Freedom Is Precious

Freedom
I believe freedom is precious. In 1985 I had the unfortunate pleasure to work at the Virginia State Penitentiary located in downtown Richmond. The menacing structure is surrounded by a thirty foot brick and concrete wall complete with gun towers. It is nicknamed “the wall.” The brutality of its design conveys the brutality of its purpose. It is a black eye on the corporate skyline. I was young and in need of a job.
Inside the prison the first thing that struck me was how outnumbered we COs (Corrections Officers) were. The head count at that time was around 1,000 inmates. The odds were not in our favor. About twenty percent of inmates work in jobs that keep the prison running, like laundry and food services. Inmates who did nothing were informally known as “Dead Heads.” Their days consist of television, weightlifting, and basketball. They also look for trouble.
They do not have to look far; sometimes we as COs help them find it. One day I was assigned to the yard. The yard is like a highway interchange for inmates and staff. All sections of the prison converge on the yard. To get from point A to point B in the prison you have to cross the yard. Another CO and I were assigned to get an inmate who had committed a minor infraction and escort him to segregation as punishment. Simple right? Wrong! We found the inmate in his cell and read him the charges against him. He agreed to go willingly. He began to look through the elevator sized cell for approved items he could take with him. Books and toiletries are allowed. The officer with me began to yell at the inmate, “Hurry the “eff up, we ain’t got all day.” In fact, we did have all day, we had nothing to do when we were finished with him but standing on the yard. After more of that back and forth, the inmate became belligerent and the officer and I had to fight him to subdue and handcuff him. In addition to whatever original charge he had, he is charged with assaulting a CO. This was so unnecessary.
Being incarcerated deprives a person of their control, privacy, dignity and sense of worth. Inmates live in a lawless society where the rules of the jungle are the rules of the day. Kill or be killed, dog eat dog. Sexual assault is prevalent as seasoned inmates prey on the young or weaker inmates. In the oppressive heat of summer fights over something as simple as ice were not uncommon. Often staff assigned to protect inmates treat them as chattel verbally, and sometimes physically. As a young man, I couldn’t fathom living in these deplorable conditions. My sentence was eight hours a day.
I often wondered what choices these men made to sacrifice their freedom. It is freedom to move about when and where you I choose. It is freedom to sleep quiet and comfortably. It is freedom to hug and watch my children grow. It is freedom that lets me live without the threat of assault and sexual abuse. I resigned a year later.
As I rode away on my bicycle, free from my 40 hour a week sentence, I felt as if I received parole. The sun shone just a little brighter. The air was just a little sweeter. The birds sang a little louder. I felt free. More importantly, I knew freedom was precious.