Mercy please, Percy.

INCITE—A true story of two men betrayed by their adopted children and tortured for a crime they did not commit.

The following is an excerpt from the Introduction:
 
 
Not all of the correctional officers were berating, obnoxious swine. Out of hundreds, there were a handful of civilized, conscientious staff members. I could count them on two hands, with two fingers to spare. Those five men and three women represented respectability. An emotional conversation with one heroic officer revealed his relentless disapproval of the inexcusable, intolerant conduct that permeated the penal complex. Hostile colleagues routinely harassed him. They went so far as to send threatening Christmas mail to his family. With tears in his eyes, he stated that not a night passed when he did not cry himself to sleep. I know of other novice employees who quit after their exposure to the horrid reality of inner prison dictatorial insanity.

During my eight and one-half month interval at the ACI, I was transferred to eight different modules (mods). Only once did an officer offer a “care package” and towel. By that gesture, I felt I could trust him to help resolve an issue which had arisen with one of his belligerent coworkers, but he was not willing to get involved. I quickly learned that his opposing someone on the prison staff was not prudent, even among his peers. Nevertheless, this persevering soul had a tremendous positive impact on the behavior of inmates in his mod. Respect breeds respect.

The Green Mile, starring Tom Hanks in a brilliant performance as a sane and compassionate prison guard, depicts the attitude of the miniscule minority whom I had the honor of associating with at the ACI, as well as the antagonism of the majority. Percy, a guard, is portrayed in the movie as a mean and rotten psychopath. He exults in inflicting misery at every opportunity. He squashes the life from a circus mouse that belongs to inmate Eduard Delacroix, who is slated for capital punishment. Eduard’s only earthly friend is the furry little rodent. Percy later assists in Eduard’s electric chair execution. He deliberately does not soak water into the sponge, which is to be placed between the skullcap conductor and the victim’s cranium. Percy relishes the thought of watching his prey crisp like blackened catfish at a Cajun cookout.

For the better part of a year, I endured and witnessed similar cruelty. I was haunted by the sight of “Percy.” Even though he assumed many different shapes and sizes. As it is with sand in a dessert windstorm, I was continually accosted by a familiar, unrelenting malice.

That was not as much the case with the RI state marshals. Many of them appeared to be diligent, respectful people. They generally operated in the public view, which may have been a factor contributing toward their acceptable behavior. A select few were fascist monsters, an absolute embarrassment to humankind. We had trouble in a series of incidents involving three different sheriffs. Each occurred in areas where the only witnesses were prisoners. When the prison staff were in public view, as in the visitors’ area of the Intake Service Center, the general level of their conduct was more restrained than when behind barriers.

...it became personal

The following is an excerpt from the Introduction:



What are the implications of being cast into the hell we call prison? Imagine getting a phone call announcing that a loved one is arrested and confined without having broken the law? How might it feel to learn that your partner is locked up in the “care” of barbaric goons for having been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Your husband is crouched naked in a desolate, near freezing, padded cell. In retribution for a perceived indiscretion, someone arbitrarily accuses that “he did this to me,” or “she did that to me.” Your child lies in a puddle of his own blood, teeth smashed out. It is a case of mistaken identity but prison personnel will be certain that he “learns his lesson.” Your dad, accused of a crime not committed, is emotionally browbeaten on a daily basis. Your brother is tortured in solitary confinement because someone has decided to get even.

These are not comforting thoughts. They are, nonetheless, latent realities. It is easy to look at the corrections system with the attitude that “they made their bed, let them sleep in it,” or “they deserve whatever harsh treatment they get, they brought it upon themselves.” It is all too easy to adopt a position of “I do not give a shit what goes on behind bars.” When it is not personal, it is easy to not care. At least for me it was.

Then it became personal.

Behind Bars

The following is an excerpt from the Introduction:



Not in a million lifetimes did I ever imagine myself in prison. The idea never surfaced. Hopping on a space shuttle to Mars or having a second head surgically implanted would have been more conceivable to me. As with unanticipated life events such as car accidents and cancer, the majority of individuals who are conscientious, law-abiding citizens do not commonly consider the prospect of doing time. Nevertheless, it can happen.



I am living proof.



Many people are not disposed to a criminal life and they do not think about the prison experience, not from a personal perspective. Approximately one in every thirty-two Americans gets a shot at having the handcuffs shoved on. The scratch ticket average payoff, according to Wikipedia, is less than one in five. If the criminal justice system were a game—and to many who implement it, it is—I sure would put my effort into selling Jail Bird chances. It would be a great way to cash in on what is rapidly becoming a booming, multi-billion dollar industry.