08 May 06

Frankie’s Chess Challenge (Part 2)

“Well George, you read the reader responses to Frankie’s chess challenge, and they quite rightly pointed out that I shouldn’t do the bet because there’s nothing in it for me. I have no desire to see Frankie’s arse.”
“Fuck the readers!” George said. “ Its an honour thing. A commitment is a commitment.”
“I didn’t commit,” I said. “I told him I’d think about it. A good idea would be if he would agree to let you do my butt-naked pushups if I lost.”
Frankie entered the cell.
“How come,” I asked Frankie, “you haven’t been over to play chess in a few weeks?”
“’Cause you copped outta the butt-nakeds,” Frankie said.
“He’s put you on shine status,” George said.
“How can I do this if all I win is seeing your arse?”
“Maybe I’ve gotta good ass,” Frankie said. “And I’ve read your readers' comments. They make me sound like I’m a mean guy. I’m not a mean guy”
“Wait a minute,” George said to Frankie. “You are mean. You’re mean to me. Very mean.”
“No I’m not,” Frankie said.
“Do I need to remind you?” George said.
“What about the bet?” I asked.
“When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” George said.
“And,” Frankie said, “you know I’m Caesar the Booty Pleaser. I’ll be gentle on you, Englandman.”
“Actually, Frankie,” I said, “George has agreed to do my pushups for me if I lose.”
“Then it’s gotta be more,” Frankie said.
“How many butt-naked pushups did you guys agree on?” George said.
“Ten,” I said.
“I want twice that amount,” Frankie said.
“Twenty?” I asked.
“No,” Frankie said. “I want more than pushups. They are eliminated if George stands in. I want some real action, you know what I mean, George?”
“No!” George said. “All I’ll do are his pushups at a dollar a time.”
“But what if I win?” I said.
“You get to watch him,” George said.
“What fun is that?” I said.
“Trust me,” Frankie said. “I’m a virgin.”
“I don’t see a virgin,” George said.
“If I put in a medical slip for an ass exam, it would come back rectus titus, but your ass, George, is big enough for a Greyhound bus to pass through it. And if Jon loses, well, you’ll see what a nice guy I can be.”
“Greyhound bus! I’m insulted you should say things like that about me,” George said. “There’s no talking to you. And as for you, Jon, you’re gonna hafta do your own fuckin’ butt-naked
pushups.” With that George stormed off.

What have I got into?

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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

06 May 06

My Comments On Your Comments

Thank you for the comments posted during the first quarter of 2006, which kept me amused and entertained – by reading them over and over again – during the hostage situation, and the subsequent lockdown.

Frankie’s Chess Challenge almost broke the comments record set by the Anal Virginity Threat about George’s glory hole argument. Comments such as TonyRob’s about Frankie burgling my buttcheeks gave me a laugh. Then there were people like Brian who seemed to want me to take the bet and lose so they could read the lurid outcome. More sensible advice came from Andrew M, Cheryl, David Vogel, and JMK. As I beat Frankie 274 – 239 in a recent four-month championship, I might take Chris H’s advice, and make the bet with a different stake.

Tommy was made up with the nine comments on Breast Reduction. Xena said reading your comments made her day. Two Tonys enjoyed responding to your questions, which provoked some unusual answers.

The comments following Am I Crazy? Were touching. Lady Arkles, Carl, and K made sense. As usual, Zen’s comment was poetic.

Cheryl and TonyRob want Long Island to start a blog, but I’ve not heard from him since his release.

Martha and JMK expressed sympathy about my relationship with Claudia. Although Claudia urged me to call her, she never answered the phone, so I stopped calling.

JMK pointed out my misuse of dawg, versus dog. Dawg means homey. I should have used dog for the context of dirty dog, not dawg. American pronunciations of dog and dawg sound similar to me. Cheryl asked if calling someone dog versus dawg would start a fight. I doubt it. Someone looking for a fight will use the tried and tested, ‘I’m callin’ you out, you punk-ass bitch.’ Fighting words indeed.

Carl commented about studying behavioural finance. As I’m looking do post-graduate study in that subject, I was hoping that Carl would email me more info.

Many thanks for all your comments. Keep them coming.

Good lookin’ out, dawgs!

Coming soon: Two Tonys and Xena answer your questions.

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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

04 May 06

Final Special Visit

8:05am “Dog 11, stand-by for special visit.”

8:15am Two guards arrived.
“I’m ready,” I said.
“Hold up. We’re gonna hafta strip you out.”
That’s odd, being strip-searched going out, I thought. It must be an additional security measure.

8:25am I was escorted into the visitation room.
“He can’t come in here. This is my command post,” a sergeant yelled.
Oh no, they’re going to cancel the visit.
Officer Rossini appeared and said, “I’m going to escort you to a different room, a conference room. And the visit has only been approved for three hours.”
Only three hours instead of six and a half. But at least it’s not completely cancelled.

8:30am The conference table in the room caused flashbacks to my stockbroking days. Pitching stocks to clients. The view of Camelback Mountain from our high-rise. Power sales meetings. Rowdy New York Italian co-workers. Receiving awards for high commissions.. Worshipping Wall Street and Mammon.

8:35am Dad and sister arrived.
“I thought I wasn’t going to get to see you two again any time soon.”
“I noticed,” Dad said. “You should have seen your face yesterday. You turned as white as a ghost, and if you’d had hair, it would have stood on end.”
We laughed.
“We’ve only got three hours,” I said.
“It’s better than nothing,” Karen said.

9:00am The DW passed by and we thanked her.

11:30am The visit ended.
“This might be the last time I see you in a while. They may not allow your final visit,” I said.
We hugged.
“I’ll call the prison on Saturday, and we’ll see if they’ll let us in,” Dad said.
“Thanks for coming. It’s been great seeing you.”
“Goodbye Jon,” Karen whispered, tears running down her cheeks. “Love you.”
“Love you,” I said.
“See you, Jon,” Dad said. “Love you.”
“Love you.”

11:45am I was told to wait in the outdoor visitation area until a guard could be found to conduct a strip-search. In the main visitation area, dozens of guards were eating pizzas.

12:15pm I was suddenly surrounded by staff members. C03 Dunn, wearing a yellow shirt and a Stetson, asked how my visits had been. Some guards discussed how they had considered resigning during the hostage situation. Everyone laughed when Officer Stewart – who looks more like a model than a guard – tried to respond to a radio call with a mouth full of pizza. A C03 said sixty pizzas had been ordered. Warden Mann, the boss of Tucson prison, arrived.

12:45pm I was summoned to be strip-searched.
“How’d yer visits go?”
“Great. I was lucky to have them under the circumstances.”
“When’s yer next visit?”
“This weekend. But I don’t think we’ll be off lockdown by then, so its not looking good. I don’t think they’ll allow a special visit on a regular visitation day if we’re still locked down. People would complain if I got special treatment.
“Did you ask the DW about that?”
“Yes. But we’re just grateful for what we’ve been allowed so far.”
“We do have searches and an investigation going on. Prisoners are getting upset, because they don’t want to miss their weekend visits, but they hafta realise there’s security procedures we hafta go through.”
“It was good the hostage didn’t get hurt.”
“She was all shook up though.”
“I’ll bet she was. Do you think we’ll spend the weekend on lockdown?”
“It depends on prisoner attitudes. If people stay calm and ride it out, things will get back to normal. The problem is some people have made things worse. Like a group of prisoners yelling at a female C03, ‘Come and sit on my face.’ When the DW hears stuff like that it’s not gonna help you guys get off lockdown. Another prisoner who was getting stripped out threw his T-shirt at a guard."

The regular Saturday weekend visitation was cancelled, and the prisoners were still on lockdown when Derick and Karen flew back to the UK on Monday 8th May.

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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

03 May 06

My Sister in Tears

8:01am Two guards delivered breakfast: pancakes, hot cereal, syrup, peanut butter, an
apple and milk.
“Did you get your visit yesterday?”
“No.” I said. “I spoke to the DW and she said we're going to be locked down for a few days.”
“Damn. That’s rough. And they came all the way from England, right?”
“Yes. The trip cost thousands of dollars, and they only came here to see me.”
“You should see if DOC will pay for the trip.”
“We’ll see what happens. I’ve got visits until the weekend. Maybe we’ll get off lockdown by then.”

8:47am “Dog 11, stand by for a special visit. Get ready.”
How the hell did that happen? Perhaps the DW reconsidered. Maybe they came down here and pled their case. I’d better hurry up and get dressed.

9:05am “How did you manage to get in?” I asked Dad.
“I called down here, and they said it was approved. DW Wallace must have given her permission.”
“You must have felt frustrated when you couldn’t get in yesterday.”
“It was terrible,” Karen said. “My stomach was in knots. I was throwing up all day.”
“We saw it on the news on Monday night,” Dad said. “A reporter was standing in front of the prison, and as soon as he mentioned Santa Rita, I thought, bloody hell - it’s going to be a lockdown and we won’t get in.”
“What did the news say?”
“A woman guard was held hostage for six hours by a prisoner who demanded to be transferred to Montana.”
“Any weapons involved or did she get hurt?”
“He had razor blades but he didn’t hurt her.”
“It’s a good job nobody got hurt. Last night it looked like a scene from Star Wars in here with all the storm troopers wearing protective gear. Did the news say how it ended?”
“They told him,” Karen said, “they’d move him to Montana, so he gave up and they moved him alright: straight to SMU [Special Management Unit] in Florence.”
“Perhaps he was doing a copycat of the Morey standoff, because one of the prisoners involved – Steven Coy – got transferred to Maine. He raped a guard and a kitchen worker, and he got seven consecutive life sentences plus one-hundred-and-fifty-two years. But if he was already serving life, the additional time means nothing.”
“Well, we got in today,” Dad said.“We’ve only lost one visit, so we didn’t do too bad.”
“How’s Mum taking it?”
“We told her we’d try and get in today,” Dad said, “ and that if we weren’t answering the hotel phone, that means we got in. So by now she’ll know where we are.”
“Great.”

2:30pm Visit ended.

“Do you think I should ask Officer Rossini whether we need to call the prison before we come tomorrow?” Dad asked.
“If they let you in today, you should be all right for the rest of the week,” I said.
“That’s no guarantee. We’d better ask,” Karen said.
We approached Officer Rossini.
“Officer, do you think we should call tomorrow before we come out here?” Dad asked.
“Let me call the DW and find out.”
A few minutes later, Officer Rossini emerged from her office with an uncomfortable look on her face. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news but the DW said no."
“No what?” Dad asked. “That we don’t need to call or we can’t have the visit?”
“That you can’t have the visit.”
I felt sick. Dad and Karen looked devastated.
“I’d like to speak to the DW,” Karen said, tears welling in her eyes.
“Let me call her again. Actually there she is. Maybe she’ll talk to you in person.” Officer Rossini hand signalled the DW who came through security doors and joined us.
“Thank you very much,” Dad said,” for allowing us to visit today.”
“You’re welcome,” DW Wallace said.
“Is it not possible for us to come tomorrow?” Dad asked.
“The prison is going to be locked down for the next few days while we do our investigation. I spoke to Jon, and I was able to give you today’s visit, but tomorrow’s not possible."
Dad and Karen both started to speak at once.
“One at a time please,” DW Wallace said.
Karen broke down. “I’ve not seen - sniff – my brother in two years – sniff-sniff. That’s all I am here for – sniff – just this one week – sniff-sniff – to see my brother."
“We’ve had this trip planned all year,” Dad said. "We’ve come five-thousand miles at considerable cost, just to see Jon. All of these visits were approved by the prison, and we’ve already lost one visit.”
“Which visit did you lose?”
“Yesterday's.”
“And when do you go back to England?”
“Monday.”
She thought for a minute and said, “Right, here’s what I’m going to do. I’ll authorise tomorrow’s visit, but if anything, and I mean anything, goes wrong on the yard during the visit, we’ll have to send you home.”
“I understand that,” Dad said.
We thanked the DW and after she departed, we praised our luck. We said goodbye.
After I was strip searched, the guard asked, “Did you have a good visit?”
“Yes. It was great. It’s just bad timing with this hostage situation.”
“That guy was crazy pulling that stunt.”
“I understand you have security procedures to follow.”
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t be punished 'cause of one idiot.”
“I think the DW sees it that way. We’re lucky she’s kept some of the visits going considering what’s happened.”

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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

02 May 06

Hostage Situation (Part 2)

5:50am Should I get up? I thought. I’ve got to look out the window to see what’s going on.

5:52am Not a soul near Building 2. Good.
No kitchen workers in Yard 4’s chow hall. Bad.
Mixed signals. Are we still locked down?

6:01am Ah, two kitchen workers and a guard in the chow hall. A good sign. I’d better start preparing for the visit. It seems that things are back to normal. And I spent hours last night stressing out. What an idiot I am.

7:17am Why no stand-by for chow? The hostage situation seems to be over. Surely it’s back to business as usual? I hope there’re not going to punish us all by keeping us locked down for days on end. Here comes the nurse distributing meds - a good sign.

7:21am Kitchen workers started to deliver chow to Building 1.

7:30am “I’ve got a special visit today. Are we still on IMS?” I asked Officer Marquez.
“We are on IMS.”
“But the situation on Yard 2 is resolved right?”
“Yeah. But who knows if you’ll get your visit.”

7:36am Breakfast arrived. Tortillas, refried beans, shredded cheese, salsa, and applesauce.
“Do you think I’ll get the visit?”
“I dunno,” Officer Marquez said. “I can ask.”
“OK.”

9:00am Why haven't I been called out for the visit? Obviously, I’m not getting a visit today. If I miss one, it’s no big deal. There’s three remaining. Making four out of five wouldn’t be too bad. Perhaps they just need a day to get back to normal.

9:40am Two guards appeared. Trash collectors.
“I’m supposed to have a visit today with my family who flew in from England.”
“We can tell yer not lying. You’ve certainly got the accent.”
“I’m certainly not lying.”
“The DW's walking round right now. You’ll soon be able to ask her.”
The DW was outside Junior Bull’s cell, working her way around the run, coming in my direction.

9:45am “My family have flown from England, and I’m supposed to have a special visit today.”
“You won’t have it,” DW Wallace said.
“What about the rest of the week? That’s all we’ve got left before they fly home.”
“You’re gonna be locked down for a few days. I don’t know about the weekend,” she said and walked away.

I might not be seeing my dad and sister for a while. I don’t understand this. If kitchen workers can walk around, why can't I? If the situation is resolved, then what’s the big deal about letting me walk to the visitation area? Maybe my dad and sister will get a better opportunity than I did to plead our case. I'm sure they'll speak to someone here and try to get in somehow.

11:30am I wondered whether my dad and sister would be allowed in tomorrow.

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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

30 April 06

Hostage Situation (Part 1)

4:15pm “Surprise cell inspection,” Officer Rivero said, entering my cell.
“Uh-oh,” I replied, acting surprised, although I’d heard him say the same thing to my neighbours, giving me just enough time to chuck the clutter on the countertops into the drawers.
“It’s quite clean in here,” he said.
“Thanks.”
He ticked my name on his clipboard, and continued down the run.

4:25pm Officer Rivero sprinted across the rec area and out of Yard 4 into Yard 2. Numerous officers from all directions were running toward Yard 2. I assumed there had been a fight or an assault on a guard.

5:40pm Kitchen workers, ordered to return to their cells, were yelling:
“We’ve got another hostage situation!”
“A hostage has been taken on Yard 2!”

My heart sank. A previous hostage situation at Buckeye had lasted for fifteen days, making it the longest prison hostage standoff in US history. On January 18th 2004, two prisoners – Steven Coy and Ricky Wassenaar – took a male and female guard hostage in the guard tower, where the female was raped. During the crisis, inmates were not allowed out of their cells, and didn’t get food for several days.

My dad and sister have travelled so far to see me, I thought. Unless there’s a swift resolution to this situation, I might not get to see them. How will they feel if they are turned away tomorrow?

6:05pm Guards amassed on Yard 2, and put ladders up to the roof.

6:25pm Why's this got to happen right now? How soon before everything is back to normal? Calm down. There’s absolutely nothing I can do. What’s going to happen is going to happen. And what about the person who’s been taken hostage? How do you think he or she feels right now? A person’s life is on the line. I feel sick. Stop pacing the cell and go back to reading.

6:34pm Strategic Response Team (SRT) members arrived at Yard 2 in flatbed trucks.

6:35pm SRT members marched into Building 2. Yard 2 had begun to look like a scene from a war movie.

6:37pm More SRT arrived.

6:43pm A floodlight was shone over Building 2, lasting ten seconds.

6:46pm Another truckload of SRT arrived.

6:54pm The setting sun turned the mountain behind Building 2 pink, adding to the surrealism. SRT members extracted equipment from the trucks.

8:00pm Darkness. Bats swooped around the yard lights catching moths. Another truckload of SRT members passed by.

8:47pm “Are you a regular or a diet?” asked a guard at the door.
“Diet. I’m a lacto,” I said.
“We’re serving regulars right now, but I gotcha,” he said – meaning he may or may not be back with my food at some hour of the night.

9:15pm I ate peanut butter and crackers as I didn’t fancy staying awake for black beans and mashed potatoes.

9:30pm Shoved wet toilet paper in my ears and went to bed – still worried about the visits.

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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood