I am supposed to be in the
visiting room. Those are my orders now, but when we are short-handed,
they put me where they want me. When Officer Oakson drove me over here
in the van the eastern sky was lemon yellow. The Missouri River
reflected shades of pink and blue. The river is down and there is now an
island of a couple of acres between me and tower eleven. The breakwater
of rocks that help prevent erosion stretch like broken fingers to about
mid channel. As the sun rises the prison seems encompassed in a circle
of pink and blue. In front of me to my left is the chemical factory.
There is a pipe that emits steam jutting out in an inverted "L" from the
center of the building. The steam rises from the base of the loading
dock. I think that whomever envisioned Chinese dragons, saw them in
rising steam. When it is cold here you can watch steam dragons all day
long. It is warmer today, mid 60s, so all I will have is steam lizards.
To my left is tower 9, which sits above the sally port known as the
train gatem, possibly because the MOPEC switching yard runs behind us
parallel to the river. All vehicles entering or exiting the main prison
pass through there. When either the outside or the inside gates are open
towers 8, 9 and 10 have to be out on their walk with their shotguns. All
vehicles are searched coming and going. Those on the way out have a
heartbeat detector attached to them to make sure there are no stowaways
on board. This is Saturday however and we should have very little to no
traffic in or out. I sit above 10 gate. Coils of razor wire spiral over
the chain link gate and up over the top of the two foot thick stone wall
between the chemical plant and graphic arts. Contrary to popular belief
razor wire is not especially sharp. It has little anvil shaped pointed
projections that are designed to hold not cut. We are most humane. At
the end of this wall is a concrete retaining wall about 40 feet high.
With the chain link fence running above it. It is about eye level from
my tower. Behind this fence is the small outside recreation area for
protective custody inmates form 5 house. From here most of 5 house is
obscured by the graphic arts building. What I think was an old power
plant sits beyond the chemical plant. I have never been in it because
all the doors are welded shut. Asbestos hazard they say a big brick
smokestack probably about 20 feet in diameter projects above it, un-used
now except by pigeons. A long stair case runs up the hill to the left of
the wall I straddle, used coming and going from the industrial area. At
the top of this hill is a large sycamore tree. To its left are satellite
receivers, to its right is 2 gate. The sun is up now blasting through
the window of my door on the left. Can't see a thing through the glass.
Think it is plastic scratched through a multitude of wipings. While I am
looking I catch a glimpse of an officer down there. I open the door and
see that Officer Oaks is now in the trash truck and coming inside. My
Sgt. from the visiting room is down there also. I step out onto my walk
with a shotgun as the outside door is opened and the truck enters. I
have to smile to myself as Sgt. Whitmore opens the truck hood while
searching. I think it weighs as much as she does. She is a little bitty
thing and I doubt that she weighs 100 pounds or reaches 5 feet in
height. She has a lot of spunk and is a knowledgeable Sergeant. I am
sure that if all hell broke loose she wouldn't hesitate to get right
down in the middle of it. As I look I notice a lot of smoke. I radio
tower 9 and ask if it is coming from the furniture factory. It isn't. It
is coming from the truck. Think it is due for an overhaul. The Sgt.
opens the 20 foot tall chain link gate and the I beam barrier gate. She
really has to push. I watch, shotgun in hand as the truck exits. The
smoke goes away. When one needs to use the stainless steel toilet with
no seat, which the state gratuitously provides for our use up here, one
radios to an adjacent tower that one will be "10-7", temporarily out of
service. For me, that time has arrived. I radio tower #9 and go sit.
Having your bare bottom against stainless steel in the winter is, I
think, for me, a memorable experience. There is a blue shower curtain
used for privacy, and I use it. I didn't used to, but now the TV cameras
can get up close and personal with us in the towers, and I don't feel
like having anyone get THAT personal. I put my pistol back on my belt,
snap on my utility belt and radio tower #9 that I am "10-8", back in
service. We clear our towers every ten minutes. Saying, "Tower ten,
clear" six times an hour gets repetitious. The gas space heater here
could heat a small three room house. When it kicks on, you roast. When a
train passes, the tower vibrates. In the summer, you really cook! I have
dubbed these river towers "Shake and Bake."
The top of the door is blocking the sun now and I will have a
little respite until it reaches the windows. We have been up here a
total of two hours and two minutes so far. Think I will do some
exercises I devised that I can do while looking and sitting. Takes about
forty minutes for me to do a set, and I try to do three sets during a
shift. Fourteen minutes into my wrist exercises, the trash truck arrives
at ten gate below my position. An inmate who helps Oakson open the gate
has a leather eye patch with a blue eyeball painted on it- rather
disconcerting, at first glance. I take a break from doing nothing and go
out on the walk for a cigarette. A tortoise shell colored cat is getting
a drink from a tire rut just off the blacktop road. Somebody can't
drive, but the cat thanks him. The cat disappears under the loading dock
of the chemical factory, a train goes by, I go back in and get the
shotgun. The trash truck goes through the inside gate. The trash is
probed with long metal rods to make sure nobody is hiding in it. The
truck is completely inspected from above and underneath. The "heartbeat
detector insures that it only contains trash. When everyone is satisfied
with the search, the trash truck exits, followed by an escort car
containing an officer with a shotgun. They do not make escape easy
around here. Probably the last traffic we will have today. Weekdays are
quite busy. Mr. Oaksson radios asking who wants lunch today. I answer in
the affirmative. I never pass up a free meal. All that frenzied activity
takes us up to 9:54. Back to the exercises.
10:07 the escort brings the shotgun back to tower 9. She stands outside
and unloads it and puts it in its canvas bag. Officer Pogue hauls it up
on a hook attached to a nylon rope, and the escort is gone. The tortoise
shell cat has found an orange friend and they stroll tail in tail to
tower 9. I discover something stuck deep with in the ball of my left
index finger and perform nail clipper surgery. Time will tell if the
patient lives. Back to exercising.
10:45 HEy HEy HEy lunch they say is on the way, I wonder what gem we are
getting today. The cats outside know it is lunchtime. They come out from
where ever and sit by tower 9, one black and one white. I wonder if they
are intercepting our radio messages. I reel in lunch. Pizza, spaghetti,
green beans, two slices dry white bread and a green apple. The pizza is
OK by Missouri standards, but these people know nothing about pizza or
spicing Italian food. IF it isn't salt or pepper it doesn't exist. The
cats get the spaghetti and whoever relives me gets the granny smith
apple. It has warmed up considerably from the low 30s this morning. Just
ask tower 11 what the temperature is. She says about 60. Can't complain
for January 26. Theres a fairly stiff breeze coming out of the southwest
so it is still a little chilly outside without a jacket. Guess both food
and weather are unseasonable. Must be a window out at the old power
plant two pigeons just disappeared through the side of the building.
That place is probably knee deep in pigeon crap by now. When I was in
towers at night I saw hundreds of pigeons entering the smokestack.
My it is a lovely day. There are a few fan brush strokes of cirrus
clouds against a pale blue sky and sun and shadow dapple the green hill
by the sycamore tree. The river is an ever changing pattern of blues as
the breeze ripples its waters. The distant hills are dark with trees
except by where they have been cut to the bare rock for roads to pass
through. The tan of the rock matches the tan of the river rocks and
matches the sand of our temporary island. Some of the trees are starting
to bud although I fear in vain. Who said there is nothing to do in
towers. You can sit here and just be happy to watch the sunlight turn
shadows into wonders of geometry. A freight train comes to a stop behind
my tower with all the dissonance of a Russian opera, and silver jet
trail cross the sky. America is on the move again after Sept 11 but now
we are more watchful less trusting shocked to learn we have been
nurturing monsters.
Shortly after Sept 11 an inmate said to me "some of us in here are
locked up for some pretty bad things but none of us are this bad are we"
No the worst looks like a choir boy when compared to this evil. A black
Muslim in here once told me that Islam means peace. A man can take the
words of a loving God and justify the slaughter of innocent people, I
just dont know but we do it all the time. Bin Laden is just Charlie
Manson on a global scale. I know people who believe in demonic
possession sometimes I wonder if they aren't right, but when someone
murders they call a cop not a priest. The dove is the bird of peace and
love. The dove must still beware of the hawk. It is similar to being a
correctional officer. You can be friendly with inmates but you can't
really be friends. I am friendly with at least 3 I would consider the
most dangerous in here. I have no illusions about them but they have my
respect for their power and will to survive. Respect murderers you might
say "How could you?" I would have to reply that I honestly don't know
how. Perhaps I recognize something in them that is in me also. Something
that is dark and malignant and infused with in us all that most are able
to tame. It was my choice to suppress this monster where as they
embraced it. We made different choices. It is too nice a day to dwell on
the evil that men do. Think I'll just enjoy the warmth of the sun and
hope that I don't have to shoot anyone today. Sometimes I think of all
the people that I have met on this web site when nothing here is
stirring. Lee from the U. K. with his Dahmer-esque fantasies has been
upper most in my mind lately because I have been desperately trying to
help him.
Littlelady007, my drudic red haired Irish lass keeps me laughing.
Russell in North Carolina makes me laugh also and has taught me much.
My darling overworked "X" in the LA Sheriffs office has been my best
buddy for ages.
"M" who contributes to this site and expresses herself with such
brilliance and clarity.
Joe in Buffalo busting pallets and writing.
Digger in St Louis busting crooks.
Rykia the "cat woman" in Canada.
Spils in Australia.
Ken in Hawaii.
Aphex in Denmark.
Gwen in Sweden.
Pat Brown in Washing DC who has taught me volumes.
Robert who i consider a genius.
Rainsong, dreamaweaver, ryan, melissa, delano, all of you-- thank you
very much. You all keep me company in tower 10, or where ever I am, and
help to keep me safe. I am much more aware and knowledgeable because of
you all. I miss the people who used to come around like forcheck,
rainman, dave, and my street smart friend booger. It is so much easier
to do the right thing always with so many good people on your side. So
that is what i do in towers. I sit, look and think. Occasionally I might
have to shoot someone thanks for being with me today.
