1-14-15
When I moved into this pod I was informed that I was among the pillars of the Montgomery County jail. Men who have spent enough time in the jail that they get a modicum of special treatment when they return. They are people who are addressed by their first names by the guards. They choose where they will be housed.
This Pod is for working trustees and the pillars. We go to work every morning and the pillars work out and play poker. I never thought this kind of favoritism took place on this scale. I honestly never even considered that guards would grow friendly with repeat visitors, but I guess that's a very naive view.
But today, I was treated to real royalty. His return has been whispered about for days: Parker.
I don't even know if that's his first name, or his last name. Perhaps he has a one name sobriquet like Cher, Modonna, or Pele'. Parker, the shoe shine savant.
His arrival was heralded in silent and stark terms. There is a dry erase board with our names, job assignments and bunks. The guy who was the "boot black" on our shift had those words erased. Then "Parker...boot black" on our shift was added. A murmur grew in the day room.
Then, the door opened and a diminutive black man came in. He was greeted and hugged by his fellow pillars. "Cowboy" a legendary white supremacist and alleged meth dealer approached Parker and welcomed him home.
A few minutes later, the doors opened again and a cute, young female guard brought in a mattress and carried it to Parker's bunk. I mention this for 2 reasons: first, guards carry nothing for inmates. If my entrails were dragging the floor and the guards were escorting me to medical, I would be carrying my own entrails. Second, from across the room we could all see that this was a very special mattress. Twice the thickness of any other mattress, it exuded softness. The cover was stretched to it's limits by soft stuffing. We all salivated as we watched that mattress make its way to his bunk. I approached it later. I felt the luxury and was overcome with envy. My mattress is almost as thick as a waffle and this guy's sleeping on a Serta. That is my mattress.
You see, I was supposed to take over as the shoeshine guy. Last week, the regular shoeshine guy asked me to shine a pair of boots. I spent 9 years in the Navy. I can shine a pair of boots. When the dust settled, the boots were being passed around by the guards. They marveled at the spit shine. They called over another Pillar. A old timer pillar and an old timer guard huddled around the boots. The pronounced them the best shined boots the Montgomery County jail had ever seen. They proclaimed me a legend. Even the old crazy man locked in "24" yelled through his vent that "Those boots are very shiny!" (He also says I look 65 years old, so some comments are suspect).
But I was Thwarted! I was Dauphine', the heir apparent, but the then shoeshine guy forbade me to shine boots after that, because he was humiliated by all the accolades the one pair of boots I shined received.
I was a one hit wonder. I was "My Sharona". My talent and my dreams were dashed. I seethed as I watched the marginal talent of the shoeshine guy on display while I wasted my talents sweeping floors and feeding crazy people.
Parker's return makes it all moot. He's a rock star. I'm a frustrated artist. he's a Pillar. I'm, at best, an area rug. Maybe a back splash. But dammit, if shoe shine passion was the measuring stick, if artistry and not familiarity was the barometer, that pretty little guard would have carried in my double thick mattress.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Feeling cut out of "our story". by Wesley
1-11-15
I used to star in the story of my life. I had a central focal character. I planned events, had adventures, boy, could I tell a story. I suppose my story and the stories of everyone close to me overlap too much for my story to stand alone, unless I'm Gilligan and the Skipper and everyone else drowned. And the Globetrotters never made it to the island....don't get me started.
But if it is more our story, then my story, then I'm just a supporting character. I would like to maintain a very important role in our story, but I guess I must, since this is my part of our story. But even now, I feel like my role in the story is being marginalized. I don't feel like I have joined into an "our story" with anyone in the Montgomery County dungeon. We all share space and meals, but unless we knew each other outside, we do have an interesting story. Let me explain.
I have determined 2 things while here: 63.5% of the time when I try to get to know someone's story, I regret it. Earlier tonight, I queried a young man I work with, about a hour later the story boiled down to his sister-in-law yelled at him. I will never get that hour back.
The second thing I learned here is that it is fun to make up statistics.
Oh, and jail sucks AND I miss my wife.
Back to our story. I still like to believe that I'm part of Lesa's story and all the stories of my friends and family are still "our story". But they aren't. I'm no longer part of the story. I listen to plans and hear about the jokes and laughs and how things went and boy, we wish you were there, but I am not a part of the story.
Life goes on, and I am gone. And that is the most painful thing of all. Of course, there is no one, but me, to blame. It's natural.
But it's a bit weird to hear about the story I was once a major part of, like someone is describing a John Grisham novel I never read: All the characters seem familiar, and the plots seem likely and expected, but I haven't exactly read it.
Now, Jessica is getting married, and I will miss another major life event....Lesa will go alone...and the story will go on without me. I feel like I have been written out of the story.
Sorry Lesa, don't replace me with Dick Sargant! or was that Dick York?
I used to star in the story of my life. I had a central focal character. I planned events, had adventures, boy, could I tell a story. I suppose my story and the stories of everyone close to me overlap too much for my story to stand alone, unless I'm Gilligan and the Skipper and everyone else drowned. And the Globetrotters never made it to the island....don't get me started.
But if it is more our story, then my story, then I'm just a supporting character. I would like to maintain a very important role in our story, but I guess I must, since this is my part of our story. But even now, I feel like my role in the story is being marginalized. I don't feel like I have joined into an "our story" with anyone in the Montgomery County dungeon. We all share space and meals, but unless we knew each other outside, we do have an interesting story. Let me explain.
I have determined 2 things while here: 63.5% of the time when I try to get to know someone's story, I regret it. Earlier tonight, I queried a young man I work with, about a hour later the story boiled down to his sister-in-law yelled at him. I will never get that hour back.
The second thing I learned here is that it is fun to make up statistics.
Oh, and jail sucks AND I miss my wife.
Back to our story. I still like to believe that I'm part of Lesa's story and all the stories of my friends and family are still "our story". But they aren't. I'm no longer part of the story. I listen to plans and hear about the jokes and laughs and how things went and boy, we wish you were there, but I am not a part of the story.
Life goes on, and I am gone. And that is the most painful thing of all. Of course, there is no one, but me, to blame. It's natural.
But it's a bit weird to hear about the story I was once a major part of, like someone is describing a John Grisham novel I never read: All the characters seem familiar, and the plots seem likely and expected, but I haven't exactly read it.
Now, Jessica is getting married, and I will miss another major life event....Lesa will go alone...and the story will go on without me. I feel like I have been written out of the story.
Sorry Lesa, don't replace me with Dick Sargant! or was that Dick York?
Mentally ill in jail. By Wesley
1/4/2015
Solitary confinement is one of the saddest places on earth. If you ever need to feel good about your own circumstances, about how badly things have gone away in your world, visit your nearest jail.
I say jail, because as part of my new digs here, I have a job. I am a trustee. I work in male booking and part of that is working with the people placed in "24". These folks are placed in isolation for 24 hours, allegedly when there is no place else to put them. The mentally ill. The mentally handicapped. The people on suicide watch.
You know, the people who basically have no business, at all, being in jail, but are brought here because our country doesn't fund places better suited to take them.
There are men who scream at invisible people in their cells all day long. All day. The venom in their voices makes it sound as if they are angry at the invisible people, so it is probably a good thing they found the cloak.
I don't mean to be flip, but it is hard to listen to these lost people for 12 hours at a time. And they are the easier ones to hear.
I have worked 4 days and the local police department has brought in 2 severely mentally handicapped men. They are locked alone and they neither understand where they are, or what they have done wrong. The other day, one of them saw a cell with quite a few people processing into the jail and he started crying that he, "wanted to be with the big boys." He tries to hug the guards and trustees that come into brief contact with him....
And he cries. A long soulful wail of a tiny boy locked in a rubber room, (literally), naked, cold, and terrified.
How the hell can we buy another missile or tank while we allow this to happen?
Today, a new arrestee was bleeding and could not understand the guards inquiry as to where he was bleeding from. He was scared, screaming he wanted to go home.
When the nurses came to examine him, they found that he had defecated on himself. He didn't know how to go to the bathroom by himself.
The guards try so hard to help ease their pain, and it is evident that it hurts them to have to lock these people up. More than once, I heard the rhetorical demand, "Why do they keep bringing them here?!", yelled in frustration.
Because there is no place else. Because the richest country in the planet can afford to pay billions in subsidies to Chevron and Imperial Sugar, but can't afford to find a more appropriate place for the most vulnerable amongst us.
These men have committed no crimes. They aren't capable of having the culpable mental state. They are here because there is simply no where else.
And it is torture. Last week, when the "hugger" was wailing, a guard said, "Welcome to the Montgomery County torture chamber".
Yup, I am ashamed of my state or my country tonight.
Solitary confinement is one of the saddest places on earth. If you ever need to feel good about your own circumstances, about how badly things have gone away in your world, visit your nearest jail.
I say jail, because as part of my new digs here, I have a job. I am a trustee. I work in male booking and part of that is working with the people placed in "24". These folks are placed in isolation for 24 hours, allegedly when there is no place else to put them. The mentally ill. The mentally handicapped. The people on suicide watch.
You know, the people who basically have no business, at all, being in jail, but are brought here because our country doesn't fund places better suited to take them.
There are men who scream at invisible people in their cells all day long. All day. The venom in their voices makes it sound as if they are angry at the invisible people, so it is probably a good thing they found the cloak.
I don't mean to be flip, but it is hard to listen to these lost people for 12 hours at a time. And they are the easier ones to hear.
I have worked 4 days and the local police department has brought in 2 severely mentally handicapped men. They are locked alone and they neither understand where they are, or what they have done wrong. The other day, one of them saw a cell with quite a few people processing into the jail and he started crying that he, "wanted to be with the big boys." He tries to hug the guards and trustees that come into brief contact with him....
And he cries. A long soulful wail of a tiny boy locked in a rubber room, (literally), naked, cold, and terrified.
How the hell can we buy another missile or tank while we allow this to happen?
Today, a new arrestee was bleeding and could not understand the guards inquiry as to where he was bleeding from. He was scared, screaming he wanted to go home.
When the nurses came to examine him, they found that he had defecated on himself. He didn't know how to go to the bathroom by himself.
The guards try so hard to help ease their pain, and it is evident that it hurts them to have to lock these people up. More than once, I heard the rhetorical demand, "Why do they keep bringing them here?!", yelled in frustration.
Because there is no place else. Because the richest country in the planet can afford to pay billions in subsidies to Chevron and Imperial Sugar, but can't afford to find a more appropriate place for the most vulnerable amongst us.
These men have committed no crimes. They aren't capable of having the culpable mental state. They are here because there is simply no where else.
And it is torture. Last week, when the "hugger" was wailing, a guard said, "Welcome to the Montgomery County torture chamber".
Yup, I am ashamed of my state or my country tonight.
Wesley's move. by Lesa
December 31, 2014
Visitation at the jail is Saturday's and Sundays, the time depends on your first initial of your last name. We are C, so our visitation on Saturday is in the morning, Sunday, in the afternoon. In addition, if you miss one, there is a make up day, Monday night. I usually work at least one weekend day, so I make up on Monday night, after work.
We were on the phone, it was Sunday. We usually talk several times throughout the day, for a few minutes. Helps us to feel connected. We were only on the phone for a couple of minutes, Wesley says, "Oh my God!" and hangs up. I was freaked out, but a felt reasonably sure he was okay, but something had happened, and I knew he would call me back when he could.
He calls back and tells me that a big dude, "Blood", was picking on a smaller dude, "David". "The Bloods" is a gang inside the jail. I will let Wesley explain later. He was provoking him to fight, and David was getting beat. I asked how this was going on, there were guards there!! He said there is an area that the cameras and guards can not see. He said he tried to get the attention of the guard, watching from outside the room, in a central area, called "the picket". He was looking at his computer while David was getting beat. Wesley said the "Blood" was slamming David's head on the ground, he was afraid he was going to kill him. He knew the "Blood" had some respect for him and didn't think he would hurt him, so he got his attention, touched him, or something, and told him to stop, he was going to kill him. He stopped, but still kept saying it wasn't over, he was going to beat him again. Wesley knew the Blood would.
I couldn't do nothing. This kid could be killed, shit like this happens all the time in jails. I called and asked to talk to the Sargent. I shared the information with him, anonymously, didn't want to give my husbands info., because I knew if the Blood's knew he said anything, they would retaliate. I was scared for my husband, but I knew letting this kid be in danger was not an option. I told the Sargent what cell, and what information I knew. I begged him to please, I knew he could trace the call, please not pull my husband out or make it obvious.
Later, when I went to visit, I was nervous as hell. I didn't hear back from Wesley. When I stepped up to the window to check in for visitation, I could see my husband, already standing on the other side. He was holding a paper and looked at me and mouthed the words, "you got me in trouble". OMG, I was freaking out. The guard there said Wesley was getting moved, my stomach sank. They decided to go ahead and let us have visitation, then move him. It was then I got the rest of the story.
Wesley told me another guy had been pulled out and questioned about the incident. When they brought that guy back, he said somebody had called about the fight. Then they pulled out Wesley. He told the Sargent everything. He then told him, he could not, NOT go back in there. Everyone would know it was him. They asked him what they wanted to do, he said, "give me a job." The Sargent asked him why didn't he have a job. Wesley told him, he had been trying to get a job since he got there 3 months ago. He had some back issues, so the medical people would not clear him to work. The Sargent called medical, go them to clear him, after signing a release, and he finally had a job. When you have a job, you get moved to "the pods", a much better living arrangement. Two birds, one stone. Wesley went back and told everyone he got a job. Everyone assumed he was pulled for a work assignment. He actually had several people tell him they would miss him, but were happy for him. If the others found out where the info came from, even though it was me, he would be retaliated on, but for now, it got him a job, which makes the time go faster, and moved to a nicer place, which makes the time not at work, more bearable. Wesley was happy at the outcome, but a little nervous about how it happened. I apologized and swore I would never do it again, without checking it out with him.
"David", btw, was removed, as well as the "Blood", and at least one incidence of violence was stopped. I am sure there are many more, but since then, it has been much better for my husband, and the kid "David", was not murdered or beat down again, mission accomplished.
In this incidence, the results came out great. Had it been TDC, maybe not, shit like that follows you, and criminals and gangs are smart as hell, and they have ears and eyes everywhere. I don't know that I would do it again, yes, I would, but I would talk through it with hubby first. If I hadn't done that, Wesley would have probably put himself in the middle, that might not have ended well. I hate, HATE, that a middle aged, never been in trouble, EVER, never had anyone I knew been in any trouble, has to know all of this, be exposed to all of this, but, it is what it is. I am adjusting, learning, and moving on. I love my husband dearly, and his mistake in judgement and subsequent payment for his mistake, as appropriate, has put us both in situation we have never been in. Having been an attorney, he knew of criminals from the outside. Now, inside, it is a different story. He says he would never work as a defense attorney again, after hearing the majority of criminals on the inside. Most are career criminals, a way of life. There are plenty of exceptions, but they are few. There are some who are trying to get out of the life, and there are ways to help them do that, but it is hard surrounded by those who do it frequently. They all seem to know each other, have a network, of sorts. Anyway, I am going off...I will save the rant for another blog.
Be careful, watch your loved ones in jail, and never act on the things you hear without getting advice on what to do from someone you trust and who knows the system.
Visitation at the jail is Saturday's and Sundays, the time depends on your first initial of your last name. We are C, so our visitation on Saturday is in the morning, Sunday, in the afternoon. In addition, if you miss one, there is a make up day, Monday night. I usually work at least one weekend day, so I make up on Monday night, after work.
We were on the phone, it was Sunday. We usually talk several times throughout the day, for a few minutes. Helps us to feel connected. We were only on the phone for a couple of minutes, Wesley says, "Oh my God!" and hangs up. I was freaked out, but a felt reasonably sure he was okay, but something had happened, and I knew he would call me back when he could.
He calls back and tells me that a big dude, "Blood", was picking on a smaller dude, "David". "The Bloods" is a gang inside the jail. I will let Wesley explain later. He was provoking him to fight, and David was getting beat. I asked how this was going on, there were guards there!! He said there is an area that the cameras and guards can not see. He said he tried to get the attention of the guard, watching from outside the room, in a central area, called "the picket". He was looking at his computer while David was getting beat. Wesley said the "Blood" was slamming David's head on the ground, he was afraid he was going to kill him. He knew the "Blood" had some respect for him and didn't think he would hurt him, so he got his attention, touched him, or something, and told him to stop, he was going to kill him. He stopped, but still kept saying it wasn't over, he was going to beat him again. Wesley knew the Blood would.
I couldn't do nothing. This kid could be killed, shit like this happens all the time in jails. I called and asked to talk to the Sargent. I shared the information with him, anonymously, didn't want to give my husbands info., because I knew if the Blood's knew he said anything, they would retaliate. I was scared for my husband, but I knew letting this kid be in danger was not an option. I told the Sargent what cell, and what information I knew. I begged him to please, I knew he could trace the call, please not pull my husband out or make it obvious.
Later, when I went to visit, I was nervous as hell. I didn't hear back from Wesley. When I stepped up to the window to check in for visitation, I could see my husband, already standing on the other side. He was holding a paper and looked at me and mouthed the words, "you got me in trouble". OMG, I was freaking out. The guard there said Wesley was getting moved, my stomach sank. They decided to go ahead and let us have visitation, then move him. It was then I got the rest of the story.
Wesley told me another guy had been pulled out and questioned about the incident. When they brought that guy back, he said somebody had called about the fight. Then they pulled out Wesley. He told the Sargent everything. He then told him, he could not, NOT go back in there. Everyone would know it was him. They asked him what they wanted to do, he said, "give me a job." The Sargent asked him why didn't he have a job. Wesley told him, he had been trying to get a job since he got there 3 months ago. He had some back issues, so the medical people would not clear him to work. The Sargent called medical, go them to clear him, after signing a release, and he finally had a job. When you have a job, you get moved to "the pods", a much better living arrangement. Two birds, one stone. Wesley went back and told everyone he got a job. Everyone assumed he was pulled for a work assignment. He actually had several people tell him they would miss him, but were happy for him. If the others found out where the info came from, even though it was me, he would be retaliated on, but for now, it got him a job, which makes the time go faster, and moved to a nicer place, which makes the time not at work, more bearable. Wesley was happy at the outcome, but a little nervous about how it happened. I apologized and swore I would never do it again, without checking it out with him.
"David", btw, was removed, as well as the "Blood", and at least one incidence of violence was stopped. I am sure there are many more, but since then, it has been much better for my husband, and the kid "David", was not murdered or beat down again, mission accomplished.
In this incidence, the results came out great. Had it been TDC, maybe not, shit like that follows you, and criminals and gangs are smart as hell, and they have ears and eyes everywhere. I don't know that I would do it again, yes, I would, but I would talk through it with hubby first. If I hadn't done that, Wesley would have probably put himself in the middle, that might not have ended well. I hate, HATE, that a middle aged, never been in trouble, EVER, never had anyone I knew been in any trouble, has to know all of this, be exposed to all of this, but, it is what it is. I am adjusting, learning, and moving on. I love my husband dearly, and his mistake in judgement and subsequent payment for his mistake, as appropriate, has put us both in situation we have never been in. Having been an attorney, he knew of criminals from the outside. Now, inside, it is a different story. He says he would never work as a defense attorney again, after hearing the majority of criminals on the inside. Most are career criminals, a way of life. There are plenty of exceptions, but they are few. There are some who are trying to get out of the life, and there are ways to help them do that, but it is hard surrounded by those who do it frequently. They all seem to know each other, have a network, of sorts. Anyway, I am going off...I will save the rant for another blog.
Be careful, watch your loved ones in jail, and never act on the things you hear without getting advice on what to do from someone you trust and who knows the system.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
Dec. 31, 2014 A new home. by Wesley
December 31, 2014
There have been some exciting events the past few days that have led to some positive changes here in the dungeons of Montgomery County, Texas.
I should begin with the catalyst:
I was watching the might Case Keenum,(UH!), lead the pitiful Texans to victory with 3 or 4 other guys. One of them, (it was not me!), released a cloud of the most wretched smelling gas ever passed. It was foul. It was toxic. It was not bad enough to justify what followed.
Our resident unstable gang member took offense, and decided this fart necessitated a violent response. So, he went back to the corner, where the guards could not see, and began calling out the guy accused of farting. He took off all of his clothes, except his underwear, and called him out, repeatedly. This went on for some time and everyone knew the unstable guy would eventually give up because his rants usually went on for no more than a hour. Why, it was just last week he only yelled and threatened for a hour when no one would bet him a soup that the Texans would lose and he only went on and on for 2 hours when he was mad at himself for losing at cards. But this guy was new, he didn't know. So despite the fact that he gave up 7 inches in height, and 50 pounds, he felt he had to answer the call or be labelled a "ho". There is nothing worse than being a "ho". It is worse than being a "bitch". Not sure about "punk", I think they are equally bad. But I am digressing.
So, he went into battle. Undersized, and full of courage he went fourth.
I was on the phone talking to my lovely wife and missed the initial blows, but I knew it was going to be a slaughter, and I knew nobody would break it up.
I wish I could tell you that David slew Goliath, but this isn't a fairy tale. David was massacred. When I hung up with Lesa, his head was being bounced off the floor. Nobody was stopping him. So I did.
I have always been the guy who broke up the fights. In the Navy, that led to me catching stray punches. I don't like catching stray punches anymore, as a rule. I also don't want to be involved in jail fights because they are often 6 layers of intrigue I don't know about, in every fight. But I have known the unstable "Blood" longer than anyone in there, he trusts me, and I was reasonably confident he wouldn't hit me as he pounded away on the man's head.
He didn't. I pulled him off and he went to ranting about how it wasn't over because "David" had landed one good punch that bloodied his lip. Nevermind, that "David" was a bloody mess, that "Blood" felt he needed redemption.
I guess a bully will only start a fight when he is sure he will not only win, but has such a significant advantages, that he will come away unscathed. I hate bullies.
So, everything died down.....until a guy returned from a visit. Except that, he didn't go to a visit. The guards called him out for a chit chat. He said that the guards knew there had been an assault, they had narrowed it down to our quad and they were investigating. I heard him say that and I thought, "That's weird. I wonder how they would have found out? Someone would have had to have been on the phone. Hmmmm, I was on the phone. What a coincidence."
Except it wasn't a coincidence. And I was moved. To the Pods. The Shagri-La, the Xanadu of the dungeons. A fabled land of milk and honey. Well, the milk is powdered, still. And there is no honey, because it is still jail, but it's quiet and there's carpeting. A guard stays in here and there are no violent offenders, so it's a different world.
But, of course, it is fraught with it's own pitfalls, which I shall endeavor to explain later.
There have been some exciting events the past few days that have led to some positive changes here in the dungeons of Montgomery County, Texas.
I should begin with the catalyst:
I was watching the might Case Keenum,(UH!), lead the pitiful Texans to victory with 3 or 4 other guys. One of them, (it was not me!), released a cloud of the most wretched smelling gas ever passed. It was foul. It was toxic. It was not bad enough to justify what followed.
Our resident unstable gang member took offense, and decided this fart necessitated a violent response. So, he went back to the corner, where the guards could not see, and began calling out the guy accused of farting. He took off all of his clothes, except his underwear, and called him out, repeatedly. This went on for some time and everyone knew the unstable guy would eventually give up because his rants usually went on for no more than a hour. Why, it was just last week he only yelled and threatened for a hour when no one would bet him a soup that the Texans would lose and he only went on and on for 2 hours when he was mad at himself for losing at cards. But this guy was new, he didn't know. So despite the fact that he gave up 7 inches in height, and 50 pounds, he felt he had to answer the call or be labelled a "ho". There is nothing worse than being a "ho". It is worse than being a "bitch". Not sure about "punk", I think they are equally bad. But I am digressing.
So, he went into battle. Undersized, and full of courage he went fourth.
I was on the phone talking to my lovely wife and missed the initial blows, but I knew it was going to be a slaughter, and I knew nobody would break it up.
I wish I could tell you that David slew Goliath, but this isn't a fairy tale. David was massacred. When I hung up with Lesa, his head was being bounced off the floor. Nobody was stopping him. So I did.
I have always been the guy who broke up the fights. In the Navy, that led to me catching stray punches. I don't like catching stray punches anymore, as a rule. I also don't want to be involved in jail fights because they are often 6 layers of intrigue I don't know about, in every fight. But I have known the unstable "Blood" longer than anyone in there, he trusts me, and I was reasonably confident he wouldn't hit me as he pounded away on the man's head.
He didn't. I pulled him off and he went to ranting about how it wasn't over because "David" had landed one good punch that bloodied his lip. Nevermind, that "David" was a bloody mess, that "Blood" felt he needed redemption.
I guess a bully will only start a fight when he is sure he will not only win, but has such a significant advantages, that he will come away unscathed. I hate bullies.
So, everything died down.....until a guy returned from a visit. Except that, he didn't go to a visit. The guards called him out for a chit chat. He said that the guards knew there had been an assault, they had narrowed it down to our quad and they were investigating. I heard him say that and I thought, "That's weird. I wonder how they would have found out? Someone would have had to have been on the phone. Hmmmm, I was on the phone. What a coincidence."
Except it wasn't a coincidence. And I was moved. To the Pods. The Shagri-La, the Xanadu of the dungeons. A fabled land of milk and honey. Well, the milk is powdered, still. And there is no honey, because it is still jail, but it's quiet and there's carpeting. A guard stays in here and there are no violent offenders, so it's a different world.
But, of course, it is fraught with it's own pitfalls, which I shall endeavor to explain later.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
A new attorney. by Lesa
It has been awhile since a post. I have a couple from Wesley. I have been struggling with depression, overwhelming feelings, and frankly, now that my kids, at my invitation, are reading this, I have been hesitant to write and let them know the daily rollercoaster of my life. My daughter Jessica is getting married in Vegas in 9 days. I have struggled with the finances, struggled with the housework, work has been kicking my ass, and my back, has been having very scary shooting pains, making me jump, fearing the old horrible pain. I am blessed, the kids have taken most of the financial burden of the trip off of me, and I was in a panic over so many things, overwhelmed that I could not contribute. I wanted to make her veil, didn't make the cut, by my own judgment. She is moving to Maryland, correction, she has moved to Maryland. It stirs a lot of emotions too. I am happy, so very, very happy for her. She has struggled with life, and has worked hard to get on track and I am so very proud of her journey to adulthood.
The day I told Wesley about the wedding, he suggested, strongly, that I move on without him. He told me I should divorce him, he was worthless, and I deserved better. He refused to look me in the eye. It was a hard visitation. He calmed down, but their has been an edge to him. He is scared that I will meet someone in Vegas. His words, "sometimes what happens in Vegas, does not stay in Vegas." It is the insecurity a man incarcerated, throw in a Vegas vacation, my first time, and he is worried. I have reassured him. He has talked me through difficult moments, helped me figure out wardrobe malfunctions. He has tried not to focus on it, and that has been helpful.
We have many things going on. We hired a new attorney. Attorney #2, and a friend, seemed to have a lot going on, and after Wesley setting a deadline of some sort of progression toward even having an attorney on record, we send her a note thanking her and hired one we had interviewed this summer. After 1 week, he was granted the substitution, without a hearing, and has started pleading deals. And while we both are extremely anxious about what may happen, we are extremely pleased that talks have started and are ready to move on.
I am ready for my life to calm down, I am ready for Wesley to be on to whatever Harris County and Wesley can agree to for punishment, the light at the end of the tunnel is a game changer in the life of an inmate, and their loved ones waiting for them on the outside. No one understands how our life is on hold, how it is limited by money for the phones, visitation rules, distance. It is part of the punishment, I get it, but being in jail for six months without any word or change of situation is maddening, and not really all that unusual. I am praying for things to move quickly now that negotiations have started, you can be praying too.
The day I told Wesley about the wedding, he suggested, strongly, that I move on without him. He told me I should divorce him, he was worthless, and I deserved better. He refused to look me in the eye. It was a hard visitation. He calmed down, but their has been an edge to him. He is scared that I will meet someone in Vegas. His words, "sometimes what happens in Vegas, does not stay in Vegas." It is the insecurity a man incarcerated, throw in a Vegas vacation, my first time, and he is worried. I have reassured him. He has talked me through difficult moments, helped me figure out wardrobe malfunctions. He has tried not to focus on it, and that has been helpful.
We have many things going on. We hired a new attorney. Attorney #2, and a friend, seemed to have a lot going on, and after Wesley setting a deadline of some sort of progression toward even having an attorney on record, we send her a note thanking her and hired one we had interviewed this summer. After 1 week, he was granted the substitution, without a hearing, and has started pleading deals. And while we both are extremely anxious about what may happen, we are extremely pleased that talks have started and are ready to move on.
I am ready for my life to calm down, I am ready for Wesley to be on to whatever Harris County and Wesley can agree to for punishment, the light at the end of the tunnel is a game changer in the life of an inmate, and their loved ones waiting for them on the outside. No one understands how our life is on hold, how it is limited by money for the phones, visitation rules, distance. It is part of the punishment, I get it, but being in jail for six months without any word or change of situation is maddening, and not really all that unusual. I am praying for things to move quickly now that negotiations have started, you can be praying too.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
How inmates handle the holidays. by Wesley
12/21/2014
My new neighbor will not stop singing Foreigner. He's 31, so he didn't grow up with them, but he walks around repeatedly singing, "Urgent" and "Jukebox Hero", and others. Not only does he constantly sing the songs, but he will also attempt to engage you in conversation extolling the virtues of that middling band.
He's driving me crazy.
There has been a shake up in here. A "shake up" is when the guards come into an inmates area and searches through all his stuff, tearing the place apart. Sometimes these are random, sometimes it is specific. Sometimes it is one person, sometimes it is the whole cell area. Sarge, the closest person to a friend in here to me, was abruptly taken away and accused of extorting soups from people. Yes, I'm serious. It's a serious jail offense. it was not true, but he'd gotten into a confrontation with a guy and the charge was the retaliation. In one day, 6 people were taken out and replaced with young kids from "24". "24" is where people go when they get into trouble. So, that's awesome.
The malaise if pervasive. Christmas is approaching and none of us have gotten our shopping done yet! Damn, it's depressing. We all have our way of dealing with the creeping despair.
There are the sleepers. These men have the amazing ability to sleep through anything. There is a guy in here who has not gotten up for over a month and a half. I really have no evidence that he is still living. He might have died weeks ago, chances are, he would smell the same. I wish I could sleep that way. I wouldn't get up until they called my name to release me. I would shave months of growth off my face, layers of funk would scrub off in the shower, and I would find my wife married to someone else. But time would have passed quickly.
Then, there are the gamblers. They pass the time by gambling soups on everything. They bet soups on poker, of course. I add that, just so that I can add that while they bet on hands. They will begin arguing over who has the better hand, and bet soups on that. I always ask, "Isn't that what the betting is for, who has the better hand?" But it isn't just poker. They gamble on spades, football, basketball, what meal is coming, who is facing more time, who farted, dominoes, who a particular actress is, (always actresses, never actors), and anything else where there might be two sides to one story.
There are the guys who workout. I'm certainly no Adonis, but I can't understand how people can workout constantly and still have big bellies.
There are guys who spend all their time on the phone, guys who eat constantly, guys who draw, and guys who read. I'm a reader. My nose is buried in a book every waking moment. I will not engage in any activity that will allow my mind to wander. I used to go to "rec", (they let us into a 40' x 50', semi-enclosed space, twice a week), I would read and walk laps. I stopped going when they prohibited us from bringing books and walking laps, it lets your mind rest. Must not do that! No free time for the brain, that's dangerous. I go through a lot of books. I have been promised the Houston Chronicle, which has the added benefit of sudoku and crossword puzzles, hasn't happened yet.
What we all have in common is a yearning to forget where we are, what day it is, what our families are doing and how much longer we must sit. I wish there was a magic potion I could buy on commissary, that would free me from thinking about these questions or the answers; especially the answers. I wish I could just not be me for today.
My new neighbor will not stop singing Foreigner. He's 31, so he didn't grow up with them, but he walks around repeatedly singing, "Urgent" and "Jukebox Hero", and others. Not only does he constantly sing the songs, but he will also attempt to engage you in conversation extolling the virtues of that middling band.
He's driving me crazy.
There has been a shake up in here. A "shake up" is when the guards come into an inmates area and searches through all his stuff, tearing the place apart. Sometimes these are random, sometimes it is specific. Sometimes it is one person, sometimes it is the whole cell area. Sarge, the closest person to a friend in here to me, was abruptly taken away and accused of extorting soups from people. Yes, I'm serious. It's a serious jail offense. it was not true, but he'd gotten into a confrontation with a guy and the charge was the retaliation. In one day, 6 people were taken out and replaced with young kids from "24". "24" is where people go when they get into trouble. So, that's awesome.
The malaise if pervasive. Christmas is approaching and none of us have gotten our shopping done yet! Damn, it's depressing. We all have our way of dealing with the creeping despair.
There are the sleepers. These men have the amazing ability to sleep through anything. There is a guy in here who has not gotten up for over a month and a half. I really have no evidence that he is still living. He might have died weeks ago, chances are, he would smell the same. I wish I could sleep that way. I wouldn't get up until they called my name to release me. I would shave months of growth off my face, layers of funk would scrub off in the shower, and I would find my wife married to someone else. But time would have passed quickly.
Then, there are the gamblers. They pass the time by gambling soups on everything. They bet soups on poker, of course. I add that, just so that I can add that while they bet on hands. They will begin arguing over who has the better hand, and bet soups on that. I always ask, "Isn't that what the betting is for, who has the better hand?" But it isn't just poker. They gamble on spades, football, basketball, what meal is coming, who is facing more time, who farted, dominoes, who a particular actress is, (always actresses, never actors), and anything else where there might be two sides to one story.
There are the guys who workout. I'm certainly no Adonis, but I can't understand how people can workout constantly and still have big bellies.
There are guys who spend all their time on the phone, guys who eat constantly, guys who draw, and guys who read. I'm a reader. My nose is buried in a book every waking moment. I will not engage in any activity that will allow my mind to wander. I used to go to "rec", (they let us into a 40' x 50', semi-enclosed space, twice a week), I would read and walk laps. I stopped going when they prohibited us from bringing books and walking laps, it lets your mind rest. Must not do that! No free time for the brain, that's dangerous. I go through a lot of books. I have been promised the Houston Chronicle, which has the added benefit of sudoku and crossword puzzles, hasn't happened yet.
What we all have in common is a yearning to forget where we are, what day it is, what our families are doing and how much longer we must sit. I wish there was a magic potion I could buy on commissary, that would free me from thinking about these questions or the answers; especially the answers. I wish I could just not be me for today.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)