The old and handicapped inmates got put out at Wynn
Farm, and there was a prerelease camp for the short-timers called
Jester One. After Jester One, there was Jester Two, also known as
Kindness, because it wasn’t as harsh as the other Huntsville farms.
On my first day at the Fish Tank, I met a stocky guy from Pampa
named Bobby White who had been in and out of the joint before, so
he knew the ropes.
“Hey, kid, you’re gonna learn the hard way that the tough-guy
routine doesn’t mean shit here. One thing in your favor is that
you’re in for murder-one.”
I didn’t understand why he said that, so I asked Bobby, “How’s
that good for me?”
“Killers are the most feared and respected inmates in prison, be-
cause everyone already knows you’re a killer. They ain’t gonna mess
with you.” Good to know. Bobby also warned me that the wardens
were going be asking me lots of questions and testing me to deter-
mine which farm I’d get sent to. He said, “‘When you answer, make
them think you’re Jesus Christ.’”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You want to get shipped out to the Burning Ham? You heard
the stories about that place? It’s stacked with cold-blooded killers.
They’d eat you alive out there. Jester Two is where you want to be.
So, how do you reply when they ask you, ‘You walk in on your
woman fucking your best friend. What would you do?’ ”
“I’d slaughter both of them right there.”
“See, now, that’s not the right answer. Remember, you’re Jesus.
He would forgive both of them right away. No killing.”
I totally understood what Bobby was saying. His advice saved
my ass. It got me shipped out to Jester Two, just like I had hoped.
Make no mistake about it—hard labor meant hard labor in
Texas. All the farms at Huntsville expected their inmates to be self-
supporting, and Jester Two was no exception. Inmates who didn’t
work didn’t eat.
We l c o m e t o H u n t s v i l l e
67
As soon as I arrived at Jester Two, I got sent to my dormitory,
where I was given a hoe-squad number and a bunk assignment.
They stuck all of the complete screwups in Squad Number One and
then sorted the rest of us out to the other nine squads. I got put in
Hoe Squad Three.
Early in the morning, the lieutenant would bust in shouting,
“Three Hoe . . . in the hall!” When the squad was lined up, they
would march us out.
One of the other Hoe Squad Three inmates turned to me and
said, “You might think you know hard work, boy. But I know you
ain’t never seen nothing like this.”
I just laughed at him. The next two hours of grueling fieldwork
quickly changed my attitude. I found hell on earth chain-ganged in
the fields of Texas. Each given a long hoe, we were lined up side by
side. Then we cut grass. We called it “hoe and go.”
If you stopped working for a second, there were inmates called
Strikers who beat the hell out of you. When we were allowed our
first water break, a Mexican guy ran up and kicked me right in the
face while I was resting. The guards sat back and ignored what was
going down. He caught me off guard, and I was too damn tired to
hit him.
Later, a black guy pulled me aside and asked, “Are you gay?”
“What the . . . ? No.”
“You’re gonna be tonight unless you fight back.”
I didn’t want to lose my good time, so I told him that’s why I
didn’t retaliate.
He said, “It’s either that or your asshole.”
The Mexican guy continued messing with me all through din-
ner. At one point, he walked up and said, “You just wait, gringo.
Tomorrow in the fields, I’m gonna fuck you up.”
I knew I had to get him before he got me, so the next day during
our water break, as he put the metal cup up to his mouth to drink, I
kicked him hard in the face. I tried to take his head off. Each corner
of his mouth split back into his cheeks about two inches. Everyone
was standing there watching what I’d done. Nobody said a
Farm, and there was a prerelease camp for the short-timers called
Jester One. After Jester One, there was Jester Two, also known as
Kindness, because it wasn’t as harsh as the other Huntsville farms.
On my first day at the Fish Tank, I met a stocky guy from Pampa
named Bobby White who had been in and out of the joint before, so
he knew the ropes.
“Hey, kid, you’re gonna learn the hard way that the tough-guy
routine doesn’t mean shit here. One thing in your favor is that
you’re in for murder-one.”
I didn’t understand why he said that, so I asked Bobby, “How’s
that good for me?”
“Killers are the most feared and respected inmates in prison, be-
cause everyone already knows you’re a killer. They ain’t gonna mess
with you.” Good to know. Bobby also warned me that the wardens
were going be asking me lots of questions and testing me to deter-
mine which farm I’d get sent to. He said, “‘When you answer, make
them think you’re Jesus Christ.’”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You want to get shipped out to the Burning Ham? You heard
the stories about that place? It’s stacked with cold-blooded killers.
They’d eat you alive out there. Jester Two is where you want to be.
So, how do you reply when they ask you, ‘You walk in on your
woman fucking your best friend. What would you do?’ ”
“I’d slaughter both of them right there.”
“See, now, that’s not the right answer. Remember, you’re Jesus.
He would forgive both of them right away. No killing.”
I totally understood what Bobby was saying. His advice saved
my ass. It got me shipped out to Jester Two, just like I had hoped.
Make no mistake about it—hard labor meant hard labor in
Texas. All the farms at Huntsville expected their inmates to be self-
supporting, and Jester Two was no exception. Inmates who didn’t
work didn’t eat.
We l c o m e t o H u n t s v i l l e
67
As soon as I arrived at Jester Two, I got sent to my dormitory,
where I was given a hoe-squad number and a bunk assignment.
They stuck all of the complete screwups in Squad Number One and
then sorted the rest of us out to the other nine squads. I got put in
Hoe Squad Three.
Early in the morning, the lieutenant would bust in shouting,
“Three Hoe . . . in the hall!” When the squad was lined up, they
would march us out.
One of the other Hoe Squad Three inmates turned to me and
said, “You might think you know hard work, boy. But I know you
ain’t never seen nothing like this.”
I just laughed at him. The next two hours of grueling fieldwork
quickly changed my attitude. I found hell on earth chain-ganged in
the fields of Texas. Each given a long hoe, we were lined up side by
side. Then we cut grass. We called it “hoe and go.”
If you stopped working for a second, there were inmates called
Strikers who beat the hell out of you. When we were allowed our
first water break, a Mexican guy ran up and kicked me right in the
face while I was resting. The guards sat back and ignored what was
going down. He caught me off guard, and I was too damn tired to
hit him.
Later, a black guy pulled me aside and asked, “Are you gay?”
“What the . . . ? No.”
“You’re gonna be tonight unless you fight back.”
I didn’t want to lose my good time, so I told him that’s why I
didn’t retaliate.
He said, “It’s either that or your asshole.”
The Mexican guy continued messing with me all through din-
ner. At one point, he walked up and said, “You just wait, gringo.
Tomorrow in the fields, I’m gonna fuck you up.”
I knew I had to get him before he got me, so the next day during
our water break, as he put the metal cup up to his mouth to drink, I
kicked him hard in the face. I tried to take his head off. Each corner
of his mouth split back into his cheeks about two inches. Everyone
was standing there watching what I’d done. Nobody said a
Similar Books
