ROLL CALL ~ A Prison List (True Prison Story)

by Glenn Langohr

  Vince thought about his public defender Stacy. She seems to care so much I think I’m in love. Vince smiled to himself and considered how blessed he was to have such an honest and caring person fighting for him. Most of the other inmates talked about how much they hated their public defender. They called them public pretenders who cared more about their association with the D.A.’s then their clients. Vince thought about what his cellie Joe was going through back in the modules. Joe claimed that in his case the prosecution was mounting a landslide of evidence against him and his public defender wouldn’t use any of his own evidence and the testimony of witnesses to refute the prosecution’s slant. Vince thought about Stacy and how she’d said “if I get the pictures from my Mom of my swollen head and black and blue face, she’d shock the judge by the excessive force and discredit the police and their reports. I hope my Mom comes to court with those pictures!”

  Vince got to the bottom floor and walked the line to the holding tanks already familiar with which ones were used for south court. He spotted Damon in the corner doing pushups and looking out the glass. He noticed Damon’s mustard colored jumpsuit was way too tight and laughed. A few minutes later, Vince heard his name for the holding tank Damon was in.

  Damon came to the holding tank’s door and greeted Vince as he entered in a big hug. They sat down on the concrete slab along the holding tank’s bullet proof glass to watch the line of mustard colored jumpsuits and the faces in them coming down the line.

  Damon asked, “Is your Mom going to show up with those pictures today?”

  Vince stared out the window and answered, “I hope I see her in the courtroom… I was calling her collect every night on the phone and at first she told me she couldn’t find the pictures, and said someone must have stolen them… Then two nights ago she said she found them but needed to find a ride to court to bring them because her car broke down. I called her last night to see if she found a ride and her phone had a block on it that said her number didn’t accept collect calls… I guess she didn’t pay the bill or something.”

  Damon shook his head with a painful look on his face and wondered, “what do I say to that?”

  Vince caught the look. “She’ll come… What’s up with you? How’s Jade doing, is she going to be at court today?”

  “Jade’s not doing too good… Her parents are putting a lot of pressure on her to divorce me. She really doesn’t have much of a choice because I was paying all of the bills while she was a stay at home mother. Now she has all of the bills on her shoulders and her parents are willing to pay for them if she files for divorce. They’re even offering to buy her a big house in San Clemente to turn into a sober living home for her to run during the day and make some money. They want to name it Crossroads, to signify the point she’s at in her life.”

  Vince’s deep brown eyes were so sad that Damon shook his head and continued, “It hurt really bad at first but it forced me to get real and start looking at it through her perspective. This is a blessing for her and I told her I want her to do it. She’ll have peace of mind with all of that security and be able to take care of our kids… I won’t be as worried about her and the kids the whole time I’m gone this way.”

  Vince breathed a deep sigh of relief like the weight of the world just got lifted from his shoulders. Damon noticed it. “You’re a good friend Vince. I’m glad I met you. Most people only care about themselves these days… I wonder how our friend B.J. is doing out there on the streets. He seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders too.”

  Damon and Vince sat on wooden slabs in the incustody section of Division Seven courtroom looking out. Vince looked through the fenced-in enclosure for his Mom in the public seating area and didn’t see her. Damon looked in the same direction and found Jade with Victoria on her lap and Ryan in the seat next to her.

  Damon waved to Jade and Ryan and found he couldn’t take his eyes off of Jade. He thought to himself, “If I can just detect what she’s feeling, does she still love me?”

  Vince stared at the courtroom’s mahogany door where the public could enter from and thought out loud. “My Mom’s not here yet, she’s probably having trouble with a ride…”

  Standing at the fenced-in enclosure for the incustody detainees was Stacy. “Vincent Prestolli.”

  “Hi, Stacy. I don’t know where my Mom is. She’s having car trouble and needed to find a ride here.”

  “Vincent. I need those pictures! The prosecution has medical records of the officers showing bruises to their legs to back up their claim of G.B.I.. What’s your Mom’s number? I’ll call her and send a car for her.”

  Excited by the thought of being rescued, Vince gave the number.

  Ten minutes later Stacy came back with that worried look again.

  “Vincent… Your Mom said the pictures are still missing… She said she told you that over the phone… And then said something about life experiences?”

  Damon and Vince watched the judge enter the courtroom from a back door in the mahogany wall. He walked to his seat of power wearing a purple robe over business attire, had a bald head and was wearing horned rimmed glasses perched at the end of his nose. He passed the great seal of California with the condor on it hanging on the wall and all of the idle noise in the room quieted. The bailiff wearing an Orange County Sheriff uniform stood even straighter and announced, “All rise for the Honorable Judge Karl Homer.”

  Damon and Vince watched with a growing sickness in their stomachs, awaiting their turn to be judged. Everyone rose, but from there every detainee fell one by one. Every detainee got chastised by the judge who referred to police reports and the D.A.’s recommendations, and never was there an argument or any defending from the public defender.

  Vince watched every detainee feel overwhelmed, pressured and coerced into just getting it over with and pleading, “Guilty,your honor.”

  Damon watched the same thing and marveled at how fast the courtroom processed judgment. He imagined all of the detainees as cattle getting herded and branded and sent where there was more room for beef.

  At the end of the line and late into the afternoon, Damon and Vince were the last men standing. The judge opened up the second to last file and said, “Damon Smith.”

  Damon walked to the fenced enclosure to stand next to his public defender on the other side of it. The judge’s face wrinkled in displeasure, like what he was reading in the file was increasingly worse. He turned with that disgusted look and analyzed. It didn’t feel like he judged me part of his race. Maybe I’m an insect. I looked over to where Jade was sitting. She had Victoria in her lap praying. My son Ryan was playing with a game.

  “Damon Smith. On the night of March 29, you are charged with a violation of the safety code for transporting a pound of marijuana for the purpose of selling it, in count two you are charged with another count of the Health and Safety code of possession with the intent to sell that same pound of marijuana… How do you plea?”

  “Guilty, your honor.”

  “On March 30, you are again charged with another violation of the Health and Safety code for another possession with the intent to sell… How do you plea?”

  “Guilty, your honor.”

  Damon watched the judge look directly at him and say, “Damon Smith, I have to tell you that while reading these police reports narcotic detective Pincher wrote, I find myself wondering how you could deny possession to him over and over, and then allege you were framed the following day? Detective Pincher is one of the hardest working detectives in Orange County and for you to allege something like that is despicable! I’m sentencing you to two years for each count for a total of four years in a California State Prison.”

  Vince stared at the door thinking to himself, I hope my Mom enters right now.

  He didn’t even hear all of his charges being read, or Stacy saying, “There’s nothing I can do without those pictures.”

  “Vincent Prestolli. How do you plea? Vincent Prestolli! I said, how do you plea?”
>
  “Guilty, your honor.”

  “Four years in a California State Prison.”

  CHAPTER 37

  SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA STATE PRISON

  A month later Damon and Vince got off the bus and under an armed and handcuffed escort reached Southern California Central and the eight man holding tank where they got their cuffs taken off and sat down on another hard slab. They both looked around to study their environment and looked through the steel bars at the receiving sergeant at his desk, and then took a look at the rest of the place. Damon looked at Vince to see if he was just as shell shocked as he, and found Vince looked excited and was smiling. Damon thought of all of the level 4 stories he’d heard about Southern California Central and wondered if Vince knew about those stories.

  Vince looked around and thought, this must be the most exciting life experience I’ve faced yet! I better take mental notes and remember everything in as much detail as possible.

  They both noticed a Mexican prison guard walk from out of their view to the desk the sergeant was at. He asked, “Do you have that paperwork and a can of Bugler tobacco for Sycamore Hall?”

  Damon looked at Vince and asked, “Do you think the paperwork he’s talking about is an inmate’s list of crimes?”

  Vince nodded, “Probably. Let’s see the name tags of these guards to remember them.”

  They both noticed the sergeant’s name was Renfro, and the other deputy was Gonzalez.

  Sergeant Renfro went through his desk and found a can of Bugler and added a lighter to it. Then he went through some files and said, “I know I’ve got those files somewhere. Here they are. Chester Goldstein and Sherman Covington. How’s that for the names of a couple of child molesters.”

  Damon and Vince watched prison guard Gonzalez react and respond. “The state of California and the rest of this country are too soft on child molesters. I remember seeing that Chester piece of shit Goldstein on the news. He molested nine different little girls that they know about. The other molester was doing his own daughter for God knows how long until his mother walked in on it. Remember that? She got arrested for trying to stab him to death!”

  Sergeant Renfro said, “Stay down Mom! I didn’t know all of those details. What did the state give them?”

  Vince thought, he knows all of those details and probably what the state sentenced them to. Is this conversation meant for us to hear it?

  Right then, both Vince and Damon heard a rustling noise and strained to see further into receiving toward the hall. Vince got up and went to the bars where he could see a grizzled looking tattooed down white inmate messing with the trash in a trash can. Apparently, he had been there the whole time. He left a tied trash bag on the ground and slid the empty trash can into view.

  Deputy Gonzalez said, “The courts gave Chester the molester Goldstein six years and the other one got four years.”

  Vince watched the tattooed down white inmate burglarize the conversation. “Then the same courts will throw the keys away on someone just for trying to hustle to survive and eat! It doesn’t make sense Gonzo.”

  Vince recognized deputy Gonzalez went by Gonzo and added it to the memory bank.

  Gonzo looked over with a smile and said, “Hey peckerwood, inmate Longwhore… A.K.A. The Sandman. I need you to take this paperwork to the floor officer in Sycamore Hall and this can of tobacco and lighter is for Mad Dog.”

  Vince and Damon watched the Sandman walk his trash can to the desk, partially out of their view, where he grabbed the files and the tobacco and lighter and placed it in an empty trash bag that he rolled up and put on the bottom of the can. Then he put another bag in the trash can over it and tied the bag off at the lip of the can to put trash in it. He grabbed some nearby mini trash cans and dumped it in. While he worked he talked to Gonzo. “How many times do I have to tell you not to throw my A.K.A. out there like that? You know they use that to affiliate us to a prison gang!”

  Gonzo laughed like it was a long running joke. “You know that’s what you want anyway!”

  “No I don’t!! I don’t want to be slammed in that new S.H.U. (Segregated Housing Unit) at Pelican Bay for the rest of my life!”

  “Then you should have been more careful with your A.K.A.!”

  Vince stared openly at the situation and thought, this is just like a prison movie!

  Damon was also staring and thought, with the way things are going for me we’ll get housed in Sycamore Hall and I’ll catch another case. He laughed at how unlikely that scenario was.

  The Sandman finished his drawn out task and realized both deputies were staring at the youngsters in the holding tank. He looked over and saw they were watching intently. He looked right at them also.

  Damon and Vince took his look as a challenge and didn’t look away.

  Sergeant Renfro saw an opportunity to stir the pot. “These two fish are going with you to Sycamore Hall. Are you going to add these two to the list of torpedoes on standby over there?”

  The Sandman had an irritated look on his face like he was all that, and said, “Do you send your kid’s into a busy street to get in a wreck?”

  Both deputies busted up laughing and Gonzo pointed at Damon and Vince and with his other hand pretended to cover up a mocking laugh.

  Damon wasn’t laughing, he was thinking, “I can smash your old ass.”

  Vince was laughing to go along with it. He was thinking, so Sandman, you like to cut it up with the prison deputies and make fun of us. If that’s how you get down I’ll add you to my life experience movie.

  Deputy Gonzo watched the youngsters determined not to bend and decided they had a lot of heart and nerve on their sleeves. “I don’t know Sandman. With a little seasoning I think these youngsters might just move you out of the way and take your job out here as our janitor.”

  Sergeant Renfro added to it. “I bet they could send you back to your cell to do those mandatory workouts. Then you’ll be standing at the cell door all day trying to get a crumb of this tobacco sent your way, instead of out here where you’re bringing back the mother lode.”

  Now it was just the deputies laughing.

  CHAPTER 38

  On the walk from receiving to Sycamore Hall deputy Gonzalez led the way with Sandman a few feet behind him sliding the trash can, then Damon and Vince behind him with their hands behind their back. Vince whispered to Damon, “Study the layout in as much detail as you can. You study the left hand side, and I’ll study the right hand side. We’ll compare notes in our cell.”

  Vince noticed how receiving’s hall started down a declining slope as it entered Central’s main hall. They entered it and Vince looked both ways and decided they were right in the middle. He estimated the length of Central’s hall at about the distance of a football field and decided the width of the hall was about ten yards. Then he focused on his right hand side and looked as far down the hall as he could. Up the way, there were offices that had a sign that read, Lieutenant/Sergeant offices. Looking past those offices another sign read, Medical. Vince noticed a hulking deputy that looked about 6’4 and about 240lbs. of muscle come out of the medical area looking at the procession. He stopped in front of the Lieutenant/Sergeant office with his arms crossed and looked into deputy Gonzalez’s eyes. A message seemed to pass between the two and deputy Gonzalez stopped the procession.

  Damon studied his left hand side along the wall and noticed steel cages the size of phone booths. Directly above them were a nozzle facing downward and a sign that read, decontamination spray. Damon realized the phone booths weren’t for phone use, they were for combatants involved in altercations and the spray was to hose off the pepper spray. Then he noticed the massive Sergeant staring at their lineup.

  Vince read the Sergeant’s name plate, Sergeant Fountain. He had sagacious eyes that looked like they didn’t miss much. He walked to the trash can Sandman was holding and asked everyone, “Are there any weapons in this trash can? Any ice picks, bone crushers, or swords?”

  Sergeant Fountain
tilted the trash can, looked inside, then grabbed it and shook it. Then he looked right at Damon and Vince. He watched the youngsters keep as stoic a face as possible and asked them, “Is there anything in this trash can I should know about?”

  Damon and Vince shook their heads and looked at the ground. Both said, “No.”

  Sandman looked relaxed like he dealt with this kind of thing on a daily basis. “It’s just trash Sergeant Fountain.”

  Deputy Gonzalez smiled and said, “I think they’ve got enough weapons over there already Sergeant.”

  Sergeant Fountain nodded his head and said, “So just an extra trash can huh? There must be some extra trash over there in Stickamore then. If there aren’t any weapons in there then you won’t need me to escort you safely.”

  Deputy Gonzalez said, “Not this time Sergeant.”

  Vince watched in amazement as the Sergeant gave the nod and said, “Carry on then.” Vince thought, “this is rad.”

  Continuing up Central’s hall, Vince studied his right hand side and noticed a sign that read: CHOW HALL. Then one that read: KITCHEN. Walking by, Vince looked into the chow hall and heard gangster rap music playing. He saw four different races of level 4 convicts. They were all tattooed down and wearing beanies slung back to the point they looked like skull caps. Those who were working had hairnets over their beanies and were wearing state issue denim pants and prison shirts as they carried trays and wiped tables. Over in the corner, Vince saw a cut up black dude without his shirt on working out. It looked like he had three pairs of boxer shorts on. Each one hung lower than the other one and his denim pants hung all the way at the bottom below his ass. Another sagging black dude walked up to him and said, “Sugarfree! Hey nigga how much time they give you on your violation?” Sugarfree responded, “Hey crip, we ain’t supposed to call each other niggas in front of other races. Big T. in stickamore put that out on the tier. He says it gives the other races the green light to use the word and that shit starts riots. He says it’s okay if it’s just bofus talking and no other race can hear us.”