Pelican Bay Riot (7 page)

Where were you from on the streets of California? Were you gang affiliated? What prison had you just come from? Where is your paperwork relating to your criminal history? And other questions had to be answered.

I got to my cell door and looked back at the tower. Underneath on the wall in red block letters- WARNING! NO WARNING SHOTS FIRED! - Then the same explanation in Spanish. Above, one of the tower guards was watching me from a control booth a few feet into the tower. He tapped a button that popped cells open and made a “clicking” noise that told me to get in and close the door behind me. I had to wait him out to see how irritated he’d get and looked at the other tower guard leaning on the open part of the tower window with his block gun still hanging from a shoulder strap. I entered.

The cell was 6 feet wide and 10 feet long with concrete bunk beds that filled half the width and ended with a stainless steel sink and toilet where I stood. My cell mate was a youngster and hopped off the top bunk. He was wearing white boxer shorts only and looked like a rich kid-skater-surfer type at about 5'7 and 170 lbs of cut up body without a hair on him and a small shaved head. He didn't look like he belonged in prison. Not one tattoo… like me. He smiled and stuck his hand out and said, 'Hi bro, I'm Scott from South Orange County."

I smiled at the happy looking European chap and shook his hand. "I'm B.J, also from South O.C." Scott practically jumped he looked so happy. "I've heard of you! I'm glad I've got a homeboy for a cell mate!" Scott's happy excitement was infectious and we played the who's who game and found our acquaintances’ we grew up with together. After that I learned a lot about the yard and program. He told me I'd be stuck in the cell until an initial I.C.C hearing cleared me for yard. It would take 7-10 days. Then, the Mexican and Black races were in the middle of a war and they themselves were on lock down so we and the Asian race had the yard to ourselves. That caught my interest. Then, we exchanged paperwork relating to our criminal history to follow protocol.

Nobody wants to live with a child molester or woman killer. Scott was doing his time for using heroin, taking a homeless man into his home, getting his wallet robbed by the homeless man, chasing the thief out of the house and hitting him with a baseball bat. I was doing time for moving drugs for income and false allegations that I was larger than life.

I finished making my 2 inch thick mat for a bed on a concrete slab and went back to the cell door where I would spend almost half my day studying. I had Scott come to the cell door and asked, "How long have the Chicans and Blacks been locked down?" "A couple months. It popped in the gym when I first got here a month ago. The Crips took it to the Mexicans. I heard they were sick of the way the Mexicans were trying to run everything." I had to ask a vital question, "Are there any Mexican Mobsters here?" Scott looked like he was excited to have answers. He nodded his head and said, "There is now but there wasn't when the riot kicked off."

I imagined the circumstances. Without any Mexican Mobsters, the Mexicans had too many little chiefs and no Indians. That meant they were all hungry to make a name for themselves that would carry recognition and validation for their street gang, neighborhood and even in a misguided way their real blood family. It was pride rearing its ugly head. With that kind of climate the Mexicans were pushing rules and regulations that got too forceful and infringed too deeply and the Blacks responded like gangsters and caught them slipping. That meant there was a round 2 coming.

I looked at the gun tower. From the angle of our cell I could see the cells that started with 150 on the bottom and 250 on the top all the way to where the row I was in started. Had I have been in 210 or any lesser number cell down to 200 line the gun tower would have been in the way to see the last couple of cells, 248, 249, 250 and those same cells below. The cells with the best view were down the middle directly across from the gun tower in the mid 20's. The tower didn't get in the way and the only cells they had trouble seeing were the ones in their row. I studied the occupants inside cells who stood at cell doors. I could see the outline of bodies and determine what kind of shape they were in and study the way they stood and observed things. It would tell me a lot about the person.

My attention was drawn to a short Mexican downstairs and across in cell 140. I asked Scott, "Who are the Mexican Mobsters and where are they housed?" Scott, the ever happy chap with information said, "Little Bird is in this building across the way in 140 and Droopy is in Building 1." I looked at Little Bird. He was watching me like an Eagle. Good, I'd be doing the same. It would only take extending my hand in greeting and some follow up to find out how I felt. I knew he anticipated the same thing.

Chapter 4

The next morning I watched the building release for yard at 9 AM. The top tier released only and I knew the bottom tier would get afternoon yard. This prison would end up releasing over 500 inmates to yard when the Mexicans and Blacks came off lockdown. The prison I had just come from being even higher security only released a little over a 100, much easier to deal with when your race’s population is only 8%. I watched my new little buddy Scott head to yard. He walked to the stairs and met the only other two White men on the tier. Both were in their 40's and looked like brothers with the same builds, 200 plus lbs of prison bulk, not that coordinated looking, typical shaved heads.

That night when I went to sleep my mind began to acclimate to the sounds and rhythms’ of my new building. Certain cells snored, a few cells coughed and wheezed and the sound of the vestibule handle made a clanking noise just before that vestibule door opened, then closed loudly. It signified shift change at 4 AM…Time to rise.

The next week went by stuck in the cell but I made the best of it by writing drug war scripts for Hollywood, writing letters and reading my Bible. I decided to work on my humility as best I could a few years back and still recognized there was a lot of work. One way I was forcing the growth to occur was through psychology. In the past, I had always believed the lie I told myself since street life began in my teens that courage was stepping up when nobody else would. That lie turned into robbing drug dealers, selling drugs, and trying to regulate that life style. Now I was telling myself that real courage was being who God intended me to be and praising Him openly when and where it wasn’t cool to do so. I got the first chance to work on myself some more.

Jason came to the cell door. Scott, my cell mate already told me he was an active Skin Head from the Death Valley. He had olive colored skin and was decent looking. I looked at his large round shaved head and his well built but soft body at about 200 lbs. He was young but trying hard. He started with, “I’m Jason and my job is to run a check on new arrivals in this building. Are you a Wood or a Skin Head?”

I stood at the cell door smiling, ready to have fun. “Wood floats so I’m not made of wood. What does a Skin Head stand for?” Jason didn’t look like he knew how to answer. I knew Skin Heads were mostly harmless punk rock skate boarders who were mostly just anti-social and anti-establishment who teamed up together smoking cigarettes. I loved most of them but the state of California was breeding them in prisons and many were turning into bully’s who tried to lord it over the rest of the White race as inferior.

Jason figured out an answer and stood even straighter. “I’m a Skin Head who lives by the 14 principles and 88 precepts.” I got more serious as he did and said, “Good I’m going to hold you to them!”

I completely turned everything around on him. He was supposed to be running a check on me and I was the one running a check on him. Good times.

Jason looked like he was getting pissed and I smiled as he regrouped back to the person in charge of running a check. He asked, “Where are you from B.J?” I gave a look that said I was deep in thought and then answered, “Where I lay my head is home.” Jason looked like I was making this way harder than normal. He asked, “No what county are you from and who do you run with? Are you gang affiliated?” Jason started looking irritated. He was getting to bold for me. Plus the questions were too personal. I gave him my irritated face and said, “I’m from my momma that’s where I’m from.”

It looked like Jason decided I was crazy 5150. It also looked like he realized I weighed the same but with a much harder and more explosive build. He calmed down and asked, “Are you gang affiliated.” I looked straight into his eyes and said, “Jesus was born in a manger and He is my Landlord.”

I watched Jason’s face change and enjoyed the confusion. He couldn’t figure me out and thought I had to be joking. He grunted, and then got back to business. “I need to see your paperwork.” I answered fast and knew I would find out how seasoned he was. “Which paperwork, my 128-G the state gives us for the criminal history of all my charges that includes if there is gang affiliation, sex crimes or arson at the bottom?” Jason looked surprised I already had that paperwork. He was slipping. The only way I could have this paperwork was if I had come from another prison mainline or Hole and I had already done both. He should have been asking me those kinds of questions first so I had to find out if he even knew what kind of paper work that transfer represented. “Do you know what a 114-D is Jason?”

I had flipped it around again and he didn’t realize it. He proudly answered, “The 114-D paperwork is the prison report for why you were put in the Hole-Ad-Seg.” Jason started to realize he wasn’t the one running a check and I couldn’t help but laugh at the different emotions his face ran through. This time his face didn’t end in anger. It went from confused to curious. He asked, “Did you just come from the Hole?”

I knew he had been at my cell door to long already. I looked at the Gun Tower and both guards were watching. I slid a thick file of my paperwork tucked into a camouflaged folder under the cell door and watched Jason pick it up and open it. He was fucking up so I had to get more shock value and got serious, “DON’T LOOK AT IT RIGHT HERE!”

Jason closed the folder and waited for me to tell him what to do. I nodded with my head toward the tower and said, “The tower guards are watching you.” He blew it even harder by turning to look. I told him. “Those tower guards aren’t stupid. Do you want to get labeled a shot caller?” He looked confused. I knew he wanted to be someone so bad that those might be his dreams as misguided as they were. “Take that paperwork to Damon.”

Jason looked shocked and that told me I had hit the lottery.

Damon hadn’t influenced me to D Yard. Jason said, “You’re not supposed to know that’s where the paperwork goes.” I said, “Smartest thing you said but you should have said…Whose Damon? Don’t worry about who checks the paperwork. When you need to know you will.” Jason nodded his head that I was right and again realized I was the one running a check and blurted out, “Who in the fuck are you?” “I told you B.J when you first stuck your face in my door! Go tell Damon I’m here and bring me some food, I’m hungry!” Jason said, “There are two different Damon’s on this yard, which one?” I said, “There is only one that goes by Sir Rott. Tell him to send me a good book to read too.”

Chapter 5

An hour later, I heard the clanking noise from the handle outside the vestibule, then the vestibule opening. I got up to watch Jason walk through the narrow corridor into the building with a laundry bag full of goodies. He ran up the stairs and I had to look out the side of the cell to see down the row. It was fun watching his face to measure his expressions. He was all business and dumped about 20 top ramen soups out, a couple bags of beans and rice, a bunch of other food and two books. Some of it slid under the door and the rest he put back in the laundry bag and tied on the door. He was about to leave without saying a word and I stopped him. “Hey wait a second.” This time Jason looked at the gun tower first. He was learning but should have looked way before he arrived at the cell. The two tower guards were watching. He finally looked at me and said, “Damon sends his love and that he will get at you on paper. I have to go I don’t want to front you off.”

Damon must have told him about me. “Thanks for the concern but if you read my Hole paperwork it says they couldn’t determine any gang allegiance.” Jason said, “I’ve never seen paperwork that had a question mark after gang affiliated? It’s always just yes or no.” I laughed and said, “Those tattoos get you every time.” Jason said, “One of the reports said you were known for calling shots.” I got serious, “Thank God jail house snitches aren’t enough to validate you alone. Besides I like the word peacemaker much better.”

Jason asked, “Are you going to take the keys to the yard?”

He was asking me if I was going to assert absolute control for the White race. Rule it with an iron fist. I liked doing things where everyone had a voice and the ones with the most brains and best actions formed a counsel. It kept everyone on the same page and involved. Being outnumbered by the Blacks 18 to 1 and the Mexicans 20 to 1 it was important to all get along and hold our line tight. I had to end funny and said, “Will these keys you mention let me out of this prison?” Jason was getting used to my humor and took off to leave and I stopped him again and asked, “Where are Little Bird and Droopy from?” Jason didn’t hesitate, “Little Bird is from Long Beach, Harbor Area, and Big Droopy is from Riverside.”

He was on top of the most important stuff…I asked, “Who has more juice?” Jason looked like he was taking an educated guess and said, “I think Big Droops.” I knew he was either in the building with Droopy to call him Droops, or he knew him personally, or he passed a bunch of written messages with that name on it. I asked, “What building and cell are you in Jason?” He smiled, “Building 1 in cell 224 right next to Droops.”