(Written November 1, 2004)
Well, I never thought I‘d have certain problems in prison.. Of all things, Jimmy the Handsome, keeper of the keys, shot caller, King of the Whites, likes me too much. People are talking. On the surface this is not my worry. It’s “on him” as they say here. But it’s not that simple.
Last night, for example, he waited for Earl and me to join him for dinner. He is (not surprisingly), spoken to at chow by a variety of inmates trying to joke with him, curry favor, and sometimes, discuss business. Business that I don’t want to know about, because if something “happened” and an informer was suspected, I could be on the list of people who conceivably knew something to tell. No, thank-you. The trade-off is, of course, that being a favorite of Jimmy’s means no one is going to mess with me, but it also means proximity to a possible target.
This was underlined on the walk back from chow, when Jimmy was abruptly asked by a homeboy: “if someone said ‘gimme a light, punk’ to you, you’d clip him right?” This was a loaded question. “Punk” is prison slang for an inmate who will service another inmate sexually, and being called a “punk” is considered legitimate grounds for a fight. The inmate asking knew damn well what the answer to the question was, and asking Jimmy within my earshot was a clear reminder that he had been noticed eating dinner with a queer, although the question was indirect enough not to be overtly provocative.
I’ve noticed an increase in these kinds of questions or comments the more Jimmy comes to hang out at our bunk, and ironically, it makes me more uncomfortable than it makes him.
On the way back to the “house,” when Jimmy got talking to some others in front of a neighboring dorm, I continued back to Redwood, leaving him to his conversation. Later, Jimmy semi-jokingly, semi-seriously, reproached me for “abandoning” him. “You’re supposed to be my ‘wingman’ in case something goes down!” I told him he should have said, “wait for me” if that’s what he wanted me to do, but frankly, if he wants a “wingman” not to look my way, because I am completely non-violent and I would be useless in any fracas or melee. (This is not completely true. If Earl was attacked, I would react like a Bengal Tiger. The gay thing, for me, is a legitimate basis for mutual self-defense).
Poor Jimmy. He is torn between a prison culture that is second nature to him, and an attraction, not to me sexually (I think), but to the world of ideas that I represent, chief among them the rejection of violence as a legitimate means of expression. When I hear him trot out his tired old crap that “the whites have to stick together as a race because the other races are out to get us if we let down our guard,” I point out to him the other races are espousing the same creed of no first-strike self-defense only. This makes no sense. If no one ever makes the first move, then there’s nothing to defend against, is there? The truth is, both sides are equally capable of offensive and pre-emptive strikes.
In any event, I told Jimmy, I personally didn’t fear any blacks or Hispanics because my relations with them were excellent and even warm. I told Jimmy that the only inmates I feared were the white ones, and if he was so concerned about respecting the prison political rules he shouldn’t be undermining his status by hanging out with me. But that if he did, he couldn’t expect me to play by the rules of a system I reject. The CDC has been playing divide and conquer with inmates for years, and in my view, as the saying goes, if you’re not part of the solution, you are part of the problem.
Jimmy rejects my arguments out of hand, of course, but I know he is conflicted. He is an auto-didact who plows through my New Yorkers and even my Noam Chomsky book. He does a crossword puzzle every day and reads the newspaper. And despite the truth that he has had to fight a fair amount to get where he is, his charm and strategic thinking has been far more essential to his rise than his fists. He is a natural leader, and his acolytes like him (or want to be like by him) far more than they fear him.
That he doesn’t give a shit what people think (or pretends not to) is both his strength and his Achille’s heel. I identify, on a much reduced scale. My espousal of non-violence is tolerated because as a gay person, I’m already marginalized and conversely, allowed alternative beliefs. If Jimmy dared to agree with my embrace of non-violence, ironically he would probably have to fight to do so.
In any event, as I told him, I have 2 days left here and no way am I going to get caught up in anything. Call me Diane Keaton in The Godfather, except I’m not getting in that big black car. (Not that Jimmy would ever say “I need you, Kate,” to me either). But it was a striking moment when Bear, a hulking black gentle giant neighbor of mine stopped me in the wing and said about Jimmy “That tall one? He likes you.” (So does Bear actually. In that way, although I wonder if he’s just trying to get a pen pal on the outside who will send him money).
Anyway I asserted my views in so many words to Jimmy, and he’s smart enough to know he could use me as a friend on the outside more than he needs me as a friend on the inside. He read the blog statistics that my sister sent me (I would love to know who’s reading me in Finland) and he was reminded there is a much bigger world out there than the one behind these walls. I do hope he makes it out of there eventually, and stays out.
Phil left today. He occupied the top bunk to my right and engaged in those endless Monopoly games with his bunkie Sharif, an epic love/hate relationship if there ever was one, as Sharif is way worse than me when it comes to giving advice. Phil was one of the most affable guys in here, and it broke my heart to hear him recount how in the last 10 years, he had only spent 2 and 1/2 years of them out of jail.
He gave me a hug—a rare gesture across the racial divide—at the door, and I hugged him back and gave him a stern lecture. “Phil,” I told him, “on the bus down to LA, I want you to ask yourself how your plans are different this time in any substantive way than the last 2 or 3 times you got out.” (I had heard those “plans” and they were conspicuously devoid of any realistic attempt to construct for himself a support system that will keep him working and off drugs). I continued: “If you can honestly say you want to do things differently than the last times, then you have to actually do something differently. There are lots of programs for men to start over, but you have to find them. You can’t track down your old drug buddies and expect to stay sober and show up sober for your parole officer. Do whatever it takes, just remember, insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”
He listened and thanked me. He wants to have lunch back in Hollywood, and who knows? He’s a smart guy, he has a 7-year old son, and it is insane that he is caught on this merry-go-round. If he doesn’t get off it, his son is bound to follow. So send him your prayers (he said he will be checking this blog. I very much doubt he will, but if so, Hi Phil!)
MCO 2004
