My cellmate Tom moved out to tutor Soto to his GED certificate. The plan was no English in the cell, so Tom would become fluent in Spanish. A construction contractor before incarceration, Tom upon parole planned to purchase houses with his daughter to rehabilitate and flip. In the past, Tom bossed largely Hispanic crews, and he thought becoming really conversant would lend him an edge. I got at our housing unit officers about the plan. Well, really Ayala – Gonzo, his partner was not real communicative. A loose cannon, Gonzo spinned ’round and ’round wreaking havoc, finally coming to rest where no one imagined or understood. Ayala was the only guard who could work comfortably with Gonzo, they hung outside of work and frequently went on fishing trips. Their schedules overlapped four days a week, on the fifth day no one could predict what damage Gonzo would inflict while unmoored from Ayala. The only definite was there would be drama. I floated the concept that Tom would be tutoring Soto for some weeks and would return. Ayala kindly gave thumbs up. I’d be allowed to cell solo ’til July. I did miss Tom. After two years, we were brothers. Tom was a huge asset to the facility, coordinator or facilitator for several education and self-help programs. As a consequence, we always had a lot of traffic on our cell door, prisoners picking up or dropping off assignments. I did not miss the knocks on the door. With some weeks to go before Tom’s scheduled return, my cell door popped open. I peeked out, Gonzo was waving me to join him in the day room. I knew Ayala was off, so I was wary. Gonzo making decisions on his own never leads to a positive result. “Need a favor,” Gonzo started his pitch. What in our past history would make you believe I would ever do anything for you? I wondered and wanted to flee. “Need you to move in with Danny.” I knew Danny by sight but nothing more. “Why?”
“Why doesn’t matter!” Gonzo barked. And there’s the Gonzo I know. Need-a-favor Gonzo was unfamiliar. The barking, irrational, irritated Gonzo was the one I was acquainted. Simply looking at him, I stayed silent. “Are you refusing assigned housing?” Gonzo was all the way back in his groove. Refusing assigned housing has dramatic consequences. Loss of all personal property for ninety days for first offense. Second offense one hundred and eighty days. “No, I’m not refusing,” I answered speaking not to Gonzo but his body camera making a clear record in case a rules violation was in my near future. Truthfully, I had no intention of rolling over and complying with whatever bizarre concepts were bouncing ’round his empty head. “I will need to meet with Danny to see if we’re compatible.” At Gonzo’s direction, the Control Booth Officer popped open Danny’s door. Gonzo got at him, and it got sideways right away for Gonzo but good for me. “I told you days ago,” Danny came at Gonzo strong, “I want Slug as a cellie. If you need to cell me with someone, do my move.” Drifting a few steps away, I stopped listening. With Danny’s animated protests caught on body camera, I could easily say I was uncomfortable and had safety concerns. If Gonzo tried to force the move, I’d demand a video interview with the sergeant and ask him to review the surveillance. Finally, Gonzo was tired of arguing with Danny and went to compact him with Slug. “I know who you are,” Danny stuck out his hand. “Look, I know you’re not a creep. Hope I didn’t offend…” Shaking his hand, I interrupted, “You have plans. I get it.” Ayala was back the next day, and I knocked on the office door. “Thought I had ’til July.” “Yeah.” “Gonzo tried to force me in with Danny yesterday.” “Danny and Slug are compacting. Why didn’t you just put them together?” Ayala quizzed Gonzo. I slid out. Later, Ayala found me. “July.”
“Cool.” Just to stay well ahead of events, I got at Tom and ran down the move Gonzo tried to make and that Ayala had confirmed July. Looking pensive, Tom said carefully, “Soto’s working hard and he’s progressing but much slower than I imagined. I had him tested, he has a fifth grade reading level. There’s no disability, it’s just that he was working in the fields when he was a kid and wasn’t able to go to school. This is going to take time. If you want, I’ll move back in July and work with him in the day room.” Yes. “What are you comfortable with, Tom? Is this something you need to do?” “If he wasn’t doing the work and progressing, I’d feel different. Truthfully, I think a GED could completely change his trajectory. A GED certificate means nothing to you or me, but it’s huge to Soto and his family. Having me right there when he has a question has value. I think he’d continue if I moved out, but I’m not sure. What do you want to do?” “Stay with Soto,” I replied reluctantly. “I’ll find someone.” “If you don’t, I’ll…” “Don’t worry. You’re going home next year anyway, so I’m just finding someone sooner.”
The housing unit porters clean the floors, showers, distribute toilet paper, keep the building functioning and have their fingers on the pulse. I got at Shareef, the lead porter, and told him I was looking for a cellie. “You know that Hell’s Angel, Hog…” “Don’t think he’d be a good fit.” “No, Mike, he’s paroling. His cellie, KC, needs to find a bunk.” “KC, I know him a bit. Quiet, loner, always wears sunglasses.” “That’s him. You will have to be patient, he has some kind of mental health diagnosis and takes psyche meds every night. He’s respectful, and I think he’d be a good fit for you.” I knew Hog from AA, so l went to his cell. “Paroling soon?” “Couple weeks.” “I want to talk to KC about moving in.” “KC, you want to live with Mike?” “Yes.”
“Let’s talk about it.” I gestured for him to come out of his cell. We sat at a day room table, and I told him no drugs, no alcohol in the cell.” “Whatever you want.” KC moved in the next day. At first, KC didn’t talk much. I just thought he was kind of stupid and gave him space. KC then made the mistake of telling me Hog never spoke to him. Really? So I just started talking to him. How was breakfast? Great! How did you sleep? Fantastic! Always positive, always upbeat when he spoke to me. I found KC kind of awesome. Our schedules were good. I left for the Canteen before 8am and returned in the afternoon. KC left around 11:30am for Dining and came back around 6:30. This gave each of us a bit of alone time. Although KC would talk to me a bit and many of his remarks were insightful and interesting, my impression of him as a loner was accurate. Sometimes when he came home at night, I’d stop reading, and ask, “How was work?” No answer. I’d ask again. Silence. “KC, I’m going to keep asking ’til you answer.” Finally, he’d say, “Great!” I’d then respect his clear wish to be left alone. Every night at eight, KC would go and take medication for bipolar disorder. KC didn’t trust easily or many people, but he came to trust me. I helped him fill out an order form for a quarterly package to send to his family. “That’s all I need,” he said. “If there’s money left, you can spend it. Get whatever you want.” KC had a one hundred and fifty dollar budget, I added up his order and he’d spent fifty dollars. “We need to go through the catalog again, KC.” “The rest is yours.” “We’re not doing that.” We found more items he wanted. I let him buy me coffee because he took spoonfuls from my jar from time to time. KC literally didn’t know what time it is. One Saturday, noon passed by and he hadn’t gone to work. Finally at 2pm, I asked, “Taking the day off?”
“Still early. I have lots of time.” “It’s 2pm.” “Your radio says 10:41.” “When the radio’s on,” I’d been filling the cell with Alt rock all morning, “the display shows the radio station not the time. We’re listening to 104.1. It’s not 10:41, it’s two o’clock.” “Oh.” “You didn’t notice the time never changed all day?” “I was kind of wondering.” Pulling on his blues, KC jetted to work, but they told him to come back the next day. After I left for Canteen one morning, KC much like Mr. Magoo wandered out to the day room to shower before program opened at 8:30am. Gonzo caught him, ordered him home and wrote an out of bounds rule violation. “Did you know the day room wasn’t open?” “No.” “Want me to talk to Ayala or file an appeal?” “I wasn’t supposed to be out of the cell. My fault.” If it had been me, I would have known the day room was closed and I was committing a crime. KC had no clue. Towel on his shoulder he had walked right past the guards’ office door. I thought Gonzo should have verbally counseled him and sent him home. I felt annoyed and kind of mad. “If you’re not sure if it’s okay to shower and I’m not here to ask, go to the office without your shower stuff and ask the guards. They’ll let you know if the day room’s open.” “Okay.” Not too many days later, still irritated with Gonzo, I was walking through the day room just before eight heading for work when a porter asked me a question about Canteen. As I answered, I heard someone yelling, “Knapp! Knapp!” Suddenly, Gonzo got in my face. “Knapp! Day room is not open. Go home and I’m writing a rule violation.” “What was that, Torres?” “I’m Gonzo!” He answered angrily. “Torres is my female partner today. I’m also writing you for Disrespectful Conduct.” “I’m not an eighty year old sex offender preying on children.” “Oh, you’re not Knapp…” Gonzo groped for my name.
“Hunter. You wrote my cellie a bogus rule violation for Out of Bounds. Apparently, your ID’s are no good.” I turned and went to work. I was just messing with Gonzo. KC had admitted he was in violation, but I wanted to try and shake up Gonzo a bit. Felt he deserved some push back. The reality is if I’m having trouble navigating Gonzo’s Gauntlet, his crazy obstacles, KC with his mental health challenges had no chance. Ayala was back the next day, and I banged on the door yet again. “Yesterday, Gonzo pushed up on me in the day room to tell me it’s closed when all I did was stop on my way to work to answer a porter’s question about store. Look, your crew does a lot of work for you for very little money. Useless money if they can’t buy groceries. This is your house, your rules, and I don’t want a writeup. If you want me to ignore your workers, I’ll tell them you ordered me not to answer their questions and I’ll keep walking. Of course you’ll lose all of them at least the good ones to another housing unit. What do you want me to do?” Ayala looked surprised and looked over at Gonzo. “Hunter called me Torres,” he sniveled like a four-year-old. “I’d rather be an attractive, intelligent female officer than a child molester. Gonzo thought I was Knapp.” “Really! You think Hunter looks like Knapp?” “Kind of puts all his write-ups on blast due to suspect ID’s.” Gonzo went silent, staring at the floor. “If you have time, answer questions,” Ayala called the shot. I nodded. “You know when new arrivals are on Orientation, they’re confined to their cells until Classification. The thing is they still have the right to shop. Setting up a time with your boss and escorting them over is problematic. Can you help out?” “Let me know when they arrive, I’ll grab their order forms, bag up their groceries and hump them over for cell delivery.” “Good deal.” Ayala approved.
Bagging Orientation orders and carrying them across the yard to my housing unit at the end of my shift was tiresome and an unpaid hassle. The thing is I’d been the new guy just off the bus at a new facility before, so I just thought it the right thing, an asset to my housing unit. On my way one morning to pickup an Orientation order form, Gonzo said, “Hunter.” Got my name right. Impressive. “What’s up, Gonzo.” “What are you doing?” “Shareef told me there’s a new arrival. Picking up his form.” “Not right now.” “Emergency count? Should I take it home?” “No, you can go to work.” “I’ll grab the form and go.” “Not right now.” “I have to report to work in five minutes. It’s now or never.” “Go to work.” Shouldn’t be this hard to do the right thing, Gonzo makes it hard. Real hard! Shareef told me the next day, Ayala wanted to speak to me before I went to work. “New arrival yesterday,” Ayala clued me, “thought you were shopping them.” “Gonzo refused to let me pickup the order form.” Ayala looked at Gonzo. “I told him not right now.” “I couldn’t wait, I had work.” “Hunter is doing too much.” “If he doesn’t shop Orientation, we’ll have to do it,” Ayala spoke as if to a kindergartener. “Is that what you want?” “This is our house!” Ayala waved me away, and I no longer shopped Orientation. Sometimes new arrivals were escorted to Canteen, often they were not, so appeals were filed and sergeants became involved. Shopping new arrivals became another Gonzo Gauntlet, a steamy hot mess full of confusion and hurt feelings, just the way Gonzo preferred his program to limp along, really not working or an asset to anyone. After a while, Ayala retired, Gonzo without any guidance went wild with a series of partners, none of them lasted long, a few didn’t even complete a single shift. Eventually, Gonzo was assigned solo to a remote perimeter tower where he could do no harm.
-The End-
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