Writ Writer

The Writ Writer…the man who sued George W. Bush

As told to Ellis Jones

By Douglas Cormac Welch

My friend Lexi and I met the day I dropped out of high school, valentines day 2003. She was 21 i was 16. This would begin a nearly 20 year “on again off again” love affair. Whenever we were in the same city and single we were together. We had made a deal that if we weren’t married by the time i turned forty we would marry each other. Part of that agreement was that no matter where we were in the world, if we were single, we would get together on valentines day.

This past year on V-Day, I was sitting at the cottonwood hotel in Omaha Nebraska. Waiting for Lexi to arrive when I got the news she wasn’t coming because she had sniffed some cocaine laced with fentanyl and had passed.

I proceeded to get black out drunk. The following letter is what I wrote to a local judge and prosecutor to explain my actions that night.

Omaha/Douglas Civic Center

Attn: Prosecution

1701 Farnham Street Suite 200

Omaha, NE 68183

Re: Case Number AT6261

Jones, Ellis A.

February 14, 2024

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing to you in regard to the above captioned case number. To save you some time I will briefly outline what the case number is for and the events that lead up to this. The case number is

for my allegedly stealing beer from the Mega Saver at 4108 Dodge Street. This was on Valentine’s

Day. My girlfriend and I had plans to go out to dinner. She stood me up and broke up with me. This, was not expected. I drank very heavily so much in fact that the bartender at that establishment got a cab to take me home since I was falling asleep. Events related from this point forward are a bit hazy. I somehow convinced the cab driver to let me out of the car before we got to my house. I went into the Mega Saver to buy more beer, not that I remember making that decision but given

what happened after this I am surmising that was my plan. I entered my debit card and put in the

wrong PIN. I don’t recall this at all but I know that is what happened because I got an email from

my bank telling me that my card was used with the wrong PIN. I am guessing that I thought I had

completed the transaction so I picked up the beer and left. The next thing I know I am being

approached by two police officers who tell me that I stole the beer. I have made restitution to Mega Saver (see letter and copy of check). I am writing to you to see if there is anyway that we can get this resolved before the court date and without this going on my

record.

Ellis Jones

I was talkin cash shit about how “imma take it to trial” and “ i aint going on no paper work” and “imma tell this judge aye gimmie thirty days and let me walk out a free man” but as soon as they offered a fine and some community service i took that shit like a hungry possum snatching a raw hunk of live from the smokehouse.

So i go down to the local retirement home Bosquet Ombreux and my job basically is to just sit in the corner with this old timer named Douglas Cormac Welch and play checkers.

He would go on and on about the superiority of checkers over chess.

What was your name again, sunny?

Ellis Jones.

You ever play checkers Ellis?

Yea once or twice.

You wanna play checkers?

I sure do.

We start playing and he starts talking up a storm. let me regale you with a tale of two games—a battle of wits waged upon the checkered battlefield of strategy and cunning. On one side, we have chess, that venerable game of kings, with its intricate moves and lofty aspirations. And on the other, we have checkers, that humble pastime of the common folk, with its simple rules and straightforward play. You see Ellis, some may argue that chess reigns supreme, with its complex strategies and grandiose maneuvers well lah dee dah. They’ll speak of knights and bishops, queens and kings, plotting their intricate dances across the board. But let me tell you, Ellis, my boy, there’s a certain beauty in simplicity. a charm to be found in the unassuming nature of checkers.

Sure sure chess may dazzle and blow your skirt up with its grand spectacle, checkers quietly hums along, offering a more approachable and egalitarian experience. Its rules are easy to grasp, its objectives clear and concise. There’s no need for elaborate opening gambits or arcane tactics, just a simple game of capture and conquest, played out on a checkered canvas.

You see a game of chess may stretch on for hours, with players pondering their moves like philosophers contemplating the mysteries of the universe, a game of checkers moves briskly along, jugging like an old jalopy runnin shine. each move flowing seamlessly into the next like the mississippi river winding its way through the countryside down to the riverboats in new orleans… say you ever been to new orleans?

I sure have

Did you go when they were having that mardi gras?

Yea once or twice.

Did you see the girls?

Yea there were lots of ladies.

Did you see the ones with the great big….beads?

Oh, oh yea! Ten four. Lots of great big… beads at that parade.

Where are you from ellis?

I grew up in florida, lived all over New York to california, Im visiting here from Austin Texas..

Rolling stone gathers no moss.

Yea something like that.

What do you do?

Im a writer.

What do you write?

Dirty books. Not like porno just drugs and crime and stuff. I also have a magazine called CHAINSAW.

Chainsaw? Why chain saw? You dont look like a lumber jack to me.

Im not really sure why i guess cause im down in Austin Now. i guess its like Texas chainsaw massacre or something. Its got to have a name, chain saw sounds cool, i always thought would be a cool nick name.

Ah, I see The Texas Chainsaw Magazine. I always wanted to be a writer. I been a live a long time i got stories that will make your toes curl.

Like what? Were you in a war? Which one?

Well i spent 12 years in Texas state prison.

Really? For what?

Well i had developed a taste for heroine in the 70s and i spent most of the 80s burgurlarizing houses in the DFW to feed the habit. I robbed the wong guy and one day it all caught up to me and landed me a 60 year sentence.

Howd you get out? Seems like you should still be in there.

Well i was a writ writer. I got my self out

Writ writer? what is a writ writer?

Well Ellis i Happen to have written a few thousand words on my time in prison here take these pages. Read them. If you like them put them in your Miter Saw Magazine.

Chainsaw.

Whats that?

Chainsaw Magazine.

A writ writer is a jailhouse lawyer, usually self-trained. And results are the only way they can gain a reputation. There are some that have no conscience and do it for the money involved and they overpromise and underdeliver. A number of convicts cannot accept the fact that they’ve been found guilty of their crime and sent to prison. They’re looking for a way out, and for most, they find a writ writer to help them. The Law Library is the writ writer’s office. The periodicals are furnished for the convicts under the legal doctrine of access to the courts. State and Federal opinions are published weekly and available for convicts to read and study. A conscientious writ writer is in the Law Library daily because the study of law is not easy and often based on precedent, meaning that a court is more likely to rule a certain way if one can show that other courts have ruled that way under same or similar circumstances.

Writ writers are not allowed to charge for doing legal work for other convicts, so there’s always arrangements that have to be made. Sometimes money comes from someone on the outside, and sometimes it’s paid in commissary items bought inside. Hours of research are necessary to fix the issues in a case, and if the convict is fortunate enough to have the records from his trial they must be read and analyzed.

One of my first cases was for a man from Pittsburgh, Texas, who had been convicted of selling cocaine to an undercover agent. His appeal attorney had filed a brief stating he could find no issues for appeal, and because of that, the man was able to get his trial records to file an appeal himself. He then came to me. I read through the court papers and the trial transcript, called the Statement of Facts, and couldn’t find anything to argue about. The State had him dead to rights; he sold the cocaine to an undercover agent on video. But I looked through the motions and other documents that accompany the Statement of Facts and I saw a sheet of paper signed by eleven of the jurors. This rang a bell, as juries are required to have twelve jurors, and if a juror has to be excused, there should be an explanation in the Statement of Facts. In this case, there was not. The appeal turned into a published opinion and he was returned to the county for a new trial. However, the irony was that when the man returned to the county for a new trial, it turned out that the District Attorney had two other cocaine sales cases that they charged him and convicted him in.

Another case came from a fellow named Rob. He had been convicted of burglary, and had a plea bargain deal for 20 years. But without his knowledge, after he signed the plea bargain papers and went back to the holdover cell in the court, his attorney has written in $12,000 in restitution as part of his sentence. The only reason he knew this because there had been another attorney present who was breaking in as an assistant to Rob’s lawyer, who was kind of a big deal attorney in Dallas. This act cause Jay, the assistant attorney, a great deal of lost sleep and guilt as a Christian and one day Jay approached Rob’s Mother in the local supermarket and told he what had happened, and how it was bothering him, and what could he do to make it right? Rob’s Mom immediately wrote him a letter explaining what Jay had told her and his wish to somehow make it right. Rob came to me in the Law Library the next evening and showed me the letter and asked my advice. I typed up an Affidavit for Jay and Rob mailed it back to his Mom. A week passed before the Affidavit came back. We had been worried but Jay signed it.

The next step was to prepare an Application for Writ of Habeas Corpus alleging misconduct on the part of Jay’s attorney and mail it to the sentencing court. This process usually takes a minimum of 45 days in the Trial Court before it goes to the Court of Criminal Appeals with a recommendation from the Judge. The Court of Appeals can take as long as it wants to review the case and render a decision. Habeas Corpus applications are traditionally a long shot; way more are denied than granted. But in this case, the sentencing court made a recommendation and shipped it to the Court of Criminal Appeals in 14 days. And the Court of Criminal Appeals was equally swift; the application was granted and a decision handed down within 30 days, complete with a written opinion. Rob was elated, of course, and in due time he was sent back on a Bench Warrant, which is an instrument ordering the Department of Criminal Justice to turn the person over to the appropriate County Sheriff. I didn’t see Rob for several months. But one day he showed up back at the unit. We met in the Law Library that evening and he told me what had happened. Not only did he get the fines redacted from his sentence, his new attorney was able to get his sentence reduced to 15 years from 20. Rob was a happy guy.

But it wasn’t all roses. I didn’t win everything I drafted for guys, and part of that was my own shortcoming in the study of the law. Case in point was my friend Amad. He was from a small town in deep East Texas doing a hefty sentence for the crime of robbery. At the time, the Texas Legislature had redrawn some of the laws having to do with good time and eligibility for parole. Amad came to me and asked if maybe he could fall under the new law? I didn’t know but I said I was willing to make an argument for it. The issue was how much time had to be served for parole eligibility when the crime was aggravated. This usually meant a firearm was used in the commission of the crime and under the old law it imposed a chunk of time to be served before parole eligibility was reached. Under the new law, this amount of time was less so we put together an Application for Writ of Habeas Corpus. Amad’s case had an event that made it tragic for him personally. While he was serving his sentence, his young son was abducted and killed. It was several years before the authorities cracked the case, found the killer, and recovered the boy’s body from a shallow backyard grave.

Amad tried to get permission from the prison authorities to go to the funeral. His hometown wasn’t very far away, about an hour’s driving time. His family had the funds to cover the cost of security to go with him so he couldn’t escape. But his request was denied. No reason was given, but the prison grapevine had it that Amad was denied because he had converted to Islam.

I knew the feeling because in a prior prison sentence, my father had passed away from cancer in Houston, and my request to go to the funeral was denied even though I was three weeks from parole. This time, the prison grapevine’s verdict was that I was denied because that’s what I get for being a Writ Writer. This was the system’s passive-aggressive way of letting you know they didn’t approve of what you were doing even though they couldn’t stop it. And keep in mind that the prison grapevine isn’t just composed of prisoners; friendly and sympathetic guards and other non-security personnel were part of it too.

So Amad’s Application for Writ of Habeas Corpus was finished and sent off with the argument that since the law had changed, Amad should be given the benefit of the new law. It took about 6 months for the answer to come from the Court of Criminal Appeals, probably because it was a published opinion. Where I made my mistake was in not knowing about an obscure but powerful Article of the Texas Constitution; mainly that there would be no retroactive laws. This is considered more powerful than the United States Constitution’s admonition against ex post facto laws because it didn’t differentiate between civil and criminal laws. It said all laws.

Naturally, both Amad and myself were disappointed. And I had to be honest with Amad and admit I didn’t know that clause was in the Texas Constitution. But he forgave me and we remained friends.

I always tried to be honest with all prisoners that asked me to look at their case. I don’t do murders or sex crimes or cases that don’t have a chance in Hell of succeeding. I would be happy to sit down with someone and explain why any legal instrument was bound to fail. I’d keep it light hearted but truthful; I’d explain my Dad’s maxim of you can’t make chicken salad out of chickenshit and expect it to be edible!

Another reason I was so patient with some people was because we were in prison – a fair percentage of the prisoners in there were maniacs. It wasn’t their fault they were there; it was someone else’s fault! And usually if I was patient and respectful they would understand why I regretted not being able to help them.

After eleven years of incarceration, I was getting upset. Yes, I did commit a burglary but eleven years? So I started thinking of what I could do to get paroled, and after a week or so I came up with a plan that I hoped would make me someone the prison system didn’t want to have around.

Governor George W. Bush and Chuck Colson came to an agreement. Governor Bush would let Chuck Colson use part of a prison unit in Sugarland, Texas, for a practical application of his prison ministry, the Inner Change Freedom Initiative. A portion of the prison was set aside for the convicts in the program to live and pray, and study the Bible. Outside volunteers in the program were able to come into the prison and speak to the convicts and help them in their working the program.

There were several issues I had a problem with, and these became the core of the lawsuit I filed against Governor Bush and the top prison officials:

The convicts had to be from the Houston area to be able to take advantage of the volunteers to mentor them and be available to continue their relationship with the men when they were released from prison.
The program was for Christians. Overtly they claimed to welcome all who wanted to attend but they only had Christian volunteers. As far as I knew they had no Jewish, Muslim, or other non-Christian faiths represented in the program.
The prison system was given donated satellite dishes for the individuals units to be able to pick up Christian broadcasts; because most dayrooms in the prisons only had two televisions, large numbers of convicts were restricted from watching other programs. The Christian agenda preempted any other programming.
By default, the Christian faith became the de facto official religion of the Texas prison system over other faiths.

I am a Christian personally, but I took issue with the First Amendment violations the Inner Change Freedom Initiative made in their effort to proselytize to the convicts. Besides, if I made a nuisance of myself in the Courts and made arguments that might very well result in a Court Order mandating changes in their program, the only logical thing for them to do would be to get rid of me – if I was paroled, I would no longer have standing to challenge those conditions because they would no longer apply to me.

I filed a lawsuit under 42 U.S.C. Section 1983, which alleged civil rights violations of the First Amendment for myself and other convicts similarly situated.

Prisoner lawsuits filed in forma pauperis (asking for waiver of the filing fees), undergo scrutiny by the Federal Judge whose court the suit is fled in. The judge in my case reviewed my claims and ruled that the suit was not frivolous, nor did it lack a basis in fact and in law so it could go forward with the provision that I pay the filing fees in installments. This in itself was a big victory because that finding by the Court precluded the State from trying to claim I had filed a frivolous claim and that the suit should be dismissed.

I was expecting some sort of blowback from the prison administration, and it took about a month or so for the ax to fall. One day, I had just driven the Farm Shop bus back to the Trusty Camp and went to the Camp Office to turn in my bus key when I was told to report to my cubicle. When I got there, Officer Horst was standing there. “Pack your stuff, Welsch, you’re going to the Building,” he said. I asked him why and he just shrugged. “Lieutenant’s orders is all I know,” he said. So I packed my stuff and put it on a cart, checked out of the Trusty Camp Office and made the long walk pushing the cart to the back gate of the prison.

When I got there, I was stripped searched and my belongings were also searched. Once I was given the go ahead, I pushed the cart to the back door of the prison building. Most of the older Texas prisons are built on the Long Hall principle – a long hall runs in one direction with sections being perpendicular to the hall on either side. The Administrative Section was accessed by a double gate through a sally port. Guards sat in a Control Room monitoring everyone going forward or coming back from the Administrative Section. That’s where the Warden’s Office and other offices were. On the other side of the hall, a section went in the opposite direction. This led to the Major’s Office, the Count Room, the Chaplain and other small offices and another sally port that led to Administrative Segregation. In a unit this size, Ad. Seg. consisted of only a dozen cells holding several people in The Hole and other cells holding people on keep away status. I remember we had a Mob Boss turned informant back there, along with some other people who were gang members who’d renounced gang membership and other reasons. From this section in the Long Hall, going one way would lead you past the chow hall, the school and library, and the gym. Going in the other direction took you past 14 dorms on both sides; each dorm holding about 50 men with an area in the center of the dorm for hygiene and toilet facilities. At the end of that hallway, a door led to a new, bigger dorm building. It was there that I got my new cubicle and job assignment. I got a decent bunk and a job on the Back Dock of the Chow Hall.

A couple of days later, while I was hosing down the back dock, a female Sergeant came by. She was a decent person and a nice lady. I had worked with her in the little CDL program she had. The Texas prison school system has a Commercial Truck Driving class they run so convicts can get their Class A CDL. This not only helps them get a job when they get out but it provides convict drivers to staff the widespread transportation system they have to service the far-flung prisons throughout the state. But some units that have farming operations can run their own little CDL course to provide drivers for buses and dump trucks and other vehicles . Those drivers are only allowed to get a Class B CDL, which is enough for buses and dump trucks. I had assisted this Sgt. get several guys passed at the DMV for their Class B just like I had. Anyway, she came out to talk to me and asked me what had happened. I told I didn’t know. She said I was going to get a case soon for doing legal work for an inmate. And then it hit me – I had done some legal work for a guy on another unit and his mother had sent me a money order for $25.00, which of course I was not allowed to have. I wrote a letter to the mother explaining I didn’t want the money’ indeed, I had never asked her for money. I had helped this person just because he needed help. It just so happened that his court took notice and called him back for resentencing and he got a lesser sentence. The money was sent unsolicited and I sent it right back. These facts were all apparent from the mother’s letter wherein she wrote that I had never asked them for money but since I did a good job, they wanted to send me a little token of appreciation. In the normal course of things, I wouldn’t have gotten a disciplinary case because the facts were set forth in the mother’s letter. Clearly, she didn’t know this was not permitted, and I would have been allowed to send it back and that would have been the end of it. But someone wanted to “stick it to me” and I ended up with a disciplinary case where they dropped me from Trusty class and gave me a month without commissary. No big deal. A savvy convict always has a month’s supply of hygiene items and coffee. But this was unfair; the Sergeant said she knew it but someone wanted to mess me over and there it was. I thanked her for the heads up and told her I had it from there. But it rankled me and I decided to do something about it. I had to get a letter out to a State Legislator but I had to be careful because the Mailroom Supervisor was a known dog. I had no doubt he would open and read what was supposed to be legal mail to a state official and off limits to prison censorship so I bided my time. Several weeks later I was in the Legal Mail line when I overheard the Mailroom Supervisor telling a guard that he was going away for the upcoming July 4^th weekend, and that Mrs. Andrade, his second in command, would run the mailroom that Saturday Mrs. Andrade was well known as a devout Christian lady and the mother of Duelly, who had used to work on the unit before he snagged a job driving trucks for the United Nations in Sarajevo. I worked for her son on the Community Service Squad when I first came to the Unit and she knew me. I knew she wouldn’t even think of opening my legal mail so I put my letter in Friday night’s mail to be processed Saturday morning. I prepared a letter to one State Senator John Whitmire, who was the Chairman of the State Prisons Committee in the Legislature. I told him there were a number of illegal acts occurring on the unit, and that state employees were committing them. For example, if someone was to go out to the Implement Yard of the Farm Shop, they would find a road drag and a cultivator without prison inventory numbers. That was because they didn’t belong to the prison system. They belonged to whatever individuals the prison leased land from to obtain more crop acreage. These implements had been found on two separate parcels of land that had been leased, and they were appropriated by the Farm Shop personnel for their own use. And if someone were to check the timesheets of the Farm Shop personnel, they would find that the head of the whole operation, the Farm Manager, was writing in that he was present at work on Monday afternoons when he was actually at the College Station Airport taking flying lessons. Or if someone was to interview the convict who was assigned to take care of the fuel station, they would find that the Farm Shop was buying Highway diesel instead of agricultural diesel, which was dyed red to differentiate it from Highway diesel and show up people who were unlawfully using agricultural diesel to get the big discount from agricultural diesel. And that all of the Farm Shop personnel drove diesel-fueled pickup trucks with the exception of the secretary and the Major, who didn’t know that the fuel station convict was told once or twice a week to put 50 gallons of diesel towards a certain tractor because they worked late that night plowing. But in all actuality, nobody had worked late that night, plowing or otherwise. And further, the Farm Shop Lieutenant had a 50-gallon fuel tank with a hand-cranked pump in the back of his diesel pickup truck. Elaborating further, I told Senator Whitmire that the Farm Shop was violating State Purchasing Commission regulations in the purchase of parts to repair tractors and other equipment. Texas used a document known as a BU-85 to make spot purchases of items $150.00 or less. But the Farm Shop Sergeant had a part-time job in town at an auto parts store, where one could also purchase tractor parts, this being a community without a John Deere dealership. Some purchases were too high for a BU-85 to be used, and it took too long to go through the proper channels, so several BU-85’s were used to split the purchase among them. This happened more than several times.

There were several other items but time has served to wipe them from my memory. In any event, I waited for two weeks before someone showed up. I was called down to the Searcher’s Desk, which was a podium in the middle of the Long Hall where the Building Sergeant and other officials would hang out and keep an eye on convicts coming and going. “Welsch,” I was told, “Go back to the Major’s Office. Someone to see you.”

I went into the section where the major’s office was and walked to the rear where it was located. A man sat at the Major’s Desk but it wasn’t the Major. “Close the door and sit down, Welsch.” The man said. “We need to go over the letter you sent to Senator Whitmire. I’m Investigator Wilson from Huntsville. Internal Affairs Division, “he stated while holding up a badge for me to look at.” He had a copy of the letter that had been faxed to his office by Senator Whitmire. I asked to see it to refresh my memory and we went through the items one by one while I went into detail about the facts and personalities involved. Investigator Wilson had laid a small tape recorder on the desk to record our conversation. I spoke for about 45 minutes, occasionally stopping to answer questions he asked seeking more detail or further clarification. When we were done, he asked me if I had any questions. I had one. “Is this going to come back on me here?” “No,” he said emphatically. “The Warden has instructed all the rank to spread the word that you are to be left alone unless you start something. Nobody on staff is to talk to you unless you initiate the conversation. Clear?” “yep!,“I said.

So that was it for the moment. About a week later, someone from the Trusty Camp shot me a kite (A note), stating “I don’t know what you did, Bro, but I know it was you! IAD is crawling all other the place out here!” I smiled.

Another 10 days went by and again I was called down to the Searcher’s Desk and told to go back to the Major’s Office. I closed the door and looked at the man sitting at the desk and knew he was a Texas Ranger. They all mostly wear white shirts, a tie, cowboy boots and a ring made out of a Mexican five-peso gold piece hammered into a star within a circle. He introduced himself as Sergeant Sawicki, and told me he was there about the letter to Senator Whitmire. He explained this was his first case in a few years, having spent the prior time serving on the Governor’s bodyguard detail. He put a small tape recorder on the desk and asked me to go through the letter with him, occasionally asking questions or seeking more detail.

When we were done, Sgt. Sawicki asked me a question. “Is there anything I can do for you?” I told him “Yes, it’s time I was transferred to another unit. I’ve seen the Building Major give me the old reckless eyeball a couple of times when I’ve passed him in the hall.” “Any preference?” “Yes,” I said. “I’d like to go to one of the Southern Units. I hear they’re making parole down there.” “Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” he replied. It looks like you’ve given me plenty of work to do around here. Thanks.”

That evening as I started to get ready for bed, a guard came up to my cubicle. “Pack it up, Welsch, “he announced, “You’re on the Chain to Huntsville.”

The next morning, I got on the Chain Bus, one of a huge fleet of buses the prison system maintains to move prisoners to different units around the State. Every morning these buses pick people up and deliver them to the next stop on their trip and then pick up the convicts going in the other direction. Texas is so large, fort example, that the bus guards going to Wichita Falls lays overnight in a motel and gets up the next morning to go to the prison to pick up the convicts going in the direction the bus came from. There are usually three guards on a bus, all packing the chrome .357 magnum that is the standard firearm of the Texas Prison System. A couple of shotguns round out the weaponry on a bus. The convicts are all handcuffed for the ride.

I spent the night in Huntsville and caught the Chain the next morning heading to Ramsey III, which was another minimum custody unit like the one I had come from. I got there, was interviewed by the Classification Committee, assigned a cubicle in a dorm and a job in the Cannery. I was in my new home.

I stayed there about a year and low and behold, the next time I came up for parole, it was granted. I paroled to a friend’s house in Ft. Worth, Texas, and about a month or so later, I got a letter from the U.S. District Court in Houston telling me because I was no longer in prison, I lacked standing to sue George W. Bush… Mission accomplished

All prison systems have similarities but the Texas prison system is unique in a number of ways. Imagine approximately 100 prisons spread out all over the state and connected by buses and eighteen wheelers. The buses carry convicts and the eighteen wheelers carry supplies and pick up products produced at different prisons for distribution throughout the system. And overall, there is a plantation mentality that guides how the prisons are administered and how the convicts are handled.

Most employees, such as guards, nurses, doctors, etc., are hired from the community in which the prison is located. The administrative cadre, however, are sent to the Unit from Huntsville, Texas, where the prison system is administered. Officers, such as Majors and above, come from different units and are transferred upon promotion or by necessity. They are the people that run the units and keep the planta- tion mentality alive. These are the Wardens, Assistant Wardens, Majors, and sometimes Captains on a fast track to promotion. Their word is law and their power absolute.

All prison employees are called “Boss” unless the convict knows their name, in which case they are called Mr., Sargeant., Lieutenant followed by their surname. Convicts are called “Offender” or by their last name.

Farming is the means by which the system is near to self-sufficient. Cotton, corn, sorgum, green beans, and other crops are farmed on a huge scale. Canning factories provide vegetables for prison meals, while cotton is made into cloth and provides the uniforms the convicts wear, which are much like hospital scrubs and white for visibility should someone decide to run. Pigs and cattle are raised on various units and sent to meat packing plants run by the system to provide meat for the convicts. Orchards provide thousands of pounds of pecans a year. Pecans are sent to commercial pecan brokers to bid on the crop each year so as to get the highest price. Corn in thousands of bushels is harvested and all that is above and beyond the needs of the prison system is sold on the open market. Garden squads on each unit tend gardens to provide fresh produce for the prison chow halls.

The labor pool, of course, is made up of convicts. “Hoe Squads”, named for the six foot long Aggie Hoe they carry, are organized into squads under the eye of a guard riding horseback and carrying a stainless steel .357 magnum revolver on their hip. Convicts cannot approach a guard on horseback, as the horses are trained to bite anyone in white, the color of the prison uniform. These convicts are not Trustees. There may be as many as ten or more squads that make up the Field Force and accompanying each Field Force is a High Rider. The job of the High Rider is to shoot anyone who tries to escape, and the only way to become a High Rider is to be the best rifle shot on the unit with a rifle. It is not unusual to see a female High Rider in the fields.

The convicts who work for the agricultural operations are always Trustees, as many jobs have minimal supervision. They usually live in a Trustee Camp, a small unit outside of the prison walls. The Camp has its own chow hall, commissary, and administrative office, along with dormitory style buildings where the convicts sleep and shower. There is usually an old prison bus used to take the convicts to and from the Farm Shop area. It is driven by a convict who has a minimum Class B license with a Bus endorsement. If there is no convict on the unit who has such a license, the unit is authorized to pick one and have them study the DMV pamphlet. When ready, the convict is taken to the nearest DMV with a guard in the bus to take both the written and road tests to get licensed.

The Field Lieutenant coordinates with the Farm Major as to what work needs to be done by the Hoe Squads. It may be toppling trees and clearing land to get more farming acreage to weeding fields so as to improve the quality of the crop.

The Farm Major is in charge of the agricultural operations on the unit, and that usually consists of the Farm Shop, the Tractor Squad, and the Garden Squad. The Farm Shop is the support operation for the Farm. It has a tractor mechanic or two, depending on available convicts with those skills, a fuel station to keep the tractors running and fueling the occasional Chain Bus, and a procurement section that orders parts for the tractors and other farm equipment, such as cultivators, brush hogs, road drags, etc.

The Tractor Squad is just that, a number of tractors and convicts who know how to run them supervised by the Squad Sgt. They keep the fields plowed and the crops harvested, along with any other chores that need a tractor to be accomplished.

The Garden Squad maintains a garden full of crops for the unit kitchen. Sweet corn, jalapeno peppers, green beans, and other crops are grown to supplement the kitchen diet. Fruit trees may be planted as well and again this is a group of convicts supervised by a Squad Sgt., or “Free World” person. Not every unit has an agricultural operation on it, but most have a garden for the kitchen.

Texas Correctional Industries manufactures products for sale to cities, counties, schools, and other eligible agencies. Besides making clothing for their own convicts, they make clothing for county jails. Dump truck beds, mattresses for state universities, license plates, janitorial supplies, and furniture furniture.. They renovate school buses for school districts around the state. They do records conversion for the Department of Motor Vehicles, the State School for the Disabled, and others. It meets the needs for the prison system in many areas and for many municipalities across the state.

The point here is that the Texas Prison system is an immense organization with hundreds, if not thousands, of working parts. What Im talking about here is only a small look at the numerous operations involved. And like any large operation, it is inevitable that things go wrong on occasion.

The next thing to consider is the convict population. Nobody is in prison for a minor offense. It is not a place for jaywalkers or misdemeanor-type crimes. The other thing to consider is that a certain percentage of these people belong to gangs. You have the Aryan Brotherhood, the Mandingo Warriors, the Mexican Mafia, and various other white skinhead groups, black gangs, and Hispanic groups. The worst are the “Blood In and Blood Out” groups because they require a prospective member to shed blood to get in (meaning someone else’s blood) and shed blood to get out (their own blood). These are the most violent ones. Back in the day, gang membership was openly acknowledged but as the years went by, gang membership got a member locked up in Administrative Segregation, so nowadays gang membership is not openly acknowledged. This doesn’t serve as a deterrent, however, as it only romanticizes the whole aspect to those knuckleheads that usually join gangs.

But many convicts are schemers at heart; and you’ll find loan sharking, drug dealing, and anything else under the sun that can be used to make money.

The Harris County Jail prisoner bus pulled up to the rear gate of the Diagnostic Unit located in Huntsville, Texas. It has a formal name of some dignitary or deceased prison warden, but everybody calls it Diagnostic. The gate is opened and the bus pulls forward until it reaches another gate. The first gate closes and the bus is inspected. Two guards do a visual walk-around inspection while two other guards with mirrors on a wheel and handle setup inspect the bottom of the bus. Once they’re all done, the inner gate opens and the bus pulls forward heading for a dock at the rear of the building.

We get off the bus and our handcuffs are taken off. We step up some stairs and enter a large cell. After an hour or so, they start calling us out by name. My name is called and I’m taken down a hallway. My first stop is the barber, where my head is shaved and I’m told to shave off my facial hair. Next is the ID Room where they take my picture and I place my hands on a scanner to capture my fingerprints. I’m then taken down a hallway and stop at the Commissary window where I can purchase items if I have enough funds on the books to do so. Following that, I’m sent to a cellblock where an assigned cell is waiting for me. Luckily I’m the first one in so I get the bottom bunk.

The next week is spent showering daily, going to three meals a day in the chow hall, and spending the day in that cell. Somebody might come by the cell with some questions, but for the most part, you’re in the cell.

After a week, I’m transferred to the Goree Unit. This was once the women’s prison for the State but it’s been repurposed as a transit facility for men. It’s pretty much the same routine as was Diagnostic, except I’m called out of the cell a couple of times to meet with a counselor. They’re basically a sociologist who asks questions about your offense and gathers basic demographic information. They use this to classify you and decide which unit they’re going to assign you to. These assignments are based on the nature and severity of your crime, the amount of education you’ve had, whether you’re from a middle class or other background, and your general demeanor.

Sometime during the second week of waiting, a guard appears at the cell and tells me I’m on the Chain. The Chain is the term for being transported from one prison to another. You’re awakened early, around 4 AM. You pack up what little belongings you have and follow the guard to the hallway, where others on the Chain are waiting in a line against the wall. The group is taken to the Chow Hall and fed breakfast, and then you’re taken back to the large cell by the back door.

The Texas prison system has more buses than a small city. This is because there are 100 prisons spread out all over the state and prisoners have to be moved around. Take, for example, the prison in Wichita Falls. To get there, a prisoner is put on a bus in Huntsville and rides all the way north to the prison. Because it takes most of a day to get there, the bus does not unload the prisoners and turn around to go back. Instead, the three man crew of guards spend the night in a motel. They get up in the morning and go back to the prison and pick up the load of prisoners going back to Huntsville and then get on the highway south. Most, but not all, of the buses come out of Huntsville. There are inter-prison buses stationed around the state for movement between prisons.

After awhile the buses start coming. Names are called to go on each bus as they arrive and load up. My name is called for the bus to the Wynne Unit. This is a large prison in Huntsville and is considered a decent assignment. It has the Tag Plant, which makes license plates and stickers for the Department of Motor Vehicles. There is a Records Conversion facility there, where car registrations are microfilmed and the originals shredded. Records from state agencies are also processed there and converted to microfilm. There is a mattress factory, and a sign plant, and other correctional industry operations. I’m glad to be going there; it could have been worse.

A short trip through Huntsville brings us to the Wynne Unit. The bus pulls into the rear gate, a double walled facility under a Gun Tower, where an armed guard stands watch over the rear gate activities. Those of us assigned here get off the bus and get our handcuffs taken off. We are directed to a large room that’s part of the Gate House, where we are strip-searched and our belongings inspected, Once that is done, a guard addresses us and tells us what the routine is. We will enter the prison and go to the Chain Room, where incoming and outgoing prisoners are kept. We will go the a Classification Hearing and meet with the Building Major, a Counselor, and a Security Sargeant. After some conversation, we will be given a job assignment. Once all the incoming prisoners are processed there, we will be issued bedding and given our cell assignments.

After lunch, I finally get to my cell in C Block. The Wynne Unit, like most of the older prisons built in Texas, was constructed with a hall as the centerpiece. Cellblocks were built off the hall, as were the Medical Department, the Chow Hall, Laundry, Gym, Showers, etc. There is a chapel in one wing, a nice construct with pews and an alter and stained glass windows.

The cell already has one occupant so I get the top bunk. It doesn’t take long to put my stuff away in a locker. My Cellie must be at work or in the gym or somewhere, as I’m alone. I make my bed and stretch out with a sigh. It’s been a long day.

I was assigned to the Records Conversion Facility, so I reported there the next morning at Work Call. Never having had any experience with a microfilm camera, I was assigned to records preparation to prepare documents for filing. This was basically taking a packet of papers and removing staples or tape from the documents and spreading them flat in a certain order. Once the packet was prepped, I went on to the next one. I talked with other guys working in my area and I heard several stories about working in Records Conversion. One such story was about the guys who worked in the DMV section who prepared car titles and assorted documents for filming. I was told that occasionally, someone would get busted trying to smuggle out a car title thinking they had the keys to a new Lexus, not realizing those documents were from a prior transaction and no longer valid. That’s one thing about being a criminal – they’re all self-taught and there’s no school for the profession.

After a couple of months I was assigned to be a microfilm camera operator filming records for the State School for the Disabled. This was an exacting job, as the woman from the State School that was the contact person was herself a camera operator and she required things to be done a certain way. She reviewed every reel of film that we sent her and if something was wrong she would have it done over. My attention to detail was high, luckily, and after a couple of errors I was soon able to submit acceptable reels. The only perk I received for this job was a separate work space that allowed me a little privacy and quiet away from the main floor.

Have you ever wondered what prison was like and what you’d do if you were locked up for a significant amount of time? The first thing to know is prison life is a set routine with a schedule. Breakfast is served really early in the morning, like 5 AM. After breakfast you hit the sack and try and get another hour’s sleep before work.

Work Call is around 8 AM when the cellblock doors open and the workers go to the Dayroom. The various work supervisors come by and call out the workers they want. Records Conversion, Mattress Factory, Laundry, and on and on until all the workers have been assembled in their various groups and head on over to their work area.

After that, it’s Shower Call for those convicts who aren’t working. They could be medically unassigned, or have a different shift than the day workers. They come out by cellblock and walk to the Shower Area, stripping off their clothes and throwing them in laundry baskets. They shower and then go to the window to get fresh clothes. All the clothes are white; boxers, socks, pants, and shirts. They’re scrubs like hospital wear. No belts, just elastic waistbands. No t-shirts; if you want one of them you buy it at the Commisary. Once dressed, they return to their cellblocks. There is usually a Cell Call every hour. The cell doors open and stay open for five minutes. Convicts can drop their shower stuff, soap, shampoo, etc., in the cell and go back to the Dayroom. Or they may stay in their cell. The Dayrooms are one per cellblock; a large room with two televisions, maybe four stainless steel tables with attached seats, and steel benches to sit on while watching tv. There’s a water fountain and a toilet in the Dayroom. A couple of chess and checkerboards are present, as are a couple of sets of dominos. No playing cards, as they promote gambling and are the tools of the Devil. Several electric outlets are in the Dayroom, so convicts can bring a coffeepot down to almost boil water – they’re set not to boil so you can’t throw boiling water on a guard. But you can make coffee, or ramen noodles, or use several pots and make a spread; this is a can or two of roast beef, refried beans, ramen noodles, hot sauce and corn chips. They taste better than they sound if you’re a convict. Other means of recreation are the Gym and The Yard. The gym has basketball courts, weights, an indoor track, and a bathroom. The Yard is outside inside the fence, and has a couple more basketball courts, a weight area, a path for walking or running, and a bathroom. The Yard is usually under a Guntower, so if there’s a stabbing, a riot, or an attempted escape, the bullets can fly. Yard calls are usually once an hour, but shut down for meal time. Depending on a schedule, it may be your day for Commissary. The Commissary is a large window in the Main Hall, having one ot two service windows depending on the size of the Unit. Convicts can spend $200 a month and purchase hygiene items, candy, meats, cheeses, bread, tortillas, ice cream in pints or assorted novelties (popsicles, sandwiches, etc.). Soda in cans, and chips in bags; it’s all there. Of course a convict has to have money on the books in order to purchase items at the Commissary. The money comes from family or friends; Texas prisons do not pay convicts for their labor unlike other states. The groceries are tallied at the window and shoved out to the convict. Who puts them in a “commissary bags.” These are nylon bags with a drawstring at the top and about 30” x 36’. These also do double duty as a “chain bag” if it’s your time to hit the bus. You go back to your Dayroom and wait for the next Cell Call in order to put your stuff away in your locker, which is secured by a commissary-purchased combination lock. These are the same locks you had in high school to secure your hall and gym lockers. Put one or two of these suckers in a sock and you’ve got a formidable weapon. The workers return to the Cellblock around 3:30 to 4 PM. They’ve already showered on the way in, and the ones with money to spend get in line for the Commissary. They will gladly miss chow in order to get their goodies at the store. Mail call is usually before Chow Call. Convict’s names are called, and if they’re in the Dayroom they go up to the bars to get their mail from the guard. If they’re in their cell, the guard will come by after they’ve done mail call for the dayroom. The Dayroom goes to chow call first, with the cells on the blocks opening up one at a time after. Most cellblocks have three rows of cells high, but in the older Units, they could be four or five rows high. The convicts walk to the Chow Hall, go through the line, and sit at the next open seat at the tables in the Chow Hall. There’s no sitting with your friends or reserved seats unless you endeavor to walk in together. When you’re done, you sit there until the chow hall guard “knocks’ on your table, this being the signal to get up and turn your tray into the window where the scraps are scraped off for the hogs while you exit the Chow Hall and walk back to your cellblock. Once there, it’s back in the Dayroom until the next Cell Call. This is pretty soon, as the Dayroom isn’t really a size big enough to hold everyone the cellblock does. So some go back to their cells and some stay in the dayroom. Radios are sold in the Commissary, so once you’re back in your cell you aren’t completely shut off from the world. NPR is my radio channel choice, and everywhere I went in the Texas prison system I was fortunate enough to be able to tune it in.

After evening chow, there are recreational opportunities. Convicts can go to the Law Library, where they can study law; the School Library, where there are books to check out and magazines to read; the Yard, where they can recreate outdoors; the Gym, where they can recreate indoors; and Bible Study, where they can go to the Chapel and study Scripture led by volunteers from a local congregation or the Prison Chaplain. These go on until 9PM, when everyone returns to their cells for the night.