When i first entered FCI Englewood, the first FCI i could actually be on without being immediately attacked for the crime i committed, or what the stigma my crime was given due to the newspaper articles that portrayed me as a heartless monster, it was actually like what i would call a college dorm. people meandered about and there was the thick miasma of tobacco and marijuana in the air. the correctional officer was lackadaisical at best and let the other inmates guide me to my bed bunk. i was approached by several inmates and was asked in Spanish who i ran with because everyone always assumes i am Hispanic, mainly because of my goatee and buzz cut hairdo. after staring at them in my best impression of someone who doesn’t understand Spanish, which is funny because i actually understand quite a bit i just have trouble putting it together in sentence form, i do this just to establish the fact that i am not Hispanic or Latino. in fact i usually answer in English, “I’m Native” and that prompts the enquiring individuals to seek out the unit rep for the natives.
the unit rep came up to me and took me around to the introduce me to the other natives in the unit. most were welcoming but there were those who recognized me from the news and would never become what i would call on friendly terms. but for the most part i was welcome. the next day i waling through the cold October weather to laundry to pick up my clothes and met even more natives. one worked in laundry and gave me a decent set of khakis and brand new boots instead of the recycled ones a lot of people get stuck with. then at lunch i was shown where the natives sat in the chow hall and was surprised to see about fifty of them of various sizes and colors sitting on about ten different table. i could tell immediately who the ones that would be considered of the gang wannabe element and these who were from the deep rezervation background. i chose to sit next to the elders. i never liked hanging out with guys my age or associating with them because i come to believe my generation as lost and misguided by rap music. not to say i dont enjoy rap music but i know that even though i can enjoy listening to a song i would never actually wish to live the lifestyle that the songs are about. I’ve seen first hand what comes with being a gangster will bring, which is death or jail. i was already in jail and i was already worried about death on my hands. plus to see an entire generation try to emulate the Tony Montana’s and Tupac’s of the entertainment industry without realizing what both of those characters came to in the end regardless of their success was not something i would call enjoyable.
the next thing i was shown was the recreation yard which was huge with three full sized basketball courts, two tennis courts, three horse shoe pits and two full sized softball fields. but the best of all was the weight pile. i love lifting weights and this place had every piece of equipment you could ever ask for and the first thing i did was jog a few laps around the track with the idea that i would fill all my time with working out. i was still in my bob barker shoes and the snow was a foot deep.
after acclimating to the prison setting and about a week into my being there i went to the sweat lodge to see what it had to offer. i was completely welcome there and met some very knowledgeable elders who were actually American Indian Movement members from the 60’s and 70’s who got locked up for various protests against the government. they took me under their wing and told me that it was their way to help fellow brothers who got locked up for whatever reason and improve them in such a way that when we get out we are better people so as to not get in any more trouble with the law, very much along the lines of what Mr.. Santos is trying to accomplish.
at the time i was still a struggling Christian and was going to the Sunday services to get a better outlook on life and seeking forgiveness for what i had done. in county i applied myself to self study correspondence courses and earned the proper credentials to be ordained but felt i was a long way form that life commitment. and then after going to some services in prison my eyes were opened to the cold hard reality of life behind bars and what this new environment was going to be like. during the closing of the service the inmates would gather around into a circle and hold hands and pray out loud together. at first it was scary because it felt like i was in a cult of witches trying to summon a demon or something especially when some guys started speaking in tongues or different languages i couldn’t identify. then two guys would ask if others in the group would like to confess their sins in front of the brotherhood and ask Jesus for forgiveness. eventually one did and confessed to being a child molester who did things to his little nieces and that was why he was locked up, having lied to everyone saying he was a drug dealer. well at the service it was all good and everyone forgave him and patted him on the back saying his courage to confess would give him freedom form guilt and shame. the next day the same Christian brothers who were asking the congregation to confess put locks on belts and beat the guy who confessed to being a child molester over the head so severe he was rendered unconscious and taken to the hospital. he never came back to general population instead was shipped to another prison for his own safety. when the two guys who beat him up came out of the SHU they resumed going to church services and continued asking others to confess. that’s when Christianity and church ended for me in prison.
but instead of losing hope i immersed myself into learning what the native Americans call “The Red Road” the Lakota version any ways as there were none who practiced the ways of my tribe back in Oregon. i went to the sweat lodge ceremonies and asked many questions about what the fire represented, the rocks, the water they poured over the hot rocks and the suffering they endured inside the lodge. i asked what the buffalo skull alter and medicine staff represented. i asked about the sacred pipe, and learned the translation of the songs that were sung for the ceremony. how to use the tobacco not to smoke but for prayer. i joined the drum circle learning and singing pow wow songs with my fellow native brothers and felt more at home with them than i ever did with those so called Christian brothers. i found that following the Red Road was a life style and not a religion. that there was wisdom in that way of life that i could never fully get from just reading the bible.
I’ve read the bible about 6 or 7 times and each time my eyes are opened to the fact that the old testament is full of blood and carnage and many misdeeds committed by the Jews against many peaceful tribes of people whose only crime was to occupy the Jews “promised land.” and even the most holy prophets and kings of the Jews were sinful people forgiven their misdeeds by their God in the name of propagating their nation. i stopped trying to understand the bible because to a Jew i am to be never accepted as one of them. and even being a Christian in prison there’s is no guarantee that anyone else’s motives are genuine so there can be no true brotherhood. and after all I’ve seen holier than thou believers and their interpretation of the word that justifies their own misdeeds to look righteous i came to take my chances just being an Indian. its what i was born into and what I’ll die out of in this world.
i was encouraged to take classes that would further my education and rehabilitation into a better smarter person so having earned my high school diploma on the streets i was eligible for trade classes. i enrolled into a drafting course and found that creating three dimensional pictures using basic geometric shapes and math was fun as well as helpful, which i later found has many applications to my life of being a crafter of things. at the time though it was a welcome distraction from having to dwell on being in prison at the start of a 30 years sentence. i also started exercising fanatically.
my morning was full of higher education in the trade class and then the afternoon was for lifting weights and cardio. in the evening i would help out at the sweat lodge area getting it ready for the weekly sweat. i helped out carrying rocks and let the others go into the sweat because there was a lot of participants but limited space. i enjoyed just being part of the group. i created a specialized work out routine that was engineered specifically for me and my body type. i ate six small meals spaced two or three hours apart. i ate measured pre and post workout high proteins intake meals. i did everything orderly and planned. i also found the time to play guitar. they had eclectic guitars and pedals so i could jam out doing two hour solo’s. i joined with others and made a band. i played with the great Jerry Posing who played drums for Steppin Wolf.
i was actually getting along rather nicely until i on a bus transfer a guy form my reservation arrived an started stirring up trouble. that’s when i found out who exactly was my brother and who was only smiling in my face but cursing me as soon as i turned around. this guy fueled a separation of the entire group of us natives of those who accepted all regardless of crime to those who chose to think people who didn’t have honorable crimes should be punished by the inmates who shared the yard with them. but they were fewer and cowardly only picking on the weak who could not stand up for themselves. this is a common occurrence in prison. funny how we are all locked up for being criminals but some think they are better than others. even though those same guys who would hate another never think how much hurt and suffering they themselves caused when they were free.
then there were several riots that happened in between all this between races. whites against Mexicans. blacks against Mexicans. Mexicans against Mexicans. every 6 months it seemed the Mexicans from Mexico would try to take over using bully tactics because they had number greater than every one else. too bad none of them really know how to fight like us from the lower fifty states. and they would be on the losing end of the riot every time. scary but it never involve us natives so i was always a bystander. when ever it popped off and the blood started flying us natives would group up for protection and watch the show. afterwards it was back to the same old routine. day in, day out.
