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BREAKFAST
3:00 am in the morning I am awakened
by the loud sound of an officer calling chow time; as he walks up and down
the runs passing out the stout black coffee to let everybody know that
the institutional food has arrived.
Usually people don't wake up for this early morning feast because it is
not really fit for human consumption and in the winter time its usually
too cold to get up and sacrifice the heat that took you all that night
to generate.
At this time and this calling of breakfast it is done as if to degrade
you like if you're some type of animal waiting to be fed. Your tray
is slid through a hole which is called a bean chute and when you are finished
eating, then you slide it underneath your door and a porter will later
come to retrieve it.
As I unravel and get up out of my hard, warm bunk, from the position that
I have been fighting all that night to hold on to, to stay warm.
I finally have to surrender it to the cold and get up, so that the growls
of my empty stomach can be satisfied.
In the process of getting up, and before you can be fed, you have to reach
over and turn some type of lighting on so that the officer who is passing
out the trays can see you. Otherwise you are not worthy of eating
this food and will not be fed.
As this anti social TDC officer with an attitude from the free world approaches
my cell, I tell him no to the unwanted coffee that was unfriendlily offered
and because of its taste.
As he makes his way down the run, the rats and mice scurry and make their
way down the run also. They do this in turn to wait for the uneaten
food that will be left on the trays that will soon be on the fllor, under
the door of every cell here on the wing where I have to call home.
Here on the filthy lock down wings the rodents also know when its time
to eat.
Here on lock down there are three rows that three officers and one porter
have to issue out coffee and food trays to. 21 cells on each row,
63 people on each wing. During this early morning breakfast feeding,
it is done and over with in a matter of 20 minutes or less. That is the
quickest that I've ever had to eat in my entire life, all because of the
laziness of the officer and the anxiousness of me wanting to get back into
a warm bunk.
I almost forgot to tell you about the late night and early morning talk,
change of words with various other people and the very rude commotion of
the mental patients that occupy the management cells that are two cells
down from mine. The last four cells on one row are reserved for such
people because of their uncontrollable behaviour.
Each and every night and morning, I have to hear them call each other every
name in the book; including the nurses and officers that walk in front
of their cells. I think most of their noise is done for attention.
I am in 17 cell, but the occupants of ____, ____, ____, and ____
cells are the dirtiest, nastiest, filthiest people I have ever had to be
around. The reason why I say this is because they shit on themselves
and will leave it under their bunks before officers will finally smell
it 4 or 5 days later. They don't clean their cells and won't shower
for days and weeks at a time.
These men are the most unliked and watched on death row, because the system
classifies them as suicidal and dangerous. They never come out and
recreate with the normal inmates because they fear to be beaten or done
worse, all because of their mouths and the disrespect they have displayed
upon others.
In the middle of the night, one or more of them will start to bang on the
sheet of thick metal that covers the fronts of their doors, all the while
others are trying to get a good nights rest.
In my daily schedule, I have to constantly watch cops ( officers
), Sergeants, nurses go past my cell to constantly check on them.
So therefore I have no privacy at all, and here in prison, the less you
see the cops (officers) the better off you are.
Every thirty minutes and every hour on the hour these men that I talk about,
____, _____, _____ and ______ have to be checked on and their behaviour
has to be monitored and written down.
LUNCH
8:30 am in the morning, the J-21
porter comes around to serve the sour, bitter and distasteful juice or
tea to the condemned inmates that is given out just before lunch.
I eat lunch no earlier than 8:00 am in the morning and no later than 9:00
am, that is because breakfast is served at 3:00 am.
The first shift officers are here before the crack of dawn, which is 5:30
in the morning. The three mental patients that I spoke about has
filled the night with plenty of negativity and words that most intelligent
people prefer not to say and I'm fighting to try to stay awake. Now
that they are asleep, probably because of their regular dosage of Prozac/
and or Thorazine that they so desperately wait on each day.
The officers that work on the first shift are just a bit more sociable
than the one's who work on the 2nd and 3rd shifts. Probably because
are older and more laid back.
Now that the sun has broken throughg the clouds and the darkness of the
gloomy wing that I live on, it gives a dim shine of its light because it
can barely penetrate its way through all of the steel and concrete that
is displayed where I live (Texas' death row).
Here there are a lot of doors, but none of them lead or point me to the
outside. I have not been outside in three years, ever since they
brought me to this prison, I have since then been confined to the
inside of these cold prison walls. That is, unless you want to call
the recreation yard with 60 foot wire fences (the outside) you can only
view the sky.
Now that it is day time, the wing of 60 hardheaded men will be filled with
unbelievable conversations and stories that have been pumped up to be something
that they're not, only to try and outdo the next man. In here
a person can create any type of lifestyle for himself that he desires,
with the help of a wild imagination; you can be anything you prefer to
be.
During each and everyday, except for weekends. Nurses, Chaplains,
and tours from the nearest college come in to scope out what they call
the worst two wings on death row. (J-21 & J-22) !
G-13 & G-15 are the two administrative segregation wings and they are
a little bit more low key than 21 & 23. H-17, H-18, H-19 and
H-20 are the death row cable wings, in which I'll probably return to before
Christmas. My reason for being on lockdown in the first place was
by my own decision, so that I could catch up on a lot of things that I
had neglected while being a part of the work program.
30 minutes after my tray
is passed out to me through the bean chute, afterwards, things will begin
to speed up. The lunch trays are usually consisted of a half
done chicken that was not even fully raised as the Bar B Que sauce mocks
its rawness, some typr of processed fish that has all sorts of colors to
it, something that is called a Tamale pie, and most of the time they will
give you a tray where you have to guess what it is. Mystery meat. The rest
of the helpings that usually go with the lunch trays are turnip greens,
corn and carrots that are usually and purposely overboiled to rid them
of their flavor. Some ranch style beans with diced chunks of tomatoes
mixed in with them for reasons unknown. Potato salad, since it is
the best thing on the tray, it can actually be eaten. The chocolate
pudding looks like shit.
The cell that I occupy is
right in front of the two single man recreation yards, these recreation
yards are designed and used for the ones that they label as gang members
and for the ones who are afraid to be in a regular group with other people
because of the fact that they have made enemies when they first got here
and / or if the inmate is a snitch or has been involved with a snall child.
I constantly have to hear
the loud noises of a wing full of jingling while the officer tries to find
the right keys to open up one of the three doors that lead to the single
man recreation yards. Once the inmate is safely behind the doors
that they use for protection, another door is locked so that the officer
can be protected once the handcuffs are taken off of the inmate.
11:00 am Still in the morning.
I'm finally rested up and my thoughts are gathered because I have silenced
out all the negative chatter. As I begin to wash my face and brush
my teeth to get rid of the after taste of the unconsumable food that waas
given to me, water slowly drips from the water hose like a garden faucet
that is mounted in my tiny cell. It only supplies me with cold water
and never hot.
The sink that I talk about
is connected to a toilet and is displayed in the corner of the 5x9 cell,
or hole in the wall that I have been confined to. After this very
brief turn of early morning events I turn just one step to the left and
begin to make up the small bed that I refer to as a bunk. As I stretch
and tuck the sheets and blanket up underneath the cold surface of metal,
it looks almost presentable.
Afterwards, I then map out
other necessary chores that need to be dealt with that day. Things
like contacting various pro bono and anti death penalty organisations,
in hopes of recieving some type of relief from their services. Most
of the time I go through all of the necessary steps only to be told that
I do not fit into their narrow scope of representation and /or all other
avenues have to be exhausted. If I had any other avenues, then there
would be no need for me to contact them in the first place.
After the legal part of
my daily thinking has been done, I then turn to some unanswered letters
that need to be answered. If there are any ! Most of my letters go
unanswered for two or three weeks, because I do not always have the ready
postage stamps to send outgoing mail.
By the middle of the evening,
all that has to be done is finished. I look around my little 5x9
cell to find something more to do, to try and occupy the remainder of a
long day. Everything that I have (which is not much)
is in its own perfect little place, so as a
figure of speech. I chew on my fingernails hoping that at 5:30 or
6:00 pm that I will have more than one piece of mail that maybe can put
me in contact with someone who is wanting and willing to help me free myself
from the clutches of death and injustice.
Now it is 1:30 pm, the beginning
of Shift Number two. All of the activities that I had planned for
the day are now winding down.
Two of the four recreation
groups has been put out to recreate and by the start of the second shift
they have all showered and once again handcuffed and escorted back to their
cells by two or more officers.
This month I am in the recreation
group that goes out last, which is about 5:00 pm to 7:30 pm. Usually
about this time, 2:00 pm, I'll take a nap, because sometimes I feel that
it is necessary for me to maintain.
In my restful state of being
and before they feed the last chow at 3:30 pm. Soon after that, they
will escort me along with the rest of my recreation group out to the day
room, one at a time. Always handcuffed and sometimes shackled, depending
on your behavior.
Around this place everything
is done in a rush, they rush you to eat, if you have to go to the doctor
(infirmary), they rush you to get ready. If you are lucky enough
to get a visit, they rush you on that, not wanting to give you the necessary
time to wash your face, comb your hair, or even brush your teeth.
If you do have an appointment of some sort, there is no notice given.
They just show up at your cell at any given time, most of the time with
very seemingly and noticeable attitudes. If anybody should have an
attitude, it should be me. They getto leave after eight hours and
I have to stay here and do the same things repeatedly day in and day out...
The sound of slamming doors
and various other tunes of disturbance is very familiar here where I live
(Texas' Death Row)! What I write about is real and there could never be
enough ink or paper to jot it all down, these pages are just a brief pretense
of the grim reality that I and many others face everyday.
Each day, the only thing
that is new is when another human being falls victim to the state of Texas
and arrives on death row.
So now that I have been
under the command of the first shift for 8 hours, which I try my hardest
to avoid them as they constantly walk by my cell to steal a peek at
what I'm doing. It is very hard to avoid them because I am confined
to a 5x9 cubular cell/cage/box.
The gungho second shift
is a bit more uptight than the ones of the first shift, because it consists
of nothing but youngsters who just got out of high school and took this
job as an alternative to college. These Rambo type youngsters know
who to pick and poke at and they also know who not to pick and poke at.
Time and experience will calm their fiery dispositions and they will come
to the conclusion that the state had programmed them in the wrong way to
make them believe that we are different from them , in which we are not.
People here are just as ordinary as anyone else.
1:44 pm The mental
patients of J 21 in 20 and 21 cell have awakened from their brief hibernation
and are at each others throats with their very harsh words and anyone who
walks by their cells at the time are included in the brutal converations
also.
In just moments the nurse
will be around escorted by an officer to give these anxious men their daily
dose of what they love so much. Prozak/ Thorazine ! It is like
shooting a lion with tranquilizers, oh how that medication calms the savage
beast (s). All of this is done each and everyday, knowing that it
is soon going to wear off and the beast (s) willsurely start to roar again.
They were awoke by the loud
slamming of the thick metal doors, taking inmates to and from their assigned
recreation groups. A lot of the times the soft, sweet voice of one
of the female officers and/or nurses will capture the attention of the
mental patient/inmates.
By including the 63 others
that live on each wing, they too will also join in on the daily activity
of rudeness and disrespent of words and name calling that is issued out
each and everyday. All for the reward that they refer to as attention.
When most of the 63 men
are all talking and joining the party, it is like a concert that nobody
wants to go to. I maintain a calm statute of character, by researching
my case, writing and answering letters and metitating on who I believe
in. Because if I let any of the daily distractions get to me, including
the officers that work here. Then I will be an exact replica of the
very ones that I talk about.
3:31 pm One of the second
shift officers just appeared in front of my cell door here on J21 lock
down wing, 1 row 17 cell, to pour some tea in my cup; which used to be
a peanut butter jar. The tea that they serve here is not all that
bad, I wish I could say that for the food that they serve.
The chow will soon follow
the beverage, whatever it might be. Usually the food that they feed
us is a guessing game to what it is and consists of what I call SOS (shit
on shingles).
The evening tray that was
given to me was: beans, mystery meat being the main course, two hard
flour tortillas, some dry mexican rice, homoney and one spoon full of picante
sauce.
Everything that I mentioned,
I have to eat it. If not, I will be experiencing the late night hungries
because I am not always fortunate enough to go to the prison commissary
each week and buy things that they sell from the free world.
4:40 pm One of the wing
officers came and asked me if I was going to go to recreation and I said
yes! While other officers are preparing the prior recreation groups
to shower, my recreation group has to be ready when they come around to
take each of us out of our cells individually, if we are not ready when
they return in 10 minutes, we will be passed up and refused a shower.
Everything here is done on a time schedule, except for the part of letting
you go home.
After being escorted to
the day room by two or more officers and the handcuffs are taken off of
my wrists, I can then decide whether I want to play dominoes, basketball,
volleyball, checkers, chess.
8:30 pm it is ready to return back to
that hole in the wall that resembles a dark cave or storeroom. 6x9 square
box. I am once again handcuffed and sometimes shackled and escorted
to the showers as if it is a daily ritual. I have a choice to receive
a pair of state issued boxer shorts or I can wear the ones that was purchased
at the prison commissary because the ones that the state issued have probably
been worn by 1000 different people. After my shower I usually recieve
a white shirt and a white pair of pants, both of which is standard prison
issued. I have three white shirts and three white pairs of pants
and other than a tshirt and boxer shorts, that is my whole wardrobe.
The officers wear all grey and the inmates wear all white.
SHIFT CHANGE ! Third shift officer comes in
front of my cell door with the usual night shift routine. Do you
want a tv vote, request forms, Tylenol, grievance forms, band aids and
any other type of forms that are issued by the state.
The television comes on
at 7:00 and goes off at 10:30 pm just the same as the lights go off.
I am too much caught up in the researching of my case and other things
to be wasting time watching a tv that I have to strain to see because of
the wire mesh that surrounds my cell.
1) So my day consists of
waking up to terrible food, which I have no other choice but to be grateful
for.
2)Waking up to a wing full
of loud bangs, thumps, and the rolling and slamming of doors that probably
weigh about 200 pounds each.
3) My day is involved with
having to deal with violent as well as non violent inmates on a day to
day basis, along with the sorry ass officers that work here (most of them).
4) During the 24 hours of
each day a Nurse may appear at my door escorted by an officer to ask me
if I'm alright and to see if I'm still alive. Officers are almost
constantly walking by my cell as well as others to see if you're doing
something out of the ordinary and to notice things that you are not supposed
to have hanging on your wall and/or in front of your bars. Like a
sheet or a blanket so that it blocks their view because then they think
you're trying to hide something from them or build something that could
be a threat to security. I have no privacy whatsoever.
Death row is a prison inside of a prison, inside of a prison.
One of the legal ladies
from time to time will come on the wing to pass out legal mail and outside
purchase orders to inmates, if an order has come in your name.
I can tune inti 3 radio
channels on the prison controlled radio, a plug in jack in mounted
in the wall at the back of my cell. One channel is totally mexican
music, another channel is a combination of country and rock, in which they
switch the two everyday, and the third station is rap music.
In the three years
that I have been here, till this day I have not purchased a radio from
the prison commissary. I discriminate on what I listen to or watch
because of all the politics involved, the stereotyping, the propaganda,
and false identities that are portrayed. I will watch the CNN news,
which is to me the most accurate.
My writing are a mixture
of truth and deception ! The truth of the reality that is here and
the deception of what is hidden from the public eye, such people as
yourself, all of which you are given the false pretense of this place...
BOBBY RAY HOPKINS 999101
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