Jack the Ripper

The following is an excerpt from Part One:

I am warned that I should never, under any circumstance, mention that I am in on a child molestation charge. It drives every lofty, self-appointed juror and judge—encompassing nearly everyone—to insane and belligerent behavior. A testament to that reaction occurs when we are initially incarcerated and dragged into court for the first time. We are conveniently arrested on a Friday afternoon. That way, there is no avoiding jail for at least a weekend. Monday is court. It becomes a succession of an absurd array of waste-of-time hearings. No audible mention of our charges is announced in the courtroom, due to the “sensitive nature” of the case. Yet mysteriously and miraculously, every one of the guards becomes aware of the alleged offenses. In turn, they publicize choice bits of information to the prisoners. Pandemonium breaks out in the holding cells beneath the courtrooms. Ultimately it swells to a near full-blown riot on the return bus trip to the prison. These guys go spastic. Like a wild cluster of chimpanzees on crack, they shake and rock the bus and try spitting at us through the sectioned-off crates that we are inserted into. The lashing out continues for the duration of the rush hour ride. “Ripper! Ripper! Ripper! Ripper!”

Particularly in prison circles the term is interchanged with the pseudonym of Jack the Ripper, a legendary serial killer. His notoriety as a brutal murderer is often inappropriately translated to mean “Rapist,” probably because his victims were prostitutes. The “Ripper!” intimidation is periodically interjected with select adjectives, profane and profoundly profane in nature. Not one of the state marshals or prison staff does a thing to abate the situation. Why would any of them? They instigated it in the first place.