Assata: An Autobiography (12 page)

"How'd it go?" she asked Tina.

"She's O.K.," Tina said. "She don't know nothin', but she was cool." I felt like fainting. Everybody else's mother i knew would knock you down if they even thought you were stealing. This was surely something new. I just kept staring at Tina's mother. She must've seen me staring at her, too, because she told me, "That's right, i steal and my kids steal, too. They tryin' to take my house from me. Tryin' to take everythin' i got. I got to survive by the best way i know how. But it ain't really stealing; it's just a discount. You need a discount, high as these stores is. We call it the 'five-finger discount.' " She started laughing.

When we got to the house, she said, "All right, let's see all the pretty clothes you got." Tina took the blouses and sweater from somewhere and i took the skirt from under my skirt. "That's all you got?"

"Yeah," said Tina. "She don't know how to do nothin', an' we was takin' too long."

"Y'all didn't get no underwear?" Tina's mother asked.

“No."

"Well, here," she said, giving us some money. "Go to the five and dime and buy some. And I don't want y'all taking nothin', ya hear? I didn't raise no nickel-and-dime-store kids, understan'?"

"Yes." And we were gone.

"We're gon teach you how to deal," Tina said on the way from the store. I just looked at her. My mind was spinning. Then i started to feel glad about it. We had gotten over. We had gotten over tough. The idea of five-finger discounts was beginning to appeal to me. And it was easy as hell.

That night i dressed up in my new clothes and went with Tina and her brother to hang out. He was on the quiet side, and evil looking, but he turned out to be nice. We were going to a party at the Fort Greene Projects. We stopped and bought some french fries and Thunderbird. At the party, Tina introduced me to Tyrone. It was love at first sight. I thought he was the cutest boy i'd ever seen. Tyrone was the warlord of the Fort Greene Chaplins, and i thought it was just so romantic, like West Side Story. We sat in the hallway, drinking wine and smoking cigarettes. I had smoked before, but i had never drunk any wine. The music was playing and the lights were down low and i was feeling goooooooddd. They were playing those old slow sides like "Wind," "Gloria," "In the Still of the Night," "Sunday Kind of Love." We went inside and started to dance. I was in love and dancing on clouds, whirling around the dance floor. I was whirling and spinning, and all of a sudden i was outside, holding onto some bench for dear life, drunk as a skunk and sick as a dog. When i was finally able to stand, Tyrone walked me to Tina's house. We held hands all the way and he made a big deal out of kissing me good night, although i'll never understand how he could stand my vomit-tasting mouth.

I woke up the next morning feeling like elephants had been doing the Watusi on my forehead and like i was walking on my eyelids. Tina's mother wanted me to go someplace with her. I got up, washed, and got dressed. "What kind of jewelry do you like?" she asked me.

"I don't know," i said. "I guess i like rubies because they are my birthstone."

"Oh, no! You look like a girl that's made strictly for diamonds."

"Really?" i asked, flattered.

"Oh yeah, diamonds are a girl's best friend. And I'm gonna show you how to get some." She spent the morning and most of the afternoon showing me how to do just that. "You have nothin' to worry about," she kept telling me. "Even if they catch you, they can't do nothin' to you, you're a kid." I was supposed to go in a store and talk very proper. I was to ask the price of everything and tell the clerk that my father gave me $80 to spend, but that i had some money of my own. Tina and her brother would come in and create a diversion and, while everyone was looking at them, i was to put the biggest earrings i could get in my mouth under my tongue. I was to say something to the salesman and walk calmly out of the store. There were a few more parts to the plan, but i don't re member them. She had me practice talking with things under my tongue.

When we got to the store, i thought i was going to die of fright. I acted like i didn't know Tina and her brother and went in as planned. The store was pretty crowded and i went into my act. I was so scared, i felt like i was having hot flashes. At first the salesman acted like he didn't want to show me anything, but when i told him about the $80 and my extra money, he hurried up and pulled out trays. I held them up, saying, "Do you think she'll like these? Do you think she'll like these better?" Then, all of a sudden, Tina and her brother came running into the store. They were laughing real loud and chasing and grabbing each other. I almost forgot what i was supposed to be doing because I was so busy watching them. Then i remembered and, when i saw that no one was watching, i picked up the biggest earrings i saw and put them into my mouth. "I don't see anything Mommy would really like," i said. "Maybe i'll come back later." I started walking to the door. I just knew that that man was going to call me back.

"Miss," someone called. I felt like dropping through the floor. I looked out of the corner of my eye and saw that it was another salesman calling someone else. I walked out of the store, turned a corner, and ran. I was halfway to Tina's house before they caught up with me. The earrings were still in my mouth.

"Did you get over?" Tina asked me. I looked at her almost as if i didn't know her. "Did you cop or not?" she asked again, impatiently. Finally, i spit the earrings out into my hand.

"Shit," said Tina's mother, "them's pretty numbers there, I like them myself." As it turned out, the earrings were for pierced ears and my ears weren't pierced. "Sell them to me," Tina's mother said. "I'll give you $20 for them."

"It's a deal," i told her. I was glad as hell to get $20. I didn't care about no diamond earrings and i needed some money to get away and try to find a job. I was convinced that i wasn't cut out to be no thief.

That night we went out to celebrate. Tina's mother had given me $20 plus $2 extra for good work and she had also given me a pretty, gold-colored dress and nice black shoes. I was dressed up clean as the board of health and we all had some money in our pockets and were ready to "do it." We looked for Tyrone but he wasn't home. We walked all around the projects until we found him. He was at the house of these twins Jessie and James, or something like that. They all went downstairs for some kinda meeting. Everybody said they were gonna fight. They were at war with another gang, the Bishops, and one of their members had got messed up by the Bishops. Finally, the meeting was over and Tyrone came and hung out with us. But it wasn't the same. He spent the whole night talking about what he was gonna do to the Bishops. And if he wasn't talking about that, he was talking about the fights he'd had before, gang fights, school fights, fight fights, etc. It seemed like his whole life was fighting.

"Why?" i kept thinking. "Why was he so into fighting?" The question was on the tip of my tongue, but i just couldn't bring myself to ask it. I tried to imagine the future, Mrs. Tyrone whateverhisnamewas, and the children. Me, packing his lunch as he went off to fight the Bishops. Somehow, the picture didn't work. I was tired of this adventure. I was ready to go home. Whatever the consequences!

AII right, Chesimard, pack your things. You're being moved."

"Moved? Where?”

"You'll find out when you get there.”

"Then i'd like to call my lawyer.”

"You can call your lawyer when you get where you're going."

I kept trying to find out where they were taking me. The continuation of the jersey trial, after the change of venue to Morristown, was still a month away. Maybe they were just moving me ahead of time. Maybe they were taking me back to the workhouse. I wasn't too worried, though. Anywhere was better than that basement in the middlesex county jail. The sheriff came down with a piece of paper in his hand.

"Where am i going?" i asked him.

"I have a federal order to produce you," he said, waving the paper around. "You are being turned over to the custody of the federal government."

"What for?”

"I don't know. You'll have to ask the feds.”

My abrupt transfer from one jail to another, without either notice to my lawyers or explanation to me, was a scenario that would be repeated over and over again during the next few years.

After our motion for a change of venue from Middlesex County was granted in October 1973 , i was returned to the basement of the middlesex county jail, where i believed i would remain until the trial resumed in Morris County on January 4, 1974. Evelyn immediately swung into action, contacting the national Jury Project to explore the level of racism in Morris County and preparing a number of motions she anticipated would have to be made before the morris county kourt. In addition, she was working on the continuous motion to remove me from solitary confinement in the middlesex county jail that was then before the new jersey federal district kourt. The underlying argument of the motion-that this kind of confinement destroyed my ability to adequately participate in preparation for my trial-had to be supported by psychological data and the opinions of experts. Evelyn was trying to find psychologists and sociologists willing to provide their professional assessments in support of the motion. She was also trying to locate a forensic pathologist, a ballistics expert, a forensic chemist, and other specialists we needed for the trial, and trying to raise money to pay them.

I was aware that there were two indictments outstanding against me for alleged bank robberies. Evelyn had been told that trials for these charges would follow the trial in jersey. One of the indictments was for a Bronx bank robbery that occurred in September 1972. I had been indicted for this crime along with Kamau, Avon White, and others in the federal kourt, southern district of New York, located in Foley Square in lower Manhattan.

I knew that Evelyn had made a motion before the southern district judge, gagliardi, to have that trial postponed until after the termination of the jersey trial. Having learned that the motion had been granted, i didn't connect the move to New York with the bank robbery trial. I was wrong.

The trip was the usual high-security endless procession of cars. And, as usual, i enjoyed the ride. Just the walk from the door of the jail to the car did me good-it had been so long since i had seen daylight or breathed fresh air. I looked at the trees and the grass and the sky as if i had never seen them before. It was a gloriously beautiful day.

When the feds told me they were taking me to New York to go to trial, i didn't know what in the world was going on, but i was sure Evelyn would straighten things out. There was no way in hell i could go to trial in federal kourt. Not unless they gave us time to prepare for it and canceled the jersey trial. There was no way that Evelyn could deal with both trials at the same time. She was working so hard i couldn't keep track of all that she was doing.

I knew we had arrived somewhere in Queens, but i didn't know where. There was no courthouse in the direction we had gone. The car came to a bridge where pigs were stationed, pointing rifles and shotguns. On the other side of the bridge were more police.

"Where are we? Where is this place?"

"You are now on Rikers Island. This will be your new home for a while," the marshal told me.

"It'll never be my home."

I looked around while they waited for clearance to pass through the gate. There were huge, ugly buildings in front of us, not old or dilapidated as i had imagined when i pictured Rikers Island, but institutional-looking nevertheless.

"Are all these buildings jails?" i asked.

"Yep," said the marshal. "They're all jails. There are a lot of criminals in the world."

"Everybody in jail isn't a criminal," i told him. "And they've got a lot of criminals locking people up. They've got a gang of criminals in the White House."

The marshal just grunted. The car turned into a modern brick building. There were no old-fashioned bars, just jalousied window bar combinations. I was brought into a large receiving room and locked into one of the small rooms that lined the sides, empty except for some benches and a dirty bathroom. After a long wait, i was taken out to be printed and photographed. I was returned to the room, then called out again to fill out forms. I immediately got into a hassle about the forms: i had left the line for "address" blank.

"Where do you live?"

"I don't live anywhere. I'm in jail. And i've been in jail for six months."

"Well, where did you live before that?"

"I don't remember." And it wasn't a lie. I remembered the place, but i couldn't even begin to tell anyone the address. While i was underground i made it a habit never to remember addresses. I used landmarks to remember a place, and i never had trouble locating any place i had been to once, but even if i visited it a hundred times, i never looked at the address.

"Well, where does your mother live?"

"Why?"

"We need an address.”

"I haven't lived with my mother in years."

"Well, give me the address anyway."

"I don't know if my mother would want you to have her address. I'll have to ask her."

The guard insisted, but that line was left blank. The guard was a Black woman with an Afro. And there was another one, next to her, with a lopsided wig on. She was Black, too. In fact, most of the guards i had seen so far were Black. I was quickly to find out that the overwhelming majority of guards in the female jail at Rikers are Black. But when they opened their mouths and expressed their opinions, you wondered. But that's another story.

After i had been waiting for what seemed like hours, they brought in a whole bunch of women. It was wonderful. They were real, live people, talking and laughing. It had been so long since i had even heard a conversation. I just sat there staring at them. I know i must have looked like i was crazy, staring like i was, but i just couldn't help it. I was overwhelmed. I could barely talk, though. When someone asked my name i stammered and stuttered. My voice was so low everyone constantly asked me to repeat myself. That was one of the things that always happened to me after long periods of solitary confinement: i would forget how to talk.

The next phase was the strip and search. There were two groups of women: those who were returning from kourt and those who, like me, were new admissions. We were directed to stand in little booths and take off all our clothes. Then we were told to turn around, squat, run our fingers through our hair, lift up our feet and open our mouths. This was for everybody. The next step was only for the new admissions. They put us in shower stalls without curtains, we were told to take a shower, and then were given this stuff which they told us to put it in our hair and on our pubic hairs and wash with it.

"What is this for?" i asked.

"It's for lice and crabs," the guard said. It was humiliating. The last stage was the "search." Every woman who came into the building had to go through this process, even if she had been nowhere but to kourt. Joan Bird and Afeni Shakur had told me about it after they had been bailed out in the Panther 21 trial. When they had told me, i was horrified.

"You mean they really put their hands inside you, to search you?" i had asked.

"Uh-huh," they had answered. Every woman who has ever been on the rock, or in the old house of detention, can tell you about it. The women call it "getting the finger" or, more vulgarly, "getting finger-fucked."

"What happens if you refuse?" i had asked Afeni.

"They lock you in the hole and they don't let you out until you consent to be searched internally."

I thought about refusing, but i sure as hell didn't want to be in the hole. I had had enough of solitary. The "internal search" was as humiliating and disgusting as it sounded. You sit on the edge of this table and the nurse holds your legs open and sticks a finger in your vagina and moves it around. She has a plastic glove on. Some of them try to put one finger in your vagina and another one up your rectum at the same time. Anyway, i had an instant, mile-long attitude. I wanted to punch that nurse clear to oblivion. Afterward, the guards had the nerve to tell me that a mistake had been made and a doctor would have to make a complete examination. I was just too disgusted. He was a filthy-looking man who looked more like a Bowery bum than a doctor. He coughed all over me without even covering his mouth, and his fingernails looked like he had spent the last five years in a coal mine. The only good thing about him was that he was quick. He rattled diseases off like he was an auctioneer and asked me if i had had them. Then he gave me a one minute examination, took my blood, and that was it.

I was kept in the receiving room until long after everyone had left. Then a pleasant enough guard, with a scar on her nose and mouth, took me to my cell. We went down a corridor that seemed to be a mile long to a hallway where a guard sat inside a glass cage. Buttons and knobs and lights decorated the cage. It looked like the inside of some kind of spaceship.

"Open up five," the guard who had brought me said.

There was a thumping sound and then a humming sound and then nothing.

"You can go to your room now.”

"Go where?" i asked.

"Just walk down the hall and the door will be open. You'll see it. “

The hallway was long. When i got to the cell, the light came on. When i went in, the door slid shut behind me. It was something out of a science-fiction movie. The long halls, the sliding door, the control panel. "Space jail," i said to myself. Inside, there was a cot, a dirty sink, a seatless toilet, and a roll of toilet paper. I was tired and wanted to go to sleep.

"I'm turning the light out now," a voice said over the micro- phone.

The light went out, but a yellow light stayed on.

"Turn the little light off please," i called to the guard.

Again, a voice came on over a microphone. "The light must stay on. It is there for your own protection.”

The light stayed on and i went to sleep.

Morning! The doors slid open.

"Breakfast, ladies!" came over the microphone. It was early, but i was anxious to get dressed and look around. The first thing that hit me was the smell. I don't care what jail i've been in, they all stink. They have a smell unlike any smell on earth. Like blood and sweat and feet and open sores and, if misery has a smell, like misery. The walls of the cell were covered with obscenities and love declarations. "Apache loves Carmen;" "Linda and Lil bit;" "India and Rosa-true love, always." From the window i could see a small paved yard with grass growing between the cracks in the pavement and then another long building.

A few women were in the dayroom, but most stayed in their cells, which were barren except for the toothpaste writing that covered the walls. In prison, toothpaste serves many functions, one of which is glue to hang up pictures. A few of the cells were "fixed up" with pictures from magazines hung on the walls and a knitted or crocheted afghan on the bed. Clothes, in cardboard boxes, were on the floor. The women looked evil and ashen. They glanced at me with only vague interest and went about their business. They were all Black or Hispanic.

I took a shower and spent the rest of the morning walking back and forth. Some of the women were bloated, with swollen hands and feet. A few had a real strange look about them. One sat in a chair, her eyes crusted with sleep, giggling quietly to herself. A group of women sat at a table playing spades. They asked me if i wanted to play, and since i had never heard of the game, volunteered to teach me. It turned out to be like whist, only spades are always trumps. Then it was lock-in time again, the second one for the day. The first had come after breakfast.

There were two women on either side of me who had been locked in their cells all day. "Don't you want to come out?" i asked, stupidly. They broke up laughing.

"No," one said, "I like it here." When she stopped laughing, she told me she was "locked." That meant she was locked into her cell until she was seen by the Board.

"What's the Board?" i asked.

"It's the Disciplinary Board. When you get an infraction, they lock you up until you see the Board."

"Then they let you out?”

"Sometimes, but we're going to PSA.”

"What's that?”

"It's the hole, the bing. This is 2 Main, where you go before they take you to the Board; then, after that, if they think you haven't done enough time down here, they send you to PSA." (PSA stands for punitive segregation area: solitary.)

"You mean you don't stay in this part all the time?”

"No. We're on the sentence side. We only had to come here because we stole the medication. We stole almost everything on the medication truck and drank it. Coke almost OD'd. That's why we're down here. This part is for people who have infractions or for crazy people."

"Crazy people?"

"Yeah!" the one named Coke answered. "They've got some real bugs down here. How come you here?"

"I don't know. I got here yesterday and this is where they put me."

"You got a homicide?”

"A homicide?”

"Yeah, a homicide. You here for murder?”

"I have a homicide case in new jersey, but i'm here for a bank robbery trial.”

"That's probably why they got you down here," they speculated. "They probably gonna move you soon." They asked a million questions.