Thin Ice

The CDW gathered up the members of the A’s and Giants as best he could on the Lower Yard, wherein is The Field of Dreams, and told them I was on “thin ice.” This was just after I had received three new death threats. From what I heard the two cons behind the threats had convinced the CDW that I was largely to blame for the troubles between the two baseball teams. “One more time that Philpott acts in an arrogant, rude, or disrespectful way, and he is gone.”

            Now how will I proceed? There certainly will be a time when doing nothing more than acting the part of a leader that I will unwittingly provide my enemies with something to tattle to Rodriquez about. A simple decision as a baseball coach during a baseball game, and that could be it.

            I figure the CDW got bought by the convicts, persuaded by them, and without talking to me about it at all. All the Giants players, and some A’s players as well, who stood by me, apparently did not matter much.

            It is now May, and opening day is two weeks away. There have been no tryouts since the CDW wants to “punish” the cons. One instigator has gone to the hole and is still there,[1] which is a step in the right direction, and rumor has it that he will be transferred to another prison. Rumors are just that though and are often spread just to see how well they do, a kind of perverse entertainment.

            Thin ice — I will certainly break through that, and I am at the point I don’t care that much about it. More than a decade and a half and the powers that be could care less. The usual refrain is: “This is a prison you know.” My reply is: “Sure I know I am in a prison, but volunteers should not be treated like convicts.” This is not to say that convicts are to be mistreated, they are abused to be sure, and I guess the thugs who run prisons don’t know the difference between a prisoner and a volunteer or don’t care that there is.

            Thugs! Not a complementary label, but I think an accurate one, at least for many who work in prisons. A correctional officer, a new hire — may have the best of intentions and genuinely want to make a difference. I have talked to these, some who were college grads with degrees in psych, sociology, criminal justice, and so on, who saw the job as a way to give back or make a difference.

            Things change though, maybe in a few months, maybe it takes a few years. The code of conduct among CO’s does not allow for a touchy-feely approach. There is a certain demeanor that is nearly enforced. Then there is the impact of the cons behavior on the COs. When I talk about this issue with outsiders they are often surprised at this and disbelieving. Prisoners can seem like such wonderful people; they have learned the art of presenting themselves in the best of lights. Without realizing it, people are “turned” and develop an antagonism toward the criminal justice system, which of course is flawed and corrupt like most other human institutions and see the convicts as protagonists. It happens every day. The CO then who comes in with a clean slate is radicalized and without seeing what is happening to him or her and may then become a thug.

            Thug behavior is rewarded by the jailers and confirmed by those in jail; it is an example of the proverbial vicious cycle. Abuse begets abuse, and round and round it goes. What matters to the caring young correctional officer is nothing much more than a paycheck with benefits. The ideal for way too many of those who operate our jails and prisons is – lock em up and throw away the key.             It is no real wonder that I am on thin ice. If my volunteer card is pulled and I am forced to walk away from a program I have struggled to build over the years, what price will I pay? How long will it take me to get over it? Will I let my heart get

[1] This convict was transferred out of San Quentin during the third week of May, and where, no one seems to know.

#5

Again at 128 Greenfield Ave., for sure now 1969, still painting houses, inside and out, and just prior to my leaving for a job in Ross, painting interior rooms, there was a knock at the door. I opened it and there stood a teen aged girl. She just stood there, face down. I asked her to come in but she just stood there. I asked my wife to come to the door and asked her to invite the girl in as I had to leave, but she refused, no blame here, but she would not do it. I had no choice but to take the girl with me.

      Later in the late morning I was cutting in a ceiling, standing on a stepladder, and the girl was across the room sitting on a chair with her head down in a sorrowful kind of way. With paint brush in hand, all of a sudden it came to me what had happened to her. She had been being initiated into a satanic cult, and part of it was licking the ejaculation of the men there into a female sheep.

      While on the ladder, I told her what had come to my mind, and she began to cry. Well, that was the end of the painting that day, we went back to the house on Greenfield, I told my wife about all that had happened. The girl was able to talk now, and she gave us the phone number of her home. (I do not recall where she was from.)

      The next day, her parents showed up and took her away home. Oddly, there was no other communication from the girl or her parents.

Scheduling

The worst part of the job is filling out the game schedule for the teams. It is almost a full-time job–at least you could make into one if you were neurotic enough. (I just barely escape.)

            How it works is, after being contacted by an outside team that wants to come in, I email the schedule out along with a gate clearance form and a little piece I wrote titled, “Considerations for teams.” (It appears at the end of this chapter.)

            This is all pretty simple, but the trouble begins with the gate clearance. On the form, four pieces of information are requested for each person coming in: name as on the driver’s license; that driver’s license number; date of birth; and social security number. A person at the prison, in the warden’s office, goes into an FBI data base, which is very sensitive, and the person will either be cleared or denied. If denied I hope to be told about this to prevent the player from making the effort to come only to be turned away at the East Gate. Sometimes I am so informed; other times I am not.

            Where the trouble comes in is when team managers try to get a player or two cleared in mere days ahead of the game date. Usually, a week or more is required.[1] Not that it takes so long to do the clearances, but it is a bureaucratic thing, there are rules and policies that must be followed.

            It is a gamble whether the add-ons will be cleared or not, and in these rush deals, I mostly never know what happened. Now we are at the gate, the players are all hoping to get in. Driver’s licenses are collected then handed to the officer at the East Gate, who disappears into his little shack where he runs the names through his computer. Invariably he will emerge with two piles of licenses; one set that cleared, the other that didn’t. The denied players sometimes take it okay, and some do not. There has been many a scene at the gate when the denied person(s) only has me to blame. Though I try to explain what might have happened, the disappointment can run deep. More than once a whole team will actually refuse to come for a game when even one of their players is turned away.

            One incident I will not forget easily was when a Marine, just back from Iraq, had only his military I.D. with him, which had his photo on it. The whole team cleared but him. I resolved to get him in, so I headed into the prison to find the watch commander in the Captain’s Porch and argue the case. He was not there, but I was told he was in cafeteria located just east of the Count Gate, the main entrance into the heart of the prison.

            The captain was seated having coffee with several other officers of rank, and I excused myself and presented the Marine’s I.D. It was examined, and then the watch commander said, “Nope, has to be a driver’s license.”

            A few years ago, a team came up from Los Angeles. They flew up on the Friday before the Saturday game, stayed at a nearby hotel, and there they were, eagerly looking forward to playing a real baseball game in one of the most famous prisons in the world.

            The day before, wanting to make sure, I contacted the powers that were responsible for the gate clearances and was told that the whole team was cleared it and there were no denials. Armed with that I phoned the manager of the team and said everything was a go.

            Not one got in; not one name was on the computer. I visited the watch commander, pleaded, begged, but no, sorry. I gathered the licenses, wrote all the information down on a piece of paper, made out a statement saying I would take full responsibility. Nope, Sorry. I am still upset about it.

Below now is something I developed that I thought might make things go more smoothly for visiting teams.

  CONSIDERATIONS FOR TEAMS

1. Please leave valuables in cars, or better yet, at home.

2. Bring a picture ID. Make sure to secure it during the game.

3. No cell phones, cameras, or other electronic devices.

4. A photo of the team may be taken in front of the East Gate before entering into the prison.

5. No blue, grey, orange, or yellow jerseys—convicts wear these colors.

6. Can bring in water, clear plastic bottle, and a snack if necessary.

7. Please do not give an inmate anything at all. “Nothing in, nothing out” is the thing.

8.  We must comply with anything asked by a correctional officer.

9. We cannot make a phone call for or contact anyone for an inmate.

10. No items of clothing may be given to an inmate, batting gloves, hats, cleats, etc.

11. Conversation may be made with an inmate, but be careful not to divulge any personal

      information. Best not to ask a person what crime he committed.

12. You will not be able to visit an inmate at a later date.

13. We have never had an incident of violence; this is not a worry.

14. A number of officers will be watching, from various locations, and the whole thing

      will be video-taped—but you will not be aware of this.

16. Try to ignore inmates who may come up behind the open dugout and want to engage

      in conversation. Be polite but discreet.

17. The officiating is usually poor, and we hope close calls go for the visitors.

18. It is not uncommon for players, who were supposed to be cleared in, turn out to be

      denied anyway. There is little or no recourse then. I suggest every player bring along

      a good book to read and maybe something to eat and drink while waiting for the rest  

     of the team to finish their game. This does not happen often, but it happens and for

     reasons we do not understand.

19. The whole point is to have fun and play baseball.

Thank you for being willing to come in. For many it is an unforgettable experience.

Kent Philpott

[1] San Quentin has bureaucracies galore, and they war with each other.  Rules change at a whim, and now a list of gate clearances require to be in a month prior to the date the team is scheduled to come in.

The Soul Journry: How Shamanism, Santeria, Wicca, and Chrisma Are Connected—Yes this book, we published 11 years ago.

Tomorrow I am interviewing, for television at Marin TV, one of Marin’s major shamans. Then a week later, via Zoom, I am interviewing one of California’s leading shamans, who lives near Los Angeles.

Reading the chapter on shamanism startled me about how I have kind of let it go, but it is huge in Marin now, likely second only to Buddhism in terms of the numbers of people attracted to it.

The person in the studio tomorrow lives in Mill Valley and passes by our church building every day. I am working hard to be ready, and in the process I am re-reading the book mentioned above.

Okay-the reason for this email: We need to be aware of these demonic practices. Oh yes, less than half a mile away is a store that is a business selling crystals and other things for the practice of Santeria, here known as Curanderos.

So I am encouraging everyone to become very aware of these practices thus going to Amazon.com, typing in ‘books’ then putting in my name, and then finding The Soul Journey. Not trying to make money, just doing my job of educating us to go about out work.

We all need to be very aware of these demonic religions, this is our work and so let us go to it.

Kent

Now jumping ahead to late 1968 or early 1969, at 128 Greenfield Ave. in San Rafael. Zion’s Inn for Girls, we called it, David Hoyt and I headed it up, and this event occurred after David and wife Victoria moved out. I was painting houses, etc., and we had turned the garage into bedrooms, usually six girls living there, besides my wife Bobbie and our two daughters Dory and Grace–we lived upstairs. One morning we all sat around the breakfast table. However, we had no food, I mean nothing at all. We did have a few tea bags but that was it. We just sat there, bewildered, when there was a knock at the door. I got up, went to the door, opened it and there stood two people, a man and a woman, about the same age as myself, and they held white paper bags in their hands. I opened the screen door, and they handed them to me. Just then, the man rushed down the stairs, out to a white van parked there, and came back up with a large white bag.

      I thanked them, heartedly, they turned, back down the stairs they went, into their van, and drove off. Never saw them again.

      Back inside, at the table, the bunch of us ate a most wonderful breakfast, the works, including orange juice and coffee. Afterwards I went off to a paint job, and later in the afternoon, a strange thought came to me. Who were these people? What was going on?

      When I returned home at the end of the workday, I searched for the bags the food had come in. I pulled about six bags out of the garbage basket, and examined them closely, and there were no indications at all, no words as there usually were, nothing. Suddenly it came to me; this had to be a miracle from our Lord. How the family and the other girls made it through the day, they/we had no food when I left, and there was no food left in the pantry. I think I got paid for the painting that day and brough home a hundred bucks or so.

First day of tryouts

 March 24 or maybe March 31

After a week’s worth of rain, which knocked out what was to be the first day of tryouts, it looked like we were finally going to conduct our first tryout on March 24. But then a seagull flew into a power line.

            The prison went dark, that early March night. And it was a dark and stormy winter’s night already. No lights at a prison! Worst case scenario indeed. Just after I had contacted all the coaches, the call came in from Don about how a huge generator was going to be installed at the prison, on the 24th, and all programs were to be cancelled. Right away, worry-wart me, began to fear that opening day would arrive and we would not be ready.

            March 31 did roll around. Saturday morning on the lower yard then with a full contingent of coaches, including two I wish were no longer with the baseball program, and a bunch of eager, excited convicts, all of whom wanted to impress the coaches with how good they were at baseball.

            I figured there would be a move made, by a couple of coaches, to sabotage the draft process and for some weeks I pulled as many strings as I could to prevent that from happening. It should never have come to this, but it did, and now the only thing to do is go on. For the first time, in a serious way, I wanted to walk away from it all. Now at age seventy I find it difficult to fight the battles, but this one I was going to deal with. I knew another threat, or an incident of almost any kind, could end the baseball program. One powerful person at the prison told me he was looking for any excuse to shut us down.

            My good friend Don DeNevi, the state employee who has overseen the baseball program for the past twelve years, and I have done what we could to ensure that Plan B would move forward even though there would be two teams and instead of four. We talk on the phone often and do what is within our power to have a recreational program that works for the inmates. Without Don being of the same mind as I am, I would have walked away long ago. But consistently, we have supported each other.

            Don cannot take the same stand as I do against those who would bend the baseball program to suit their own agenda. By ” those” I mean the several inmates that started the trouble as players for the A’s last year and those two A’s coaches who became their ducks.

Don and I agree that the inmates are acting out of the fear that they will be left out, not drafted, since there are the new guys on the Block, and much younger, and apparently quite talented as athletes. Now, we can empathize with that, but we are not giving in to it either. The program demands an equal and fair chance for a convict to make one of the teams and the draft is our solution. And that is the whole deal–a process of selecting players based on their baseball skills and not on a good old boys’ agreement.

Sometime in late 1968, my wife Bobbie and I with our three kids were living at 10724 Whitegate Ave. in Sunland, CA, in the northeastern part of the city of Los Angeles where I lived from 1955 to 1982. I had graduated from seminary, Golden Gate Baptist Theological Seminary in Mill Valley and was doing what one might call ‘street evangelism’ in the Haight-Ashbury. The JPM was at full strength, and I would go back and forth from San Francisco to Los Angeles every other week, sometimes on a bus, sometimes hitch-hiking, and a couple of times on my motorcycle.

      Thanks to Dr. Francis DuBose, professor at the seminary in Mill Valley, I was invited to join with a new church in the city, on Balboa St. between 41^st and 42^nd Ave. A store front, but it had been converted into a church. Today it is a Egyptian restaurant. I was invited to stay there when in I was in S.F. At some point I asked the church to let me turn the place into a kind of motel where homeless hippies could come and stay. (No money involved.)_ Graciously I was given permission, and with the help of the Salvation Army, I managed to find sleeping space for a dozen or more people.

      With everything ready, I stopped by a group known as the Haight Defense Committee, who set up a card table on Haight and Ashbury Streets and help direct hippies to those things they needed and told them of what we called “The Soul Inn” at the church on Balboa Street. The very next evening, three of us were at the church, The Soul Inn, about nine o’clock, just finished our dinner which consisted of a quart can of something or other when there was a knock at the door and 15 hippies, males and females, were invited in.

      First thing was food, which we had none of except for an inch or so of the quarter can. One of the guys with us, cannot remember his name right now, but we went in the back room, which we had converted into a kitchen, and started to dish up bowls of the stuff we had almost finished off.

      And here is where something incredible happened. I was dishing up and beyond belief, we feed all of the hippies and had an inch left over in the can. Somewhere in this process we knew a miracle was taking place, yet we did not announce it but only spoke of it among ourselves later on that night.

The San Rafael Pacifics and the U.S. Military Baseball Team

Opening day

Opening day, May 26, and August 18–these will be very special dates for the San Quentin baseball teams, both for the Giants and the A’s.

            On May 26, the San Rafael Pacifics, a professional baseball team, will be playing a game at the prison. The former Dodger power hitter and right fielder from the 1980s, Mike Marshall, will be up against an all-star team from the A’s and Giants on Opening Day.

            Everyone is justifiably excited about it. Scads of media will be on the field recording about everything possible. It will mean a lot to both teams, I hope.

            At first Mike Marshall, or as he signs his email’s, MM, and I thought about switching batteries, that is, their pitcher and catcher playing for the prison team and our pitcher and catcher playing for the Pacifics. Thinking it over though it seemed better to just try our best to beat those guys.

            On May 19 then, Elliot Smith’s team, the Oaks/Cubs, will be in Saturday morning for an opening day prior to opening day, the real one, on the 26th. Then that evening the A’s and Giants will play each other for the purpose of determining the “all stars” that will go up against the San Rafael Pacifics.

The Red, White, and Blue Tour

Along about the middle of February I began getting emails from a Terry Alvord, whom I thought was a manager of a local adult men’s baseball team that wanted to come in and play a game at the prison. Since it was way too early to schedule any games, I merely read the email and replied that the scheduling would take place toward the last of March. That was followed by a couple more emails from Terry and I happened to open up an attachment to one of them. I was shocked at what I saw.

            Turned out his team is the U.S Military Baseball Team, on what they called the Red, White, and Blue Tour to raise money for wounded war veterans. They were heading up north from southern California and intending to go up through Oregon and Washington and then into Canada. They wanted to make a stop at the prison and play the team. But that was not all.

            Looking at the few photos attached I was startled to notice that some of the players had metal legs. The players themselves were wounded vets. Our teams, and it is teams plural, are going to play both teams on August 18, one in the morning, the other in the evening. In the middle of the day, they want to connect with local VFW chapters. Then the next day, Sunday, the team will visit our little Miller Avenue Baptist Church in Mill Valley, where I am pastor. We will have a breakfast for them, then they will take over the service and preach and teach, then we will have lunch for them before they head out up north in their bus. what an honor.

            My son Vern was in Desert Storm, and I consider him a real war hero, and I served as a medic for four years with the Air Force. So, it is a good match and we are privileged to be involved in this.

            There will be lots of media at this game too. Cameras do funny things to people, me included. We will do and say dumb things. Looking at a camera, we lose it and can say some things we later wish we hadn’t. I am especially concerned about convicts with agendas who like to take advantage of situations. This stuff is out of my control so I just have to let it go, however, I will have a little talk about proprieties with the coaches and the players.

            Wow, the Red, White, and Blue Tour–I wonder how the cons might get involved in the fund raising?

The next day, Thursday, after selling shoes at J.C. Penny’s, I drove into San Francisco, got there on a cold misty night about 10:30pm, parked, no one on Haight Street so I walked up one block to Waller Street. Vacant, but I could see a light up a couple of blocks and walked up to it. It was Hamilton Methodist church, a light was burning inside, but no one was there. Then someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and here was a young man, about my age and size, and he said, “Are you looking for God?” I said yes, and he said, “follow me.” So I did, and up a block and a half, we crossed the street, he led me up some stairs to a large house, a class door, and knocked on it. Turned out it was a house of lesbians, and a woman came to the door, opened it, and asked who I was. I turned to the guy who brought me up, but he had disappeared, never to be seen again.

Chapter One

More death threats

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Plan B is no more. Now there will only be two teams and mostly due to a few guys who played for the A’s in 2011. They did not want a draft, because, as I have heard, they were afraid they would not be chosen in the draft.

            These disgruntled ones were in regular contact, by means of smuggled cell phones, with two of their coaches who got way too close to the convicts, something called over-familiarity. (This charge is based on bits of evidence that have come to me since May of 2011, but it is not completely determined that the cons did indeed have access to a cell phone.) ^[1]Together they conspired to keep things as they were last season with the draft only filling in if and when needed. 

            Bottom line however is that I am responsible for the problem since I was the one who brought these guys in to coach the A’s in the first place. These two did not function as head coach but were assistants. The head coach, another guy I was responsible for bringing in, did not run the team at all but left that work to a convict. It was a strange mix; two assistant coaches who put themselves into the game, and a convict made out the line ups and the calls at the third base coaching box.

            The baseball program became more and more popular and the need for a second team was obvious, and for that to happen, more coaches were needed. I had no idea they would get caught up in the game cons love to play, that is, making “ducks” out of free people whether volunteers or state employees. You make a duck so you can, well you know what, and that is what happened to the new coaches. The central dynamic is an exploitation of a desire to be liked by the convicts. 

            Prison is boring to the extreme and to create some excitement, or to find a way to manipulate things, con games are run, and continuously. The fun part for the prisoners is to spend huge amounts of time plotting the strategy. It is like a chess game played on a large scale. I don’t judge it one way or another as I might well do the same given the same circumstances. But it can be dangerous for those who are being manipulated. 

            Rumors are key to the cons fun. An inmate might start a rumor in the morning and then check on its progress at the end of the day, just to see how it had morphed. Rumors that get a lot of traction have to do with who is coming in and who is going out. The rumor that impacted me most was the one wherein I was going to be kicked out of the prison.

            The plot only partially succeeded. Things were swinging in my favor when all of a sudden, I got a call from a sergeant at the prison’s Investigative Unit who read to me three death threats that had been deposited in the box the prisoners place their outgoing mail into. Actually, only two were real threats, one read, in part, “There is a hit contract out on our dear coach and we want him protected.” There followed the usual questioning of the usual suspects, who were read the riot act, and that was it. Of course, I get only the briefest of details, but more will probably be forth coming once I make it back down on the lower yard.

            That was last Wednesday, the 7th of March, and already things have cleared up and I am once again allowed to go back in.

            The threats do not much comfort the other coaches. Surprisingly however, I have been able to add three new coaches to our staff this year, one being my son Vernon, who as a Desert Storm war vet, a military policeman, and is not easily frightened. 

There will be a draft, which is set for next week, March the 24th, and it will then become apparent who will prevail. 

            I have a suspicion, hope I am not going paranoid here, but I have a rather strong sense of things that the “white boys” have somehow gotten the ear of the powers that be, really one person whom I cannot identify, but if I am right, what is left of Plan B will be trashed and the same old set-up as last year, that miserable, stressful year, will be in place once again. At this point, I am not clear how I will proceed if my worst fears are realized, but I will not quit no matter what. I refuse to let my enemies get the better of the situation.

            I am determined not to get angry and start saying stupid things like I have in the past. Seems like every careless word I have spoken was remembered, twisted, and used against me. Sometimes I lose it on the yard; I know better but can’t seem to stem the flow of scandalous words. I will talk way too harshly to convicts. Maybe I try too hard to live up to what has long been said of me by those who know me best: “Philpott takes no shit.” 

^[1] In 2011 the prison conducted a sweep of North Block aimed at finding cell phones. Three hundred phones were found, 200 outside the block scattered around the upper yard and another 100 in cells. That means that one third of the convicts in North Block had a cell phone. Cell phones fetch as much as $500 so there is a steady supply. How do they get in? A phone call, a letter, all coded per plan, says how much money for what contraband item is to taken to the person who will bring the item(s) in. Once done, the outside outlaws have a power hold on the person who broke the law, thus insuring compliance.