Convict mentality – the good, the bad, and the ugly
A cliché I know, but it fits.
Some of the finest people I have ever known are convicts. I think of Chris Rich, who killed his wife with a baseball bat. He fell into alcohol dependence after his very promising baseball career ended. If you spent some time with him you would know why I think so highly of him and it all started out on a bad note as I identified him as part of the reason I got bounced, for a couple seasons, from the Giants to the A’s. He even confessed his part in it to me.
Bilal Chatman, a Muslim,[1] I think, a man I trust and consistently has been a credit to the Giants. When he lost his starting position due to lack of production at the plate, his positive presence on the bench was noticeable. And what a face, his character shines through. I nicknamed Bilal “The Rock.” I wish I had spent a lot more time than I did just talking with him, and now I may never the chance.
Chris Marshall, Marcus Crumb, Stafont Smith, Doug Winn, Orlando “Duck” Harris, Mike Tyler, Charles Lyons, all Black like Bilal and YaYa, I include these men among the “good.” A Black A’s player, Marvin Andrews, a fine man I have known for years–they don’t come any better. And there are others I could mention but who did not have a chance to sign a release form.
A Pacific Islander, another designated racial group at the prison, is Eli Sala. Quiet man, stocky, strong, not fat, a gold tooth right in front, he can hit, run, and field. He also can pitch. For years now he has been on one of my teams and even though he can only show up on Saturdays due to classes he takes during the week, I welcome him on the team anyway. From time to time I hear complaints from other Giants about Eli’s unavailability for Thursday night games.
Eli is like gold, like the tooth. He is not the best guy ever to be in a SQ Giants uniform; he will always be an mvp to me.
Curtis Roberts, Pete Steele, these men I have gotten to know well. Also there is Frankie Smith, our first base coach–a fine man, who I just heard has been diagnosed with head and neck cancer, which has spread throughout his jaw and lower mouth. Stage four I think someone said; seems improbable now that I will ever see him again.
One of the last games I managed before being forced out, Frankie pitched for the opposing team. Only seven players showed up and without a pitcher or catcher. Marcus volunteered to catch and Frankie to pitch. He must be fifty-five, as far as I know had not been throwing, nevertheless he pitched five solid innings and only gave up three runs, which was enough for a loss, but what heart. By the fourth inning I could see he was in pain; he sucked it up and keep firing.
Pete Steele deserves a whole chapter devoted just to him. He is the con who came out of nowhere to pitch for what were the Pirates ten years ago and win that game throwing to Donnie Worthy behind the plate. Later that year we lost Pete when it was discovered he had created a document, somehow, forged a captain’s signature, and was able to get himself from H Unit up to the lower yard after the restrictions placed on him for some kind of mischief. Then, after the season, he disappeared only to show up in May of this year and has become our most dependable pitcher.
Pete can play anywhere, pitcher, first base, short stop, third base, outfield, and he is so far the home run champ. Tall, strong, now forty years old, athletic but does not necessarily look it, he took a bad hop during a game, hit him right in the mouth, blood everywhere and a front toot punctured his lower lip. Hideous injury and away he went in an ambulance. That was on a Thursday, that next Saturday, he pitched nine whole innings and won the game for the Giants, even hit a homer.
Meth has been his problem; that drug is so hard to resist. I have been told that it would get me to if I ever tried it. The whites like meth, speeds them up for working, sex, and fighting. Matt White, Frank Braby, and Pete–each good men, not bad or ugly, and the attraction is powerful. Pete has a wife, kids, a home, and a job waiting for him. Sounds like he has started going to the chapel. He really wants to make it. Such a likeable guy. He is going home, here in the same county where I live, at the end of August and I hope he gives me a call.
I did not mention Mario Ellis, have not said much about Mike or Charles, but fine men. Mario, a superior athlete, is hard to manage. He redefines “defensive.” Mike and Charles, not great baseball players but will be stars on the football team, and are, without a doubt, the fastest guys in the prison.
The bad, can’t go too far with this and I don’t want to judge. Who knows what any man would do given the conditions that many have to live with. Take away hope and meaning and what is left. Prison is a place where struggles are being fought to maintain one’s humanness. Not to have any real goal, or mission as it is often put, robs a man of something that goes to the core. It is possible that a mission might be to try to cause the collapse of the baseball program. All the guys that have been cut from making a team over the years or those who have proven to others and even themselves that they just don’t have it anymore–the search for meaning goes on.
I have heard a lot of sad stories, usually second hand since convicts rarely carry on much. Stoic might describe it. There is danger that lurks in over sympathizing with the convicts. Not uncommon to see someone naively trying to make a convict’s life a little better by bringing in some form of contraband. Innocent, ignorant, foolish, yes, which become criminal and illegal. I will never forget the seventy-two year old woman who, as a long time volunteer with the Protestant Chapel, brought in items that actually led to her arrest. I knew this fine woman well and I will not easily be able to get out of my mind the sight of her being taken out of the building that houses the warden and the other higher-ups in hand cuffs and being escorted to a waiting police car. Strangely, I never heard of her again, nothing but silence.
The ugly, there is ugliness in everyone, myself included. Ugly lies in wait and hidden because it is costly to display it. I see it more plainly in some of the correctional officers. Among these are the good; I would like to talk about them but I should not. Every convict knows the good cops and these men and women are respected. The good ones are firm, fair, and approachable. They do their jobs, obey the rules, and are not mean. The mean ones, the bad and the ugly, in perhaps the majority. The worst are those who have to show they are tough by being mean and vengeful. They play the ubiquitous game of pay-back. They have not internalized the golden rule of treating others as you would be treated.
Due to my longevity at San Quentin I have seen officers turned and changed. At the start they are pleasant, business-like, but human. Over time I have seen the move from good to bad. And it is ugly.
[1] Interesting that I am a Christian, two of my staunchest supporters have been Muslims during this tumultuous 2011 season, Bilal and YaYa. Both African Americans, converts to Islam, have consistently proven themselves to be reliable and honorable men.