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
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