Authors: Glenn Langohr
Damon nodded his head and swallowed. It looked like he was on the verge of releasing a torrent of tears.
I felt useless and felt my own tears pour out. With my face wet and my voice breaking I said, “You only have six months left. You can do that standing on your bullet shaped head brother.”
My tears must have brought comfort to my friend because he let his tears go. It must have been the first time in forever that he allowed himself to break a little. He started choking back tension and swallowed again. After a few minutes his voice was even more gravelly and he said, “I live in hell.”
I knew Damon was an artist and focused on it. “Have you been drawing?”
Damon smiled through his tears and I saw his confidence come back. He nodded his head and said, “All day. I wanted to bring some of my best pieces but…”
I knew he wanted to say that the Pelican Bay guards wouldn’t let him and thought about it. His battered face had to have been from the prison guards. Probably from their boots while he was handcuffed to the toilet. I wondered if during the cell extraction process the guards had gone through all the prisoners’ belongings and thrown away pictures of loved ones, letters, and pieces of art that hundreds of hours had been poured into as a form of therapy along with other belongings. I asked, “Did you lose any art.”
I watched Damon’s face harden into anger. He shook his head no but I knew it had happened before. He said, “Not this time. I draw on the back of my legal papers.”
I wanted to build on his passion, his art. “I know how amazing you draw and can only imagine how much more incredible the art your putting out is.”
Damon nodded his head with emphasis and smiled. “It is getting pretty good. I want to start a clothing line with it when I get out.”
I felt comfort finding his and built upon it. “Tell me more.”
Damon’s pale face took on a passionate focus and he swallowed painfully again and said, “My latest piece is of Angels overcoming demons. At the top is a cross lit so bright that three angels are being blasted into form as if they are coming from the cross into the world. Then underneath of them are darker less formed spirits being vanquished by the light. I’m telling you brother; I’m getting good at shading all the details. I’m doing what you used to do and reading my Bible before I start drawing.”
I was glad to hear his voice sound more like the old Damon. Maybe he’d come out of this with something positive. I remembered all of his old art. It had been darker. The Bible was bringing light to his soul.
Damon continued, “I imagine that piece I described on the front of a shirt. On the back I want to put the word FORGIVEN.”
I nodded my head at what a good idea it was; glad to see my friend holding on. Then I realized it was God doing the holding.
Then all of the sudden, Damon’s energy changed. He looked behind me and I followed his gaze and found what he was looking for. In the back corner of the visiting booth there was a video camera facing Damon. I looked behind Damon and found another video camera in the opposite corner facing me.
Damon looked back at me and said, “I want to tell you what it’s been like in here.” I said, “They’ll shut down the visit.”
Damon shook his head like he didn’t care. Then he leaned down so that his elbows were resting on the visiting table. Holding the phone in his right hand, he lifted his other hand and stuck his fist against the visiting glass. I stuck my fist to the glass. A minute later he brought his arm back to his face and used it as a shield by opening it. He held the phone with his neck and used his other hand to talk in sign language right next to his open hand. I imagined the video camera behind me and wondered if his hand was enough to block what he was doing. It wasn’t going to work. They might not be able to see his fingers clearly enough to read what his fingers were singing behind his hand, but they would understand what was happening.
I leaned down like he was and assumed the same position with my hand blocking as much of the video camera’s angle as possible. I read Damon’s fingers say, “They think gang leaders started the hunger strike.” I knew he was saying that Pelican Bay was trying to take the power out of the 5 core demands the prisoners were striking over by broadcasting that gangs were behind it. Rather than sign back right away I tried to keep the continuity of the visit the same and spoke into the phone. “Where are you going to live when you get out?” Damon said, “I have nowhere to go.”
While I thought about how to respond Damon finger signed more. “They blow freezing air through the vents 24-7.”
I imagined how it must have started. Pelican Bay had stopped giving the prisoners yard and showers by using the excuse that they had to call meetings to deal with the media and being understaffed, weren’t able deal with it. Then, they must have done the same thing with the laundry the prisoners used. I finger questioned, “How is laundry?”
Damon fingered, “They pass out clothes that are 3 sizes to small and tore up.” I finger questioned, “Is that when they started blowing freezing air?” Damon nodded his head and stopped using his fingers and said, “They have some sadistic guards in here. All we want with this hunger strike is for the validation process to change and a way to better ourselves…”
We both heard the sound of bodies running. The footsteps got closer and I heard the visiting door being opened behind me. I turned to look and saw Parker and 3 other Pelican Bay Prison guards.
Parker said, “The visit is over. You didn’t listen to me.”
I looked back at Damon. His door was already open and filled with Gooners. Damon was still holding the phone to his ear so I said, “It’s almost over brother. I love you.”
Those were the last words I got out. The Gooners were grabbing Damon and forcing him to kneel down. I watched them apply the ankle chains and felt a hand on my shoulder. The hand tightened. I turned and grabbed Parker’s hand and pried it off my shoulder.
Parker tried to keep it there unsuccessfully and 2 other Pelican Bay guards rushed in. I let go of Parker’s hand and stopped resisting any further. Parker grabbed my hand again and twisted my arm behind my back until he had his body tight to mine from behind.
He whispered into my ear, “We know who you are B.J. You’re lucky you’re not on parole anymore or we’d stick you in a cell and you could hang out with Damon again.”
I felt handcuffs placed around my wrist and heard the noise of them being tightened and then felt the steel bite into my skin. I was pulled backwards out of the visiting booth and steered in a half circle. I said, “What are you going to do, arrest me for finding out you torture prisoners?” Parker responded, “We’re escorting you off the prison. We’ll get you when you come back to prison, almost all do.”
Chapter 9
On the way out of visiting on the walk back to my car I saw Sista Soul. I ran to catch up to her and saw that she was crying. The wrinkles around her eyes turned her expressive black face into something almost too sad to behold. I asked, “What’s wrong?”
Sista Soul regained her composure and said, “It’s over. The prisoners aren’t going to get their 5 core demands met. Pelican Bay told them that they would examine the process in January, 5 months from now. They won’t do anything. They won’t give the prisoners a chance to change. They won’t give them any form of self help. They won’t stop torturing them with isolation.”
I knew she was right. There was too much money and power behind California’s prison system but it was people like her that were making a difference. I said, “Don’t forget how much you’re helping their cause. You guys are getting the word out.”
Sista Soul’s face looked haggard from worry but she nodded her head and said, “I know honey. That’s why I’m so frustrated. I learned so much that’s wrong with this prison system with this hunger strike and I just want to do more. Now that the hunger strike is over the media will find something else and forget about this.” She waved her arm at the prison behind her so I stepped closer and gave her a hug. I told her, “Then don’t stop trying. I’m not going to stop.” I made it to my car and realized I was exhausted and hungry. I drove out of the prison and listened to the echoes of rifle fire and looked out the window at the forest. The redwood trees were so majestic they brought my soul some piece. As the reports of rifle fire dimmed in the background the birds filled the sky again. It looked like they were playing in paradise, so close to the hell I’d just left.
On the road heading south I knew I needed some sleep and started looking for somewhere to park my car for the night. I found a Walmart and pulled into the parking lot. Inside the store I grabbed some beef jerky and some juice to wash it down and got a phone call from my wife.
“Hi beautiful!”
“Hi honey! How was your visit with Damon?”
I started with a short version without Damon’s busted lips and black eye and then broke down. Through tears I told her about Sista Soul and how she’d said that the media would find something else to cover and that Pelican Bay wouldn’t change. When I finished I felt empty and depressed.
My wife’s voice was exactly what I needed to hear. Her enthusiasm and bubbly personality was a balm to my mental wounds and I realized I missed her more than anything. It was her turn to talk so I let her energy and mood carry me.
“Baby guess what? I figured out a way to help the dogs at the Animal House!”
I remembered our two new watch dogs and smiled. I couldn’t wait to play with them and my wife. I asked, “How?”
“Mary, the lady who runs the Ashland Angel House said we could help the Animal House, not take it over. All 10 girls from Ashland have been washing the dogs and Mary got busy on the phone. Walmart has donated a whole bunch of dog food, toys and bedding. Plus, Petco is letting us bring some of the dogs to their store tomorrow. We’re going to have a station in front of the store for people to adopt the dogs! I’m so excited!”
Chapter 10
The 14 hour drive back to Orange County left me with my thoughts and I started to understand how Sista Soul felt. There had to be something more I could do for Damon and the rest of the prisoners at Pelican Bay. Why didn’t the California Prison system understand that having all those inmates in isolation was the best time to build them up with self help, and a new direction, so they could be used as examples. That no matter how far you took things in the wrong direction, things could be turned around. Why couldn’t they see that the best medicine was to show the younger prisoners traveling down the wrong path that even the most zealous gangsters at Pelican Bay have found a better way? Instead, the policies at Pelican Bay were criminal. They were only exacerbating the problem.
I pulled into Petco and the negative mindset that set in during the drive home lifted. My wife, all 5’1 of her, in brown heeled boots, jeans and a red long coat, ran from customer to customer entering Petco to come see the dogs. Ashland women held dogs that had been washed clean on leashes. All the dogs had bows on their head’s and looked happy wagging their tails with their tongues out. I couldn’t believe the transformation and how quick it happened.
I got out of the car and my wife saw me. She came running and jumped in my arms. “Baby we found new homes for 3 dogs already! Come on I want to show you what Walmart donated!”
My wife’s tiny body marched me to where Mary was sitting at a table with all the adoption papers. Next to her was an array of supplies for the dogs. Mary got up and hugged me and said, “Walmart donated all of this to help us find homes for these dogs. If someone wants one of the dogs we get to give them a month’s supply of food, some dog treats and some doggie bedding.”
I picked up a small can of dog food and looked at it. Caesar Senor was eating steak. Better than me. How did some people seem to be born into a life of poverty and prison, just like a percentage of dogs and animals were destined to being abandoned and abused to rot away in cages, while others were born to have loving owners that took care of them and provided.
Epilogue
During my 10 years in prison for drug charges I started writing novels and short stories to make all that I had lived through, and my prison time count for something. My vision is to open the eyes of the public that in California, the way our justice system is set up, we are just breeding bigger criminals. Over 70% of the inmates in California are incarcerated for drug crimes. By locking up these kinds of offenders we are breeding an addiction into an affliction much harder to escape where gangs indoctrinate new prisoners and tattoos become a second skin of belonging. If after reading this short story, you feel moved to do something, you can start by writing or calling the California Governor and legislatures.
Other books I’ve written include: Roll Call, a drug war novel, the sequel, Upon Release, A California Pelican Bay Prison Story-Race Riot, A California Pelican Bay Prison Story-Lock Up Diaries, Drug Debts, or A California Pelican Bay Prison Story-Gladiator.
More information about Pelican Bay.
Pelican Bay Prison, Rural Prison as Colonial Master
By Christian Parenti
In 1964 a tsunami swept over Crescent City, California completely destroying the downtown. Only nine people died, but the town—nestled just below the Oregon border—never recovered. It was rebuilt as a shabby imitation of Southern California’s worst planning examples; empty parking spaces and box-like buildings dominate the landscape.
In 1989 another tsunami hit—this time the tidal wave was political. The California Department of Corrections (CDC) rolled in, and with little opposition, built the sprawling, $277.5 million Pelican Bay State Prison, one of the newest, meanest super-max prisons in the system. Pelican Bay is now an international model of sensory deprivation and isolation; half the inmates are deemed incorrigible and locked in their cells 23 hours-a-day. The prison is also Crescent City and Del Norte County’s largest employer—and, some say, its new colonial master.