After a conversation with a friend last night I got to thinking about the difference in what we, as prisoners, feel essential to our lives and that felt by those power to make important things a reality to us. Lawmakers have satisfied the voters wishes (and their own personal wealth issues) by ensuring that when people commit crimes, they get fat sentences and long tails of supervised release. On the surface, there is nothing wrong with this- what loving, caring, sensitive community member wants some violent offender, or addict, or sexual predator, or thief living among them? The problem lies in the care and rehabilitation these offenders are supposed to be receiving while serving their sentences before release- because release should be a reality in most cases. And those releases should be expected to be merit-based, should they not? What tax-paying member of society should expect that criminals are just locked up punitively for years only to get worse and worse before a release date that will come whether that offender is ready to go or not?
The truth is that offenders are not beholden to change, and they will not usually do this on their own- unless a major impetus is present. There are exceptions. But they are few. The truth is that prison is easy to adjust to. Thicken the skin a little and camouflage all the emotions and weaknesses behind a growing reality that says you'll fight rather than be put down and, suddenly, you are ready for a long sentence until that sentence ends- and you'll enjoy some good times without the constant reminder of what was lost. This is the product that usually gets released.
Congress doesn't want to let us go. Understandably. But the money situation is such that, to not let us go means a loss of money. Now they want to let the least offensive go- but that doesn't change the essential problem. That problem lies as much with the offenders as with the beautiful families who just want to see their offender loved ones released. My mom, my friends, and this beautiful chick who helps with this blog want me to be released because they deeply feel that so many years was unfair- especially for drugs, while violent sexual offenders often get less time. The fact is that there is no difference in the overall effect of crime on society- crime is crime and it breeds a lack of trust within the community- whether there are many victims (withdrug dealing and fraud) or a single victim (with violence and sexual crimes). What makes the difference is that people change while they are in- and if and when they do make these essential changes, they need to be judged for this as well and released to their communities.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Monday, December 9, 2013
The Knockout Game
There is a new game sweeping the nation. It is a Youtube sensation. Here are the rules: You must find a white person who is unsuspecting of any kind of aggression. You must be a minority yourself. And you must try you're best to inflict as much violence as possible in one hit- knocking them out. Consequences to the violation of these rules: If you attack someone who isn't white, the police will probably come after you for gang violence. If you participate in this game and are not a minority( particularly black) then you will be prosecuted under the federal hate crime statutes. (If you are white you will be prosecuted under these laws without a doubt) and receive a 10 year minimum sentence. If you don't try to knock out the unsuspecting person, they may get up and beat youre ass, or shoot you. Have fun with the knockout game, and don't forget to film your exploits so you can post them online. This is what is happening out there right now. Whenever violent black attack white people, the media makes up silly little monikers for them to advertise it with. Remember the Thrill Kill? Stand up for what is right and start calling sh*t what it really is, Why hasn't one news station declared this Knockout Game a racially motivated hate crime? This country has allowed the media to make a mockery of the law, and the law enables that.
Beau/ Shane( Beau's cell mate helped with this)
Beau/ Shane( Beau's cell mate helped with this)
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Changing
I appreciate the fact that many
of you out there sympathize with men and women behind bars, doing long stretches
time, etc. But my greatest hope in establishing something of a voice from in
here is not to wave this banner of justification or call to arms those who see
the goodness in those convicted.....though those things do exist, I want it to
be clear that most of the men and women behind bars have earned
it.
Perhaps not lifetimes, and perhaps not even years, but they have earned it. And most of them continue to prove they deserve nothing better- I speak from experience- because they use this time for gang activity, drug usage, pinochle and dominoes and BET and CMT and TeenMom. The exception to this rule will eventually get out and make big changes in their communities- and for these men and women I would ask that all of you think about the necessary changes that might be enacted within the American prison complex.
The number of men and women who make the decision to change can be vastly increased with a little more available impetus- and an elevated penalty for those who choose not to make the changes society expects. You have the power to create a system that works. And this does affect you- and your families
Perhaps not lifetimes, and perhaps not even years, but they have earned it. And most of them continue to prove they deserve nothing better- I speak from experience- because they use this time for gang activity, drug usage, pinochle and dominoes and BET and CMT and TeenMom. The exception to this rule will eventually get out and make big changes in their communities- and for these men and women I would ask that all of you think about the necessary changes that might be enacted within the American prison complex.
The number of men and women who make the decision to change can be vastly increased with a little more available impetus- and an elevated penalty for those who choose not to make the changes society expects. You have the power to create a system that works. And this does affect you- and your families
Patiently Waiting.....
I'd been in USP Beaumont, TX
for a few weeks when we were locked down for a multiple group incident(
disruption involving various gangs or races). We might have been locked down for
a couple weeks, tops, but the tier outside our cells was trashed and dirty from
all the fishing lines passing and the officers smoking in the building, flicking
their ashes on the floor during counts. The day before we were let up, the unit
orderlies were allowed to come out for an hour to clean, and when we were
released the next day, piles of trash stood in the corners and mop buckets,
brimming with black water, waited by the mop closet doors.
While most of the inmates were shuckin' and jivin', showering or talking on the phone, one inmate- an old black guy who'd spent most of his life on prison basketball courts-was cleaning his cell. When he came to one of the mop buckets and realized that the mop closets were still locked, he went the officer's station where a black female officer was talking on the phone. After waiting patiently for five or ten minutes, her conversation ended and he asked her to come open the closet so everyone could get on with the process of cleaning their cells. She said that she'd get to it. So he went back to cleaning the cell and when he'd run out of things to do-left only with the mopping- he went back to the officer's station where she was, once again, on the phone. Again he waited. When she hung up he repeated his request and was given the same response. So he went and took a shower. With his shower out of the way, he pushed the mop bucket up to the office door to show the guard that the water was, indeed, filthy and needed to be changed if anyone were to clean their cells. But she was busy again, this time eating her lunch.
"Come back in a minute," she said. " Can't you see that I'm eating?"
"My Bad," he answered, stepping away from the desk. He pulled the soiled mop out of the water and turned it in the wringer with a couple good pumps. Then, setting both the mop and wringer unit on the floor, he picked up the bucket and dumped it's dirty black contents over the women's head before slamming the plastic container down on her subway sandwich.
Strips of lettuce and salami, trickling black, ashy water, hung from her chin and shirt lapel. The shocked look on her face-mixed with absolute terror that this was not the end of his attack- will stay with me forever. Not so much for the humor, but because it was a peek into the general perception many in society have of us : animals with no imagination or hope for returning to the grace of thoughtful humanity. In this instance at least, the assault ended with a lost meal and a ruined beehive hairdo. I distinctly remember that, for the longest time afterward, we didn't have a lot of trouble getting cleaning supplies.
While most of the inmates were shuckin' and jivin', showering or talking on the phone, one inmate- an old black guy who'd spent most of his life on prison basketball courts-was cleaning his cell. When he came to one of the mop buckets and realized that the mop closets were still locked, he went the officer's station where a black female officer was talking on the phone. After waiting patiently for five or ten minutes, her conversation ended and he asked her to come open the closet so everyone could get on with the process of cleaning their cells. She said that she'd get to it. So he went back to cleaning the cell and when he'd run out of things to do-left only with the mopping- he went back to the officer's station where she was, once again, on the phone. Again he waited. When she hung up he repeated his request and was given the same response. So he went and took a shower. With his shower out of the way, he pushed the mop bucket up to the office door to show the guard that the water was, indeed, filthy and needed to be changed if anyone were to clean their cells. But she was busy again, this time eating her lunch.
"Come back in a minute," she said. " Can't you see that I'm eating?"
"My Bad," he answered, stepping away from the desk. He pulled the soiled mop out of the water and turned it in the wringer with a couple good pumps. Then, setting both the mop and wringer unit on the floor, he picked up the bucket and dumped it's dirty black contents over the women's head before slamming the plastic container down on her subway sandwich.
Strips of lettuce and salami, trickling black, ashy water, hung from her chin and shirt lapel. The shocked look on her face-mixed with absolute terror that this was not the end of his attack- will stay with me forever. Not so much for the humor, but because it was a peek into the general perception many in society have of us : animals with no imagination or hope for returning to the grace of thoughtful humanity. In this instance at least, the assault ended with a lost meal and a ruined beehive hairdo. I distinctly remember that, for the longest time afterward, we didn't have a lot of trouble getting cleaning supplies.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Were Not All Bad
A lot of people out there may not have a clear picture of what convicts think about tragedies that occur out there. And, for the most part, they would be correct in assuming that a lot of these guys are apathetic, uncaring, and self-centered when it comes to pain they don't directly take part in. In many cases the only expression of compassion and community-mindedness come in the form of vengeance on the guilty parties of victimism on the streets (I'd kill that child molester if he'd been in my neighborhood.....etc.). But there are exceptions and they usually come in the quiet moments in the cell or at the dinner table when only a trusted ear is around to judge those thoughts. Last night I heard a guy talk about the terrible destruction suffered over in the Philippines, and how it would be nice to be a part of some sort of effort to help restore people to homes who've lost them, or construct buildings and bridges for the communities most impacted. This led to another guy entering the conversation and bringing up the topic of the recent Oklahome tornado disaster and how he would have acted so differently now had he been present to help the victims...
When I mentioned that the thoughts these guys were offering sounded a lot like men who wanted to change their communities for the better- and stand against stupid shit like drug dealing and the familiar levels of violence they grew up with, they attempted to draw a line.....call a disaster and a lifestyle two different mediums for action. I disagreed, and everyone out there knows that I am right when I defend the change necessary for a convict to become an acceptable member of society. These guys don't require big arguments to convince them, really. I think we just need a few opportunitites and the right examples telling us, "You still hold value- we want the best you have to offer."
When I mentioned that the thoughts these guys were offering sounded a lot like men who wanted to change their communities for the better- and stand against stupid shit like drug dealing and the familiar levels of violence they grew up with, they attempted to draw a line.....call a disaster and a lifestyle two different mediums for action. I disagreed, and everyone out there knows that I am right when I defend the change necessary for a convict to become an acceptable member of society. These guys don't require big arguments to convince them, really. I think we just need a few opportunitites and the right examples telling us, "You still hold value- we want the best you have to offer."
Sunday, November 10, 2013
The Story of the Six-Man cell- White Knight, Plastic Parrots( Finale)
By the time the Plastic Parrots
joke wrapped up and the Stuttering Cowboy came on the scene, even Elkins
couldn't resist to "join'em" in the laughter- a frustrated, almost tearful
capitulation around 2:30 in the morning. He had already gone through the violent
turning and exaggerated flopping phase that screamed everything he was unwilling
to actually voice. It was evident that these endless jokes were indeed meant to
try him and let him know that if he wanted to flex even an inch, he would be
visiting the infirmary long before he made it to the SHU for lock up. It became
and hours-long fever for Elkins, and when he was nearest to succumbing to the
heat-to snapping and going right over the edge- the fever broke and he laughed.
The effort of that laugh cost his ego something and he tried to regain it with a
lame , " stupid motherfu**ers," but there was no heart in it. By consensus, we
all saw that he was broken, and in my mind i felt the night was a success. In
the end we all laughed-as much at Chunk's aggressive, "in your face Elkins"
giggling at the stupid, never ending joke.
The remaining worry in my mind was that Elkins would find a way to climb out of bed early in the morning, after so little sleep, and still apply the passive-aggressive armbar of ritual oblations while we tried to sleep an extra 30 minutes. And when his alarm went off at 5:00, i believe that he was earnestly, admirably surprised to find Beau sprawled in the middle of the floor doing yoga. He stared at Beau for a quiet minute before sighing a long, " Jesus Christ....."
Shane-O turned over and peeled the wool cap up from his eyes. His soft laughter was a mixture of such glee and surprise and....understanding that I knew I would never meet guys like this again.
In the end Elkins moved into another cell and i found that his bottom bunk fit me very well, very comfortably, and I slept like a baby every night there after.
Beau Hansen
The remaining worry in my mind was that Elkins would find a way to climb out of bed early in the morning, after so little sleep, and still apply the passive-aggressive armbar of ritual oblations while we tried to sleep an extra 30 minutes. And when his alarm went off at 5:00, i believe that he was earnestly, admirably surprised to find Beau sprawled in the middle of the floor doing yoga. He stared at Beau for a quiet minute before sighing a long, " Jesus Christ....."
Shane-O turned over and peeled the wool cap up from his eyes. His soft laughter was a mixture of such glee and surprise and....understanding that I knew I would never meet guys like this again.
In the end Elkins moved into another cell and i found that his bottom bunk fit me very well, very comfortably, and I slept like a baby every night there after.
Beau Hansen
Friday, November 8, 2013
The Story of the Six-Man cell-Elkins....(Part 7)
Later that afternoon, walking
back from the chow hall with Chunks, I decided to try my hand at diplomacy and
remedy Elkins frustration before they had the chance to get fired over the edge.
When I told Chunks that Elkins was having a hard time dealing with everyone
shooting barbs at him and purposely chatting loud into the night , he just
laughed. When I told him that his homeboy, Jamie, and the other two that had
just come from the USP's wouldn't get two chances if Elkins actually snapped and
they beat him up, he just laughed. When I said that Elkins had told me that
morning that he was on the edge of calling some people out and getting it over
with, he didn't laugh. He only said that everyone would be really happy to hear
about that. He said " Thank you". Then he laughed and veered into the unit's
common area to sit down beside Shane-O and began the animated retelling of
everything I had just said. I wondered if maybe I should have talked to one of
the others. I wondered why the hell I imagined I might be a diplomat in any
situation. A last glance at the two of them assured me that I should not have
told Chunk's anything. Shane-O's face was perfectly angelic and he nodded while
looking straight at me. I knew that his amusement was not in the words he heard.
His light, generous smile and twinkling eyes forecast a long night of laughter
and joking at Elkins expense. I shook my head sadly an went into the
cell.
How the White Knight on the Black Horse was born no one ever told me. And how on earth a guy went from buying a few little yellow plastic parrots for his son, to buying a warehouse full of little yellow plastic parrots I never found out, but these things indeed did happen- at least that night they did. An hour after lockdown, and fifteen minutes after we turned out the lights( hours earlier than on any previous night) the cell was eerily silent and I knew immediately that these guys had something terrible and violent planned for Elkins. I pictured the four of them tying him up and torturing him with razor blades and burning wicks. At the very least one of them would taunt hum until he lipped off-then the beating would commence. Instead, just as Elkins made his comfortable turn toward the wall and his breathing settled into a heavy rhythm that leads into the blessed chambers of sleep, Beau's voice filled the silence.
"Whose wants to hear about the White Knight on a Black Horse?"
Shane-O: "OOOhhh...I do, I do, I do!"
Jamie: " Me too! Sounds kinda freaky."
Chunks: "Let's Hear it!"
Me: You know damn good and well that there wasn't a peep coming from me-not yet anyway.
Elkins turned over and heaved a laboring, angry breath at being awakened. His frustration and anger were almost palpable in the moments of silence that stretched out to embrace the beginning of Beau's jokes.
"Okay," Beau started, and I swear that I could hear the big smile on his face in these opening words: "This joke kind of stretches out in parts but hang on for the punch line- Shakespeare wrote this shit back in the day and you know how sleepy that motherfu**er was- everything good in time... Back in the days of knights-errant and sweet Dulcineas and rotten hookers with no teeth, there was a knight that went by the name of "The White Knight on a Black Horse". Obviously he rode a horse that happened to be black.
Regardless of the trouble I caused, no one was hurt . Apparently I was worried for nothing because Elkins didn't blow a gasket like he said he would, and everyone but me seemed to know this long before I did. When the guards came by for midnight count and Beau was just wrapping up the White Knight on the Black Horse, I had given up holding my laughter in. My stomach hurt even though I was so tired that my eyeballs felt like sand dunes, the sheer length and inanity of this joke kept me interested in what the hell this poor knight might be up to next. We were all in and out of sleep, hypnotized by the sing song voice and repeating rhythm in the adventure when the punch line came. I found myself laughing with everyone- and not so much at the punch line as at the heaving sigh given by Elkins.
After we had stopped the laughter (Elkins even threw in a side comment about how stupid the joke was) and there was silence, once again, I felt sleep crush in on me and my final conscious thoughts were that this night hadn't turned out too badly-no fights and it seemed like everyone was going to find a way to compromise their egos....
How the White Knight on the Black Horse was born no one ever told me. And how on earth a guy went from buying a few little yellow plastic parrots for his son, to buying a warehouse full of little yellow plastic parrots I never found out, but these things indeed did happen- at least that night they did. An hour after lockdown, and fifteen minutes after we turned out the lights( hours earlier than on any previous night) the cell was eerily silent and I knew immediately that these guys had something terrible and violent planned for Elkins. I pictured the four of them tying him up and torturing him with razor blades and burning wicks. At the very least one of them would taunt hum until he lipped off-then the beating would commence. Instead, just as Elkins made his comfortable turn toward the wall and his breathing settled into a heavy rhythm that leads into the blessed chambers of sleep, Beau's voice filled the silence.
"Whose wants to hear about the White Knight on a Black Horse?"
Shane-O: "OOOhhh...I do, I do, I do!"
Jamie: " Me too! Sounds kinda freaky."
Chunks: "Let's Hear it!"
Me: You know damn good and well that there wasn't a peep coming from me-not yet anyway.
Elkins turned over and heaved a laboring, angry breath at being awakened. His frustration and anger were almost palpable in the moments of silence that stretched out to embrace the beginning of Beau's jokes.
"Okay," Beau started, and I swear that I could hear the big smile on his face in these opening words: "This joke kind of stretches out in parts but hang on for the punch line- Shakespeare wrote this shit back in the day and you know how sleepy that motherfu**er was- everything good in time... Back in the days of knights-errant and sweet Dulcineas and rotten hookers with no teeth, there was a knight that went by the name of "The White Knight on a Black Horse". Obviously he rode a horse that happened to be black.
Regardless of the trouble I caused, no one was hurt . Apparently I was worried for nothing because Elkins didn't blow a gasket like he said he would, and everyone but me seemed to know this long before I did. When the guards came by for midnight count and Beau was just wrapping up the White Knight on the Black Horse, I had given up holding my laughter in. My stomach hurt even though I was so tired that my eyeballs felt like sand dunes, the sheer length and inanity of this joke kept me interested in what the hell this poor knight might be up to next. We were all in and out of sleep, hypnotized by the sing song voice and repeating rhythm in the adventure when the punch line came. I found myself laughing with everyone- and not so much at the punch line as at the heaving sigh given by Elkins.
After we had stopped the laughter (Elkins even threw in a side comment about how stupid the joke was) and there was silence, once again, I felt sleep crush in on me and my final conscious thoughts were that this night hadn't turned out too badly-no fights and it seemed like everyone was going to find a way to compromise their egos....
Thursday, November 7, 2013
The Story of the Six-Man cell-Elkins (Part 6)
Jamie and I were the first ones
into the Six-Man cell with Chunks and Elkins. There seemed to be a relatively
peaceful air about the cell until Jamie and Chunks were introduced and realized
they were from the same part of North Las Vegas. Thereafter, Elkins was the
target of every conversation he attempted to join. That very first night, Jamie
must have told him to "Shut the F**k" a dozen times. I swear that Elkins bald
head glowed with frustration and anger all night long in that dark cell. Before
sun came up though, Elkins, was moving around the cell and running water for his
morning obligations. His passive-aggressive nature assumed that this early
wake-up avenged the late night laughter and conversations that kept him awake
late into night. But we are generally unaffected by this. It's part of the thick
skin thing. No one reacted, no one moved.
And so went the morning conversations as we all rose to get ready for breakfast and work. I rarely said anything, waiting for space at the sink to open up and some bodies to clear out. This way I never became a target of someone's morning grumpiness. On that first morning, I saw that Beau wasn't a laughing, joking type in the morning either. But instead of staying in bed to catch a few extra minutes of sleep or hanging back until Elkins had finished at the sink, he jumped down and easily made the bed, dressed, fixed a cup of coffee, and took a piss before Elkins had put his boots on. He was the first one out of the cell when the door was unlocked.
Thirty minutes later, with everyone mingling out in the common areas and waiting for breakfast, I rose and puttered about the cell. Biscuits and gravy this morning. No big deal, but I like to get up to the chow hall and drink some milk. Sometime in the near future I think I will start to work out and I think milk is a pretty good start to the day for healthy eaters. I'm pretty out of shape and feel like shit most of the time- especially when I think about all the energy and stamina I had as a younger man.
Getting old sucks, getting old in prison REALLY sucks. What a dumbass I was to get into that drug game again and start in on my old addictions. I swear it's going to go down a lot different the next time. I have a boy that needs me in his life and it would be an unbearable agony to know that my example led him into a life of crime he was unable to get out of before coming to prison. Imagine that, doing prison time with my son. Ughh... That boy's got a bright future if things and people just.....
The door opens behind me and Elkins voice follows it closing, "F**king incompetent bastards never call a meal at the same time two days in a row. Worthless morons- and they're telling me what to do all day."
"Biscuits and gravy is a very complicated meal", I point out. "especially when all the meat has to be bagged up and stolen before they pan it up." Elkins and I have been trading negative humor for a few weeks. We are both from Chicago and he really appreciates that connection, regardless the condescending tone he takes with me at least once everyday.
"And the fat, lazy cops up there are too busy trying to find ways around work to create an efficient and effective routine. Morons. And they say that we are a drain on the economy."
I pulled on my boots and watched as he prepped his coffee mug with creamer and sweetened for work. He was such a creature of habit that in a few days I had learned how many cups of coffee he drank at the factory-and I didn't work anywhere near the factory. (five, by the way. He planned it that way-the morning cup, the pre-lunch cup, the post-lunch cup, the afternoon break cup, and the end of day cup.)
"These idiots had me hot last night," he began, and I inwardly groaned because I hate listening to him talk trash about people behind their backs. I seem to be his only audience for this and, somewhere behind my conscience, I feel like I must be ashamed of this. " You think that shit's funny-staying up all night laughing and telling stupid stories about USP's and bit*ches on the street. If they keep it up, I'm going to say something. And I know when I say something they aren't going to like it and one of them is going to get slick at the mouth. I might be almost 50, but I've been places and done some shit they couldn't dream of. I'll surprise ' em"
"What did I do?" There was that uptalk that Beau accused me of before he even knew my name. "Don't look at me like I kept you up all night. I went straight to sleep".
"That's because you're thoughtless, there's nothing getting in the way of you falling asleep doing Ariel flips in a bi-plane. I heard you laughing up there last night, you thought that sh*t was funny. You and Chunks..nothing to say...just a bunch of aggravating laughter." "You sit there like a fly on the wall and avoid their attention. I won't put up with their childishness. If they keep me up all night tonight, I will say something in a way that one of them has to react- then we'll see whose the tough guy with the big mouth."
Did he really say that? I wondered. I remember thinking that, even though Elkins was a big guy and had been in the Marines, and he was probably as intelligent as he always boasted, he was also on the bottom bunk by medical approval for a bad back. He was almost 50 and the only exercise he ever did was run the track. These guys that had just moved into the cell were workout maniacs.
I didn't particularly like Elkins but his strength and decency were evident beneath the negativity and bluster. I didn't want to see him get into a situation with these guys that he wasn't able to walk away from with bruises and disciplinary reports.
And so went the morning conversations as we all rose to get ready for breakfast and work. I rarely said anything, waiting for space at the sink to open up and some bodies to clear out. This way I never became a target of someone's morning grumpiness. On that first morning, I saw that Beau wasn't a laughing, joking type in the morning either. But instead of staying in bed to catch a few extra minutes of sleep or hanging back until Elkins had finished at the sink, he jumped down and easily made the bed, dressed, fixed a cup of coffee, and took a piss before Elkins had put his boots on. He was the first one out of the cell when the door was unlocked.
Thirty minutes later, with everyone mingling out in the common areas and waiting for breakfast, I rose and puttered about the cell. Biscuits and gravy this morning. No big deal, but I like to get up to the chow hall and drink some milk. Sometime in the near future I think I will start to work out and I think milk is a pretty good start to the day for healthy eaters. I'm pretty out of shape and feel like shit most of the time- especially when I think about all the energy and stamina I had as a younger man.
Getting old sucks, getting old in prison REALLY sucks. What a dumbass I was to get into that drug game again and start in on my old addictions. I swear it's going to go down a lot different the next time. I have a boy that needs me in his life and it would be an unbearable agony to know that my example led him into a life of crime he was unable to get out of before coming to prison. Imagine that, doing prison time with my son. Ughh... That boy's got a bright future if things and people just.....
The door opens behind me and Elkins voice follows it closing, "F**king incompetent bastards never call a meal at the same time two days in a row. Worthless morons- and they're telling me what to do all day."
"Biscuits and gravy is a very complicated meal", I point out. "especially when all the meat has to be bagged up and stolen before they pan it up." Elkins and I have been trading negative humor for a few weeks. We are both from Chicago and he really appreciates that connection, regardless the condescending tone he takes with me at least once everyday.
"And the fat, lazy cops up there are too busy trying to find ways around work to create an efficient and effective routine. Morons. And they say that we are a drain on the economy."
I pulled on my boots and watched as he prepped his coffee mug with creamer and sweetened for work. He was such a creature of habit that in a few days I had learned how many cups of coffee he drank at the factory-and I didn't work anywhere near the factory. (five, by the way. He planned it that way-the morning cup, the pre-lunch cup, the post-lunch cup, the afternoon break cup, and the end of day cup.)
"These idiots had me hot last night," he began, and I inwardly groaned because I hate listening to him talk trash about people behind their backs. I seem to be his only audience for this and, somewhere behind my conscience, I feel like I must be ashamed of this. " You think that shit's funny-staying up all night laughing and telling stupid stories about USP's and bit*ches on the street. If they keep it up, I'm going to say something. And I know when I say something they aren't going to like it and one of them is going to get slick at the mouth. I might be almost 50, but I've been places and done some shit they couldn't dream of. I'll surprise ' em"
"What did I do?" There was that uptalk that Beau accused me of before he even knew my name. "Don't look at me like I kept you up all night. I went straight to sleep".
"That's because you're thoughtless, there's nothing getting in the way of you falling asleep doing Ariel flips in a bi-plane. I heard you laughing up there last night, you thought that sh*t was funny. You and Chunks..nothing to say...just a bunch of aggravating laughter." "You sit there like a fly on the wall and avoid their attention. I won't put up with their childishness. If they keep me up all night tonight, I will say something in a way that one of them has to react- then we'll see whose the tough guy with the big mouth."
Did he really say that? I wondered. I remember thinking that, even though Elkins was a big guy and had been in the Marines, and he was probably as intelligent as he always boasted, he was also on the bottom bunk by medical approval for a bad back. He was almost 50 and the only exercise he ever did was run the track. These guys that had just moved into the cell were workout maniacs.
I didn't particularly like Elkins but his strength and decency were evident beneath the negativity and bluster. I didn't want to see him get into a situation with these guys that he wasn't able to walk away from with bruises and disciplinary reports.
The Story of the Six-Man cell- Chunks (Part 5)
In the third set of bunks,
Jamie's homeboy, Chunks, slept on the top-an arm's reach from me and Beau. Jamie
was the definite alpa dog in their relationship-because he was more aggressive
and had done a little more ugly living than Chunks-but there was a level of
explosiveness under the surface that Jamie appreciated in his friend. Chunks is
the consummate prankster and class clown- with the genetics of a pit bull. Beau
said Chunk's retard strength comes from his mother's boobs " which were filled
with nitroglycerin". Shane-O is crazy strong and Beau is that big guy with crazy
cardio, but both of them can only talk about Chunk's and his strength like kids
marvel at the circus freak. "He giggles like a maniac with 405 pounds on his
chest," Shane-O said after they came in from watching Chunks bench press.
Chunk's entire federal sentence has been spent in FCI Florence, so he'd only
heard tales about the action on USP yards, but the wildness of it appealed to
him- regardless how much he really wanted to live free and experience life apart
from the criminal element. Between Shane-O's stories of the pen across the
street, Jamie's reference to Victorville, CA and Beau's tales of Beaumont,
Chunks got everything he wanted.
If I am a member of the herd, it's because I have found a way to live non-confrontationally, play D&D, and go unnoticed for the most part. The fellas crack jokes on me from time to time- Beau says I look like an ugly sock puppet version of an Uzbekistani goat herder.- but I know that they'd stick up for me and never let anyone take advantage of me unfairly. However, in the bunk below Chunks was a member of the herd who believed he was a real tough guy; he chose to be herdier because he said that the hardier were simple-minded morons. That's all good and fine, but unless one is willing to smash people's faces and back up those thoughts, it's always the wisest policy to keep them to oneself.
Elkins didn't think that was necessary and, so, found himself in a perpetually defensive state backing down. Even the herd found it impossible not to laugh at him behind our hands and snigger at his know it all dilemmas.
If I am a member of the herd, it's because I have found a way to live non-confrontationally, play D&D, and go unnoticed for the most part. The fellas crack jokes on me from time to time- Beau says I look like an ugly sock puppet version of an Uzbekistani goat herder.- but I know that they'd stick up for me and never let anyone take advantage of me unfairly. However, in the bunk below Chunks was a member of the herd who believed he was a real tough guy; he chose to be herdier because he said that the hardier were simple-minded morons. That's all good and fine, but unless one is willing to smash people's faces and back up those thoughts, it's always the wisest policy to keep them to oneself.
Elkins didn't think that was necessary and, so, found himself in a perpetually defensive state backing down. Even the herd found it impossible not to laugh at him behind our hands and snigger at his know it all dilemmas.
The Story of the Six-Man cell-Beau (Part 4)
Like me and Shane-O (that's
what everyone calls Shane-everyone except Beau, that is) Beau came from a
USP-"Bloody" Beaumont in Texas. And, like Shane-O, he was a little overwhelmed
in the beginning at the difference in attitudes at this FCI. He was use to
dealing with people who looked hard because they were hard, and now the people
who looked hard in order to create that impression without having to work for
it. He, Shane-O, and Jamie once got a great a laugh out of the fact that all the
Penitentiary dudes who'd transferred here from violent yards kept a smile on
their faces-they had come to a spot where they could relax and not think about
drama, drama, drama; yet so many gentle and naïve guys around here carried
sneers and scowls for protection against their own shadow.
Beau started out his sentence in a medium and after a couple administrative transfers for group activities like food strikes and work strikes, he ended up hooking a nurse in medical. That might have been all fine and good but he also brought in drugs and it led to another big prison sentence and 10 years in high security. I think Beau went through a lot of changes in all those years. He's become understanding and concerned with character while most people, after so many years of wild prison living become just jaded and cynical and full of wrathful entitlements. He's lucky like that, I guess.
Beau sleeps above Shane-O and a handshake away from me. I sleep above Jamie. Jamie is the most enigmatic creature among us. He has tattoos on his face and talks to people like they are the stupidest creatures he's ever known, yet he has a wonderful intellect covering subjects from religion to science to world history and talks about situations that made him cry and stick up for weaklings. He's from Las Vegas and listens to rappers like Bun-B and C-Murder and Yealwolf..he knows all the lyrics to these ghetto culture songs and has no problem reciting them despite his contrasting allegiances to the white prison gang, Aryan warriors. Jamie has what I spoke of as thick skin, only his thickness is so thick that he no longer possesses the social barometer to care if he is offensive. Anyone he becomes especially familiar with he begins to speak to with regular disrespect-and covers that disrespect with the challenge, -" let me find out you've got feelings..let me find out I'm able to touch on your soft little feelings.."
Shane-O was the only person I ever saw put up with Jamie's familiar speak without feeling the need to respond in kind. Where most people resorted to the offensive-defensive with Jamie-by speaking to him in the same joking and insulting manner-Shane-O just smiled confidently and shot a light, self deprecating barb that Jamie couldn't quite hook into. With Shane-O, Jamie just ran out of steam and found other targets to refuel on. I never heard Jamie speak disrespectfully with Beau, but I don't think it had anything to do with fear or extra care- Beau was just always so damn polite and sensible with Jamie, always so...accommodating to Jamie's intellectual side that Jamie was somehow flattered, maybe. They got along well and never had a cross word- not that I knew.
Beau started out his sentence in a medium and after a couple administrative transfers for group activities like food strikes and work strikes, he ended up hooking a nurse in medical. That might have been all fine and good but he also brought in drugs and it led to another big prison sentence and 10 years in high security. I think Beau went through a lot of changes in all those years. He's become understanding and concerned with character while most people, after so many years of wild prison living become just jaded and cynical and full of wrathful entitlements. He's lucky like that, I guess.
Beau sleeps above Shane-O and a handshake away from me. I sleep above Jamie. Jamie is the most enigmatic creature among us. He has tattoos on his face and talks to people like they are the stupidest creatures he's ever known, yet he has a wonderful intellect covering subjects from religion to science to world history and talks about situations that made him cry and stick up for weaklings. He's from Las Vegas and listens to rappers like Bun-B and C-Murder and Yealwolf..he knows all the lyrics to these ghetto culture songs and has no problem reciting them despite his contrasting allegiances to the white prison gang, Aryan warriors. Jamie has what I spoke of as thick skin, only his thickness is so thick that he no longer possesses the social barometer to care if he is offensive. Anyone he becomes especially familiar with he begins to speak to with regular disrespect-and covers that disrespect with the challenge, -" let me find out you've got feelings..let me find out I'm able to touch on your soft little feelings.."
Shane-O was the only person I ever saw put up with Jamie's familiar speak without feeling the need to respond in kind. Where most people resorted to the offensive-defensive with Jamie-by speaking to him in the same joking and insulting manner-Shane-O just smiled confidently and shot a light, self deprecating barb that Jamie couldn't quite hook into. With Shane-O, Jamie just ran out of steam and found other targets to refuel on. I never heard Jamie speak disrespectfully with Beau, but I don't think it had anything to do with fear or extra care- Beau was just always so damn polite and sensible with Jamie, always so...accommodating to Jamie's intellectual side that Jamie was somehow flattered, maybe. They got along well and never had a cross word- not that I knew.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
The Story of the Six-Man Cell-Bujak (Part 3)
My name is Bujak and, though I
spent a few years at USP Pollock in Louisiana, I have always been non violent. I
am fairly unassuming. I have a bulbous nose and the rounded features of a
bridge-dwelling drunk, but these are all misrepresentations I was born with. I'm
simply an ugly Polock with a kind heart and a penchant for interpreting life in
terms of magic and dragon wisdom, elves and the soft cruelty of a dwarf who has
been away from kin for too long. I grew up in the ugly streets of Chicago and
can rob a drug dealer without his knowing it until I'm long gone and high. I can
become invisible in a department store and steal a thousand dollars worth of
sh*t while helping other customers fit into clothes fat to small for their
gargantuan egos. I watched inmates butcher one another on the USP yard in
Pollock, Louisiana and related it to dice rolls in a D&D game- these are the
ways of life, right? Ups and downs decide, more or less, by personal decisions
but, in the end, by fate. The guy who lost that battle and was taken to a
distant hospital by lifeFlight made some poor decisions, and the prevailing
attitude dictated that those decisions couldn't be over looked. If only he'd
been on this FCI yard...who knows, though?
I uptalk. Yeah, I know- what the hell is uptalk? apparently a few people read that article in Cosmo or Maxim or wherever the hell Beau found it before tagging me as the "uptalker". Uptalking, as I received it is the tendency for insecure people to defend their spoken thoughts with a noticeable elevation in pitch at the end of any statement. I didn't notice it in anyone's speech until Beau pointed to the curious flaw in my own. And now I hate it, and I see the defensiveness in it every time it rises from the end of a paragraph. Beau sees shit like that and measure people by it. I wouldn't call him brilliant but he's good at appraising the strengths and weaknesses in people and attracting the better in them, If only for a minute until they crumble beneath the pressure of his expectations. He's kind of like the guy who's supposed to be making important decisions somewhere but hasn't figured out how to string a few achievements together and move up.
I uptalk. Yeah, I know- what the hell is uptalk? apparently a few people read that article in Cosmo or Maxim or wherever the hell Beau found it before tagging me as the "uptalker". Uptalking, as I received it is the tendency for insecure people to defend their spoken thoughts with a noticeable elevation in pitch at the end of any statement. I didn't notice it in anyone's speech until Beau pointed to the curious flaw in my own. And now I hate it, and I see the defensiveness in it every time it rises from the end of a paragraph. Beau sees shit like that and measure people by it. I wouldn't call him brilliant but he's good at appraising the strengths and weaknesses in people and attracting the better in them, If only for a minute until they crumble beneath the pressure of his expectations. He's kind of like the guy who's supposed to be making important decisions somewhere but hasn't figured out how to string a few achievements together and move up.
The Story of the Six-Man cell-Shane-O (Part 2)
Shane is a barrel-chested, big
armed Seattle Seahawks fanatic that carries himself with a quiet assurance and
careful confidence. He's the kind of person who understands weakness in
character because he' failed in life enough times to admit his own, yet he is
very unforgiving of the weakness so prevalent in here: that of acting tough and
then backing down when someone calls the bluff. Shane laughs quietly and there
is always the atmosphere of analysis with his humor. He won't laugh if something
isn't funny, and he won't react if he finds himself the butt of a joke. His
thick skin is almost disconcerting. It empowers him with time to put his patient
response together and, in the event that no response is forthcoming, he appears
to humbly state that the victor needn't be a last word freak. Nobody disrespects
Shane , and for perfect reasoning: his reputation promises that a response could
be violent, if necessary. Of course, humility never broadcast's that fact. Shane
had just arrived to FCI Florence, a medium facility, from across the street at
the United States Penitentiary High (USP) and was slowly adjusting to the
difference in behaviors and habits between FCI inmates and those living in USP's
across the country. The difference were stark and, already painfully, proudly
withstood. Men in USP's have less to lose, being at the highest security level
of general population that Federal prisons provide and, therefor, behave like
men who are at the end of the line. MSNBC never shows the Federal USP's and
their insanity because, to do so, the American taxpayer would ask "Where the
F**k is my money being spent?!" In USP's we drink wine, make moonshine, shoot
heroin, and kill one another. We have thicker skin because thin skin mean petty
altercations between individuals and groups on a daily basis; however, they
cannot tolerate disrespects that expose any weakness related to fear.
FCI medium inmates, on the other hand, are closer to the privileges of visits, education, "tranquility", weight rooms and good time. We want to keep these things, which is natural for anyone who enjoys them for any length of time. The biggest contrast in the USP and FCI personalities is that higher security prisons breed and reinforce an understanding that words and actions carry consequences. When someone crosses a line they get stabbed or beat down, and that instills a sense of careful respect. It creates the Hardier inmate. The FCI inmate has a less awareness of the minimal standards for which he can be held accountable because at all times there dangles a carrot of privilege's before everyone's nose. Almost anything can be over looked, Child molesters walk the yard unmolested; an almost unconscious level of disrespect prevails through individuals and entire races until hardier USP inmate's are overcome with lethargy of defeated men. This FCI mentality isn't always a bad thing, no. Somehow the tolerance and frustration that comes with bearing so much indiscretion and disrespect prepares people for the obstacles they'll face on the street, but that's less a testament to the rehabilitative efforts of prison than to the fading principles of society. This isn't the story about that, though. This is the story about the herdier and the hardier in a six-man cell, and how easy it is for some to get along while so difficult for others in the same space....
FCI medium inmates, on the other hand, are closer to the privileges of visits, education, "tranquility", weight rooms and good time. We want to keep these things, which is natural for anyone who enjoys them for any length of time. The biggest contrast in the USP and FCI personalities is that higher security prisons breed and reinforce an understanding that words and actions carry consequences. When someone crosses a line they get stabbed or beat down, and that instills a sense of careful respect. It creates the Hardier inmate. The FCI inmate has a less awareness of the minimal standards for which he can be held accountable because at all times there dangles a carrot of privilege's before everyone's nose. Almost anything can be over looked, Child molesters walk the yard unmolested; an almost unconscious level of disrespect prevails through individuals and entire races until hardier USP inmate's are overcome with lethargy of defeated men. This FCI mentality isn't always a bad thing, no. Somehow the tolerance and frustration that comes with bearing so much indiscretion and disrespect prepares people for the obstacles they'll face on the street, but that's less a testament to the rehabilitative efforts of prison than to the fading principles of society. This isn't the story about that, though. This is the story about the herdier and the hardier in a six-man cell, and how easy it is for some to get along while so difficult for others in the same space....
The story of the Six-Man cell (Part 1)
A six-man cell is a special place to do prison time. The mathematics is enough
to make the point clear : a two man, 8'x 13' cell provides 52 square feet per
person. The six-man gives 20% less, for which to experience 3 times the bodily
functions, individual preferences, idiosyncrasies, attitudes, and routines.
Although the six-man is a temporary housing placement for those just coming onto
the compound or out of the hole, these are times of compromise and
understanding, humor and thick skin, tolerance and..the odd man out. This is the
story of six grown men coexisting in a 20'x 20' cement box.
This is the story of the odd man out:
Prison is full of great personalities. Some of then are dysfunctional for reasons of poor self-esteem while others are the product of an overinflated sense of who they really are. Some are funny; some are aggressive; some are mild mannered and phlegmatic; some are talented and passionate about the talent; some are talented and disinterested in anything but the moment; some are brilliant and arrogant; some are just complex liars and believe everything they've come up with through hundreds of sleepless speed binges; others are humble to the point of quiet ignorance and a meek acceptance that this lifestyle is merely a resting place while transitioning to something more scenic; some think they're super-badass and are looking for every instance to prove it, while others want to be viewed as super badass without ever having to put in the work. In short, the inmates in a six-man cell are the same men in any cell and on any yard in America; they are the same men on any street in any neighbourhood in America...as far as idiosyncrasies and personalities are concerned. However, where matters of the character are measured, most men in prison are troubled and bereft, like retirees with smartphones-they know that the application is helpful, but it seems too complicated and senseless for the lifestyle they've adjusted to. Inmates in a six-man cell can actually be classified in two types- the Hardier and the Herdier.
The hardier have an affinity for jestering and making light of their situation, even if that sometimes includes picking on one of the herdier, or herd-minded, inmates. Hardier inmates will stand up for themselves; they'll often fight for reasonably understandable offenses against their pride, and just as often they will jump out there for no definably good reason. They can always justify the craziest reactions-even those that result in court action and longer sentences- with "I had to do what I had to do." The hardier inmate will back his friends up for almost any reason, as long as they haven't stolen, told or messed with a punk, and although he claims to be an independent thinker, he expects the same from his comrades. The hardier inmate is an enigma of childishness and warrior-mindedness that imitates itself with violent self-expression. The Hardier inmate excels in the six-man situation because, although he'd rather have a double cell for the relative privacy and "permanence" of cell housing, he can make a smiley face in any situation- be it the "hole", an outdoor recreation cage (dog run) in 100 degree weather, or a "drunk tank" covered in pepper spray and blood. The Herdier inmate, on the other hand, can only think of past comforts and a distant future when those comforts will once again be a part of his life. Whether they be food, privacy, or the safety of non-confrontation, the image of these comforts keep the herdier inmate in check, ever obeying fear and hope over the demands for personal respect and consideration. Whenever they have an opportunity to stand for something they profess to believe, they stall-ever measuring the internal rewards against the comforts to be sacrificed-until the moment has passed and removed all hope of progress to either end. They are cautious and careful and observant side of the prison ethos, while the hardier are definitely the action and reaction, impulse and repulse. The herdier inmate rules, they rules by sheer numbers in general population and thus they dictate how the prison's regulations are generally observed.( Otherwise prison breaks would be the norm and caged humans would be responding as caged humans should-with resistance.)
This is not a life of ideals and extremes, and nor is this a story of extremes. It has it's moments though and this is a non-violent example of what happened to one of the herd in a six-man cell with four of the hardier breed....to be continued
This is the story of the odd man out:
Prison is full of great personalities. Some of then are dysfunctional for reasons of poor self-esteem while others are the product of an overinflated sense of who they really are. Some are funny; some are aggressive; some are mild mannered and phlegmatic; some are talented and passionate about the talent; some are talented and disinterested in anything but the moment; some are brilliant and arrogant; some are just complex liars and believe everything they've come up with through hundreds of sleepless speed binges; others are humble to the point of quiet ignorance and a meek acceptance that this lifestyle is merely a resting place while transitioning to something more scenic; some think they're super-badass and are looking for every instance to prove it, while others want to be viewed as super badass without ever having to put in the work. In short, the inmates in a six-man cell are the same men in any cell and on any yard in America; they are the same men on any street in any neighbourhood in America...as far as idiosyncrasies and personalities are concerned. However, where matters of the character are measured, most men in prison are troubled and bereft, like retirees with smartphones-they know that the application is helpful, but it seems too complicated and senseless for the lifestyle they've adjusted to. Inmates in a six-man cell can actually be classified in two types- the Hardier and the Herdier.
The hardier have an affinity for jestering and making light of their situation, even if that sometimes includes picking on one of the herdier, or herd-minded, inmates. Hardier inmates will stand up for themselves; they'll often fight for reasonably understandable offenses against their pride, and just as often they will jump out there for no definably good reason. They can always justify the craziest reactions-even those that result in court action and longer sentences- with "I had to do what I had to do." The hardier inmate will back his friends up for almost any reason, as long as they haven't stolen, told or messed with a punk, and although he claims to be an independent thinker, he expects the same from his comrades. The hardier inmate is an enigma of childishness and warrior-mindedness that imitates itself with violent self-expression. The Hardier inmate excels in the six-man situation because, although he'd rather have a double cell for the relative privacy and "permanence" of cell housing, he can make a smiley face in any situation- be it the "hole", an outdoor recreation cage (dog run) in 100 degree weather, or a "drunk tank" covered in pepper spray and blood. The Herdier inmate, on the other hand, can only think of past comforts and a distant future when those comforts will once again be a part of his life. Whether they be food, privacy, or the safety of non-confrontation, the image of these comforts keep the herdier inmate in check, ever obeying fear and hope over the demands for personal respect and consideration. Whenever they have an opportunity to stand for something they profess to believe, they stall-ever measuring the internal rewards against the comforts to be sacrificed-until the moment has passed and removed all hope of progress to either end. They are cautious and careful and observant side of the prison ethos, while the hardier are definitely the action and reaction, impulse and repulse. The herdier inmate rules, they rules by sheer numbers in general population and thus they dictate how the prison's regulations are generally observed.( Otherwise prison breaks would be the norm and caged humans would be responding as caged humans should-with resistance.)
This is not a life of ideals and extremes, and nor is this a story of extremes. It has it's moments though and this is a non-violent example of what happened to one of the herd in a six-man cell with four of the hardier breed....to be continued
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
The Relativity of Happiness
So many people wonder how an
inmate can experience happiness and joy and excitiment in a place like prison.
It's all a matter of relativity. If you lock yourself in your closet for long
enough, the mere thought of shadows rather than absolute darkness becomes
something to look forward to, right?
After so many years in prison and experiencing the ups and downs resulting from my own behavior and the different characters sentenced or working in here, I have had varied opinions on why I was happy when I was- or why I could be so miserable. But the truth has little to do with prison or place. We're just adaptable, you know? All of us- you included. I have seen some real pieces of shit, tortured souls that committed fucked up crimes, put on a genuine smile and experience their personal moment of freedom through happiness- even though they were in the most heinous and threatening atmosphere available to them. I've seen angry, mean, hard-ass dudes with multiple murders and gigantic chips on their shoulders burst out in heartfelt laughter at something that I couldn't quite connect with- and they seemed to me almost lovable creatures in that moment. And I've also seen (and been) that guy who smiles and laughs at everything- regardless how deeply it affected us. Who's sincere? Is that happiness enough to make this time bearable??
I think it eventually comes down to the chance or process that creates within us an understanding that we really are the captain of our own souls; that we do make for ourselves the limitless well of happiness or the superficial sheen of satisfication. And even in here we can feel a deep happiness and contentment that promises we are not what we once were- we are not necessarily condemned to always carry the stigma of pain and confusion and addiction and self-centeredness. That it's all a matter of doing the right thing- even when no one is looking....
But,then again, that's the recipe for true happiness out there, too, right?
Beau Hansen
After so many years in prison and experiencing the ups and downs resulting from my own behavior and the different characters sentenced or working in here, I have had varied opinions on why I was happy when I was- or why I could be so miserable. But the truth has little to do with prison or place. We're just adaptable, you know? All of us- you included. I have seen some real pieces of shit, tortured souls that committed fucked up crimes, put on a genuine smile and experience their personal moment of freedom through happiness- even though they were in the most heinous and threatening atmosphere available to them. I've seen angry, mean, hard-ass dudes with multiple murders and gigantic chips on their shoulders burst out in heartfelt laughter at something that I couldn't quite connect with- and they seemed to me almost lovable creatures in that moment. And I've also seen (and been) that guy who smiles and laughs at everything- regardless how deeply it affected us. Who's sincere? Is that happiness enough to make this time bearable??
I think it eventually comes down to the chance or process that creates within us an understanding that we really are the captain of our own souls; that we do make for ourselves the limitless well of happiness or the superficial sheen of satisfication. And even in here we can feel a deep happiness and contentment that promises we are not what we once were- we are not necessarily condemned to always carry the stigma of pain and confusion and addiction and self-centeredness. That it's all a matter of doing the right thing- even when no one is looking....
But,then again, that's the recipe for true happiness out there, too, right?
Beau Hansen
Monday, November 4, 2013
It's Never Just One Thing
My New book "It's Never Just One Thing" is available for download at:
http://www.prisonsfoundation.org/Nonfiction_Books.html
Prisons Foundation publishes books written in prison worldwide without cost to prisoners.
http://www.prisonsfoundation.org/Nonfiction_Books.html
Prisons Foundation publishes books written in prison worldwide without cost to prisoners.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Finding Love while in Prison?
A lot of people wonder what it is that guys have in mind when they respond to a
communication invite from a woman- or what they are looking for placing personal
ads from behind bars. There is no doubt that the majority turn the desire for
some outside attention and a little loving company into the drive for money.
Everyone in here needs some money because shit is expensive and their are few
joys to be experienced in the first place- and that becomes the focus for most
people after a few weeks or months of communication.
But this is the perception- or the perceived excuse for that: The inmate is providing a loving relationship, or the image of one.....the fantasy of a connection that will last- albeit with none of the complications and fighting and worries and commitments and downfalls (physical and emotional)- while all the woman needs to do is help her dude make it to commissary from time to time.
The woman obviously struggles to find a real dude out there who is willing to be who she needs them to be in the "ideal" form, so she's turned to an image or shadow of the man by choosing someone who cannot ever satisfy anything for physically- only provide the emotional and psychological love and support that are so hard to find out there.....who is the fucked up one? Either of them?
I don't think that either of them are fucked up, necessarily. One is lonely and extremely restricted; the other is lonely and hoping to find emotional support and the idea of love without really putting themselves "out there" for it.
Both can find a form of the love they seek and watch it grow into something deep and real. I think that finding a woman and showing her love and relying on her support and watching her grow and feeling the positive changes that she brings to my life are all positives. It has made this time more interesting and provided opportunities to grow in my mind and heart where I couldn't have otherwise. And I think that she would agree.
When a woman stands beside her man in his darkest hours- when she makes the sacrifices that no one else is willing to make for him- then it is only right to expect that he will bring her along with the high points in his life upon his release. Any other consideration is a complete denial of karma, reaping what we sow, etc.... and that messes with the whole universal law thing. I think every man, somewhere in his heart, believes that he owes the woman who stands beside him from out there. And he must be a cold, calculating, and ugly person to continue a charade he feels nothing about. And it will all come back to him in the end. Believe that.
Beau Hansen
But this is the perception- or the perceived excuse for that: The inmate is providing a loving relationship, or the image of one.....the fantasy of a connection that will last- albeit with none of the complications and fighting and worries and commitments and downfalls (physical and emotional)- while all the woman needs to do is help her dude make it to commissary from time to time.
The woman obviously struggles to find a real dude out there who is willing to be who she needs them to be in the "ideal" form, so she's turned to an image or shadow of the man by choosing someone who cannot ever satisfy anything for physically- only provide the emotional and psychological love and support that are so hard to find out there.....who is the fucked up one? Either of them?
I don't think that either of them are fucked up, necessarily. One is lonely and extremely restricted; the other is lonely and hoping to find emotional support and the idea of love without really putting themselves "out there" for it.
Both can find a form of the love they seek and watch it grow into something deep and real. I think that finding a woman and showing her love and relying on her support and watching her grow and feeling the positive changes that she brings to my life are all positives. It has made this time more interesting and provided opportunities to grow in my mind and heart where I couldn't have otherwise. And I think that she would agree.
When a woman stands beside her man in his darkest hours- when she makes the sacrifices that no one else is willing to make for him- then it is only right to expect that he will bring her along with the high points in his life upon his release. Any other consideration is a complete denial of karma, reaping what we sow, etc.... and that messes with the whole universal law thing. I think every man, somewhere in his heart, believes that he owes the woman who stands beside him from out there. And he must be a cold, calculating, and ugly person to continue a charade he feels nothing about. And it will all come back to him in the end. Believe that.
Beau Hansen
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Government Shutdown
For the last 16 days since the
government shutdown became a reality, it's been an amazing tribute to the
difference in occupations listening to federal prison guards freaking out about
pay cuts, responsibilities of the government, and timelines for this suspension
to wrap up. Three months ago or more, when the original sequester was
threatened, prison officials and guards alike came to work with death in their
eyes and fire under their feet.
There has been a lot of distress among the guards, though, and they certainly do take it out on the inmate. Is this justified? Probably, to a certain extent. Most of the public would shed no tears over inmates being disrespected, but reality is more than entertaining considering that these officers make over 50K per year to do nothing but walk around a unit and sit in front of their computer....occasionally respond to a fight..eat..spit chewing tobacco or smoke a cigarette in front of others for whom that is illegal, and talk on the phone about guns and ammo, nightclubs or "who's humping whom?" They are the most over paid group of human beings on this planet, with very little expertise or training in any field beyond the aforementioned activities. Yet the very inmates who impulsiveness and criminal misbehaviour created their jobs are the first target for the ire.
Mark Twain said long ago, " If you would see the scum of society gathered in one place, visit the front gates of a prison at shift change." I think these words are indicative of the close relation- in spirit and intellect-between the general population of inmates and the staff that elect to spend 8-16 hours each day lording over them.
Take a quick look at many of the similarities that find inmates and staff gathered together under a common roof:
When we talk about government shutdown and sequestering it's important to point out that the Federal manufacturing corporation UNICOR is run with a budget separate from the budget that keeps the prison afloat. Although it serves the federal government and creates furniture/ products strictly for government contract and purchase, UNICOR is a private entity. Those employed by unicorn are protected beneath a corporation umbrella and are fairly unaffected by the shutdown. So there is a little animosity between the unicorn staff/guards that are being paid and the compound administration/guards that are officially "furloughed". Recently, the Colorado news and a Spanish television station aired a piece with a Florence prison guard complaining that the inmates were paid anywhere from $5-500 per month(depending on the job) while the guards were paid nothing. Imagine that some scumbag inmate living high off the hog while the guard goes penniless. The truth of the matter is that any inmate making more than $100 per month works in the unicorn factory up to 160 hours per month( making couches at $250 that the government buys for $2,500). The rest of us earn between 12 to 40 cents per hour which comes out of the inmates trust fund, an interest bearing account created from the money inmates spend on commissary. In other words, unless an inmate works for the private corporation entity of Unicor, he or she pays themselves.
From the perspective of a federal prisoner doing enough time to make a Cialis commercial look like porn, many of the inconveniences suffered by federal employees have been created by their own greed and laziness. It isn't criminal what the federal employees do-not by any means-but it certainly isn't the community-minded participation that the government would have us believe.
Everyone has the opportunity to make a difference-no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. The challenge is making the best difference with the tools we're given, and continuing to apply those tools when progress isn't glaring and obvious.
Beau Hansen
There has been a lot of distress among the guards, though, and they certainly do take it out on the inmate. Is this justified? Probably, to a certain extent. Most of the public would shed no tears over inmates being disrespected, but reality is more than entertaining considering that these officers make over 50K per year to do nothing but walk around a unit and sit in front of their computer....occasionally respond to a fight..eat..spit chewing tobacco or smoke a cigarette in front of others for whom that is illegal, and talk on the phone about guns and ammo, nightclubs or "who's humping whom?" They are the most over paid group of human beings on this planet, with very little expertise or training in any field beyond the aforementioned activities. Yet the very inmates who impulsiveness and criminal misbehaviour created their jobs are the first target for the ire.
Mark Twain said long ago, " If you would see the scum of society gathered in one place, visit the front gates of a prison at shift change." I think these words are indicative of the close relation- in spirit and intellect-between the general population of inmates and the staff that elect to spend 8-16 hours each day lording over them.
Take a quick look at many of the similarities that find inmates and staff gathered together under a common roof:
- They all want as much as possible for as little effort possible.
- Achievements are a fleeting and, often a illusory concept. When achievement is realized, the trends and standards and popular onions of their everyday life are affected only minimally." Miracles and Luck" are more creative factors than consistent effort.
- The rich are, for the most part, "greedy and self serving and uninterested in the happenings of life at lower levels of income".
- Life can be summed by "It's a dog eat dog world", Life's a bitch, and then you die, the boy with the most toys win.
When we talk about government shutdown and sequestering it's important to point out that the Federal manufacturing corporation UNICOR is run with a budget separate from the budget that keeps the prison afloat. Although it serves the federal government and creates furniture/ products strictly for government contract and purchase, UNICOR is a private entity. Those employed by unicorn are protected beneath a corporation umbrella and are fairly unaffected by the shutdown. So there is a little animosity between the unicorn staff/guards that are being paid and the compound administration/guards that are officially "furloughed". Recently, the Colorado news and a Spanish television station aired a piece with a Florence prison guard complaining that the inmates were paid anywhere from $5-500 per month(depending on the job) while the guards were paid nothing. Imagine that some scumbag inmate living high off the hog while the guard goes penniless. The truth of the matter is that any inmate making more than $100 per month works in the unicorn factory up to 160 hours per month( making couches at $250 that the government buys for $2,500). The rest of us earn between 12 to 40 cents per hour which comes out of the inmates trust fund, an interest bearing account created from the money inmates spend on commissary. In other words, unless an inmate works for the private corporation entity of Unicor, he or she pays themselves.
From the perspective of a federal prisoner doing enough time to make a Cialis commercial look like porn, many of the inconveniences suffered by federal employees have been created by their own greed and laziness. It isn't criminal what the federal employees do-not by any means-but it certainly isn't the community-minded participation that the government would have us believe.
Everyone has the opportunity to make a difference-no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. The challenge is making the best difference with the tools we're given, and continuing to apply those tools when progress isn't glaring and obvious.
Beau Hansen
Trayvon Built My Hotrod
It's amazing how one's entire world can be transformed by the happening of a
single event thousands of miles away. That has certainly been the case for the
wives of war veterans and the fathers of highly successful children; it's the
case in times of victory and defeat, glory and calamity. And for a two week
period in July, 2013 this was the case for my cellmate and me. We were
restricted to our cell for an institutional lockdown, but we might as well been
in a Seattle coffee shop discussing the news while George Zimmerman's trial
captured the media outlets and gave our minds something to zoom in on.
Those days went by fast for us, waking up to some Robin Meade, flipping to the Glenn Beck radio show, a little Melissa Perry-Harris and throw in some Fox News when these dropped off the trail coverage, nothing held the day like the divisive issues in Sanford, Florida. For us, this trial was not one of race as much as it was one of special interest groups influencing a political atmosphere that can subvert laws and ruin people's lives. For us, this trial was as much about the media's presentation of Zimmerman and Trayvon as it was about our own perception of right and wrong, just and unjust. After all , we are white convicted felons doing long sentences.
We were let off lockdown a couple days prior to the verdict being read. Almost as soon as the doors were cracked and inmates were scurrying to the showers or phones or email, a tense current ran beneath the entire english speaking population. The prison's atmosphere quivered with anticipation of an injustice to come. Everyone had spent the lockdown as we had-intermittently locked on liberal television news or conservative talk radio programs.
What initially shocked me about the verdict were my friends and family who, spewed the CNN and MSNBC bylines as if they were accepted academics. I wouldn't have been anymore pleased had they mimicked other news officials, but for them to have only one version of the case-that a "pyscho, wannabe-cop stalked a 16 year old boy who was merely walking home after buying tea and skittles, confronted him, incited him to fight and then shot him" was very disheartening. It surprised me so much because I have long felt that if something will engage me emotionally and make me question the integrity of the social order I am taught to serve and defend, I want to fully understand it-from both sides, especially the side that I agree with least. Anything less is reflective of the causes that led to my lazy life approach and incarceration. I naively expect greater things from those for whom laziness and crime and entitlements were not the first choice.
The popular media represents the left-liberals and independents who favor special interest group's, affirmative action, federal intervention programs and a general philosophy of equal opportunity, regardless of specific disparities. The less popular media on the right represent a conservative agenda that bequeaths all philanthropy issues to a wealthy and powerful elite which, in the end becomes an American aristocracy.
Those days went by fast for us, waking up to some Robin Meade, flipping to the Glenn Beck radio show, a little Melissa Perry-Harris and throw in some Fox News when these dropped off the trail coverage, nothing held the day like the divisive issues in Sanford, Florida. For us, this trial was not one of race as much as it was one of special interest groups influencing a political atmosphere that can subvert laws and ruin people's lives. For us, this trial was as much about the media's presentation of Zimmerman and Trayvon as it was about our own perception of right and wrong, just and unjust. After all , we are white convicted felons doing long sentences.
We were let off lockdown a couple days prior to the verdict being read. Almost as soon as the doors were cracked and inmates were scurrying to the showers or phones or email, a tense current ran beneath the entire english speaking population. The prison's atmosphere quivered with anticipation of an injustice to come. Everyone had spent the lockdown as we had-intermittently locked on liberal television news or conservative talk radio programs.
What initially shocked me about the verdict were my friends and family who, spewed the CNN and MSNBC bylines as if they were accepted academics. I wouldn't have been anymore pleased had they mimicked other news officials, but for them to have only one version of the case-that a "pyscho, wannabe-cop stalked a 16 year old boy who was merely walking home after buying tea and skittles, confronted him, incited him to fight and then shot him" was very disheartening. It surprised me so much because I have long felt that if something will engage me emotionally and make me question the integrity of the social order I am taught to serve and defend, I want to fully understand it-from both sides, especially the side that I agree with least. Anything less is reflective of the causes that led to my lazy life approach and incarceration. I naively expect greater things from those for whom laziness and crime and entitlements were not the first choice.
The popular media represents the left-liberals and independents who favor special interest group's, affirmative action, federal intervention programs and a general philosophy of equal opportunity, regardless of specific disparities. The less popular media on the right represent a conservative agenda that bequeaths all philanthropy issues to a wealthy and powerful elite which, in the end becomes an American aristocracy.
The Price Is Black and White?
These men are well acquainted
with my opinion on necessary punishments for sexual offenders and those who
endanger children/elderly. In an environment that lends itself to, and breeds, a
character embracing "live and let live", the crimes that are scorned most
contain an element of victimizing the helpless. That said, it's still not common
for an inmate to extoll the death sentence-most convicts oppose the concept of
courts having power over life and death. For any inmate-even one favored by most
of his peers-to emotionally express that America's position as a lighthouse of
morality and character has obviously passed with the light handed verdict in a
sex/kidnapping crime is one thing. Most inmates couldn't give a hoot for the
standing of our integrity on the world stage. It's another thing altogether for
that inmate to declare that " the piece of garbage should have been publicly
drawn and quartered or starved to death in a plexi glass box as a warning for
future offenders".
The connection between a prisoner's revulsion to execution laws, and the public's inherent view of crime, never reached my mind as clearly as it did that day. I understood that my emotionally charged statements were wholly inappropriate for a different, freer setting, and reflecting on those statements led me into a conversation with compound's most notoriously jack-booted officer.
When he called me to his office and asked a rhetorical question concerning "excessive" property in my cell, I had other things on my mind-things I figured should be more important in both our minds than some extra packs of tuna or four pairs of running shorts. My mood made it easy to jump right in.
"The word "excessive" is right to the point, boss-I began. How many years are excessive for the heinous crime of kidnapping and child molestation?" His face turned into a scowl, it never gave away amusement to the words or conversation of an inmate. He shrugged noncommittally "There is no more time than a life sentence" This is the point I really wanted to discuss. " you make two good points sir", but neither of them is accurate. First the victims suffered for 10 years of the ugliest torture imaginable, and they have to relive these things everyday in their minds- I really doubt a circus trial will overwhelm them much more-and the finality of a death sentence is the closest thing to closure they can have with our justice system. The officer never moved to interrupt, which actually bothered more than satisfying me-it indicated he could care less, or had never thought of these things, therefor, had no air to debate them. Still I pressed on " And look around here, man, these fools aren't suffering, they love this stuff-television, warm food, clean cells and all the homies to share stories with. Ariel Castro is a high profile pedophile and that means his life will be in danger so he will be stuck in a protective custody block where he'll watch his little T.V and eat his meals in safety-he'll probably even get mail from some freaks out there who consider him a celebrity. He gets another 20-30 years to spend with the sick memories of his crimes, and everyone is a joy to him. I was fairly certain I had made a great point to him, but he wouldn't simply excuse me before finding a way to assert his authority and rights, "What makes you think you are any better than Ariel Castro or any other child molester in prison?" he says. Whoa!! Something at the very surface told me how offended I should I be, after all as a prisoner, there is nothing more anathema than rats and child molesters.
From the lowest, self-serving drug dealer to the auto thief and murderer by negligence, all have a direct effect on the comfort, safety, and general intercourse of the community. Even though truth resides just beneath the exterior of my sober disposition in here, I maintain that there are degrees to crimes committed, beginning with the individual's character and intent. This was my only segue to continue a discussion he so nonchalantly had turned into the advertisement of my own sins. "Anytime you sell drugs, or pimp prostitutes, or defraud the insurance companies in order to illegally obtain prescriptions, you cause a ripple effect through the community that leads to more crimes being committed. In my eyes, everyone one of you inmates is a drug dealer, murder, pimp and child molester", he said. "There is no difference and this system is only set up to hold you, not change you so you will always be drug dealers and child molesters and the community will always be paying for you".
"Is everything black and white?"
"This much is black and white: you run a unit store and it's against the rules. No one really cares whether you sell candy bars and bags of chips-and that's why I only harass you with shakedowns instead of writing you up-but it's black and white that if you can't align yourself with the simplest rules in here. there's no way that you will get out there and follow all the rules of society when no one has an eye on you. You sell drugs and you'll beat people up and you'll kill them if they push you far enough. This wasn't a debate to him, he couldn't debate with an inmate anymore than he could help one escape.
I had no desire to "win" this conversation, but I wanted to know one thing, as he stepped toward me signaling we were done, I asked " Would it seem possible that I may be a highly successful, law abiding citizen in society if I didn't have "excessive" property in my cell? "You're a criminal, You won't".
Beau Hansen
The connection between a prisoner's revulsion to execution laws, and the public's inherent view of crime, never reached my mind as clearly as it did that day. I understood that my emotionally charged statements were wholly inappropriate for a different, freer setting, and reflecting on those statements led me into a conversation with compound's most notoriously jack-booted officer.
When he called me to his office and asked a rhetorical question concerning "excessive" property in my cell, I had other things on my mind-things I figured should be more important in both our minds than some extra packs of tuna or four pairs of running shorts. My mood made it easy to jump right in.
"The word "excessive" is right to the point, boss-I began. How many years are excessive for the heinous crime of kidnapping and child molestation?" His face turned into a scowl, it never gave away amusement to the words or conversation of an inmate. He shrugged noncommittally "There is no more time than a life sentence" This is the point I really wanted to discuss. " you make two good points sir", but neither of them is accurate. First the victims suffered for 10 years of the ugliest torture imaginable, and they have to relive these things everyday in their minds- I really doubt a circus trial will overwhelm them much more-and the finality of a death sentence is the closest thing to closure they can have with our justice system. The officer never moved to interrupt, which actually bothered more than satisfying me-it indicated he could care less, or had never thought of these things, therefor, had no air to debate them. Still I pressed on " And look around here, man, these fools aren't suffering, they love this stuff-television, warm food, clean cells and all the homies to share stories with. Ariel Castro is a high profile pedophile and that means his life will be in danger so he will be stuck in a protective custody block where he'll watch his little T.V and eat his meals in safety-he'll probably even get mail from some freaks out there who consider him a celebrity. He gets another 20-30 years to spend with the sick memories of his crimes, and everyone is a joy to him. I was fairly certain I had made a great point to him, but he wouldn't simply excuse me before finding a way to assert his authority and rights, "What makes you think you are any better than Ariel Castro or any other child molester in prison?" he says. Whoa!! Something at the very surface told me how offended I should I be, after all as a prisoner, there is nothing more anathema than rats and child molesters.
From the lowest, self-serving drug dealer to the auto thief and murderer by negligence, all have a direct effect on the comfort, safety, and general intercourse of the community. Even though truth resides just beneath the exterior of my sober disposition in here, I maintain that there are degrees to crimes committed, beginning with the individual's character and intent. This was my only segue to continue a discussion he so nonchalantly had turned into the advertisement of my own sins. "Anytime you sell drugs, or pimp prostitutes, or defraud the insurance companies in order to illegally obtain prescriptions, you cause a ripple effect through the community that leads to more crimes being committed. In my eyes, everyone one of you inmates is a drug dealer, murder, pimp and child molester", he said. "There is no difference and this system is only set up to hold you, not change you so you will always be drug dealers and child molesters and the community will always be paying for you".
"Is everything black and white?"
"This much is black and white: you run a unit store and it's against the rules. No one really cares whether you sell candy bars and bags of chips-and that's why I only harass you with shakedowns instead of writing you up-but it's black and white that if you can't align yourself with the simplest rules in here. there's no way that you will get out there and follow all the rules of society when no one has an eye on you. You sell drugs and you'll beat people up and you'll kill them if they push you far enough. This wasn't a debate to him, he couldn't debate with an inmate anymore than he could help one escape.
I had no desire to "win" this conversation, but I wanted to know one thing, as he stepped toward me signaling we were done, I asked " Would it seem possible that I may be a highly successful, law abiding citizen in society if I didn't have "excessive" property in my cell? "You're a criminal, You won't".
Beau Hansen
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
The Future of Prison in America....
What is the big deal about
prisoners in America? Maybe the fact that with over 2 million men and women
behind bars, there are around 50 million others in this country directly
affected by those locked up. That's a lot of guard's, administrator's, moms,
dads, wives, sons and friends. I have an idea, Lets hear some of what these
criminals and ex-criminals have to say about their stay in club fed( These are
the only con's I can speak to and speak for, since I have been a federal inmate
for the past 14 years now.) Let the foolios speak for themselves ; and let those
who have made a genuine effort to rehabilitate themselves speak for themselves.
It's about time I said something worth listening to, after so many years of
nonsense.
Sometime in the near future our prisons will be so overcrowded that the government will have to choose between two options : extermination or letting some people go. With the present states of the system and the general inmate being released, I am for extermination-even if that means that I have to jump out there first. There is the chance that if society and some free- thinking individuals with a little compassion will hear what is missing from inside these walls, rehabilitation and a true spirit of communication could be had.
Thank you for opening a page and opening an ear- I promise to be entertaining and informative. I invite all the criticism and advice.
Beau Hansen
Sometime in the near future our prisons will be so overcrowded that the government will have to choose between two options : extermination or letting some people go. With the present states of the system and the general inmate being released, I am for extermination-even if that means that I have to jump out there first. There is the chance that if society and some free- thinking individuals with a little compassion will hear what is missing from inside these walls, rehabilitation and a true spirit of communication could be had.
Thank you for opening a page and opening an ear- I promise to be entertaining and informative. I invite all the criticism and advice.
Beau Hansen
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