God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys
By R25288 ( c ) 2006
Chapter Three
The Welcome Wagon
“If we love one another, God dwelleth in us, and his love is perfected in us.”
I John 4:12
As we departed from the Pinellas County bus that brought us here, the kindly officer in his green uniform unschackled and uncuffed us. In a hushed tone he said, “A word of advice gentlemen, do what they tell you to do, because they don’t play here.”
“All right gentlemen, line up along that fence,” the clean cut young officer, in his sharp brown uniform, barked out, pointing to a fence across from us. Everyone moved to the fence. We were now in an enclosed tall fenced area with the building wall of the prison on our left side, with stairs leading up to an entryway. Across from the building is like a garage door, about sixty feet away, to our right. Across from us, about twenty feet away, is another open air fence. Above us is like an aluminum type roof. It is an open air area, definately not heated.
There are a couple of prisoners, called orderlies or trustees, in white clothing, with big white laundry baskets, standing by the building. The officer, maybe he is a Sergeant; I don’t know rank differentiation yet; has two other officers standing by him.
“Face me gentlemen, and remove all of your clothing, and any jewelry you may have on. Put it in a pile in front of you.”
I thought, what did he say, strip now, in front of all these men, who I’ve not been formerly introduced to. Well honestly, I’d not been treated with such callousness since my military physical, thirty years ago. However, I had decided to be an exempliary inmate, so standing between two giant black men, and with as much dignity as I could muster, I followed the order, and began stripping. I purposely didn’t look to my right or to my left at anyones body, but I sensed everyone was stripping.
I did notice that most of the guys have their personal property, county issued clothing and shoes, food, law papers, personal correspondence, cups, bowls, and plastic spoons in pillow cases or paper bags in front of them. The only personal thing I carry is a letter my brother, Ed, sent me in the county jail with four addresses I had requested.
I carefully laid my envelope in front of me. The officer continued, “Welcome gentlemen to the Central Florida Reception Center. Raise your hand if you have been here before.” We were a row of naked men, and I sensed the two giants beside me raise their hands. God knows I was too scared right then to look at any naked men.
“Good,” the officer continues, “then we should have a smooth morning, since most of you are veterans of this system. For you non-veterans, and for those of you with short-term memories, there is no talking today, unless an officer or staff member addresses you. When you hear your name called, you will say, ‘Here, sir’ or ‘Here, ma’m.’ Is that understood?” Most, myself included, striving to be the good inmate, replied, “Yes, sir.”
“Alright,” he said. “Place your arms in the air, as in touching the ceiling, and wiggle your fingers.” He then walked up and down the row and looked, I guess, at our hands and fingers for contraband. “Now lift up your sacks.” I knew he didn’t mean our paper sacks or laundry bags, so I lifted up my family jewels. So, there we were, a row of naked criminals, holding our nuts. I felt like Arlo Guthrie, in Alice’s Restaurant, but instead of sitting on the Group W bench, with all the mother rapers, and father rapers, I was standing beside them. Just a bunch of misfits, and sinners, that I now belonged to.
“Alright, turn and face the fence, and grab ahold of the fence. Now, lift up your right leg toward me, so I can see the bottom of your foot. Now wiggle your toes. Alright, now the same thing with your left foot. Alright, now squat, and spread your cheeks, and cough.” All the while he was doing this, he was walking up and down our line, checking for contraband.
“Alright, now turn around and face me. You’ll be given a pair of state issued boxers now. Put them on.” The orderlies started passing out boxers. “Then you’ll be given a urine specimen container. Place the container in the liner of your boxers, and fill it sometime this morning. Once you have filled your container, return it to your waistband. Do not walk around carrying your sample. I do not want to be wearing your sample. If you are seen carrying your sample bottle in your hands, you will carry your sample bottle over your head for the rest of the day. Am I understood?” Of course, most replied, “Yes, sir.” I never experienced military training, but I felt like I was in it now.
“You will be seeing the nurse later today and you will give her your full urine sample. Now, empty your personal belongings out of your pillow cases, garbage bags, or whatever you have them in, and place them in front of you.”
He continued, as he paced in front of us, looking at our property, “Now place all state or county issued clothes, or property, into this laundry basket to my right, to your left, including belts, shoes, and boots. Now, you will be given a box to place your personal items into. Place the box in front of you, and place all of your personal items in there. Put your name on your box. Fold the box up, and place it in this other laundry basket. If you need a pen to put your name on your box, raise your hand, and a trustee will assist you. No talking. Then, line up on the fence behind me and face the building.”
So, I put my envelope in my box, folded it up, and placed my name on it, with a pen a trustee gave me to use, nice and neat, and placed it in the other laundry basket, as instructed. I so want to be a good inmate. Journalism students today would pay good money to take this situational realism class. I’d pay good money just to leave.
My loose boxers were just tight enough to keep my urine sample bottle secure. I didn’t relish the idea of carrying a urine bottle over my head all day, so I complied as best I could.
“Alright gentlemen, you will procede up the stairs and into the building, and sit in the first room on your right, quietly. When you hear your name called, you will reply, ‘Here, sir’ or ‘Here ma’m,’ and proceed to whomever calls your name. Is that understood?” And most replied, “Yes, sir.”
“There is a toilet in that room, and you may use it to fill your urine bottle. Only two at a time to the bathroom area. Let’s go.” We went, and I never saw that officer again.
We climbed up the stairs to the building, where it was warmer. There were a couple sighs of relief when we hit the heat. I figured it was the veterans expressing their gratitude.
The room we entered and were locked in, was three sides of building, and one side of bars. It was about twenty feet by twenty feet, and there was a four foot cement wall surrounding a toilet, sink, and urinal, with one roll of toilet paper sitting on top of the wall. It wasn’t Mr. Whipple’s Charmin, and nobody wanted to steal it.
There was a grey painted wooden sitting bench secured to the floor and wall on two walls. There was a hugh painted, block lettered, writing on each wall which read, “NO TALKING”. With all the silence requested, I wasn’t sure if it was a monastary or a prison.
The guards left us alone, and right away the veterans began talking. So much for the signs on the walls. A name was called out, and someone replied, “Here.” A guard came and unlocked the cell door, and swung it to a wide open position. The “Here” came forward, and the guard pointed to one of the three teller like windows across from the cell. Behind the windows were three staff who asked for your name, social security number, and date of birth.
When it came to my turn, I said “Here, sir,” not just “Here”. I knew how to follow directions. I had been a good Boy Scout, and I even knew how to give directions. I said I had blue eyes, and brown hair. They said I had blue eyes and grey hair. At least they agreed I had hair.
You were then told to stand against the wall, where a height chart had been painted, and another staff person stated your height. Then you were instructed to stand on a scale, and another staff person would state your weight.
I weighed in at one hundred and ninety eight pounds, and a height of five foot, and eight inches. I ‘m sure I weigh more, and am taller, but I’m not at one of my college debating matches, so it’s all good
Wanting to be a model prisoner, I answered, “Here, sir,” when my name was called earlier. This, being prison, I was, of course, the only one to do so. It was either “Here”, “Sir”, or “Yeah,” that my fellow prisoners stated. Now there were many veterans in this group, and our instructions were quite clear only moments before. We were to answer, “Here, sir,” or “Here, ma’m.” I didn’t think other rookies would try to buck the system in their first hour, so I chalked it up to poor listening skills, the early morning hour, or a combination of both. I was the duck in this crowd, regardless of my dawg yearnings.
After we got sized and weighed, and answered a few questions, we were dismissed to sit back down in the cell, on the grey painted benches. Now, it got complicated. Not only were our names being called by the three tellers, but by anonymous voices down the hall, further into the belly of the beast, or at least this building.
Some guys got confused and would look up and see all three tellers talking with someone, and just figure they didn’t hear their name being called. And being the good inmate, I couldn’t talk to them and let them know that they weren’t just hearing voices. Some picked up on the clue, by the fact that the room was emptying.
When you followed the voice, it led you down the hall where a guard told you to go into an adjacent room. The room also had Group W benches to sit on. Life in Florida prisons is alot of sitting and waiting, because time has no value, if you do not value your time.
I changed in prison.
There is no closure when you leave the living behind. I left them behind, because I could stay no longer, and it was my time to leave. I will not forget them, and you, you will learn of them, for they are, our family.
I remember it all, and I wish I didn’t, but it’s all good!
