Prison Brotherhood: Finding Loyalty and Respect Behind Bars at Trenton State Prison

In 1998, I arrived at Trenton State Prison to begin a 50 year sentence, 30 years without the possibility of parole for the fatal car accident that I caused in 1996.

To a 22-year old kid, beginning a 30-year sentence is the equivalent of a life sentence. While I was frightened, I walked in with my head up, ready to face my new life.

The first person that I met was Kenneth “Demon” Smith. He was about 35 with long blond hair, faded bluejeans, and a tank top. He appeared outside the bars of my cell and handed me a rolled up paper bag. He told me not to borrow anything from anybody and the stuff in the bag was a gift that did not have to be returned. The only caveat was the instruction that if and when I was able, to do the same for someone else. He then asked me my name, how old I was, how long did I have, and when I came down (to prison). I told him: Pat Pantusco, 22, 30 years, and I just came from CRAF (Central Reception and Assignment Facility). He asked, Italian? I nodded, then he shook my hand and said he’d be back.

I looked in the bag after he left and found: 2 packs of Bugler rolling tobacco, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a pair of shower shoes, soap, deodorant, a metal cup, a metal bowl, a pair of jeans, and a few books of matches. I rolled the bag back up without taking anything out (guys in the county warned that everything in prison had strings attached).

A few minutes later, a guy with an olive complexion appeared outside of my cell introducing himself as Sonny. He said: Bobby wants to meet you, stop by his cell when they call out mess: cell 9 on the flats (I was on the third tier).

When they called mess, my cell door popped open, and I stood there as a parade of men walked by my cell. I noticed that while I received a few sideways glances as men walked by, no one actually looked at me. When the catwalk was clear, I stepped out of my cell closing the door behind me. Then the CO (corrections officer) pushed the break and locked all of the doors.

As I walked down the stairs, I saw Sonny speaking with Demon at the bottom. When I arrived,  Demon said “I’ll see ya later Pat” and walked away. Sonny reminded me Bobby was waiting for me. I walked down the tier to cell 9 and looked in to find a little old guy in his 60s who kind of reminded me of my grandfather. He looked up at me and said: “Next time, knock on the bars and wait for an answer, I could’ve been taking a shit.”

I laughed nervously, but nodded that I understood. He asked where I was from and what I was convicted of, (no one ever asks what you did, it’s always what were you convicted of). I told him I was from Washington Township, Bergen County and I was convicted of felony murder for a car accident.

He looked at me over the top of his glasses and said, “Don’t lie to me!” I told him I wasn’t, and he nodded. He pushed his cell door open and actually gave me a light slap on the side if my head. He said, “That’s from your father. Now go eat. Sonny will show you around.”

I asked Sonny who Bobby was, and learned he was Robert “Cabert” Bisaccia, a reputed member of Italian organized crime. Within a week, Bobby had put the word out that there was a “hands off” policy on “the kid,” meaning — don’t involve me with any dirt, and nothing happens without his okay. He also had the men that worked in the ILA (Inmate Legal Association), Gary Messina, and paralegals in the law library (including Richard Kuklinski “The Ice Man”) helping me to research my case and work on my appeal.

Everyone was sure I would get a reversal. While I spent most of my time in the law library, I also enjoyed working out in the yard. I was folded into the Italian crew in the weight pile, with Vito, Big Pauly, Little Pauly, Angel, and Mikey. Working out on the bench next to us was Spider, Dingus, Griz, Stony, Demon, Darryl Pits, and the rest of PBB. Other than Little Pauly, Spider and Dingus were the only guys around my age in Trenton, and we hung out a bit, but PBB mostly stuck with themselves.

About a year after I arrived, I witnessed an awe-inspiring moment in the mess hall. Waiting at the exit cage, a guy pulled out a shiv (jailhouse knife) and attacked Spider. As soon as the attack began, Spider returned the assault and, without hesitation, Dingus ran over to assist Spider and together they dealt with the guy who initiated the incident. That level of loyalty garnered my utmost respect.

When Spider returned to population after serving time in the ” hole” and ad seg (Administrative Segregation), I approached him about the possibility of prospecting PBB. While I was well known, and well liked, he reminded me Bobby had instituted a “hands off policy” on me, and out of respect for him, it could not happen. Our friendship was solid, but would remain just that.

I left Trenton for Rahway in 2002, and while I was known for being around Bobby, by then I had also garnered my own reputation for being stand up, and if need be, taking care of business. Although I always attempted to resolve disputes peacefully, sometimes things needed to be done. I kept in touch with Bobby until his death a few years later in federal prison.

When I met up with Spider again, our friendship was as strong as ever, and I spoke with him about missing out on that bond of brotherhood that he shares with Dingus and the others. Not long after, we discussed the commitment prospecting PBB would entail, and I accepted. Within a year, I had earned my Patch, and had a great bunch of brothers. Men that I will forever love and respect.

While I found brotherhood, over the years, some chapters deviated from that founding mission of PBB and went wayward leading many brothers to “retire” disenchanted over what their club had become. In 2016, all chapter Presidents, myself included, and all active members, unanimously voted to close our books to new prospects, and for all intents and purposes, disband. After 30 years, PBB had officially reached the end of an era of peace through brotherhood.