“ADRENILINE FILE #27”
Well, here we go! I knew that this was going to eventually happen. I just hated it had to happen in this state! The very worse state in America where prisons are concerned. Just my luck, I guess. I had heard rumors about the infamous Tucker Unit here in Arkansas. But of course criminals will tell tall tales. So I was optimistic that all the gruesome details were indeed just that….tall tales.
Yet I will admit now, I was scared shitless. In fact, I was so scared and worried, that for the first time in my life, my knees were actually shaking. I had heard the old cliché, “He was so scared his knees shook.” But hell, I just never really believed it. But the fact of the matter was, I strongly suspected the next few years were going to be a heavy learning experience. But by God, had I really known at the time, I would have surely escaped from the jail. No one in their right mind would ever walk into a situation like that willingly.
There was about 25 of us on the chain that morning bound for Cummins Unit in Grady, Arkansas. That is where the big boys stayed. Since I had just turned 18, I would just stay the night there and then take another prison bus to Tucker Unit in the morning. Or so I was told.
When we arrived, the chains were are all taken off, locks unlocked, cuffs un-cuffed, and we filed into the front building. Little did I know this was the last place I would ever feel air-conditioned air and carpet under my feet for a very long time to come.
The county jailers had us line all up in this hallway where a door across from us, (labeled in huge gold letters), “Major’s Office!.” I cut my eyes and gazed at a couple of old-timers, and to my horror, they look absolutely terrified as well! Just then, the door marked major, swung open and a huge guard with a head that resembled a chicken, red hair and all, pointed his finger at the first man in line and said, “You! Come on in here bitch!” Wow! I couldn’t believe he called that man a bitch! But I quickly forgot my own surprise when the screaming started. I looked around at the others in astonishment. That fully grown man, that criminal, with all the tattoos and all the scars, was screaming, “’No!’ ‘Please no!’ ‘Oh my God!’” And then we heard the guard yell, “Stand up you fucking coward! Stick that pretty ass out punk.”I thought to myself, “Is this shit for real? I mean, this is the 70’s and we ARE in America! I thought this kind of stuff only happened over seas!?.” But regardless, my knees began to shake again.
I counted my position in the line. I was No. 6. I tried to will my knee’s to stop shaking. I thought someone was going to see them. But just then the chicken head protruded from the door once began, pointed his long finger at the second man, and said, “Yeah that’s right, your next little punk!” The man just stood there, frozen, until the county jailer said to him, “You heard the man! Get on in there!.” He walked on in. And as the door slammed behind him, we immediately heard loud slapping while chicken head yelled, “You ain’t so tough now, huh sissy?” Well, I was beginning to formulate a plan right then. I tend to do these things when my adrenaline gland is pumping.
All too soon, it was my turn. Chicken head once again stuck his redhead out and said, “All right! About time we got us a pretty boy.” You can just imagine my angst. I’m not a queer. And even if I was, Chicken head was NOT my type. So fuck it! I’ve been hurt very bad in the past and it never killed me. And though I don’t particularly like pain, I knew others disliked it is well. So I mustered up all my courage, tensed my muscles, and marched right on in. Chicken head stepped aside and I noticed he had a slapjack in his right hand. This is a nifty little item, consisting of a piece of flexible steel covered in tight raw hide.
Once in the room, a quick scan revealed a pile of free-world clothes, a green door to the side and a huge polished oak desk. Behind the desk sat a large, balding, fat man with two huge gold oak leaves on each collar. I heard chicken head slam the door behind me as he screamed, “Get naked boy!” So, not being stupid and understanding where I was exactly, I disrobed. Though being a tad modest, I left my skivvies on. That is when chicken head slammed that slapjack right into the middle of my naked back, screaming, “I said NAKED boy!!” The pain was nothing I had ever experienced before. So I hurried to comply, pulling my skivvies off in record speed and…. placing them on the nearest available spot. The major’s polished desk. I immediately knew I had fucked up by the majors eyes widening to the size of coffee saucers as they were focused on my partially white Fruit of the Loom’s, which I had been wearing for three months. I mean, hadn’t expected them to be on such display. They had a huge tire track. I knew I was in trouble. Before I could think anymore, the major screamed, “Get that nasty-ass shit off my mahogany!” Hummmm, I could have swore it was oak! Amazing how the mind can still contemplate such trivia even in a tense situation.
It was too late for me to retrieve my skivvies, because upon hearing his boss in terror, chicken head launched on me. I had long hair. Chicken head grabbed my long hair and yanked me backwards. This in turn, caused me to defend myself. Needless to say, it was quite a scene. But believe me, I had just gotten out of the Marine Corps, and was in excellent shape. Not to mention, much younger than chicken head. But my greatest advantage was the simple fact that I was scared. So my adrenaline was doing its thing. I tore chicken heads ass up! Yeah, it was one of those times when I look back on it, I sure wished it could’ve been video-taped. The first thing I did on my way to the floor, was to grab chicken heads weapon hand and twist it so severely as if to try and break it. As expected, chicken head dropped the slapjack. Now it was one on one….temporarily. I grabbed chicken heads ears and head – butted him hard. Chicken head went right out. As he fell on top of me, I pushed him to the side. Stood up, naked, and retrieved my skivvies from the polished mahogany. The major’s eyes were still large. So I immediately attempted to divert his attention from the immediate situation at hand.
I said, rather calmly, “You know major, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. But I have to tell you before we go any further, there has been a mistake.” The major finally spoke, saying, “What the fuck are you talking about?” I said, “If you look at your records there, you will see that I’m a bank robber. I was supposed to go to a federal prison. You know all bank robbers are federal and not state. So since they are coming to get me in the morning, I respectfully suggest that you put me somewhere safe. I promise not to say anything about the illegal assault your assistant perpetrated upon me.”
After I said this, he gazed down at his lieutenant, and said, “Just chill a second.” He then grabbed his telephone, punched a few numbers very quickly and said, “Send my captain in here ASAP!” He hung the phone up, looked back up at me and said, “Mr. Millsaps, please put your clothes back on and have a seat please.” I happily complied. Very soon another large man wearing the same uniform, but with two silver bars on his collar, entered the room and looked down at chicken head, whom was still knocked out cold. The major told him, “Escort this inmate to the hospital and have him placed in protective custody until further notice.” The captain asked him, “What about the lieutenant Sir?” The major replied, “Fuck him! He let a fucking minor knock his stupid ass out. He’ll be okay. Just get this boy to a PC cell, okay?” The captain looked at me and back at the major and asked, “Do we still have to process him?” The Major said, “Yeah, just hurry it up!”
So the captain motioned for me to follow him. We went through the green door and I saw a large room with a desk and manual typewriters all lined up against every wall with an inmate wearing white in front of each one. Beside each inmate was a yellow square painted on the floor beside his chair. One of them looked at me and motioned for me to come over to him. When I did, he told me, “Just stand in this yellow square and answer my questions with simple answers and let’s get this over as quickly as possible, okay?” I said, “Sure!” He then began asking me a litany of questions. The basics, but also all about my family, addresses, phone numbers, my tattoos and their descriptions, what type of businesses did I have, what type of work did I do in the free world. He asked these questions for about 10 minutes, when he suddenly whispered, “Why did they let you keep your clothes on?” I told him, (continuing my farce) “The feds are coming to get me soon.” (Once you start with a play you have to keep going in the same location. Never change up.)
After all the questions, I was escorted outside the main building, but still in the compound to a little white concrete building. As I walked in with the guard, he told another guard there, “Got a kid going to Tucker in the morning. Major said to lock him down.” So I was locked in a little room about the size of a closet. I couldn’t believe it. There wasn’t even a bunk! I asked the guard before he closed the door, “Is this where I’m going to sleep?” He looked at me and grinned real evil like, and said, “This ain’t the Hilton boy.” Then he slammed the door and it was pitch black. I couldn’t hear anything. I reached to try the door handle, but there wasn’t one. I felt around in the little closet and there wasn’t even a sink. So I crouched down on the floor with my knees doubled up, and started to think. After a few minutes, the realization of my actual situation began to sink in. And I mean, deeply sink in. I don’t cry much. In fact, the last time I cried, was when my grandfather died. But being there in that dark, silent closet, I had to face the facts. I truly, really, had fucked up my life. But even through it all, I couldn’t shake the knowledge inside of me, that I just plain didn’t deserve this type of treatment. So I vowed to myself right then and there, to always try and struggle not to let bitterness and hopelessness overcome me. I knew if I was going to make it through this, I had to remain, not only physically strong, but mentally strong as well. And I knew that I could do this. For whatever reasons caused this to happen to me are now all in the past. Now it was up to me to overcome this. I would just try to be as comfortable and happy as I could possibly be. So in that closet, right then and there, I made a vow to myself. That no matter what happened, and no matter where I ended up, I would always struggle to be as comfortable as I possibly could be. And that way, just maybe I could survive this long trip. I only had a seven-year sentence in Arkansas. I would come up for parole in just 2½ years. But I had a ten year sentence left in Texas I had to parole to. So I made my bed. Now I have to sleep in it. Simple as that.
Just as I expected, I stayed in that closet for 17 straight hours. And after the long, painful bus ride from the county jail, and then the tussle with the lieutenant, I was one sore dude. The guard that let me out of the closet was a different guard that put me in. He said to me, “Who did you piss off?” I just looked at him and ask him, “Sir, can I have a little water to drink?” He said, “No. Your bus is here and they have water on it.” So I was once again was escorted out the gate in handcuffs and put on an old school bus with bars welded across all of the Windows. I climbed on and saw that there was one long metal beach stretching from the front to the back in the very middle of the bus. There were brass rings welded to the sides of this bench. And young dudes were chained from their handcuffs to these rings. The guard that would not give me the water was right behind me. He said, “Don’t get scared now boy.” I turned to say something to him, but before I can get it out of my mouth, this little black dude sitting right at the front of the bench, said, “Oh boss man, be easy on the boy. You can see he got that package.” This caused giggles from several of the other inmates. Well, I did not know exactly what this prison jargon meant. But I did know that it couldn’t be good.
So the guard bolted me right beside the little black dude who had made the comment. I was silent at first. But soon we were on the highway headed towards Tucker which was North of Pine Bluff. About five miles down the highway, a white dude said to me, “What’s up with you man? You gonna let that negro talk to you like that?” I said, “Like what?” He said, “He said you had that package.” So I got more specific and asked, “Okay, I give up. What the hell is a package?” My question elicited a new round of laughter and giggles. The white dude finally said, “It means pussy man. He said you basically or a broad.” Well, I had already figured this out. And I had also already decided what I was going to have to do. So I very quickly and immediately, spun around on the bench and with my free arm, wrapped around the black dudes neck and choked him as hard as I could. He scratched at my face and cut me deeply with his long fingernails. But I continued to choke him until he passed out. I then eased him to the floor. Everyone was now silent. I tried to wipe the blood from my face with my white prison shirt. That is when the white dude reached over and offered me a towel. I took it and dabbed the blood and offered him the towel back. He accepted it, and said, “You’ll be all right dude.” But I had to wonder to myself if this was true. Because glancing around, I could plainly see that the blacks were not happy with me at all. But maybe my little display would keep them off of me for the time being. But those worries seemed to fade as my intense thirst was taking over all of my thoughts. I asked the white dude, “Is there any water on this bus? That guard at Cummins told me there was.” He laughed and replied, “And you believed him?” I just looked away and didn’t even answer him.
Soon enough we arrived at the back gate of Tucker Unit. The place just looked filthy. You know when you see a place, you just have a feeling about it. You either like it or you don’t. And it wasn’t just because I didn’t want to come to prison. But there was just something about this place that made me feel sick inside. The only difference this time, was I just couldn’t turn around and leave. That just made the feeling worse.
The bus pulled into the sally port. The driver turned the motor off and climbed out. And there we sat for the next seven hours as the bus cooked in the May heat. God, I thought I wasn’t going to make it. I was so dehydrated my lips began to crack. Then they began to bleed. I was getting pissed. I heard one of the black dudes say, “They be doing this just to fuck with a nigga.” And I thought to myself, “Why does it just have to be a nigga? They never, ever include anyone else.” But I knew my mind was hurting by these damn crazy thoughts. I had to get some water soon. So since I was near the front of the bus, I stood up, stretched towards the window, and yelled down to the two guards, “Excuse me sir, but I haven’t had anything to drink in over 24 hours. Do you think it would be possible to allow me some water?” Well, as you might of expected, this didn’t go over to well. But it did get their attention because they both proceeded towards the door of the bus. I remained standing as they boarded. The first one was the fat driver. He looked at me and said, “I guess you’re the spokesman, huh?” I just stared at him. Then the one behind him, a rail thin black dude, said, “Damn Charlie, the boys lips are all bleeding.” So the fat guard focused a little better and saw that in fact, my lips were bleeding badly. So he asked me, “How come no one else’s lips are bleeding?” I replied, “I guess they have had some water not long ago. But I was locked in a closet all night and never given any.” He said, “Well, you’ll have some soon enough.” And they both left the bus.
Damn, I guess I’m just going to have to get used to feeling helpless. I never dreamed that a prison in this country, in this time period, would treat their own citizens in such a manner. I mean, I’m not a fucking dog. Well, not a real dog anyway…
But as it usually turns out, relief arrived just in the nick of time. They came on and released us all from our chains. Marched us single file into the building and straight into the chow hall and I made a beeline to the nearest pitcher of water sitting on a table, and gulped it all down. Little did I know, I had just violated a serious rule. I had left the line without prior, official permission. I was, (what they call) “Out – of – place.”
The kitchen guards rushed over to me, pulling handcuffs out of their belts as one of them said, “Hands behind your back boy!” Well, I was just too fucking tired to care. I just did as I was told and put my hands behind my back. I was about to go behind the green door…
*****************************************************************************
Can contact me via my e-mail at: jamillsaps336@gmail.com
I'd like to hear what other's think of it. Future files will include stories of my encounters with Angels and other paranormal incidents...
