Part 33 (1/2)

PRISONER.

Carl.

You can call me Carl. I wouldn't mind giving you my real name, but my family wouldn't like it and I'm sure the folks that run this place wouldn't either. I'm in the Jefferson City Correctional Center in Jeff City, Missouri. It's also called ”The Walls.” I don't know why, to tell the truth. It's just always been called The Walls.

I robbed a department store in 1989. I'd rather not say which one, but it's one of the big ones you find at a shopping mall. It was me and two other guys and we all had guns. One of the guys used to work there and he knew that they brought all the money to the office at the end of the night and counted it before they put it in the safe.

It was the week before Christmas. We walked into the store at about ten minutes till close. The place was still pretty busy, so n.o.body thought twice about us coming in so late. We all used separate entrances, shopped around for a while, and then met upstairs in a bathroom near the office. We put on some masks and boom! Gimme all the money and n.o.body gets hurt. [Laughs] It was a cinch. There was just the manager and another guy and a lady in the room and they gave us the loot in shopping bags. There was no violence. I mean, we tied them up, but that's it. We all had guns on them and it would've been stupid for them to do anything.

That was the only time I ever robbed anyplace, and it was exciting, I have to admit. I mean, we just walked in with nothing and walked out with ten grand. That's a pretty good night's work.

We divvied the loot up between us-three-way split. I spent mine pretty fast. Bills, Christmas presents. I've got a daughter and a stepson and I wanted them to have a good Christmas. I'd had a job at a convenience store, but I got fired right after Thanksgiving because the boss was black and he didn't like white guys around.

For two years, I thought we were gonna get away with it. We were pretty careful. We'd agreed not to talk about it or be seen together for a while afterwards and we played it as cool as we could. I found a new job, didn't do no more crimes. But I got caught anyways two years later 'cause one of my crew got busted doing another store and he 'fessed up to the robbery we did together. He got a deal to give me and the other guy up. I was convicted of armed robbery. That's a Cla.s.s-A felony.

I came to The Walls in 1992. I was in county jail before that and then in the Diagnostic Center in Fulton. That's where they keep all the new prisoners while they decide how dangerous you are and figure out which prison you're going to. You meet with a shrink and they evaluate you and watch you with other inmates to see what you're like. I don't think they do a very good job of that. I mean, I'm really not a violent guy. Yeah, I used a gun, but I didn't have any priors. I got a raw deal because that snitch said I organized the whole thing. Which was a lie. It wasn't even my idea. Plus, the prosecutor had a hard-on for guns. If I hadn't used that gun, I'd probably be out walking around now on probation.

They've got all sorts of different prisons in Missouri-minimum security, medium security, maximum and supermax. The Walls is maximum and supermax. I didn't expect to come here. I was figuring, since it was my first offense and everything, that I'd get to go to Boonville, which is minimum security. I was young, too, I was just eighteen when we did the job, and most of the younger guys go to Boonville.

There's no way I should've been sent here. It's crazy. When they told me I was on my way to The Walls, I thought I was going to die. Either I was going to get killed or I was going to kill myself. As it turns out, I probably should have died. I've been pretty lucky. I've already beat all the odds just by staying alive this long. And when I make it out of here, I'll be beating the odds again. I think you've got something like a fifty-fifty shot at making it out of The Walls. It's maybe better than that, but not much.

This place is like a little city, a little world of just itself. Everybody has to have a job-some of them are better than others. There's people here making license plates and highway signs. Whenever you see a highway sign in Missouri it was made at The Walls. But that job sucks. It's hard work and you don't get paid much more than anyone else. I'm a cook. I worked at a Burger King for a while so I know my way around a grill. I cook eggs and bacon and hash browns every morning and I prep lunch.

It's a good job. I make about eight bucks a week, but it's not about the money. If you work in the kitchen, you get to make most of your own meals, so I eat pretty good. [Laughs] If you don't work in the kitchen, the food sucks. It all looks the same and tastes the same too. [Laughs] Plus, this gives me something to do where I'm pretty much by myself as long as I'm at the grill, which I appreciate. I work six days a week, but I could work five. I choose to work the extra day 'cause I like to keep busy. It helps pa.s.s the time. And it keeps me out of trouble, keeps me away from a lot of the f.u.c.king people in here-that's the big thing. [Laughs] That's why I love my job.

We've got more than two thousand inmates here. All kinds of people. There's gang bangers and they're all black or Mexican. Some of the white guys are in the Brotherhood. The Aryan Brotherhood. And some of the whites just stay by themselves. That's the best, but then you don't really have anybody watching your back. It pays to have a crew on the inside, trust me.

One of the guys, a real old-timer, he looks out for me because he went to high school with my dad. He'd been here for more than fifteen years when I came and he's doing two life sentences for double murder. Killed his ex-girlfriend and her boyfriend. Didn't even try to run, just didn't care anymore. Crazy. But he's made sure I've been okay. He gives good advice and everybody likes him, so if you're at his table then people know that you're not one to f.u.c.k around with. He's a good guy. We call him ”The King” because he's like the King of the White People in here. He's got my back.

But I've been in fights. Plenty of times. Just because you've got friends doesn't mean you're not going to fight. I had to fight a lot when I first got here and nothing could be done to stop it. I broke a guy's arm once. You've gotta prove yourself and keep proving yourself. There's guys in here doing heavy time. I got a ten-year sentence and that's considered small change by most of the others. A lot of them are doing twenty to life. I'm on my way out, but there's complete wastes of life in here. They don't care about themselves or anybody else.

Motherf.u.c.kers around here don't need a reason to fight. I've been punched and kicked and s.h.i.+t I don't know how many times. I've been shanked twice. Shanked means stabbed. I got it once with a pen and once with a homemade knife. You make them with a piece of metal or anything you can find that can be sharpened. The first time the guy was going for my neck but I stopped him with my arm and the pen went in just below my wrist. The other time I got nailed from behind, but the guy hit one of my ribs. I was lucky. Guys get killed here just about every week. It happens in the yard and in the cafeteria. It can happen in the TV room or even the shower. Motherf.u.c.kers have died sitting on the toilet. All sorts of reasons. Wouldn't suck d.i.c.k, wouldn't give up a.s.s, wouldn't give their food, looked at somebody the wrong way, you name it. This is prison. These guys are animals and they act like it.

You've got all sorts in here. Punks-that's what we call a f.a.g. A punk. And a lot of guys have their own punk and the punk has to do whatever his boss says. If you don't, you get hurt. I don't f.u.c.k with that stuff, though. n.o.body's made a punk out of me. I had to fight a lot to win respect, but I'm not a little man. I'm six foot three and I weigh two hundred and forty pounds and I work out almost every day. It's not going to be easy to take my a.s.s, that's for f.u.c.king sure.

I don't have a punk of my own, either. I'm not a h.o.m.o. I don't care what anybody says, if you get your d.i.c.k sucked by another man, then you're a h.o.m.o. And it's the same if you f.u.c.k a guy in the a.s.s. You're gay. Simple as that. A lot of guys in here-the bosses who have punks-they say that if they're getting their d.i.c.k sucked and they don't do anything, then they aren't gay, but that's bulls.h.i.+t.

A lot of guys have tried to rape me and paid for it. And I've seen plenty of weaker guys get raped. I've seen it too many times, man. It's f.u.c.ked up. I hadn't been here but six or seven months when I saw a guy get raped with a broomstick. It happened in the TV lounge and a couple of thugs stood in the doorway and you couldn't get in or out. The guard was just in the other room, but n.o.body said a word and they f.u.c.ked this guy up the a.s.s in one of the corners of the room. It was f.u.c.king sick. I thought I was going to lose it. I still have that s.h.i.+t in my head. I always will.

It's like sport-raping. These motherf.u.c.kers just want something evil to do so they do it. The guards know it happens but they don't give a s.h.i.+t. They're f.u.c.king a.s.sholes. Every f.u.c.king one of 'em. It's us versus them in here. I wouldn't ask a guard what time it was, much less for any f.u.c.king help. They don't give a s.h.i.+t about any of the inmates. They think we're all animals and they're right. When you're on the inside you have to be an animal if you want to get out alive. Like, I don't let anybody know my release date because they'd kill me 'cause they're jealous. One day I just won't be here anymore. I'll be gone and I ain't never coming back.

The only good thing about prison is the education. I got my G.E.D. after about a year here and I've been taking college cla.s.ses for about three years. I've got my a.s.sociates degree in accounting and I might go to a real college someday. The teachers are cool. They actually care. But none of them last very long. n.o.body wants to come to a place like this every day.

This is h.e.l.l on f.u.c.king earth right down to the stink. It's dirty as s.h.i.+t. The filth, the smell, it's so f.u.c.king gross. I've never gotten used to it. My mother keeps a real nice home. Here, they clean everything with bleach and it still f.u.c.king reeks. You have to wash your hands a lot. Least I do. A lot of these motherf.u.c.kers aren't clean. They don't bathe proper. Sometimes, if you get to smelling too funky, they make you hit a shower. I've seen people have the s.h.i.+t beat out of 'em and then washed clean. It's f.u.c.ked up. Can you imagine being so dirty that a bunch of cons knocked you out and had a punk wash you off? The punk sucks the guy's d.i.c.k sometimes, too. That's another thing punks do. If they get you alone and you're weaker than them, it can sometimes be a f.u.c.k or fight. And if they knock you out, then they might suck your d.i.c.k to humiliate you.

I took f.u.c.king ten grand. One robbery, once in my life. Got a f.u.c.king third of it. And I ended up in this s.h.i.+t. I've paid for my crime. Definitely. A couple of years would have been plenty. I got a raw deal.

I had a chance at parole. Twice denied. I didn't exactly cooperate with the prosecutor during my trial, so the judge fixed it so I couldn't get paroled until at least five years. I wasn't eligible the first time because I hadn't gone through any programs-A.A., N.A., anger management, that kind of thing. I done that since, but it's all bulls.h.i.+t because you just go in to satisfy the parole board. Prisoners don't really want to be helped. They just want out.

My second parole was last year. I thought I would be cool, but I got into a fight the day before my board. This one dude found out that I was going up for parole and he decided to f.u.c.k with me. And when you come to the parole board from the hole, well, let's just say it don't make a good impression.

So now I'm looking at two more years till my release. [Laughs] Just two more years. I'm not making any plans because you can't ever count on anything until you get out-and I doubt I can count on things then, either-but I think about getting out all the time. I've thought about it too much. I'm gonna go home and see my family and my kids. My girl was two when I got popped. She's almost eleven now. And my stepson just turned thirteen. I've seen them a few times. They come for my birthday and around Christmas. I didn't want them to ever see this place, but family is family and they know where I am anyway.

My wife and kids live with my mom and dad. They all take care of each other and me too. I talk to them every Sunday night on the phone. It's hard, though. They should be able to live their lives without me dragging them down. I don't have a lot going on here to talk about. I'm not gonna tell 'em about no f.u.c.king murders and s.h.i.+t, so I usually talk about my job or school or whatever. It's the same routine day in and day out. You could die of boredom. But I like to talk to them and I like to hear what's going on in the world. And we write back and forth and send pictures. I've got hundreds and hundreds of pictures.

I dream about my wife and kids all the time. I dream sometimes about being with them. I had a dream that I was with them last Christmas and we were all just one big happy family. Stuff like that. Some of my dreams, I don't even want to wake up ever.

I thought I had gotten away with it, you know? That's what I thought. Turns out I was pretty far f.u.c.king wrong. I've heard that for every year you spend inside, it takes three years to get over. Whatever that means. I doubt I'll ever get over this. It's like being in a war. Nothing could be worse. The Walls ain't no joke, man. No joke. This place is totally f.u.c.ked up and I'll never be the same again.

I got a life.

SAILOR.

Johnny.

I never finished high school. It wasn't that it was bulls.h.i.+t, it's just that where I was from-let's just put it this way-in terms of the books, okay? My grandmother's boyfriend had the same books I did. Back when he was in high school, okay? What I'm sayin' is where I came from was a shallow area. Where I went to school was a shallow area. It's not your suburbs. It's not your middle cla.s.s. It's more like your low, low cla.s.s. East Saint Louis.

And I grew up without a father. Just like almost everybody else around there. Just like my father, he grew up without a father, okay? I did the wrongs as I did the rights in my life, you know. Everything you see on the movies, I've done it. I've lived it. Like you saw Juice. It was some pretty impressive s.h.i.+t, right? I mean, you guys really thought that was cool s.h.i.+t, right? To me that ain't cool. That's just another day in the life of sump'n I always lived.

I got more friends or family that are either dead or in jail than alive. I always thought my father was dead. Then he decided to come around. I was nineteen years old. By that time I was married. I had a kid. I admit I still was in my ways, in and out of the jails, doin' all the s.h.i.+t, but then I finally realized, okay, I can join that crowd, or I can break being part of that crowd. My son-I can break the chain of being, of my name being fatherless, or I can continue with the chain of my family being fatherless.

So I signed up for the military. And when I signed up, I got a life. Serious. The navy gave me a life. Like I could wear this uniform, I could walk down the street and people, they'll give me all the love and they, you know, give me all the props and everything. 'Cause they see the uniform.

At first I never saw myself as a navy person. Okay? Because just like I'd never been in the military before, so like everybody else-you know, you always see the stereotypes about everything. So I wanted to be a marine. You know, I wanted to be the mo'f.u.c.ker with the gun. The hardcore. I was used to that life. Why not get paid for it? In a legal way.

But because I didn't graduate from high school and I didn't have the G.E.D., they turned me down. They said I'd have to pay to get some college credits. You had to have so many college credits if you didn't graduate. Some such s.h.i.+t. Whatever. They have their standards. If you're dumb you're not getting in. That's fine with me. But I wasn't paying for no college so I could get in the marines. You know what I'm saying?

So I went home. And I was sittin' at my house, and the navy recruiter called me and he's like, ”I hear you're interested in getting into the military.” And I was like, ”No, not the military [laughs], the marines!” 'Cause I was still hung up on the stereotypes. And he was like, ”Well, why don't you come down to the recruiting office and see what we have to offer and then you decide from there.” So just to get him the f.u.c.k off the phone [laughs] I went. And then I-I'd say that was the smartest move I ever did.

Any branch of the military you get into is good, I would have to say. From the army to the navy, coast guards, marines, air force. It's all good. The military needs you, too.

I'm in the Seventh Fleet. I'm on what you call an amphibious s.h.i.+p. We carry Harrier jets like you see in True Lies. And helicopters. We got a flight deck that can land jets, helicopters, Harriers, stuff like that. Anything in a hovering motion. And wherever the marines gotta go, we gotta go. We cab 'em there. They have to have some means of transportation to go from one country to another. You know, you gotta cross the oceans, so who do you need? The navy.