Read Online Pelican Bay Riot by Glenn Langohr - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Glenn Langohr
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“Little Bird is from Long Beach, Harbor Area, and Big Droopy is from Riverside.”
He was on top of the most important stuff…I asked, “Who has more juice?” Jason looked like he was taking an educated guess and said, “I think Big Droops.” I knew he was either in the building with Droopy to call him Droops, or he knew him personally, or he passed a bunch of written messages with that name on it. I asked, “What building and cell are you in Jason?” He smiled, “Building 1 in cell 224 right next to Droops.”
Chapter 6
The next morning I woke with shift change at 4 AM. My cell mate Scott was still asleep. He'd wake at 6 AM when the chow carts were wheeled inside the vestibule and into the building. I knew it was almost time for me to get processed and allowed to go to yard and I needed to get there.
Yesterday after Scott came back from our top tier's two and a half hour afternoon yard, he'd dropped a potential disaster in my lap. It appeared that a number of our White race inmates who claimed to be Skin Heads down for White Supremacy were planning on running up drug debts they had no intention of paying to the Mexicans! I thought about that conversation…Scott watched me vent with a locked jaw grimace on my face while I paced the cell digesting the outrage. The first question I asked while I paced, "Who are these White scumbags?"
I had taken glances at Scott's face and registered that he didn't want to be a snitch and imagined his uncomfortable feeling from being unaware how I would deal with my rage. I knew he was uncomfortable with members of the White race running up a debt that would hold the whole race accountable so I played off that and said while pacing, "Scott, It pisses me off that a Skin Head that is supposed to represent White racial power would be so confused as to use drugs because that is the opposite of White power. More like a white slave. Do you realize that if Skin Heads are running up drug debts they don't intend to pay, that they are essentially saying fuck you to the rest of their race and I don't care if you have to take part in violence heavily outnumbered, my drug high is more important."
I let that seep in and asked again who the Skin Heads were. He answered me and I found out there were 3 of them in the gym. The 3 dumb asses weren't even real Skin Heads, they were wanna-be's. They were even giving some of the dope away they were getting on the front to other White inmates in buildings along with messages on paper saying they thought the Mexicans were going to get shipped to other prisons due to the war with the Black race. They were trying to infect others, poor role models.
I talked while pacing 8 feet one way, then 8 feet the other, the length of the cell. "So these dumb asses think because there is a war between the Mexicans and Blacks, the Prison Administration is going to back up prison buses and ship all of the Mexicans and Blacks to other prisons? Think about it. That would cost a lot of money and speaking of money; these racial wars are profitable for the prison guards. You see how they are bringing the food to us in those silver 8 foot high food carts on wheels every morning and night? That means the guards are getting paid time and a half for hazard pay and they can work over 100 hours like this in 7 days in back to back shifts, then take 5 straight days off to go play with their $150,000 a year incomes. When the yard isn't on lock down, the guards have to work way harder watching all the inmates and the pay is less. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Scott nodded his head and said, "Someone heard the rumor from one of the guards that they were considering backing up the buses." I said, "Bullshit, not going to happen. Think about it, if it doesn't make dollars it doesn't make sense. This prison and the rest of California's prisons level 3 and 4 always have race wars. Do you ever see buses backing up to ship them out?" Scott
He was on top of the most important stuff…I asked, “Who has more juice?” Jason looked like he was taking an educated guess and said, “I think Big Droops.” I knew he was either in the building with Droopy to call him Droops, or he knew him personally, or he passed a bunch of written messages with that name on it. I asked, “What building and cell are you in Jason?” He smiled, “Building 1 in cell 224 right next to Droops.”
Chapter 6
The next morning I woke with shift change at 4 AM. My cell mate Scott was still asleep. He'd wake at 6 AM when the chow carts were wheeled inside the vestibule and into the building. I knew it was almost time for me to get processed and allowed to go to yard and I needed to get there.
Yesterday after Scott came back from our top tier's two and a half hour afternoon yard, he'd dropped a potential disaster in my lap. It appeared that a number of our White race inmates who claimed to be Skin Heads down for White Supremacy were planning on running up drug debts they had no intention of paying to the Mexicans! I thought about that conversation…Scott watched me vent with a locked jaw grimace on my face while I paced the cell digesting the outrage. The first question I asked while I paced, "Who are these White scumbags?"
I had taken glances at Scott's face and registered that he didn't want to be a snitch and imagined his uncomfortable feeling from being unaware how I would deal with my rage. I knew he was uncomfortable with members of the White race running up a debt that would hold the whole race accountable so I played off that and said while pacing, "Scott, It pisses me off that a Skin Head that is supposed to represent White racial power would be so confused as to use drugs because that is the opposite of White power. More like a white slave. Do you realize that if Skin Heads are running up drug debts they don't intend to pay, that they are essentially saying fuck you to the rest of their race and I don't care if you have to take part in violence heavily outnumbered, my drug high is more important."
I let that seep in and asked again who the Skin Heads were. He answered me and I found out there were 3 of them in the gym. The 3 dumb asses weren't even real Skin Heads, they were wanna-be's. They were even giving some of the dope away they were getting on the front to other White inmates in buildings along with messages on paper saying they thought the Mexicans were going to get shipped to other prisons due to the war with the Black race. They were trying to infect others, poor role models.
I talked while pacing 8 feet one way, then 8 feet the other, the length of the cell. "So these dumb asses think because there is a war between the Mexicans and Blacks, the Prison Administration is going to back up prison buses and ship all of the Mexicans and Blacks to other prisons? Think about it. That would cost a lot of money and speaking of money; these racial wars are profitable for the prison guards. You see how they are bringing the food to us in those silver 8 foot high food carts on wheels every morning and night? That means the guards are getting paid time and a half for hazard pay and they can work over 100 hours like this in 7 days in back to back shifts, then take 5 straight days off to go play with their $150,000 a year incomes. When the yard isn't on lock down, the guards have to work way harder watching all the inmates and the pay is less. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Scott nodded his head and said, "Someone heard the rumor from one of the guards that they were considering backing up the buses." I said, "Bullshit, not going to happen. Think about it, if it doesn't make dollars it doesn't make sense. This prison and the rest of California's prisons level 3 and 4 always have race wars. Do you ever see buses backing up to ship them out?" Scott
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