in HongKong said that his best friend as a possible candidate for a Pulitzer.
At the sports club, I overheard two beautifully toned young women talking as they climbed the stair machines to infinity. The first one said that her former roommate from college was starring in a play on Broadway. The other young lady said that one of her best friends was on the Obama short list for employment.
When I got my haircut at a fancy Madison Avenue salon, a gift from my children, the hairdresser snipped as he told me that one of his famous clients was going to the Oscar's.
The attendant in the garage said that one of his customers and very good friend had just received a MacArthur Grant.
A friend of a friend of mine said that he just attended a party given by a fashion magazine and met a super model. It seems that everyone has friends in high places. I don't...I have friends in low places.
Rikers Island is a jail. Most of the residents are waiting to go to court to be tried for their offense. They are innocent until proven quilty. There are some residents who are sentenced and serving city time...less than one year. Many New Yorkers think that they see Rikers from the TriBorough (Robert Kennedy) Bridge to Queens. The tall buildings on the right on Wards Island are Kirby Forensic Hospital. Rikers Island can be seen from one of the runways at LaGuardia Airport if you know where to look and you know what you are seeing.
It takes me about twenty minutes to drive to work because I drive against traffic from Manhattan toward LaGuardia Airport. The Grand Central Parkway exit for Marine Terminal is in East Elmhurst. East Elmhurst is a very nice community of garden apartments and single family homes. On each holiday the decorations are attractive and abundant. Halloween, Christmas and even smaller events are celebrated to please the children and the neighborhood residents. The cars parked in front of the homes are late models . The lawns are neat and the flowers are brightly colored. The whole area has mature trees that spread a leafy canopy above many street. The neighborhood has a great deal of pride for good reasons. There is a neighborhood school, a drug store, a bank, a bakery, a luncheonette, a small market. All these places are clean and attractive. Just past the softball field that serves the Little League team is large sign that says, "New York Correctional Facility, Rikers Island, Home of New York's Boldest Correction Officers." I turn right at the light.
There is a bus stop that brings officers and civilian workers to and from work. It also brings families and those who love people who are incarcerated on Rikers Island. Visiting hours begin at 7 AM in some of those buildings and relatives are waiting to get on the Island. Those visitors will need two forms of identification. The officers have their badges and civilian employees have permanent passes. I have a Gate One pass and I can drive over the bridge. The bridge is always under repair. Fixing the bridge seems to be a career choice. As I drive across the bridge, I can see planes on the runway ready to take off. On the left side there is a waste treatment center. It smells. It seems as if a person could swim from Rikers and escape but no one ever does.
The bridge has the best views of Rikers. There are 10 jails on Rikers. Each one has its own name, warden, correctional officers, medical and mental health services and all other necessary staff. They used on have their own kitchens but that has become centralized. The officers have the initials of the jail on their collar. Each jail has its own visit house and chapel. Sometimes couples get married in the chapel. It is usually because the inmate is going to go up state and they want to have conjugal visits when he/she is locked up. No one comes to Rikers to visit unless they know where they are going.
On the Rikers' side of the bridge, I pass through another gate. The officers recognizes my car. It is a red drop top Camero. My license plate is Rikesyc. We wave, say hi and I drive in.
Immediate after the gate is a wide boulevard with grass in the middle. There are no trees but the grass is always cut. The Canadian geese use the center and when they make their rounds in the spring with the babies, all traffic stops for them. We all wait for the parade. On both sides of the boulevard there are young trees lining the fence that surrounds each jail. The fences ate 12 feet high and topped with heavy gauge razor wire. There is parking on the outside of the fence. Parking is at a premium and tough to come by. All the grounds are very clean. Labor is very cheap. Residents are willing to work because they are so bored. They are happy to get on any work detail. Although there is very little pay it's better than sitting around, playing cards, watching TV, sleeping or reading.
Work details wear bright orange jump suits. All other residents wear their own clothes because they are all presumed innocent since they have yet to come to trial. There are clothes boxes in every jail for people who truly have nothing to wear. Some of the clothes are new. tee shirts, socks, underwear, some are donated by, some are purchased by the city, some are left by residents who went to court and were released and didn't come back for their clothing.
In 1989, I was the assistant mental health chief. I worked in AMKC (C-95). It was the largest jail on the island. It is a three story brick building, built is the 1940's. There are no bars on the windows. The windows are narrow vertical panes with heavy metal strips holding them in place. Most of the windows opened at one time but now they are welded shut. There is no central air-conditioning. The building sort of grew. There are temporary extensions built to house the growing population. The additions are functional, not designed for beauty. It housed over 1000 men, mostly in 50 bed dormitories. I go through the gate and show my badge to the Correction Officers. After I park my car, I walk to the building. As I approach, I see the officers leaving from the 11 PM to 7AM tour. They are dressed in street clothes. They load their guns at the sandbox and leave. I bang on the door and the officers buzzes me in. I exchange my institutional badge for the AMKC badge. I place my purse on the conveyor belt. My lunch is in a clear plastic badge. All the contents are viewed . I will go through the metal detector. If the alarm goes off, the officer will pass a wand around me. We goes though this every time I come in the building. We are friends but he has his job to do and I know what I am supposed to do.I can leave the island for lunch but is usually too much trouble and takes too long.
Female Correction Officers are beautifully groomed. Their hair, nails, and makeup are a clear indication of their femininity despite the responsibility of their jobs. They wear dark blue well pressed shirts and slacks. When they leave at the end of their tour, they are dressed like any other fashionable professional woman. Their one accessory is a gun the put into their handbag when they leave the building.
No guns are allowed in the jail. The guns are checked in and stored in individual lockers. There is the fear that a resident could grab a gun and use it against an officer, a civilian, or another resident.
The officer will buzz me through the next set of doors. The corridor has offices for the warden, the assistant warden, for the programs officer, security, and other jail functions.The riot gear is also stored here. Plexiglas shields, helmets, body armour, and batons are hung up in the corridor. The gear will be used during a routine search, to escort a resident designated as a centrally monitored command. That means that the resident is a high profile case, or an escape risk.
When I pass through this gate, I am actually in the jail area. The gates are slammed behind me. I pass the law library, the commissary, the meal hall (residents don't eat together in a large dining room. They eat on their dorm. Carts bring meals to them), and the pharmacy.
This is a receiving building. Men come here right from the precincts where they were arrested. Each person has to be housed within 24 hours and there is a lot a pressure to see that they are housed because otherwise they can sue Corrections are tried to get paid for the time they were not housed in appropriate housing. The Department of Corrections is very aware of this problem and there is a great deal of anxiety to see that the men have their medical screening and some psychiatric evaluation. Some men are sick because a lot of homeless men come to jail. Some men are drug abusers and are in withdrawal. Some have psychiatric problem and statistics show that jails are becoming the largest mental health centers in the country. Rikers is the second largest jail in the country. It has about 16,000 residents at any time and may pass about 150,000 residents through each year.
I know that I am a guest of the Department of Corrections. Their responsibility is control, custody, and care. I am a civilian and will conduct myself with courtesy at all times, remembering that I am in their house. It will make my life more pleasant and my job possible. Correction Officers are very nice people. They are warm, intelligent, kind, funny, and very sweet. Although their job is tough, they are the greatest people to work with. It is difficult to overstate my pleasure to work with them. Forget the movies and television shows. Correction Officers may be the boldest but they are also the nicest people I have ever met.
Correction Officers are polite to residents and rarely abusive unless there is a reason to show force. Perhaps because it is a New York jail and most of the Officers are from the city, there is more understanding and less animosity. Some residents know the officers from the street. Some officers are related to the residents. Forget the stereotypes, on both sides.
After I get to the second set of gates and wait to be allowed to passed through, I pass a very long corridor. On one side is the intake area. This is where they hold men waiting to be housed. They are holding pens and men are very unhappy to be there. Sometimes I have to go into the holding pen to evaluate a man who may have a severe psychiatric disorder. The holding pens are ugly and usually very noisy. The men are very angry to be there and vent their frustration to everyone. Mostly the officers ignore it because there isn't anything they can do to get them housed any faster. If I come in, they scream for attention as if I was able to change their situation. I can't. I know the anger is not directed at me personally and I keep going.
Toward the other end of the passage is a chapel. It is quite lovely and can be used for religious ceremonies including marriage. The altar can be rotated and change to reflect Catholic, Protestant, or non-denominational services. I have seen several weddings. The brides are often dressed in traditional white gowns. with veils and flowers. They have to come across the bridge on the bus. They bring their families and children to the ceremony. The bridegroom may be dressed in a suit that the family brought for him. After the pastor officiates and the bride and groom kiss, the families congratulates the couple, the officer takes him back to his dorm and the bride goes home. Some families support the marriage because they hope it will stabilize both of them especially if there are children involved.
At the very end of the corridor, there are three tiers of dorms. The are called "the projects" and are generally acknowledged to be the place where anything can be gotten and anything goes. It is also a very ugly. The stairs are concrete. The glass is laced with wire. The hand rails are metal. There is no grace, warmth or style. It is functional and strictly to imprison. This not housing for a first time resident. Each floor is locked individually. Each dorm, there are four on each level opens separately and locks down separately. Every door I come to is locked. Every time I go in an officers unlocks it for me and locks it behind me. I don't think about it because this is jail and this is the way it is.
Ladies of the Morning
My first job each morning was to retrieve mental health charts from the infirmary and bring them to the mental health clinic. I bang on the infirmary door and an officer lets me in. The residents are sitting on benches behind Plexiglas. When I first started working in this building there was no Plexiglas. Unfortunately, a few officers and civilians were attacked, spit upon, and were generally abused by the residents. Now there is Plexiglas.
At 7 AM, the officers bring the residents from homosexual housing to the clinic for sick call. Homosexual housing was voluntary. It was open to all but it was not as popular with residents who view homosexuality as an alternative life style. Those men usually prefer to stay in the population. They live their own life quietly.
Homosexual housing usually attracts men who are really out there. They are the rad...the flamboyant...the Queens. Homosexual housing is voluntary but the time for sick time is not. Officers would rather bring these residents to the infirmary when the corridors are quiet and there is less opportunity for catcall and responses.
At 7:30 AM, I face an audience far more formidable than the Vogue Fashion Board. The residents at sick call comment with approval or disapproval at each article of my clothing. They know the designer, the price, and the store for each item. It became a challenge to meet their approval and I felt depressed for some times they were not sufficiently pleased. It was a routine that I both dreaded and anticipated.
Sick call is a pleasant break in the jail routine and is very well attended. It is a social hour and a change from dorm housing. It is also a chance for dorm residents to check out other male residents and the Correction officers. Nobody was missed and no one missed being rated and no evaluation went unchallenged. The principles were simple. It was new meat. Not unlike a housewife, the samples were carefully examined and weighed. The comments were similar to describing fresh vegestables. Particular tastes were expressed. Special features were noted. Hidden qualities were debated. It was a very critical group. They were frequently cruel and almost always very funny. The language was arcane but the gestures were universal.
Given the group is Madam Lafarge's fashion committee, is it any wonder that their opinions were important. If they were pleased, it was often a jury decision and given ratings were like judges at an event. Of course there were some favorites. Leather was good and usually appreciated. Boots were good. Particularly reptile, snakeskin, 'gator. Strong designers were good. Preppy is boring. Cheap is out. Last year was old. Classics were as OK if is occasional Tres Chic. As they became more friendly, a few offer to boost for me because they felt that knew my well enough. This was not Saks had in mind as shoppers. There was no doubt they I could trust their judgement. These people were connoisseurs. There was no keener fashion sense. They were cutting edge and could forecast the fashion that will be featured in next year's magazines. They were much more critical than mid-town and their praise was much more rewarding. They might not have been the best shoplifter (this time) because that were in jail but no one could deny their great good taste. If you want to dish, they were the There is no me.
Champagne showed me a picture of herself as a super model. She looked gorgeous in a black satin, one-shoulder sheath. Her earring sparkled and if they not real diamonds they looked good. She wore the highest heels with slender straps that were flecked with stones to bring the entire outfit elegance, style, and exact replication of the Elle ad that featured the same number. Crystal said that she had a suit very similar to the one I was wearing. My skirt was black leather with a matching vest. I wore a white silk and she said that she preferred another blouse because of her skin tones but of course it was all a matter of personal taste. She said she had been in several fashion shows and that cross dressers were very much in demand. She said that she was in great demand to attend fashion shows and that most A-list affairs always invited many ladies for the evening. Suzy said it was true Page Six said it too but I heard it first here.
Once in awhile, if I had time, we would trade opinions about some of the doctors and officers. Jonny was tiny but tended to have a weight problem. She tended to like tall men with tight butts but Jilly who was very tall, very slim, liked hairy men who were soft and cuddly. Billy, fat and sassy, was usually mean and sarcastic with her assessments but very, very funny and accurate.
I learned at lot about makeup from them. Mavis was very self-conscious because her teeth were missing. She told me that her plate was in the sheets and during a shakedown the officer would not give her time to get them.
A shake down or search is an unpleasant event. Officers, usually assigned to another jail come the bed and lockers. All contents are thrown on the floor. The officers are looking for contraband; shanks, homemade weapons, drugs, food, and any other that are considered illegal. In the process, many things are lost or destroyed.
Mavis' teeth disappeared. She often complained that my makeup was too subtle and she suggested a bit more defination but only earth color accents. The advice they gave me was always right. Flavia's fashion predictions were always supported by Elle...six months later. Flavia's own style was impeccable. Her hair was long and curly. She brushed it until each wave was perfect. She carried herself with the poise and carriage of a runway model.
I came to rely on this group of fashion consultants more than any other source of advice, They were my guides to next year's look, They never had any trouble getting into clubs. I was asked to join Champagne in one and a to three years. Leslie is 6'2 1/2 and weighs more than 300 pounds. Any man would be a fool to pick a fight with Leslie but in her great big, sweet heart there is a feminine, warm woman. She has a child and when she gets revoke and restore of her parole, she will go back to being every bit as involved as any soccer mom. She invited me to meet her at her art class at Wigstock a major gay even on Labor Day weekend. I really missed them when I was transferred to another building. Fortunately there is always someone in every building who will let me know when I was "on the jump" and when I was "merely".
I wear good jewelry to jail. No place is safer. I didn't realize that my emerald tennis bracelet had fallen off until on resident returned it to me. He said that he has seen it on me and knew I would be upset if I lost it. I thanked him very much. That is how friends take care of friends.
At the sports club, I overheard two beautifully toned young women talking as they climbed the stair machines to infinity. The first one said that her former roommate from college was starring in a play on Broadway. The other young lady said that one of her best friends was on the Obama short list for employment.
When I got my haircut at a fancy Madison Avenue salon, a gift from my children, the hairdresser snipped as he told me that one of his famous clients was going to the Oscar's.
The attendant in the garage said that one of his customers and very good friend had just received a MacArthur Grant.
A friend of a friend of mine said that he just attended a party given by a fashion magazine and met a super model. It seems that everyone has friends in high places. I don't...I have friends in low places.
Rikers Island is a jail. Most of the residents are waiting to go to court to be tried for their offense. They are innocent until proven quilty. There are some residents who are sentenced and serving city time...less than one year. Many New Yorkers think that they see Rikers from the TriBorough (Robert Kennedy) Bridge to Queens. The tall buildings on the right on Wards Island are Kirby Forensic Hospital. Rikers Island can be seen from one of the runways at LaGuardia Airport if you know where to look and you know what you are seeing.
It takes me about twenty minutes to drive to work because I drive against traffic from Manhattan toward LaGuardia Airport. The Grand Central Parkway exit for Marine Terminal is in East Elmhurst. East Elmhurst is a very nice community of garden apartments and single family homes. On each holiday the decorations are attractive and abundant. Halloween, Christmas and even smaller events are celebrated to please the children and the neighborhood residents. The cars parked in front of the homes are late models . The lawns are neat and the flowers are brightly colored. The whole area has mature trees that spread a leafy canopy above many street. The neighborhood has a great deal of pride for good reasons. There is a neighborhood school, a drug store, a bank, a bakery, a luncheonette, a small market. All these places are clean and attractive. Just past the softball field that serves the Little League team is large sign that says, "New York Correctional Facility, Rikers Island, Home of New York's Boldest Correction Officers." I turn right at the light.
There is a bus stop that brings officers and civilian workers to and from work. It also brings families and those who love people who are incarcerated on Rikers Island. Visiting hours begin at 7 AM in some of those buildings and relatives are waiting to get on the Island. Those visitors will need two forms of identification. The officers have their badges and civilian employees have permanent passes. I have a Gate One pass and I can drive over the bridge. The bridge is always under repair. Fixing the bridge seems to be a career choice. As I drive across the bridge, I can see planes on the runway ready to take off. On the left side there is a waste treatment center. It smells. It seems as if a person could swim from Rikers and escape but no one ever does.
The bridge has the best views of Rikers. There are 10 jails on Rikers. Each one has its own name, warden, correctional officers, medical and mental health services and all other necessary staff. They used on have their own kitchens but that has become centralized. The officers have the initials of the jail on their collar. Each jail has its own visit house and chapel. Sometimes couples get married in the chapel. It is usually because the inmate is going to go up state and they want to have conjugal visits when he/she is locked up. No one comes to Rikers to visit unless they know where they are going.
On the Rikers' side of the bridge, I pass through another gate. The officers recognizes my car. It is a red drop top Camero. My license plate is Rikesyc. We wave, say hi and I drive in.
Immediate after the gate is a wide boulevard with grass in the middle. There are no trees but the grass is always cut. The Canadian geese use the center and when they make their rounds in the spring with the babies, all traffic stops for them. We all wait for the parade. On both sides of the boulevard there are young trees lining the fence that surrounds each jail. The fences ate 12 feet high and topped with heavy gauge razor wire. There is parking on the outside of the fence. Parking is at a premium and tough to come by. All the grounds are very clean. Labor is very cheap. Residents are willing to work because they are so bored. They are happy to get on any work detail. Although there is very little pay it's better than sitting around, playing cards, watching TV, sleeping or reading.
Work details wear bright orange jump suits. All other residents wear their own clothes because they are all presumed innocent since they have yet to come to trial. There are clothes boxes in every jail for people who truly have nothing to wear. Some of the clothes are new. tee shirts, socks, underwear, some are donated by, some are purchased by the city, some are left by residents who went to court and were released and didn't come back for their clothing.
In 1989, I was the assistant mental health chief. I worked in AMKC (C-95). It was the largest jail on the island. It is a three story brick building, built is the 1940's. There are no bars on the windows. The windows are narrow vertical panes with heavy metal strips holding them in place. Most of the windows opened at one time but now they are welded shut. There is no central air-conditioning. The building sort of grew. There are temporary extensions built to house the growing population. The additions are functional, not designed for beauty. It housed over 1000 men, mostly in 50 bed dormitories. I go through the gate and show my badge to the Correction Officers. After I park my car, I walk to the building. As I approach, I see the officers leaving from the 11 PM to 7AM tour. They are dressed in street clothes. They load their guns at the sandbox and leave. I bang on the door and the officers buzzes me in. I exchange my institutional badge for the AMKC badge. I place my purse on the conveyor belt. My lunch is in a clear plastic badge. All the contents are viewed . I will go through the metal detector. If the alarm goes off, the officer will pass a wand around me. We goes though this every time I come in the building. We are friends but he has his job to do and I know what I am supposed to do.I can leave the island for lunch but is usually too much trouble and takes too long.
Female Correction Officers are beautifully groomed. Their hair, nails, and makeup are a clear indication of their femininity despite the responsibility of their jobs. They wear dark blue well pressed shirts and slacks. When they leave at the end of their tour, they are dressed like any other fashionable professional woman. Their one accessory is a gun the put into their handbag when they leave the building.
No guns are allowed in the jail. The guns are checked in and stored in individual lockers. There is the fear that a resident could grab a gun and use it against an officer, a civilian, or another resident.
The officer will buzz me through the next set of doors. The corridor has offices for the warden, the assistant warden, for the programs officer, security, and other jail functions.The riot gear is also stored here. Plexiglas shields, helmets, body armour, and batons are hung up in the corridor. The gear will be used during a routine search, to escort a resident designated as a centrally monitored command. That means that the resident is a high profile case, or an escape risk.
When I pass through this gate, I am actually in the jail area. The gates are slammed behind me. I pass the law library, the commissary, the meal hall (residents don't eat together in a large dining room. They eat on their dorm. Carts bring meals to them), and the pharmacy.
This is a receiving building. Men come here right from the precincts where they were arrested. Each person has to be housed within 24 hours and there is a lot a pressure to see that they are housed because otherwise they can sue Corrections are tried to get paid for the time they were not housed in appropriate housing. The Department of Corrections is very aware of this problem and there is a great deal of anxiety to see that the men have their medical screening and some psychiatric evaluation. Some men are sick because a lot of homeless men come to jail. Some men are drug abusers and are in withdrawal. Some have psychiatric problem and statistics show that jails are becoming the largest mental health centers in the country. Rikers is the second largest jail in the country. It has about 16,000 residents at any time and may pass about 150,000 residents through each year.
I know that I am a guest of the Department of Corrections. Their responsibility is control, custody, and care. I am a civilian and will conduct myself with courtesy at all times, remembering that I am in their house. It will make my life more pleasant and my job possible. Correction Officers are very nice people. They are warm, intelligent, kind, funny, and very sweet. Although their job is tough, they are the greatest people to work with. It is difficult to overstate my pleasure to work with them. Forget the movies and television shows. Correction Officers may be the boldest but they are also the nicest people I have ever met.
Correction Officers are polite to residents and rarely abusive unless there is a reason to show force. Perhaps because it is a New York jail and most of the Officers are from the city, there is more understanding and less animosity. Some residents know the officers from the street. Some officers are related to the residents. Forget the stereotypes, on both sides.
After I get to the second set of gates and wait to be allowed to passed through, I pass a very long corridor. On one side is the intake area. This is where they hold men waiting to be housed. They are holding pens and men are very unhappy to be there. Sometimes I have to go into the holding pen to evaluate a man who may have a severe psychiatric disorder. The holding pens are ugly and usually very noisy. The men are very angry to be there and vent their frustration to everyone. Mostly the officers ignore it because there isn't anything they can do to get them housed any faster. If I come in, they scream for attention as if I was able to change their situation. I can't. I know the anger is not directed at me personally and I keep going.
Toward the other end of the passage is a chapel. It is quite lovely and can be used for religious ceremonies including marriage. The altar can be rotated and change to reflect Catholic, Protestant, or non-denominational services. I have seen several weddings. The brides are often dressed in traditional white gowns. with veils and flowers. They have to come across the bridge on the bus. They bring their families and children to the ceremony. The bridegroom may be dressed in a suit that the family brought for him. After the pastor officiates and the bride and groom kiss, the families congratulates the couple, the officer takes him back to his dorm and the bride goes home. Some families support the marriage because they hope it will stabilize both of them especially if there are children involved.
At the very end of the corridor, there are three tiers of dorms. The are called "the projects" and are generally acknowledged to be the place where anything can be gotten and anything goes. It is also a very ugly. The stairs are concrete. The glass is laced with wire. The hand rails are metal. There is no grace, warmth or style. It is functional and strictly to imprison. This not housing for a first time resident. Each floor is locked individually. Each dorm, there are four on each level opens separately and locks down separately. Every door I come to is locked. Every time I go in an officers unlocks it for me and locks it behind me. I don't think about it because this is jail and this is the way it is.
Ladies of the Morning
My first job each morning was to retrieve mental health charts from the infirmary and bring them to the mental health clinic. I bang on the infirmary door and an officer lets me in. The residents are sitting on benches behind Plexiglas. When I first started working in this building there was no Plexiglas. Unfortunately, a few officers and civilians were attacked, spit upon, and were generally abused by the residents. Now there is Plexiglas.
At 7 AM, the officers bring the residents from homosexual housing to the clinic for sick call. Homosexual housing was voluntary. It was open to all but it was not as popular with residents who view homosexuality as an alternative life style. Those men usually prefer to stay in the population. They live their own life quietly.
Homosexual housing usually attracts men who are really out there. They are the rad...the flamboyant...the Queens. Homosexual housing is voluntary but the time for sick time is not. Officers would rather bring these residents to the infirmary when the corridors are quiet and there is less opportunity for catcall and responses.
At 7:30 AM, I face an audience far more formidable than the Vogue Fashion Board. The residents at sick call comment with approval or disapproval at each article of my clothing. They know the designer, the price, and the store for each item. It became a challenge to meet their approval and I felt depressed for some times they were not sufficiently pleased. It was a routine that I both dreaded and anticipated.
Sick call is a pleasant break in the jail routine and is very well attended. It is a social hour and a change from dorm housing. It is also a chance for dorm residents to check out other male residents and the Correction officers. Nobody was missed and no one missed being rated and no evaluation went unchallenged. The principles were simple. It was new meat. Not unlike a housewife, the samples were carefully examined and weighed. The comments were similar to describing fresh vegestables. Particular tastes were expressed. Special features were noted. Hidden qualities were debated. It was a very critical group. They were frequently cruel and almost always very funny. The language was arcane but the gestures were universal.
Given the group is Madam Lafarge's fashion committee, is it any wonder that their opinions were important. If they were pleased, it was often a jury decision and given ratings were like judges at an event. Of course there were some favorites. Leather was good and usually appreciated. Boots were good. Particularly reptile, snakeskin, 'gator. Strong designers were good. Preppy is boring. Cheap is out. Last year was old. Classics were as OK if is occasional Tres Chic. As they became more friendly, a few offer to boost for me because they felt that knew my well enough. This was not Saks had in mind as shoppers. There was no doubt they I could trust their judgement. These people were connoisseurs. There was no keener fashion sense. They were cutting edge and could forecast the fashion that will be featured in next year's magazines. They were much more critical than mid-town and their praise was much more rewarding. They might not have been the best shoplifter (this time) because that were in jail but no one could deny their great good taste. If you want to dish, they were the There is no me.
Champagne showed me a picture of herself as a super model. She looked gorgeous in a black satin, one-shoulder sheath. Her earring sparkled and if they not real diamonds they looked good. She wore the highest heels with slender straps that were flecked with stones to bring the entire outfit elegance, style, and exact replication of the Elle ad that featured the same number. Crystal said that she had a suit very similar to the one I was wearing. My skirt was black leather with a matching vest. I wore a white silk and she said that she preferred another blouse because of her skin tones but of course it was all a matter of personal taste. She said she had been in several fashion shows and that cross dressers were very much in demand. She said that she was in great demand to attend fashion shows and that most A-list affairs always invited many ladies for the evening. Suzy said it was true Page Six said it too but I heard it first here.
Once in awhile, if I had time, we would trade opinions about some of the doctors and officers. Jonny was tiny but tended to have a weight problem. She tended to like tall men with tight butts but Jilly who was very tall, very slim, liked hairy men who were soft and cuddly. Billy, fat and sassy, was usually mean and sarcastic with her assessments but very, very funny and accurate.
I learned at lot about makeup from them. Mavis was very self-conscious because her teeth were missing. She told me that her plate was in the sheets and during a shakedown the officer would not give her time to get them.
A shake down or search is an unpleasant event. Officers, usually assigned to another jail come the bed and lockers. All contents are thrown on the floor. The officers are looking for contraband; shanks, homemade weapons, drugs, food, and any other that are considered illegal. In the process, many things are lost or destroyed.
Mavis' teeth disappeared. She often complained that my makeup was too subtle and she suggested a bit more defination but only earth color accents. The advice they gave me was always right. Flavia's fashion predictions were always supported by Elle...six months later. Flavia's own style was impeccable. Her hair was long and curly. She brushed it until each wave was perfect. She carried herself with the poise and carriage of a runway model.
I came to rely on this group of fashion consultants more than any other source of advice, They were my guides to next year's look, They never had any trouble getting into clubs. I was asked to join Champagne in one and a to three years. Leslie is 6'2 1/2 and weighs more than 300 pounds. Any man would be a fool to pick a fight with Leslie but in her great big, sweet heart there is a feminine, warm woman. She has a child and when she gets revoke and restore of her parole, she will go back to being every bit as involved as any soccer mom. She invited me to meet her at her art class at Wigstock a major gay even on Labor Day weekend. I really missed them when I was transferred to another building. Fortunately there is always someone in every building who will let me know when I was "on the jump" and when I was "merely".
I wear good jewelry to jail. No place is safer. I didn't realize that my emerald tennis bracelet had fallen off until on resident returned it to me. He said that he has seen it on me and knew I would be upset if I lost it. I thanked him very much. That is how friends take care of friends.
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