Charles Norman writes about Christmas in prison from the perspective of someone who has spent 48 years behind bars—long enough to have seen nearly everything the system has to offer, including the rare moment when a hallway full of hardened inmates stops arguing about drugs long enough to sing Christmas carols together.
This “protection” wing is the noisiest, most disrespectful bunch of inmates I’ve ever seen.
Wednesday—midnight—and at least a dozen fools were screaming at each other down the hallway, arguing and accusing one another of stealing drugs, bad debts, and lies. No sleeping. Louder than the zoo. At other prisons that level of noise would provoke guards to take action, but not here at Tomoka.
Something that amused me: Wing 3 has 19 cells and 37 inmates, and while they were yelling and insulting each other, another dozen or so idiots were arguing about who was the worst drug addict.
One man on the wing said, “Everybody on this wing is a junkie and does drugs, except for Mr. Norman.”
I laughed. Something everyone can agree on—I’m different.
I am 30 or 40 years older than most of them, and they give me a lot of respect. As usual, I am the final arbiter of their senseless arguments. Lots of misinformation. I have to bite my tongue.
“Ten years ago the Russians landed on Mars and are building a city.”
No.
“Bill Gates and Steve Jobs put chips in the COVID-19 vaccine, and a secret government satellite is tracking everyone.”
No. Steve Jobs died long before the virus appeared.
And on and on and on. (No TVs in “protective custody.”)
I’m writing this on Friday. They won’t pick up the snail mail until Sunday night; it won’t go out until Monday. So perhaps I will pick this back up tomorrow. Hopefully Libby will get my letter Wednesday or so, and you’ll get this by Christmas Day.
Good night. Sleep tight. Pray that the fools go to bed early.
A Dry Yard
Sunday morning, 9:37 a.m. All quiet on the E-Dorm, Wing 3 Front.
The boys are disappointed. No drugs for sale.
Inmates from other dorms—not in lockup—walk by the outside of Wing 3, and the ones inside yell to their friends outside:
“Send me some soap.”
“Call my mom.”
“Tell so-and-so to yell at me.”
You can’t help but hear them—they yell.
Yesterday the big topic on the yard was that it is DRY—there are no drugs to be purchased on the whole compound.
I can’t help but think that rogue officer T. Redding has had to suspend her smuggling activities. There’s big heat on her—they’re watching her. Consequently, the compound supply has taken a hit. At the same time, the “Donald Trump” $1,200 stimulus checks are arriving, and the dopeheads have money to burn.
The prison inspectors are investigating, but she is still working. They haven’t been able to catch her.
A sergeant told me last month, “We know who is doing it, but we can’t catch them. They have places to hide drugs that we can’t search.”
Christmas Carols in Lockup
So it was a quiet Saturday night. I felt pensive—it’s Christmas.
Last year I got several Christmas songs on my tablet and listened to carols for weeks, but not this year. A couple of guys recite crude rap verses down the hall. You can hear everything—people talking in a cell down the hall—and we have a couple of country boys who try to sing George Jones and others.
I wondered how much of “Jingle Bells” I could remember, so I took my turn:
“Dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open sleigh,
O’er the hills we go, laughing all the way…”
I didn’t realize how quiet it had become until I got to:
“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way,
Oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh…hey!”
First one voice joined in, then another, and another.
I repeated the “Jingle Bells” chorus, and more of the wing joined in, laughing like crazy—yelling, but not about drugs.
“Yo, Mr. Norman, you know any more?”
Did I? Of course.
I wondered if anyone knew “O Come All Ye Faithful.”
“O come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant,
O come ye, o come ye to Bethlehem…
Come and adore him…”
Then the junkies joined in and started clapping. It was fun.
“Silent Night” came next.
“Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright…”
It got quiet. I was surprised how many knew most of the verses.
Later on two men down the hall were talking about the lack of drugs. One commented on how good he felt being “clean,” with no drugs for a few days.
Hooray.
It’s too good to last. Too much loose money around. Someone else will pick up the slack, and the air will stink again. People will overdose.
An evil place.
’Nuff said.
