116. Earning Freedom (3.1) with Michael Santos
I\u2019m reading from chapter 3 of my book, Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term
For more information, visit PrisonProfessors.com
Chapter Three: 1988-1990
Months 14-36
I\u2019m assigned to A cellblock.\xa0 It\u2019s a long, rectangular, hollow shell of a building with high ceilings similar to the Oklahoma housing unit I just left at El Reno. Pigeons fly around in the open space above. It\u2019s late summer and the oppressive heat, without air conditioning, makes me sweat. Burgundy tiles cover the floor. The beige, enamel-faced brick walls have been stained yellow from nicotine smoke that has accumulated over decades.
In the center of the shell, a freestanding metal and concrete structure reaches five stories high. Each tier supports a four-foot wide catwalk that wraps around the caged tower. Steel bars evenly spaced four inches apart enclose the side-by-side cells in the building\u2019s core, and metal mesh screens the catwalk. From the looks of it I suspect administrators ordered the screens as an afterthought to keep prisoners from throwing bodies off the walkways.\xa0 This is going to be a tough place to live, but in my mind I\u2019m getting ready for all the challenges that I expect to come.
As I climb the stairs I wonder how much blood has spilled on that tile floor below. I\u2019m only carrying a bedroll\u2013two sheets and a pillowcase wrapped inside a green woolen blanket\u2013but apprehension weighs on me.
After reaching the top tier I walk toward my cell. Through the bars of the cells I see that four steel bunk bed racks accommodate eight prisoners in each cell. An open toilet is mounted against the wall at the back of the cell. There isn\u2019t any privacy, just a commode. As I continue down the long tier I pass an open shower area.\xa0 It\u2019s just a huge vacant space laid out the same as a cell, but instead of sleeping racks it has five spigots sprouting from the far wall. I catch sight of four men soaping themselves beneath spraying water.
\u201cSee somethin\u2019 you like, young\u2019un?\u201d one of the prisoners jeers at me and I hear the others laugh. I keep walking, ignoring the taunt, eyes straight ahead with the bedroll in my arms as if it\u2019s a bundle of firewood.
Near the tier\u2019s end I find cell 517. I walk through the open gate and I notice a small table to my left.\xa0 One prisoner lies atop his rack with the newspaper\u2019s sports section absorbing all of his attention. I stand motionless and look around, wondering which bunk I should claim. Three top racks are empty.
\u201cWhat\u2019s up?\u201d The other prisoner finally notices me. He is in his 50\u2019s, fit, baldheaded, and sporting a goatee.
I nod. \u201cMy name\u2019s Michael Santos. I\u2019m new, assigned here.\u201d
\u201cOh yeah? Where you from?\u201d\xa0 His interrogation begins.
\u201cI grew up in Seattle, but I\u2019ve been living in Miami for the past couple of years.\u201d
\u201cHow much time you got?\u201d
\u201cForty-five years.\u201d The length of my sentence makes a statement. In here I don\u2019t need to feel ashamed of it. \u201cOld law,\u201d I clarify.
The prisoner sits up from his rack, sets the newspaper aside. \u201cHow old\u2019re you?\u201d
\u201cTwenty-four.\u201d
He shakes his head. \u201cWell, youngster, you got some trouble to pull. Welcome to the big house. Ever been locked up before?\u201d
\u201cI\u2019ve been in jail for a year, been through transit. This is my first prison. How\u2019s it measure up?\u201d
\u201cSuits me just fine, but one spot\u2019s the same as another for me. Question is, and I gotta ask since you\u2019re in my house, how\u2019re you gonna get by? What\u2019re you into?\u201d
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d I shrug. \u201cI\u2019d like to go to college if possible, study, work out, that\u2019s about it.\u201d
\u201cYou a doper?\u201d
\u201cWhat do you mean? I\u2019m in here on drug charges.\u201d
\u201cSo is everyone else.\xa0 What I wanna know is whether you get high.\u201d
\u201cNo.\u201d
\u201cGamble?\u201d
\u201cI don\u2019t have any money for gambling.\u201d
\u201cThat would only make things worse, but it don\u2019t answer my question. What I asked was do you gamble?\u201d
I shake my head.
\u201cNot into punks, right?\u201d
\u201cI\u2019m married. No punks.\u201d
\u201cWell that ain\u2019t gonna last, the marriage part I mean.\u201d
He stands, puts out his hand. \u201cName\u2019s McFadden. They call me Check. Long as you ain\u2019t with no dope, gamblin\u2019, or punks, you can set your stuff here.\u201d He taps the rack above his. \u201cThis here\u2019ll be your locker, and this is your chair. Got four other men who live here and we all do our part to keep the house clean. This here\u2019s the schedule.\u201d He points to a hand-drawn calendar on the wall with names of people on scheduled cleaning days. \u201cYou either clean up on your day, or you pay to have someone sweep and mop; Pancho next door has a cleanin\u2019 hustle. Most guys pay a pack \u2019a smokes a week. We keep it quiet here. You got visitors, take \u2019em outside the cell.\xa0 Don\u2019t bring ye\u2019r problems to the house, else you\u2019ll have new problems.\xa0 With me.\xa0 Lights out at nine. Can you live with them rules?\u201d
\u201cSure. They sound fine to me.\u201d
\u201cOkay. What else?\u201d He scratches his chin while contemplating how much more he should tell me. \u201cYou lucked out as far as cells go. Everyone here knows what time it is. Ain\u2019t no snitches here, no one up in anyone else\u2019s business, and we like keepin\u2019 quiet. We\u2019ve all been around a while and don\u2019t want none \u2019a that jitterbug foolishness \u2019round here. Got questions, ask. Got problems, like I said, don\u2019t bring \u2019em back to the house.\u201d
I set my bedroll on the rack and thank him for the welcome while I start tying the sheets around the mat. \u201cWhy do they call you Check?\u201d
\u201cLet me give you the first rule of prison.\xa0 Don\u2019t ask no one \u2019bout his personal business, least not unless you got reason, like he\u2019s movin\u2019 into your house.\u201d
\u201cGot it.\u201d
\u201cYou play chess?\u201d
\u201cA little. I learned in the county jail when I was waiting for trial.\u201d
\u201cAny good?\u201d
\u201cLike I said, I just play a little.\u201d
\u201cWell when you finish makin\u2019 your rack, sit on down and give it your best shot. I\u2019ll show you why they call me Check.\u201d
As Check demonstrates his mastery of the chessboard he gives me more rundown on the penitentiary and his prison experiences. He\u2019s been in since 1972, 16 years, and he looks forward to release on parole from a life sentence in another year. Check tells me the penitentiary is in transition. After the riot, administrators shipped all prisoners out in order to assess the damage and prepare for rebuilding. The first prisoners to repopulate the penitentiary transferred in from lower-security institutions as a clean-up crew. Those lower-security prisoners are now transferring out to make room for the high-security prisoners that penitentiaries are designed to hold. The men are coming in on buses each week from Lewisburg, Leavenworth, Lompoc, and other jails or prisons.
\u201cThis place is only halfway \u0313live now, but give it a few months and it\u2019ll be rockin\u2019 just like any other pen.\u201d
I\u2019ve heard enough about the violence, the gangs, and all the nonsense of prison life. It doesn\u2019t interest me.\xa0 I inquire about the routines, the day-to-day life inside. From Check I learn that all prisoners receive a job assignment for full-time work. I can either try to find my own job or the counselors will issue me a work assignment. Prisoners, I am learning, provide the labor to run the penitentiary. Some jobs, Check explains, don\u2019t require much more than attendance while others require full-time duty and overtime for those who want to earn a few extra dollars.
\u201cWhen I was in El Reno I heard about a college program. Do they offer any college courses here?\u201d
\u201cHaven\u2019t heard nothin\u2019 \u2019bout school, but that ain\u2019t really my thing.\xa0 If school\u2019s what y\u2019er into, you need to go check things out for yerself. There might be somethin\u2019 you can do.\u201d
*******
In an effort to control USP Atlanta\u2019s 2,500 prisoners, guards enforce rules that only allow \u201cmovement\u201d from one area of the penitentiary to another within a ten-minute window at the top of each hour. Check explains that if I want to inquire about educational opportunities I need to request a movement pass from the unit officer, then wait in line for the corridor guards to unlock the doors and gates of the housing unit. He draws a map directing me to the library and suggests I go explore.
I maneuver through the crowds easily enough and find the library, though in comparison to what I saw at El Reno, it\u2019s disappointing. During the riot that erupted several months before, a number of buildings were destroyed. One of those was the penitentiary\u2019s main library. A new education building is under construction but, for the time being, the library and entire education department occupy the basement in the prison\u2019s old health-services building.
As I walk through I notice a man with a military haircut and wearing black, plastic-frame, government-issue glasses. He\u2019s wearing the same prisoner\u2019s khaki outfit as I wear, but he\u2019s sitting at a desk positioned inside the entry to one of the rooms and I\u2019m assuming that he holds some kind of authority. Bookshelves line the walls, but for all I know, they may be off limits. The prisoner at the desk reads his law book, indifferent to my curiosity. I\u2019m reluctant to interrupt him but since I don\u2019t want to appear disrespectful by ignoring his position and simply walking past, I introduce myself.
\u201cExcuse me, Bud. My name\u2019s Michael Santos. I just got here and don\u2019t really know the layout. Is it okay if I walk in to see what kind of books are available?\u201d
\u201cSuit yourself,\u201d he mutters, never looking up.
Browsing through the bookshelves I notice row upon row of westerns, romance novels, and science fiction, but I\u2019m looking for nonfiction and there isn\u2019t much. I\u2019m encouraged to see two sets of encyclopedias. Although I never spent much time reading reference books I know there\u2019s a wealth of information in these two sets. All I\u2019m thinking about as I walk around the bookshelves is how and what I\u2019m going to study while I serve my sentence.\xa0 I\u2019m eager to start making progress in here.
The room I\u2019m in is quiet though I hear people talking in adjacent rooms. \u201cWha\u2019da ya like to read?\u201d The clerk spins his chair around, all of a sudden interested in me.
\u201cI\u2019m just looking, trying to get a feel for the place.\u201d
\u201cWon\u2019t be much here \u2019til the new library opens and that\u2019s about a year away. You can check out anything from these shelves, or you can order books from the interlibrary loan program. Takes about two weeks for those books to come. \u2019Sides that, Chandler\u2019s got a set \u0313a bestsellers, but you\u2019ve got to check them out directly from him.\u201d
\u201cWho\u2019s Chandler?\u201d
\u201cSupervisor of Education. His office is in back, down the hall and to the left.\u201d
\u201cIs he the guy to talk to about getting a job in the library?\u201d
\u201cHe\u2019s the one, HMFIC.\u201d
\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d
\u201cHead motherfucker-in-charge. Where you from?\u201d
\u201cSeattle. I\u2019m just comin\u2019 in.\u201d
\u201cLong ways from home. What\u2019s up? Why they got you way out here?\u201d
\u201cI was living in Miami when I got arrested. I guess that has me classified as being from the East Coast.
\u201cHow much time you got?\u201d
\u201cForty-five years.\u201d
\u201cWith that kind of time, only thing you should be readin\u2019 is them law books. They\u2019re down the hall. You need to get some \u0313a that time off, bro.\u201d
\u201cI don\u2019t know much about the law, but I know that I\u2019m tired of fighting this case. I need something else besides appeals to carry me through.\u201d
\u201cWhat\u2019re you a lame? Givin\u2019 up? Just plan on serving all that time?\u201d
I shrug my shoulders. \u201cI know I\u2019m going to serve some of it. I\u2019m thinking about the Rule 35, asking the judge for reconsideration. Ever hear of anyone catching a break from it?\u201d
\u201cOnly snitches. Ain\u2019t no judge gonna reconsider the sentence he imposed less a dude starts rattin\u2019 out motherfuckers. This system\u2019s \u2019bout finality. You gotta fight if you want relief.\u201d
\u201cThat what you\u2019re doing?\u201d I gesture to the open law books on his desk.
\u201cDamn straight. Been fightin\u2019 every day since I came in. I always got somethin\u2019 goin\u2019 in the courts.\u201d
\u201cHas it changed anything for you?\u201d
\u201cLook, Bro, that ain\u2019t the way to look at it. This system\u2019s dirty, fed by lies and corruption. Know what I\u2019m sayin\u2019? We\u2019re in a war here, and it\u2019s our job to keep filin\u2019 paperwork, assailin\u2019 this system \u2019til it changes. Can\u2019t just give up. If everyone in the pen kept filin\u2019 in the courts, we could expose this system. That\u2019s the only way we\u2019re gonna change it.\u201d
\u201cYou\u2019re probably right.\u201d The tone of his voice and the way his fist clenches the pen reveal his passion. Although the argument doesn\u2019t make much sense to me, the last thing I want is a confrontation. \u201cLike I said, I\u2019ve just come in and I\u2019m trying to find my way around this place. You obviously know a lot more than I do.\u201d
The clerk accepts my deference to his wisdom. \u201cSo you lookin\u2019 for a job in the library?\u201d He leans back in his chair.
\u201cI think so. I like the quiet, the time to study. Do they have college here?\u201d
\u201cThe only classes here are for the GED and they\u2019re not much. Next year, when the new buildin\u2019 opens, they might start offerin\u2019 college courses, but there ain\u2019t no room now. This\u2019s kind of a self-service prison. You wanna find college courses, gonna have to look for them yerself. This might help,\u201d he reaches for a reference book on correspondence courses from the shelf beside him and hands it to me.
\u201cThanks a lot, Bud,\u201d I say in accepting the book. \u201cThis will help. Can I ask your name?\u201d
\u201cKeith, Bro.\u201d
I sit on one of the hard chairs at a table and read through every page of the guide to correspondence programs. This research leads me to a description of Ohio University that sounds perfect. Although I\u2019ve never studied at the university level before I\u2019m motivated to invest as much energy as possible in educating myself. From the description I learn that even though I may never step foot on a university campus, I can earn a four-year degree from a nationally recognized school.
The book explains that Ohio University accepts Pell grants, and as a prisoner I qualify for financial assistance that will cover nearly all tuition costs. I\u2019m confident that my parents will pay whatever the Pell grant doesn\u2019t fund, as I know they want me to make the best use of my time and I can\u2019t think of anything better than to educate myself. I\u2019m a little humiliated, at 24, to need financial support from my parents, especially after the flamboyant life I led before prison and the ruin I brought to my family\u2019s stability. Yet I know that I\u2019ll need help, and I\u2019m going to ask for it.
After writing down all of the information about how to enroll, I walk down the hall toward the area where Keith said the Supervisor of Education keeps his office. On the way I look inside one room with side-by-side shelves of legal books on case law, statutory codes, and procedure manuals for filing in court. I see several tough-looking men working at tables with law books open in front of them, just as Keith was doing, and I wonder what level of skill these men have with regard to judicial proceedings. With all those hateful designs inked on their skin they don\u2019t impress me as being scholarly types.
I pass by another room where several men sit at tables typing on electric typewriters.\xa0 They may be obsolete in the real world, but typewriters are as close as we\u2019re going to come to high-tech in here. In high school I excelled in typing class and I look forward to sharpening my skills. With books, a law library, typewriters, and pockets of silence, the library looks and feels like the right spot to begin my adjustment. I\u2019m hopeful Mr. Chandler will hire me. The door\u2019s open to his office so I knock on the metal frame.
The makeshift office where Mr. Chandler\u2019s stationed suggests that he\u2019s in transition. He\u2019s got gray hair, bloodshot eyes, a rumpled brown suit, and an orange tie is knotted loosely around his fleshy neck. The lines etched in his face and the dot-sized pores that I can see from ten feet away suggest he might need a few drinks to make it through the day. Loose papers and boxes overflowing with files cover the floor, a couch, and even a windowsill. No clear pathway from the door to his metal desk exists, so I pause before stepping into the crowded work area. Non-matching binders stacked out of kilter dominate his disorganized desk. On the dirty-beige, concrete-block walls that surround him, Mr. Chandler has taped several papers, as if they\u2019re reminders or references. They\u2019re not the small post-it notes, but full-sized pages with either typing or handwriting in felt pen, and they flap against the wall because of the breeze from a desk fan. Mr. Chandler isn\u2019t an administrator, apparently, who believes that the tidiness of his work area reflects the sharpness of his mind. Maybe he doesn\u2019t care. When I knock he doesn\u2019t look up.
Instead he waves me in with his hand. I stand in the doorway, apprehensive and uncomfortable, observing the surroundings while I wait for his signal to speak. A newspaper is spread across his desk. Mr. Chandler is absorbed with the comic strips.
I shift my weight from one leg to the other. Why did he gesture me in if he doesn\u2019t want to be disturbed? Maybe he didn\u2019t, I wonder as I continue standing. No, I distinctly saw him raise his arm and wave me in with his hand. After several minutes, I begin to feel very foolish, as if I\u2019m an inanimate object standing there.
\u201cWould it be better if I were to return later?\u201d I finally muster the courage to ask.
He puts his hand up, a stop sign, though he still doesn\u2019t look up. The phone on his desk rings and he answers. \u201cChandler,\u201d he says. \u201cUh huh, uh huh, okay.\u201d He hangs up, continues reading, and I continue standing.
\u201cWhat is it?\u201d he asks, finally, still looking down.
\u201cMr. Chandler, my name is Michael Santos and\u2026\u201d
\u201cOkay Mr. Santiago,\u201d he interrupts me, mistaking my name. \u201cWhat is it?\xa0 Get to the point.\u201d
\u201cI\u2019m new here and I\u2019d like to work in the library, if you would consider hiring me.\u201d
\u201cGot a cop-out?\u201d He asks for the standard inmate-request-to-staff form, one that I received from the clerk.
\u201cYes sir.\u201d I maneuver my way around the piles of books and stacked boxes to hand him my form requesting employment.
Mr. Chandler writes that I\u2019m approved to work in the library and signs his name. \u201cHand it back to your counselor,\u201d he tells me, returning my cop-out. I\u2019m evidently dismissed.
I return to the front desk in the library, grateful to have resolved the hurdle of a job search, knowing that I\u2019ve settled a major issue of my adjustment. \u201cMr. Chandler hired me,\u201d I tell Keith, trying to suppress my pride and satisfaction at having conquered one hurdle of prison life. \u201cI\u2019m going to be working here, in the library.\u201d
\u201cDon\u2019t get too excited. You\u2019re still in prison, Bro.\u201d
\u201cMaybe so. But at least I\u2019ll have all the time I need to read, write, and study once I enroll in college. Have you ever heard of anyone completing the program at Ohio University?\u201d
\u201cLook, kid, like I said before, school ain\u2019t my thing. Far as I\u2019m concerned, all that schoolin\u2019 does is make \u2018the man\u2019 look good. I ain\u2019t interested in makin\u2019 anything better in this system, or helpin\u2019 hacks look like they\u2019re educatin\u2019 fools in here. I\u2019m at war here, tryin\u2019 to tear this system down. Only way I\u2019m gonna do that is by beatin\u2019 \u2019em at their own game, with these here,\u201d he says as he points to the law books. \u201cYou\u2019ll learn that soon enough.\u201d
\xa0