Previously I mentioned that I had met many intelligent inmates at the DEC. That said, I want to make it clear that stupid inmates are not in short supply either.
Inmate Claycan was a lonely white man who had accidentally felt up his girlfriend’s children while he was sleeping. He claimed that he was still dreaming, and that he thought his girlfriend was in bed with him. That would be a good defense if it were true. I am not saying that in his case it is not, but after having studied multiple case files, many inmates claim to have done something completely different than what came out in the court system.
Claycan was fortunate that he resided in housing unit number one. It was the island of misfit boys. Unit one was the only unit without any boat people. Boat people are inmates who have to sleep on cots in the day area due to overcrowding. Unit one can not have any overcrowding because it is the only unit where only half the unit is allowed to be out at a time because of its protective custody status. It is a necessity to be able to secure half of the population in their cells at all times. At no time can all of the inmates be allowed out of their cells. Any inmate who was in danger of being subjected to mistreatment from other inmates was placed here, for their protection.
Typically, if you are a child molester, puny, scared, on your first number, or just a minority who can not speak English, the department believes that you might be a target for pressure. Pressure comes in the form of many things. You might be “talked into” giving up your food, your personal items, your clothes, or your butt-hole, but not necessarily in that particular order.
Claycan was invited to play cards with a group of Hispanic gentlemen. They needed a fourth, and they needed somebody stupid from whom they could take things. One of the Hispanics spoke a little English. Actually, he wrote and spoke it fluently, but he did not want to let on. Honesty is not synonymous with truth. Being able to play stupid can get you out of stuff on occasion, and he was saving this trump card for later.
Claycan never realized that there were other Hispanics gathered around the table who could have been asked to join the game at any time. He was so overwhelmed that somebody was including him that it worked very positively on his self-esteem. All he wanted was to be included. Being included could save him from the depression of being incarcerated.
I kept an eye on the game. I did not care if some poor bastard got took for all his belongings and then some, but I did care if there was violence. God forbid I have to do paperwork because somebody got their ass handed to him during a physical altercation. On this particular occasion, I was extra concerned. One of the Hispanic gentlemen at the table was inmate Espinoza. Espinoza was once rated eighth in the world-flyweight division. On his last number, I heard he punched a guy in the chow line and then caught him to lay him down so he would not hurt his head when it struck the ground. He had a temper as quick as his hands.
The cards were dealt for poker, and Claycan filled his hand. There were never any misdealings, or card stackings, or any sort of cheating going on when it came to the handling of the cards. The cheating occurred when Claycan filled his hand, and unknowingly exposed his cards to Spanish speaking friends of his opponents standing behind him. All manner of discussion was going on behind Claycan’s back, and every card he held was identified out loud in Spanish. Claycan never flinched. He never seemed to be bothered by it a bit. Claycan was completely oblivious of the fact that everybody involved in the game, and many on-lookers, spoke Spanish, and were entirely aware of every card he possessed.
As I previously stated, my Spanish is limited to things like, “Donde es la cheespa?” which I think, means, “Where is the titty-bar?” But even without the ability to fluently speak Español, I knew what was going on. Claycan never won a hand, and lost almost every thing in his locker.
Months later, I was scanning through Claycan’s file. The mother fucker was bilingual! He knew all along that he was being cheated. I guess acceptance, in any form, meant more to him. That, or he was putting some serious investment into that trump card for later.
“It is very difficult either to generalize successfully or to be absolutely precise about ethics and morality. Rarely, if ever, is any situation ever totally black and white. The same act will have different shades and degrees of moral value under different circumstances.”
-- The Dalai Lama
Inmate Claycan was a lonely white man who had accidentally felt up his girlfriend’s children while he was sleeping. He claimed that he was still dreaming, and that he thought his girlfriend was in bed with him. That would be a good defense if it were true. I am not saying that in his case it is not, but after having studied multiple case files, many inmates claim to have done something completely different than what came out in the court system.
Claycan was fortunate that he resided in housing unit number one. It was the island of misfit boys. Unit one was the only unit without any boat people. Boat people are inmates who have to sleep on cots in the day area due to overcrowding. Unit one can not have any overcrowding because it is the only unit where only half the unit is allowed to be out at a time because of its protective custody status. It is a necessity to be able to secure half of the population in their cells at all times. At no time can all of the inmates be allowed out of their cells. Any inmate who was in danger of being subjected to mistreatment from other inmates was placed here, for their protection.
Typically, if you are a child molester, puny, scared, on your first number, or just a minority who can not speak English, the department believes that you might be a target for pressure. Pressure comes in the form of many things. You might be “talked into” giving up your food, your personal items, your clothes, or your butt-hole, but not necessarily in that particular order.
Claycan was invited to play cards with a group of Hispanic gentlemen. They needed a fourth, and they needed somebody stupid from whom they could take things. One of the Hispanics spoke a little English. Actually, he wrote and spoke it fluently, but he did not want to let on. Honesty is not synonymous with truth. Being able to play stupid can get you out of stuff on occasion, and he was saving this trump card for later.
Claycan never realized that there were other Hispanics gathered around the table who could have been asked to join the game at any time. He was so overwhelmed that somebody was including him that it worked very positively on his self-esteem. All he wanted was to be included. Being included could save him from the depression of being incarcerated.
I kept an eye on the game. I did not care if some poor bastard got took for all his belongings and then some, but I did care if there was violence. God forbid I have to do paperwork because somebody got their ass handed to him during a physical altercation. On this particular occasion, I was extra concerned. One of the Hispanic gentlemen at the table was inmate Espinoza. Espinoza was once rated eighth in the world-flyweight division. On his last number, I heard he punched a guy in the chow line and then caught him to lay him down so he would not hurt his head when it struck the ground. He had a temper as quick as his hands.
The cards were dealt for poker, and Claycan filled his hand. There were never any misdealings, or card stackings, or any sort of cheating going on when it came to the handling of the cards. The cheating occurred when Claycan filled his hand, and unknowingly exposed his cards to Spanish speaking friends of his opponents standing behind him. All manner of discussion was going on behind Claycan’s back, and every card he held was identified out loud in Spanish. Claycan never flinched. He never seemed to be bothered by it a bit. Claycan was completely oblivious of the fact that everybody involved in the game, and many on-lookers, spoke Spanish, and were entirely aware of every card he possessed.
As I previously stated, my Spanish is limited to things like, “Donde es la cheespa?” which I think, means, “Where is the titty-bar?” But even without the ability to fluently speak Español, I knew what was going on. Claycan never won a hand, and lost almost every thing in his locker.
Months later, I was scanning through Claycan’s file. The mother fucker was bilingual! He knew all along that he was being cheated. I guess acceptance, in any form, meant more to him. That, or he was putting some serious investment into that trump card for later.
“It is very difficult either to generalize successfully or to be absolutely precise about ethics and morality. Rarely, if ever, is any situation ever totally black and white. The same act will have different shades and degrees of moral value under different circumstances.”
-- The Dalai Lama
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