Corruption Officer (4 page)

For the next couple of days, classes went on with boring
instructors telling us the do's and don'ts of being a Corrections Officer Academy
style.
 
They were telling us not to mess
around with the inmates,
emphasizing that that would
jeopardize
our jobs by bringing things to inmates or fraternizing with
them
in any way
.
 
Point blank, these individuals don't care
about you or your family.
 
They don't
have anything to do all day but scheme on you.
 
They focus on what they can get from you or what they can get you to do
for them.
 
Then they gave us all kinds of
examples of how we could get into trouble.
 
The examples that stood out the most had to do
with undo familiarity, and the use of force.
 
These made sense and at the same time didn’t make any sense at all.
 

It went like this; you’re now a Corrections Officer.
 
You now have peace officer status.
 
Whoooo!
 
You now have just a teensy bit more police power than the average Joe.
 
I say that to say this, as an almighty Corrections
Officer you’re going to be held in high regard to uphold the law, mainly in the
jails but also to some extent on the streets as well.
 
This also meant that your life, as you know it,
is over.
 
This meant that Juju and Toejoe,
your best-friends
since
grade school, can no
longer be a part of your life if they have felonies.
 
It states that you’re not to associate with
any known felon.
 
That means if your
grandmoms was a gangster in her hey-day and accumulated some felonies, by Corrections
guideline you can no longer go visit her in the Projects for Christmas.
 
If your neighborhood is anything like mine,
that would be anybody in a fifty mile radius.
 
That means if you are seen hanging out with
people that have felonies or you’re seen in pictures with said individuals, you
can be brought up on charges and could possibly lose your job.
 

It didn’t make sense to me because I wondered did they
really expect us to turn off our feelings and emotions toward people
who
have been a part of our lives before we obtained
this
job?
 
I
knew right away that this was going to be a dilemma for me.
 
I was told that Officers, such as myself,
who
were born and raised in neighborhoods where there
is a high contingent of individuals with criminal backgrounds, will see at
least five to ten people they know within the first week of working in the
jails.
 
If you encounter someone that you
know you’d better see them before they see you because they will shout you out.
 
I was told that the professional way to
deal with this is to write a report to administration requesting that the
inmate be moved to another facility.
 
Again
like I said if your
neighborhood
was like mine,
you were going to see hundreds upon thousands of inmates that you knew.
 
That’s a lot of report writing and to some Officers
it sort of raises a red flag as to what kind of person you were if you know a
lot of these kinds of people.
 

The other conventional way of handling the situation goes as
follows:
 
if you see an inmate that you
know and you know that this particular individual not only knows you but knows
all of your dirty little secrets, you must approach this inmate and let them
know that you’re an Officer now and that they can’t expect any special
treatment.
 
If they get loud and
disrespectful then you take matters to the next level.
 
You smack them, spray their face with mace
and yell “
Man
, I told you about coming in and
out of this place!
 
Now respect my job!”
 

Slight exaggeration but close to the truth.
 
Corrections want you to treat inmates like
inmates no matter who they are.
 
As a Corrections
Officer you’d better learn how to balance personal life with job life or you’re
going to be in a world of trouble.
 
This
is why it made sense.
 
It’s simple.
 
You got this job with the purpose of getting
ahead in life and bettering your situation.
 
People sell their souls for opportunities such as these.
 
You have lived in the Projects all your life,
kept your nose clean so that when jobs like these became available, you
qualified. You’re in now and you’re not going to blow it.
 
Yeah baby, just cruise the next twenty years
and you’re in the clear.
 
Hello pension!

The next rule that I found confusing was, “Use of force.”
 
This is the right to
kick ass
rule.

They gave use different scenarios in which we could use
force and how much.
 
A lot of the
Caucasian recruits paid close attention to this lesson foaming at the mouth and
shit.

It makes sense that if you’re going to be working in a jail,
which is always a hostile environment, excluding the inmates, that you should
be able to defend yourself.
 
The first
thing that was said is that you should always try to defuse a hostile
situation.
 
We were to utilize our I.P.C.
skills (Interpersonal Communication Skills).
 
This meant always talk your way out of either giving an ass-whipping or
receiving one.
 
Either way, they wanted us
to talk first.
 
I thought to myself, ‘So
let me get this straight, if I am working in a housing area and Jerome Thomas aka
“Killa J” from the group home, is standing in front of me with several bodies
laid out in front of him and blood dripping from his mouth because he bit off
someone’s ear, I am supposed to utilize my I.P.C. skills and say, “So, who do
you think the Knicks are going to get in the trade this year?”
 
I just could not grasp after all the horror
stories I’d heard and after my first visit to the jail that they would have me
talk to the inmate instead of handcuffing him to a pole and beating the spit
out of him - just kidding.
 

On a serious note, I did learn that you just can’t go around
the jail beating up on inmates for no reason because if your “I’s” are not dotted
and your “T’s” are not crossed you can get in a lot of trouble. You are to use
force as a last resort if everything else has failed.
 
If the Knicks get a bad trade or Patrick Ewing
misses another layup then BAM!
 
Right
upside Mr. Group home’s head!
 
He, he,
he
- I hope you’re still with me.
 
I guess what they are trying to say is by all
means try not to get into a physical altercation with an inmate if you can
avoid it.
 
My thoughts were, ‘In jail?
 
Yeah right!’

In the following weeks we were given lessons in hand to hand
combat.
 
The movements were called
“kodagash” and “com-a-long,” bullshit training that I know half these little
petite females and men, for that matter, will never be able to use if the shit
really hit the fan.
 
Motherfucka’s were
fat and out of shape and using muscles that laid dormant for years.
 
It was kind of comical seeing them try though,
because you knew that three months of training was not going to help none.
 
Then there were the practices using fighting
movements with riot gear on. This shit was bulky and awkward and it really took
some getting used to before a person could maneuver in it effectively.
 
A lot of us know-it–alls felt that the gear
would more likely hinder us then help us.
 
Chicks were upset because no matter what, they had to put that helmet
on.
 
One chick had her hair up in a
bouffant like Marge Simpson and when she had to put the helmet on another
female recruit yelled out, “Ooooh, that looks expensive!” adding insult to
injury.
 
Yeah they did not want to sweat
out their hair dos and perms.
 
But hey,
would you rather get bus’ upside yo’ head with no protection?
 

We were also trained with police or security guard night
stick look-a-likes.
 
Again, a lot of us
knowledgeable recruits who didn’t know dick thought that they would be best if
used like the baseball ferries in warriors, but know there were rules to this
shit and again if you don’t follow them you’re going to have problems.
 
The instructors shout, “Move!” with every
movement; the rear strike, the front strike, the come along, the what-the-fuck
and the nigga-you-must-be-crazy strike - most effective when Corrections Officers
outnumber the inmate or the inmate is shackled.
 
On a more serious tip, there are a lot of dos
and don’ts with this “Use of Force” shit and if you use it you better be able
to write about it in your report the right way
 

We took a break from class to go to lunch.
 
This is when we all filled our bellies and
then fell asleep on the instructor for the second half of the day.
 
Some recruits where talking trash to one
another about the class when one recruit took it to the extreme.
 
He jokingly blurted out, “Shut the fuck up
before I shove a plunger up your ass.”

All of a sudden, dead silence.
 
I mean
crickets were squeaking.
 
Even the
instructor stood there in disbelief.
 
My
thoughts, ‘No this motherfucka didn’t!
 
Oh hell no!’
 
It
didn’t help the situation that he was White and the one he shot the comment to
was Black.
 
It didn’t help that it was in
the wake of the Abner Louima incident.
 
And
it didn’t help that he was in arms reach of me either!
 
No, no, no, no, no!
 
None of these circumstances helped his ass at
all.
 
The instructor moved quickly after
assessing the now hostile situation and quickly escorted the inmat- I mean
recruit out of there!
 
The next day BAM!
 
It was all in the papers!
 
We never saw that recruit again and we
received all sorts of training on what to say and how to act in the work place.
 
To sum it up, some of the Academy was
informative and some was pure bullshit.
 
You really can’t fail in the Academy unless you really do something
drastic to get kicked out.
 
Even if you
fail a written test they will take you in another room and miraculously you
come out with a passing grade.
 

At the end of the Academy, right before we graduated, the
instructor gave us a speech stating that basically the stuff that we were being
taught was to cover their ass’s when we get inside the jails.
 

“The real breakdown is…” he said, “…that we are telling you
how to do this shit!
 
You ain’t necessarily
going to do it this way when you get inside the jails, but if you fuck up, don’t
say that we ain’t teach you the right way to do it.
 
These lessons are to cover our asses when you
fuck up - not yours.”
 

Yeah, ya boy graduated, and was now a bona fide Corrections Officer
on his way to Rikers Island.
 
I hope that
they have free lunches because I left my lunch tickets in my other pants
pockets.

NEW JACK CITY

“On the gate,” a large C.O.
yelled to another Officer who was inside the main control station also known as
gossip central.
 

The Officer frowned and then
turned the switch which opened the front gate. I was thankful to the other Officer
because this was my first day at my assigned jail and I had only been standing
at the gate for 15 minutes to get in.
 
I
thought, ‘Here we go with the bullshit.’
 
The jail I was assigned to, was called C76 aka “the community
center.”
 
As I walked in along with a
slew of new Officers, all we heard were comments from the Senior Officers.

“How many of these fuck’n jacks
did we get!?”
 

“There goes the fuck’n overtime!”

One Officer sniffed in the air
and said, “Aaah, you gotta love that fresh academy smell.” Another said,
“Smells like shit to me.
 
One of you
motherfuckers lost your nerve already?”
 
They all laughed.
 
After roll call,
I went to my assigned area and when I got there I said to myself, ‘Ok, big G, enough
of the bullshit, get in there!’
 

“Open the gate!” I yelled out
loud.

A small female C.O. came running
to the gate then stopped and said, “Shit, nigga you yelling like you the Police
or something!”
 
Then she unlocked the
gate and opened it just enough for me to brush up against her to get by.
 
Now, my heart was pumping.
 
This is it, no more Academy scenarios, no
more recruit shit.
 
This is my debut as a
Corrections Officer.
 
I walk in to relieve
the “B” Officer, the secondary, and before I can formally introduce myself and
take my mandatory count of the inmates, he tears the gate off its hinges
getting the fuck out of there.
 
The “A” Officer,
the primary, says to me, “Pick a side to go on A or B.
 
The housing area has two sides, which hold 30
to 50 inmates in each.
 
I pick one.
 
She opens the door to let me in then slams it
behind me.
 
No conversation.
 
I was warned about the bullshit Senior Officer/new
Officer rivalry.
 
It didn’t matter to me
because guess what, I got the job mootherrfuckeerr!
 
As soon as I got in there, I remembered how
not impressed the inmates were when I made my first visit on OJT.
 
So I tried a different approach.
 
I walked in quietly and took my count.
 
The count was the most important thing we
learned.
 
This lets you, and the facility,
know how many inmates are in your control at a time, because at the end of the
day that’s all that matters.
 
Since I was
in a dormitory like setting with beds lined up next to one another, I did as I
was instructed to do in my Academy training, when I was awake.
 
I proceeded to tap each sleeping inmate as I
went by to observe if they moved or not, to make sure that they were still alive.
 
I’ve heard that some Officers who have been
on the job awhile get comfortable and don’t take mandatory counts when they
assume a post.
 
Sometimes there may be a
dead inmate that will go unnoticed for long periods of time, a lot of explaining
-
a lot of explaining
.
 
All I heard from the inmates as I did this
was, “What the fu-!”
 
Then when they
realized it was me, the C.O. and not another inmate named big Smiddy, trying to
get some ass, they gave me the look like oh it’s the C.O.
 

“Ms. Jordan!?” one inmate yelled
out to the “A” Officer.

“What!?” she responded.

“Could you call off your man
Dudley do right.
 
He walking around
waking motherfucka’s up,” he yelled.

Then he glared at me and said, “Shit,
nigga tapping me like that while I am sleeping could get your ass hurt!”
 

Then before I could respond, the
Officer called me to the Officer’s station.
 
She then proceeded to scold me right in front of the inmates.
 

“Everything that you learned in
the Academy, forget about it!
 
It’s a
whole new ballgame in here.
 
So, sit down
somewhere,” she said.

Then she waved me off like she
was busy and I was in here starting shit.
 
I was left standing there looking stupid with all the inmates snickering
and laughing.
 
For the rest of
the I
kept my mouth shut and just observed the inmates.
 
Already I was bored to death and was thinking
that this can’t be all there is to it with this job, just sitting here all day
doing nothing.
 
A few days go by and I am
slowly but surely getting the hang of this. I am realizing that in society’s
eyes I am an almighty Corrections Officer, but sometimes nothing more than a
glorified babysitter.
 
Well, today I am
back on the job at another assigned post sitting down bored. Thinking, ‘Some - job.
 
The only fighting I am doing is fighting
sleep.’
 

Then I hear someone say, “Gee!?”
 
My thought was, ‘Uh oh, that can only mean
that this is someone who knows me from the streets.’
 
I look and it’s my man, “Biz!”
 
I knew that I would see people from the street
but I did not think it would happen so soon.
 
I was also told that I have to put my foot down and enforce my
status.
 
Even though my moms babysat Biz
when we were little and I used to smash his sister out.
 
I still had to let him know that I was a C.O.
now and that he can’t just be calling me Gee.
 
This used to be my right hand man, pause, no homo, back in the day.
 
So, I had to figure out how I was going to
tell him this.
 
Then I thought some more
and said to myself, ‘Shit, nigga, this is your job now, your Michael Jordan
sneakers for your kids, and some day your new house.’
 
Hell this is your ghetto no-limit pass, your
badge.
 
I looked at him square in the
face and said, “My name is Officer Heyward!”
 
Yeah I backed him up like a good little job
starving C.O.
 
I told him that in here
that is what he should call me and not to forget it.
 
My thoughts, ‘Besides, your sister’s head game
was trash.’
 
He stepped back in shock.
 
He had the look like no this nigga didn’t.
 
I know that he thought, ‘This nigga used to
come to my house for sugar.
 
I gave
this lil nigga sneakers
to wear to school.
 
Him and his brother!
 
Wait until I call my moms and tell her that
Gary Heyward from Public School 46, Miss Eldridge’s class, is standing here
fronting!’
 
I know that he also thought that
the real reason I seemed to be fronting was because I used to date his sister, and
the word on the streets was that her head game was trash.
 

He slowly backed away and went
and sat on his bed.
 
I could see out of the
corner of my eye that he was still in shock at how I acted and still staring at
me. I knew that this was just the beginning. I wondered how many more times
would I have to ignore my ghetto heritage, how many more times would I have to
look my friends in the face and sell my soul out for the sake of my new found
livelihood. How many more times……