My years inside the walls of the infamous Attica Prison were memorable ones...
It was here where I learned how to do "time." Sometimes I had to learn the hard way; I made mistakes. While at other times I did good. Either way it was all for the better because the lessons I learned were invaluable, some even lifesaving
It would take many pages to tell the story of my incarceration at Attica. So I am only going to highlight several events and leave it at that. I will list these things as they come into mind.
I was thankful for the guys who befriended me. I also got along pretty good with the officers. Some even played ping-pong with me and the other inmates in the dayroom. Attica was not always a world of hatred and animosity between prisoners and guards, but at times bad feelings on both sides would surface.
The facility's reputation was not a good one. I was fortunate to have made out as well as I did, at least until the last several months when I ended up in solitary for fighting, and then getting transferred to Dannemora.
The best thing which happened was a visit from my birth mother, Betty. She made the long trek from Brooklyn to Attica to be with me. It was a two-day trip as she had to stay overnight at a motel. My cousin drove her all the way from New York City and back.
It was wonderful to embrace my mother again. Contrary to negative media stories about our relationship, we always got along just fine. To see me in prison, however, broke her heart.
While on the negative side, I was still in a delusional state of mind. Not to a point where I couldn't function, but to the degree that I thought many people I knew were seeking to take advantage of me. Some actually were, but that's another story.
Several media persons met with me in Attica, too. This was a big mistake on my part. I foolishly thought that if I told them what the Son of Sam case was all about, and how those unfortunate victims were sacrifices to "Samhain," the blood thirsty god of the legendary Druids (called the lord of death - associated with Halloween), they would in turn share this with the world; they did not.
As the result of the media's indifference and disbelief, I eventually went into a stage of denial and took the easy way out claiming I made up the story of dogs and demons. It was convenient. But I hated the fact that I was inadvertently covering up for these evil entities instead of warning the world of their existence. I was now allowing them to get away with murder.
Even in my cell I was practicing witchcraft. I had an array of occult books and was casting spells. I was a lost and confused soul. Yet after I got slashed by another inmate and could have died, when I returned to my cell a week later after being released from the prison's Infirmary, I sensed that demons were now seeking to kill me.
To this day I believe they were. After my close call with death, I took it upon myself to toss all my occult books into the trash, and to stop doing rituals as well. At this point I began to realize the extent of my deception. Although I had little to no faith in God at the time, I sensed that witchcraft and casting spells was not good. So I left it all alone.
All told, Attica was a different world. It was a dangerous place, and obviously so. After all, it was only a handful of years ago that forty-two inmates and correction officers lost their lives in a riot.
D. B.
It would take many pages to tell the story of my incarceration at Attica. So I am only going to highlight several events and leave it at that. I will list these things as they come into mind.
I was thankful for the guys who befriended me. I also got along pretty good with the officers. Some even played ping-pong with me and the other inmates in the dayroom. Attica was not always a world of hatred and animosity between prisoners and guards, but at times bad feelings on both sides would surface.
The facility's reputation was not a good one. I was fortunate to have made out as well as I did, at least until the last several months when I ended up in solitary for fighting, and then getting transferred to Dannemora.
The best thing which happened was a visit from my birth mother, Betty. She made the long trek from Brooklyn to Attica to be with me. It was a two-day trip as she had to stay overnight at a motel. My cousin drove her all the way from New York City and back.
It was wonderful to embrace my mother again. Contrary to negative media stories about our relationship, we always got along just fine. To see me in prison, however, broke her heart.
While on the negative side, I was still in a delusional state of mind. Not to a point where I couldn't function, but to the degree that I thought many people I knew were seeking to take advantage of me. Some actually were, but that's another story.
Several media persons met with me in Attica, too. This was a big mistake on my part. I foolishly thought that if I told them what the Son of Sam case was all about, and how those unfortunate victims were sacrifices to "Samhain," the blood thirsty god of the legendary Druids (called the lord of death - associated with Halloween), they would in turn share this with the world; they did not.
As the result of the media's indifference and disbelief, I eventually went into a stage of denial and took the easy way out claiming I made up the story of dogs and demons. It was convenient. But I hated the fact that I was inadvertently covering up for these evil entities instead of warning the world of their existence. I was now allowing them to get away with murder.
Even in my cell I was practicing witchcraft. I had an array of occult books and was casting spells. I was a lost and confused soul. Yet after I got slashed by another inmate and could have died, when I returned to my cell a week later after being released from the prison's Infirmary, I sensed that demons were now seeking to kill me.
To this day I believe they were. After my close call with death, I took it upon myself to toss all my occult books into the trash, and to stop doing rituals as well. At this point I began to realize the extent of my deception. Although I had little to no faith in God at the time, I sensed that witchcraft and casting spells was not good. So I left it all alone.
All told, Attica was a different world. It was a dangerous place, and obviously so. After all, it was only a handful of years ago that forty-two inmates and correction officers lost their lives in a riot.
D. B.
RSS Feed