Most of the time that l was at SNF l lived in Lassen Hall,South, Room 236. One night, as we gathered on our tier for the 10:30PM lockup, my friend Waynen who lived in room 232, greeted me as he passed toward his room and said "Yeah, l'm back".
"Back from where?"l asked.
"Outside" he said. "l paroled out of here Monday, but l didn't make it".
"What went wrong?"
"Well uh, l got busted."
"Oh, so you didn't just come back on your own. Why'd they bust you?"
"Stole a bus".
"A bus?"
"Yeah, a Greyhound".
Well,at least he didn't have to settle for a Trailways. But his Parole lasted less than twelve hours. In talks we had after that, l learned that he had spent about half his life (he was about 18 or so) in some sort of detention. He had very little education and even less work experience. No family, no friend with the ability to
take him in or help him out. Bottom line; when it came to the stuff he needed to support himself in a "free enterprise" system, he had less than zip. He had "sent
himself back, before.( l think, more than once). So why wait until your cold and hungry and having spent the last of the few bucks that DOC put in your "going out" bag.
Most of my life, l've been the type who is asleep thirty-five seconds after ear touches pillow. l've never actually clocked it. (l don't think that would be possible.)Oh, l have had my share of tossing and turning trying to put whatever failure, crisis, or triumph (like the night of the first day l smoked weed) But l
diverge. lt took probably an hour or more imagining Wayne's future as well as
well as what his growing-up might have been like, before l could sleep that night. l was acutely aware, as l laid there how private, quiet, comfortable, con-
venient, and immaculately uncluttered my cell was. And it was exactly like Wayne's and every body else's at SNF. That's just the room; check the dining hall. Three hot, nutritious, highly palatable meals, seven days a week. Recreation, including a multi-purpose building with a regulation NBA court with
fold-up bleachers. A Cinemascope movie screen and projection equipment and
a thousand folding chairs. Up against the Gym's south wall, was a stage, on which the Drama Club's plays are presented. the dressing rooms are easily accessed at both ends of the stage's rear wall. Outside, l'm not a regular movie-
goer, but l tried to attend as many events as l had time for, just to get points for
mixing in and participating. Within reason, activities and pleny of them combined with the absence of disciplinary write-ups are the keys to an EARLY
parole date.
No description of the phisical environment at SNF is complete without inclusion
of the Yard. lt's a six-acre grassy field, the shape of a long ellipse. On it's South
end, is the kitchen and mess hall, with the maintenance shops to the west of them. On the South side Lassen and Shasta housing units. On the North side,are Staff offices and the recreation building. And at the East end a 16 foot high Chain link fence, closing the space between staff offices and Shasta housing. A ten ft. wide asphalt path the circles the grassy field within about fifty feet of the surrounding buildings. During days with good weather (and Monterey
County has a lot of that.) a hundred or more inmates can be seen walking that
path. lt's the one, easily-accessed place where people can talk with a chance of
being over-heard.(unless the talkee is wearing a wire). Nothing l ever said, while walking in the yard needed to be concealed.(and l think most of my fellow inmates could say the same) But it felt good to know that your conversation was
most likely private. lt was pretty much the only good place to have conversation
there were chairs and tables near the TV area but they were usually occupied by
domino players. Visitinf your friend in yours or his room was not allowed.So if one had something to say that might take a while,he'd probably spend some time in the yard.
A few weeks after my first parole board hearing, l completed the first painting l'd ever done that depicted a human being. He was a soldier, on a battlefield
who was at his buddy's grave, placing his rifle,with bayonet fixed and his helmet on top at the head of the grave, like a tombstone. His back is to the viewer. lt
wasn't my favorite work.ln fact, l didn't like it. But l told myself it was the subject that l didn't like and hung it out to dry. By week's end it was completely dry. The "Art Shed" was closed on weekends , so after work on Monday, l went by the place just to take a look at "One's End Of Days", with hope that l might find it more likeable. l didn't see it right away,so l went to the counter to ask Carl T'souvas ( the staff person in charge of the Art Shed) where he put "One's End.
"That painting was not good. Really a waste of materials. l painted over it with
white Jesso and put it back with the blank canvasses. You may want to try that one again." My response was pure reaction; no thought, no argument and no forgiveness. l cleared my throat and spat a big one sort of aimed at his tie knot.
lt was close, hit the second button below the knot. l'll have you know that l was not proud of that act, in fact l had never before intentionally spat on someone
nor have l since. l don't remember even thinking to spit on Carl. lt really was pure reaction. Don't think l hesitated to use that in my defense. None was really needed, though, while l was "written up" for it, there was no punishment connected to it. The "write-up" simply and accurately stated the facts of the incident without assigning blame. That pleased me but l thought l might
deservably encounter this at my next parole hearing.
Hey, reader,are you thinking that Soledad is one lockup yhat has no sweet heart guard that thinks he's the inmates' mama? No worries, guys. For all of Lassen Hall, was "Mama Bart" Braden. We actually called him just plain "Mama" and
he loved it.Despite that he was all masculine male hetro w/ wife and kids but
the title seemed to please and benefit us. l was about to say that there had been a "mama" guard at every lockup l'd been in, but then remembered that
they were absent at LACJ and the chino adjustment center. At least in the areas where l had been kept.
The Drama Club at SNF was the child of David Posner, a former Hollywood maven w/ experience as Director, Producer and Actor. l'm not familiar with his
Perpetratory history (l never asked;he never volunteered) but thru the grapevine it was said that he was doing five years to life, had at that time (1960) already served nine years and would not see the parole board again for another six years. He was a great drama teacher. He had started the club at Soledad Central in his second year there. By his third year, he had taught and trained the actors, the set builders, the make up artists,lighting crew and evena couple of guys that handled publicity who actually persuaded people from
surrounding towns to attend, using targeted mailings. He moved his whole operation from Central Facility to the then new first faze of Soledad North.
He was moved to the second faze of SNF just a couple of months before l arrived there. Dave was also a fellow member of Rabbi Hazelkorn's counseling
group, as well as Bernard Zakheim's group. That's where we met. ln the time
l was at SNF l had two small parts in two, one act plays, "the Caine Mutiny Courts Martial" and "Hope is the thing with feathers". Deep, huh? Ha.
l sure didn't want to lose access to the paint shed, so a few days after l spat on Carl, l stopped by his office and apologized for my poor behavior. He was very nice. He explained that he thought, (and he's the guy with the art degree)that
"One's end of Days" was not up to my standard of painting. he thought it's
presence among paintings on display ar SNF would be detrimental to my status.
He said he should have told me as much before cancelling it. Since l had a pretty low opinion of it, myself, but hoped it might grow on me, l felt that he was right. He really did know art and he liked all of my other paintings.After that, l made a lot of paintings that we both liked. He was also a painter but l never saw any of them since he worked at home and never brought any of his work to SNF. He turned me on to sculpture,(at least as a spectator sport) and l did a few small carvings that might have been useful as fragrant firewood. By
the time l was released, we had become good friends and fellow artists. To this day Carl remains the guy that taught me the most about art. And on my last day at SNF he presented me with a foot-tall statue of a Falcon carved in stone.
He said he hoped the Falcon's presence would push me to really get into sculpture.
c
Thursday, March 24, 2016
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Employed 11 part 2
l probably would have kept the dictation secretary job thruout my stay at SNF, but for a couple of things: First, while the work itself was fine (l loved listening to such private and life-related work, especially considering my interest in psychology in general and my own personal needs in that area...) But the other two people who worked in the same office as l, were old-school professional
crooks, neither of whom was any fun; the few times l saw either of them smile or laugh, they were looking back at a moment when they had hurt or maimed someone in the course of their "work". l didn't want to become friend or enemy
to those two. l must mention here that about five years after l finished my sentence at SNF, l found myself in a slow-moving line at the main P.O. in San Jose, Ca. and gave my attention to the always-interesting list of the FBl's ten
most-wanted fugitives. And, there he was, Gerald Z., one of the two guys l shared the office with. Right, he was wanted for murdering someone and taking
a bunch of their money. Secondly, my new friend Chuck C. worked at SNF in
maintenance. His job was glazier and locksmith. At that point, the new prison,
SNF, was at about 1/2 it's designed capacity but was growing fast. The larger the population, the more maintenance. (Replacing broken windows, adjusting and or repairing locking mechanisms). So l became Chuck C.'s helper, and a
member of Mr. Price's "maintenance mob". Soon after l started at maintenance,
they relieved us of the glazier work; that became a seperate department, as did
locksmithing.
Chuck and l worked well together and became good friends. We are in touch to this day. Most of our locksmith work was repairing " door ajar detection systems, which, in short prevented the deadlock from sliding into place when any cell door on the same tier is ajar. A design flaw had allowed for easy failure
of the machanism, leaving us with a difficult two-man, two hour procedure to
restore normal operation. The failure was so common that, most days we'd have
two or three work orders for them every day. A few days after l started in maint-
enance, Chuck and l got permission from Mr. Price to spend some time closely
observing some of the scheduled door-openings in an effort to learn why so many of the door-ajar systems were failing. lt took only a few minutes at our first stop (10am opening in Lassen Housing unit...Chuck's and my home unit)
to see what the answer was: The guard, impatient with the inmates taking too much time to get into their cells, grab what they need and get back out of the cell and let the doors close, while he repeatedly shouts "doors close" punctuated
by the sound of hammer blows on steel, made by slamming the long-handled locking lever against it's stopping pin, over and over and over again. Price, who
preferred not to be called Mr. Price, said he'd talk to Deputy Warden Hatch, who
would call the problem to the attention of all guards with shifts at SNF and ask them to do their best to avoid breakage. lmmediately, the number of work orders to repair door systems dropped precipitously. For some weeks, maybe
a couple months, not one was seen. By the time l started working in Maintenance, l had already hooked up with some of the recommended activities
available at SNF. l was mostly interested in the Speakers Club. lt was a chartered member of Toastmasters lnternational. lt's pitch was that the one thing most convicted and incarcerated felons have in common is a lack of self-
confidence. lt was clamed that public speaking can build self-confidence. l
didn't really agree that l, admittedly a convicted felon, lacked self-confidence. l
thought then and still do that l had plenty of self-confidence, l just didn,t have the knowledge and experience to back it up. But l thought that a few months of structured,directed public speaking would surely be benificial. Hey, just a few months earlier l had ben hired to read the news at KUTY in Palmdale even though l had no related experience or education. (l felt very confident going into the audition, but was somehow surprised that it was good enough. And "good
enough for starters" is what the station manager had said. Because of that, l
fully intended to take another shot at a career in broadcasting as soon as my personal situation would allow it. And what could better for one who aspires to
a speaking career than a membership in a "Speakers Club"?
Drama Club: lt's a lot of fun to be involved in the staging of one-act plays, which is what the Drama Club at SNF had as it's main work. l joined with them,too.
l had no idea what Judaism was about but, some of my friends at SNF were Jews and invited me to attend services with them on a particular Jewish Holiday.
The food that went with it was mostly new to me but great! lt turned out that many of us were there primarily for the food. l still know very little about Judaism, but their food stuck with me; l seldom visit San Francisco, nowadays
but when l do, l almost always visit David's Delicatessen.
Other activities l got involved with were counseling groups; The Rabbi's group,
with five members, Bernard Zackheim's group, six members. lf Zackheim is a familiar name to you, it might be because he was the artist who led the team
that did the frescos in Coit Tower during FDR's "New Deal". At SNF, he was,
among other jobs, he taught the art and practice of upholstery.
l also visited my assigned staff counselor about once in two weeks. And, once a
week l attended "the big group". Up to a hundred folding chairs arranged in a circle around the TV area. l especially liked this group, though it could be hard
to get the floor.
My favorite activity was probably oil painting. The Department of Corrections
supplied paint, stretched canvases, brushes and palate knives,easel and event-
ually display space; first in the offices of staffpersons (maybe even the Warden's). Then to the walls of the store in the visitor's center. Though l wasn't
counting at the time, l must have sent 20 to 25 paintings thru that course.
The day before l left on parole, the Warden visited me at work. He said that he had enjoyed watching my paintings transit the place. He also told me that inmate painting generated far more revenue than the State pays for the materials to make them. l probably could have guessed that.
When l was notified that l would have a parole hearing six months into my sentence, l had no negatives on my record, l figured l might very well be paroled
soon after the hearing. When l learned that l had been denied parole and would
wait nine months for another hearing, l was crushed. From the first days spent at LACJ, l had actively sought to find someone who knew how to turn stolen cars
into money. l was only at Soledad about four months when l found myself in
possession of the names and contact information of three persons whom l'd been told could help turn cars into money. lf l had been paroled at six months,l
would have returned to a life of thieving and forging and who knows what else.
l had to face the fact that l couldn't expect to be paroled and to be a successful
parolee while l had plans to successfully steal and sell.
The three names of folks supposedly ready and willing to help me be a successful criminal, would have to go.
l was last in line at the parole hearing and we ran late, so l went directly to
that week's Speakers Club meeting,which was just starting. At that time l had been the club's elected Executive Vice President for about four and a half months and had also delivered a gang of speeches, always taking the good guy liberal position often versus Conservative good guy John Henson and his "Richard Nixon is the man" speeches. That night l abandoned the speech l had planned and winged a speech in which l confessed my hypocrisy; pitching myself, in all my speeches as the good guy with good intentions for present and future, while l fully intended to return to car-thievery, only successfully. l had
myself believing that the six-month board would give me a nearby release date
and l'd be busy shuttling near-new Caddys to chop shops within a few weeks.
From the perspective of ten minutes after my hearing though, the preceding
seemed to define "wild optimism". After the confession, l promised myself and my fellow members, that henceforth l would actually be the person that l had earlier only professed to be and specifically l would not intentionally break any
laws and l meant it. l have mostly succeeded, too: ln the late 60s l was actually
arrested for vehicle theft, but was released after police interviewed my neighbors who verified my explination of the vehicle being used by us. Later, in the 70s, l did violate a couple of court orders in the course of a divorce and l did
have a couple of marijuana possession beefs before California voters made
medical marijuana legal.
crooks, neither of whom was any fun; the few times l saw either of them smile or laugh, they were looking back at a moment when they had hurt or maimed someone in the course of their "work". l didn't want to become friend or enemy
to those two. l must mention here that about five years after l finished my sentence at SNF, l found myself in a slow-moving line at the main P.O. in San Jose, Ca. and gave my attention to the always-interesting list of the FBl's ten
most-wanted fugitives. And, there he was, Gerald Z., one of the two guys l shared the office with. Right, he was wanted for murdering someone and taking
a bunch of their money. Secondly, my new friend Chuck C. worked at SNF in
maintenance. His job was glazier and locksmith. At that point, the new prison,
SNF, was at about 1/2 it's designed capacity but was growing fast. The larger the population, the more maintenance. (Replacing broken windows, adjusting and or repairing locking mechanisms). So l became Chuck C.'s helper, and a
member of Mr. Price's "maintenance mob". Soon after l started at maintenance,
they relieved us of the glazier work; that became a seperate department, as did
locksmithing.
Chuck and l worked well together and became good friends. We are in touch to this day. Most of our locksmith work was repairing " door ajar detection systems, which, in short prevented the deadlock from sliding into place when any cell door on the same tier is ajar. A design flaw had allowed for easy failure
of the machanism, leaving us with a difficult two-man, two hour procedure to
restore normal operation. The failure was so common that, most days we'd have
two or three work orders for them every day. A few days after l started in maint-
enance, Chuck and l got permission from Mr. Price to spend some time closely
observing some of the scheduled door-openings in an effort to learn why so many of the door-ajar systems were failing. lt took only a few minutes at our first stop (10am opening in Lassen Housing unit...Chuck's and my home unit)
to see what the answer was: The guard, impatient with the inmates taking too much time to get into their cells, grab what they need and get back out of the cell and let the doors close, while he repeatedly shouts "doors close" punctuated
by the sound of hammer blows on steel, made by slamming the long-handled locking lever against it's stopping pin, over and over and over again. Price, who
preferred not to be called Mr. Price, said he'd talk to Deputy Warden Hatch, who
would call the problem to the attention of all guards with shifts at SNF and ask them to do their best to avoid breakage. lmmediately, the number of work orders to repair door systems dropped precipitously. For some weeks, maybe
a couple months, not one was seen. By the time l started working in Maintenance, l had already hooked up with some of the recommended activities
available at SNF. l was mostly interested in the Speakers Club. lt was a chartered member of Toastmasters lnternational. lt's pitch was that the one thing most convicted and incarcerated felons have in common is a lack of self-
confidence. lt was clamed that public speaking can build self-confidence. l
didn't really agree that l, admittedly a convicted felon, lacked self-confidence. l
thought then and still do that l had plenty of self-confidence, l just didn,t have the knowledge and experience to back it up. But l thought that a few months of structured,directed public speaking would surely be benificial. Hey, just a few months earlier l had ben hired to read the news at KUTY in Palmdale even though l had no related experience or education. (l felt very confident going into the audition, but was somehow surprised that it was good enough. And "good
enough for starters" is what the station manager had said. Because of that, l
fully intended to take another shot at a career in broadcasting as soon as my personal situation would allow it. And what could better for one who aspires to
a speaking career than a membership in a "Speakers Club"?
Drama Club: lt's a lot of fun to be involved in the staging of one-act plays, which is what the Drama Club at SNF had as it's main work. l joined with them,too.
l had no idea what Judaism was about but, some of my friends at SNF were Jews and invited me to attend services with them on a particular Jewish Holiday.
The food that went with it was mostly new to me but great! lt turned out that many of us were there primarily for the food. l still know very little about Judaism, but their food stuck with me; l seldom visit San Francisco, nowadays
but when l do, l almost always visit David's Delicatessen.
Other activities l got involved with were counseling groups; The Rabbi's group,
with five members, Bernard Zackheim's group, six members. lf Zackheim is a familiar name to you, it might be because he was the artist who led the team
that did the frescos in Coit Tower during FDR's "New Deal". At SNF, he was,
among other jobs, he taught the art and practice of upholstery.
l also visited my assigned staff counselor about once in two weeks. And, once a
week l attended "the big group". Up to a hundred folding chairs arranged in a circle around the TV area. l especially liked this group, though it could be hard
to get the floor.
My favorite activity was probably oil painting. The Department of Corrections
supplied paint, stretched canvases, brushes and palate knives,easel and event-
ually display space; first in the offices of staffpersons (maybe even the Warden's). Then to the walls of the store in the visitor's center. Though l wasn't
counting at the time, l must have sent 20 to 25 paintings thru that course.
The day before l left on parole, the Warden visited me at work. He said that he had enjoyed watching my paintings transit the place. He also told me that inmate painting generated far more revenue than the State pays for the materials to make them. l probably could have guessed that.
When l was notified that l would have a parole hearing six months into my sentence, l had no negatives on my record, l figured l might very well be paroled
soon after the hearing. When l learned that l had been denied parole and would
wait nine months for another hearing, l was crushed. From the first days spent at LACJ, l had actively sought to find someone who knew how to turn stolen cars
into money. l was only at Soledad about four months when l found myself in
possession of the names and contact information of three persons whom l'd been told could help turn cars into money. lf l had been paroled at six months,l
would have returned to a life of thieving and forging and who knows what else.
l had to face the fact that l couldn't expect to be paroled and to be a successful
parolee while l had plans to successfully steal and sell.
The three names of folks supposedly ready and willing to help me be a successful criminal, would have to go.
l was last in line at the parole hearing and we ran late, so l went directly to
that week's Speakers Club meeting,which was just starting. At that time l had been the club's elected Executive Vice President for about four and a half months and had also delivered a gang of speeches, always taking the good guy liberal position often versus Conservative good guy John Henson and his "Richard Nixon is the man" speeches. That night l abandoned the speech l had planned and winged a speech in which l confessed my hypocrisy; pitching myself, in all my speeches as the good guy with good intentions for present and future, while l fully intended to return to car-thievery, only successfully. l had
myself believing that the six-month board would give me a nearby release date
and l'd be busy shuttling near-new Caddys to chop shops within a few weeks.
From the perspective of ten minutes after my hearing though, the preceding
seemed to define "wild optimism". After the confession, l promised myself and my fellow members, that henceforth l would actually be the person that l had earlier only professed to be and specifically l would not intentionally break any
laws and l meant it. l have mostly succeeded, too: ln the late 60s l was actually
arrested for vehicle theft, but was released after police interviewed my neighbors who verified my explination of the vehicle being used by us. Later, in the 70s, l did violate a couple of court orders in the course of a divorce and l did
have a couple of marijuana possession beefs before California voters made
medical marijuana legal.
Saturday, March 5, 2016
Employed 11 part1
Our arresting officer, one George "call me Wes" Weston, was also one of those friendly cops that treated prisoners like unfortunate humans needing their help. At first, l didn't trust him because, during the arrest his holster was un-snapped, his pistol obviously available to me. (At one point, he had put his back to me, pistol within a couple feet from my right hand while he bent over to use the Caddy's tail light, tyhe better to read the papers l had given him (from the car's glove box) when he asked me for the car's registration. l gotta admit
that, for a moment, l thought to grab the gun and maybe hit him with it, l sure was not even thinking to shoot him, considering the situation that would most surely create. Greg was also held for about half a day, because a pistol was found in his stuff. He was released when they learned that it was legally his.
Before he was released, we had breakfast together at the same diner where
we had had pie and coffee some hours earlier. Wes said he didn't want to embarress us by taking us into the cafe in handcuffs, not to mention the difficulty of eating with them on. So he removed our cuffs but warned that he would shoot anyone who might attempt escape. After spending a couple of days in his custody, l wasn't so sure that he would shoot one of his prisoners. He was so much like Andy Taylor, fictional chief of police of Mayberry, that while, unlike
Andy, he did wear his gun, he was so nice to me and so considerate of my needs that l really don't think he could shoot me or anyone in his custody,
unless they were also armed. He even had a habitual drunk who would come
in on his own when he thought he was too drunk to be safe. Wes would lock
him up for the night, but let him go without a hearing in the morning. lf you
had a notion to spend some time in jail, l would heartily recommend Green-
field, Ca. City Jail. But since he was about 40 years old, then and that was more
than fifty years ago,he's probably retired by now.
The calendar in my cell reminded me that my arrest had taken place in a leap-
year (1960) as is the case with the current year,(2016). The actual arrest took
place early in the morning of the 29th (leap day). lt was some comfort to realize
that l'd only find myself re-visiting that day every four years. That was the first time, in my life, that l was conscious of that day passing by. When the current day on that calendar was March 3, a couple of cops from San Gabriel showed up
to give me a ride to Los Angeles County Jail. We used the pink Caddy, which l
learned, belonged to the cops' boss, the chief of police of San Gabriel, and he
was anxious for it's return. l'd had it for about ten weeks. the officer who drove the first leg of our trip, covered the first 150 or so miles in gear 3 of a 4-speed
automatic trans. lt shows how quiet Caddys really are, l guess. l was tempted to
bring the situation to his attention but he discovered it for himself before l got
around to it. When he did, he mentioned how quiet the car was, too. We got to
L.A.C.J. about 1:30. l had a late lunch (better than expected) after which l was
put in a cell by myself and returned there after dinner for the night. ln the morning, l joined the general population. Okay, now we're in real big-city down-
town, full-on JAIL. Crowded? lf the design capacity was X, the actual capacity was 6X. During the day there, we crowded into the too-few cells; at night we
slept on the gangways floors, using 1" "campers mattresses", which worked better than l expected. Another thing l didn't expect was the noise level.
Considering how crowded it was, l expected it to be very noisy. Sometimes it was pretty load in the dominos games area but that was in the far end of the cell block and except for big score outbursts we hardly heard them. l spent a few days more than six weeks in March and April, 1960 at L.A.C.J. ln that time,l was thrice transported to court in San Gabriel (the jurisdiction from which l stole
the pink Caddy.) Admitting to that theft and all the felonies l had committed since Sept. '59. The beauty in that, l couldn't believe at first:All jurisdictions in
which l had committed crimes were notified of my capture and of my confessions to all that l had done. California assumes the responsibility to
prosecute and imprison me for all the crimes involved. The other states are in-
vited to drop their charges (and avoid their costs to prosecute me.) So l would
serve one sentence for California (probably somewhat extended) and pay for
all the rest in the bargain. l cooperated with the court: Plead guilty for everything and did my best to give a complete list of everyone that l'd made a
victim. l won't deny that, as l went thru my list of victims, stacking one stupid,
thoughtless deed atop another l hoped the judge wouldn't just lock me up and throw away the key. lndeterminate sentencing was the way,then. My three trips to court brought me a sentence of "six months to five years"
L.A.C.J. had a great library whose librarian visited every cell in our block, every
day. Once he learned what you liked, he'd have something, on his cart just for you, every day. Before they shipped me off to prison, Earl (our librarian) had
brought me 28 books authored by pop psychologists of that era. l had chosen
one such paperback the day l first met Earl. After that he always had at least
one psych for me. Only twice did l choose something else: biographies of FDR
and Eisenhower. My nose was so into the books that l spent very little time in
conversation with my fellow inmates. Mostly, l talked with cellmate James, a
heroin addict with a great, wry sense of humor. So when l'd put a book down for a little break, James would entertain me with excerpts from his yet-to-be-
written auto biography titled "The trials and tribulations of the dedicated dope
fiend" or "Finding a fix on short notice in hostel environs". One story he told me,
found him and his friend Cotter cruising the seamier parts of Hollywood, looking
for a quick and easy rip-off that might pay for their next high. Passing a dry cleaner on their side of the street, on the counter of the place could be seen a small, electric cash register. James suggested they circle the block with right turns and stop just outside the cleaner. They do it. Then James jumps out, runs
into the place, grabs the register and goes for the door. He is brought up short by the cord, but grabs a scissors from atop the counter and cuts the cord,which
overloads a circuit and outs the lights. James runs back to the car and jumps in with the register in his lap. The lady from the cleaner is instantly at the door of the car, raising a big fuss. James realizes that the car is not starting and pushes her out of his way as he exits the car, hearing, sirens already.He walks out of the neighborhood and slips into a park and kicks back for a couple of hours. a little later he figures Cotter is in jail by then so he goes to a pay phone and calls Cotter's home, thinking Cotter's mom would know where
they had him and how much his bail was. He was very surprised when Cotter
answered the phone.
"You already bailed out?"James asked.
"No, they never had me ,man. l was sitting there crankin' that damn Chevy, about to jump out and follow you on foot, when a citizen stopped behind me,
then proceeded to give me a push-start. l came straight home from there.
Never saw a cop. And, there was $180 in the cash register.
In mid-April l was moved to the Southern California Adjustment Center at
Chino, Ca. Northern California convictees do their adjustment at a facility in
Vacaville, Ca. Some weeks are spent at those facilities aimed at determining
which prison will best fit which prisoner. lt was like school except there was very little instruction. lt was mostly questions; Every question you can imagine,
touching every aspect of our lives. This was also about reducing recidivism.
The state was actually willing to go the extra mile toward a better life for former
perpetrators and many fewer victims. ln late May l completed adjustment and was assigned to do my time at Soledad prison in Monterey County. lt's just eight
miles south of Greenfield, the town in which l had been arrested by George Weston, the officer that reminded me so much of Andy Taylor. Soledad North,
where l was assigned, was the newest part of Soledad Prison. lt was a medium
security facility. Soledad main facility was maximum security andSoledad Farm
was minimum security. North facility was only about half full when l arrived there. But even when it was full, one cell contained only one inmate.Cells were
quite nice; about 8 feet wide and 12 feet deep, with a very comfortable bed, a
toilet/sink combination,and a table/desk w/attached swivel stool. Doors were
unlocked on a schedule during the day so inmates could attend to school or work schedules. The first job offered me was dictation secretary for the prison
psychiatrist. l was puzzled by the offer of that job; could it be that they somehow knew of my reading habits at L.A.C.J.? Whatever, l found that job to be most interesting and l did it for about three months.
.
that, for a moment, l thought to grab the gun and maybe hit him with it, l sure was not even thinking to shoot him, considering the situation that would most surely create. Greg was also held for about half a day, because a pistol was found in his stuff. He was released when they learned that it was legally his.
Before he was released, we had breakfast together at the same diner where
we had had pie and coffee some hours earlier. Wes said he didn't want to embarress us by taking us into the cafe in handcuffs, not to mention the difficulty of eating with them on. So he removed our cuffs but warned that he would shoot anyone who might attempt escape. After spending a couple of days in his custody, l wasn't so sure that he would shoot one of his prisoners. He was so much like Andy Taylor, fictional chief of police of Mayberry, that while, unlike
Andy, he did wear his gun, he was so nice to me and so considerate of my needs that l really don't think he could shoot me or anyone in his custody,
unless they were also armed. He even had a habitual drunk who would come
in on his own when he thought he was too drunk to be safe. Wes would lock
him up for the night, but let him go without a hearing in the morning. lf you
had a notion to spend some time in jail, l would heartily recommend Green-
field, Ca. City Jail. But since he was about 40 years old, then and that was more
than fifty years ago,he's probably retired by now.
The calendar in my cell reminded me that my arrest had taken place in a leap-
year (1960) as is the case with the current year,(2016). The actual arrest took
place early in the morning of the 29th (leap day). lt was some comfort to realize
that l'd only find myself re-visiting that day every four years. That was the first time, in my life, that l was conscious of that day passing by. When the current day on that calendar was March 3, a couple of cops from San Gabriel showed up
to give me a ride to Los Angeles County Jail. We used the pink Caddy, which l
learned, belonged to the cops' boss, the chief of police of San Gabriel, and he
was anxious for it's return. l'd had it for about ten weeks. the officer who drove the first leg of our trip, covered the first 150 or so miles in gear 3 of a 4-speed
automatic trans. lt shows how quiet Caddys really are, l guess. l was tempted to
bring the situation to his attention but he discovered it for himself before l got
around to it. When he did, he mentioned how quiet the car was, too. We got to
L.A.C.J. about 1:30. l had a late lunch (better than expected) after which l was
put in a cell by myself and returned there after dinner for the night. ln the morning, l joined the general population. Okay, now we're in real big-city down-
town, full-on JAIL. Crowded? lf the design capacity was X, the actual capacity was 6X. During the day there, we crowded into the too-few cells; at night we
slept on the gangways floors, using 1" "campers mattresses", which worked better than l expected. Another thing l didn't expect was the noise level.
Considering how crowded it was, l expected it to be very noisy. Sometimes it was pretty load in the dominos games area but that was in the far end of the cell block and except for big score outbursts we hardly heard them. l spent a few days more than six weeks in March and April, 1960 at L.A.C.J. ln that time,l was thrice transported to court in San Gabriel (the jurisdiction from which l stole
the pink Caddy.) Admitting to that theft and all the felonies l had committed since Sept. '59. The beauty in that, l couldn't believe at first:All jurisdictions in
which l had committed crimes were notified of my capture and of my confessions to all that l had done. California assumes the responsibility to
prosecute and imprison me for all the crimes involved. The other states are in-
vited to drop their charges (and avoid their costs to prosecute me.) So l would
serve one sentence for California (probably somewhat extended) and pay for
all the rest in the bargain. l cooperated with the court: Plead guilty for everything and did my best to give a complete list of everyone that l'd made a
victim. l won't deny that, as l went thru my list of victims, stacking one stupid,
thoughtless deed atop another l hoped the judge wouldn't just lock me up and throw away the key. lndeterminate sentencing was the way,then. My three trips to court brought me a sentence of "six months to five years"
L.A.C.J. had a great library whose librarian visited every cell in our block, every
day. Once he learned what you liked, he'd have something, on his cart just for you, every day. Before they shipped me off to prison, Earl (our librarian) had
brought me 28 books authored by pop psychologists of that era. l had chosen
one such paperback the day l first met Earl. After that he always had at least
one psych for me. Only twice did l choose something else: biographies of FDR
and Eisenhower. My nose was so into the books that l spent very little time in
conversation with my fellow inmates. Mostly, l talked with cellmate James, a
heroin addict with a great, wry sense of humor. So when l'd put a book down for a little break, James would entertain me with excerpts from his yet-to-be-
written auto biography titled "The trials and tribulations of the dedicated dope
fiend" or "Finding a fix on short notice in hostel environs". One story he told me,
found him and his friend Cotter cruising the seamier parts of Hollywood, looking
for a quick and easy rip-off that might pay for their next high. Passing a dry cleaner on their side of the street, on the counter of the place could be seen a small, electric cash register. James suggested they circle the block with right turns and stop just outside the cleaner. They do it. Then James jumps out, runs
into the place, grabs the register and goes for the door. He is brought up short by the cord, but grabs a scissors from atop the counter and cuts the cord,which
overloads a circuit and outs the lights. James runs back to the car and jumps in with the register in his lap. The lady from the cleaner is instantly at the door of the car, raising a big fuss. James realizes that the car is not starting and pushes her out of his way as he exits the car, hearing, sirens already.He walks out of the neighborhood and slips into a park and kicks back for a couple of hours. a little later he figures Cotter is in jail by then so he goes to a pay phone and calls Cotter's home, thinking Cotter's mom would know where
they had him and how much his bail was. He was very surprised when Cotter
answered the phone.
"You already bailed out?"James asked.
"No, they never had me ,man. l was sitting there crankin' that damn Chevy, about to jump out and follow you on foot, when a citizen stopped behind me,
then proceeded to give me a push-start. l came straight home from there.
Never saw a cop. And, there was $180 in the cash register.
In mid-April l was moved to the Southern California Adjustment Center at
Chino, Ca. Northern California convictees do their adjustment at a facility in
Vacaville, Ca. Some weeks are spent at those facilities aimed at determining
which prison will best fit which prisoner. lt was like school except there was very little instruction. lt was mostly questions; Every question you can imagine,
touching every aspect of our lives. This was also about reducing recidivism.
The state was actually willing to go the extra mile toward a better life for former
perpetrators and many fewer victims. ln late May l completed adjustment and was assigned to do my time at Soledad prison in Monterey County. lt's just eight
miles south of Greenfield, the town in which l had been arrested by George Weston, the officer that reminded me so much of Andy Taylor. Soledad North,
where l was assigned, was the newest part of Soledad Prison. lt was a medium
security facility. Soledad main facility was maximum security andSoledad Farm
was minimum security. North facility was only about half full when l arrived there. But even when it was full, one cell contained only one inmate.Cells were
quite nice; about 8 feet wide and 12 feet deep, with a very comfortable bed, a
toilet/sink combination,and a table/desk w/attached swivel stool. Doors were
unlocked on a schedule during the day so inmates could attend to school or work schedules. The first job offered me was dictation secretary for the prison
psychiatrist. l was puzzled by the offer of that job; could it be that they somehow knew of my reading habits at L.A.C.J.? Whatever, l found that job to be most interesting and l did it for about three months.
.
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