Steven, teacher and convict (part 1) by thadeusz

---

Dr Nowak’s note : Prisoner 87.203, also known as Steven Vernon, had abused his present job in the prison to post on this site a very tendentious story pretending to describe what happened to him while he was a detainee in our municipal detention center. As the psychological supervisor of this detainee, I discovered this fact and I instructed him to write a version of his text closer to the truth. This is what he submitted to me and what I instructed him to post with my authorization.
/signed: O.Nowak, Prison Psychologist
========================================================
Dr Nowak’s note : Prisoner 87.203, also known as Steven Vernon, had abused his present job in the prison to post on this site a very tendentious story pretending to describe what happened to him while he was a detainee in our municipal detention center. As the psychological supervisor of this detainee, I discovered this fact and I instructed him to write a version of his text closer to the truth. This is what he submitted to me and what I instructed him to post with my authorization.
/signed: O.Nowak, Prison Psychologist
========================================================
My name is Steven Vernon and I have a Bachelor in English and Education.

I previously posted a story based on my adventures concerning what I called illegal prison time. I mentioned the fact that I am no longer a prisoner, but that I am still in contact with the prison psychologist, Dr Oliver Nowak. I posted this first version without submitting it to Dr Nowak’s approval. I used a tricky approach to the net from inside the prison. My psychologist read it and told me that it was not the truth. He forced me to rewrite the whole thing and to let him read it before I tried to post it. He insisted that I described in detail the reasons why I was sent to prison, and also why I was kept there until now.

I am ashamed to have cheated as I did, abusing the technical possibilities offered to me. In this story I tell the real truth.

It is true that my name is Steven L. Vernon. It is also true that my parents were, and still are, poor people. It is also true that I could only study up to a Bachelor Degree thanks to scholarships offered by several charities. It is finally true that because of that I despised poor people, especially poor learners who were led, because of their lack of money, to violence in order to have something to eat.

In fact I lacked humility and charity: my advisor in College felt that I would NOT be a good educator despite my scientific qualities. He decided to send me to a special place where I would see what the reality of poor boys was.

He simply told me that he had found an institution, adapted to my real needs. He suggested that I should go and stay there shortly. With my written agreement, he made an appointment and gave me the address, time and date, but he did not tell me in advance what this place was. I thus did not know that my advisor had sent me, as an observer, to the municipal prison and that, not knowingly, I had agreed in writing to stay there for a few days as an inmate. He simply said: "This will be an excellent stage for you Steven"

My advisor expected that I would simply enter the place, with the other boys who had just arrived, and he hoped that at their contact I would discover that they were not as despicable as I thought.

There was a guard but I mistook him for a boarding school janitor. I simply said that I had an appointment with the headmaster, which made all the guards laugh … and I was angry because I did not understand why these people, whom I considered as uneducated people, were laughing at me.

I did not explain that I had been sent there as an observer during a special stage. I tried to leave the place without further explanation, but one of these men told me that I was now in prison and that he was a guard. I could only do one thing : go through the intake process. While he spoke, he rapidly placed handcuffs on my wrists and threatened:
"If you don’t obey the orders, I will immediately place shackles on your ankles."
I later learned that this man was the chief guard, a real brute.

Hearing this threat, I started to be frightened, but the chief guard looked so frightening that I decided that it would be better to temporarily obey the orders of the man I considered as a very stupid guard. I didn't even try to give him further explanations.

I thought that there was thus nothing I could do and I accepted to go through the complete intake process without even trying to explain my own situation.

The first guard took me through a long and dark passage to a place which I now know to be the center of this prison. The real heart of the detention center.

The guards took my handcuffs away and told me to get naked. I was forced to give them, provisionally, all my clothes and other personal belongings. They pushed me in a small cabin where one of these guards sprayed a smelly product on me before telling me that I had to take a shower with soap. The water was cold, but the man had a big truncheon and I chose not to resist.

When I came out of this cabin, they told me to put on an uncomfortable uniform which I described in my previous, and illegal, post. For the sake of completeness I repeat that here. The guards gave me a pile of things: a prison uniform consisting of white rough undies. I also received green denim trousers without a belt nor a fly, only an elastic band and only one pocket on the right leg. The uniform also included a vest of the same color and material, but without any pocket, a green round prison cover and plain plastic clogs but no socks. They also gave me a gray blanket and a pillow cover to keep in my hands. On top of all this, they placed a sort of leather dog collar on my neck, this dog collar was provided with a number: 87.203 and also with a solid metallic ring in the back.

All these items were marked with the same number: 87.203 which the guards said was now my prisoner identification number. In fact I must now specify that this number was not printed on the pieces of uniform: it was printed on a label provided with a sort of scratch so that it could be taken away when the uniform went to the laundry, and immediately fixed to the clean pieces of clothing. Except for the dog collar where it was permanently fixed. After that I was supposed to go to their barber "who would reorganize my haircut in a more manly fashion." I had a great pompadour which I treated as well as I could.

At first I refused to put on this ugly uniform which I considered as a very uncomfortable piece of clothing. The problem is that I violently refused to put this uniform on, claiming: "You guys better let me see your director immediately if you don’t want to get in trouble". They reacted immediately and forced me to don their green uniform. I reacted by shouting that I had been forced to put on their stupid uniform and that I considered that this was a breach in my constitutional rights. Their only reaction was to laugh loudly. So I tried to leave by force, but they were stronger than me and the man who I now know to be the chief guard simply said:
"Don’t try to escape. You are in prison and you will stay here."

The guards did not like my attitude and one of them immediately put handcuffs back on my wrists. They also called the Chief Guard for help. This man simply pushed me to the barber’s chair while two guards were holding me. The barber started to shave my hair using his clippers. He did it swiftly and efficiently. He told me to move my head in certain directions and since I refused, he simply pushed it first on my left shoulder and then on my right shoulder while passing with his dreadful clippers through my beautiful pompadour. After that the barber pushed my head forward, energetically, so that my chin was now on my dreadful green vest, and after that he pulled the head backwards with the help of one guard. During all that time I could hear the noise of the clippers destroying my haircut.

But that was not enough: the barber took a special set of clippers to clean my head around my ears and also to destroy my nascent mustache. When he was done, he used a small mirror to let me see what he had done. I now had a head looking like a cobweb broom and my face was completely hairless like a baby face. I was really furious.

I told the guards that this was a "dreadful judicial error", and "a lack of respect for my constitutional rights". I considered that forcing me, who had not been sentenced to anything, to wear that dreadful green uniform was an aggression towards my image and thus a violation of the first amendment. I told them so and I also threatened to sue them all, and especially the Chief Guard who had made me forcibly sit in the barber chair.

That was apparently enough for the Chief Guard who decided that I had to take off that uniform. He placed my grey blanket and pillow on the side. Another guard took off my handcuffs and I was rather pleased with this apparent victory. But the Chief Guard had another idea: he forced me to put on a red uniform. This was simply a red overall, with a zip in front. He then gave me a wide leather belt and since I refused to do anything, he fixed it himself with a lock placed in my back. On this belt, there were two very short but strong chains ending with a handcuff: my hands were rapidly attached to that belt through these special handcuffs. I was then pushed towards a bench and forced to kneel on it: this made it easy for the guards to attach strong and heavy shackles to my ankles. Moreover a leash was attached to my dog collar.

The Chief Guard placed my identification number in the front and in the back (that I learned later) of my red overall and told me:
"Everything could have gone smoothly, but your reactions required me to send you to the cooler as a disciplinary inmate. You will stay chained like you are until you become cool."

I was then taken by another guard, holding my leash, to the center of the prison where I could see five passages, four of them were painted in green and one was painted in red. All of them were closed by grids. The guard made me enter the red passage and then, a few painful steps later, a dark cell without a real window. There was only a tiny opening in the wall opposite the door and this opening was provided with strong bars, but there was no window pane and it was cold. My leash was attached to one of the walls and the guard abandoned me without saying a word.

That’s where I was left during three days "to cool down". During these days I received only bread and water. I remained chained and that created problems for me since I could not keep as clean as I was used to.
========================================================
Dr Nowak’s note : As a prison psychologist, I can say that if this rebellious young man had politely accepted to put on his prison uniform and after that politely asked to speak to the Director, he would have avoided all the problems he encountered since that moment.
/signed: O.Nowak, Prison Psychologist
========================================================
After three days, I was led, still in disciplinary uniform, to the Director’s office. A guard pulled me by the chain attached to my dog collar and I felt reduced to a dog status ! In the Director’s office, as I told before, I heard that it was a fact that I had not been sentenced, but also that my rebellious behaviour during the intake process had to be punished. So I got 1 year Administrative Detention Time without the possibility to contest this in court. The Director also decided that I was not allowed to let my thick pompadour grow again: I had a mandatory full headshave every week, and each time my hair would be shorn to the woods.

The barber started that same day. He did it with a big razor after using lots of water, but no foam, on my poor head. It was no longer a plain buzz cut and my head was no longer looking like a cobweb broom. It was transformed into a real billiard ball full of scratches left more or less willingly by the barber’s old fashioned razor. He used the same instrument to shave my face, and promised me to do exactly the same every week as long as I was detained in that prison. This barber took as much hair as possible in order to let me look rather clean until the following week.

The guards opened my large belt but I had to keep my dog collar with its chain. I was told to put on once more this dreadful green uniform with my number on it, and I obeyed in a state of shock. I was then provided again with ankle shackles and with ordinary handcuffs: I learned that in order to go from one group of cells to another or to the Director’s office, one had to be shackled. This meant that I would have to stay with these torture instruments during a full year if I was unable to get free before that. The last joke on me was made by the barber: after shaving everything he could, he told me:
"Now, don’t forget to put on your prison hat. You might catch a cold without it."
All the guards in the neighborhood started to laugh, but I obeyed, painfully because of my handcuffs.
I had understood that I had now to keep this little hat on my head everywhere I went, except in my cell.
I was also told several rules about walking, moving and saluting the guards while I was in prison, but I was so shocked by the treatment they had given me that I did not really listen.

My head was now completely shaved. My young mustache had been destroyed. I was wearing a scratchy uniform and I was completely chained. Moreover I had been reduced to a number, namely 87.203. It was not astonishing that I was stunned. I was in a state of shock. As a result I became now completely submissive and obedient.
========================================================
Dr Nowak’s note : It is a fact that as of this moment prisoner 87.203 behaved according to the rules. But as a prison psychologist, I don’t think that he had assimilated the lesson prepared for him: respect poor people, do not despise young prisoners who stole only to survive, and be humble !
/signed: O.Nowak, Prison Psychologist
========================================================
The most difficult thing for me was the required position of respect: I was told that whenever I would have to speak to a guard, a Chief Guard or the Director, I would have to take the position of attention, take off my prison hat and place it in my only leg pocket and salute in a military way the person to whom I would be speaking. All that provided my hands were not attached to my belt chains !!!

I was still completely chained when we reached the block of cells where I would spend one full year, block 2. There, the guard opened a grid to let me in, closed the grid and it was only then that he took all my chains away, except of course my dog collar.

The permanent cells were in big halls, with lots of light. 12 cells on one floor and 12 other cells just above. Each cell was equipped for a maximum of 2 prisoners, thus 48 prisoners in each block. I was now one of them for one long year. This meant that I would have to live with these stupid, depraved and dissolute boys ! I was certain that they all stank of poverty. I hated this situation but I could no longer object.

The Chief Guard told me that I would have to share a cell with a young detainee: prisoner 87.005. I had my bedding in my hands again and I was glad to be able to place all that in my cell, cell 7. I later learned that prisoner 87.005, my cellmate, was named "Gary". Much later I learned that his full name was Gary Labin.

Gary, detainee 87.005, was 18 when we met. He had been tried as an adult while he was only 17. He had stolen some food and was sentenced to one year in prison. He had already served 5 months. The poor guy had no contact with the outside world: he had no phone privilege and did not know how to read or write. He was working everyday as a carpenter and learning to make wooden furniture. This was considered as good training for a future job. I considered him at first sight as a stupid uneducated boy who spent all his free time playing cards, and losing lots of money because the others were cheating. I personally had been told to work in the kitchen which was very demeaning for me since I was a college graduate.

I have described our timetable in my illegal post, and that is more or less correct. In fact there were three roll calls: one at reveille when the guard opened the cell gate and checked if we were both in and ready to work, a second one when the noon break started after "lunch", and a last one in the evening when the guard checked if we were both in and ready to be locked in our cell. Each time, we had to stand silently, in the position of attention, next to the head of our bed.

I did not describe how I was treated, despite the fact that I was a College graduate, and not a petty thief like all the other guys in my prison. In fact most of them were young guys, like my cell mate, Gary, I remind you, had been sentenced to one year only, but only a few of these stupid prisoners had been sentenced to longer terms of prison for stealing while they were about my age (22) or older.

My cell was a small room with a tiny window with strong bars at one end and two bunks, one on each side. The left one was already in use for another prisoner, namely Gary, my co-detainee. The right one was empty and that’s where I was told to place my bedding on this bunk. There was also a sink and what was necessary for the "necessities". There were two planks : one for my cell-mate’s stuff, full of garbage and one for me, empty. The door of the cell was provided with a little opening enabling the guards to look into the cell whenever they wanted, and thus to break our "intimacy". Finally, there was an opening in the door enabling the guards to let us, the prisoners, place our hands outside without having to open the door: the purpose of this operation was simple. The guards could thus tell us to show our hand while the cell door was still locked in order to place handcuffs on our wrists without having to open this cell door. This was considered as a standard procedure even if it was very humiliating for a respectful person like me.

I discovered my cell companion during the afternoon, he was playing cards as always and losing since the others were clearly cheating.

I had been assigned to kitchen duty, which was demeaning for me who was a College graduate. I now think that the Director had chosen that post exactly because it was demeaning, but I did not understand that at that time.

It was a hard job. We were 9, 4 from block 1 and 5 (me included) from block 2. We had to prepare very rapidly the food for each meal and to place it on the counter where the other detainees could pick it for their breakfast, lunch and dinner. We ate after the service was over, thus after the others. We also had to peel the potatoes and all the vegetables. We also had to assist the Kitchen Guard for the cooking process and after that for the washing-up duty. This included the pots and pans, plus the beakers and dishes used by detainees.

The Kitchen Guard was very strict. He had a long and flexible cane which he used to flog any of us who was too slow or who did not work as well as required. I quickly learned to do my best to avoid this caning. I did not think anymore while working: I ran with my dishes to do the job as quickly as possible, while doing it as well as possible. One day this guard even complimented me:
"Good work, 87.203. When you have served your time you will be able to find a job as a waiter in a small restaurant."
Just imagine how I felt: me, a College Graduate, working as a plain waiter in a lousy eatery!
Nevertheless I continued working as well as possible, not because I wanted to be a good waiter and pot cleaner, but simply because I wanted to avoid the flogging!

There is one point about which I lied in my previous report: as a regular detainee, I never had to clean the floor, nor the showers, nor the main toilets. Moreover we mostly used the small "emergency" toilets placed in our cell. Nevertheless, all these places were spotless: other detainees had to keep cleaning them.

In the beginning, every week, I was called "87.203, to the bench" and I had to go and kneel on the little bench placed near the gate of our space. A guard shackled me and placed the wide belt I now knew well, too well. He then attached my hands on the chains fixed to this belt. He also fixed a chain to my permanent dog collar. After that the guard got hold of my leash and he led me to the intake center where I was shaved to the woods with a long razor and no foam. This included hair and face, it was brutal and the first time I complained. The barber replied:
"That’s all you deserve, you rebel prisoner."
After that they took my wide belt off, so that I could take off my vest and let my trousers fall on the ground. This was done in order to disinfect me once again. I hated being treated like that, but it was my lot for having been a rebel during the intake process.
========================================================
Dr Nowak’s note : It was not only the lot of prisoner 87.203, it was part of the treatment I had chosen for him in order to let him become humble and respectuous of the other prisoners who did not have to undergo the same "treatment". He was never told about that.
/signed: O.Nowak, Prison Psychologist
========================================================
I tried to contact my advisor by phone, but I was denied phone privilege. So I wrote him a letter, after asking for permission to do so. In this letter I described what had happened to me, how I was treated and I asked him to help me. He replied that considering the way I had behaved during the intake process, he could not do anything for me.

My cellmate, Gary, saw that I was able to write a letter and asked me to write one for him. I could not refuse, despite the bad opinion I had of a thief who had stolen instead of going to school. He admired what I did and asked me to teach him to read and write. I had about 2 hours rest every afternoon, so I used them to teach this boy how to read and write: it was my only contact with my real profession.

In fact, since I was in a state of shock, I had not really listened to the instructions given by the Chief Guard as to my future behaviour as a prisoner. Gary explained all that and it is thanks to the help of this petty thief that I was not flogged more than I actually was. I thus considered that I owed him a lot, and I decided to help him. I even went further: during our free time (two hours every afternoon) I tried to teach him to read and write. I was really astonished when I realized that Gary actually learned rapidly and well. He simply said:
"Before, I had no reasons to listen at school and later I had to work. When I lost my job and started to steal food to survive, I did not learn either. Now in prison, they don’t teach us anything. You are really my first teacher."

Gary mentioned what he was doing with me to some of the other young prisoners and they came to me asking to be helped in the same way. It was not possible for me to refuse that: I was afraid they would assault me if I refused. The difference was that I could only teach them during our free time in the common room of the block of cells, but I could also teach Gary when we were locked in our cell and the light was still on (that’s between 20:00 and 22:00).

I learned that there was a rule in this prison: as long as I stayed in the big hall to which I had been assigned, or in the food center adjacent to it, I remained free of shackles and handcuffs. But If I had to go to another hall, led by a Guard, then I would have to wear ankle shackles. These shackles were linked by a chain to another chain placed on my belt. The purpose of this operation was simple: the prison wanted to avoid the rattling of the shackles every time a prisoner passed around. On top of this, I would have to wear handcuffs and a short leash would be attached to the handcuffs. Another leash was attached to my dog collar. I learned quickly that whenever I had to speak to a Guard or a Chief, if my hands were not provided with handcuffs at that time, I had to take the position of attention, take off my prison hat and salute the Guard in a military way. I also learned that I was only allowed to speak if I was questioned: I was not allowed to initiate a conversation with people they called "higher ups". Whenever I forgot to respect one of these rules, I was flogged: I thus learned these rules rather rapidly.
========================================================
Dr Nowak’s note : I decided to see prisoner 87.203 on a regular basis. I noticed that he did not understand why he had been put in detention. So I asked him to keep notes of what happened during our meetings. I checked his notes with mine and I noticed that he was really accurate, but still did not understand why he was kept in detention. I decided to order him to publish his notes in a new post, supervised by me.
/signed: O.Nowak, Prison Psychologist
========================================================
Every week, I had an appointment with the prison psychologist who asked me several questions about the past week and evaluated my evolution. This method was used with many detainees. I guess it was done to evaluate their chances to live a normal life if they were freed, which was irrelevant for me since I would become a teacher. The Psychologist also instructed me to keep track of what happened during our meetings. He threatened me to have me punished if I didn't do it, so here are my notes.

These interviews were always organized on the same pattern: a guard led the chained detainee (and this was also valid for me) by the little humiliating leash attached to the dog collar. The detainee was then introduced into the psychologist’s office and his hands were freed from the handcuffs, but he remained shackled. The detainee had then to take the position of attention, salute the psychologist and take off his prison hat. He had then to wait until the psychologist told him "At ease" and when the prisoner had taken this position (as well as the shackles made it possible), the questioning started. The converse order of movements occurred at the end of the interview.

One day, the psychologist asked me:
"I know you have not been regularly sentenced, but how do you feel now about your life in prison?"
The first time he asked that question, I answered:
"I hate it, and it is unconstitutional."
"But why do you think the Director gave you this Administrative Detention Time ?"
"Because he is a dangerous fascist."
The psychologist did not question me longer and sent me back to my kitchen duty.

After about 4 months of good behavior, the Director changed my job: he appointed me librarian and teacher. As a librarian, I had to go every morning through every block of cells. It was annoying since I had to go from one hall to another, and this meant being provided permanently with ankle shackles and handcuffs, and also being led by a leash attached to my dog collar. Working like this was really hurting my wrists and my ankles! But every afternoon, I was led to a nice meeting room where I was unchained in order to teach reading, writing and even more to those who wanted it. A guard remained permanently present to supervise the attitude of the detainees, me included I assume. Anyway, it was better than my former filthy kitchen work.

Every week the Psychologist kept asking the same question:
"Prisoner 87.203, how do you feel about your life in prison?"
And every week I replied that I hated it and that it was unconstitutional. When he heard that, the Psychologist stopped the interview and sent me back to my usual prisoner’s life. That was all the Psychological help I got.

After each pseudo Psychological interview, I had my weekly headshave, but it was no longer the complete billiard-ball haircut: the Director had decided that as of now, since I was "a teacher", I should have a plain and short buzz cut. It was still done by the same barber who was still pushing, pulling and turning my head with one hand while he controlled his clippers with the other. It was no longer as unpleasant as before, but I felt that I, the College Graduate and prison teacher, was treated as if I was not more than an object. After that, I had to go completely naked to the control shower (we had showers inside our blocks, but there was no control of the use we made of them). There I had to prove to the observing Guard that I was really getting washed (with cold water) and then go into the disinfection boot. It is only after that, that I received clean clothes, always the same green denim uniform marked with a "87.203". I also received so-called clean clogs and a clean pillow head, also marked with my number. The only thing that did not change was my grey bed cover, again marked with a big "87.203". It was depressing, but Gary, my cellmate, had warned me:
"Here nothing changes as long as you behave according to the Guards' rule. If you don’t, it can become terrible."
The problem was that Gary did not know what happened then.

But, one week I started thinking about this and I realized that after all, I was now doing the job I always wanted to do: teaching. This was a very positive element. I did not earn a penny, but I had food and clothes and lodgings. I also had guards to "educate" me! Altogether, living in a prison was not so bad. I said so to the psychologist.
========================================================
Dr Nowak’s note : this last remark by prisoner 87.203 shows that the treatment I had decided to impose on this prisoner was starting to have a positive effect. But he was not ready to effectively respect the other detainees as true and respectable human beings.
/signed: O.Nowak, Prison Psychologist
========================================================
Sadly enough, when my visit to the psychologist was finished, I was again shackled and handcuffed in a rather brutal way. My guard attached once more a sort of leash to my dog collar and started to pull on it, which implied that I could not walk freely from the psychologist office to my own cell. At the end of the week I told the psychologist that after all I disliked being treated like an animal, and he wanted me to explain to him lengthily why I felt that I was treated like an animal. I told him about the chain and the leash, but he had an answer for that:
"Whether it is justified or not, you are provisionally a prisoner. That decision has been made for your own good. So you must be treated according to all the rules imposed on ordinary detainees."
I thought about it and at first I agreed and I even said:
"I understand that I am here only to learn how to teach young prisoners to read and write. But I don’t understand why I must be chained to reach that goal. This is damned uncomfortable."
When the psychologist heard that, he started to laugh but said nothing.
Once again, I was chained and pulled to my usual living space after being once more "shorn to the woods".

One week later I told the psychologist that I really did not like this situation:
"After all, I really don’t understand some of the things that are imposed upon me. Why do I have to wear this damn belt ? and this dreadful dog collar ? After all, I am not a dangerous detainee."
The psychologists answered as follows:
"Do you really believe that this belt and these chains are imposed on prisoners for our security?"
"NO, prisoners are not as strong as you."
"Remember what you are for the time being and remain polite: start your sentence by ‘SIR’ and end it likewise. Rephrase your answer now."
"Do I have to do that?"
"Do you want to be sent to isolation? or are you going to obey like a good prisoner ? Rephrase now !"
Strangely enough, the psychologist had not shouted but his sentence was more impressive than a guard’s shouting, so I rephrased my former answer."
"SIR, no SIR. Prisoners are not as strong as you."
The psychologist remained waiting and that literally forced me to utter a last word I had tried to keep for me: "... as you, SIR."
"That’s better. You will go back now to your cell and think about all the reasons we have to treat you as we do. ATTENTION."
And I automatically took the position of attention, as it had been shown to me.

That was the end of the interview. I placed my prison hat on my head, I saluted this threatening psychologist and a guard chained me completely and took me firmly by my leash to my cell where he took all my chains off.

The next day I received for the first time the authorization to write to my parents and I told them where I was. Three days later I was told that I had a visit: my mother had come to the prison. I was led, chained, to a little boot I had never seen before. There, not knowing what was going to happen, I was told to sit in front of a double grid: there were two solid grids separated by about 20cm. These grids divided a rather big space in two completely separated places. I could thus speak to the person or persons seated on the other side of the grids. I could thus speak and see this other person or persons, but it was impossible to touch the visitors or to exchange something with these persons. My handcuffs were attached to a solid ring underneath the communication grid. and my dog collar leash was attached to the wall. Suddenly my mother entered this boot and sat on the other side of the grids. She was elegantly dressed while I was in my green prisoner uniform, with my hat on my head.
After a long time, my mother and I could thus speak to one another, see one another but it was impossible to touch the visitor or to exchange something with that person.

My mother asked me:
"Why are you in prison, my boy ? What are you doing here?"
"Mother, I am in prison serving Administrative Detention Time because the Director and the Psychologist were nasty beasts".
Mother asked me further:
"But, my boy, what did you do to be here ?"
"Mother, I have only tried to find a good job, but my adviser sent me to this place thinking they needed a teacher. But the director decided to keep me in prison so that I could teach his stupid prisoners for free."
I then told my mother that I had to work for free and I described the type of work I had to accomplish under duress.
My mother told me that the boys with whom I had to work deserved some help, but I tried to explain to her that they really did not deserve that: they were destitute boys !!!
========================================================
Dr Nowak’s note : I had thought that this situation and that these answers were possible, so I asked that the whole conversation between prisoner 87.203 and his mother would be tape recorded. Here what it actually was.
Mother : "My boy, why do you say that your cellmates are stupid ?"
87.203 : "Because they cannot read nor write despite their age. They have no jobs so they steal. They are destitute."
Mother : "My boy, don’t you think that these poor boys deserve some help ?"
87.203 : "They should first try to work," was my brutal answer.
Mother : "Maybe they tried, but they could not find a job because of their lack of education. You could help them."
87.203 : "Why me ? I don’t like these filthy stupid boys."
Mother : "All of them ?"
87.203 : "Well, there is one exception: my cellmate agrees to learn to read and write."
Mother : "My boy, and you are his teacher: that’s good. He will become a good man thanks to you."
87.203 : "Mother, I don’t care !!! I want to be free !"
Mother : "Be patient and good for others and everything will be OK again, my boy."
87.203 : "I do not want to teach destitute boys, I only want to teach normal and free boys."
Mother : "My boy, think about all the goodness you could give to these poor boys."
87.203 : "Maybe I’ll do so if I have no choice."
This last remark made by prisoner 87.203 shows that the treatment I had decided to impose on this prisoner was really starting to have a positive effect. But prisoner 87.203 was not ready yet to effectively respect the other detainees and consider them as true and respectable human beings.
/signed: O.Nowak, Prison Psychologist
========================================================
That was the end of the interview: time was up ! I had to leave Mother and go back, in chains, to my detention zone. I noticed that Mother had not asked me how I had been sentenced and for how long.
========================================================
Dr Nowak’s note : prisoner 87.203’s mother came to visit him, and tried to console him. She advised him to do his best to teach ‘destitute boys’ but he did not listen to his mother. He kept complaining about the bad behavior of others and never thought to reconsider his own behavior. There was only one exception: his excellent behavior with his cellmate, prisoner 87.005, also known as "Gary".
I noticed that, after all that time in prison, he was still not understanding why he had been put in detention. That’s when I prepared a plan to compel him to keep helping the young detainees he helped so well.
/signed: O.Nowak, Prison Psychologist
========================================================
During the next interview, the Psychologist asked me again how I reacted to the fact that I was a prisoner and a teacher. He explained that this was my only opportunity to really help the young detainees. Remembering his previous reactions I replied as follows:
"SIR, I now had time to think about it and I am glad that I can help these miserable and ignorant young men learn something. But after all, it is their fault if they did not learn at school. I learned what I now know and it was not easy, but I am a College graduate, SIR."
I had carefully started and ended my answer with a respectful "SIR", even if I did not really respect this so-called psychologist.
The psychologist asked then a second question:
"Do you really think that these prisoners refused to learn, that they did not even try to learn to read and write?"
"SIR, of course they refused because they are miserable individuals who do not really deserve all the efforts I invest in their forced education, SIR."
The psychologist sent me to the barber and the clothing department. After that he left me alone for several weeks.
========================================================
Dr Nowak’s note : prisoner 87.203 seems ready to help the young detainees but he keeps despising them. This must be carefully followed, prisoner 87.203 must be forced, if needed, to respect and to keep helping the young prisoners. Prisoner 87.203 has still not understood how important his work can be to bring the other detainees back to an honest path. This confirmed to me the importance of my plan: prisoner 87.203 must be compelled to work with and for the destitute boys he despises.
/signed: O.Nowak, Prison Psychologist

---