Week Five, Episode 9

Week Five, Episode 9

     Previously, I talked about what it felt like having a roommate from Hell.

If rule number one in prison is to never let anyone disrespect you, then rule

number 2 is never let another inmate dictate your schedule.  Inmates attempt

it a lot.  Today I was annoyed several times.  The first time was when I went

to take a shower this morning, and because the showers are attached to the

same area as the toilets, one of the women blew it up while I was showering.

    "Courtesy flush!"  I yelled.

   Many of the new women that came directly from home and never been locked

up is clueless as to what a courtesy flush is.  Its something you learn in prison.

It is when you sit on the toilet to defecate and constantly flush it as you use it.

It causes the smell to go down the drain, instead of sit there and linger. 

   "I am not finished yet!"  The newbie said.

   "Ms., Please! What the heck did you eat!  Please flush the toilet!"  I complained.

She did, once.  The bathroom smelled like a bottomless sewer, and the foulness

turned my stomach.  Women coming in have not been on the same prison diet

as me, and it is no telling what was causing the extremely pungent smell.

   "Its a bathroom, Hello!" She screamed back, annoyed. 

   No she didn't have the nerve and audacity to get an attitude!  She was trying to

kill me with toxic fumes.  She should have another felony charge for that!

    So that is how my morning began. 

    To try to restart my day, I went to the track and walked got my five miles in.

The sky was cloudy and it looked like it was going to pour rain over Danbury any

moment, but it held off until I finished walking. 

    I need to move on, but let me just continue my rant about this toilet thing

for a moment.  At home, we all have the toilet in the same room with the shower.

It is standard all over the country.  What is not standard is a stranger, coming

in and blowing the place up.  I do not understand how people get institutionalized.

I am annoyed at least once a day in here, and miss home constantly.

   Today, rule number 2 kicked in.  I usually get up on Sunday, shower, put on my

sweats, and then begin my day.  Today was no different.  My bunkie usually cleans

on Sunday, so I make a point to stay out of her way.  She was up before me to do

her hair.  She retrieved the cleaning supplies at lunch time.  Each time I came to

the room, I disappeared to give her time to clean.  At 3:22pm I went to the room

to do my hair and start preparing for work.  She jumped up off the bed, and started

pulling the bins from up under the bed, and pulling stuff out of the room.

    "I am sorry bunkie.  I am about to clean."  She said.

    "Go ahead.  I am about to sit on the bed and do my hair out of your way."  I answered.

That's exactly what I did.  I put my curtain up, and commenced to curling my hair

for the work week.  I even put my headphones on to block her and everyone else out.

   This happens often.  I don't know if this occurs in a men's prison, but women do it

repeatedly.  Each time its done to me, it makes me feel like they are attempting to

dictate my day.  I was expected to go back out of the room, after being gone all

day.  Not!  Prison life is about living with lots of strangers, and some of them are

on some other stuff. 

         Back to Arn-2- what I liked most about living in maximum security was that

most of the officers were afraid, and therefore there was not all of the rules that

existed in general population.  In general population, if you were caught with out your

identification you received a shot/ticket.  If you were not properly dressed and your

bed was not made up, you received a shot/ticket.  The rules were petty, and

strictly enforced.  I noticed quickly that Arn-2 had no rules most of the time.

   If you didn't feel like getting up for work, you simply slept in.  Nobody was in

full uniform.  The common attire was house slippers and a doo rag or head rag wrapped

around your head.  If you didn't make your bed, or come out of your room, that was

your prerogative.  The unspoken rule was to leave max inmates alone if they left

staff alone, and they did most of the time.  A few of the seasoned officers that

were not afraid to work in max informed new officers to relax and not upset the

mood.  Arn 2 inmates stuck together, and turned up quick.  If an officer wanted

to enforce the rules and ask about beds being made and uniforms not being worn,

they were called every curse word ever spoken, and some I'd never heard before,

and then talked about bad. 

    "Your breast is bigger than mines, shut up!"  Dino or someone else would yell

to a male officer with breasts. 

     Usually at least one person ended up going to the SHU when one of the new

officers surfaced.  That would be the only way to keep the crowd from being

rowdy and calling the officer names. 

    There came a time when there was a staff change.  We got a new unit

manager.  His name was Mr. Eleby.  He was a Michael Jordan look alike.  I don't

know if he shaved his head on purpose to look more like Jordan, but that didn't

help.  Same height.  Same complexion.  Same physique. 

      His mission was to change Arn 2 inmates for the better, and to classify

inmates into there right status who should not have been in max.  He reminded

me of the Morgan Freeman character that was sent to the terrible high school

in the inner city to try to change things.  Mr. Eleby had a plan. 

Rhonda Turpin

April 27, 2014

fb/rhondaturpin

worldbookspublishing@gmail.com

Week Four, Episode 8 - FACTS, COMMENTARY, RECAP

FACTS, COMMENTARY, RECAP

        When I got up this morning, I closed my eyes and drank my apple Cider

vinegar mixed with honey drink.  It is the highlight of my month, and it works.

Exercise is working to keep me looking right also.  Prison life has the same old

hum-drum routine everyday.  It is very annoying, and it can be depressing if

you let it, but I refuse to think that route.

     This week #President Obama,_ and #Eric Holder,_ has decided to pump up

the clemency process.  For people outside of prison, this announcement does not

have a lot of significance.  For inmates serving time for drug crimes, this is

exciting. 

Today they published the rules.  I have served 10 years, and I will be attempting

to apply.  Men from all over the country are now filling up Danbury FCI and its

an interesting week.

Rhonda Turpin

author, publisher, prisoner

April 24, 2014

worldbookspublishing@gmail.com

Week Four, Episode 7....

The lost earrings

     I watch the #Steve Harvey,_  Show everyday at 3:00pm.  In prison you need a

good laugh and it doesn't hurt that not only is he always dressed well, but he is

also my homie, from Cleveland Ohio, and a high school classmate of my children's

father.  There is no one here from Cleveland or Ohio.  All the women here are

from the New Zealand area, New York or New Jersey. 

       Steven Harvey quoted #Joel Olsten,_ , stating that 25% of the people around

you will hate you for no reason- they don't even know why; 25% of others can

learn to like you; 25% are neutral and don't care about you either way; and 25%

will love you.  At the Camp that rings true.  It is people that constantly plot

and wait on my demise for no reason.  Their hate is genuine.  Because I have

built successful businesses a few times and lost them by self-defeating behaviors

at home, I have experienced constant haters.  The more successful you become,

the number of haters increase ten-fold.  Prison is no different than the streets.

  When serving time, everyone should have a relative that they can count on

that is available anytime to answer the phone and take care of business.  What

type of business does an inmate have?  It could be taxes, or banking from the

previous life, or child support orders, unpaid traffic tickets, and even creditors

are just a few of the nuisances that do not cease just because you are in prison.

Even when you die, certain people never stop being worrisome. 

    I have had a few people in my lifetime be there for me, and I will call them

angels, because that is what they are.  My daughter Cleo, aka Tee, because

her middle name is Tawana and since a baby we call her Tee- has been my angel

since I first began doing this.  I am not proud to say that I have been serving

prison sentences more months than I care to reveal.  Tee is always there for

me and loves me unconditionally.   My other angel was my paternal aunt, named

Naomi.  She was my father's oldest sister.  We also shared the same birthday.

Naomi retired years ago from the federal system as a secretary for Judge.

He later passed, but she always kept his memory alive. 

both of these ladies love me unconditionally, and is definitely in the 25% of the

world that genuinely loves and supports my efforts. 

     Naomi was always by the telephone.  Her life consisted of church events,

calling the sick and shut in, and hosting prayer circles from people all over the

country.  She called herself a Psalmist.  What I loved about Auntie Naomi

is she was always ready for whatever, and loved me unconditionally. 

     I had a serious problem with one of my bunkies while living in Arn-2.

I tried to work it out before calling Auntie Naomi, because once she became

involved, it was no dropping it.  She followed things through each time.

     I had mentioned in a previous episode that I was moved in with a lady

named May.  She was not from Cleveland, and I don't remember where she was

from, but it wasn't Columbus either. 

     My first few nights living with her was normal.  She was not a talker, but neither

was I.  I preferred it that way.  My cell was my sanctuary.   I enjoy being by myself,

and when in my room I am usually able to put up a make shift curtain and do me.

Because prison rooms have bunk beds like we are still four years old instead of

grown women, I was able to tuck a sheet under the top bunk mattress, and let it

hang down as a curtain over part of my bed.  The rule was guards must be able to

see at least half of your body at all times.  If a guard walked by, they would see

the bottom half of my body.  Behind my curtain I would journal, read, write or

edit chapters, or simply stare at the wall.  If depended on what kind of mood I

was in at the time.

     This particular day, I was behind my curtain.

     "Bunkie, have you seen my earrings?"  May asked.

     "No, where did you have them?"  I asked nonchalantly.

I did not appreciate anyone asking me anything when I was behind my curtain.

In my imaginary world, I was in my bedroom with my door shut and locked.  Because

in prison you do not have your own room, I did not appreciate anyone invading my

personal space or time with myself.

    "I had them sitting on the table, next to the TV that we both use."  May said with

an attitude.

     WHY THE HELL WAS SHE TELLING ME ABOUT HER EARRINGS, AND WHO CARED?

I thought.  It was annoying.

     She would not let me rest.  Finally, I stood up so that I could look at her sitting

on top of her bunk.

     "Bunkie, I haven't seen any earrings.  I have my own as you can see, and a back

up pair.  I hope you find them."  I said, as I left the small room.  She had really

gotten on my nerves.

    When I sat outside my door at the table in the rec room, Essie came and sat

next to me. 

    "What's wrong Auntie?"  She asked.

    "May is tripping about her earrings.  She is really getting on my nerves."  I said.

    "Be careful with her Auntie.  She is here for cutting someone's throat with the

metal lid from a can while they were sleeping.  She is something else."  Essie said.

    WHAT IN THE WORLD?  I thought. 

    Surely, Mrs. Turley knew this too. 

    When I walked back in my room at count time, Ms. May was sitting on her bunk,

holding the lid off of the kool-aid container.  WHAT THE HELL? 

   "Oh, heck no! What are you doing May?"  I said loudly. 

   I was not about to play NO games with this woman.  Also, I had to go to sleep in the

room with this woman. 

   "I want my earrings, and I know you took them."  She said, looking crazy as ever

by the eyes. 

   "Listen, I didn't take your earrings.  You are welcome to have a pair of mines. 

Earrings are nothing, and I don't want the tension in this room." I proffered.

   "I knew you took them! What other reason would you offer me a pair!  I want my

earrings.! She screamed. 

   I do not believe in calling officers to fight my battles.  This was one time I thought

about it, and quickly dismissed that idea.  I refused to go to sleep, and so did she.

We were locked in the room together.  I periodically got up to pretend to go to the

toilet just to see exactly what she was doing on that top bunk.  She wasn't sleep

either.  It appeared as if she was waiting for me to go to sleep, and she had this

stupid smirk on her face. 

    We both stayed up all night.  The moment that the officer popped open the doors

from their control desk, I walked briskly toward the phone.  I couldn't dial Auntie

Naomi's number fast enough.

   "Auntie Nay, they have me in the room with this psychopath.  It is bad enough they

have me in a max unit."  I said.

   I explained to Auntie Nay about her crime, and exactly how she was acting about

a pair of earrings. 

   "Oh no.  We have to get you out of there.  Go and talk to the unit, and then call me

right back."  Naomi said.

   I did exactly that.  The unit told me that they would not be doing any bed or room

changes, and that I was stuck.

   I politely called Auntie Naomi back. 

   "Don't worry.  I have already contacted news channel 10 in your area.  They are

calling the warden as we speak.  After you hung up, my spirit told me to get busy.

You can't stay in there with that woman."  She said sternly.

    "Thank you Auntie Nay."  I said tensely.

    "You call me back before bedtime, and I am going to make some other calls."

Naomi said before hanging up.

   She did.  She called the Warden of the prison, Channel 10 news station again,

the Director of the Bureau of Prisons, and the local police department of the city

with a formal complaint, to put it on record in case anything happened to me.

She was thorough. 

   Within the hour, I was being summoned to the unit. 

   "Who do you think you are?  Your aunt is calling everybody.  We are going to move

you immediately, but you don't run nothing here."  The unit staff said. 

   They were angry, and so was I.

   "This is your new bed assignment.  Your Aunt has also called the TV station.

Call her right now and tell her to call the dogs off."  They ordered.

   I did.

   "Auntie Nay, I am about to move right now, and then I will call you back."  I said.

   When I walked in the room, May jumped down off the bed.

   "I found my earrings!  I had stuck them inside my pillow case and did not remember."

She said. 

   I said nothing, and began to pack my stuff to move to the other side of the building

near the laundry room.

   "What are you doing?  Are you moving?" She said.

   I did not answer her.  I kept on packing up my stuff.

   "I am going to see the unit.  It was just a misunderstanding.  I like you as my room-

mate, and I don't want to loose you."  Her crazy butt said, as she ran out of the room to

try to stop me from moving.

   Let me tell you something.  The Lord himself could not talk me into staying in the

room with that crazy girl.  It was too much.  By the time she came back, I was packed

up and gone, thanks to Essie and her helpers.

     May had the nerve to try to speak to me later on.  I kept it polite and stayed as

far away from her as I could.  I thought about what could have happened to me if she

had not found her misplaced earrings?  Prisons all over the country have people with

mental health issues.  When they began to cut mental health budgets throughout the

United States, where do you think a lot of the patients went?  They were sent to

state and federal prisons all over the United States.  The problem is you can not always

tell who has genuine mental health issues until you have a conversation with the

person.  I have spoken with many, and it is not funny at all.  It is dangerous, because

they are mentally unbalanced.  Of course this is not an isolated prison thing.  Citizens

on the streets are mixed in with society with severe mental health problems.  Every

time we see the news where someone has gone postal, we understand this. 

    I did not come to prison to make friends.  You are lucky if you are able to meet

one person that you can talk to in order to make your time easier.  Regardless to how

this looks, this is not a college campus, and serving time in prison is hard. 

#Rhonda Turpin,_

author, publisher, prisoner

April 21, 2014-Easter(so what)

fb/rhondaturpin

worldbookspublishing@gmail.com

Week Three, Episode 6 FACTS, RECAP, AND COMMENTARY DOES YOUR MONEY SUPPORT ME?

FACTS, RECAP, AND COMMENTARY

DOES YOUR MONEY SUPPORT ME?

     The taxpayers dole out $36,000 a year, per inmate for the BOP to own me.  My

cost is higher than the average inmate, and there is an additional $5900 minimum

to pay for my medical care.  A hardworking citizen MUST pay federal FICA taxes, or

go to jail.  I am aging in here- I am a grandmother of six, therefore my medical

needs may increase.

    All the heavily processed and preserved foods over the last ten years has given

me high blood pressure.  Since last year, I have been on medication for it.  I have

also been issued cholesterol medication.  I do not take it because the side effects

are ten times greater than the benefit of the medication.  The side effects include:

My eye constantly jumping, so that I cannot read or write in peace; sore bones and

joints that feel like "flu like" symptoms, and restricts any physical activity; problems

with dryness of my eyes; stomach aches; racing heart; itchiness, and much more.

My motto is if the benefits of the meds are less than the benefits of not taking it,

why would I poison my body like that?  Believe it or not, I am in very good health.

I walk five miles a day. I do an extensive weight routine with 3 or 5 pounds to stay

toned.  I do yoga, and a little Pilates when I feel like it.  I ran up and down the steep

hill at the back of the Camp, and then up and down the 67 stairs a few times yesterday

because the weather was nice.  I will be able to chase my grandchildren, and hang

out with them when I get home.

        Who exactly pays for my keep?  Who paid this year?  Was it the single Mom,

like my daughter, who is struggling because she barely makes minimum wage?  Was

it the waitress that is mostly living off tips?  Maybe it was an autoworker, because

they make a little bit more money?

   Lets examine how prison costs adds up quickly to 80 billion a year.  I was convicted

with 9 others.  The loss amount for society is $300,000.  The cost for my incarceration,

along with medical costs total to date is $419,000. 

       The cost to house my co-defendants is $900,000. (K.D, $180,000, Judy-$252,000;

Tony-$216,000; Dunbar-$18,000; Jay-$36,000; Khalid-$108,000; and Taylor-$90,000)

That easily equates to 1.5 million for housing.  If you add attorneys, court room staff,

transport, Supervised Release,  and all other costs, my case easily cost taxpayers roughly

$2.5 million for all ten of us.   This is just the stats for one case, and one single

indictment.   Many are indicted yearly and sent to prison.       

     The facts today is about our United States Constitution.  Many of you do not know

that the Constitution was the document that followed President Abe Lincoln's

Emancipation Proclamation.  Many citizens that owned plantations were distraught

about losing their slaves.  Slavery was big business, and America as a nation was

built on the backs of African slaves who now are the ancestors of African-Americans,

and definitely the fore thoughts and foundation of how this prison system came to

be. 

      For those of you who do not know your Constitution, how the document continued

slavery to this day is the wording created in Amendment 13.  The Amendments, or

Bill of Rights was supposed to protect individuals from government power in all areas.

The writers pulled a whammy with Article 13.  It states that "anyone convicted of a

crime has no rights".  That means the system can work you like a slave for free, or

choose to pay you twelve cents, and do not have to pay the minimum wage.  It also

means that you have lost all rights to your children and your family.  You are property

of the state/feds, in the most literal sense.  How our forefathers kept slavery alive

was using the Black Codes which is the FBOP codes with a simple name switch in the

document to manage inmates.  The other issue with the Constitution is Article II

and Article III.  With Article II, United States Attorneys have life time appointments

and are considered the most powerful agency in the country, and have the strongest

union.  If a U.S. Attorney targets you, your chances are impossible of keeping your

life in tack.  The next slavery issue inside the constitution is lifetime appointments

for Article III/federal judges.  They have no agency that monitors them, and even

if they are racist, and using their own agendas on the bench, nothing will happen

to them.  Federal Judges have been convicted of riding with prostitutes and buying

crack, using crack, and many other outrageous acts while on the bench.  At most,

they might receive a scale back on cases.  I actually read a letter

that stated the 'the judge's use of crack did not affect his sentencing decision.'

      An associate was trying to get her case reviewed when she found out that her

judge was in the newspaper and under investigation after being caught buying and

smoking crack at the same time that he was on the bench with her case.

      Article II and Article III of the United States Constitution is the slavery trump

card.  Those two articles stacked the deck against African-Americans and other

people of color.  Those two articles represent capitalism, and is not a part of the

democratic process. 

    State judges are a part of the democratic process, and they are placed on a

ballot, and you vote for them.  If they break the law, they are usually removed, if

the public sees fit.  There is no removing a federal judge or a U.S. Attorney/

Assistant attorney.  There is no accountability to the public.  That is a major

problem with this system.  People can complain all day long, and also attempt to

put laws into place by contacting their Senators and having them advocate, but

the problem is that the foundation of the federal prison system is based on concepts

of slavery.  The writers of the Constitution knew this, and also understood that

they had to stack the deck in order to keep America unequal and one-sided as

far as the rights and treatment.  Originally, it was our

boys and men that suffered most.  Today, women are sentenced at an alarming

rate.  There is a steady increase in the number of women coming to prison.

Even more hostile, is the age of the new prison population.  They are "granny

dumping", or sending older women to prison for small petty crimes at an 800%

increase.  Why?  I had to think about it.  As I sat in the dining room this morning

eating an orange, I looked around me, and everyone at the surrounding tables

were over 65 years of age.  The lady sitting across from me had a cane. 

     I read recently where Eric Holder stated that this system "was broken" and

has failed.  It all depends on who you ask.  If you ask people who support

mass-incarceration, and want harsher sentences,

 they would answer that this system is doing great.

 It is costing the taxpayers over 80 billion dollars a year, that is money

in their pockets.  even the blog that I am writing costs 5 cents a minute.

    The prison system is part of Wall street/the stock market.  The pharmaceutical

companies benefit millions also.  Many of the Senators that are fighting against

abolishing mandatory minimums are connected financially to the pharmacy

corporations, or other entities where they directly make money off of prisoner's

blight.  As a nation, we need to check out these politicians, and publish their

beliefs.  This is an election year.  Who is for this peculiar institution, and if

so, why?  That's the question that needs to be asked before a citizen places

a vote.

      I have wrote about a small group of inmates to entertain.  The women of

Arn-2 are not the norm.  Like many countries, if you take away the non-violent

offenders, and the white collar offenders and place them back into the tax

base and on house arrest to pay large fines, you would only have the need for

one major prison in the country.  That prison would house the violent, and

criminally insane.  One single prison is enough, not 1000's.  Prison is big business. 

  We have a few million dollars worth of inmates sitting at Danbury, as I write

this blog. Looking at real numbers, and using an actual case as an example,

gives the reader a true glimpse of how profitable mass incarceration in

America is.

Rhonda Turpin

author, publisher, prisoner

http://felonista.blogspot.in/

fb/rhondaturpin

worldbookspublishing@gmail.com

Week Three, Episode 5 THE ROBBERY

     When I first was transferred to Arn-2 maximum security unit, I did not like Dino.

She was a bully, always using her size and weight to intimidate other inmates.  I have

always been for the underdog.  Dino had followers, and she ruled by fear.  Her

demeanor was similar to the OZ character, Adabece.  The norm was to do what she

said, or get quietly roughed up. 

     I did not believe that robberies existed in prison.  There were no pistols, so how

would an inmate rob you?  It did not make since until I witnessed a robbery in progress.

    Dino ran the 2 for 1 store.  Many women from general population were her customers.

Coffee and pre-embossed envelopes were hot items.  Envelopes were like money. 

New admits were housed in Hale unit.  They were considered admissions inmates coming

Automatically, inmates were stripped of everything coming in.  They were issued state

uniforms and a $5.00 starter baggie of cheap cosmetics.  The starter baggie had a small

black comb, a small sample tube of generic toothpaste, a toothbrush that was no more

than four inches long, and a few deodorant packs.  There was also a small motel sized

bar of soap, and a small package of shampoo that was sample size.  The wait was anywhere

from one week to three weeks before an admissions inmate could shop.  When the counties

dropped women off, the money that was in their county account did not follow.  Some

counties were quicker than others.  If your family tried to by pass the wait, and forward

money to the prison so that you can shop, that still took time.  In state prison, the person

sending money had to be an approved visitor, and it took time to get visitors approved.

    If a newbie came in and knew someone from home, they would look out and buy

shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, soap, toothpaste, a real toothbrush, a writing tablet,

and pre-embossed envelopes.  This care package was very important for survival in

admissions.  Even knowing someone willing to supply necessities on loan was appreciated.

Because so many women were there from Cleveland that knew me from home, I received

large care packages all day, every day.  That enabled me to hook up a lot of the women

in admissions with me that did not have anything. 

     "Who is she?"  They would ask about me.

     Some of the givers were genuine, but much of the gifts was a part of the unspoken

bribery norm. 

     'I look out for you now, and then you owe me a favor later', was how it worked.

  I guess the streets worked the same way, just not as obvious. 

      My enemies would also attempt to give me more gifts than friends.

    "Thanks, but I am good."  I said often, returning whatever they sent.

    Many people in prison live by a philosophy that dictates to keep your enemies close.

Not me.  I have been burnt too many times in life for that.  I keep my enemies as far away

from me as I can.  People give off energy.  Enemies host negative energy.  They thrive on

your mishaps and pray serious prayers to destroy you, and bring you down. 

    Who needs all that negative energy close to them?  Not me.

      My immediate circle has always been small and tight.  Because I am an introvert, I love

living my life alone, caught up and driven by my own thoughts and passions.

         Newbies could not write home to notify their families of their whereabouts or anything

without pre-embossed envelopes, therefore Dino had a thriving customer base from the

new women coming in. 

    Some of the women did try to play her, or simply could not pay up.

    "I didn't get my money yet.  My Mom said she sent it, but didn't.  I will pay you when I can."

The newbie would say.

     "Alright.  It's cool."  Dino answered.

     Once the women moved into general population, out of admissions, Dino would rob her.

     "I need to know where she works at, and when she leaves her room."  Dino told her flunkies.

    When she found out the times that the inmate was out of her room, she'd go pick the

combination lock.  In the back of each lock, there was an indent that allowed officers to open

any lock with one master key, without having the combination numbers.

    With a flunky on standby with a garbage bag handy, Dino would open the lock, fill filling

garbage bag, and have the patsy carry the bag across the yard to her unit door. 

     Many inmates keep everything of value in their locker.  Their personal pictures, expensive

sneakers, and clothing items were locked up at all times.  Dino always locked the lock back

and made sure to leave the room and area undisturbed.  As a result of her regular robberies,

Dino supplemented her two-for-one store without having to spend any cash.

     "Hey Turpin, I have a full bag of stuff for sale.  It has a pair of used sneakers that might

fit you also.  I will give you a deal- put 100 bucks on my books and you can have the whole

bag."  She proffered.

   "No.  I am good, but thanks anyway."  Was always my reply.

    I did not trust Dino, and I did not like her style.

   She preyed on other inmates, and was always waiting to catch them slipping.

   Essie was also a professional robber.  The difference between Essie and Dino was Essie would

only hit a lick for survival or if she had beef with someone.

    Because I had Lisa and Phala on my payroll for laundry and ironing monthly, I was exempt

and protected from all robberies.

   Lisa and Phala always shared money or canteen I gave them with Essie.  I was a good, regular

customer, and paid by the first of each month.  I also gave bonuses.  Many women scrub their

tennis shoes because they could not afford to buy new ones.  Being a tennis shoe scrubber

was also a hustle.  Many women knew how to make your own sneakers look like new. 

We were allowed sundry boxes every three months, and to order sneakers from Eastbay

sports catalog.  I loved fresh sneakers, and nice shoes.  I have always had a shoe fetish.

Although I could not feed it like I did at home with regular shopping sprees for shoes all

over the country, I did have the best selection of shoes in prison.  Every three months, when

I received new shoes, I gave my shoes to Essie.  We wore the same size, and I liked her.

Because of the realness I showed her, she guarded me like a pit bull. 

    "What are you doing by her room!"  or, "Get away from her!"  She would yell to everyone.

    Of course she was looking out for her own interest.  She was over 6 feet tall, and a heavy

weight, and did not mind putting in work.  She loved to fight on the streets, and it showed

each time she had to rough someone up.  Essie was my self-appointed goon.  Being robbed

was no longer an option for me.  I would have thrown the old shoes away anyway, as I'd

done when in main population, so it was a very cheap price to pay for loyalty. 

     Some women figured out what happened to their items, and others didn't, to this day.

Many of the officers called them liars.

    "You could not have had anything in your locker, or you passed your combination out.

This is prison.  Get over it."  The officers always replied.

      Phala and Lisa were happy to be on Essie's team.  As I stated previously, homosexual

activity is very different in a female prison than in a male.  Some of the females literally

will fight you for talking to their girlfriends, and the turn outs are the worse as far as

jealousy.  Nobody jumps anyone's bones.  Nobody forces an inmate to be in a gay relationship.

As a matter of fact, gay girls are in very high demand in female prisons, and keep an

entourage of women around them, weighing on them, hand and feet.    Its all based on

supply and demand.  There is never enough boy-girls in prison to go around. 

     The same issues that women suffer from on the streets follow them to prison.  If they

were stalkers of men, guess what?  The same behavior transfers inside prison walls, and

they stalk level four women.  Codependency is a big problem in prison.  Many women

are not comfortable being alone, sitting by themselves and doing their time.  They

displayed the same needy behavior when they were not in prison.   

      Sexual acts are labeled a 205.  They are not allowed, and are against the prison

rules, yet women take chances daily.  Prison life promotes homosexuality on many levels.

      If you have a friend or someone close to you that is facing prison time, the best

advice that you can give them is not to look for friends in prison, and to learn to sit

alone and be alone in this environment.  Inmates have many hours, days, and months

to contemplate their release and focus on making their lives better.  It is hard to

do, but a woman should make it mandatory while serving time- I love being alone,

and silence is really golden, because we do not get a lot of it inside the walls.

Rhonda Turpin

worldbookspublishing@gmail.com

fb/rhondaturpin

Week 2 Episode Four - FACTS, RECAP AND COMMENTARY

Week 2 Episode Four

FACTS, RECAP AND COMMENTARY

     Everyone always wants to know exactly what women do in prison as far as sex.

When I used to be at cookouts, or even at work, that is the question that people beat

around the bush with.

    "Um, has anyone ever tried to jump your bones?"  Someone asked.

   What the heck is that?  Just ask the question!

    Family members are a little more direct. 

   "Did Martha really have a dyke named Big Bertha slapping her?" 

   The answer to that is absolutely not.  She did have a young black girl from D.C.

that was not intimidated or afraid to step to Martha.

   "Hey Martha, can I pick you up for lunch?" The girl asked.

 This was a boy-girl, and she was thugged out! 

   "Of course.  I would love to have lunch with you?"  Martha replied.

   Yep-this young thug pushed up on Martha Stewart, and not only got a date, but

also picked her up from her job daily to walk to lunch and eat with her.  We were all

shocked. Even more surprising, Martha seemed to enjoy the attention and the company.

When we would see them walking, Martha would be laughing hard.

   "Martha, what is up with your new friend.  She comes to pick you up faithfully.  You

are not turning gay, are you?"  I teased.

   "Of course not.  She is a nice girl, and she is funny.  She keeps me laughing and I

enjoy her company."  She answered. 

   Martha was not anybody's duck or bitch.  She was a boss to the core. 

   So what do women do in prison?

   First, I am going to have to break this thing down.  It is four levels of women that

co-exist in prison.

   Level one is the curious women, and the closet women who have never been in a

gay relationship, but have turnout potential.

  Level two is the turnout.  A turnout is a girl that is gay for the stay, and did not come

into the prison gay, but inside the walls entered into an intimate relationship with

another woman. 

  Level three is the wannabe gay women, or pretenders and commissary pimps.

This category is also where all the bi-sexual women from home fit in.  They

were not gay at home, and will push ten women out of the way to get to a real man. 

A lot of them have more babies than all of us.  Many women come in and see the

market for money, and then cut their hair and change their walk, etc.

These women get on my nerves.  Fakes!  When you see their pictures from the streets,

I never recognize them.

   "Which one is you?"  I ask all the time.

    The woman is standing in front of me, baldheaded, sagging pants, and a young man's

demeanor, but on the picture she has on full makeup, a wig, and six inch high heels.

Many of them are also strippers.  Commissary pimps either give head for commissary,

or just collect commissary and promise the girls that they will get faded later.

Most of them are clueless on what to do with a female. 

    My grandkids read my blog, so I will keep this clean.  However, my rule was if you

attempted to partake of my private parts, you could not have had a man in 10 years

before coming to prison.  Also, you had to be gay from the streets.  I was not playing

around with a bunch of amateurs.  Having sexually relations is a 205 shot.  A shot is

an incident report.  You are going to the SHU.  You are going to be embarrassed.  All

staff and inmates are going to know what you were doing and who you were doing it

with, and some staff will even call your family and let them know what you were

caught doing.  Some staff are messy too.

    So, it was NO way I was going to play games with an amateur.  All that drama, and

not get faded?  Absolutely not! 

   Level four was my type in prison.  Gay from the streets. Had lots of swagger.  Wore

men clothing, and had lots of experience with women. 

   I made a mistake of taking a few of them home, and that was a bad decision.

My advice to all prison closet queens and pillow princesses is WHAT IS DONE IN

PRISON, STAYS IN PRISON, for real.  Women that think they are men are the best picks

in prison, but on the streets they have some serious psychological problems. 

    Of course women know this when they meet them.   When men or women dress

cross-gender, you know that it may be some other issues, and women are no different.

    On to the actual relationships.

    Turnouts are like the song by the Whispers, "Olivia the slave, gave distracted all

the way, to grandmother's house- Lost and turned out!"

      It is confusing for many people.  What makes a woman that is totally against

homosexuality change their minds in the middle of a prison bid?

     The answer rests in the change of cultures.  It is to be noted, as I said earlier

prison has its own culture.  Some aspects of prison culture mirrors the streets, and

others does not.   Inside these prison walls, you learn to work with what you have.

It is the same principle as if you were stranded on an island. 

    Maybe when you first get to the island, you are accustomed to bathing, and using

toilet paper about going to the bathroom.  Eventually, you adjust to the island culture.

There is no toilet paper, so you use leaves.  There is no bed, so you sleep on the sand.

There is no towels to bath with, so you use your hands.  There is no beef, so you eat

what is available, and your diet drastically changes.  Prison is the same way. 

   Most people do adapt and some even adjust.  After a few weeks, your resolve begins

to adjust to your environment in many instances.  Some women do not venture into

gay relationships, and remain firm in their faith in the outside world. 

    As time goes on, what looked like the unthinkable in the beginning of your bid,

becomes conceivable for many.  Hormones also play a big part in why a woman opens

Pandora's's box and allows another to turn her out.  Just because a woman is in prison,

does not mean she looses her hormones.  I commend the women that I know that remain

"strictly dickly", and stand their ground.

      Once a turn out adapts, it is a total loss of control in many instances.  Oral sex,

or any kind of sex has a spiritual component.  Many women have a large percentage of

sensitive fibers in their private area.  Oral sex between two adults is intense, and it

is total concentration on that sensitive area.  Like crack, these sort of things are not

to be toyed with.  If the person knows what they are doing, then the receiver is in

trouble.  Life no longer makes sense.  The focus becomes gaining the feeling again

and again.  Many times, all reason goes bye bye, out the window.  With a turnout,

because it is new, many have a hard time adjusting their minds back to normal, so

they just go with the flow, and the flow is all that matters.  Women began to loose

weight, because food doesn't really matter.  Who needs food, when you have partaken

of the forbidden fruit, and living it?  Weight loss is one of the symptoms of a turn out.

   You think about the things that the strange girl has done to you.  You replay the

things that the forbidden girl has done to you.  Your body revels in the feeling and

aftermath of the way the girl handled you, and then you realize that you have to have

it done again, as soon as possible.  It becomes a way of living, and what you live for,

and its all consuming.  At home, you can get away from the person, pour yourself

into your work or your family, or go shopping.  In prison, you see that person again

and again.  It takes a few weeks minimum to get your bearings back, and get back

to your old self, at the least.  Sometimes it could take months. 

    Within the last five years, it has annoyed me that there is so many bisexual

women in prison.  It is common now for a woman to tell me that she has a man and

a girlfriend at home, and that they both know about each other.  In the era I came

up in, that was unheard of, and now it is the norm.  Bisexual to me means just plain

greedy, and a freak.  Pick a team!  Equally as annoying to me is the commissary pimps.

Have you no shame?  To me they are equal to the two dollar crack whores and pill

whores, and I have told a few of them that.  You fake a relationship for commissary

and even put your mouth on a woman's privacy for a few packs of Ramon noodles or

a cup-o-soup?  Get some standards!  This is really disgusting and its common.  This

is real, and I watch it daily. 

       I also know a few women that came into prison without that House In Virginia

(HIV), and then tested positive later because of being promiscuous, and changing

girls like they change their underwear.  That happens also.  One of the women I know

was also messing with a male officer.  Now that is a different story altogether- and

when she found out he died from AIDS she tried to have her family sue the prison.

Of course they told her that it was no way to determine that she'd contracted the

disease from the deceased officer, and her law suit was thrown out.  They said that

because she had also been involved in sexual relationships during the 14 years of

her serving time, she could have contacted it from any one of her partners. 

Testing is free.  It is good to know your status.  It is also good to know who you are

dealing with and implement some standards if that is what a woman decides to do

while in prison.  Today, I would not advise it, because the risks and the headaches

are too great. 

fb/rhondaturpin

Week 2, Episode three

Shakedown Time, Again

      Essie helped me carry all of my stuff to my two-man cell.  I was assigned a bottom
bunk, and was placed in the room with an inmate named May.   She was a few years
older than me, but seemed alright.  When I walked in the room, she was sitting on the
top bunk reading her bible.  We greeted each other, and made our introductions.
I noticed that she didn't have a T.V., a clock or a playout radio, so I assumed that she
was a short timer.  TV's are ordered from the Commissary.  They charge $250 for a
13 inch color T.V. that is not name brand, and that Wal-Mart's sells for under $100 bucks.
All these prison Commissaries have a monopoly going on.  You either pay the marked
up ridiculous price, or you do without.  I am not a T.V. lover, but I do like falling asleep
to the 10:00pm news nightly.  That was a habit that I brought from home.  My roommates
always reaped the benefit of my buying a T.V.  I love music.  That is something that I
enjoy daily, and another habit that carried over into prison life.  Marysville allowed you
to receive sundry boxes.  In each box your family was allowed to enclose five CDs.
You were also allowed to order five a month from Columbia Record Club and several 
other Clubs.  I ordered my allotted selection of five a month also.  I also paid top dollar
or double for any music that anyone else owned.  I quickly stacked up the biggest and
most diverse music collection in the prison.  Whenever it was a talent show or any type
of recreation or church event, the women came to me to borrow for their event.
     The first week in Arn-2 appeared to be uneventful.  That was in appearance only.
Many inmates are so overwhelmed with just getting through the moment, they do not
recognize the bigger picture, or the behind the scene activity of prison life.  I am an
expert at it, and things are never as they appear on the surface.  On the streets my
life depended on recognizing everything and all movement that was not obvious.
People that are up to something move in an unnatural way.  It may be the slightest
moment that you catch them looking back and forth at the door, or watching a window
repeatedly.  It is also in the body language, and a person must pay attention to keep
from being a sucker or a pawn.  I am neither.  My insight kept me alive and safe as
a solo female drug dealer, and it would surely keep me safe in a maximum security unit.
     I watched and I learned.
     Essie had 2 in-house workers she called her ducks  That was the first time I'd ever
heard that term used to identify females.  Phala and Lisa were her team.  Phala was
a short white girl, with reddish color hair and freckles.  Her nick-name was Chuckie,
because she looked exactly like the murderous Chuckie Doll that starred in the movie.
Lisa was a pretty white girl that looked like one of the brunette stars on Baywatch.
She had a southern drawl that gave her a girl-next-door aura.  It was a facade, of course,
but I liked Lisa instantly.  
      "Sweetie, I work laundry.  You don't want your clothes washed with everybody else's.
I am going to come pick up your clothes daily and wash them separate.  Phala will iron
them for you.  We charge $15.00 a month."  Lisa said.  
      "That's a good price.  How do I pay you, Commissary or the streets?  I asked.
     "Either way Sugar, I'm easy."  Lisa flirted.
     A few days later, Dino stormed in the unit, moving fast.
     "Hey Turpin, I got a lot of raw hamburger.  I beat for it and I need to get rid of it.  You
want some?"  She asked.
     "Naw, I don't cook in the microwave, but thanks."  I answered.
     Dino left back out the door with a package tucked under her arm wrapped in plastic
and a bath towel.  I was positive that it was a slab of hamburger that she was carrying.
She was employed at food service, and robbing them blind daily.  Two minutes after 
she'd went out the door, the Swat team stormed in, dressed in black.  The team was
about eight officers, diverse in gender and race.
     "Everybody out in the yard!  Now!  The lead officer yelled.
     The officers watched us closely as we single filed out of the unit, passing them.
     "What are they looking for?"  I asked Lisa.
     "Dino's roughish self has stolen the whole kitchen again, and they said somebody had
a razor last night."  Lisa explained.
     After 90 minutes, we were allowed to go back into the unit.  Before I walked in the
door, I saw Dino being escorted across the yard from the direction of the kitchen in 
handcuffs, flanked by two male officers.  
     Dino seemed unfazed.  
     She was a big girl.  Standing around 6 feet, and heavily muscled, the officers were
being walked across the yard, even with her in handcuffs in front of her.
     "Ray Ray!  Collect my shit for me.!  Dino yelled.
     Commissary day was coming up, and Dino ran a two-for-one store as well as an
extortion and protection ring.  
    Ray Ray was a little cutie and youngster that was ruthless.  I liked how she stayed to
herself in the unit, and moved in silence, never really saying much.  She sat  and ate
with her girl, and moved solely with her girl.  
     The Swat team trashed our rooms and the common areas.  I saw in the middle of the
floor as we walked in that they had found hamburger and lots of other kitchen contraband.
The food was terrible in the kitchen.  A few of the inmates in Arn-2 paid Dino to bring
food unprepared from the kitchen, and they prepared it themselves in the microwave.
Lisa had a cooking service also.  I quickly became a good paying customer for meals.
She charged also by the month, and would tell you what was on the menu each day.  
For more than a year, I frequented the kitchen once on Christmas holiday.  The food
was always some type of stew like stuff with very fancy names.  They would put a little
bit of meat, some canned vegetables, and a few fresh vegetables, in a sauce.  The
sauces were always different colors, but the ingredients looked the same.  The safest
meal was hotdogs or cold cuts, and I loved turkey bologna.  I did not eat the stews,
and they were served daily.  
     Although I was serving time for a white collar offense, I had been selling drugs, but
was not caught for that violation.  Don't get it twisted- I understand the feds indict
for behavior not charged.  I was eventually charged, and did serve time, so these words
are not law enforcement worthy.  Got that?!
     My connect was a good dude that does not exist in today's drug game.  He made
sure that my house note was paid, that my daughters were taken care of, and that
my books were stacked.  
    "Let me know if you need anything.  Send your daughter to pick up the money from
my company, and it will be taken care of immediately."  He was true to his word.
I never allowed my money to get low, and when he sent money, it was no less than
$500 at a time.  I stashed part of it each time for my release, gave anyone that was
doing anything for me some cash, and then had the balance put in my Commissary
account.  Prison is very expensive.  Usually, inmates depend on their families or other
loved ones to support them if they are lucky.  Prison jobs do not pay.  Under the 
United States Constitution, and Amendment 13, if a citizen is convicted of a crime, 
they do not have the right to be paid for their labor.  The top paying jobs paid $24.00
a month.  Most people received between $5.00 and $12.00 a month.  The Commissary
items are all overpriced.  $12.00 a month barely covered shampoo, soap and toothpaste.
Forget about conditioner or food items.  I made sure that I gave back regularly, since
life had been good to me.  I always made sure I bought extra cosmetics and gave them
to women that were struggling.  I would not take anything but a thank you, and did not
want them speaking to me either.  I did not give for recognition.  I could not imagine
being abandoned by your family and friends, and then having to make a meager $12.00
a month last the entire month.  I also live my life by universal principles.  What goes
around comes back around, and because I made sure I gave, I always had everything I
needed or wanted, except for my freedom.  
       One of the officers yelled Ray Ray's name as she reached the door of her room.
When one of them approached her, she pulled out a razor taped to something that she
must have had on her.  Things were about to get very ugly.
      "Put the razor down."  The officer ordered.
     "Get the fuck away from me and out of my room!"  Ray Ray yelled.
I watched Ray Ray slam her door in the officer's faces, locking herself in.  We all stood
at our doors to watch the showdown.  Although Ray Ray was small in statute, they were
not anxious to run in there on her.  They were originally calling her to cart her to the
hole for whatever they found in her room.  She knew it, and was not going to the SHU
without a fight.  
     "Go to your rooms and secure your doors!"  One of the officers yelled.
     We did, but remained glued to the door window to watch the action.  Ray Ray held
them off for at least twenty minutes.  When they finally carried her out, she was 
bleeding across her stomach, and one of the officers was unsuccessfully holding his
bleeding arm.  Ray Ray was laughing and still wilding out.
     She reached over and punched a female officer in the head.
     "I fucked ya'll up!"  Ray Ray bragged.
     Although she was out-numbered, she looked like the victor, and the officers seemed
afraid.  Her girlfriend yelled and kicked on the door.
      "You better not hurt her!  I love you Ray Ray!  I'll write you!"  
      Ray Ray heard her and smiled as the officers roughly moved her body through the
doorway of Arn 2.
     As I stated previously, the life of a prisoner is a completely different set of norms
and customs from outside society.  There are many spoken and unspoken rules to doing
time. Some get it, and others miss it.  The ones that miss it willingly or unwillingly
becomes somebody's bitch or duck.  The number one rule is to never let anyone disrespect
you or call you out without checking it.  That extends to men's prisons also.   Some of 
the rules expand to both genders, and others do not.  I have spoken to many males that
have served time.  There is a major difference in the sexual climate of males.  Men are
aggressive.  There is a need for a king of the jungle, and the male prison setting is definitely
a jungle.  The first test in a men's prison is to see if you are able to protect your manhood.
Many men that I talked to throughout the years lost the battle.  Some recovered, and others
did not.  A few liked their salad being tossed, and are currently down low brothers.  It is
thousands of them throughout the country, living normal lives, and pretending as if they
like the opposite sex, but lusting psychologically to be controlled and sodomized.  What a
farce!  I can't stand that when I see it!  Pick a team, and stay on it, greedy!!!  
     Women prisoners generally do not rape other women.  There has been few blanket
parties, and even a forced penetration with a broom stick, where things got rough.  
     A blanket party is where you catch the person by surprise, and then as they walk by,
you throw a blanket over their head and start wailing their body with your fist.  Usually, there
are at least three perpetrators punching the inmate under the blanket.  In state prison, 
blanket parties are used for resident snitches and child molesters.  I have never seen a
child molester charged alone.  There is always a man co-defendant attached to that crime.
What makes a woman want to be a duck or somebody's's bitch?  Stay tuned for next week,
and I will show how it goes down......