Читать книгу Phantom Justice - Young Boone's Koo - Страница 5

October 15

Transfer to RDC from Lake County Jail, Indiana

Early in the morning, at around 4 a.m., one correctional officer knocked on my cell and ordered me to get ready to go to the RDC. Meantime, I had learned a little about the RDC from other jail inmates.

They told me that RDC stands for the Reception and Diagnostic Center for bad boys. It sounded good to me when I heard the name. It seemed to me that the state wanted to take good care of all prisoners committed for their crimes, charges or sentences. I believed the state would make a diagnosis for their crimes individually for the state’s records and discover the etiologies of each crime for future uses. Then, the state would initiate constructive recommendations for each crime. I was somewhat excited.

I had nothing to pack. The officer handcuffed and took me down to the jail booking area where I was initially taken following the trial three months ago. It was already familiar in my sight, and then I realized I had become one of the senseless prisoners of Indiana after all.

In there, they ordered me to change into civilian clothes — those I had worn when I enlisted in — so I did, and then I was dropped into a separated cell next to the booking office and uncuffed.

Soon six other prospective prisoners were brought down. So the cell was warmed with prisoners, and it seemed not a bad place for them, by the way they were talking with each other. Of course, I was an atypical extra, but most of all they did not pay any attention to me. I was left alone in the corner.

They were acting and talking like experts of all things criminal, and they chanted while clapping their hands as they told about the charges and were recounting their thrilling adventures of crimes outside. They made high-fives and touched palms as though winners, and then laughed and smiled. I watched them talk but could not understand what they were really talking about. I tried not to look at them and just kept to myself.

Once their moods were up, they were predicting their destinations and their respective characters openly as if they were already assigned to them.

There were four whites, two blacks, and me, a special, being none of the above. Soon, they served breakfast: one bowl of cereal and a quart of juice with milk. Past 6 a.m., the booking place began to get busy and the police officers were bringing new “merchandise” in their cars and sold them to this county jail “free of charge.”

At around 7 a.m., the transportation officer put handcuffs and shackled us because bad boys might act crazy. They were a way of reassuring people that these specimens of expensive merchandise won’t get loose from their hands.

When they put shackles on me, I thought I was going to transform into a Dracula. I lost my mind for a few seconds. I felt as if I was one of those evils from the histories of trial complexes in the Lake County, Indiana. I felt like I was going to kill everybody instinctively. In a second, I held my emotion, took a deep breath and stood still.

When we lined up, the back steel door of the jail was opened with a squeaking sound. One transporting car, just like a remodeled army ambulance, was waiting for us. The transporting car had two parts, one part with a long steel seat, while the other part looked empty.

As I went out of the jail building, I wished to cry out but suppressed my feelings and hit my chest with handcuffed hands in order for me not to expose my feelings. It was the most aching and devastating moment in my life. I took a deep breath and then wandered for a few seconds until the officer yelled at me.

It started to rain from morning and the outside was foggy. The raindrops were good enough to wet my face while I was merely standing on the ground for the orders. As the chilly wind hit my face, my body trembled for a second. I knew they were not going to fling me into the sea, so I kept waiting for a command. Slowly I realized I had to obey orders from this civilization since I was someone this society hated and its court condemned.

Suddenly, something made me think extraordinarily. I sensed that the State was afraid I might say something bad to it, so it had to take me away from any contact for a long period of time and put me under its plots and imaginations. No one would know until God would bring out the truth, but for the time being society would not mind God at any cost. That’s the end of the first chapter.

As I got in the car, I teared up slowly, and the tears finally dropped from my chin, but it was hard to wipe them off because my hands were cuffed and shackled together. I bent my head and barely wiped my face with my sleeves. To me it felt like I was being taken away to the memories of Auschwitz from WWII, because in there I could not see and seek and find freedom. WWII maniacs still are remaining and existing in this country, America, which is why I have to worry.

When the car began to roll, it made all sorts of noises, reminding me of carrying wrecks of war time. And the weather reminded me of all manner of justices and injustices of Indiana, and seeking relief, eventually my soul drifted away from the reality, but then, just the same, insidiously digested the fact of life in America. Those were painful moments thinking of life in America.

The car was moving steadily. It was hard to see outside through the small, iron-barred window. Again, prisoners were talking about the prisons where they would be going and about each prison’s notorious characters. I had noticed that these prisoners must have experienced life in prisons before. I listened but made no comment since I had no knowledge about the prison system in Indiana.

About thirty minutes later my tears dried up, and then I just concentrated on the direction the car was heading. The other guys began to drift away after about a half-hour of talking, and all I could hear was only car engine sounds.

RDC (Reception and Diagnostic Center),

Plainfield, Indiana

At around 11 a.m. the car arrived at RDC, the major collection center. Outside, it was still foggy and there was a little poor visibility. The officer released shackles and handcuffs and then took us inside the building. In there, the officer double-checked our individual names and then made us walk underground about fifty yards, connecting from the outside building to the RDC main building.

When we arrived at the reception hall, there were many prisoners from other counties before us so that the place seemed pretty noisy and the hall was crowded with inmates. It reminded me of the flea market outside. Everything I saw inside the facility was not in its proper place and the building was so old it looked like I was taken to the wholesale garage. Suddenly, I was confused and I felt I did not like the name, RDC.

While we were sitting on ragged chairs, one RDC prison worker approached and said that they allowed us to keep a Bible and writing materials but no ball pen. About ten minutes or so passed and one prison-uniformed inmate called us, so I thought they were going to hand us a coffee and coffee-cakes to welcome us to signify the name of RDC, but it was rather the opposite.

They took us inside the showers instead. They made us stand inside, and then quickly sprayed disinfectants to eliminate street infestations of any bugs and bad things, especially lice in the pubic area.

Followed by the spray reception, I stood up in front of correctional officers at the corner of the shower and they began to check our naked bodies one by one by giving verbal orders.

One officer gave me orders.

“Open your mouth, turn around, lift your leg,” so I followed.

“Put your hands on your cheek and spread it,” the officer said, but I hesitated for a second.

I immediately put both hands on my face and squeezed, because I did not have any idea how I could possibly spread my cheek according to my understanding. Then, they laughed and giggled but I did not know why.

After the body inspections, I met one very mean man who was in civilian clothes. As I sat next to him he said something but I could not decipher what he was trying to tell me. It sounded like murmuring but soon I knew he was giving me the authentic prison number that would belong to me for the rest of my life. It was the authorized wholesale serial number for future usage. He in effect notarized me to become one of the most expensive goods in our society as he proudly stamped my number on the paper.

After I got the new prison “driver’s license number,” they took mug shots with my license plate on my chest, and then took us to the barber shop followed by a trip to a small window where one middle-aged female worker checked for any tattoos as these were common body symbols among criminals. Unfortunately I disappointed her because I had nothing.

I thought when we got to RDC, they were going to serve some kind of donuts for our reception, but I realized their idea of receptions was to receive us as one big batch or package of valuable goods in the justice business.

When their reception of us was done, they took us to the cafeteria. I was hungry, so the foods were delicious and definitely better than jail. I knew then I was registered to be a member of Indiana DOC as an expensive liability of the state.

Following chow, we were taken to the cells on the second floor. I was sent to cell 2B-12. When I arrived at the cell, one young white prisoner from Ohio welcomed me as his cellmate.

The building was very old and looked as if the state had paid off the mortgages a long time ago, and the structure of the cell was like that in the movie on the Alcatraz. Each cell was 6 feet by 8 feet and had one bunk bed and toilet with an attached washbasin. It smelled repulsive to me instinctively but, just the same, I digested it immediately as I walked in, knowing it was going to be my dwelling place for the next so many days. As I stepped into the cell, I quickly became emotional. I knew I had to deal with any circumstances coming to me, and so I shook hands with my new cellmate and then lay on the bed for the endless journey ahead of me.

It was the beginning of my DOC life.

RDC Supplies

They gave me one blanket, a pillow and two sheets. It was a civilized country prison, so prisoners’ supplies were better. I realized for sure that this DOC tried to keep the expensive commodities in good condition.

Soon, they delivered a toothbrush and toothpaste; ironically, those were donated by Mr. Bob Barker, of The Price Is Right, because his name was stamped on the supplies. Anyway, I liked them and opened them immediately and so now I brushed my teeth with a real toothbrush.

At about 4 p.m., they took newcomers to the orientation room. One young black officer, who was from Mississippi, gave us the introductory speech about RDC.

He welcomed us warmly and heartily indeed because he knew prisoners were important for him to keep his job. He loved to use the F-word in between phrases. He told us about the RDC and its function and then asked us to follow orders. He gave me a speed lecture, but most of them were F-words. I understood that he had to use F-words because that way it was easy for inmates to understand his speech. After his lecture, I began to notice that I had to use these F-words myself to make people understand my words from then on.

To Be an Offender from a Defender

The initial welcome party at RDC was officially over at around 9 p.m. Now, it was a beginning of a new career as a prisoner and as a new DOC member. Surprisingly, they began to call us “offenders.” I tried to figure out why they called us offenders. I was very confused but I could not ask anyone about this. I’d feel stupid if I did.

It took a few minutes to figure out why they called us the offenders. According to my theory, the trial game was a lot like playoff football games. Prior to conviction, defendants defended their teams against the State’s, but in the first half the defendants lost the game by a score of 21-0 and the State humiliated them. During this period, the defendants did not have enough probable powers and weapons to beat the State.

It was the second half. Now it was the defenders’ turns to offend and fight back to win their games. So far, the offenders failed to win any games yet. The State knew the defendants had no strengths and strategies to score a touchdown in the second half. Knowingly, the State had given time to the defendants to offend and take their balls back, therefore, I thought, they called us the offenders. Once I thought about my theory, it made sense to me. I began to absorb the meaning of “offender,” although I never offended anyone in my life.