Authors: Glenn Langohr
It was an ugly day out for afternoon yard. The sky was filled with black clouds that looked on the verge of bursting into a deluge of rain. I knew the Mexicans were about to explode on the Black race any second and sat with the rest of the White race in the corner of the yard trying not to be obvious in this awareness. My workout partner who answered to Popeye was doing sets of pushups on the curb along the track and we were using each other as body weight. From our perspective on the yard we could see the main gun tower for the yard 40 feet high watching everything. Underneath, 50 feet away the exercise pull-up and dip bars were where the action would start, any minute.
I knew it was coming, I could hear it in that there wasn’t any noise at all, I could feel it in that those inmate races that didn’t know it was coming felt the difference. Every inmate on the yard looked almost identical dressed in brown state boots, blue denim jeans, and a blue denim jacket buttoned to the chin, with a beanie pulled tight over the head like a helmet just above the eyes. The Black inmates were the only inmates making noise and were the biggest physically, mingling with the Asian inmates being the smallest, but the Asians knew, they felt it, they were more watchful all of a sudden and I saw them getting some of the Black inmates attention. I looked at the Mexicans and saw a sea of groups of 2 walking tightly from every angle of the yard in a choreographed maneuver that would bring them all together almost in the middle of the yard. A separate group of Mexicans, 10 of them in groups of 2 were forming 100 feet from the exercise bars; these were the ones who were going to kick it off.
I watched that group of 10 split into two groups of 5 where they circled the bars and met together. Just before it started I looked at the larger group in the middle of the yard and it looked like a group of penguins tightening up in a herd, then my attention went to the main tower guard who now knew just as it started underneath. The 2 groups of Mexicans unleashed with arms that came out of jackets holding weapons in each hand and the noise hit with the sounds of grunts and yells and arms flying and legs shuffling, then the alarm sent a screaming noise quickly drowned out by more outright screams of war.
I looked toward the middle of the yard and the Mexicans were all running toward the exercise bars to attack the outnumbered Blacks. The sound of prison guards shooting block guns never sounded weaker in the midst of the noisy warring chaos. I laid down flat on my stomach with the rest of the White and Asian inmates, watching in amazement at the organized mayhem. Prison guards came pouring out of all 5 buildings and an army of 20 other prison guards from other yards were waiting at a chain link fence 50 feet away from us, the gate opened and they, with all the rest of the guards ran toward the action with block guns and rifles aimed sky ward.
I realized the main tower guard was now screaming into a microphone over and over with more fervor and desperation- “GET THE FUCK DOWN!! GET DOWN!! LIVE ROUNDS COMING NEXT, GET DOWN!!” to no avail, the inmates weren’t coming close to getting down, to do so would mean certain death. My vision took me 100 feet away where a skirmish of 20 Mexicans had chased one skinny Black man against the side of the wall where he went down. Mexicans were jumping up and stomping state boots into a now unconscious man. His beanie covered head was bouncing off the concrete and my soul rebelled against it. The Mexicans circled him and thrust prison knives in and out of his body and I felt the bile rising in my stomach at the senseless rage.
I heard the live round fired, “Ping” and saw one of the Mexicans drop to the ground next to the unconscious Black man. The prison guards squeezed in closer to that specific skirmish and sprayed a torrential amount of pepper spray from canisters the size of fire extinguishers, some swung Billy clubs, all yelling, “GET DOWN!”, those inmates finally obeyed and laid out flat on their stomachs but the war continued elsewhere.
By now most of the Black inmates caught unaware and nowhere near the exercise bars, had made it to the action. Some of the Blacks had weapons of their own and piles of inmates raged in battle. Finally, after a couple minutes the prison guards got everyone down, for a second, the Mexicans had said they were going to pop back up to slam the victory home and they did. All of a sudden nobody could stop them as they jumped back on the laying down Black inmates. Arms slamming weapons downward, feet kicking and stomping and another live round fired, “Ping” and another Mexican crumpled in death and for 30 more seconds it raged. I shook the memory out of my head… I was glad to leave that behind. But knew this new prison I was to lay my head was going to be more of the same to a different degree.
Chapter 2
I felt the prison coming before seeing it. The roads from the freeway became more remote and then we passed a Wal Mart and Home Depot. The businesses had been created during the prison boom and were established just before the town that was born around it.
I thought about this prison and saw the 4 yards arrive into view. The prison population consisted of 48% Mexican inmates, 36% Black inmates, 8% White inmates and 8% Asian inmates. As a White man armed with this knowledge it was also important to know who the White influencers were on each of the 4 yards. I was hoping to make it to D yard where my friend from South Orange County was housed- his name, Damon, also known as Sir Rott.
I thought about more I knew concerning my new home in prison. A- Yard, like the other 3, B- Yard, C- Yard and D- Yard, each had 1,140 level 3 and 4 inmates- 200 per building and 140 in the gym. This prison was known for Mexican on Mexican wars due to so many different street gangs fighting for control. The same was true for Black on Black wars with so many Crip gangsters mixing with the Blood gangs. The Whites being heavily outnumbered were in a rough way and had lost the last war in an ugly way.
The yard I was hoping to get to was a good example. A little over a year ago a certain White inmate confined on a life sentence decided he wanted to use drugs like heroin and speed on credit above his means. Without any strong White leadership the drug debt got out of hand. As the Mexicans increased the pressure on the Whites, the White debtor in question took it upon himself to deal with the Mexican dope man by paying him with a homemade ice pick to the neck rather than with currency. The debtor made it back to his cell and the Mexican leaked blood all over the building floor where every inmate watched in shock and then the guards took notice and hit the alarm. The yard was on lock down with all the inmates confined to their cells during the investigation. A couple of weeks into the investigation the Prison Administration gleaned enough info to understand who the debtor was and moved him to the Hole-Administrative-Segregation.
Sometime around a month later the Prison Administration decided to open the yard after the Mexicans conned the Whites into believing it was a dead issue. “It’s alright, that was between those two. Everything is fine…” It was far from fine. From what I understood the Mexicans counter attacked with as many as 20 of them on one White man who had nothing to do with the White debtors impulse control problems relating to the drug debt. 14 White men got carried off the yard on sleds, some with boot prints on the sides of their faces, others unconscious with over 40 others injured. No weapons were used and no deaths. These kinds of wars and their details on one prison yard created news that reached all 33 California prisons.
Chapter 3
We walked off the bus and shuffle stepped as far as leg chains allowed into the Receiving portion of the prison known as R&R. The prison guards filled the middle of the room at stations and a few prisoners worked with them. We with body chains were un-cuffed and sent into holding cells along the outside edges.
Four hours later the Security Escort guards finally showed up wearing darker green almost brown uniforms. I knew the Security Escort guards were responsible for escorting inmates from their buildings on trips to medical and any other trip that took them off the yard. The two that came to our holding tank were of Mexican descent. They seemed very respectful. I knew from experience some had compassionate consideration and at times lent an occasional hand in our direction.
They had knowledge that most of the regular prison guards didn't from the experiences of roaming in and out of the Hole and every other yard, and involved deeply enough to mix with the Inmate Gang Investigators known as the I.G.I. These Security Escort guards sometimes whispered insight integral to survival our way, but it took a respectful relationship developing. The most often assist from them were warnings when certain good prison inmate influencers were being investigated by the I.G.I as gang leaders or shot callers. Other warnings would come when the building or yard was about to be searched for inmate made wine or weapons.
One of the Security Escorts standing at the holding cell had a name plate- Heart, and the other- Ligazzaro. Heart got three holding cells attention and spoke, "Listen for your last name and which yard you will be housed in...Pedillo, Rodriguez, Jackson, Guerrero, Abadaca and Johnson, D-Yard." It felt like I hit the lottery and I wondered if my friend Damon had influenced my arrival into his domain.
The walk from the holding cells in Receiving went through a door out a 20 foot wide strip of concrete that opened up into a sideways T. To the left the direction to walk to A and B Yards and to the right was C and D Yards. We turned right and a 20 foot high chain link fence was our next stop. Security Escort Heart spoke into a 2-way, "Pop gate C and D."
We walked through and passed another gate that opened up to C Yard on the left. I looked through the fence to see a glimpse of the whole yard. There was a chain link fence splitting the yard into two yards so half the buildings and the gym shared a yard with the other buildings sharing the other half. The strategy for the split yard was an attempt to make riots easier to contain. It didn't work. The inmates always thought of ways to make things more complicated and I knew that fence was a bigger security threat because inmates used finger nail clippers or other cutting tools to remove a link of the fence for a piece of steel to turn into an ice pick. Also during an organized race war the fence down the middle made it harder for prison guards to get to the action quickly.
We kept walking and got to the D Yard gate. It wasn't split down the middle with a fence so it was a free for all. The yard opened up like a baseball field and we were in the stands behind home plate waiting for a pitch and a swing.
A 10 foot wide strip of asphalt track circled the yard and to the right where a foul ball down the first base line would have been was Building 5. The building was a tan color offset by a square tinted bullet proof glass of gun tower above. Each building’s gun tower also had an interior view of the building on the other end. Next down the line was Building 4. Down that line further where shallow right center field would have been was Building 3. Building 2 was where center field would have been and Building 1 was the back of the yard in deep center. In deep left center the concrete track started to circle back right where the Prison Chow Hall was and next was the Prison Gun Tower.
After the Prison Gun Tower down the same line of track the Prison Gym where a foul ball down the left field line would have been, then the Program Office for the Prison Administration, then about 100 feet for other offices, then our gate into the yard. Security Escort Heart spoke into the 2-way, "Pop gate D Yard."
The gate popped open and we walked into D Yard. There was a video camera positioned in the right hand corner attached to the fence I hadn’t seen. I looked back at the Gun Tower for the entire yard by the Gym and noticed its blind spot. They couldn’t see over the handball courts in front of Building 3. The video camera covered it.
We walked the asphalt track for 20 more yards until it emptied into a 10 foot wide paved walkway led to the vestibule and we were there. Security Escort Heart looked at me close for the first time and said, “I’ve heard of you.” I smiled and said, “Believe nothing you hear and half of what you see.” Heart smiled back and said, “But I’ve heard good stuff.”
I laughed, “Then you’ll have to wait and see I guess.”
Heart didn’t look like he knew what to do with my cryptic conversation. I looked up at the gun tower. Nobody was posted. The vestibule door was a thick metal barrier and painted green with a red metal handle next to it. I watched Security Escort Heart grab it and slam it back and forth to alert the tower guards he was ready for entry. A tower guard appeared above us and nodded at Heart. The vestibule door slid open with a grinding noise.
I walked in ahead of my escort and 20 feet later the building opened up. The gun tower was above me and a tower guard said, “Johnson you are in cell 211.” I looked up and nodded my head to acknowledge him and saw his block gun hanging from a shoulder strap, another Mexican guard. I heard cell 211 pop open and walked that way but not before taking in the building.
The building’s interior opened up with cell 150 on the bottom tier and cell 250 on the top tier, both on my extreme right. The cells counted backward down that wall and turned left at a right angle down the next row of cells before turning left again at another right angle down a row of cells to 1 on my extreme left.
I walked to cell 211 by way of the stairs to the left and circled back down the first row a little less than halfway. I knew that from inside the cell I’d have a good view of all the cells from 212 to 250. My vision started taking in the cells on both tiers for occupants. Almost every cell had a body and a pair of eyes studying me. This kind of vigilance was normal for an intake building. This was where the study of arriving inmates started.