I visited a former favorite student at Salinas Valley State Prison for a few years.  Sundays when I could. Hour drive each way. Took the back roads – Reservation Road for the calming peace I need to mind set me before the ordeal of entry began.  Practiced my sign language on the way over in case we needed to communicate privately.   Level 4 Maximum security, in chains, handcuffed, waist to ankles chains. In the window visits non-contact phone visits.

    My time with “Rojelio” were always non-contact. A phone for each of us on the opposite side of the Plexiglas. A stainless steel seat bolted to the floor for each of us.  Forty-five minutes for each of us – no more - sometimes less.

    Inmates who’d behaved better than my former fifth-grader were at my back, usually twenty-five to thirty of them. They sat around tables, murders, rapists, fraud masters, gang members all. They pooled right behind me. Laughing, hugging their families and walking. Walking, walking, walking inside the yellow tape on the floor. The inmate permissible walking zone.

     One of those seated had been a cell mate of my inmate.  I saw his reflection in the glass. I turned, acknowledged him, smiled. He waved to me. I kept the phone to my ear waved back. His mom taught me many of the ropes of visitor survival. She’d been in line behind me once.

     “I know who you are?” She had whispered.

      As a skinny, short, pinkish-skinned solitary gringo I have to admit, it unnerved me.

       “Um…who am I?”

      “Rojelio’s teacher. You’re the only one who ever visits him.   You’re playing that chest game with him.”

       “Chest? Oh chess. Yeah, I taught him chess and we play it in the mail. How do you know this?”

        “My son was his celly. But Rojelio’s in isolation now.”

       “Yes he is.”

        That was a few years back. Now the inmate, former celly and his mom through hand gestures invited me to share pizza with them. I gave them a thumbs up.

        The visitors process is: park in the lot. Stand in the lot. Wait for a C.O. (correction officer to come by) He/She checks your I.D. Non-contact visitors go in first. Walk ¼ of a mile to the visitor’s center. Sign in. See if the inmate behaved well enough to get the visit. C.O. calls you forward. You stand three feet away from them. Visitor is asked to stretch out arms, turn around, lift pant legs, pull out pockets, front and back, take off shoes.  Hand over car keys to C.O. they go in a numbered tube, remember the number to get your keys back. Ultra-violet stamp is stamped on your wrist. I will need it to get out later.

      I get three chances and only three chances to get in. And if the C.O.s decide they want a body cavity check the visitor can decline but they can’t visit.

     I pass without a body cavity check, although I ‘d told myself if the S.O.B.s wanted to give me one I’d do it. Just to get Rojelio out of isolation even for a while. He’d been in isolation for 6 years.

     Next I walked into the first Sallyport – never heard that word before my introduction to the world of incarceration. Then the second Sallyport. Walked alone six-hundred and twenty-two steps to the visitor’s center.  Spooky quiet.

   Signed in and waited. Eventually got my visit, my stainless steel seat my phone.

    Rojelio and I had a protocol.  First -we checked on the status of our chess game. Make sure we got the last moves right. (Ended up going on for three years) Next make each other laugh -jokes teasing, sarcasm the stupidity of others. We’d move on to news in the hood, news in the cells.  And tried to leave with a kicker.

    This day Rojelio beat me twice with the kickers.

    “Mr. K. No BS. Don’t know how to say this but the dude in the cell next to me has a thing for cows.”

     “What do you mean?”

      “He likes em a lot.”

      ”He draws them? What?”

       Rojelio, laughed, “No way. He um got …romantic with ‘em on the other side of the wire.  That’s why he’s in.”

        “No way.”

        “Every way. There are some real sicko’s in here.  Hey, I forgot to tell you. Remember when I was in Corcoran.”

         “I do. We started playing our chess game there.”

          “Good that you mentioned that cuz that’s what it’s about. Chess. Remember the two biggies on my tier I played them.”

        “Sure do. You played chess with Sirhan Sirhan and Charlie Manson. You said Sirhan cheats like sin.”

         He nodded, “Well my gang told me I had to stop playen them on account it would hurt our reputation.”

          I had to laugh.

          “Not funny Mr. K. If I didn’t stop they woulda put a hit on me.”

         The light in the cell blinked. Forty-fives minutes had evaporated. Rojelio stood, tapped bye on the glass with his knuckles. I did the same.

          He walked out. I turned and took up his former celly on the offer for pizza.

 

       On the way home I often stopped at Burger King in Soledad. I wanted to be surrounded by Latinos who were free and not incarcerated.

      I’d digest my meal and what I’d just seen and heard at the same time .

 

              Who woulda thought Nortenos worried about their rep. 

 

             Always, always, had my eyes opened on the prison visits. Always…