Serene Afternoons

Those of you that live in or near a major city have probably spent a weekend afternoon at your city’s largest park, and surely found it to be a unique and serene experience. From the joggers and bicyclists cruising the paths to the sport enthusiasts, to the dog lovers out for a stroll with their canine companions, there is a feeling of a gathering taking place for the common good, where all have left their troubles at home and come only to enjoy what nature and community have to offer. Even those of you who have never experienced this personally have surely seen cinematic evidence of a day in New York City’s Central Park, and can relate to what I’m describing.

Now picture the same Sunday in the park, only with all of its participants shirtless, tattooed convicts doing time for murder, drug dealing, and bank robbery. This is your typical weekend afternoon on a prison yard. (Those of you still picturing Central Park, remember that the distinction lies in the fact that we’ve been CONVICTED.)

Most of us are forced to work in some sort of trivial prison job during the week, so by the time the weekend rolls around we’re ready for some fun. So on a warm weekend day, we pour out of our cell blocks after lunch, and converge on the prison’s recreation yard, creating a spectacle (and threat) with a unique identity.

Rather than leave it to your imagination, let me take you on a tour so you can see for yourself:

As you pass through the metal detectors and get patted down, there’s a little shack where you can check out a ball, Frisbee, board game, jump rope, etc. You give the clerk your ID in exchange for what you want, and he’ll give it back when you return it.

There’s a half mile track around the outside of the whole yard. Some guys are jogging on it, occasionally stopping to do push ups or lunges, others are walking in groups of two or three or four, discussing everything from ex-girlfriends to prison politics.

There’s a full court basketball game with bleachers full of spectators. These guys are good.

A softball game. You get it over the prison’s wall, it’s a home run! Interestingly, the aluminum bats are NEVER used as weapons. They would then be taken away, and no one is willing to sacrifice that. It’s an unspoken RULE.

A row of guys laying on towels, suntanning, with radios on their ears, who knows where they have escaped to?

The Native American sweat lodge. Although considered a deeply spiritual and sacred part of Native American tradition, they will occasionally invite a non-native to join them. It is an honor and a privilege, and should not be taken lightly. A small domed bamboo structure covered in canvas, with heated rocks inside, much like a sauna. Also, the Native Americans are the only ones still allowed to smoke in prison (for Federal prison, at least). They are given a small amount of tobacco each week to smoke out of a pipe.

A group of men in a circle, taking turns “spitting” their own rap. Usually the next guy in line is expected to weave his verse(s) into the theme of the last guy’s either building on it or trying to make the last guy sound silly. There’s plenty of rules, though. You never talk about a guys mom, and definitely want to keep from calling anyone a “bitch.” That will get you killed. But these guys all know the rules, and have a good time. You better be good if you want to join in, though, they have no problem letting you know if you’re not up to their standards.

The Handball courts are always packed. Handball is one of the few sports that a guy can win based entirely on his own ability, so the Handball champion has supreme bragging rights. You better be in shape for that one, though.

There’s also just a whole lot of guys standing around. You’ll see groups of five, even ten guys just jawing away. You would think that the administration would have a problem with this, that they don’t want people getting together plotting, but I heard the Warden of one of these joints say something once that rings oh-so-true. He told his officers, “If you see two guys talking to each other, break ’em up and find out what they’re saying. If you see three or more talking, don’t worry about it, one of them is mine.” How do you like that!

Occasionally, some sort of problem will break out. Maybe it’s a fight, maybe even a killing. When this happens, the protocol is always the same. The guard in the fun tower starts shooting in the air, a voice booms over a loudspeaker that says, “GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!” which you do quickly, or you could get shot). However many officers are available come storming onto the yard to break it up. Believe me, there are a bunch of them trying to be heroes. You don’t want any part of them. The first time it happens it can be a little unsettling, but you quickly come to expect it a few times each season. The big gang fights are a little worse, but now’s not the time for that.

Once in a blue moon, someone will actually try to make a run on the wall or the fence. That never ends well for him. Prison breaks do happen, but not in broad daylight with the guards in towers with itchy trigger fingers who spend their whole lives waiting for such an event. I suppose it’s up to the warden whether they go for your knees or not, but the ones I’ve talked to tell me that they go for the biggest part of the body—the center of the chest (or back). Good luck, Clint Eastwood.

For the most part, we manage to exist peacefully and even find some happiness in our little fenced-in patch of sunshine. It’s not quite reminiscent of Manet’s The Luncheon on the Grass, or Seurat's A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, but then, what is? One joint I was in even had its own little population of cats. They were spoiled rotten! Guys would buy tuna and mackerel from the commissary and bring it out to the furry little things, sometimes three times a day. Funny, I never saw one of the cats try to make a break for it.