I had been an employee on first shift at the Diagnostic and Evaluation Center (D & E) for 16 months officially. At least that is what seniority would say. I took six months off this past winter to deploy to the Persian Gulf, in support of Operation Enduring Freedom, and Operation Iraqi Freedom.
Our graveyard crew was frequently thin and I had been looking for an excuse to try third shift. So I wrote to custody supervision, the Major and his cronies. They thought I had “the good of the institution” in mind when I volunteered to do a temporary trial shift change from first to third. First shift was busy, with lots of brass around, and third was always dead, so I thought I would get some much needed R & R watching inmates sleep.
Then it happened. The Major made a rare visit to my post (I was a floating relief whore) and asked me if I was still interested. To say he was appreciative would be an understatement. I was slated to begin the temp assignment the following week on a Tuesday evening the 14th. That week I thought to myself that this may be an opportunity to catch up on some more reading. I brought a re-print of James Webb’s Fields of Fire in the bottom of my lunch box, knowing it was against the rules to bring in such contraband. The book was the least serious of the multiple rules I had broken upon entering the facility that evening. Also in my lunch box, I had a small bottle of hand sanitizer. It was almost pure alcohol. I had a chew in my mouth, a credit card sized Yahtzee game, and a Swiss Card with a knife and scissors in my wallet. All of these items are contraband and against the rules. I had no intention of allowing an inmate to gain possession or control of these items. They were simply for my entertainment and personal use.
Corporal Strand and Officer Mandrake were doing shakedowns that night. Strand was a Marine, but Mandrake’s biggest aspiration in life was to be a notary and a bounty hunter. Trouble is, Nebraska does not require a license to enforce bail because the state has leaned away from commercial bail.
They could not do a body pat down without the warden’s blessing, but they could check lunchboxes on a whim whenever they pleased. I did not know it, but it “pleased” them rather frequently during that particular week. Corporal Strand discovered my book. His exuberance for his job overcame his Marine loyalties. The book was confiscated, and I received a B-form for my indiscretions.
I was not terribly concerned regarding the B-form. My mind was made up several weeks ago when I returned from deployment that I would not stay long. Upon return from deployment, the Lieutenant filled me in on some upcoming events.
“Hey, Batiste, you report to the range at 0700 on Monday. It’s your annual requal.”
“L-T, I think we need to talk about something then.” “What’s that?”
“Due to an accident during my deployment, I now have a prosthetic implant in my right eye.”
“Zat make you special?”
“I shoot with my fucking right eye. I’m going to have to learn to do it left handed. Chances are I could go unk.”
“Well, your job depends on it.”
“C’mon man, D & E never stands towers anyway. I’ll never have to stand a post with a rifle. LCC folks always get the tower posts.”
“Like I said, be’er hope you pass.”
Monday morning I reported to the range, having only the time to snap in left-handed. My first round for qual would be my first round fired left-handed. Most prior-servicemen shoot at least 25 out of the maximum 30 at the State range with their good eye. The minimum qualifying score is 21. The first time in my life shooting left-handed, out of my ass, I pulled a 27. That was not too bad for a Marine shooting with his non-dominant eye and hand.
The L-T’s attitude about my disability really pissed me off. The following day I applied for a job as a caseworker at the Nebraska State Penitentiary.
“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”
-- The Wizard of Oz.
Our graveyard crew was frequently thin and I had been looking for an excuse to try third shift. So I wrote to custody supervision, the Major and his cronies. They thought I had “the good of the institution” in mind when I volunteered to do a temporary trial shift change from first to third. First shift was busy, with lots of brass around, and third was always dead, so I thought I would get some much needed R & R watching inmates sleep.
Then it happened. The Major made a rare visit to my post (I was a floating relief whore) and asked me if I was still interested. To say he was appreciative would be an understatement. I was slated to begin the temp assignment the following week on a Tuesday evening the 14th. That week I thought to myself that this may be an opportunity to catch up on some more reading. I brought a re-print of James Webb’s Fields of Fire in the bottom of my lunch box, knowing it was against the rules to bring in such contraband. The book was the least serious of the multiple rules I had broken upon entering the facility that evening. Also in my lunch box, I had a small bottle of hand sanitizer. It was almost pure alcohol. I had a chew in my mouth, a credit card sized Yahtzee game, and a Swiss Card with a knife and scissors in my wallet. All of these items are contraband and against the rules. I had no intention of allowing an inmate to gain possession or control of these items. They were simply for my entertainment and personal use.
Corporal Strand and Officer Mandrake were doing shakedowns that night. Strand was a Marine, but Mandrake’s biggest aspiration in life was to be a notary and a bounty hunter. Trouble is, Nebraska does not require a license to enforce bail because the state has leaned away from commercial bail.
They could not do a body pat down without the warden’s blessing, but they could check lunchboxes on a whim whenever they pleased. I did not know it, but it “pleased” them rather frequently during that particular week. Corporal Strand discovered my book. His exuberance for his job overcame his Marine loyalties. The book was confiscated, and I received a B-form for my indiscretions.
I was not terribly concerned regarding the B-form. My mind was made up several weeks ago when I returned from deployment that I would not stay long. Upon return from deployment, the Lieutenant filled me in on some upcoming events.
“Hey, Batiste, you report to the range at 0700 on Monday. It’s your annual requal.”
“L-T, I think we need to talk about something then.” “What’s that?”
“Due to an accident during my deployment, I now have a prosthetic implant in my right eye.”
“Zat make you special?”
“I shoot with my fucking right eye. I’m going to have to learn to do it left handed. Chances are I could go unk.”
“Well, your job depends on it.”
“C’mon man, D & E never stands towers anyway. I’ll never have to stand a post with a rifle. LCC folks always get the tower posts.”
“Like I said, be’er hope you pass.”
Monday morning I reported to the range, having only the time to snap in left-handed. My first round for qual would be my first round fired left-handed. Most prior-servicemen shoot at least 25 out of the maximum 30 at the State range with their good eye. The minimum qualifying score is 21. The first time in my life shooting left-handed, out of my ass, I pulled a 27. That was not too bad for a Marine shooting with his non-dominant eye and hand.
The L-T’s attitude about my disability really pissed me off. The following day I applied for a job as a caseworker at the Nebraska State Penitentiary.
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| The Nebraska State Penitentiary |
“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”
-- The Wizard of Oz.
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