THE WARDEN; A CHAPTER OF THE FUTURE NOVEL, "THE COs", BY PROFESSOR LAMONT FLANAGAN

THE WARDEN; by; Professor LaMont Flanagan; Juris Doctorate

{A chapter of a future fiction novel written for television entitled, "The COs"}

The Warden arrived at the city jail at approximately eleven o’clock to assume authority and command of an institution that did not desire to be an entity of the state and recalcitrant municipal employees who did not desire to be state employees. He was instructed by the Governor to meet the Superintendent of the State Police at the state police trailer, which was set up as a command center for operations.?Prior to accessing the street where the state police were staging their command, he decided to circle the blocks that surrounded the buildings which made up the city jail like water around an island. The midnight sky held a full moon that lit up the city like a giant light bulb and he could see the massive six buildings that made up the city jail rising from the ground like pyramids.

As he gazed at the buildings, he could not stop thinking about the 30,000 persons who make the monstrous structures their homes annually. He often commented to people that inmates were like Duracell batteries; they keep coming and coming. What baffled him was the fact that the city jail was not a physically pleasant environment since it was the oldest jail in America in current use. It was made of brick and mortar with steel cells to ensure the presence of its occupants. It resembled the prisons displayed on television and in the movies, with hard concrete floors, and cement walls. The hallways were sterile, lacking any epicurean appeal and the ceilings seems to capture sound in endless time. Unlike the new jails erected throughout Maryland with modern dormitories espousing the direct supervision model by correctional personnel, it had no personality. It represented the epoch of punishment, and its architectural design was intimidating as well as intolerable. Razor wire adorned the perimeters of all the buildings as the final line of defense against the ingenious criminal predators attempting to subvert the jail’s security systems.

As he turned away from the buildings to reenter his vehicle, he was distracted by noises of human voices emanating from the stone structures. He pondered, was it an escape, a breakout, or a riot in the making? The city jail was well known for inmate insurrections and certainly for lax security which enabled the inmates to escape. The sounds of human voices became more prevalent, and his pondering became more intense because as a public safety official it would be obligatory for him to prevent an escape from any facility in the State of Maryland. In anticipation of the worst, he slowly moved his right hand to his waist, carefully caressing the thirty-eight police special Smith and Wesson revolver he carried for personal protection. The palms of his hands began to sweat, and he knows that each split second drew him closer to the point where he would have to decide to utilize his firearm for the first time in his career. He did not feel nervous, but numb at the prospect of shooting someone to prevent an escape.

As the voices became more distinct, he began to discern shadows of several individuals departing from one of the buildings with large plastic bags of property slung over their shoulders. In a sign of relief, he realized that the individuals were inmates being released from the city jail because of making bail. He recalled reading a report drafted by the transition team overseeing the assumption of the city jail to the State which indicated that inmates were released at any hours of the night to ease the overcrowding of the jail.

Observing these scores of inmates descending the steps of the jail at 11:45 at night to reenter the community they violated was to the Warden like allowing the fox in the hen house when the hens were asleep. He felt that the release process at such a late hour was in jeopardy to public safety and decided that the practice would cease when the State assumed ownership within the next fifteen minutes. He observed the young men rushing past him to catch the city bus clutching their bags and squeezing the bus tokens given to them by the jail personnel. He could not help for notice that all the young men were African American.

The consistency and pervasiveness of their color prompted him to think about a recent article he read in the magazine, The City Journal. The article was entitled,” High Incarceration Rate of Blacks Is The Function of Crime, Not Racism,” authored by an urban intellectual known as Heather Mac Donald. In the article, MacDonald espouses the tender issue of race and crime. According to Heather MacDonald, the black incarceration rate is overwhelmingly a function of Black crime. Insisting otherwise only worsens black alienation and further defers a real solution to the Black crime problem. Racial activist usually remains silent about that problem.”

He ponders about the data presented by MacDonald, which is quite convincing and serves as a foundation of the thesis that Black crime and black incarceration are a marriage that is intertwined and dependent on one another. He sympathizes with MacDonald because he is on the front line in the community and inside the walls, and the most pressing social problem besetting the Afro-American community is a crime. From his experience and perspective, the walls of every prison are cemented with Black men who have committed crimes in the Black community perpetrated upon Black people. Contemplating the negative social environment that Black people are compelled to exist in because of Black-on-Black crime, he was very sympathetic to MacDonald and her perspective on racial crime. He recalled one specific piece of data that weighed on his mind like a headstone on a grave.

MacDonald stated very succinctly,” In 2005, the black homicide rate was more than seven times higher than that of whites and Hispanics combined according to the Federal Bureau of Justice Statistics. From 1976 to2005, Black people committed more than 52% of all murders in America. In 2006, the black arrest rate for most crimes was nearly two to three times the black representation in the population. Black people constituted 39.3% of all violent crime arrests, including 56.3% of all robbery and 34.3% of all aggravated assault arrests. and 29.4% of all property crime arrests,” according to the article.

The article by Heather Mac Donald had a profound effect on his perspective of the criminal justice system; a system he abetted and maintained. He admitted to himself that his perception of the average criminal was compatible with the perception of most Americans, a minority and a member of a low socioeconomic class. His self-admission of stereotyping was supported by the fact that throughout his thirty years of correctional experience the bulk of inmates in every jail or prison was non-white and the victims were non – whites.

As his thoughts dwindled like water going down a drain, the exuberant group of young Black men passed by him full of glee and joy. Happiness paved their passage to freedom and to the haven of their respective neighborhoods. The burden of hauling their personal belongings in plastic garbage bags likened them to an urban Santa Claus or more descriptively, junk men carrying the urban artifacts of the streets to later be sold to scrap metal yards. Watching them, he could not help pondering the future of these rejects of the Maryland penal system.

During their exhilaration from the confines of brick and mortar were national statistics guaranteeing their eventual return to the penal system. He knew their presence in the street tonight was a rare instance, in their life cycle because the recidivism rate in Maryland was at fifty percent. He had recently attended a conference of the American Society of Criminology and the entire agenda of the conference was dedicated to the topic of race and incarceration. He recalled that most of the seminars focused on the role of drugs, race, ethnicity, and gender in higher incarceration rates. Diverse criminologists associated the increment in incarceration among Black people, Hispanics, and Women with the War on Drugs led by Presidents Reagan, Bush, and Clinton.

As a steady stream of Black men passed him like a July 4th parade, he could not resist the temptation of engaging in dialog with them. He did not want to seem intrusive nor raise any suspicion among them, so he quickly removed his necktie and opened the collar of his shirt to appear as a brother hanging in the hood. To attract their attention, he opened a pack of cigarettes and placed one behind his ear and the other in his mouth for bait. He knew from experience that inmates cherished smokes and were always looking for a freebie. He also knew that to legitimize himself, he had to speak in their language and tried desperately to remember some of the words or phrases that inmate dialogue encompassed. He was thinking so hard, that his mind became blank, but by the time the first inmate came upon him, he was able to muster the right greeting. “Hey, Money, What Up,” blurted the Warden in a very down-to-earth tone.

The inmate looked at the Warden, who was about thirty-nine years his senior but had a streetwise profile, and responded in a respectful fashion.

?“Word, I’m chillin,” he said while eyeing the lit cigarette that was protruding from the Warden’s mouth like a street sign on a corner and shining like brimstone in the darkness of the night.

?He continued, never taking his craving eyes off the cigarette. “Can I get one of those cancer sticks?”

?The Warden was exhilarated at the prospect that he had made a contact, but he did not display any emotion for fear of exposing that his streetwise posture was a character fabrication, so he responded immediately to the inmate’s request.

Flicking the ashes off his cigarette like he was doing a Marlboro commercial, the Warden took a long draft and puffed out rings of smoke that formed miniature clouds in the crisp night atmosphere and said, “I guess so, it’s a Camel, and you know they’re pretty strong.”

The inmate smiled at the Warden, stretched out his hands, and replied, “Brother Man, after being in that joint, I’ll chew tobacco if you give it to me.”

?“Is it that bad in there or are you just homesick for the hood?” inquired the Warden.

“Both,” replied the inmate while taking deep drags from the cigarette and savoring the strong aroma of smoke. He continued responding to the Warden’s question by saying, “I miss my girl, but anything else I can get inside the walls for a decent price; drugs, liquor, food, and weapons are for bid inside the jail and the vendors aren’t inmates.?The COs make their extra pay by selling anything you want for the right price. One of my rap brothers is a big-time drug dealer and needed protection from a rival dealer. He arranged for a CO to bring him a gun and a box of bullets. It cost him a grand, but he still livin’ and can deal with any negative action coming toward him. Word man, I spent thirty-two days in that rat hole and just made bail. This freak, I met inside the walls bailed me out and now I am going to crash at her crib for a while until I get my program straight. She is a CO in that hell hole, and I am waiting for her to get off so we can go to her crib.”?

The Warden was surprised and shocked at the prospect that correction officers were fraternizing with inmates. Having any kind of relationship with inmates was prohibited and was grounds for immediate dismissal. Correction officers and inmates were supposed to be like water and oil, with no mixing at all. The Warden shielded his amazement and displeasure with a question that he already had the answer to. Opening another pack of cigarettes and offering them to the group of inmates like candy on a dish, the Ward said, “Brother Man, do you mean to tell me that you pulled one of those female guards and made the freak your woman?”?

The inmate reached for one of the Warden’s cigarettes and with a burst of pride responded in the affirmative. “Word man, this freak latched on to me like a bee on honey and all I did was to give her a little verbal encouragement after her man dumped her for another freak. She brought me all the pleasures of life; food from home; the latest cuts on the radio; a video machine for the latest flicks; and gave me all the ass I desired. In fact, the jail was a real resort for me, and I do not mind going back since my lady will take care of all my needs”.

The Warden was anxious to hear more and decided to become more intimate with the inmate. “Brother Man, I cannot believe all of this takes place in jail. Man, what is your name; you are the man to know around here.”?

“Blood, my name is Understanding Allah, he blurted with a burst of pride.

“Understanding Allah, where did you get that name,” asked the Warden with a puzzled look on his face. He wanted to laugh, but he held the laughter because he did not want to insult the brother. “Are you a Muslim, Orthodox, or Nation of Islam?”?

“Naw Brother Man, I am no Muslim, I am a Five Percenter. You never heard of them”?

“The Five Percenters, no I’ve never heard of them,” said the Warden while laughing and stroking Understanding on the back. “Who are they?”

“Who are they, Brother Man, you talk like a white man,” mimicked Understanding while reciprocating the backstroke on the Warden. “The Five Percenters are a group of brothers out of New York who were once members of the Nation of Islam under the Honorable Elijah Muhammad but separated and started a new religion where every Blackman is a God. They are called Five Percenters due to their belief that while the white population at large are all “blue-eyed devils” most of the Black people are little better. Eighty-five percent of the Black people themselves are “Uncle Toms” or “hopeless cattle,” they exploit the whole Negro population by joining hands with the white power structure as social workers, postal employees, businessmen, or professionals.?Only five percent are the “poor righteous teachers” who follow the true God and will end the exploitation. They alone are militant and just enough to redress the grievances against ill-treatment by the white community.”

The Warden was impressed with Understanding’s articulate dialog and wanted to convey his feelings. “Brother, you sound like Farrakhan or Jesse Jackson when you speak,” he blurted. His compliment sent Understanding’s ego soaring like a bird and the other men in the crowd heaped praises upon him also. He continued the adulation; “You are a born leader, why haven’t you used your GOD-given talents to help yourself and help others?”

?Understanding rolled his eyes at the Warden in a rickety-split manner. He did not like the question, so he decided not to respond, but the Warden persisted.

?“Tell me, what is the deal with you??Why are you wasting your time and talents in places like this when you could be helping others stay out of jail? ”?Understanding continued to ignore the Warden, but was becoming a little embarrassed because he noticed the Warden had the attention of the other men, but the Warden kept the pressure on. “Come on man; tell me what your game is.”

Understanding was visibly irritated now and could not resist the verbal badgering anymore. His light-colored complexion had evolved into a flush red and there were lines embedded in his forehead like railroad tracks from the stress imposed by the Warden. He gazed at the Warden with a sense of humiliation but secured his manly pride with a response pregnant with integrity but menacing. “Me and my people got busted for some guns.”

“You say that some guys got busted for guns?” inquired the Warden

“Yeah, it was like three guns, two of the guns came back down here.”

Camouflaging his skepticism, the Warden pursued the conversation like a bloodhound on a fox hunt. “How do you know that they were the same guns?”

Understanding smiles and nods his head incessantly while talking. “You can look at a gun, you know a gun. We had guns every day out there with us. It got the tape around it. You know certain things wrong with it. They were our guns, yep, they were our guns. With the serial number scratched off, oh yes, they were our guns. Those same two guys -- well, they got locked up with three guns -- two of those guns were put right back down on the streets because they came right back down there. Yep, came right back down there.”

The Warden wipes his brow in disbelief and his emotions are no longer camouflaged but incommunicable. Although what he is hearing is inconceivable to him or any other law enforcement officer, he beckons for more with another question. Looking directly into Understanding’s black miniature shark-like eyes, he asks the unthinkable; “do you think or are you saying the police are selling guns?”?

There is a burst of cynical laughter among the men from the Warden’s question except for Understanding. He is staring at the Warden with an expression of mockery coupled with anger. He feels like recycled garbage in a criminal justice system that snatches your manhood and castrates your mind, but he responds to the Warden.

“They had to. You see, they might catch somebody else, like with the gun, and take their drugs. Like you get on the bad foot -- like getting on the bad side with the police, right, he catches somebody, like he will come over here, catch you with a whole bunch of drugs but, I am on those police bad sides, right. He will take the drugs, and let you go, and then come all the way down on my strip and plant it, and find it, and say “that is yours, and locks me the fuck up. Straight like that, ain’t shit you could do, and everybody looks at you like you are guilty. They say you innocent until proven guilty.”?Pointing to the jail, he had just forsaken his home, he summed up his bitterness. ”?You are guilty until proven innocent in this motherfucker.”?

The Warden was in a stupor from Understanding’s comments, but also felt a sense of enlightenment. He knew police officers accepted free meals and movie passes, but gunrunning was mind-boggling. He wanted more and solicited Understanding for more information with a steady barrage of questions like a prosecutor.

?“Where do all the guns come from? Where do you think they come from? Do people go to the store and go buy a gun? Most guns come from where?”

Understanding pauses for a second but mimics like a parrot.

“White people. Military,” he says emphatically.

“Military,” sighs the Warden.

He nods. “When they go to the army, they stockpile and steal. I know people who got AK A's, M16s, s and unbelievably, flame throwers”.

Laughing as if he just heard a joke, the Warden said,” Flame throwers, why in the hell would someone need a flame flower “? I served in the Army and flame throwers were only used to smoke people out of caves or destroy weapons. They are very unreliable.”

“Why are they unreliable and dangerous”?

“Yeah, why are they so dangerous”? The other inmates inquired in a chorus.

“Well, if you allow me to complete my sentence, I will tell you, said the Warden with smites of arrogance.” Flame throwers are no longer used by modern militaries.”

“Why,” someone blurted

“Man, shut the hell up and let me enlighten you “.

“Yeah, man, shut the hell up and learn something you do not know,” someone blurted.

The Warden finally had their attention,” Flame throwers are very heavy, and the weapon limits the mobility of the person carrying them. They have a short-range and can only be utilized for a short while until the fuel is used.”

“Hey Warden, how long?” asked Understanding

“About seven seconds”

“Seven seconds, you got to be shitting me.”

“No, I am not shitting you, the max time is seven seconds”

“Why, so a brief time”

“The fuel burns quickly, and the user becomes a target”

“What do you mean?”

“Any damage to the fuel tank of a flamethrower makes the user very vulnerable”

“What does vulnerable mean?”

“Risk, the user faces the real possibility of burning to death from any ignition source.”

“Why would he burn to death?”

“Because fire is a weapon that can easily spread. If the wind changes, the fire or smoke can harm the user and the troops.”

The inmates looked at each other in amazement and then one of them blurted, “Man, we can use that weapon.”

The Warden gasped, “Why would you need a flame thrower “?

“We can take over blocks and blocks within BMORE. The threat of burning their ass up will have those niggers surrounding like the Japs after the Americans dropped the atomic bomb.”

“Oh, you want to use it as a weapon of intimidation?”

“You damn right,” intimidate, bully, frighten, and scare the shit out of them.”

Biography

Commissioner La Mont Flanagan is the CEO of 695 ENTERTAINMENT, which is an artist production, music publishing, and video production company specializing in diverse genres of music from Hip Hop to Pop, R&B, Gospel, and Latin. La Mont Flanagan is the former Commissioner of Corrections, Division of Pretrial Detention, State of Maryland. During his tenure, the Commissioner interacted with and engaged with the criminal underworld of Baltimore City and shadowed their culture's values. The Trailer, 'ALL OR NOTHING B'MORE manifests the personal struggles of the society of the HAVE NOTS.

695 ENTERTAINMENT has placed songs in the HBO series: BAD GIRLS' and the NETFLIX new hit series Bloodline.' 695 ENTERTAINMENT is currently producing the first episode of a Reality Show about four men rising from the riot-torn Baltimore(CHARM) City's debacle and confronting depression, discontent, poverty, arrest, and incarceration. The Trailer has been submitted to the Japanese Film Festival in competition for lucrative production/distribution awards. 695 ENTERTAINMENT will also produce the soundtrack to accompany the film series.

In the entertainment arena, along with his music mentor, Nathaniel Jones, the Commissioner has produced videos and music that have been acclaimed on NETFLIX, National Geographic, and HBO. 695 ENTERTAINMENT has acquired several publishing deals because of its outstanding music production.

Aside from the entertainment business, Commissioner Flanagan is currently an Adjunct Full Professor at the University of Maryland, Global, specializing in criminal justice and legal studies. Professor Flanagan has published several articles featured on the academic sites, Research Quest, Academia, Federal Probation Quarterly, and the University of Maryland Law Journal Margins.

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