The greygoose

I have been told all kinds of horror stories about what prison will be like, but nothing could have prepared me for what was ahead. As we get off the freeway and turn the corner, there it looms, my new home, one of California’s largest and oldest correctional facilities. We pull up to the first of three gates, and an officer climbs aboard and starts calling out names. (He’s just making sure one of us did not squeeze through one of the quarter-sized holes in the window, I guess.) Everyone is here just like the last three times we did this. We get through the last gate and are driving through the yard and come to a stop in front of a building that says “Receiving.” We

We are ushered into receiving in groups of five. Once inside we are told to strip and then are subjected to a very thorough examination. They sure don’t miss a thing. “Run your fingers through your hair, show your hands front and back, lift up your scrotum, and then (the grand finale) bend over and spread ‘em,” they instruct. This is where I actually have to laugh! These officers have the daunting task of looking up my ass with a flash light. What fun! After we are done with the cavity search we are issued our new clothes: a bright new very fashionable orange jumpsuit (everyone is wearing them) that is just a little too small for me. I complain but am told to deal with it.

This place is noisy until around three o’clock in the morning. There is yelling, screaming, people playing chess, and my celly babbling on and on about how people are after him and that he is going to hell. I start to get tough with him. Of course I was always tough with people weaker than myself. I start messing around with him telling him to shut up before I kill him, getting a little too big for my britches. After struggling through sleep, I am awakened by the cell doors opening and that is a sound you never get used to. It is the sound of no escape, no hope, just the crash of the steel door opening and closing. It is time for breakfast, my first meal here, and as we are lined up in the mini yard waiting to go into the cafeteria there are shouts of “STAND TO THE RIGHT, DEAD MAN WALKING!!!” And of all people to see on my first day in prison I see the ultimate killer, Richard Ramirez, the Night Stalker. I recognized him right away and a chill ran down my spine. Even though he was flanked front to back and side to side by guards toting rifles and himself shackled from his ankles to his wrists I could not help but cringe when he walked by. I wasn’t the only one. Almost everyone had the same look of fear in their eyes as I did.

The next several weeks went by without any problems. I finally got my shower and after three weeks and five days in San Quentin I received my classification and destination papers. I am a level three inmate and will be spending the next two years in Susanville State Penitentiary. My mind searches its map for a location but comes up short. After asking a few fellow inmates the location I am told it is up north by Reno.

Some topics in this essay:
San Francisco, Yippee Six, Bikers Skinheads, Night Stalker, San Quentin, West Block, Blood Alley, , Susanville Penitentiary, Northern Southern, blood alley, san quentin, white people, west block, escorted west block, level 4’s, northern southern, home california’s, enter notice, southern gangs, tier shower day, san francisco, northern southern gangs, san francisco bay,