One generation passeth away, and
another generation commeth; but
the earth abideth forever.
Ecclesiastes 1:4
I am in my cell sitting in front of my typewriter, while at the same time looking at a snowed covered ball field...
another generation commeth; but
the earth abideth forever.
Ecclesiastes 1:4
I am in my cell sitting in front of my typewriter, while at the same time looking at a snowed covered ball field...
Perhaps six or seven inches of glistening white flakes have covered everything but the large floodlight stanchions, which are positioned throughout the prison like steel trees.
But despite the beauty of a snowfall, yesterday evening there was a fistfight in my cell block. It was the second one within the past few weeks. In last night's incident, however, two young hotheaded men slammed fists at each other's faces for a brief few minutes before the guards were able to break up the battle. One of the inmates was slightly bloodied, but was not seriously hurt. While a few weeks ago, two different men exchanged blows, with one of them needing stitches. It was a bloody mess. And the loser, so I was told, after he was taken to the infirmary, was placed in Protective Custody.
Of course, I can only speculate what the earlier fight was about. Maybe it was the result of an old grudge between gang members. Last night's swinging match was over something very petty. An argument over a television program quickly escalated into a brief brawl.
Unfortunately, these kinds of things occur easily in correctional facilities because, in this environment, there's always a degree of tension in the air. And those who are quick to anger will sometimes unleash their hostilities and frustrations upon other men with forceful blows or, at the very worst, with a weapon. And the splotches and splatterings of blood that are left behind from such assaults become just another part of the landscape.
Moreover, in both these incidents, there was what is officially known as a "blood spill." Therefore, an inmate who is assigned to the prison's Infirmary, and who has been specially trained at removing bloodstains and other bodily fluids, had to be called in. He arrived a short time after each fight carrying a plastic pail, an array of cleaning and disinfecting products, and his protective gear. Then, while dressed in gear that makes him look like a forensic crime scene examiner, he had to wipe up and remove as best as he could all traces of blood. And until he was finished, we had to remain in our cells.
Yet what I have also observed throughout my many years of incarceration is that with each new generation of inmates there arrives a rougher caliber of men. They're wilder and harder to communicate with than their predecessors. They seem to be quick to anger and to fight; they're also more illiterate.
However, I am not stating this merely because of some recent fights. Fistfights are common in here, not to mention an occasional stabbing, or a man getting banged over the head with a tuna fish can or smacked sideways with a bar of soap in a sock. But there is a more aggressive inmate, very streetwise and vicious, that's now coming into the prison system. He's angry and hyperactive, and more than likely, he is facing a long stretch of time to do.
For many of these young men, reality has yet to set in. But it will. One day, when their cell doors slam shut once too often, or when they're alone with themselves for the final lock-in for the evening, one by one, they'll awaken to the truth. Then they will finally understand what they've done to themselves, to their families, and to their victims. And it will be a nightmare. It will be a mess that only God can fix.
D.B.
But despite the beauty of a snowfall, yesterday evening there was a fistfight in my cell block. It was the second one within the past few weeks. In last night's incident, however, two young hotheaded men slammed fists at each other's faces for a brief few minutes before the guards were able to break up the battle. One of the inmates was slightly bloodied, but was not seriously hurt. While a few weeks ago, two different men exchanged blows, with one of them needing stitches. It was a bloody mess. And the loser, so I was told, after he was taken to the infirmary, was placed in Protective Custody.
Of course, I can only speculate what the earlier fight was about. Maybe it was the result of an old grudge between gang members. Last night's swinging match was over something very petty. An argument over a television program quickly escalated into a brief brawl.
Unfortunately, these kinds of things occur easily in correctional facilities because, in this environment, there's always a degree of tension in the air. And those who are quick to anger will sometimes unleash their hostilities and frustrations upon other men with forceful blows or, at the very worst, with a weapon. And the splotches and splatterings of blood that are left behind from such assaults become just another part of the landscape.
Moreover, in both these incidents, there was what is officially known as a "blood spill." Therefore, an inmate who is assigned to the prison's Infirmary, and who has been specially trained at removing bloodstains and other bodily fluids, had to be called in. He arrived a short time after each fight carrying a plastic pail, an array of cleaning and disinfecting products, and his protective gear. Then, while dressed in gear that makes him look like a forensic crime scene examiner, he had to wipe up and remove as best as he could all traces of blood. And until he was finished, we had to remain in our cells.
Yet what I have also observed throughout my many years of incarceration is that with each new generation of inmates there arrives a rougher caliber of men. They're wilder and harder to communicate with than their predecessors. They seem to be quick to anger and to fight; they're also more illiterate.
However, I am not stating this merely because of some recent fights. Fistfights are common in here, not to mention an occasional stabbing, or a man getting banged over the head with a tuna fish can or smacked sideways with a bar of soap in a sock. But there is a more aggressive inmate, very streetwise and vicious, that's now coming into the prison system. He's angry and hyperactive, and more than likely, he is facing a long stretch of time to do.
For many of these young men, reality has yet to set in. But it will. One day, when their cell doors slam shut once too often, or when they're alone with themselves for the final lock-in for the evening, one by one, they'll awaken to the truth. Then they will finally understand what they've done to themselves, to their families, and to their victims. And it will be a nightmare. It will be a mess that only God can fix.
D.B.
