Vagabonds, Thugs and Thieves #2

It was October 6th, l978 when I walked through the gate of Jackson State Prison. I heard the cold metal on Metal clang of the electromagnetic lock as it snapped shut behind me. Then the next gate opened and slammed shut as I walked through the razor wired fences toward the prison lobby and the concourse that leads to the interior of the state's maximum security prison. It felt like a foreigh country. I glanvced through the small plate windows at the guard controlling the movement of the doors and gates. He sat expressionless, pressing buttons and moving levers. I tried not to stare. He watched every movement and controlled every move. In 56 steps I reached the lobby. Yes, I counted. A huge man who looked like an NFL linebacker met me in the lobby. He must have been 6'7" and had a hand the size of a baseball glove. He extended his giant right hand toward me and said, "Welcome to Jackson Prison, Mr. Usher. I'm Warden Banks." I learned later that he had played pro football; no surprises there.
That was my first day in a career that would span nearly 21 years and up to this point, my entire adult life. I was assigned to the hopsital Emergency Treatment room and an ominous looking medication delivery system called "The Box." Over those years, half in Medical and Half in Mental Health, I worked at close range with the vagabonds, thugs and thieves......and we worked on inmates too.
As in any job, the first phase of employment is administrative. There are forms for everything f rom I.D. badges and health forms to professional licenses and metal chits with which to draw keys from Center Control. I learned to filter the miiions of words from the personnel director into the six sentences of information that he really needed to say to get me started. There will be more on him in later blogs. His understanding of "The System" as a whole, and his willingness to share that knowledge proved valuable as my career porgressed.
The next two weeks were a whirlwind of adjusting to a heretofor unimaginable piece of Americana. It was a segmented society with very specific dividing lines between Inmates and Staff and between Custody staff and Treatment staff. The line was only compromised by the willingness of a staff member to risk his or her career by gringing contraband into the institution. Money was the lubricant that eased one faction into the realm of the other. In Jackson prison, inmates were not permitted to have cash money. Cigarettes were the mechanism of commerce. But, money sent from an inmate's "people" to the O>O> Box of an employee, could alter the balance of finance when cash, drugs, syringes and cell phones are brought in and delivered to the waiting inmate. The process is called Downing The Duck and in one risky act, usually followed by another, the employee gives his career to the inmate because the first time he refuses to convey the contraband, the inmate becomes the whistle blower and the employee's career is over. His pension is gone. His job is gone. His reputation is ruined and he can be arrested, all in one day in one lapse in judgement.
Listening to the factions interact, provided an incomparable venue to learn about human nature, the best aspects and the worst. It was a window into the criminal mind at close range and an opportunity to appreciate the differences and the similarities in their personalities and behaviors.
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