University of Virginia Library

' . . . There Is Some S . . . I Will Not Eat'

By Michael Russell
Cavalier Daily Staff Writer

—Ed.)

Fourteen paper bags containing
commissary goods; two dozen
candy bars, envelopes, soap,
tobacco (Prince Albert still at 15
cents a bag), cigarettes, salt and
pepper (contraband). Stacks of
ripped paperback novels and old
Sci-Fi magazines, all had to be
removed from the two top bunks
before Norm and I could occupy
them.

"Sorry to put you guys to alt
the trouble"

"That's OK, Whatcha in for?"

"Well..." I started. Norm began
to chuckle softly. "We, ah, we're in
for NON-POSSESSION."

T—, looking confused: "Non
possession of what?"

"We've got no draft cards, the
FBI arrested us on the highway."

"Right on!"

Which, of course, was the last
thing I expected to hear on the
federal cell block of the Tulsa
County Jail. We had expected that
we would be spending several days
fending off hippie-haters,
father-rapers, the whole thing.
Instead, we ended up sharing a cell
with two "Criminals" who
supported our action, and also
decided to help us.

Nondescript

"A" Tank eighth floor is where
all the federal prisoners were kept.
Had we been arrested by the local
police, chances are our worst
suspicions would have been
realized. The Tulsa Jail, like those
in many cities, is nondescript from
the outside; you would think it was
just another office building. It's
not. In many instances it's a
building where the bars are
imprisoning the wrong people, the
crime being failure to conform.

We were rooming with two
accused felons, both "dire action"
cases. Dire action is charged for
taking stolen goods across state
lines. T-, the oldest of the four of
us had been in jail continuously
since 1964, except when he'd
escaped. His cumulative sentences
would have kept him continuously
in jail until 2070. Before that he
had ridden with Hell's Angels, and
The Sons of Thor, both motorcycle
gangs in California.

S— was a year or two younger
than both Norm and I. He had run
away from home, gotten messed up
on dope, stolen a car, and had been
chased all over Tulsa by the
authorities. He was being charged
with every loose crime they could
find, and when his lawyer managed
to get one thrown out of court,
they'd charge him with another.
While we were there they informed
him he was charged with stealing a
car in Texas on a date when he'd
been in Chicago.

We slowly exchanged stories
with our cell mates, and they in turn
began to inform us of Tulsa
Routine. The lights never dimmed,
the major change of environment
occurring when it was sunny and
some extra light filtered in through
the opaqued glass. We were to get
up at 5 a.m. and move into the
tank, a room about 60 feet long
and 15 feet wide, furnished in
modern medal, with six picnic
tables for entertainment. Also in
the tank was a toilet and two
showers.

Breakfast was served at 7 a.m.
and for the next twelve hours we
were to entertain ourselves in the
tank. At 5 p.m. we were allowed to
clean our cells and mop down the
tank, as well as move freely
between the cell and the tank. At 6
p.m. we were served dinner and
after that the guards locked us in
our cells for the night.

Monotony

This routine was only broken by
visits to the commissioner's office,
lawyers' visits, and the periodic
serving of slop they called food.
Meals were the day's highlights.
They conveniently broke the
monotony of staring at the bars for
twelve hours, or pacing the tank. At
7, 12, and 6, the metal slot under
the visitor windows would open
and twenty cups of "coffee" would
slide through, followed by a three
dished metal trays, with "Bread" in
one part, "vegetables or beans" in a
second, and "meat" in a third.
"Desert" was served once a day.

I've eaten in some of the most
greasy, sleazy restaurants in this
country, but I've never been
confronted with food I wouldn't
eat. This was a first. I subsisted on
water and occasionally pieces of
corn bread or cake: the rest I
couldn't stomach. Norm, on the
other hand, got right into the food,
having just converted to
vegetarianism. Our combined lack
of hunger allowed us to distribute
some of the food among our
friends, which earned us some
gratitude as well as edging off of
what hostility there was.

Being the tank's hippies, the
first few hours of our first day were
extremely interesting. We were
continually bombarded with the
same question, "Why are you here?"
providing the same answer. The
response usually ran, "That's what
you get for leaving the United
States and coming to Oklahoma
without a visa"; which was
followed with quantities of
laughter.

The spirit stayed positive. Any
negative aspects it might have
developed were derailed by our
friendship with T—, the big man in
the Tank (he outweighed everyone
as well as being the most
accomplished con.). T—, managed
to keep contraband salt and pepper
on the tables (the food contained
no seasoning) and had other things
generally not favored.

While our encounters with the
prisoners were peaceful, our
meetings with those who
imprisoned us were distressing to
turbulent. We were continually
harassed about our hair and beards,
threatened with the "HOLE,"
threatened physically, and
otherwise made to feel
uncomfortable.

We learned Commissary
procedures.