Well, I ain't never been locked up, but I do go to the DC jail pretty often to meet with my law firm's clients. One thing I can tell you is that place is TOTALLY FUCKED UP. It's way overcrowded, it stinks to high hell, toilets don't work, you get a filthy mattress with no sheets, etc. The guards, who aren't allowed to carry weapons for some reason, smuggle in fried chicken and sell it to the inmates (I can't even imagine what that jail food looks like). Breakfast is at 4 am, lunch is around 8 am, and dinner is at 4. Supposedly this keeps the inmates subdued and tired so that they won't start trouble. They always seem to be on lockdown, too, which means that you can't leave your cell for days at a time (no showers, either).
I spent a night in a D.C. jail a few years ago after a protest and I distinctly remember the jailer waking everyone up at 4 a.m. for breakfast of a nasty glazed donut and fruit punch. And yes, the conditions were, um, sparse. One metal bed frame in the cell with no matress or blanket for two of us (the other guy was a buddy of mine luckily). And it had been freezing rain the day before and we were still soaked to the bone and the cell was probably 45 degrees. Not the funnest time. I think this facility was just ordinarily used as a drunk tank though, so conditions at the main jail were probably different.
Anybody on here either been or know someone who spent time in solitary confinement?
Drew, I???m battling insomnia, so bear with me.
I won???t go into any war stories, lest edpowers should include me when he reviews this thread with the ???dick measuring??? stick, but I will say that my adolescent life was rather tumultuous, and through strange circumstances most of my friends were convicts, drug addicts, or old haggard skid row types.
Unable to sleep, I was thinking about an old friend, Jeff Hardcastle, which reminded me of your question about solitary confinement. The letter from Jeff that I was thinking of this morning is memorable in that ???prison letter??? sort of way. I???ve received many letters from prison, and they all bear similarity. An air of time on hand, desperation in waiting to be opened, and in this case, that form of tastelessness one might associate with conviction. See the addressee side of the envelope:
I don???t want to put my old friend???s life out in the open, but I found this paragraph to be quite telling of a young convict???s thoughts:
As promised, the day after he got out, Jeff showed up at my house. First order of business was to fix a tattoo he had given himself inside in order to woo a woman (it didn???t work). The tattoo was the name MISTY on his index finger. I went over the Y several times, transforming it into a disfigured A, then added KE, so his MISTY turned out to be MISTAKE. He found it endearing in that ???fuck that bitch??? kinda way.
After ink was slung, I took Jeff to a barbeque in a friend???s backyard. Jeff took his shirt off, stomped around insulting everyone, and generally took prison yard command of my friend???s backyard. Even offering to tune up a few dudes who looked at him funny. That awful period of reintegration into civil society. Prison had done a number on Jeff.
For years I volunteered as a substance abuse counselor for convicts. Most of my time was spent in the California Youth Authority where boys were sentenced like men. Each week a few of us ???outsiders??? would drive to the prison and facilitate a group meeting with convicts who wished to treat their drug addictions. Obviously, this chance to associate with outsiders, unsupervised, was a privilege for the convicts, and only those on their best behavior were allowed in the room with us. Still, my time with those prisoners was the most disturbing I???ve ever spent. Not in the ???I???m sitting next to a murderer whose sitting next to a rapist??? sense, but in the sense of seeing what a lack of access does to a young man, and watching every last good thing squeezed from his young frame.
Each meeting would start the same, with an introduction. It was, ???please state your name and where you???re from.??? And each meeting, without fail, the ???where you???re from??? would turn into ???what you???ve done.???
???I???m Sergio, doing six years on a 211 strong arm.???
Excuse me, Sergio, if you could keep your introduction to name and what city you???re from, please.
???My name is Brian, I???m 17, from Fresno, attempted murder??????
Excuse me, again, if we could???
Trying to provide an hour of civilized discussion inside a prison is challenging. From the introductions you are made aware that their life is very different from yours. Having dudes make fuck jokes about me (I???m 6 ft. 5in. and usually not one to get fuck joked), asking you for contraband, explaining to you how they fuck hand towels after they get them wet under hot water (???foo foo dolls???) ??? all while some other dude is trying to talk about his meth addiction. Not to mention none of the prisoners would show any emotion, so even if they did get anything from the conversation, you???d be the last to know. As depressing as it was to spend time with those men, there was a certain feeling I experienced when I left. Walking out through all the barbed wire, driving away, getting on the freeway, watching shit go by in the window, the radio. Everything was different.
I met Bobby (who snugly fits into the prison writer???s pigeonhole, ???state raised???) through my trips to CYA. He had been in foster home, juvenile hall, youth authority, and prison most of his life. Bobby spent several months in solitary during one of his convictions. California law would lead you to believe spending this much time in solitary confinement is illegal (my memory is foggy, but the maximum time they can legally keep a prisoner isolated is days, not months). I saw Bobby the day after his release. He was still white as a ghost. His teeth and eyes were all sickly, he???d been beaten, and he had perma-squint. He enjoyed about a year of fresh air before recidivism had it???s way with him.
Most of the prison-related people I???ve befriended are very difficult to keep track of. Name changes, trouble with steady employment, relapse, it all works against the longevity most of us enjoy. I can???t remember the last time I heard from Jeff Hardcastle, but I know it wasn???t good news. Last I talked to Bobby, he had violated parole, left the state, and changed his name. While the stories of time in prison may have a cool and dangerous mystique, the lives tell a different story all together.
My best to all those folks who are struggling, as well as those who love them.
So, are girl's still soft + cuddly? --J. Hardcastle
Well, I ain't never been locked up, but I do go to the DC jail pretty often to meet with my law firm's clients. One thing I can tell you is that place is TOTALLY FUCKED UP. It's way overcrowded, it stinks to high hell, toilets don't work, you get a filthy mattress with no sheets, etc. The guards, who aren't allowed to carry weapons for some reason, smuggle in fried chicken and sell it to the inmates (I can't even imagine what that jail food looks like). Breakfast is at 4 am, lunch is around 8 am, and dinner is at 4. Supposedly this keeps the inmates subdued and tired so that they won't start trouble. They always seem to be on lockdown, too, which means that you can't leave your cell for days at a time (no showers, either).
I spent a night in a D.C. jail a few years ago after a protest and I distinctly remember the jailer waking everyone up at 4 a.m. for breakfast of a nasty glazed donut and fruit punch. And yes, the conditions were, um, sparse. One metal bed frame in the cell with no matress or blanket for two of us (the other guy was a buddy of mine luckily). And it had been freezing rain the day before and we were still soaked to the bone and the cell was probably 45 degrees. Not the funnest time. I think this facility was just ordinarily used as a drunk tank though, so conditions at the main jail were probably different.
Of my 3 DC Central stories, the best is the one were they threw me in this cell with a skinny guy, no shirt on. I do my best to make myself comfortable, and the dude's just pacing back and forth. I made the mistake of asking, "where's your shirt?" dude stops pacing and looks me dead in the eye, "you wanna know where my shirt is...you wanna know where my shirt is!!!???" he reaches up on the top bunk, and pulls down a soping wet, off-white tshirt. "let me show you how i stick it to these motherfuckers." he wraps the shirt around his fist, shoves it into the toilet, and commenses flushing over and over. "This how I stick it to the system!!" water was pooring out all over him and the floor. once the water was about 3 inches deep, and evey person in every cell was screaming, the guards came in and dragged him out.
about 3 hours later they put him back in. he gave me his bologne sandwich and a doughnut.
Wrong, Chan! 3 strikes, hommie. I know people who have done prison time over repeat DUIs.
Word? Is a DUI a felony? Can you go to Prison for life in Cali for three DUIs? Cali has the three strikes law right? I know a guy here in Washington state that had MULTIPLE DUIs and he finally got put in jail for 90 days. It was more than 3 DUIs.
A former client of my former firm was doing LIFE WITHOUT PAROLE in Alabama for stealing a bicycle that he returned to its rightful owner before he was arrested. In his view, he was borrowing it. The District Attorney saw it differently and his defense attorney was a joke.
Wrong, Chan! 3 strikes, hommie. I know people who have done prison time over repeat DUIs.
Word? Is a DUI a felony? Can you go to Prison for life in Cali for three DUIs? Cali has the three strikes law right? I know a guy here in Washington state that had MULTIPLE DUIs and he finally got put in jail for 90 days. It was more than 3 DUIs.
A former client of my former firm was doing LIFE WITHOUT PAROLE in Alabama for stealing a bicycle that he returned to its rightful owner before he was arrested. In his view, he was borrowing it. The District Attorney saw it differently and his defense attorney was a joke.
What's the catch here? Is this "minority-related?"
Comments
I spent a night in a D.C. jail a few years ago after a protest and I distinctly remember the jailer waking everyone up at 4 a.m. for breakfast of a nasty glazed donut and fruit punch. And yes, the conditions were, um, sparse. One metal bed frame in the cell with no matress or blanket for two of us (the other guy was a buddy of mine luckily). And it had been freezing rain the day before and we were still soaked to the bone and the cell was probably 45 degrees. Not the funnest time. I think this facility was just ordinarily used as a drunk tank though, so conditions at the main jail were probably different.
But then, wouldn't that end up being true for a lot of people?
Drew, I???m battling insomnia, so bear with me.
I won???t go into any war stories, lest edpowers should include me when he reviews this thread with the ???dick measuring??? stick, but I will say that my adolescent life was rather tumultuous, and through strange circumstances most of my friends were convicts, drug addicts, or old haggard skid row types.
Unable to sleep, I was thinking about an old friend, Jeff Hardcastle, which reminded me of your question about solitary confinement. The letter from Jeff that I was thinking of this morning is memorable in that ???prison letter??? sort of way. I???ve received many letters from prison, and they all bear similarity. An air of time on hand, desperation in waiting to be opened, and in this case, that form of tastelessness one might associate with conviction. See the addressee side of the envelope:
I don???t want to put my old friend???s life out in the open, but I found this paragraph to be quite telling of a young convict???s thoughts:
As promised, the day after he got out, Jeff showed up at my house. First order of business was to fix a tattoo he had given himself inside in order to woo a woman (it didn???t work). The tattoo was the name MISTY on his index finger. I went over the Y several times, transforming it into a disfigured A, then added KE, so his MISTY turned out to be MISTAKE. He found it endearing in that ???fuck that bitch??? kinda way.
After ink was slung, I took Jeff to a barbeque in a friend???s backyard. Jeff took his shirt off, stomped around insulting everyone, and generally took prison yard command of my friend???s backyard. Even offering to tune up a few dudes who looked at him funny. That awful period of reintegration into civil society. Prison had done a number on Jeff.
For years I volunteered as a substance abuse counselor for convicts. Most of my time was spent in the California Youth Authority where boys were sentenced like men. Each week a few of us ???outsiders??? would drive to the prison and facilitate a group meeting with convicts who wished to treat their drug addictions. Obviously, this chance to associate with outsiders, unsupervised, was a privilege for the convicts, and only those on their best behavior were allowed in the room with us. Still, my time with those prisoners was the most disturbing I???ve ever spent. Not in the ???I???m sitting next to a murderer whose sitting next to a rapist??? sense, but in the sense of seeing what a lack of access does to a young man, and watching every last good thing squeezed from his young frame.
Each meeting would start the same, with an introduction. It was, ???please state your name and where you???re from.??? And each meeting, without fail, the ???where you???re from??? would turn into ???what you???ve done.???
???I???m Sergio, doing six years on a 211 strong arm.???
Excuse me, Sergio, if you could keep your introduction to name and what city you???re from, please.
???My name is Brian, I???m 17, from Fresno, attempted murder??????
Excuse me, again, if we could???
Trying to provide an hour of civilized discussion inside a prison is challenging. From the introductions you are made aware that their life is very different from yours. Having dudes make fuck jokes about me (I???m 6 ft. 5in. and usually not one to get fuck joked), asking you for contraband, explaining to you how they fuck hand towels after they get them wet under hot water (???foo foo dolls???) ??? all while some other dude is trying to talk about his meth addiction. Not to mention none of the prisoners would show any emotion, so even if they did get anything from the conversation, you???d be the last to know. As depressing as it was to spend time with those men, there was a certain feeling I experienced when I left. Walking out through all the barbed wire, driving away, getting on the freeway, watching shit go by in the window, the radio. Everything was different.
I met Bobby (who snugly fits into the prison writer???s pigeonhole, ???state raised???) through my trips to CYA. He had been in foster home, juvenile hall, youth authority, and prison most of his life. Bobby spent several months in solitary during one of his convictions. California law would lead you to believe spending this much time in solitary confinement is illegal (my memory is foggy, but the maximum time they can legally keep a prisoner isolated is days, not months). I saw Bobby the day after his release. He was still white as a ghost. His teeth and eyes were all sickly, he???d been beaten, and he had perma-squint. He enjoyed about a year of fresh air before recidivism had it???s way with him.
Most of the prison-related people I???ve befriended are very difficult to keep track of. Name changes, trouble with steady employment, relapse, it all works against the longevity most of us enjoy. I can???t remember the last time I heard from Jeff Hardcastle, but I know it wasn???t good news. Last I talked to Bobby, he had violated parole, left the state, and changed his name. While the stories of time in prison may have a cool and dangerous mystique, the lives tell a different story all together.
My best to all those folks who are struggling, as well as those who love them.
So, are girl's still soft + cuddly?
--J. Hardcastle
about 3 hours later they put him back in. he gave me his bologne sandwich and a doughnut.
A former client of my former firm was doing LIFE WITHOUT PAROLE in Alabama for stealing a bicycle that he returned to its rightful owner before he was arrested. In his view, he was borrowing it. The District Attorney saw it differently and his defense attorney was a joke.
What's the catch here? Is this "minority-related?"