Lessons from “Back in the ‘80s…”

For whatever reason, a common thing some people that have never been locked-up for a significant amount of time think of, and ask about, when they think or hear of the penitentiary, is the old adage “Don’t drop the soap”…

Early in my prison stay, in an American penitentiary (If you haven’t already read, or don’t already know: the final time I was locked up, was for 5-years, from Oct 2000-Oct 2005), I had a cellie (cellmate; Like a roommate, but in a prison cell) we’ll just call him “Juan”, and though I have not had any contact with him since I was inside, I am aware that he is out, but currently still “on paper” (meaning out on parole, under supervision), and is still technically “in the system” for quite some time.

At the time that he was my cellie he had spent many of the then 40+ years of his life locked-up, on and off. He had originally started doing prison time in the ‘80s, had been there during an infamous prison riot they’d had “way back when” in the state where we were incarcerated. He was quite old school and really embraced the convict lifestyle, habits and ethics, as the right way to live and carry yourself inside.

Ethnically he was a Chicano (Mexican-American), he knew all the “fellas” (the people that mattered inside), and was considered “solid” (meaning he was trustworthy and considered in good standing with those that mattered). As well, to make money, he was randomly involved in the various prison hustles of the day. (ie: Obtaining and then moving large quantities of contraband tobacco, which was prohibited, and went for a very high price, and also, occasionally, smaller quantities of weed, throughout our facility).

He taught me a lot of early lessons, like about what not to say to certain people, whether you are joking or not, and the value of keeping your clothes and your cell clean at all times, and not living like a pig. That regardless of how crappy your surroundings may seem in prison, you still had the choice to do your best, to take pride in whatever you could control of your surroundings.

He went so far as to having a hook-up on one of the inmate janitorial crews, so that he could obtain contraband floor wax (it’s official use was to wax the main hallways and the day room floors of the pods we were housed in). He would get it in an empty soda (pop) bottle. He would clear our property boxes, that held most of our worldly possessions, out of the cell, out onto the tier, and wax our cell floor by hand, using a rag made from a torn t-shirt. He was extremely methodical about this, starting at a back corner, and painstakingly working his way to the front of the cell. He required perfection, or as close to it as he could get. I still remember the chemical smell of that stuff, and how it looked in the empty soda bottle, milky white liquid, with a very, very slight blue hue, if you sloshed the bottle around in the light.

Then, after the floor was waxed, when the janitors would be buffing, he would briefly get use of a buffer, and shine up the cell floor. Now this may sound insignificant to you, but when finished, our once plain concrete floor would look like dark, smooth glass and have a sweet shine to it. He was pretty adamant about the integrity of his cell floor… Wanting it to be flawless at all times, and was visibly displeased when one would drop hard objects onto it, or scratch it. Again, this may sound trivial, but when you do not have much, a clean, shiny smooth cell floor that you can take pride in seems like a much bigger deal than it probably really is.

He was adamant that we did NOT let a filthy mop touch our cell floor, as they are used in all kinds of gross, dirty cells, cleaning up who knows what by the time you got use of it. He would clean the floor by hand, with a cleaning rag and the non-toxic, all purpose cleaning spray that they let us use to clean our cells with.

“Juan” was also quite knowledgeable regarding The Bible, and as I was a new Christian at this point in time, I had a lot of questions that he seemed able to easily answer. On the flipside, though a believer, the years had gotten to him, and “Juan” was certainly NOT a “Saint” by any means (at least behaviorally). He had spent A LOT of years inside, and it had severely warped some of his sensibilities, and that is putting it mildly…

I recall that one day, early on, we were listening to the radio, playing either Scrabble or dominoes, in our cell after final lockdown at night. He had the bottom bunk and was sitting on his bunk, we used one of the gray, hard plastic property boxes as a “table”, and I sat on another property box at our “table”, opposite him.

As we were playing our game, “Juan” started talking about how things were “back in the ‘80’s”, when amongst the banter and “war stories”,  he nonchalantly adds:

“Back in the ‘80’s, when chomos would come into the joint, we used to rape ‘em.” (chomo = prison slang for a child molester) This statement was followed by a bit of vulgar Spanish slang, to emphasize the point.

It took me a moment to process what this man had just said to me… As I stared at my dominoes or Scrabble tiles (whichever we were playing at the time)… My mind starting to race… Thinking quickly: “Did he just say what I think he said? Yes, yes, he DID in fact just say what I think he said… And I am pretty sure he is proud of it, and currently smiling at the memory of it… How the f@%k am I supposed to reply to that? ”

I finally replied, as naturally as I could: “Haha… (*awkward chuckle*) Yeah, that’s cool… F@#%in’ chomo pieces of s#*t…”

Despite the internal horror at what I had just heard, I did not make that known… My reply was satisfactory and we continued playing our game, just as if he had instead told me something as mundane as that he used to like to bet on basketball games…

As I got to know the guy better, and learned of his reputation throughout the system, I had little doubt that what he had said during our post-lockdown game of Scrabble or dominoes or whatever we were playing at the time, was in fact true.

Every now and again I still think about that conversation, and the fact that this guy, in casual conversation, made reference to raping men. Saying it as flippantly as if he’d said: “Back in the ‘80’s I used to like to play softball at rec”. Given who the victims were, a lot of people would consider it justice. However it is not everyday that a man sitting directly across from you, tells you that he used to rape men, in such an air that it almost sounded like it was for sport. Now, it was in a certain sense probably considered justice at the time, given the fact that the “victims” were people who had violated and victimized children, so by prison standards deserved whatever fate they met… But still…

To be clear: I did not feel threatened at all, as that was never an issue, and if ever put in that specific situation, win or lose, I would fight to the death. It was just the shock of the statement, and the ease and sense of normalcy with which he said it that really blew my mind, and still does to this day.

One of the things that gets a lot of attention in popular culture, in reference to prison, is the concept of “getting your manhood taken”, or being raped in prison. For the most part that is an overblown, exaggerated myth. Now, I am not saying that it doesn’t ever happen anymore, however as far as the movies make it look, with everyone being a potential victim of sexual assault all the time, that is just not correct.

Where I did my time, which was a GP (general population) mainline prison, and in other GP prisons specifically in the western United States, in the modern era, prison rape is not something generally allowed nor condoned by the convicts as a whole. Though, it may have been a thing a long time ago, and it may still secretly happen from time to time, and I would suppose more times than what is actually reported, and it is likely generally to individuals that are “playing in that field” to begin with. This does NOT make it okay, rape is rape, it is a terrible thing regardless of the circumstances or the frequency of occurrences. However, in prison it certainly does not occur with near the frequency that Hollywood likes to make it appear.

Though the rate of sexual assaults in the US prison system tend to be greatly exaggerated in pop culture, the penitentiary is STILL a potentially very violent place. A place where you are surrounded by imbalanced and damaged people, some with varying degrees of undiagnosed mental illness, with various personal, moral and ethical codes, and a whole slew of people that exhibit varying degrees of sociopathic behaviour. You are around these people on a constant basis, and ANYTHING can happen, at ANY time, without warning. Even during the most peaceful of times, it behooves one to remember that. ALWAYS.