Fishing In Prison

The author is told by a former student, now an inmate, in Level 4 Maximum Security - HOW TO GO FISHING IN PRISON.
  The inmate was in solitary confinement for 7 years

Transcript

                                                          How to Fish In Prison

My former fifth grader, Rojelio Mondragon Garcia*, received a life sentence at age fourteen. Over the years, he was easily one of my favorites. As a kid he was tiny, cute, full of energy, a sparkle in his eye, and super verbal. I taught him chess at age 10 and the normal; math, science, reading, social studies curriculum of fifth grade on the few days he came to school. In return he taught me about the hood and later he coached me about survival in prison. Particularly how to manage 7 years in S.H.U. (Segregated Housing Unit) AKA - solitary confinement.

                  He became a Norteño at age thirteen. Burned down an enemy gang member’s house with nine people in it. None died. Once he was incarcerated we wrote back and forth regularly. 

                  He wrote, “Everything I tell you is true. But somethings I just can’t tell you. I caught an attempted murder charge for each person in the house I burned. Nine of them. So, Mr. K, that was a life sentence. I was one of the first teenagers in CA to get a life sentence. Lucky me.”

                  Among other things he informed me he was in solitary confinement. What does one do in solitary confinement? I asked him and he wrote in detail. 

“As a gang member we have strict rules. You have to comply. If you don’t there’s consequences. If lucky we could get fined. Pay X amount of cigarettes, which was always prison cash. For worse infractions, maybe you’d get assaulted by the gang. Perhaps we’d be ordered to assault someone else. Or…if the infraction was big time they’d off us. So, Mr. K, ya do the rules.”

“Gang rule number 1. We had to keep our cells tidy. Clean the sink and toilet. Wash the walls. We had to keep a schedule. Up at a certain time. We had to do Navy Burpees. Those are tight-ass push-ups where ya are on the ground in pushup position but when you are at the top of your pushup you push yourself completely in the air. With your feet and arms off the floor. My goal was a thousand a day. And I got my goal cuz I did them in groups all day long.”

I asked him, “How do you not go crazy in isolation?”

“We got two hours a week outside. In a cage. Just like a dog kennel. Maybe fifteen feet long by eight feet wide. There’d be lots of those kennels almost side by side. But never touching. Cuz if an enemy was in a nearby cage we’d be forced to attack them through the wires. They’d do the same to us if they could. Mostly in the cages we’d have bundles of tied newspapers sometimes wet from the rain and we’d lift them. Left arm, right arm, both arms. Ya got to be in shape. Plus, ya want the Southies (Soreños) to see you hauling weight. We read a shitload. We wrote letters too. Oh, yeah best thing was we’d go fishing.”

That threw me. Fishing in prison?

He explained, “Ya know I said we’d attack enemies whenever we saw them. But when we were in isolation we had a truce. Some Southies could be in a cell next to me and we’d whisper to each other when the guards walked way past us. But best thing was fishing. We’d carefully pull the elastic bands out of our briefs. Ya’ know how briefs hug your waist. They do that cuz there’s rubber bands in them. We’d work them out in one long piece. Careful not to break them. Usually there were three or four rows. We’d collect as many as we could and we’d tie them all together in one long ass line. Then we’d get a piece of paper. We’d twist the ends on it like a joint. But first we’d put trade stuff in it. We’d crush up our bars of soap. There was always a shortage of soap cuz the C.O.s (Correction Officers) were such dicks and they never gave us enough. Or another was Cheetos, tobacco of course if you could get any, toothpaste, instant coffee, candies, messages, whatever. But whatever it was we’d crush it into a powder to fit more in the joint. We’d tie our elastic band long-line to one end of the paper joint. There was always an inch of open space under the cell doors. In isolation you are always in a room with a door. Normal cells would be bars you could put your hands through. Depending of course on the prison. Anyways, when the guards walked past and down to the end of the tier then we’d shoot out our lines. We’d try to cross them over somebody else’s line and then you’d’ pull it in. Kinda like Christmas. Ya never knew what you’d get and then if you liked it you’d keep it and negotiate with the other fishermen. 

                  Some of the guards let us do it. They’d never admit to that though. But we knew which C.O.s where more tolerant. And of course some of them were dicks like I said. They’d rip them out of our cells and we’d get written up for infractions and get a cell search. Which was always a nightmare. Cuz they’d inform us they were coming in. If we resisted or had a history of resisting they’d throw in tear gas. The C.O.s wore teargas masks. And they had heavy duty shields. They’d come in like riot cops and smash us to the floor.

                  Supposedly I had the record at one time for the most gas canisters thrown in. It was six.

                  Anyway, that’s how we survived in S.H.U. 

Terrible thing was, like I mentioned, if our doors were opened and an enemy was next door we’d try to kill each other. And maybe a few minutes before we fished like old school pals.  But, funny other thing was with all that fishing I did for all those years. Never caught a real fish. Never been real fishing in my whole life. One of the many things I missed out on being a gangster. I’m just telling ya as it is Mr. Karrer

·      Not his real name.