Jail Journals

POD 3

Durham  NC - Monday,  January 14,   2002

All we know of what goes on in the Durham County Jail is confined to our little world of Pod 3-C.  There are many other Pods and hundreds of inmates but we only know our little world, an area less than one third the size of a football field.

Last night a guard told us we would not be allowed out of our cells because the “whole jail was in lockdown.”   This was demoralizing because we’d spent most of the day in lockdown – allowed out around 11:30AM for an hour, then let out for another two hours from 4:40 to 6:30, totaling 21 hours in the cell.

Inmates were looking forward to the evening let out so they could either watch a football game or the TV movie “The Mummy”, so the lockdown was a major disappointment.

I wondered what had happened in the jail to merit such an action.

This morning I learned from the others that there was no a jail-wide lockdown, it was just our Pod because two of the female guards decided to do it.

“They always do it,” several inmates said.  These two guards are notorious for it.  “They just don’t want to deal with inmates; they’re afraid of us,” said Vince, seconded by several others.

“We’re locked down every time they come on duty, also whenever the 'big' guy is on duty, the guy so big they don’t have a uniform his size.” (I’ve seen this guy; he’s huge and comes to work in street clothes).

I’ve been here long enough now to believe the inmates, I’ve seen enough petty guard cruelty and abuse to believe that those two guards are arbitrarily locking down prisoners.  And that’s just in our Pod.  I  wonder what goes on elsewhere, and I am not confident of any improvement because no one speaks for inmates (they get what they deserve, right?).

Posted prominently is a notice that every inmate is supposed to get a “Rule Book,” read to them if they can’t read, and translated if necessary.  Inmates are supposed to read the book, then sign a form that they’ve read it which is then placed in their file.

I never got a copy of the Rule Book and neither has anyone else in this Pod - even though violations of the rules can result in serious consequences.

Prominently, on page 1 of the Rule Book,  a copy of which is posted on the wall (of no help to the many non-readers) , is this statement:   “Inmates have certain rights.  You have the right to expect that as a human being you shall be treated with respect, impartiality and fairness by all personnel.  You will be given fair and human treatment.”

By and large this occurs. Most of the guards – are civil, polite and professional.

But there are a couple of sadists in the bunch, and the Sheriff’s Department ought to take a look at them.

When people are not treated as human beings (even if they’re guilty of a crime), when they're denied humane treatment and when abusive treatment is institutionalized, society has a very serious problem -- more severe than most crimes that brought people into this place.

Meanwhile ... guess what happened last night?  Surprise, surprise!!

The same two guards came on duty and announced - for the second night in a row -”the whole jail is locked down, so you won’t be coming out of your cells tonight.”

Coincidence?

I think not.  All you had to do was see the looks on their faces. So I asked the guard lady.  “Yes!”, she insisted, “the whole jail is locked down again.”

Because I didn’t believe we were really locked down, I pushed the call button in my cell (for the first time in 25 days) and asked the guard for her name.

“Why?” she demanded.

“Are we really locked down again, just like last night?”

“Yes, the whole jail is locked down.”

Five minutes later I got a call saying I had a visit in preparation for the next day’s bond hearing.  When I went to the visitation booth, I explained everything to the visitor and asked him to check to see if the jail really was in lock down. He did, and returned to tell me the jail was NOT in lock down.

The guard had either been mistaken, or had simply lied. We suspect the latter, because the night before we'd been told the same thing only to find out later it wasn't true. Two guards had usurped the authority of the Sheriff’s Department and the judicial system to punish twenty men. Sick.

A short while later downstairs apparently called the Pod to ask what was going on.

The inmates were released from lock down.  They watched the end of the Duke/North Carolina basketball game.

So how much abuse goes on here? It’s worth an inquiry. And some serious public atention.

"HUMPBACK"

Durham  NC - Sunday,  January 13,   2002 

There have been big changes in the Pod.  Crutchfield is gone, sentenced to life imprisonment plus seven years for killing his young daughter and shooting his son.

Sleepy is gone, too, sentenced for a longer period of time than this jail accommodates. Cell life is much quieter with him gone.

Ronnie, with the gunshot wound, transferred to another Pod. He found this one too confining and restrictive; he wanted a larger Pod with more men.  Before he left, however, he read the gang writing on my cell wall – Folk Nation, he told me.

Mike is going to a group home shortly, or so we’re told.

Two other guys left, including one who took Jolly’s shoes. Jolly’s one of the youngest and most amiable inmates, and an excellent card player. He lent his tennis shoes to another inmate who had to make a court appearance.  The guy was subsequently released, and he took off with Jolly’s shoes.

Three new guys came in, one who immediately joined in as a groomer.

But the big news is that David Coley – "Humpback" – has returned, a little later than expected, but apparently no worse for the delay.

I hadn’t met him before but he’s a hoot – both intelligent and articulate. 

“Humpback” Coley is a panhandler; this time he was brought in on a trespassing charge: “typical police entrapment” he calls it, and if his story is true,  which I have no reason to doubt, it’s a sad commentary on this city.

Mr. Coley is a wizened sixty-seven year old, perhaps five feet tall, weighing maybe 110 pounds, and he is deformed similar to a hunchback.  He is a bright, funny man, but perhaps because of his deformity, he has a wicked mouth and suffers no fool lightly.

He has been busted so many times the judges know him.  This time, for his “trespassing” (or “entrapment,” in Humpback's view) the state wanted to sentence him to 30 days in jail. But the Judge, saying he knew Mr. Coley, gave him ten days. 

Humpback claims he was just walking down the sidewalk in Bragtown when a squad car officer motioned him to step “over here,” - which he did -   and snapped a cigarette out of his mouth. Unfortunately, “over here” was an Amoco station – private property – and thus the arrest for trespassing.

Who knows? Naturally, every person here believes Coley’s story; you would too if you met and talked with him.  In any case, he’s an elderly deformed man, harmless in the extreme, now sitting in the county jail at citizen expense.  A 67 year old hunchback is now safely locked away and Durham’s streets are thus "safer."

Meanwhile ...

- Friday was “Library” day, our supposedly weekly visit to the library – a roll cart of books.  Though this was my fourth Friday in jail, it was my first Library day. Librarians, take note.

- Poor Mike of the $7 cab ride.   He took a book off the shelf, sat in a chair and stared at it (I’m sure he can’t read).  The “Librarian” guard ridiculed him for not reading it and told him to get his fingers out of his mouth. 

- Stacy, my chess opponent (he has become very good and we are now about even in skill), held up a bright yellow paperback and asked me if I thought he’d like it. It was a Danielle Steele novel; I recommended a Jack Higgins thriller instead.  Life in here is grim enough without Danielle Steele.

HAIRCUT

Durham  NC - Saturday,  January 12,   2002 

Once a month inmates get haircuts.   Pod 3-C here has been looking forward to it.   Our designated time is the first weekend of the month.  The clippers are supposed to come around Friday evening and be used through Sunday.

Of course there is no barber – one either does one’s own, or gets someone to do it for you.

The monthly haircut became a topic of conversation starting a week ago – who would risk it, who would cut hair, what kind of haircut to get.

Vanity doesn’t figure highly here; it’s not like we need to look our best for anything – we’re not going anywhere.

Still, there is some concern about appearance: one doesn’t want to be a source of ridicule.

But the clippers didn’t come last Friday night.  They didn’t come any time Saturday, either.  Concern grew.   Would we have to wait another month to get a haircut?  Finally the clippers came around noon on Sunday.  Then the real dilemma began – who was going to cut hair, and what kind of haircut did everyone want?

Two large plastic garbage bags were fitted to serve as barber sheets, pulled over one’s head to catch the hair clippings.   The haircuts went on for several hours.

James and Shep got buzz cuts, very military, and quite unattractive.  I went with just a little off all the way around.  Ronnie went pretty severe with his, and Mike got a fairly close trim, too.  The "groomers" left a lot on top so they could continue their “dos”, and a couple, including Vince and David, skipped the whole process.  Mr. “D” didn’t venture out of his cell.  Two went for the Michael Jordan “dome” look – it looks very good on them, but that’s because they don’t have lumpy heads.

The whole haircut occasion was festive – a happening -- and that doesn’t occur very often.  Everyone, except Mr. “D”, has a comment and something to contribute.  Curiously it brought everyone even closer together – a simple haircut, something we all shared in common, another small reminder of our humanity, and mortality too.

The only downside to the haircuts was everyone felt the need to take a shower afterwards, a very cold shower, for there’s another thing that could be shared by the haircuts, something we didn’t want in common – lice.

A POEM

Durham  NC - Friday,  January 11,   2002 

Some people read the Bible with their meals. This is what I read yesterday when dinner came, written inside the plastic container in which food is served:

"Soldier!  Soldier!

War!  War!

 Lose one, Kill two

Never rest until Death

Hear the Spirit from the Grave

Go it a Crip everyday

The Crip is strong, the world is weak

Strength and loyalty is our key

 For we are those who dare

Uptown, Downtown

Blue flags all around

 Chitt-Chitty

Bang-Bang

 Ain’t nothing

But a

Crip

Thang."

Gang graffiti is pervasive; gang culture is dominant.  It exists here in jail, and jail is merely a reflection of society at large.

Not long ago a police spokesman said there were 35 gangs in Durham with a total gang membership of about 135 – less than 4 members per gang.

That kind of myopia pretty much represents Durham’s war on gangs.

People who live in gang infested neighborhoods, where turf wars rage and youth are killed – just the other week, we understand, on New Year’s Eve, do not need to be told how serious the problem is, but inmatesI can attest from inside this jail that Durham faces a monumental gang problem.

All one would have to do is see this Pod 3 cell where gang graffiti has been lovingly and elaborately scrawled.  Those who did the “art” are gone, most likely back on the streets of Durham.  It's a reasonable guess that hundreds of jail cells are likewise painted with graffiti by inmates now back on the streets.

Meanwhile ... Ronnie and Stacy are getting much better at chess.  Stacy finally beat me yesterday and today I managed to beat him only after a very long and complicated end game.  We’re not quite to the point where I think they’d share details of their street life, but perhaps over time...

To my great pleasure, one of them has a subscription to The Sporting News.  It’s the only magazine we have. It’s like gold; he gave it to me when he finished reading it.

I find this a great source of hope – not The Sporting News, but the fact that he has a subscription, and reads it.

NUMBERS

Durham  NC - Thursday,  January 10,   2002 

In New York, of the 20,000 felons sentenced on drug charges, 94% are black and Latino, despite the fact that US government figures show  blacks and Latinos don’t do illicit drugs at a higher rate than whites.

So why the massive disparity between whites and blacks behind bars for illicit drugs?  One answer is that the figures are wrong.  Another answer is that the police don’t bust white suburban neighborhoods for drugs; instead they enforce drug laws in “neighborhoods of color.”

What about Durham?  I don’t have incarceration statistics but I venture that the inmate population of Durham’s County Jail is overwhelmingly black, though the county’s population is about 50% white and 50% black.

So what are we to make of these statistics?

There’s a lot of talk about the educational system – that there are a disproportionate number of blacks in Special Education classes, suspended, expelled, in the CIS Academy, and too few in Honors and AP classes.

The Board of Education is a cauldron of strife, almost always boiling over the issue of blacks in the school system.

But you never hear much about blacks in the judicial system.  Why is that?   Where are the advocates for those behind bars?  Do we care only as long as they are in school, and therefore politically useful, a football to be kicked up and down the political gridirion?  Are they to be abandoned once they are jailed because they become political liabilities?

A society should not be judged by how many in it are rich, but rather, by how many are poor.  Not by how many are well-fed, but by how many are hungry.   Not by how many are free, but by how many are not free.

Someone should look into the jail statistics.  The police love statistics; it has become a cottage industry in the police department to prove that all is well, crime down and the city safe.

What are the statistics for the Durham County Jail? How many are black?  How many white?  Hispanic? How many are in on drug charges?

What is the average length of time from arrest to court date (this will be a shocker!)?

That is just a beginning, but surely it should be of concern to citizens.  Surely Durham is not willing to write off a staggering, and growing, portion of its population.

The cost of incarceration is huge.   That should be looked into also.  Just what does it cost to maintain an inmate?  Poor Mike’s cost has been huge – think of the infrastructure of guards, equipment, etc. -- to keep him here for that $7 “defrauding a taxi” charge.

The population of Durham County Jail is about half the population of Hillside High School.  What’s the ratio of guards to teachers?  What’s the cost differential?

If you had these figures, I’d bet you’d care.  I bet you’d be very concerned.

How do you get these figures?  Ask the County Commissioners

GUARDS

Durham  NC - Wednesday,  January 9,   2002 

Jail guards are a curious bunch.   I know none of them by name and have almost no contact with them; I do what they say and keep my distance, but I watch them with others.

Among the fifteen or so guards who control this Pod and one other, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, half are women. One is white.  Mostly it’s black guards watching black inmates.

Generally the relationship between guards and inmates is quite good, respectful and essentially polite.  Different guards, of course, have different personalities.  Some guards are stricter than others, asserting their authority in the most stringent manner over the most petty detail -- while  others are  more lenient.  An example of a petty rule is the Styrofoam cup.  Usually one gets one in the morning with apple juice.  Some guards let you keep it throughout the day to drink out of; one or two guards demand they be returned.  The same with the cell door.  Some guards don’t mind that it is not pulled shut during the hours when inmates have access to the common room; others demand that it be shut and threaten a day’s or week’s lock down if it is not shut.  Inmates like to keep the door open when they are not locked down so they can come and go – the only real taste of freedom, the ability to make a choice, limited as it is.

Some guards, usually the women, yell and threaten constantly. But on the other hand, several are very nice, even considerate.

A word of explanation: In this Pod, no one has been convicted of a crime – all are simply awaiting a court date, even a first appearance before a judge. Given the presumption of innocence until proven guilty, all here are innocent. But of course that is theoretical. From the standpoint of treatment in here, the presumption of innocence is a myth – inmates are prisoners and are treated as such.

Perhaps the only heartlessness I’ve noticed among guards could be attributed to something else – their desire to watch TV.

Inmates are locked in their cells around 10:30.  The TV is supposed to go off.

Lights remain on in the cells, and all too frequently, the TV blares at top volume until the early hours, on occasion until 3AM.   Nothing blocks out the noise and sleep is very difficult; it is very hard to master the Zen art of sleep with the lights on and the TV blaring.

Whether the TV at full volume until 3 AM is intentional or just a diversion for guards to while away the hours is, for now, unknown. On the other hand, it may be planned, or policy – without sleep, inmates are certainly  more lethargic and perhaps less challenging the next day.

MIKE AGAIN

Durham  NC - Tuesday,  January 8,   2002 

Inmates are color-coded in here – red, white and blue wrist bands, depending on the severity of the charged crime and the amount, or lack, of bail.

So what is Mike still doing in here?  Mike is the 19 year old charged with defrauding a cab driver. I know of only one similar case – the one where an assistant DA refused to pay a cabbie and an altercation ensued.  The assistant DA lost his job, but he certainly did not go to jail. 

But Mike has been in jail more than 30 days already and his court case isn’t until January 9^th.

Everyone here who knows Mike agrees it is simply impossible for Mike to have knowingly defrauded the cabbie. Mike’s IQ could not possibly be above 60.   Mike cannot use the telephone; it is inconceivable that he planned – premeditated – a defrauding.  Mike is a guileless child. 

So why is he here?

We’re not sure.  The cost of Mike’s incarceration is a hundred times the cost of his “crime.”  What possible good is being accomplished by jailing this youth, and holding him, and holding him?

Mike is 19. He attends Hillside High where he takes special education courses.  However, sometimes he doesn’t go to school. After his mother goes to work, he rides DATA buses all day.

I have a hard time believing that someone is knowingly persecuting Mike, who is not competent to stand trial, for a totally insignificant crime.  I have a hard time believing that malice or indifference have placed this boy behind bars for two months, including Christmas.

Surely, I think, something else must be happening.  Perhaps this is an effort to help Mike, to get him some medical or psychiatric care.  Nobody would place a mental incompetent behind bars; this must really be for his better interests.

I raise this point with many of the other blacks in the Pod, men who are outraged at what has happened to Mike.

“Maybe all this is to help Mike,” I say.

They laugh in derision.

“Help?”  Putting him in jail on Christmas?  Locking him down 17 hours a day for two months?  What kind of help is that?”

“Maybe they’re trying to get him treatment.”  I still cannot believe the system is that insensitive.

But there is no question in the minds of the other black inmates – no one is trying to help Mike.  No one cares about him. Or them either.

What about Mike?  I don’t think he’d understand the question.  However, I don’t think he’s unhappy.  He’s taken care of, has friends, and probably life here is as interesting as a DATA bus ride.

So I’ll just wait and see what the real answer is, whether or not someone cares about Mike.

CRUEL NOT UNUSUAL

Durham  NC - Monday,  January 7,   2002 

Try this:  go into a large closet, leave the light on, turn on a TV set up to top volume. 

Now try to sleep.

Here, the TV is supposed to go off as soon as inmates are locked down for the night, usually around 10:30.  On a recent night the inmates in Pod 3 were locked down at 6:30 pm and not let out again.  At midnight four guards were in the booth; usually there are only two but because of the show and shortage of personnel, there were four last night.  The TV was turned to top volume.  No one could sleep.

If someone knows how to master sleep with the lights on and the TV at top volume, please let this little community know the secret.

For many, this is the principal aspect of life in jail that can’t be mastered.  Eventually, of course, sleep deprivation will overcome even this; however, it’s a real test of how to overcome cruel and unusual punishment – somehow you learn to ignore a TV blaring all night long; you have to because it’s a practice not likely to stop.

On another front, meanwhile, Jordan has left us after all.  Guards came to release him around noon. He squealed with delight, got his gear and disappeared, literally dancing out. So the “groomers” are down to two, though Chi Chi may be a new recruit.  Chi Chi is the largest man in the Pod, huge and muscular with many, many gang tattoos. He rarely talks, though to me he is very polite, and I notice that his hands shake even while he’s sitting still.  I’d guess that Chi Chi is in his early twenties though I certainly made a mistake about Larry the Trusty. I thought Larry was in his twenties – but he’s 47, a large man with a booming, distinctive laugh. 

There’s only one person quieter than Chi Chi: the man in the cell beside me.  His case is very famous.  We nod to each other but that’s it.  As soon as lockdown is over, he sits directly in front of the TV and does not move; he sits bolt upright, doesn’t take his eyes from the set, and doesn’t talk to anyone.  He almost always has a bag of chips or a Cup of Noodles soup so apparently he has money.

His cell, next to the shower, has religious pictures, and pictures of, I surmise, his two children.  We will not become friends.

CODDLING

Durham  NC - Sunday,  January 6,   2002 

Coddling criminals – not something anyone wants to do.  Jail is not supposed to be a spa.  It is punishment (though a distinction should be made between those who have been convicted of a crime, and those awaiting trial, like those here on Pod 3-C and many others in the Durham County Jail.

Punishment is appropriate, but then it gets tricky.

Long ago I knew a man who raised Pit Bulls.  He wanted them mean so he kept them in a close run and gave them very little food.  The dogs were always hungry and had to fight one another for scraps.

The dogs turned out very mean indeed. Fortunately for him, there was a market for mean Pit Bulls; they made excellent guard dogs IF one was careful with them.

But what is the market for unreformed inmates?

My understanding of the Durham County jail is that it is for conferment of a year or less, or for those awaiting trial.  Anyone sentenced to a term of more than a year goes to one of the state prisons.

So here were have inmates – hundreds of them, probably over a thousand during the course of the year  - who will return to “society” within a year.  These are men, and some women, you’ll see around town.  Chances are pretty good that over the course of time, you and everyone else will encounter some of these former inmates.

Do we want them mean, or reformed?  Society is not served by having a huge sub-culture of mean, brutalized former inmates, a population growing daily at an alarming rate.

So what do we do?  Right now they’re just locked away, pretty much confined to a closed room and forgotten until their term is up, and then they go back to the general population, usually worse off than before they came here.  This does not bode well for the future.

So what is the solution?  Obviously to try to keep individuals out of jail in the first place, and that I brings us back to the staggering problems that face this city – single parent homes, drugs, gangs and too much of our youth failing in school.

There’s a direct line from those problems to this building, the city’s largest – the Durham County Jail.  But this building is just a way station, holding inmates a short while, then returning them.  I don’t think much can be done here – the problem is too immense, the numbers too large, the cost too great.

For most who are here, the problems began long ago.  Those problems still exist, and a ride through many of the poorer sections of this city will show you what a bleak and pitiless trap awaits others, another generation which will find its way to this building. 

ROSE BOWL

Durham  NC - Saturday,  January 5,   2002 

Everyone was looking forward to watching an hour and a half (9PM – 10:30) of the Rose Bowl, but it didn’t happen. The inmates had been locked in their cells almost all day – let out for little more than an hour at 11AM, then locked down the rest of the day.  I have no idea why, possibly because of the snow and a shortage of guards.

Lock down has a curious – or not so curious – effect on some men.

Most of the inmates are young; 19-25, and most are black.  Lockdown – or solitary confinement – is not easy to deal with.   Your own company in a 14 x 9 foot cell can get oppressive after 24 hours.

Some of the cells; they are spartan, without reading material, or any diversions. Indeed, some of the inmates are definitely not big readers, and probably don’t have anyone to whom to write letters.  I can’t imagine what Mike and James do to occupy their time, and I think some of the others have a tough go of it, too.

Some do push-ups and sit-ups, and some write. These pastimes can be repeated daily, again and again, but it gets tedious.

It’s already too tedious for some.  Sleepy, one of the groomers, can’t stand confinement.  He screams out relentlessly, or bangs his cell door.  After a while this invites others to yell at him – a lot of “shut …ups”, and much worse.  He screams back, others yell, and pretty soon the Pod is in an uproar.  Finally it dies down, but only to start up again a few minutes later.  Every now and then the guards yell for quiet but that only provokes more noise.

At times like this it’s pretty crude and animalistic.  Worse, it’s degrading and uncivilizing.

All of these men will be out of here sooner or later. Will they be better or worse for the experience?  Will their confinement have helped them?  Reformed them?   Or merely aggravated behavior that brought them here in the first place?

My guess is that 90% of those confined here return worse than before they came in.  That should not be a comforting thought for those on the outside:  the state has individuals in its custody for a period of time, individuals totally under the control of the state.  These individuals are returned to society worse than before the state confined them.

Obviously something is wrong.  Chances are real good that sooner or later, people on the outside are going to encounter some of the 500 inmates here. Every day inmates are released and/or come into this place.

What happens in here could have a very direct effect on the “free” population, all the better-off good citizens of Durham.

It wouldn’t have hurt to let these men watch an hour and a half of the Rose Bowl.   It might even have helped.

ROUTINE

Durham  NC - Friday,  January 4,   2002 

What DO prisoners do in the Durham County jail?  I can only speak for Pod 3-Cs where there are 24 single cells.

Breakfast comes from between 5:30AM and 6:00AM. It consists almost always of oatmeal or grits, a half pint of milk, two slices of bread, and something else – an orange, egg or meat gruel.  After breakfast prisoners are locked back in their cells until 9AM.

From 9AM ‘til 12:30, inmates are allowed into the common area – a space about 120 feet long and 35 feet wide. In the common area is a TV, some chairs and three tables on which a checkerboard is embossed.

Men play cards, chess, checkers or watch TV. But many stay in their cells.

Lunch comes from between 10:30 and 11AM, small portions but balanced and adequate.

From 12:30 until 4PM, inmates are locked in their cells again. Cells are about 14 feet long and 9 feet wide. There is a concrete slab for a plastic mattress, a desk with a stool, a toilet and a sink. Inmates are issued 2 sheets, a blanket and two orange jumps suits; most everyone makes a pillow out of the sheets and extra jump suit.

From 4PM until 6:30, men are allowed back in the common area. Dinner is between 4:30 and 5PM.

Lockdown is from 6:30 until 9, then men are allowed out until 10:30pm, after which they are locked down until morning. Lights remain on in the cell all night and it’s frequently very noisy.

Inmates are allowed to shave on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.  A plastic razor is handed out and must be returned. Showers are whenever one can get into the common area. They are frequently stone cold. Laundry is twice a week.

If one has money in his account, purchases can be made from the commissary – stamps, envelopes, writing paper, shampoo, toothpaste, thermal underwear, socks, etc.  A variety of sweets is also available – candy for .69 a bar, cookies, moon pies, and also soup, though there isn’t hot water to heat the cup of noodles.

Visitors are allowed two days a week, fifteen minutes per visitor, a maximum of three per visiting day. There is a small area of outdoor exercise but in the past two weeks, inmates have only been allowed out once for 15 minutes.

There is a phone in the common room. Inmates can place local calls collect for 95 cents.  Getting an outside line is not always easy.

It is the perception that this is a civilized jail, more modern than most, and nowhere near as oppressive as many; it certainly is not barbaric; on the other hand, it is hardly luxurious.

Most of all, it serves its purpose – keeping inmates confined. The jail does its job.

However, it is not a deterrent to crime; it’s just a holding place until inmates are returned to from where they came. I have no figures on recidivism but I imagine it is staggering. I do not know the precise racial breakdown but I understand that it is overwhelmingly black.

Some are in here for no more than 30 days; others have been in here several years.  Many, many are in here awaiting trial; the court backlog appears to be huge.

GANGS

Durham  NC - Thursday,  January 3,   2002 

I have spent a lot of time reading ... the walls of my cell. They are covered with elaborate graffiti, most of which is gang related; intricate designs that obviously have meaning.

There is a whole panel which resembles Chinese but which I know isn’t; it isn’t Arabic either. I’m pretty sure it’s gang related, some extensive code like Egyptian hieroglyphics, or even the Code of Hammurabi.

I should have Ronnie or Stacy (we’ve become fairly close) translate it all for me; they are definitely into gang culture (Stacy even has one pant leg rolled up in here).

In fact, the funniest remarks I’ve heard had to do with gangs.

Four of us were playing cards, even Ronnie with the gunshot wound.   We were close to the TV and I noted a strange sight – PBS was on.  The usual TV fare is Soul Train, BET or sports, which is perfectly fine, but I was surprised to see PBS.   It was an art show (very famous I later learned though I had never seen it).

The painter was a Brillo-headed man (dead for years I understand) who paints Happy Trees and the like.  In any case, he was giving a lesson.  Several inmates (all blacks) were watching in rapt attention.

Finally Ronnie looked over and told them to turn the channel; he didn’t want to watch such crap.

One of the guys said to him, “You need to be watching this.   You need some art.  You be needing how to draw.”  He pointed to Ronnie’s tattooed arm.  “Then you wouldn’t be drawing that gang shit on your arm.”

Even Ronnie laughed.  He said, “I was born like this. You need to talk to my mama about that.”

Almost all the young blacks have gang tattooes but I don’t know enough to distinguish one gang from another.  I can’t imagine they’re all in the same gang; perhaps a tenuous peace exists here in the face of a common and greater enemy – the “System,” represented by the guards, which has incarcerated them.

Nevertheless, I’ve noted very little guard hostility; the guards are overwhelmingly black.  Some are stricter and more petty than others. Some scream louder and exert their authority more. But by and large they are benign. Perhaps we all understand the fragile line that separates us one from another.

Yet maybe Ronnie is right about the origins of this tattoos – that he was born with them.

For all I know, perhaps Ronnie and Stacy are fathers already at 19.

VINCE

Durham  NC - Wednesday,  January 2,   2002 

You decide whether or not this story is true:  Vince, the con from Central Casting, says he used to let the air out of the tires of his grandchild’s wheelchair.

Vince is 59, very hard looking and foul of temper.  He claims to have spent a great deal of time in prison, including Ryker’s Island in New York and others throughout the country.  If he hasn’t, he certainly plays the role well, and looks the part, too, with long hair, beard, stocky body and crafty eyes – and now the beginnings of arthiritis.

Back to the grandchild tale: Vince says they’d all be around the table and he’d push on the wheelchair’s air plug, making a “pssssssting” sound.  What’s that noise?” he’d ask the little girl (six years old, with cerebral palsy).   “Stop, Grandpa,” the little girl would cry, “you’re letting the air out of my tire.”

He also claims to have hung her up in the closet.  Once a social worker came to visit to see the little girl.   “She’s in her room,” Vince said.  But she wasn’t; the social worker found her in the closet.  “I just hung her up to drip-dry,” Vince said.

He tells me the little girl has grown up to be mean.  This I believe.

Nevertheless, I hope Vince’s stories are just tales – entertainment and bravado; however, knowing Vince, they may be true.

Vince is a master plumber, somehow utterly fitting.  He does not suffer anything lightly and he is not a favorite among the guards: when he wants attention, he kicks on the cell door.

Unlike with others here, I have no trouble devising a scenario that brought Vince here. I think he’s quite capable of anything.

Nevertheless, he’s a lot of fun, a good card partner, and he can hold his own with kids a third his age.  Yet where do you go from here if you’re 59?  Social Security is not far off for him; I understand the government pays it even in jail.

Still, even with a steady income, I can’t picture Vince some twenty years hence:  a jailed Mr. “D” passing out Honey Buns and candy bars on Christmas Eve.

But then, who knows?  I don’t think people age well in here, but probably they mellow.

JORDAN

Durham  NC - Tuesday,  January 1,   2002 

Jordan is leaving today; it’s his release date.  We are going to miss him.

Jordan is young and very affable.  I had to ask him three times what his name was.  Finally he said it was just like Michael Jordan, though there are absolutely no similarities between our Jordan and the Great Michael.

Our Jordan does hair.  There is a group of three young men who spend most of their time together outside their cells – perhaps 6 hours a day – doing each other’s hair.  They  braid and unbraid one another, fix elaborate “dos,” then start all over again.  They come up with some remarkable creations.

Sometimes Jordan will perch like a bird on a seat beside the others as we play cards, checkers or chess.   He also loves to watch TV and giggles a lot.

The groomers have no trouble with anyone - except for a few snide jibes now and then - for this is a remarkably tolerant environment.

Larry, one of the groomers, is somewhat like a Trusty; he does special jobs on the Pod,  mostly cleaning up, and for it he gets perks such as an extra meal.

Sleepy is the other groomer; Larry is training him to be a Trusty.   When Jordan told us he was leaving, I asked him when we’d see him here again.  He smiled demurely and said, “Never, I hope.”  I hope not either.

But not to worry; for there will be a replacement.  In fact Vince – straight out of Central Casting, as the guy who should be in a prison movie (he’s very tough, looks the part and has a remarkably  vile mouth) – tells me it’s time “Humpback” Coley should be returning.  “He’s been out two weeks now.  He’ll probably be back for New Year’s.”

“He’s that predictable?”  I ask.

“Oh yeah.  He’s a panhandler but he won’t make a sign that will allow him to panhandle so the police pick him up and bring him in regularly/”

“Why won’t he make a sign?” I ask.

“He doesn’t mind being hauled in; he’s in his sixties and it saves him money.  Here he’s got a place to stay and three meals.”

Just like a homeless shelter, except at the shelter, the homeless are tossed out at 6AM to wander the streets.

If “Humpback” Coley isn’t here for New Year’s, you’ll probably see him at one of the city’s intersections.

----------------------------------------------------------------

ONE CORRECTION:  I was wrong about Mr. “D”, our 'Santa' on Christmas Eve, delivering Honey Buns and candy bars.  I thought Mr. “D” was in his sixties.  Actually he’s 79!  His birthday was September 11^th.

JAMES

Durham  NC - Monday,  December 31,   2001 

There’s always someone to ridicule, one who’s always picked on – the bottom of the pecking order.  In here it’s James.

James is white, perhaps twenty or a little older, dark haired, lanky, and unmuscular.  Something definitely is wrong with him.  I’m told that his mind has been fried on crack cocaine, but all I know is that he continually asks me the date, over and over even after I’ve repeated it innumerable times.  I thought of writing down the date and putting it in his pocket but others told me that’s already been done, so now the others just snarl at  him when he approaches.

James asked me if I’d seen the movie “Goonies.”  I hadn’t but said I had to avoid a prolonged discussion.   Apparently there’s a demented character of ridicule in the movie.  James says, with some pride, that was his nickname in high school.  I have the feeling this was his only recognition.

The others berate him about his hygiene and habits and constantly threaten to hit him if he comes too close to them.  I fell sorry for him and try to be pleasant but – shame on me – I don’t want to bond with the pariah.  Obviously I need to re-read those parts of the Bible dealing with outcasts and compassion.  Unfortunately, the Bible is probably not the best guide for survival skills in jail.

Fortunately, James wears a white wrist band which means he is serving his time and will be released when he goes to court.  However, I wonder what possible future  is ahead for him.  In a bigger, more violent Pod, he would be targeted; he does not have the skills to survive, unless of course he has conned us all and is fronting a self-protection act, his shield to keep others away.  But I doubt it.

I watch him silently sometimes while playing cards. He can’t sit still for more than a few minutes, or follow anything on TV for any length of time. He gets up from his seat and wanders – carefully, avoiding going too close to the others.

What was his life before this?  I cannot imagine a girl, or even anyone to talk with at lunch.  I think he’s led a solitary existence, always on the periphery looking in.

Alas, I fear it will only get worse; he is not on a periphery where one wants to be; we are all looking out, but he is on an outer ring even farther out.

BOYS

Durham  NC - Sunday,  December 30,   2001 

Stacy’s arm is in a cast, broken by a baseball bat in a street fight. He also has a leg stapled together from an earlier injury.

Ronnie has a horribly deformed arm, the result of a gunshot wound, then aggravated by surgery at Durham Regional Hospital.

Both are around twenty, much younger than my own sons. They’re quiet, not sullen or morose, just watchful, obviously learned from the street.  They know a lot about gangs (my own cell is heavily graffitied with gang markings).

In the life beyond these walls, one of them lives only blocks from me, but not in Forest Hills.

We play chess together, a rather curious trio – two young blacks, and one aging white. I have not played in years, but chess comes back quickly.

Amazingly, both Stacy and Ronnie are very good; they learned to play in here.  They’re very quick and have the ability to think many moves in advance.  They study my game and strategy and take their losess as lessons. Soon they will be able to beat me regularly.

They are – to me – polite and nice boys.  Yes – boys – because when we get our food they look on their vegetables with disgust and won’t touch them.

“Want these?” they ask me of salad and carrots.  I admonish them that vegetables and roughage are good for them, but they dump the offending food on my plate.

What led them here to this awful place, these bright boys with wounds and disfigurements? I don’t know, but I know it should not be.  We have failed them, and so many others like them. 

They should not be here, but I fear they had little chance to avoid this place.

Now we are failing them again; there is no hope for them in this place.  They might learn to play chess and checkmate an old white man, but that won’t be enough to ward off what awaits them, beyond these walls – on those streets, in those gangs.

This city must do something for its black youth; their plight is our failure.  When did we forget that and cease to care?

DAVID

Durham  NC - Saturday,  December 29,   2001 

This is about David, and it’s the saddest case I know, though God knows there are only twenty-four of us here in this Pod.  I can’t fathom what tales of woe could be told by the other 500 in this jail!

I don’t know why David is here; none of us discuss our cases – it’s an inmate-imposed rule. However, I can dispel one myth: that everyone in jail maintains their innocence. That’s not true here; several are quite willing to admit they’re guilty as charged.

But I don’t know of what David is accused, let alone whether he is innocent or guilty.

However, David is the only one whose crime fascinates: I can’t imagine what he could have done.

You see, David is in a wheelchair, hopelessly crippled.  He can’t stand up and has very little upper body strength.  He has muscular dystrophy; he is dying.

David rarely eats; he is lactose intolerant and gets special meals. Though the pod is supposed to be handicapped accessible, the shower for him was broken over three months ago.

Once he was trapped and burned badly because he couldn’t get out.   Guards rescued him, but only after he’d been burned by the hot water.

David has been here four months; his first court appearance is still a month away. Once, guards came to take him to court, but the sheriff’s van was not handicapped accessible, so they left him.

We play cards and chess together; he’s a better card player than me. The rest of the time he spends in his cell because he doesn’t feel well and it’s so much trouble to get himself out. He says the Bible  is his only comfort.

Everyone is solicitous of David; they get him his tray, return it, and ask if he needs anything. There is a powerful current of humanity here; decency and small kindnesses have not been forfeited. It appears to me – so far at least – that bonds develop to nourish our spirits.  Freedom is lost, but curiously, there is a resilience within us that keeps us human; it’s a sight of wonder and a cause for hope.

MIKE

Durham  NC - Friday,  December 28,   2001

Mike is a brown bear of a youth.   He is nineteen, with an IQ certainly of no more than 60.  He reminds me of Lenny, the character in Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men.  He seems very gentle and is always smiling, but he is also very strong.

When we are out of our cells and meet in the common area, Mike wanders from group to group.  Everyone treats him well for everyone understands that he is a limited child.

Frequently he goes to the phone in the center of the room. He says he wants his mother, but he can’t manage the phone.

To place a call, one must jiggle the handle to get a dial tone. Then, after a while – if one is lucky – you get an outside line where a voice instructs you to press “0” then the number you want, and then announce into a recording your name, so the automated system can dial the collect call – 95 cents for a local number.  Then, if someone answers, your name is announced and the other end told to push “3” to accept the call.

All of this is far beyond Mike’s capabilities; all he wants to do is lift the receiver and talk to his mother, but she isn’t there, so he wanders back to watch others play checkers and cards.

Mike wears a white wrist band – that  means he is serving his time.  A blue band means felon with a bond of $10,000 or less; a red band is a felon with a bond of more than $10,000.

Mike will be released as soon as he goes to court (he’s been in the pod thirty days already) because if he is convicted, his sentence will be time  already served.

You see, his crime wasn’t terribly great – he’s accused of defrauding a cab driver: he got in a taxi but didn’t have the money to pay the fare.  The amount was seven dollars.

When he’s out, he may go back to school; he’s taking special education courses.  Or he may go back to what he does most days: after his mother goes to work, he rides busses all day long.

CHRISTMAS EVE

Durham  NC - Friday,  December 28,   2001

To keep my sanity, I write. To keep the horror at bay – thinking of my wife and children – I write.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, but all was not still, or quiet or well, either. Twenty four of us are in Durham County jail Pod 3C – sixteen blacks, six whites and two Hispanics.  All were once little boys waiting Christmas morn, though probably for many, sugar plums didn’t dance in their heads.  I cannot know what childhood brought these men together here tonight in this concrete and iron confinement, though all seem decent and redeemable.

One man started a carol but it withered on our lips.

I will not write about myself, certainly not about my plight, for it is shallow in the oceanic depths of sorrow here and elsewhere, but I will tell you about others – not their cases, just about them.

I will start with Mr. “D.”  I don’t know his real name or much about him, except that he is well into his sixties, white- haired and portly.  He has no teeth and doesn’t talk.

Suddenly around 9:30PM Christmas Eve he came out of his cell and in his curious shuffle-walk, he passed out pastries – 80 cent Honey buns from the commissary -- to everyone.   We were all dumbstruck,  then he disappeared into his cell.  A few minutes later he came out and distributed 69 cent candy bars to everyone.

It was a most incredibly generous and magnificent gesture, and one he had to have planned, for one has commissary privileges only once a week. Most here can’t afford a thing.

We thanked him and wished him 'Merry Christmas,' and back he shuffled to his cell without a word -- a jail-garbed, orange-suited, toothless Santa in a most forelorn place.