THE CONVICT – A Vanishing Breed
E-Mail
By
Ron Slatton Bio/Address
I entered the
maximum-security prison at the Ohio State Reformatory in 1979. From
1977 to 1979, I was in the maximum-security psychiatric hospital at Lima Ohio.
But, upon entering the reformatory, you find it to be the place where a man
could survive by his wits. All one had to be was himself and live by the principle
that Everybody's Business was Nobody's
Business. Obviously, as in any maximum-security prison and other prisons
as well, an inmate has to be prepared to defend against provocation. But as long as
you did your own thing (time), minded your own affairs, you were able to have
fun and enjoy yourself and survive. One who has never experienced the earlier
years of doing time might find my usage of the word enjoy somewhat strange.
However, many of the men who were doing time during that early era will tell
you that it just is not fun anymore.
It was a game
with the intrigue and suspense of any Robert Ludlum novel- the convicts
trying to outwit the free-folks (staff-guards), and
vice-versa. The game was fun and required cunningness on the part of
both parties.
Since the late 80's,
there is a new style for doing time. It has become very chic to be in the next man's
mix. Thus there is no intrigue. Informants are no longer outcasts
who are ostracized. Now, they are not only accepted, but, more often than not,
they are calling the
shots. This is accomplished through prestigious jobs or positions they hold in many self-help clubs,
the administration - even within the cellblocks! Informants have been around
since time began. Judas, informing on Jesus, got the son of God the death penalty.
Nonetheless, it has never been acceptable. That's why Judas hung himself. But now, in
here, it has become not only acceptable, but also predominant. And the
administration encourages it.
Example: I was
abruptly shaken awake at 3:30 pm count by the opening of the cell door. I was
ordered to strip while correctional officers (guards) visually examined my
orifices. I was then ordered to spread my toes, fingers, shake out my hair,
bend over and spread, raise your balls, etc. After this extensive
and visual probe of my body cavities , I was ordered to the cellblock dayroom.
While two guards combed and made a
fine tooth search of my cell and personal property for nearly 3 hours, I was
hovered over by other guards.
Nothing was found. The guards left abruptly, as unhappy as when they
arrived. I was then left to reorganize my belongings that were spread on the
floor, beds, etc. This was done at least 3 times in one month, solely
based upon an informant's tip.
Before I
continue, let me stress that I was not angry about the search, because it
comes with the territory. What distressed me is that these guards were obviously
operating on a tip from an informant via the Captain. When that
tip was discovered to be a lie, nothing happened to the tipster
(snitch). This coddling of informants promotes this type of egregious
behavior. Had that prominent tipster been sanctioned as severely as I would
have been had there been the alleged contraband, my precious nap would not
have been disturbed, the guards would not have had to gaze upon
another man's testicles, penis and anal cavity, nor would the two officers had
to spend almost three hours sifting through dirty laundry, garbage, legal
briefs, clothing, blankets and so forth. Nor would they have to have to take
apart beds and cabinets. Yet, this routine of giving false information goes
unchecked. The informants feel that they can appease the keeper by
providing any information. Just as they are rewarded with favors - cell moves,
food, tickets pulled - should they not also be "rewarded" for their
misinformation? Until such action is undertaken, these ruthless raids will
continue.
The four Golden
Rules of prison life have faded away and become fossilized. However, if it
were accepted practice to live by the philosophy that an imprisoned person
shall not inform, check in, be in the mix, or be a homosexual by force,
actually, the prison would operate in a smoother fashion. For a "relic"
like me, who began time in the 70's, whose formative years in prison taught him to abide by
these golden rules, it is difficult to exist in the present era. So often I will be overlooked for a job, cell change or custody change because
I am unable to conform to this new age of tit for tat. This is not to imply that
all correctional personnel who receive a paycheck from the Department of
Corrections operate under the auspices of "what can you do for me,"
but it takes no mental giant to ascertain that just doing time and minding
your own business makes for some rough camping in this new age.
Jobs denied for
which I am skilled. I credit this to the fact I still have the mindset of the
70's and 80's. When the keepers, not the kept, ran the prison. Both
respected each other back then. That's not to imply we liked each other.
Liking or not
liking a person has nothing to do with respecting that individual. In the new
age of incarceration you find child molesters, informants,
ex-homosexuals (if that is possible) and queens getting more respect
than a convict who has never violated the aforementioned Golden Rules.
Now, just as in
the past the great dinosaur was wiped out, the true convict is becoming extinct. Even the
inmate is on the way out, because "residents" are taking over. Who
knows how long it will be until the "occupant" is the one to call
the shots.
All of this
said, I will soon be free, 25 of the damndest
years, and I would like to send
some kind of message to the keepers around Ohio. The many times I have been
disrespected and threatened, the days I laid on cold hard steel and concrete,
the hours toiled at meaningless jobs, the starchy ill prepared food and the
lack of female companionship or a true companion, DID
NOT BREAK ME!! None of that would have altered or changed my criminal
ideas. To break me, it took the New Correctional Philosophy of allowing child molesters and
informants to survive and be the ones looked up to in prison by the
"resident" and the "staff".
When the front
gate hits me in the ass, I will tell you all to “Fuck Off”. I will never
again do anything that could place me back in this infested perverted nest
that you call rehabilitation. It's all backwards now!
So KISS OFF!!!
Back