"I KILL YOU, MAN ... I KILL YOU ..."

THE MEXICAN FURY ...

No account of my time in jail would be complete without a story about Mendez, the Mexican. He acted like he owned the place, as if M pod was his domain, and we were his. Welcome to my pod, bitches!

I met him on the first day in M pod, during dinner, on day 12.

I took my dinner tray and then looked around the pod. I didn’t know where to sit, and I looked confused. Luckily someone came to my rescue. He pointed out an open seat. The pod could hold 32 people, but there were 28 when I came in. Once you take a seat that seat becomes yours for the duration of your stay. It’s important not to make the mistake of sitting in someone else’s seat. So I took my seat and started eating. The person next to me, a Mexican guy, asked about my cookie. "You want that cookie, man?" I said, yes, I wanted it - but he replied “Yeah, but I want it too, man”. I was not sure how to take that, but luckily the guy next to me (Bickers) said “leave it him alone - he’s new”. He just laughed and let the matter drop. That was my first introduction to Mendez, the Mexican. He was trying to assert his status as the Alpha male.

I almost came to like him, even though he was not really very likable. He had a belligerent attitude, but never went all the way. It was more as if he was always testing the limit of how far he could go, or how much he could intimidate. He played chess and generally won every game. He also drew and was rather talented. He particularly liked drawing wolves and his cell was full of drawings he had done.

Notice that all the tables have a chessboard! If not watching TV, people either read or played chess or cards. I thought the chessboard on the table the perfect metaphor, given the circumstances. It’s as if the chessboard was screaming back at me, saying, “sir, you are in check! What is your next move?”

I used to be a passionate chess player, having learned the game when I was about 14. The Bobby Fischer craze in the 70s, made chess popular. I think I was as much attracted to the man as I was to chess. I had learned the game back in Georgia when I was about 14 years old. I played my mother a few times, and she lost very ungraciously. She refused to play any longer, saying that my style of playing “lacked finesse” because all I ever did was take her pieces! But mother dear, that’s part of the rules. There’s even a French phrase for it: it’s called “en prise” when your piece is just sitting there unprotected. Of course I’m going to take it. I’m just a boy of 14. I don’t care about “finesse”; I just care about winning!

I pursued my new chess hobby after we moved to Louisiana, the chess club being one of the few things I liked in my high school, with encouragement from a math teacher there. I used to help him grade math papers. I had a chess book - Bobby Fischer Teaches Chess - which I had as a constant companion in the 70s. But, true to form, during an argument with my mother, she grabbed my book and ripped it in half to “teach me a lesson”. I don’t know what that lesson was meant to be. There was a point at which chess, especially in my college days, became something of an obsession, to the point where chess interfered with my academic pursuits. So I put my studies aside for a while! Not the wisest choice, but I was trying to become an expert. I never quite made it, my highest rating at 1931, making me a solid category A player.

Much as I loved chess, once in jail I had made the conscious decision not to play chess and had told no one that I knew how to play. I merely looked on from time to time to get a sense of who was any good at it. In the early days, I thought it morally inappropriate for me to play chess. It seemed such a frivolous thing to do. I felt such a huge burden of shame and guilt that I just could not bring myself to get in that mood to play “a game”. It felt more appropriate to do some sort of penance. I would have gladly flagellated myself if I could. This I did on paper, in my diary, regularly. Repent! You are a terrible person!

I always felt as if there was a sense of urgency for me to do something - anything but play “games” - that I felt very uncomfortable playing chess. But I eventually gave in. Mendez seemed to be the reigning chess champion of the pod, and he loved to lord it over everyone else. I thought maybe it was time to show him a thing or two about chess. So I started playing with Mendez and won regularly. He started calling me “chess master”! He sometimes gave me a good game, but he almost always lost (my diary says he won two games against me). I seldom played with anyone else because they were so bad, some painfully so. By contrast, Mendez always wanted to play, more so than I did, and as menacing as he gave the impression of being, I thought he wanted to play so he could learn to play better.

When we sat down to play a game of chess, he always took the white pieces. The normal procedure is to make it random since it’s slightly more advantageous to have white and make the first move. But Mendez would have none of that. He didn’t ask to take white; he simply took the white pieces, as if that was simply his right. No one ever contested him. I certainly never did, but I didn’t care because I nearly always won. And it was for that reason that I earned his respect, at least as he understood the term.

****

But he was soon gone - day 32 - October 26 - when the new guy, Tom, came in. No sadder inmate was ever seen. No one is ever happy to get there, but he looked particularly heartbroken and in despair. This would not be a good match.

Mendez had the good fortune of having a single cell, at least for a little while. And then a new inmate arrived, Tom. He was short, grossly overweight, and walked with a limp. He would obviously need the lower bunk. He was shown his cell and minutes later we hear someone screaming: “I kill you, man … I kill you ..”. We knew that voice. It was Mendez. The new inmate frantically buzzed out of the cell all scared and said "I'm not going back in that cell! That guy is crazy!" Mendez did not want to give up his bottom bunk. The CO came in and told him he needs to cede his bunk to this new inmate. But nothing doing. Mendez said he would not budge. So the CO had no choice. He cuffed him and sent him to the hole (in isolation) instead! He would not be missed.

THE CHESS LESSON - Dec 4 - day 71:

We honestly were all rather glad he went to the hole. Things would be a bit calmer without having to deal with his niggling belligerency every day. But that tranquility did not last. He came back to the pod. About a week later he returned full of smiles as if he had won. As far as he was concerned, a week in the hole was his badge of honor. That proved he was willing to go in isolation just for the sake of wanting the bottom bunk. That made him look crazy. And maybe that was the point. Whether he knew it or not, it can be a winning strategy under certain circumstances. (This is fairly well understood in evolutionary game theory. It's a kind of agonistic display in lieu of an actual physical fight, often seen in the animal world. It's cheaper to bluff than to fight). We resumed the occasional chess match which he continued to lose.

Several days before, an older black gentleman (in his 60s), called Old School, (a nickname he acquired in jail because he had been in prison before) had inquired about chess strategy. He looked and almost sounded like Morgan Freeman! He had been asking for some pointers on how to play better chess. He always lost to Mendez and really wanted to win at least once. I had been delaying but after a quick win over Mendez, my teaching instinct came out.

I decided to give a general chess lesson using the Ruy Lopez (a well-known opening) to illustrate various principles of chess, like knights before bishops; king safety; avoiding isolated pawns, doubled pawns, and so on. It was nice to see that a few of the other chess players were taking an interest as well, especially Dee and “Old School”. Dee was a tall young black man, in his late 20s. Both remained attentive the entire hour.

One would have thought that Mendez, of all people, would have taken an interest since, even though he often wins against others, he always loses to me. But on the contrary, he actively did everything possible to sabotage the lesson I was trying to give. Marvin, the Honduran guy who could barely speak English, had also been watching attentively. Though his English was not very good, he could understand the general gist of what I was saying concerning chess and the various kinds of positions I was talking about. Chess transcends linguistic boundaries.

But Mendez started talking noisily to Marvin in Spanish to steer his attention away from the game, very much intending to disrupt the lesson. Both Dee and Old School tried to gently coax Mendez to take it elsewhere, at which point Mendez point blank said the lesson must stop - that it was pointless - and that this was “his” table. Which it wasn’t. You can claim a stool as your own during mealtime if you like, but that is as far as that goes. But that was just part of his gullying tactics which often worked in getting people to back down. I looked at Marvin, pleading with my eyes for him to get Mendez to disengage somehow, and he understood what my eyes and my face were telling him, but he looked back with a sheepish and embarrassed look, signaling that he just didn’t know what to do. He was bigger than Mendez, but he was intimidated by him. It was clear that Mendez was trying to enlist Marvin in sabotaging the lesson.

Dee is a very tall young man, and towers over everyone else in the pod, and could easily dispatch Mendez should the need arise. But both Dee and Old School did their level best to gently cajole Mendez to relent on his childish attempt to disrupt the lesson. I felt exasperated and ever so briefly considered just yelling at him to just go away. But I very quickly thought the better of it, and I’m nearly certain that others briefly entertained the notion but they too quickly dismissed it.

Mendez had consistently given the impression that he was slightly crazed and could explode without notice, and had willingly done so in the past at the cost of going to the hole. So, I simply persisted with my lesson, and Mendez finally walked away. Every 10 minutes or so he hovered around the table sneering and jeering like a child. I was quite pleased when both Dee and Old School said they suddenly saw the chessboard and the pieces in a different more dynamic way. They began to see that there’s more to chess than just moving pieces around without some sort of purpose or a plan. Even just those few concepts allowed them to understand the game differently.

Others looked on and, knowing Mendez, were not surprised. And the COs in the bubble also looked on. From their point of view, it was a tempest in a teapot. Maybe it’s their version of a TV reality show. We know that they are always there so there’s a limit as to how far Mendez can push this. But just how far is he willing to go? Just how crazy is this Mexican? About a month later, we found out.

****

THE MEXICAN FURY

Day 116 - January 19, 2014.

One day he just went too far, spending half the night before just ranting, screaming, and banging on his door. He couldn’t go to sleep, so he wanted that no one else would sleep either. He often did this. He howls like a banshee, bangs on the wall, and kicks the door after “bedtime” at 10:30 pm. This typically goes go on for 15 or 20 minutes until he finally settles down and goes to sleep. I pity his poor cellie. Perhaps he’s trying to remind everyone that he really is crazy. It’s unpleasant but no one dares call him out on it the next day.

But one night Mendez was simply out of control, and the howling and the banging just went on and on and on. I think I eventually fell asleep after an hour of this. But those in cells immediately next to him were not so lucky and they heard this go on till 4 in the morning. Mendez just had too much coffee and couldn’t go to sleep.

The next morning the guys next to him were more pissed off than usual. But Mendez sat quietly at breakfast next to me and acted as if nothing had happened. He was exhausted from his howling the night before! He finished breakfast and, as usual, went back to bed. But those pissed-off inmates were not about to let it go. Bickers and Dee took turns banging on his door every few minutes and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not going to be allowed to sleep late this morning. This was a classic example of tit-for-tat retaliation (classic in the prisoner’s dilemma). He had been escalating things for some time now, but no one ever dared confront him. Doing so is too costly. He will respond in a way that ensures that he goes to the hole, but so will the other person. And no one wants to go to the hole. (an interesting dilemma from a game-theoretic point of view).

This went on for a least a half-hour, with other inmates, occasionally joining in on the collective punishment of the Mexican. There was no doubt a lot of pent-up resentment against him and the floodgates were now open for everyone to give him a dose of his own medicine. I did not join in because I was watching all this from within my cell. I had been reading when this little drama began to unfold.

His initial response was of course true to form and defiant. He banged on the wall in return and made various animal noises, his specialty, and howled like a wolf, his favorite animal to draw. The frequency of banging on his door began to die down, and things might return more or less to “normal” whatever that means in those circumstances. Bickers, a white man, banged on his door one more time as he walked by. Thinking it was Dee, the tall black man, Mendez shouted back “stupid n****r”, and Dee (and everyone else) heard it loud and clear. Even in jail, that is not something you say without consequences.

Dee, in his late 20s, is a very serious and earnest Christian. Whenever a discussion between two inmates threatens to escalate into something more serious (as it frequently does), you can always count on Dee to get in there and do his level best to defuse and deescalate the situation and restore some semblance of peace and order. If anyone was a peacekeeper there, it would have been Dee. But that racist epithet that Mendez so casually tossed out were fighting words to Dee, and he marched to his cell door, banged on it even more loudly, and challenged him to come out and say that to his face. There was no reply and he walked away, but the banging on his door was renewed with fresh intensity as more inmates joined. Everyone felt they had permission now to confront the bully. This also happens in the wild. Interested as I am in the evolution of human beings, the spectacle in the pod had a familiar echo.

Chimps beat up their former tyrant

Dee was well-liked and Mendez was not. He had gone too far. After the relentless banging by half the pod, Mendez had enough and he buzzed the CO to be let out and the inevitable confrontation with Dee followed. We all knew it (but the CO must have known it as well. He buzzed him out and must have seen what was going on. The COs are like this omnipresent force in the background who intervene only when absolutely necessary. A bit like an ancient Greek deity might!)

More heated words, not always comprehensible. Mendez was cursing in Spanish. He put up his fist and took up a fighting stance. At first, Dee did not want to engage him physically and indeed folded his arms to signal very clearly what his intentions were. He was hiding his clenched fists. He wanted to talk this out. Dee was conflicted. Internally he must have been battling between his Christian ethics telling him to turn the other cheek but also wanting to defend his sense of manly honor. Mendez took advantage of that and persisted with his incomprehensible taunting and gesticulating like a maniac. He wanted to fight.

Dee had enough and first took off his sweatshirt signaling this was going to get physical after all. Others seeing this decided to try to intervene and inserted themselves in the middle hoping to defuse the situation. But the fuse was lit. Was there was a chance to snuff it out before it was too late? But Mendez of course continued taunting him when Dee approached him and having a much longer arm reach, smacked him hard on the head a few times and then stood back. This was going to be an epic battle, the clash of the Titans.

The first blow had been thrown, and the fight was about to begin. Now we would see what the crazy Mexican fury might unleash. What demons might Mendez summon from deep within the darkness of his soul? Just what does Mexican dynamite sound like when it explodes? Would Mendez try to gouge his eyes out? Would he go for the jugular and tear out his throat? Would he grab his arm and pull it from its socket? Whatever it was, we were expecting something shocking. But what he actually did was unexpected for it was … more or less … nothing!

He acted as if the first blow had not already landed on his head; as if he had not yet received the invitation to a brawl he so eagerly wanted; as if the party hadn’t already begun and wasn’t in full swing. The bell had rung but Mendez pretended not to hear it. But we heard it. We all heard it. Dee walked away, shaking his head in disgust, saying “you’re soft, man, you’re soft.” The fight was over. Dee had hit the Mexican piñata, and it turned out to be empty!

Others walked away as well, and the guard called for everyone to rack down in their cells. Whatever else happened, it was clear Mendez had lost face. And he knew it too. And he knew we knew it. Something had turned. One could sense it as, ten minutes later, the guards led Mendez away in handcuffs and once again sent to the hole, even though he had come back just the week before. But his footsteps were heavy, his head bowed with a look of dejection, his triumphant smile wiped clean from his face.

Sadly, Dee was taken to isolation as well, but he knew he would be when all this began. But he also knew that Mendez would be taken away as well, much to the relief of us all. It's a form of altruistic punishment. He punished Mendez at some cost to himself. It’s possible to see there a kind of noble gesture on his part.