Letters from Lorton

From our overstocked archives

Back in the 1970s, the DC Gazette, forerunner of the Progressive Review, ran the first column in the country written by a prisoner – S. Carl Turner at Lorton Reformatory – called Letter from Lorton. A few excerpts:

S. Carl Turner - A breakfast scene at Lorton.... It was no different from yesterday morning...you run into the same guys, calling the same buddy, the same derogatory label, "mother-F...!" and so on. In the dining room, you witness the playfulness, of the young black-retarded-minds, instinctively called "Bamas," and the thoughtless actions of the far too many "hip" dudes, who live day to day, without understanding, self-discipline, or any kind of plan, aimed at communication, consideration, love of their fellow man, or betterment of self. After getting a tray, and settling for your helpings of cold eggs, institution-processed link-sausage, jelly, butter, a bowl of milk, cold cereal, a cup of semi-hot water —with a hint of chicory, you make your way to a table, .where you think you may get away from the obnoxious distractions of fellow-inmates.

Just as you are settled, and ready to take a bit of cold scrambled egg, some jerk comes by, looking the other way, with tray running over, bumping into your chair, spilling his milk on your head, and most likely stumbling, knocking your face down into your tray. How would a guy learn to accept a. face full of cold eggs, the first thing in the morning, and a head-shampoo, with cold milk?

The clumsy inmate, and milk-spiller, if he says anything at all, would grumble and afford you a look of, "Why don't you look where you are sitting?"

ooo

Someone asked me, to define the most important job the correctional officer does in the course of a day. Well, we could say there are many assignments deemed important by the administration, such as guarding the ice cream being served on cold days for dinner; watching over the over-frozen, dated beef we eat twice a week (no need to watch the tainted-pork, this is a serve-your-self item); trying to relate with the inmate by calling him brother but still writing him a disciplinary report for having loose coupons in his canteen-book.

But the correctional officer's major chore, and headache, is making periodic head-bed counts. The senior officer's sometime hectic job is breaking in a new "Hack," teaching him the ropes. One night, a new officer was having extreme difficulty getting his figures to tally with the number of men and beds he was supposed to come up with. After counting, and recounting several times, he became so frustrated he slam-med his clip-board to the floor in anger.

Outside of the dormitory, the supervising sergeant, awaiting his count, met the young officer. "Do you have the count?" the sergeant asked. The officer shook his head in disgust, looking to the ground, then hurriedly stated, "Look Sarg ....there wasn't nothin' in there, but alot of beds and alot of colored people."

The senior officer, seemed puzzled, but managed a smile and softly, with light sarcasm directed his next question: "Did you stay in there long enough to see just how many colored people were in the beds?" This prompted a look of astonishment from the younger officer..."Now Sarg, I didn't want to get personal...I wouldn't come in your bedroom, to see how many you got in bed!"

In the performance of their duties, the correctional officer is accused of unnecessary harassment, especially when adherence to strict enforcement of rules is in effect. The officer will at times stop an inmate carrying a bundle or bag to inquire as to what may be inside. Looking for contraband. At a major intersection, on a main thoroughfare, there is usually a familiar officer on duty, standing in a little house that resembles a way station. There was a particular inmate who used to come by from work every evening with a bag of washed laundry. The officer would always stop the inmate and search through his bag.

After several days of the same, the inmate grew tired of being "harassed." The inmate had no idea, however, just what to do about the situation. Fortunately, and somewhat to the inmate's convenience, he found something laying on a brick wall that runs alongside the heating plant. The inmate's light bulb quickly beamed brightly above his head (an idea), he picked up another bag, stuffed it with his found prize and proceeded toward his dormitary. From a distance, the inmate was sure the old hack at the intersection had spotted him coming, this time with two bags. The inmate tried to act a little suspicious, and when reaching the crossing, the officer hastily walked over to the inmate, and demanded to look in the bags.

The feigned look of guilt and defeat made the old officer's actions more pronounced. The inmate cursing to himself then said to the officer: "Here, man. Take the bags if you want them You always messin’ with me.!" The officer looked at him with great authority: "You guys keep on thinking you can get by me. I knew one day I would catch up to you!"

With this the officer took both bags, saving the heaviest bag till last. After viewing the clothes in one bag, he proceeded to open the other. The old man reached his hand in the bag: his eyes grew painfully large, and he let out a yell.

He had pulled a dead snake from the bag. Throwing it to the ground, he pulled a knife from his pocket..."Git it away from me... I'll cut your fool head off, Gawd-dammit!" The inmate had long gone.