There are certain places that you grow up only seeing on television, books or in other mediums, such as the Eiffel Tower, the Grand Canyon and Stonehenge. (I've been to all of those places! Isn't that cool?)
Add to that list the inner plaza of San Quentin State Prison.
After successfully navigating the foreboding, castle-like facade of the front entrance (on my first attempt, the guard turned me away because I had brought my phone with me so I had to walk all the way back to the visitor parking lot) and proceeding through two heavy, iron-barred doors while flashing my identification card, I had one of those moments which is typically reserved for landmarks seen on my travels.
"Wow."
I had only seen the inner plaza in TV documentaries. On the right was the Captain's Porch and various religious halls, directly across the plaza was the prison hospital (where I work) and to the left was the Adjustment Center (the prison inside the prison). In the middle of the plaza was a memorial to those who died on the grounds of the institution, going all the way back to its birth in 1852. This whole scene was dotted with the shades of green of Correctional Officers and shades of blue, yellow, orange and white of the inmates.
On my first day, it was sensory overload.
I felt discomfort by being in this kind of environment, one which is filled with some of society's criminals. I kept expecting someone to yell at me, for an inmate hurl some poisonous words my way. But it did not happen (and still hasn't). These men are wired in a slightly different way to the rest of us. So, I was immediately on my guard.
I felt fear in that plaza.
Quickly, however, I learned that because this is a place with a dangerous environment, I must adapt to it. I must check my fear at the door and walk around with a sense of confidence. Put on the poker face. If there's anyone who's able to sniff out fear, it's a prison inmate.
1/30 - There are preconceived notions, and then there's reality.
My words from a few weeks ago were of my first impressions and preconceived notions. In reality?
San Quentin is the Club Med of California state prisons. It's part art museum, part preserved historical landmark. I've learned that if an inmate had a choice of any prison he could stay at in California, it would be San Quentin because of the amount of opportunity the inmate has for self-improvement. The sports teams play civilian clubs; the San Quentin Warriors had a basketball game with representatives of the Golden State Warriors last year. There's a San Quentin newspaper. There's a San Quentin Museum, curated by a former guard.
In fact, there's a podcast recorded by inmates within San Quentin called "Ear Hustle," which is about prison life and the stories from within.
San Quentin is a fascinating place.
2/14 As I sit at my desk listening to the distant thuds of a foot slamming into a cell door on the floor below mine, most likely driven by a state of frayed mental health, I decided to do more writing.
San Quentin is a Level II, non-designated prison, meaning it is a lower security institution overall, and gang affiliations and behaviors are not tolerated here. The institution is commonly referred to as "soft" and "not real life," especially for a correctional officer, because there are more violent prisons throughout the state. Inmates on long sentences can enter a waiting list for a spot at San Quentin, but they need 10 straight years of good behavior to be considered.
Correctional officers are trained in a way which reminds them that this isn't a real prison environment. Though many of the inmates have freedom of movement between their groups and appointments, the exercise yard and their cells, officers are trained to treat everyone as if they're a Level IV inmate; the highest threat. It's easy to get complacent here, to let your guard down.
Everyone is reminded to not become the next Peter Felix, to become so manipulated by a sociopathic inmate that you become their drug mule, stuffing burritos with dope and trafficking it into the institution.
Though there are more violent prisons in the state, one still has to be aware of their surroundings, especially when around inmates. Don't let them walk behind you. Don't give them any personal information. Call them out on attempts to manipulate.
So when I took a walk with my supervisor last week, a tiny tornado of a woman whose head barely reaches my chest, I had to put on a poker face. We were headed into "Blood Alley," the path which leads from H Unit (Level I security dormitories) to the exercise yard. It's a six-foot wide gravel path with a tall, barbed-wire fence on one side and an imposing, yellow, asbestos-laden wall on the other. Since there are parts with bad visibility to the guard towers, this path is known for violence between rival gangs. When navigating these areas, the key is to walk with purpose and sport an unreadable face.
The same can be said when entering housing units. I've stepped inside West Block and North Block, and both times I noticed that the inmates seemed to immediately know strangers were in their midst. Men on the fourth and fifth tiers of the blocks peered down curiously at us. Inmates walking along their individual tiers glared at us. The energy was different; it was a hive of activity, with men doing their laundry, talking on phones or the barber waiting for his next client to sit in his chair and ask for a fade.
30/3 - It's now almost three months since I started at San Quentin and am enjoying myself. I'll include some photos I've taken since moving here.
