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Authors: Tekla Dennison Miller
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show his approval. Gate Two slid open with the same uneasy effort as gate one. Leonard motioned Pilar to follow another officer who waited nearby. Pilar felt Leonard’s scorching stare as he watched her walk the corridor that took her behind the walls.
A S P ILAR ENTERED THE auditorium, Warden Whitefeather was being introduced. He stood in front of two rows of newly hired “fish” officers. He was shorter and stockier than Pilar remembered from their interview. His crooked smile greeted Pilar. “Doctor Brookstone,” he nodded. “Take a seat here.” He pointed to the one right in front of him.
The new male and female officers of varying ages and racial and ethnic backgrounds studied Pilar as she moved to the first row, the one they avoided. She took deliberate steps to control her nervousness while twelve pairs of eyes followed her. Pilar’s heels, the only noise in the auditorium, sounded like hail hitting a metal roof. Painfully aware of her unsteadiness, it seemed like hours before she finally sat alone in the center of an empty line of chairs.
Whitefeather tossed his charcoal-tweed sports coat into the chair next to Pilar. Its sleeve brushed against her arm. Pilar blanched when the warden clapped his hands and shouted, “Let’s get this orientation over.” He loosened his tie, unfastened the top button of his white, synthetic shirt and rolled up his sleeves.
The officers fidgeted with their own ties, shirt cuffs, and buttons. Pilar tugged her skirt over her knees. Warden Whitefeather eyed the motion when she tucked her legs under the seat. As he regarded her, the warden barked like a drill sergeant, “Some of you won’t make it.” His eyes moved to Pilar’s face. His voice echoed in the nearly empty assembly hall.
Though certain that the remark was directed at her, Pilar couldn’t let on that she was humiliated. Instead, she elevated her chin and stared the warden down.
He grinned, then looked at the others. “I don’t know which of you, maybe a third, won’t be here this time next year.”
While Whitefeather waited for a few to clear their throats and change positions, he examined Pilar. He pushed his thick salt and pepper hair away from his forehead. One stubborn tuft returned to its place above his right eye.
“Prisoners have all day to watch you, to find your vulnerabilities.” Pilar felt she was the only person in the room. Whitefeather finally looked away and checked each face in the audience. He appeared to note who would be a prisoner’s target. “Be aware of the set-up.” His eyes settled back on Pilar.
Heat filled Pilar’s face. Why did he single her out? Sheneeded to determine what indicators she had displayed in that short time to make people think she was vulnerable. In training she had heard the warden’s wife had died. Killed by a drunk female driver. Was he upset with all women at that moment?
“Some of you,” the warden waved his right hand in an arch across the front of his slight middle-aged paunch, his intense eyes moving from one face to another, “will leave of your own free will. Others will be fired for a variety of reasons from drug abuse to,” he hesitated and glanced at Pilar again, “improper relationships with prisoners.”
It took every bit of Pilar’s energy to stay still and not react with a nervous twitch or movement. Though desperate to challenge his obvious accusation, Pilar also knew that the orientation wasn’t the time or place. Pilar looked from the warden’s round stomach to his face. Despite the obvious physical differences, she saw only her father. The rest of the orientation was a blur.
O NCE IN THE INFIRMARY , Pilar collapsed into a chair, glad that her office was part of the prison’s administration building rather than inside, beyond the security gates. Yet, she was curious about the security risk. So many inpatient rooms faced the parking lot with nothing more than locked windows to prevent an escape. Pilar shrugged. How silly! No
A S P ILAR ENTERED THE auditorium, Warden Whitefeather was being introduced. He stood in front of two rows of newly hired “fish” officers. He was shorter and stockier than Pilar remembered from their interview. His crooked smile greeted Pilar. “Doctor Brookstone,” he nodded. “Take a seat here.” He pointed to the one right in front of him.
The new male and female officers of varying ages and racial and ethnic backgrounds studied Pilar as she moved to the first row, the one they avoided. She took deliberate steps to control her nervousness while twelve pairs of eyes followed her. Pilar’s heels, the only noise in the auditorium, sounded like hail hitting a metal roof. Painfully aware of her unsteadiness, it seemed like hours before she finally sat alone in the center of an empty line of chairs.
Whitefeather tossed his charcoal-tweed sports coat into the chair next to Pilar. Its sleeve brushed against her arm. Pilar blanched when the warden clapped his hands and shouted, “Let’s get this orientation over.” He loosened his tie, unfastened the top button of his white, synthetic shirt and rolled up his sleeves.
The officers fidgeted with their own ties, shirt cuffs, and buttons. Pilar tugged her skirt over her knees. Warden Whitefeather eyed the motion when she tucked her legs under the seat. As he regarded her, the warden barked like a drill sergeant, “Some of you won’t make it.” His eyes moved to Pilar’s face. His voice echoed in the nearly empty assembly hall.
Though certain that the remark was directed at her, Pilar couldn’t let on that she was humiliated. Instead, she elevated her chin and stared the warden down.
He grinned, then looked at the others. “I don’t know which of you, maybe a third, won’t be here this time next year.”
While Whitefeather waited for a few to clear their throats and change positions, he examined Pilar. He pushed his thick salt and pepper hair away from his forehead. One stubborn tuft returned to its place above his right eye.
“Prisoners have all day to watch you, to find your vulnerabilities.” Pilar felt she was the only person in the room. Whitefeather finally looked away and checked each face in the audience. He appeared to note who would be a prisoner’s target. “Be aware of the set-up.” His eyes settled back on Pilar.
Heat filled Pilar’s face. Why did he single her out? Sheneeded to determine what indicators she had displayed in that short time to make people think she was vulnerable. In training she had heard the warden’s wife had died. Killed by a drunk female driver. Was he upset with all women at that moment?
“Some of you,” the warden waved his right hand in an arch across the front of his slight middle-aged paunch, his intense eyes moving from one face to another, “will leave of your own free will. Others will be fired for a variety of reasons from drug abuse to,” he hesitated and glanced at Pilar again, “improper relationships with prisoners.”
It took every bit of Pilar’s energy to stay still and not react with a nervous twitch or movement. Though desperate to challenge his obvious accusation, Pilar also knew that the orientation wasn’t the time or place. Pilar looked from the warden’s round stomach to his face. Despite the obvious physical differences, she saw only her father. The rest of the orientation was a blur.
O NCE IN THE INFIRMARY , Pilar collapsed into a chair, glad that her office was part of the prison’s administration building rather than inside, beyond the security gates. Yet, she was curious about the security risk. So many inpatient rooms faced the parking lot with nothing more than locked windows to prevent an escape. Pilar shrugged. How silly! No
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