Authors: Glenn Langohr
15 minutes later we walked back to our cells and I made the turn from the stairs and glanced toward the tower guard Hernandez. He had both hands on his rifle and stared at me like he was imagining a scenario where he got to shoot me.
When we got back in the cell I fished out the written message L’il Bird gave me for Damon. I pulled off my state boots and pulled the plastic wrapped missile out of the sole and decided to open it and read- GREETING WHITE BROTHER, MY CELLIE AND I SEND OUR SALUTATIONS AND RESPECTS- WANTED TO GIVE YOU AND YOUR RACE A HEAD’S UP THAT WE ARE TAKING FLIGHT ON THE TINTOS ON SITE. WE APPRECIATE THE HELP YOUR RACE GIVES US BY PASSING MESSAGES AND OTHER STUFF. L’IL BIRD.
I read the message again and understood that on site meant the Mexicans were being ordered to attack the Black race any chance they got. I didn’t really understand it because looking at the prison population, the Blacks were much bigger and most of them seemed to have been in prison for 20 plus years. I was used to the Mexicans grouping up and taking the initiative in other wars when their foes were unaware and knives in each hand stacked things in their favor in skirmishes. The next day I gave the message to Damon and wondered if the prison guards would detect any difference as the days wore on and every White cell had a body in it at the cell door watching every time a Mexican or Black cell door opened for the on sight attack promised.
Chapter 11
The next day for yard after the meet and greet at our table I decided I liked the view better from where our swords were buried. From the opposite side of the yard we would be able to see the gun towers in each of the buildings and watch the yard from the back corner. We worked out first and then sat on the curb by the chow hall.
The curb we sat on made it hard for the main gun tower to keep an eye on us. He would have to turn at a 90 degree angle. Plus he was focused on the Gym and Medical, both down the line the opposite way. We watched him. Every time an escort was needed for the Mexican and Black inmates to go to medical we listened to him coordinate it. "Building 3 an escort is on the way."
Ten minutes later Security Escort Heart and Ligazzaro walked to building 3 and came out with 6 handcuffed Black men. We watched them cut down the middle of the yard. The Black men looked like 20 plus year prison warriors. One in particular looked around 6'9 and had arms that were so long it appeared he wouldn't have to bend over much for his knuckles to drag on the ground. Behind him, 2 younger skinny Black crips walked with exaggerated swagger with pants almost falling off under bunched up white boxers exposing half their butt cheeks. Next a 60 year old looking Black man so dark he almost looked blue walked with a cane and watchful eyes that zeroed in on us watching him. He nodded.
Just out of his earshot, Damon said, “True pimp.” I laughed and said, “Player please.” We watched them get unhand cuffed at the door to the infirmary and I wondered if any Mexicans were inside. Damon must have been reading my mind. “They are escorting the Mexicans and Blacks separately. The Mexicans go to medical every other day. The only time I can see that the two paths will cross is during showers.”
I thought it out a little deeper while looking at the gym 100 feet away. “The gym has only Mexicans in it so they have the complete advantage with numbers and preparation. At a prison near Pelican Bay the Mexicans stormed out of the gym over 100 deep to get to the Black inmates walking out of the chow hall.”
We looked at the gym and imagined the doors rushed during shift change when the guards went home, they would follow orders.
Chapter 12
Back in the cell Scott prepared the sink by placing a circular cut out from a brown bag our lunches came in big enough to fill the sink hole to act as a stopper. He filled the sink with water and got undressed and sat on the toilet facing the sink and dumped water over his head and cell showered.
I said, “Not a hair on your body and butt cheeks that look like a chia pet. Take some clippers to that shit.” I got the cute laugh out of him I wanted and hit him with some shocking news, “You better hurry, Damon is having us moved to his building.”
Scott looked at me with water cascading down his face and body and said, “How did you do that?” “Don’t trip potato chip, just get your stuff packed, we’re moving to a penthouse suite at the Ritz.” Ten minutes later Heart showed up at the cell and escorted us to building 2. On the way there Scott understood, “The cell next to Damon had two Black inmates that went to C- Yard today.” I nodded my head and said, “That’s right.”
Security Escort Heart walked us up the sally port to the vestibule door and rattled the metal hook. He looked at me and said, “smart move, Hernandez in the tower was hoping for an opportunity to shoot you.”
For the next couple of weeks I spent time at our cell door getting acclimated to the undercurrents in our building. This building was more into a routine than the intake building. I studied everything from the cell door daily to watch the interaction between inmates and guards. It seemed like respect was the calling card over here. As my usual, I developed communication with the tower guards and building guards and was blessed with some laughs. All but one seemed to be grateful for the paycheck and just did their job. The one who seemed to need more than a paycheck was a short fat dark and sweaty Mexican with a name plate- Gomez. It looked like getting the job as a California prison guard had saved his life but he took that job and magnified it and acted like a gang banger. The day after we moved into the building he took offense that the move had been done around him, he made it clear to me that it was his building. I went along with it.
The tension was getting thicker between the Mexicans and the Blacks. So far, none of the buildings opened the opportunity for the two races to cross paths. During showers was the only likely time the wrong cell door would get popped open but every inmate was ready, like it wasn’t a secret, everyone knew there was a time bomb ready to explode.
Chapter 13
The next morning before breakfast, I heard the metal handle clanking, then the vestibule door opening, and then saw the stainless steel portable food carts pushed into the building by guards from behind. 6 carts were pushed into place and the plates started getting served at the last cell. Gomez was serving on the top tier and I watched his fat ass run up the stairs. He looked agitated, even more than normal. The guards placed a piece of metal along the side of the cell door so it couldn’t open any further than a foot while the food trays were handed into the cells. Gomez was now next to my cell and I heard a Black inmate ask, “Gomez when we gettin off lockdown?” Gomez responded loud enough for most of the building to hear, “Not any time soon. You mess with one bean you get the whole burrito.”
The Black man who asked yelled, “Fuck you Gomez, you just stirring the pot punk!” A bunch of other Black men yelled from their cells. “Gomez you fat bitch!” “Keep stirring the pot and creatin race wars Gomez and we gonna get you!”
I looked at Gomez, glad to hear the Blacks yell threats toward him. He was trying to push the tension level even higher and deserved whatever he got. I looked at the Mexicans in cells and saw they were all watching silently. Good little soldiers. At yard, Damon and I were stationed in the back corner where the swords were buried and the view of the yard was absolute. We were taking turns doing pushups on the curb. When Damon did a set, I would lay with my back on his back with my feet bent and on the ground to balance myself consistently. 10 sets later we sat at the curb to watch shift change.
We studied the main tower down our line 100 feet from us perched high in the air. It was the ex-military sharp shooter. He turned his head 90 degrees so the back of it was facing us and gave the command to open up D Yard’s gate 200 feet down the same line of track. Over 20 prison guards walked through the gate and we watched them walk toward us and go into the program office 50 feet from the gym. They came out together and walked toward their shift for the day in angles through the yard that would take them to their building. We watched 3 guards walk toward the gym, and then walk underneath the tower guard, and I realized there wasn’t any noise. The yard was almost silent. That silence brought an unseen tension that thickened, and thickened. I told Damon, “It feels like it’s about to pop.”
I watched Damon nod his bullet head and I looked at the main tower guard staring down at the guards 60 feet away, then he looked at us, he could feel something, or he knew something.
Building 1, across from us caddy corner 100 feet away, opened the vestibule door and a group of 10 Black inmates walked through. They weren’t in handcuffs and weren’t being escorted! We watched them walk the track toward us and Damon said, “What the fuck?”
I said, “This is a set up. The guards want to keep their hazard pay going.”
The Black inmates walked past us. A couple nodded their heads and I felt like warning them but kept my mouth shut. With the Black inmates 20 feet away from the gym and closing the gap fast, the prison guard standing there pulled out his key and opened the door. As soon as the door opened a crack an army of Mexicans exploded out of it like a tsunami. Proof that they were ready for the opportunity to attack was how they were dressed, beanies, buttoned down denim jackets, pants and boots, a total of over 100 Mexicans raining down on the 10 Black men.
The prison guards initially ran away from the skirmish and looked at the gun tower. He was yelling into the microphone, “GET DOWN-GET DOWN!!” The Mexicans reached the Blacks and overwhelmed them in sheer numbers. 9 Black men used their fist to punch as fast as they could to fend off the attackers and were quickly backpedaling and catching up to the one Black man who initially took off running. The Mexicans circled the Blacks and squeezed tighter and one Black man after another fell to the ground and the stomping and kicking began. I looked at the tower and saw the block gun explode with the smoke rising off the tip of the barrel but couldn’t hear it over the noise of war. The projectile from the block gun bounced off a denim jacking wearing Mexican and the onslaught continued. The building guards were all running out of vestibule doors I never heard open and as they got close enough to the action fired block guns without any effect at the overwhelming number in the melee. Pepper spray canisters emptied, more guards arrived from the other 3 yards, more block guns fired, and finally the Mexicans stopped and laid flat on their stomachs. Pieces of the blocks that had been fired had broken into pieces of debris sizzling on the ground everywhere.
The Blacks survived the attack in one piece without a need for a stretcher. We watched their swollen and bleeding faces in agony from the pepper spray accept the handcuffs just happy enough to be alive. They were walked toward the D Yard gate and were headed to the Hole-Ad-Seg. Next, the Mexicans were lifted to their feet in handcuffs and walked the same way.
Damon said, “Mexicans 1, Blacks 1. The war might be over.”
I said, “I hope not, I like the yard without them.” I knew it was a selfish thing to say but surviving would get a lot harder because I knew what was coming, I’d been to this rodeo before.
Chapter 14
Over the next two months I was really programming. I got the ideal job, package clerk. Inmates who ordered quarterly packages and ordered them with their own money went through me. This allowed me to have a typewriter in my cell and I was able to write movie scripts faster, I’m coming Hollywood!
Unfortunately, life got harder for the White race. Both L’il Bird and Droopy had a middle of the night raid by the I.G.I, and the gang investigators took them from their cells and re-housed them in the Hole-Ad-Seg and weren’t nice enough to give them time to leave any instructions for the rest of the Mexicans. It would have worked out better if they had because now all of the Mexicans were left without leadership and were fighting for control of the yard and it was chaos.3 different gang bangers got at Damon and me and told us they were responsible for the yard and to do business with them. It put us in an uncomfortable position.
We could either play them against each other by being real and telling them the truth, that hey, so and so said he is running things, what’s up with that? But instead, we just observed for a while.
Termite was from the dessert in Indio and seemed to have all the dope somehow. Damon and I assumed that he had a prison guard on the payroll. The usual route for drugs to make it into prisons was through visiting, and visiting was shut down with the lockdown. Having big chunks of heroin and crystal meth made him think he could assume control of the yard for the Mexicans. I took one look at him and didn’t like his chances, he looked more like a drug smuggler, not a commander of men, but if he knew how to San Tzu his dope, possibly. I told this to Damon and he said, “I haven’t read enough apparently, what do you mean?”
“San Tzu wrote, The Art of War, a must read, after the Bible. For Termite to have a chance to control the Mexican line with an iron fist he has to line up the Mexicans and give the strongest neighborhood clicks just enough dope to make them loyal to his policies, then he might be able to call shots. If they detect any weakness or inexperience someone else will rise and demand a third of his dope as the shot caller.”
Damon said, “It looks like that’s what’s happening since we have 2 other Mexicans shooting us messages from 2 different buildings telling us they are the head burrito.”
Chapter 15
One of the 2 Mexicans answered to Stranger. He was from West Los Angeles and was in 5 building and had come from Chino Prison Palm Hall. That alone meant he just left some heavy hitting mobsters. Palm Hall at Chino was southern headquarters for everything mafia in southern California. Damon and I noticed how he was pushing the line. He was active in getting word to each of the buildings in written messages he had Jason smuggle. Another sign of Stranger’s experience, the way he wrapped the written messages.