Within the space of a few hours, the news began to circulate throughout the prison...
Charlie Wesson (pseudonym) was found dead in his cell. He was forty-eight years old, and it is assumed, he probably suffered a massive heart attack or a stroke.
Charlie was a thin black man who had been in prison for 27 years. His health was poor. He looked fifteen years older than his age. He was a heavy smoker, too. In fact, just a few weeks ago, I wrote about him in my journal. This was the man who tossed toilet water at me during an episode of psychotic rage (Journal for October 23rd).
For an approximately two-week period during the second half of October, Charlie was unapproachable. He would curse and snarl at anyone who happened to walk in front of his cell. He also had a history of verbally and violently lashing out at both the inmates and staff.
However, when Charlie was stable, he was a pleasant person to talk to. Over the years, he and I had many good conversations. He followed the Muslim religion, but he told me that his family are Christians.
Sometimes when I went to work in the E-North cell block, I would bring him a handful of Lipton tea bags and packets of sugar, which he loved.
Charlie couldn't write very well, and he was partially crippled in one arm. So, about every other month, he would ask me to write a letter to his sister for him. We'd sit at a table in the recreation area of the cell block, and he would dictate to me what he wanted me to tell her. Charlie's letters were short and simple. He never had much to say. Now he's gone, suddenly and unexpectedly.
D.B.
Charlie was a thin black man who had been in prison for 27 years. His health was poor. He looked fifteen years older than his age. He was a heavy smoker, too. In fact, just a few weeks ago, I wrote about him in my journal. This was the man who tossed toilet water at me during an episode of psychotic rage (Journal for October 23rd).
For an approximately two-week period during the second half of October, Charlie was unapproachable. He would curse and snarl at anyone who happened to walk in front of his cell. He also had a history of verbally and violently lashing out at both the inmates and staff.
However, when Charlie was stable, he was a pleasant person to talk to. Over the years, he and I had many good conversations. He followed the Muslim religion, but he told me that his family are Christians.
Sometimes when I went to work in the E-North cell block, I would bring him a handful of Lipton tea bags and packets of sugar, which he loved.
Charlie couldn't write very well, and he was partially crippled in one arm. So, about every other month, he would ask me to write a letter to his sister for him. We'd sit at a table in the recreation area of the cell block, and he would dictate to me what he wanted me to tell her. Charlie's letters were short and simple. He never had much to say. Now he's gone, suddenly and unexpectedly.
D.B.
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