We were in Waterville when the calls came from the Cumberland County Correctional Center. I couldn't accept the collect calls because I didn't have an inmate connection account established and try as I might, the telephone and internet system would not let me set one up. But the brief messages that were allowed through went like this.
"It's Mikey..."
"Need $2500 bail money..."
"My truck and climbing gear as collateral..."
I called the bait shop and let them know Mikey was in jail and when I got back in town headed for the docks. Craig put up the additional money to spring him and I headed for the jail to see if we could make it happen.
When you enter the receiving area, past the surveillance cameras and the double doors, the tile floor and lime green walls look like any other institutional waiting area... except for the guards in brown uniforms and the heavy metal, locked doors. The woman behind the counter had dark hair, glasses and a loud voice. I stood in line behind a Somali woman and a 40ish man who talked nonstop to anyone listening. "Just want to bail my daughter out. This is bullshit. Hey, they've got an ATM machine here. Good to know for next time..." A little ADD.
The flow of people in and out of the locked door was constant. Guards, social workers, a black pastor dressed in black with a white collar, blond women in scrubs appearing to be medical personnel, administrators in ties. Some were wanded for metal before entering.
When it was my turn, I announced I had bail money for my friend. "Do you have $600 in cash?" she asked. Yes. "I'll call the Bail Commissioner. Go take a seat" The 24 gray seats were surprisingly comfortable and I hunkered down for the next hour to wait near the wall of coin operated pay lockers
There were pictures on the wall of the detention area. White walls, two stories of of prison cells surrounding a large open room with a glassed in, observation area overlooking. Gray metal railings, tables and chairs bolted to the floors. It looked fairly pleasant, but, no doubt, was the last place on earth anyone would want to spend time.
People came and went dealing with the issues of incarceration. "I need to pick up my boyfriends wallet and keys"... "When are visiting hours?"... "What are the charges this time?". Telephones rang and radio's squalked. "I've got one from C and one from B2. Bring them down."... "No, I don't want to release my wallet to my mother. I want to talk to my case worker."
A man came out through the locked door shaking his head and walked up to the officer behind the desk. "'I don't deserve to be here...' how many times have I heard that." The officer said "I don't deserve to be here either. They all have the same story, year after year after year. It never changes." After he left I walked up to the counter and struck up a conversation with her. How long have you worked here? "22 years. Used to work out back but hurt my shoulder. 12 years out front now. I've seen it all. People wouldn't believe the way things are. It's not like on TV that's for sure." How do you keep from getting depressed, I asked. She thought for a moment. "The way I see it, you get what you give. Sure, there are some jerks, but most of them are decent. But it all boils down to, you get what you give".
We sat waiting. A lull in the activity, the only sound was the ventilation system and the hum and buzz of electronically activated doors being opened and closed... opened and closed. The sounds of incarceration. Out the window, the trees were brown and red and gold, the last of the autumns glory.
The bail commissioner appeared in the lobby. "Who is here for Mike C.?" he called. I raised my hand and he pointed down the hall to a closed door right next to another locked door that said "Non-contact Visitations". I counted out the 6 $100 dollar bills and he pointed to a bench outside. "Wait there. He'll be out when I get the paper work done."
Half an hour later, Mike walked out through the metal door wearing jeans and a tee shirt. He looked over and saw me and said "I should have known it would be you...". First stop was the corner store for cigarettes. He started making calls on my cell phone and I heard the story several times. "The only thing wrong I did was get out of bed. The baby was crying. She had been drinking. I hadn't even finished my cigarette when she had called the police on me. She said I threatened her, but I didn't. The girls were all there. They saw it. That's it. It's 100% phony and it's over. I just need to figure out how to get my clothes, my truck and my trailer, but the terms of my bail don't allow me to got near her. I don't know where I will live or what I will do for money, but I can't go back there."
We drove around while Mikey chained smoked and thought through his next steps. "Want a beer?" I asked knowing the answer before I asked it. "He looked at me with his piercing blue eyes and said "I need some beers, but it would violate my bail." Are you hungry I asked? "Yeah, didn't eat today. Traded my breakfast and lunch for a sleeping pill from a guy inside. But not now."Finally he said, "I'll just go to the docks." We drove down the wharf just as the crew was finishing up from a cold day of unloading herring trucks. They all milled around Mikey. "What they get you for? "Domestic". Oh yeah! Did you hit her? "No, I shoulda. "Yeah that happened to me once. Women just can't take a punch".
The conversation turned to me. "Hey, I read your blog and I'm not happy. You're gonna cost me my job and I can't afford that right now." "Yeah, and you mentioned my warrants. The last thing I need is to be tracked down." I apologized and promised to take down the offending remarks. I somehow knew this was going to happen. I'll have to find another way to write about this past summer while protecting the guys. Sorry boys.
Craig and Pete came out of the shop and Mikey approached them to thank them for bailing him. Pete's comment was "I want to see you at 4:00AM tomorrow. You have $600 to work off." Craig said "Go punch in. I've got a couple trucks coming." Mike turned to me and extended his hand. "I'll call you", he said. "Maybe I'll come down to Georgia. Nothing holding me here now."
As I drove away, he was walking up the wharf looking for a hot cup of coffee and a coat against the frigid wind before he began his shift on the docks.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Blue Sunday
My internal clock is still set on 'dock time', waking up at 4:00. Some mornings I can manage to fall back to sleep for awhile, but never past 7:00. I sneak out of bed and the apartment so as to not disturb those who can sleep. This morning I walked onto the street with the dogs at 6:30. Cold and gray, the bite of winter in the air.
The van warmed up slowly and Sam n' Lu shivered in the passenger seat. I found myself driving around the deserted city streets aimlessly. As I woke up, I began to notice that those streets weren't really deserted at all. The man with the shopping cart half filled with cans and bottles was dressed in a dirty snowmobile suit, his thick gray beard covering all of his face not covered by the wool hat pulled down over his eyes. He waved at me as I drove by and I wondered if he was someone I had met this summer on the waterfront, when the days were warm and the living was easier.
The elderly woman with a cane walking painfully down an empty Congress Street poorly dressed in a thin red windbreaker, the dark, black man with a hood standing on the curb watching. The old man who struggled stiffly to his feet from behind a brick wall dragging his thin blanket behind him.
The van seemed to guide itself to the soup kitchen on Oxford Street where dozens of people lined up waiting for seats to become available inside. Some were dressed heavily, with layers upon layers, and had spent the night outside sleeping in alleys and vacant lots. Others had left unheated boarding house rooms drawn to the warm soup kitchen and the hot coffee. I was too much a coward to park the van and stand in line with them, felt too conspicuous with my clean clothes and fleece coat.
Friday afternoon I stopped down to Bubba's Sulky Lounge hoping to run into Skully. My excuse was that he owed me $20, but in truth, I just wanted to see him again before we head South. He was standing outside smoking with a short, black eyed woman with 4 missing front teeth. She was drunk and laughing at he own jokes.
" You ever hear a chain saw? Runnn-nigga-nigga-nigga.... runnn-nigga-nigga-nigga... Hahahahahaha!"
She told the "joke" over and over until I heard a voice from behind me on the street. "I no nigga" the shawled Somali woman said. She stood firm for a moment then turned and walked away.
"Chain saw woman" then turned to me. Her eyes were bleary as she looked me over. "You a cop?" she asked, " cause you got a cops face." Skully jumped in, "That's Glen. He works down at the bait shop with me... where I'm the fork truck guy..." At this point words failed him and he started making noises and motions like he was driving his big, brakeless Clark Hyster around the shop. " Brrrrooooommm, Errrch, Werrwerrr, Gittygittygitty, Ma-HaHaha!" He went on and on and I laughed until long after he stopped.
We moved inside and stood beside the roaring fireplace, warm, safe. Skully tried to repay the money he owed me, but I offered to settle if he would buy a round of "Jimmy Specials", Allens Coffee Brandy with a splash of milk. Skully racked up the balls at the pool table and Jimmy told a story about how he was living with his first wife in the back of a Humpty Dumpty Potatoe Chip truck cutting fish with Skully and had once seen him open a lock with an old square nail.
I finished my drink and walked over to the pool table. "I'm heading out now Skull, going south for the winter." I put my arm around his shoulder. "You stay warm and out of jail". His face got serious and he wrapped his arms around me. "You comin' back next summah right? Workin' for Craig Johnson?" "Maybe" I said and he gave me a toothless grin from ear to ear, hugged me hard and said "You come see old Skully." Four years my junior, I squeezed him back "I will, young fella."
As I headed for the door, it all happend at once. "Chain saw woman" called out, "You got a good lookin face, cop. You can come back again." Jimmy started to dance a lick to the music on the juke box "See you next summer!" he called. Skully lifted his pool cue above his head and began to hoot. "See ya, Glen! Gittygittygitty... Ma Hahaha!!" I stopped a second and enjoyed the remarkable moment, warm and happy in a waterfront bar surrounded by poverty, alcoholics and drug users, before heading back out into the cold and gray.
A warm little dysfunctional oasis in the gloom...
The van warmed up slowly and Sam n' Lu shivered in the passenger seat. I found myself driving around the deserted city streets aimlessly. As I woke up, I began to notice that those streets weren't really deserted at all. The man with the shopping cart half filled with cans and bottles was dressed in a dirty snowmobile suit, his thick gray beard covering all of his face not covered by the wool hat pulled down over his eyes. He waved at me as I drove by and I wondered if he was someone I had met this summer on the waterfront, when the days were warm and the living was easier.
The elderly woman with a cane walking painfully down an empty Congress Street poorly dressed in a thin red windbreaker, the dark, black man with a hood standing on the curb watching. The old man who struggled stiffly to his feet from behind a brick wall dragging his thin blanket behind him.
The van seemed to guide itself to the soup kitchen on Oxford Street where dozens of people lined up waiting for seats to become available inside. Some were dressed heavily, with layers upon layers, and had spent the night outside sleeping in alleys and vacant lots. Others had left unheated boarding house rooms drawn to the warm soup kitchen and the hot coffee. I was too much a coward to park the van and stand in line with them, felt too conspicuous with my clean clothes and fleece coat.
Friday afternoon I stopped down to Bubba's Sulky Lounge hoping to run into Skully. My excuse was that he owed me $20, but in truth, I just wanted to see him again before we head South. He was standing outside smoking with a short, black eyed woman with 4 missing front teeth. She was drunk and laughing at he own jokes.
" You ever hear a chain saw? Runnn-nigga-nigga-nigga.... runnn-nigga-nigga-nigga... Hahahahahaha!"
She told the "joke" over and over until I heard a voice from behind me on the street. "I no nigga" the shawled Somali woman said. She stood firm for a moment then turned and walked away.
"Chain saw woman" then turned to me. Her eyes were bleary as she looked me over. "You a cop?" she asked, " cause you got a cops face." Skully jumped in, "That's Glen. He works down at the bait shop with me... where I'm the fork truck guy..." At this point words failed him and he started making noises and motions like he was driving his big, brakeless Clark Hyster around the shop. " Brrrrooooommm, Errrch, Werrwerrr, Gittygittygitty, Ma-HaHaha!" He went on and on and I laughed until long after he stopped.
We moved inside and stood beside the roaring fireplace, warm, safe. Skully tried to repay the money he owed me, but I offered to settle if he would buy a round of "Jimmy Specials", Allens Coffee Brandy with a splash of milk. Skully racked up the balls at the pool table and Jimmy told a story about how he was living with his first wife in the back of a Humpty Dumpty Potatoe Chip truck cutting fish with Skully and had once seen him open a lock with an old square nail.
I finished my drink and walked over to the pool table. "I'm heading out now Skull, going south for the winter." I put my arm around his shoulder. "You stay warm and out of jail". His face got serious and he wrapped his arms around me. "You comin' back next summah right? Workin' for Craig Johnson?" "Maybe" I said and he gave me a toothless grin from ear to ear, hugged me hard and said "You come see old Skully." Four years my junior, I squeezed him back "I will, young fella."
As I headed for the door, it all happend at once. "Chain saw woman" called out, "You got a good lookin face, cop. You can come back again." Jimmy started to dance a lick to the music on the juke box "See you next summer!" he called. Skully lifted his pool cue above his head and began to hoot. "See ya, Glen! Gittygittygitty... Ma Hahaha!!" I stopped a second and enjoyed the remarkable moment, warm and happy in a waterfront bar surrounded by poverty, alcoholics and drug users, before heading back out into the cold and gray.
A warm little dysfunctional oasis in the gloom...
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