From the August 7 edition of Street Roots.
Greetings!
Well friends, I believe we left off in Vacaville Prison in northern California. I had just come back from the movies where I had quite an experience. Things were pretty routine after the initial settling in.
On several different occasions I happened to see Charles Manson. I’m sure you all have heard of him. It seems ol’ Charles was trying to win some friends there at Vacaville, so he decided to buy every dorm a color television. Trouble with that was nobody wanted anything from the little weasel. I don’t care much for Charles. He was always escorted by two or three correctional officers wherever he went. It wasn’t for our protection, but his.
Well, I had finished my intake and was on my way to Chino, which is way down in southern California. Now, during your intake an inmate may choose three prisons where he would like to go and they say they will try to send you there. My three choices were California Men’s Colony, San Quentin Ranch and Folsom Ranch, where I had once been. These prisons are all in northern California, so of course they sent me in the opposite direction: Chino State Prison.
So here I am now in Chino State where, once again, we were all put in lock-down for two weeks so they could get all our paperwork in order. You’d think after spending three months in Vacaville they’d have everything in order, but not the state of California. Time went by fast, though, and I was placed as a clerk in the captain’s office. I was in a two-man cell, which was only locked at 10 at night till about six in the morning. The rest of the time we were free to roam around.
Now, Chino was a huge prison. They had correctional officers driving around the prison in cars like a regular town. It had a small golf course, several weight yards, and a gymnasium. Why, there was even a swimming pool right outside my dorm across from the Captain’s office where I worked. That made it real handy on hot summer days, and there were a lot of them in southern California.
I only had about 14 more months to do so I was considered short (as time goes) when I arrived there.
My work days were great as I worked for a Sergeant Garcia — a blonde, good-looking woman named Debbie who had a boyfriend who worked on the border patrol for California (no relation).
Debbie and I hit it off right away. I worked mostly as her clerk so we got to know each other quite well. She informed me that she boxed and was quite good, and she showed me pictures and articles of some of her bouts. Debbie also did commercials for Everlast. She said she was working as a correctional officer to keep herself in money while all the time hoping to break into movies. I guess that is a lot of people’s dreams down in Southern California, Why, even I wanted to be an actor later on in life when I lived in Hollywood for a short period. The phase passed, though.
The six hours we spent together every day just seemed to fly by. I was actually enjoying being locked up. We were becoming quite close. I would pick fresh flowers out of the garden every day and place them on her desk. Sometimes if the mood struck me I would write a poem along with the flowers. Hey, come on people, I was trying to make life as easy as I could for myself, OK? Besides, she was awful easy on the eyes.
However, my cellmate told me I was crazy to get involved with her; said I was going to get my ass in real trouble. I told him I was being real careful, besides, I said to Joe (not his real name), “You are the one who needs to be careful.”
Joe played in a band called Rough on the Streets, and he said he sold drugs on the side. Well, he kept some of his old life in prison. He played his guitar and sang and sold marijuana on the side. Seems like everyone knew it. I was surprised the officers didn’t. Well, turns out they did. About a week later one of the officers we named “Snake” because he would always sneak around, was hiding up in a tree and watched Joe make a sell to another inmate. Snake jumped down from the tree and scared the hell out of the two perpetrators. The Snake had struck again!
My cellmate was led away in handcuffs, and I was still writing poems and clipping roses for Debbie. The only problem was, although I liked Debbie, I was not in love with her. I mean, come on, I was in prison and I was trying to make time as easy as I could. However, Miss Debbie Garcia was becoming quite attached to yours truly.
On the one day we didn’t work together she worked in one of the guard towers. She would call me three or four times a day from there. My coworkers were getting pissed. You know what jealousy does to people. I found out one day when I was standing out by the pool talking to someone who was in the water. Well, ol’ friend, seems that they had it all planned. The guy in the pool distracted me while the other guy came up behind me and pushed me in, Clothes, boots and all. Everyone got a real laugh out of that. I took it in stride. It was all done in fun, and besides, it was a hot day.
Well, while I am going back to my cell to change I guess it would be a good time to stop before we start on my story about the “Birdman of Chino.” Please stay tuned! Semper Fi!
Art Garcia is a Vietnam War veteran who returned home to a dubious life involving some colorful incarcerations. He is the author of “Memoirs of a Vietnam vet,” a collection of his columns published in Street Roots.