Читать книгу Sold Short In America - Richard A. Altomare - Страница 8

I eat about six hundred calories daily with my white fork/spoon, yet I am happy because after fifteen days I was told I may get to call home for the first time and that my toothpaste and toothbrush order may come soon. All this has happened because one Judge can't figure out my wife's check book, and he has denied our offer to have a forensic accountant present our finances. What has happened to America's judicial system? Is there a quota within the prison system? Is that why I’m here?

I am the victim of a judiciary that made an initial mistake of closing our fine young company and now it is trying to justify that mistake by flexing its muscles and to continue its character assassination of one innocent leader and whistleblower.

We empower our fellow citizens to rule over us in conformance with our laws without a speedy mechanism to correct them when their rulings might be politically motivated or simply wrong.

Today the absurd took on yet another degree beyond my comprehension. I heard an announcement "Psychologist on Floor". I ran to the door to watch a dark suited white-haired frightened man actually running past each of the doors saying "Are you O.K.?” As he came to my window, I said, "May I" ... and he continued running past the doors and out of the area with the cell doors locking behind him. He spoke to no one. His time on our ward was less than one minute!

As I was writing to you, over eight suited officials now visited. One of them, I'm told, is Warden Star - the others have badges and name tags but they are unreadable as they walk through. I did stop one and asked him if I could be moved from solitary confinement after fifteen days for civil contempt - His answer was ''It doesn't matter what you are here for murder - arson - or no cause at all" you are here and when they get to your name on the "list" - they will move you. What list? Move where? By the way, the “suits” were deep in discussion on improving the Special Housing Unit [SHU] wing by moving the bunk beds one way instead of another. Eight salaried professionals and that is the only innovative thought they were discussing today or any day I observed them.

I then demanded to speak to the Warden. They said he had left the area. I said "May I speak with him". They said "Maybe, next Thursday".

Let me go back to reading about suicide. This bureaucratic, politically placed bunch of hacks, really don't care about the rehabilitation of those inmates within these walls. They are only focused on their small job within their fiefdom called the Metropolitan Correctional Center (MCC).

Today after the psychiatrist's Mad Hatter "Alice in Wonderland" experience I thought that the only thing missing may have been the psychiatrist's wearing of a big watch and a top hat.

I would like to explain how one actually reads in solitary. One may lie on the hard bed and slant the book towards the wall lights, which are on the opposite wall. Or one can sit on the sixteen inch hard circular metal desk chair until your back or your posterior hurts. Finally you can sit on the small desk bolted to the wall, place your feet on the chair and keep your back against the wall until your back or backside hurts from the cold steel or the damp wall.

Today I await some toiletries from the commissary! My only toothbrush is a borrowed two inch brush, which I have had since day five, but today I may actually receive toothpaste. To think I would send back a drink, in our society, if I didn't like the mix of vodka and juice or the size of the glass in which it was served. My situation certainly has changed.

My two hour shower last night caused an event to occur which may have captured the entire prison institutionalized mind-set for me.

I have explained the process of shower shaving before, and the magnetic "razor" sign, which is attached to the fence engulfing the shower. It reminds the guards that the inmate has a razor. As I touched the magnetic sign, it fell down and became hidden between the floor and the stair edge. When the guards came to get me (one hour waiting with only a towel wrapped around me) I told them that there may be a security flaw in the system because an inmate not wishing them "well" could knock down the magnetic sign and the guard might forget to check for a razor with no visible sign to remind them. They thanked me, and I handed them the razor. Then they told me to turn around in my 1'x2' fenced in area because I may poke them in the eye as they retrieve the fallen razor sign. My response was one of disbelief. "Would the one who pointed out the problem, returned a razor you didn't know I had, then poke someone with my finger"? "We have policies sir", was my officer's response. Could this mind set have won World War II?

There are many issues that still amaze me. Pens are forbidden in the cell. All of my forms, documents, requests and even letters of complaint have been in ink. No one has ever asked how I got a pen. Another astonishing occurrence was that I did receive a handful of books today. Unfortunately, they were in Spanish and Chinese! The predominant language spoken amongst the guards is Spanish. Many are bi-lingual, but when given their choice they often choose Spanish. All night and early morning many speak quite loudly in their Spanish language. Add that to dealing with the gang slang and you may wonder how one ever sleeps in prison.

The legal visits for over a thousand prisoners contain four 10x10 conference rooms. The wait for attorneys when the room is occupied can be hours before they are allowed to come in to actually meet with their clients. Add that to the length of time to get the inmate or the attorney to the legal section and it is difficult to get representation. On paper, legal assistance is always available. In reality, the inmates have very little opportunity to defend themselves.

I submitted a request today for toilet paper and socks. I was told maybe Monday on the socks, but they'll see what they can do with the toilet paper request. A few hours passed and one of the more violent and hardened inmates called for toilet paper this way "Hey, toilet paper, mother fuckers, - not next year - now!" The paper came within minutes for him and me! I hope he's also without socks, because I could use them as well. Insanity begets insanity in this institution.

The Mad Hatter psychiatrist came to the cells again today. I stood naked as he repeatedly asked, "Are you alright?" "Are you alright?" to the cells not really waiting for a response and not really loud enough to be heard. He stopped at my window - he stared - I said "I'm glad you" ... and he was gone! The Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland - A true caring professional. I feel psychologically better already. What is he paid? What does he do for these needy men?

The weekend prison meal requires further analyzing. I simply do not understand it. One portion of oatmeal, one portion of boiled potatoes, one egg and one piece of inedible mystery meat (it may be tongue or baloney or something else because after 60 years of eating foods from various cultures, I have not been able to figure out what it is!) The same meal repeats like clockwork every weekend. I just wish I could grasp the reason for this uneaten combination and the origin of the meat.

Today I asked if I could go to the clinic to cut my nails and be weighed, since I am losing weight (total weight loss 40 pounds). You would have thought I had asked for a sex change operation. Good news I am "on the list" for a visit. I am reminded of the Seinfeld Chinese Restaurant episode and can imagine months after I depart from here that my name will come up on the "list" and some other poor soul will be waiting because he was still on "the same list".

Yesterday when I came off the elevator at the same time as the Chaplain, who is now on jury duty, I was hustled away from an ongoing extermination process - water bugs the size of mice or birds! That night, unfortunately, I was served some sort of water bug looking black bean sauce, which I just couldn't try. I still await my mouse traps for my room. I'm on the "list" for them so I shouldn't have to wait that long. The mice are lucky there's a "list" system here. They are safe for a while. Today's breakfast and lunch dirty meal trays are still here at almost dinner time. I guess the weekend crew doesn't have the same time schedule as the weekday crews. I am only concerned with insect and rat attractions and our general cleanliness.

Tonight the word on the ward is that the old man (that's me) had some extra writing paper so one of the new inmates sent a line across the floor for me to pass him envelopes and paper. I may remind you this is the counselor's job. The young inmate was creative as he ripped a thread from his blanket - that was his rope. He tied it around a small salad dressing packet that was the weight on the end of the line. He threw it until it came to the front of my door. I attached it to an envelope with paper and a pencil. He pulled it back to his cell. A 60 billion dollar budget and an innovative creative young man has to do this to reach out to his family from prison. Tonight after fifteen days my phone call home was still not recorded by the phone system. It astounds me that Mrs. Andrews (my counselor) can be permitted to negatively influence prisoners’ lives due to a broken system or her own incompetence. She also has three different names and enjoys confusing the inmates by pretending to be different people.

Tonight the guards have their own partying lives going on the Day Room. They are not any quieter at night than they are during the day. Their radio playing, TV sounds and laughter are annoying throughout the entire night.

In addition, we do have one prisoner who must have a variation of or actual Tourette's syndrome. He gutturally screams at constant intervals throughout the evening hours. The guards simply laugh and argue with him to cause more turmoil to this lost soul. This personal guard "fun time" saddens me and speaks volumes of their professionalism and undeserved and unchecked power.

The Chaplain visited me today and we spent 30 minutes speaking. He also apologized for my incarceration shocked at the "debtors’ prison" situation in which he has found me. He agreed that the guards, the counselors and the system are broken and quite damaged. I received Communion! I was hungry! I couldn't tell him about my conversion to Judaism last year! It would have been too much for a man who thought he found an intelligent Catholic adult. He was going to try to see if there was anything he could do to help me with a call or to find some books for me. I still await my daily legal visit; it seems much later than usual today. I'm sure the attorneys must have some stories or explanations as to their difficulty of visiting me.

I was just informed that the elevator was broken and they have cancelled all attorney and other visits until they get the elevator working.

I don't have the words to express my disappointment. I had so much I wanted to give, get and hear, and I felt so painfully isolated today.

Using the stairs, it goes without saying, is simply not permitted. Why not?

I'm sure my attorney is as frustrated wanting to get in, as I am waiting to receive a visitor.

I will wait, I don't think there is a "list" for this - so I do have some hope that it will not be too long.

This feels like childlike disappointment - almost a total let down. When you have been focused on a time goal, prepared for it, go to sleep thinking about it, an unexpected cancellation like this with no alternative plans for visiting is devastating.

Then your mind starts to wonder. When will they fix it? What about future visits? How long before I can communicate with anyone other than writing diary entries to myself? I do get them out daily. For the sake of my other inmates, I will not divulge the method. It is not fair to those who remain behind.

A broken elevator in this rigid system may require much more flexible solutions than the prison system is designed to handle. A broken elevator means no one has to work and no one has to move prisoners. I'm not suspicious at all of lazy guard ill-intent. But today I have unfortunately allowed that thought to slip in.

I will wait, and I will report in future writings when I find out what really happened.

A few hours have gone by and unfortunately it appears that I will not get to meet with anyone, exchange e-mails and give my writings to my attorney. I shouldn't let this bother me, yet I would be less than honest if I said it didn't hit me hard. I can take the cheap hits of stupidity - but I felt this one. It's a funny thing about disappointment sometimes you can accept it, but it doesn't assuage the initial wound.

Listening to these guards laughing, eating and being unconcerned about all of the disappointed visitors and attorneys shouldn't get to me. But they really don't care about these inmates and attorneys. They are not intellectually or spiritually capable of anything other than collecting their pay check, assuring their own job security, and they do not want to make the world better even by one or two acts of kindness. These rehabilitative thoughts are beyond their pay grade and emotional levels.

Here is further "elevator-gate" dialogue. It will require further investigation to get to the truth. As dinner was being delivered by one of the laziest and most angry guards CO Deliverance, I said, "Thank-you, have they fixed the elevator?" He yelled, "How the hell do you know about that elevator story?" I replied, "One of the guards told me because I was expecting a legal visit". He then said, "Take your fucking food, and don't talk about what isn't your business. You fucking mole."

I paused ... I hesitated to stare or scoff. I simply stared as a child in the presence of an alcoholic or abusive parent.

He concluded, "You want your fucking food, or I'll take it away?"

I only got rice and carrots for dinner. I wonder if the Captain or Warden knew the elevator was allegedly "broken" today. Remember a broken elevator means no work for the guards to do.

After almost eighty continuous hours of solitary since my last legal visit, I decided that today I would speak to you on two issues, which further symbolizes the silence of my days. One is the surround symphony of sounds and the other is my estimated caloric intake over the past twenty days. I continue to lose more weight. I can feel it. I shiver much too much.

The sounds I must confess are unique to my jail world and my sensibilities, try to imagine the following sounds continuing throughout your hours of solitude. There are no melodic rhythms just intermittently the following sounds. Some days one is dominant, often they seem to take turns. First, there is the Tourette syndrome guy yelling bizarre sounds and horror movie laughter at a sound decibel level off of the chart. Then there are two Jamaican characters who are housed very far from each other and yelling some sort of Hatfield-McCoy feud hours and hours at a time. I have no idea what they are saying. It definitely is anger, and when it begins and when it ends is a surprise to the silence of the ward in which I am housed.

Now appears my newest sound, which just arrived. This inmate has obviously beaten the telephone list problem. He spoke loudly and coherently for over 3 hours last night on the phone to a fellow gang member. This language was not as foreign as my Jamaican fighters, and it was at times translatable, "You know what I mean, bro"? The problem with his very loud telephone call was - there was no telephone! He is a pure psychotic imagining and carrying on to no one at all. I know this to be true because, as I said, the guards stand outside his cell laughing like children trying to understand a problem beyond their intellect.

Amidst these symphonic sounds, there is the hysterical "banger". He is the one trying to break down the door throwing whatever is in his room and pounding his fists for actually minutes at a time followed by eerie silence only to begin again. He's not as scary as "the crier" who actually cries at the highest and most piercing pitch moaning like in a horror movie. The surround sound effects are enhanced by the guards trying to ignore all of the above sounds by laughing and playing. These are some of the regular sounds I am exposed to during the evening hours as I try to go to sleep.

Only because my lonely cell is bolted and locked, can I sleep.