“You can’t always get what you want but if you try sometimes, I think you’ll find, you get what you need.”

— Rolling Stones

Misconceptions about what prison life is like abound among those who teach, profess, train, advise, consult or even anticipate being “inside”. It’s not what you think it’s like. Politicians bravely talk about their fearless approach to being locked up; criminals brag about being able to easily do time “standing on their heads;” even journalists who pontificate about their own brave approach to their work — not to mention all of the educators who train people in mental health and criminal justice — who themselves have never stepped foot in a jail or prison cell. Here’s a snapshot of one of the more infamous prisons in New York State where I spent nearly 5 years writing after paying heavily for Freedom of Speech. Compliments of the criminal justice system in the Hamptons — where Southampton and East Hampton are continuing to scare the shit out of Latinos and Blacks.

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“Don Dada,” said DeMoney, 

“Jesus,” I said, “not again.”

“It’s the Don of all Dons,” he laughed, his belly hanging without his shirt on after his shower, standing by his cube locker and eating.

“Tell you what DeMoney, when we get out of here you can buy me a drink.”   

“Absolutely,” he said, his corpulent body hanging over the sides of his State issue green pants.

“Parole’s good. That’s on 40th street, right?”

“The place is a few blocks from Parole. But we’re gonna meet an’ have a ‘Casa la Dragon!”

“What?”

“We gonna’ have a shot a ‘Casa la Dragon’. Two hunnert a shot. A bottle cost ten thousand.” 

He was a high-flying drug dealer, in his mind. I called him Chapo, after his hero Chapo Guzman.

“Holy shit. What is that?” 

“It’s Tequila. The Best.”

“Whatever you say. As long as I’m out of here, I don’t give a shit what I’m drinking.”

I went back to my book, Concrete Blonde, another Michael Connelly classic, with Detective Harry Bosch; the depressed, heavy-drinking, heavy-smoking, creation of a guy who apparently knew cops and their foibles. It made me think that with a few running details writers like Lee Child and his character Jack Reacher had managed to create a lucrative franchise. All they had to do was keep a running tab on the names of the girls and the incidents, like Harry Potter — and they became millionaires.

How would the exploits of Don Dada play out in SoHo and the Hamptons?

But, there were no corrupt politicians in their books. 

Mine would be ABOUT corrupt politicians. Cervantes would be my ideal. 

The Reveries of Don Dada, slaying corrupt politicians in the Hamptons and uncovering the money trail in SoHo. They’d install a windmill in the prison for him to tilt.

Or, would Sing-Sing be more likely?

Sing-Sing was like part of my genetic tree. Old Uncle Tommy Rice, who’d been picked up in the twenties for driving a getaway car, spent time in Sing-Sing after a stint at Dannemora, known as Clinton Correctional Facility. He’d done 13 years there. Apparently, his bid was followed up by that of a series of mobsters, like Lucky Luciano, who was deported back to Italy.

There were inmates in this prison that looked back wistfully upon their time spent in Sing-Sing. Charlie, the black former cop often said that he’d go back there in a heartbeat. And, if only half of the stories were true, it was no surprise.

Recently, Donald Trump, who formerly was a real estate developer had offered to buy the prison. While there were some who believed that he should spend time there, along with many of the bankers who created the mortgage-led economic meltdown of 2007-2008, his particular connections were part of an investor-led offer to buy the prison and create condominiums. For certain wealthy adventurers there was a certain allure for owning and living in a former prison, if only briefly. 

The French had developed holiday travel packages that arranged weekends in former jails, replete with bars.

“I’d  go back there in a minute,” said Charlie, the 50 year old black Law Library clerk who’d been ‘in the system’ for almost 30 years for killing his wife and dumping her body in the East River. 

It was hard to get confirmation on certain details and negotiating with a killer was tricky. Charlie spoke as he peered over my shoulder in the Law Library while I typed.

“Why?” I asked. We were in a Medium which was supposed to be an easier bid.

“S’better, tha’s all.” he said tersely. 

“Better how?”

“You can get anythin’ you want,” he said, smiling.

It sounded like a line from ‘Alice’s Restaurant.’ 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m tellin’ ya. Place is wide open.”

CO Sampson, an outgoing and relatively normal cop that had been on duty the night before at the Law Library had drawn them a picture of Sing-Sing that one might doubt. 

“The place is old,” he said. 

His relatively small gut, only 50 pounds of excess, made him appear to be in shape. He’d been one of the cops who’d taken me out of the line with the help of one of his buddies, Officer Lalone. Harry had been the victim of a surprise “Piss Test” that threatened him with the Box if he failed. 

“But, what’s it like?” I asked.

“I worked in D Block. Has about a hundred cells with two guys in a cell and 5 tiers. So, you come into a room that’s about the size of a football field with rows of cells on five levels.”

“Like home?”

“Yeah, it’s high and long an’ the top two tiers have metal cages so ya can’t throw anybody off the top,” he laughed.

“Safety first,” I offered.

“Yeah, whatever,” he  laughed. “An’ it’s a place that takes gettin’ used to – I’ll tellya that.”

“What’s the population like?” 

“Everything. You name it.”

“I hear stories about what life is like there.”

“Probly all true,” he said. “You got women, drugs, cash.” 

“Women?”

“Oh, hell yeah. Listen, you got women COs sellin’ sex right outina open there.”

“WHAT?”

He laughed. “The women COs can either wear pants or they can wear skirts. That’s sort of an advertisement.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Yeah,” he said, “the other COs just look the otha way. So, the ones that wear skirts, they back up to a cell, lift the back of their skirt and it’s party time. There’s always some guy lookin’ for a piece. You can always get it there if you can afford it.”

“What if you can’t afford it?”

“Yeah, well, one time I was on duty and this guy’s got his dick out an actin’ like he was advertising himself, y’know, he’s got a dick about nine inches long stickin’ out from inside his cell and I see him an’ I’m comin’ along, take out my baton and smack down hard on it. Gave him a good hit. I heard him groaning all night. He never did that again.

“Bad for business, I guess?”

I asked Charlie about Sing-Sing.

“Was it really so out there and obviously available. I mean, the sex?”

“Yeah,” he said, briefly, as was his manner. 

“So, what was the going rate?”

“Y’know, maybe $25 for a blowjob, from $50 to $200 for a fuck. Depends. You had everything. Black, white, wearin’ a skirt or, sometimes the women would wear pants that had a hole inna back. She just backed up to the cell. Or, sometimes they had a cell that they used for the bigger bucks.”

“Was there actual cash used there?”

“Oh, yeah, you can get anythin’ you want there. And you, an older white guy, you coulda had anythin’ you wanted there and nobody’d eva botha you.”

“Hmmm,” I said.

“An’ any kinda drugs you want. Absolutely anythin’.”

Sampson also described the visiting policy, which was the same in all Max facilities. Visiting was allowed  every day, as opposed to in Mediums where visiting was only permitted on weekends. This made no sense. If an inmate were less of a threat, shouldn’t he and his family have MORE privileges?

“They call it FRP, the Family Reunion Plan,” he said, leaning back in his chair during the evening Mod of the Law Library. Only one guy was using the computer to research his case but he was also getting an earful.

“What’s that?”

“Trailers, basically,” he laughed. “The Max facilities provide trailers that the inmate and his family can stay in for the weekend. Sometimes it works out.”

“What do you mean, sometimes?”

He laughed. “Well, I was only on the job for a few months when I had duty watching the trailer. One guy had coupla kids up but it was his sister-in-law, supposedly, visiting. I mean, what do I care, but some of the visits were hairy.”

“Why?”

“Well, like one night I’m on duty and allofa sudden, this guy an’ his ‘sister-in-law’ are obviously high on somethin’ and they come out of the trailer stark naked and runnin’ around pinching each other and she’s flickin’ his dick and I’m tryin’ to figure out what you’re supposed ta do.”

I laughed. “So what did you do?”

“I din’ know WHAT to do, I called my supervisor an’ we tol’ him to get back into the trailer. Nobody wanted to make a big thing about it and rack up all kinds of overtime to be makin’ out reports an’ all that shit. We jus’ let it go. But, I’ll tell ya’ it was fuckin’ weird. And, lemme tell you they were VERY fucking high. Very fucked up on some shit. Likely heroin.” 

“Nice family reunion. Bet the kids enjoyed it too.”

Sing-Sing started to sound like a movie set. 

“And there was cash all over the place,” said Sampson.

“You mean, like green?”

“Oh, yeah, the place ran on cash. There were hundreds, thousands out an’ available at all times. It was layin’ out in the open in the cells sometimes. You want dope, sex, food, you name it. But, you hadda have cash. And, they were serious guys. Remember, some of them were not EVER getting out. This was their life. You didn’t fuck with it. Even cops. They’d kill you if you fucked with ‘em. What’d they have to lose?”

“Amazing.”

“And, lemme tell you, when I first arrived there, the place was like a Mall. You had one of the Sergeants outside in the parking lot operating a check-cashing service. Y’know a lot of us were from upstate and had no bank account. So, the guy had a van parked in the lot and you could cash your check with him.” 

“He sold lots a shit outta the van and took a piece of each check that he cashed. We were happy to do it, too.”

“I’m tellin’ ya. I’d go back there in a heartbeat,” added Charlie.

All I wanted to do was get out. Not move to a better place. Not have some female cop backed up to my cell for sex. There WAS no better place than home as far as I was concerned.

Copyright 2024 Gulag