My First Sentence.
When I was 18-years-old, I went to prison for the first time in 1993 for a robbery. I was sentenced to a year at a California State Prison in Tracy, called Deuel Vocational Institution; “DVI”. It had a well-known reputation in the 70-80’s for its fights and homicides. They called it “Gladiator School”. It shut down in 2021, but back in the day, if you went to this prison, there was a rule that no matter what, you would have to get involved. It didn't matter who you were, what gang you belonged to, or what your beliefs were. I was coming in during the cusp of that era, so things were getting a little better, but it was still very rough. Prior to getting sent to DVI, I had already spent eight months in the Los Angeles County Jail, and they say if you can make it through LA County Jail, you can survive any prison. So, I felt prepared when I arrived at DVI.
When you first get to prison, you are sent to orientation for approximately ten days. You are placed on a modified program, in a special building that is dedicated to new fish. Everyone coming into prison for the first time goes there and waits until the counselor reviews your case and ranks you with the point system we discussed before. While in this building, you are handcuffed and escorted any time you leave your cell. After the counselor clears you, you are then moved from this special orientation building and placed into general population. Once you are situated, you will no longer be escorted everywhere you go.
On the day I got cleared, everyone else on my tier got cleared. There was maybe 16-20 of us. At that specific time, there were some things going on amongst the inmates; a race war. The first day in general population, some guys from my own race gave us new guys a heads-up, telling us that when we get called for dayroom and as soon as the doors open, there was going to be a war. And, if we didn't stand up for ourselves and do something, we would be attacked. They handed us each a prison manufactured weapon, and said do what you gotta do, and wished us luck. When that door opened for dayroom, we all came out of our cells, and we’re looking around, trying to be aware. We were all searching for our enemies, not knowing why, or who the enemies were. We had no clue what was going on. Within five seconds, chaos begins and guys are fighting and stabbing one another. The correctional officers start shouting, “Get down. Get down.”
All I remember were the sounds of gunshots and smoke bombs going off, and everyone dropping to the ground. In prison, you will see these warning signs on the walls that say, “WARNING: No Warning Shots Will Be Fired.” Once the smoke cleared and the chaos settled, everyone got right back up and started attacking one another. This time around, when the gunshots rang out, I was lying on the ground and once the smoke cleared, I saw this guy laid out almost face to face with me, with his head half blown off by a correctional officer. This was my intro to prison. I was scared as hell, but excited. This was really happening.
Each time I would go to prison, it was only for about a year at a time, so it only felt like a slap on the wrist. I would just get caught up in prison life; gambling, getting into fights and trying to make a name for myself. Whenever I would be let out, I would hit the streets even harder than before, back to the grind. I felt like I had earned some stripes going in, and I was getting the respect and hood fame I was looking for.
Life was getting harder though. I often found myself waking up alone in a hotel room from a drug binge, strung out on heroin after spending ten days straight getting high and partying. My family was worried about me, and would offer to give me a room and a job, but as a 20-year-old man, the idea of needing help was embarrassing. People looked up to me, and so I would lie, pretending I was doing well. But I wasn't. I hated this shit. My friends were dying, and I was so sick of it all. Each day I was hoping I would be killed. When I'd reach rock bottom, I would take a break from drinking and drugs and come up with some money. Then I would spiral downward again after another binge, and this was a continous cycle. The only thing that was consistent in my life was the struggle, and it was getting exhausting.
Unfortunately, it took me a very long time to learn my lesson, and I would continue to make these mistakes until I was well into my early 30s.