Date: Wed, 24 Apr 2013 18:12:26 -0400
From: d.a. w <daw62@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Professor's Punishment  Chapter 2

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The Professor's Punishment Chapter 2


Our line of cuffed and shackled cons was soon halted at a barred door which
was just in front of a steel door. The officer in charge talked into his
little microphone. "New delivery."

I heard a rattling inside the steel. Then the thick door swung back and
another officer appeared this one holding a key. He opened the barred door
and we entered our new home--which would be our home for years...at least
seven and a half years for me.On the other side of the doors was the
cellblock.  I saw a concrete deck running off into the distance between two
walls. The wall on the right was concrete with barred windows about three
feet wide going from about ten feet above the deck to almost the height of
the top cells. These windows began about twenty feet from the corner and
were evenly spaced along that wall with about ten feet between each tall
window.

The wall on the right was concrete with barred windows marching along every
thirty feet or so. The walls on the left was bars the bars of cages--floor
after floor of bars rank after rank of cages stacked on top of each
other. We were ordered to stop and the guards began removing our shackles
uncuffing our wrists and removing the belly chains to which our cuffs were
attached.

"All right drop your gear. Face the cells. Assume the position."

We knew what that meant without being told. Hands behind our backs. One
hand grasping the opposite wrist. Feet shoulder length apart. The windows
were now at our backs and we were staring at the cells 15 feet away. The
space where we stood was open all the way from the concrete deck to the
steel roof. I counted four tiers of cells. From the second to the fourth
the walkway in front of them was steel meshed. No inmate was going to throw
himself over. Or get thrown over. The officers who escorted us waited
behind and two others arrived to stand in front. The head officer gave us a
slight look of disdain. It was like I could see myself reflected in his
face. What he saw was a scared white smudge of face trapped between a brown
convict shirt and a brown convict cap. The same as every other smudge down
the line.

"Another line of mud " he said. "Well by now you know the rules. You will
acknowledge any instruction or order given to you by a correctional officer
by stating `Sir yes sir ' or rarely if appropriate `Sir no sir.'  Got it?"

"Sir yes sir " we chorused. We knew this stuff. It was automatic.A slight
smile crossed the head officer's face but the smile was almost
imperceptible and very fleeting.

"All right then listen up. I'm not gonna say it twice. Each of you fish is
goin into a cell and that cell ain't empty. It's already got an older con
inside. A con that's been here a while. He'll tell you what to do. If you
don't do it he's responsible as well as you are. You'll both go to the
hole."

"Sir yes sir " we muttered.

"When I say something to you cons I want to hear you back. The hole is big
enough for all of you."

"SIR YES SIR."

"All right like I say I'm not gonna tell you again. Your infractions will
accumulate and at the end of the work day you may be subject to corporal or
other punishment. Any questions on standards expectations rules and
whatever your new cellie can fill you in. He ain't got much else to do at
night.

"With that greeting the head officer who had not even bothered to give us
his name turned on his heel and walked into the distance of the cellblock
where there must be another barred door that let him out of our zoo.But
another corrections officer began. "Eyes on me cons!"

"SIR YES SIR!"

"At this point I'm gonna be issuing your cell assignments. Soon's you hear
your assignment an officer will escort you to that cell and you can begin
acclimating to life here in the hard labor block. "

I spaced out until I heard my number. "117213! Cell 423.

"I bent over assembled my set of state-issued possessions and turned to
face the officer. I stayed in position because I remembered that an
offender does not move until told to do so. "Pull up get your gear and
follow me."

"SIR yes SIR."

I said half expecting a blow across my butt because I had not been told to
talk. However I got away with my statement. Somehow I felt good at this
small (perhaps miniscule would be a more accurate appraisal) good
decision.He was a young officer and he had a sense of humor about older
convicts. He looked me up and down. "Your room is on the fourth floor " he
smirked. "How many keys would you like for your room sir? Zero or zero?"I
knew this was not the kind of joke I should reply to.He pointed toward the
steel staircase that twisted its way in eight flights up to the fourth
tier. The steps were steep and narrow. By the time we got to the second
tier I was huffing. "Boy "he laughed "you are gonna be one sore ass con on
this hard labor block."

"SIR yes SIR " I replied as I tried to suck in more air. My soft university
muscles were going to undergo a sudden transformation. I amused myself by
thinking that I was already lifting my weight of 185 pounds up those eight
flights of stairs plus all those pounds of standard issue uniforms and
materials I kept banging against the steel walls of that staircase.A black
number 4 stenciled in two-foot paint signaled the top of the stairs. "Right
turn " the officer said. "Boy."

The right turn put me on the catwalk of tier number 4. It felt very much
like a narrow tunnel if tunnels are ever built entirely of steel. On my
left was the steel mesh at the edge of the catwalk the barrier between me
and a leap or push onto the deck below. Forty feet is a long way down. On
my right was a matching set of steel mesh welded over the old steel bars of
the line of cells. No crazy con could get a knife or a pack of feces
through that mesh and onto some passing officer. Behind the mesh I saw
moving objects bulky but dim. I knew they were convicts.  Over every
individual sheet of mesh was a black stenciled number. 401 . . . 403 . . .
423. My new address. The officer fished a ring of keys from his pocket
clicked through them briefly then inserted a large key in the lock. As he
turned the key he yelled to the inside of the cell: "Fish entering 423."

The barred door swung out and the officer stood aside. "Inside convict."

Then I and my pile of earthly goods entered my home for possibly seven and
a half years. At first I saw darkness darkness whose source was the naked
light bulb prisoned in its steel cage on the ceiling shedding darkness
outward from all the shelves and projections of the cell. Darkness and
claustrophobia the smell of men who had lived in this little cage during
the almost one hundred years in which it had punished men for their
crimes.How big is this place? Six feet across I guess and maybe eight nine
feet deep.

Steel walls painted green--either a dark green or a green darkened by years
of use. The most distant thing I could see was a toilet-----a white
porcelain toilet like you would see in a house a very old house. I could
see no toilet seat. In the foreground on the right there was a tiny white
sink attached to the wall. I guessed six or eight inches wide. On the left
a set of steel bunks. The bottom bunk was neatly made.

The top had only a mattress if a two-inch piece of worn bedding could be
called a mattress folded in half at the end closest to the bars. I knew I
would be sleeping on top staring at the green steel ceiling three feet
above my head. Finally reluctantly I concentrated on the most important
item in the cell--my cell mate. Early twenties. The same age as some of my
students in the pre-law class I taught every fourth year as a signal that I
was not above teaching these neophytes who were subjects of disdain to some
of my colleagues. I actually got all sorts of credit for teaching students
whom I actually enjoyed.  Suddenly I caught myself.  I was thinking of a
former life. That life no longer existed.  Now my life was 117213 Cox
two-time felon who had been convicted of trying to scam that man who no
longer existed and had been caught in his con. This young man was now my
superior.

It had been made clear to me that the experienced inmate into whose cell we
had been assigned had the responsibility to acclimate and educate me into
the life of the hard labor convict.What was the protocol?  Did I speak
first?  Introduce myself?  Offer a handshake?  Or stand at attention at the
entrance to the cell until the door was closed and noisily locked?
Suddenly I felt a degree of discomfort I hadn't known since I was a new
freshman in college and came into my dorm room to find that someone was
already there.  Someone who by virtue of being in the room had authority
over me.  Behind me the officer slammed the bars and locked them.
Automatically I turned toward the sound.  Through the mesh I saw his shadow
marching away.

"Don't just stand there convict."

The young man was talking to me and I had to pay him respect.  "Put your
shit on the top bunk and stand at attention while I explain a few things to
you."

I put my shit on the top bunk and turned to face him. "I'm the owner of
this cell " he explained. "And you're a fish...which means that you're a
piece of shit that I'm supposed to turn into a functioning member of what
they call the hard labor unit.  Now let's see your hands."

"My hands?"

"Fuck!  You better get over that kinda shit right now. Gimme those hands!"

I showed this man my hands which he took and rubbed.

"You sure as hell haven't done any manual labor.  What the fuck did you
do?"

Remembering my biography from the sentencing hearing I had the reply.  "Sir
I was a manager and supervisor.  In a warehouse sir."


"You call screws `Sir' numbnuts.  You call me Boss."

"SIR...I mean Boss yes Boss."

"Well you are going to get those little hands of yours plenty dirty and
earn some honest muscle in here."


"Yes Boss."

"Your responsibility in my cell is to keep the house clean and ready for
the screw's inspection.  You never know when so that means always.  You can
see how my bunk's made up.  Both bunks will be made up that way every
morning after the bell.  You're permitted to use the sink and the
shitter--AFTER I do.  And then clean them.  There will be no shit smudges
or piss trails on the shitter and the sink will be as close to sparkling as
possible for a one hundred old sink.  You will keep the floors wiped.  You
will make sure our uniforms are hung straight on these two pegs.  Mine are
hung correctly now.  That's the way it's going to be every night you're in
here.  My uniform ever falls on the floor I'm gonna fuck you over. Got it
fish?"

"Got it boss."

"You'd better. See this shit?"

He pointed at two little squares of steel that looked like doors lying flat
on the wall across from the bunks.

"That's a table and a seat.  They're folded up right now.  They get opened
when I want them opened.  They're my property.  If I want you to occupy
them I will let you know.  Got it?"

"Yes boss."

I was dying to sit but I guess I couldn't.  Not unless he told me to.

"I don't like noise.  I like respect.  You will speak when spoken to and
otherwise you will keep your lip buttoned.  When you speak whatever you say
will end with Boss.  If you got any questions you'll wait till I look at
you nod at you notice your existence.  Then you can get it out.  Otherwise
no."


Here the Boss looked me over and almost a beginning of a smile crossed his
face. Then it vanished. Listening to my new boss I realized that my
experiences at R&D would come in handy here and perhaps I should be
thankful that I had already experienced a type of subjugation of one inmate
by another and so knew that my survival depended on this kind of
arrangement.  The authorities accepted it as a way to allow some inmates to
keep the other inmates in line and of no concern to the guards.  It was a
classic case of one hand washing the other.  The tougher and more
experienced offenders were given the services of an almost slave to make
the horrible life of an offender in prison a bit less horrible.  A man who
is owned by the guards gets some of his self-image back by owning another
inmate.  I of course fulfilled the role of the bottom of the social
structure of the prison.  I was a sub prisoner to another prisoner.  That
was a function that would allow me to survive.  I suppose that down in the
inner part of my being I accepted this role.  It was part of the fantasy
life I had imagined for many years.As always of course the difference
between fantasy and reality is that when you are done with your fantasy
adventure in play or in your imagination the real personal life returns.
It was always there waiting for you.  But in Princeton there would be no
relief.