In the beginning it was dark. The man appeared black.
The white van pulled inside the prison gate. Gatherine Goldberg sat mesmerized. She felt a strange stirring inside of herself. The long, decaying red brick structure resembled a medieval castle. Yet, she knew the structure held thousands of cells. She feared a hostage situation. Her attackers would be all black men. They would have homemade daggers and wearing bandanases. They would starved the group and the woman... . She wanted to scream, "No!"
Sandy sat next to her. She cautioned everybody not to let the prisoners scare them.
They were part of a criminal justice class touring the world's largest walled prison. As the group moved deeper into the prison, crowds of prisoners loitered about the asphalt road that lead away from the Subhall Office Building. The Big Top, the prison's cafeteria, obscured the groups' vision from seeing the full eastside.
"Warden!" Catherine called with a tone of urgency.
Warden Winters, a six -four, two hundred and sixty pounder, stopped. His cheerfulness vanished. He faced the girl, then he smiled. He saw the odd gleam in her eyes. "Yes, Ms. Goldberg?"
"I thought there was a special prison for the mentally disturbed." She glanced toward a prisoner running a gravel track.
The prisoner was strangely dressed for the hot weather. He wore a green army fatigue jacket, orange mittens, and a pair of wool sweatpants. A white towel flapped beneath a wool ski cap. His head lay on his chest like a boulder about to fall from a cliff. He threw punches in the air above is head.
"Yes!" Warden Winters loved having a public forum. It allowed him the spotlight and affirmed a bigger goal and a much rewarding future within the next four years as a state senator.
"It's not likely he's a nut-cracker case," the warden replied. Although, he is a typical prisoner. You need to understand prisoners aren't civil people. Always remember, they are here for doing something very seriously wrong. We can't see inside their minds. However, it's likely he's in the boxing program. However, most prisoners are cranks. They're so maladjusted that from the m they're released, they're planning their next crime. Reminds me of an ancient Japanese proverb 'a baby learns by falling, a man falls, and heals slowly.' It might have been Confuscius.
Ten years ago, the prison was rough. In that cellblock over there," he pointed toward an old cell block whose appearance of decay was glaring. "Prisoners stayed inside their cells, and ate bread with water."
"But, he going to have a heat stroke." Catherine insisted on learning more about the man.
"I'm thinking about eliminating the program."
"Why? Couldn't it help him to become a better person, maybe do something with his life besides returning here."
Warden Winter didn't like her tone. "Well, I believe it's the main catalyst for the assualts upon my staff." It was true almost daily, newspapers spliced into their front pages articles detailing prison violence and a call for greater security measures in operating the prison.
"Warden, do all the prisoners have jobs?" Clark Beasley asked. He wore a black Tee-shirt with the words "Make Peace Without the Pipe" stenciled in white.
"We don't force a prisoner to work. He can stand around counting the airplanes he sees flying overhead, attend school, learn a trade, or waste his time playing basketball. It's all up to him." As if on cue, there was an outburst of screams and shouting from the prisoners on the six-hoop basketball court near the road.
"There are so many prisoners, I was wandering if they all have individual cells," Catherine asked.
Warden Winters thought about the girl's bloodline. From her appearance, she appeared to be an All-American girl with blonde hair and blueberry eyes. Her curiousity assured him that she was in the right profession. "Well as you know, this prison ranks next to the highest in our security levels. Double bunking here, would be worse than putting your finger in a electric socket. The federal court sees the management problem and monitors us.
"Warden, I read that it takes nearly twenty-five thousand dollars a year to keep just one prisoner behind bars," Donna Wilson, the third girl among the group of ten, interjected. She felt an imposition to say something.
Warden Winters slowed his pace to walk beside the girl. "You can't believe everything that you read in the papers. For most part, those people get their information from prisoners."
The group laughed. While the warden talked, panic seized Catherine. A black prisoner stood a short distance away. He lewdly licked his lips while boldly roving his eyes over her. She turned to see if anyone else observed him. Their attention was focused on the warden. Timidly, she peered back at the prisoner. Her eyes met his lust-filled gaze. Oblivious to his surroundings, he grinned and began stroking his crotch.
Flashes of the girls who had been victims of rape around the university campus came to mind. Apprehensively, she studied his face to determine if she'd seen him or his picture before. She stood staring. Then, she suddenly realized the prisoner was about to unzip his pants. She jerked her head toward the group, but in her agitated state, she'd been left behind. Disabling fear grasped her. More and more prisoners gathered to stare with the same depraved lust.
"Yo! Yo!"
"Shake that thang, Mama!"
"I want some Puss-ee!"
The burst of vulgarities came from the prisoners calling after her as she raced to the group.
"Warden, Warden... ." She cried.
"Miss Goldberg, I'm sorry." Warden Winter was seething. He realized it was his fault the girl had gotten separated from the group.
"A prisoner over... ." Trembling, she stared in the direction of a vacant the area.
"Miss Goldberg, it's hard to separate the trash from the garbage in this place. If it were up to me, these prisoners wouldn't have yard. However, by law, I must let them have an hour a day outside their cells. In this profession, our motto is, 'Stay safe with mace.'"
His remark drew laughter and whispers from everyone, but Catherine, who eyed the warden with perplexity.
"Warden Winters!" a brash voice called.
Without stopping, Warden Winters looked in the direction of the caller. Three young blacks stood huddled at the corner of the road. Warden Winters frowned. The prisoner, who called him, wore dark sunglasses, a red nylon Tee shirt, with a matching skullcap. His arms were folded across his chest.
With dramatic poise, the prisoner glanced at his two companions. He approached the warden's group with casual strides. "I don't mean to be rude or inconsiderate, but I'd like to talk to you. It's important."
"Yes, couldn't you kite me?"
"No! I guess, I'm just lucky to see you today. You've ignored my kites," the prisoner said, referring to the prison's stationery used for institutional correspondence. He continued. "I wrote you a kite going on two months now. My name is Marshall, one, eighty-two, five twenty. I came here from Muskegon to have my eyes examined. That's been done like two months now. What's happening? I was in college. What's the point of getting half of an education?"
Warden Winters believed the prisoner was one of the new breed of prisoners causing all the trouble in his prison. He firmly believed the only way society could solve its crime problem was by implementing the death penalty. In his twenty-two years with the Department, the last few years had been the most turbulent with young belligerent blacks and Mexicans. An ultrasensitive situation was being created that threatened the lives of prisoners and guards.
Warden Winters' face tightened. He knew that it was likely the prisoners's kite had been thrown away as were ninety percent of the kites and grievances his office received. However. the prisoner, standing before him, had been sucessful in getting over the administrative hurdles. He had to take action. "I promise you, I'll check into this matter. I don't understand why I haven't received your kite. Maybe it was lost, but I'll see that you're not here longer than necessary. Just give me a week or two." The warden studied the prisoner and looked at each of his friends.
"Yeah. All right. I got your word."
The warden turned his back to the prisoner and continued walking down the road with the students.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to show you inside one of our cell blacks. You can be the judge of the prisoners' living standard.
"This is Three Block. Over five hundred prisoners are confined inside. He pound on one of the large, green steel doors.
"I'll get the door opened for you, Warden," a guard shouted from a vestible near the flat roof building.
A guard wearing a shaggy uniform soon opened the door. "Good afternoon, Warden," the guard replied. His nametag identified him as C/O Forner. His rotund body blocked half of the entrance. "I didn't know it was you at the door. I just warned some inmates about banging on the door. I thought they were being persistent." He nervously wiped his brow on the sleeve of his sport coat. The heat and unexpected visit made him uncomfortable. Somehow, the prison hot line had failed.
"I understand. I'd like to show my guests around." The warden made a mental note to suspend C/O Forner.
The group continued walking down the base floor while C/O Forner went to stand behind one of the two wooden desks in the corner near the door.
The enormity of the block created an illusion of infinite space and height. The noise reverberated off the walls. There were five levels of cells with fifty-two cells on each level. The cells circled the cellblock. One side faced the Central Complex, the other, the North side of the prison.
"My God, this place doesn't seem all bad. It's more like the Hyatt Regency Hotel - TV's, radios, and all kinds of field and track recreation," the student, wearing the Tee shirt commented as the group returned from walking down base. His flippant remark didn't take into account the social order, requiring a sixth sense to survive.
"Well, People, I believe this concludes our delightful tour of my model city program," Warden Winters joked.
Leaving the cellblock, Catherine noticed that the prisoner, whom she'd seen earlier, hadn't quit running. "That man is very serious about boxing," she stated.
At that instant, the prison's intercom sounded, "Attention on the yard! Attention on the yard! Yard is over!"
The prisoner began sprinting around the track. He stopped at an opening in the steel picket fence surrounding it. As he approached the cellblock, he forcefully jerked his head. Sweat glistened his forehead. He seemed to pay no particular attention to the departing group. As he reached for the handle of the door, the warden spoke to him.
"You're in terrific shape. You must be the champ!"
Prisoners looked indifferently at the scene. They stepped around the man while going into the cellblock. Some of the prisoners greeted him as Furgan.
Holding onto the door, Furgan moved out to the passageway. He breathed heavily and looked at Catherine who averted her eyes.
"Will you have a fight soon? Maybe I'll come see it," the warden proposed.
As if considering an lucrative offer, Furgan expelled a rush of air. "I'm not who you think I am. I didn't come here to be your freak." He slammed the door behind himself.
Warden Winters felt something he'd never felt before... mortified and helpless. A prisoner voice greeted him. Reacting, he spoke. He was definitely putting an end to the boxing program.
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POEMS
HAIKU HISTORY
blisters, bandannas
sunrise, sunset
revolution, jeri curls
a kool cigarette
throbbing temples
cold breakfast
doll baby
pretty legs
ahhh-hhh! mom-ma!
Obi Aremu
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