Jail. Age 18. One night. Felony possession of marijuana.
I copped a plea to a misdemeanor. It kept me out of Vietnam. Interesting story, if anyone cares to hear it.
How would that have kept you out of Vietnam? If anything, I would have thought it would have gotten you sent there. Anyway, I’m game, start talking.
I worked as a law librarian at Dekalb County Jail when I was in grad school. It definitely made me decide I never wanted to go to jail. Very creepy - and scary when they had a guy with an active raging case of TB in the general population for two weeks before they caught it. Yes, he had visited the law library. I had to get a skin test and then a chest x-ray when the skin test showed positive. No, I didn’t have TB.
About 18 hours in a drunk tank: Open cell with about a dozen other drunks. It was mortifying, humiliating, and traumatic, as it should have been. There’s something about being handcuffed and printed that seemed to remove my humanity.
Didn’t keep me from drinking for about 3 more years though.
I 'd like to hear it, Contrapuntal.
I’ve only been to jail a few times back when I was 19 or 20. Visiting, that is. My best friend’s boyfriend got locked up several times for theft and drug possesion (at least we didn’t have crack and meth back then). I would go with her for moral support.
Me, I have a great need for my own private, quiet space. I can be almost hermit-like in the amount of time I like to spend alone. Jails and prisons aren’t conducive to that so that’s my big motivation to behave and stay out of them.
I’ve done some work in the MA State Prison system, visiting such lovely places as Cedar Junction (High Security), and much less scary places such as the Plymouth State Prison (low security), as well as a few House of Correction (County Jail) locations.
Amazing differences between the facilities, in terms of sign in procedure, searches, etc. The High security locations make you leave EVERYTHING (wallet, keys, jewelry, etc) and count every screw & tool you are bringing in AND out. At least one low security facility let me bring in anything I liked, including my Leatherman multi-tool with knife.
Seeing what I saw there, even in the low security areas, impressed upon me no desire to return for any more than a work-related visit.
That would have been me. My charge was felony possession with intent to distribute of psilocybin mushrooms. As a juvenile with a first offender’s program and a lawyer (that my parents hired for me, thanks folks) the only charge that actually went on my record was misdemeanor possession of drug paraphernalia. I did 200 hours of community service and a year of probation.
It hardly reformed me - when I got home from jail one of the first things I did was smoke a big fat stress-relieving blunt.
But within a year of that other events in my life (moving away from home and going to college in California) gave me some mellowing perspective that got me in the whole groove of the responsibility and adulthood thing. Now it’s been years since I’ve touched any of that stuff. Do I regret it? Not at all, it was an important experience that helped in shaping who I am. Will I ever go back to it? No way. At least, not nearly in the capacity I was doing before - but I still want to take a trip to Amsterdam some day. 
Yeah, definitely tell us.
When I was 15-16 I went a little crazy and spent about a month in a juvie home. It was a big old three story brick building in Akron, Oh. I remember it was across the street from a brewery. My dad wouldn’t get me out until my mom finally talked him into it. Homosexuality wasn’t an issue and fights were rare. The guards were very strict and, for any minor infraction, would make grab your ankles while the paddled you behind. One guard, huge black guy named Ralph Roebuck, had a wide belt that he had fashioned into a kind of cat o’ nine. Another guard had an aputated right arm, he used a paddle made of three ols shoe soles fasrened together. The food was terrible, I remember the beef stew was mostly broth w/ a very few vegetables and an ocassional piece of gristle and fat.
In '65 I was stationed at the U.S. Navy Disciplinary Command in Portsmouth, N.H. I was to have been there 3 years, but left after a year due to the VN buildup. The only issue of homosexuality there was prisoners trying to claim it so as to qualify for discharge upon their release (many were scheduled to complete their enlistment after serving their time. A buddy of mine worked in the personnel office and part of his job was to identify the fakers. He was something of an expert in homosexual jagon and practices.The prisoners were very closely supervised and did want to lose hard earned priveleges, so they were pretty well behaved.
The command had a program that had us visit civilian prisons to see how they were run. I recall visiting Walpole, Mass., it was max. security at the time. We saw the electric chair. Our guide pointed out a member of the Boston Brink’s robbery of 1950, he was a harmless looking little old guy. Some of the gays were obvious in wearing bandannas around their necks and tying their shirttails around their midfidd w/ the buttons all open. The guards apparently allowed this as long as it didn’t cause trouble. They had a shop outside the prison where they sold prisoner’s arts and crafts.
In the early 70’s I was arrested twice for DUI. Once my lawyer, who was also a casual friend, got me out in a few hours. The other time I spent the night in the Yazoo, Ms. County jail. I was the only white guy in there, but I had no problems. I spent most of the night talking to my cellmates. This was a day or two before Christmas in '74.
I also visited the Fl. state prison at Starke, but I don’t recall much about that.
I had a brother in law who was mildly retarded. He managed to get a guard job at Angola, which amazed me, but I was even more astonished when he got promoted to Lt. within a few short years. I think that says a lot about the quality of the people they had there, at least back in the 70’s. I hope it’s improved since.
(Showing my innocence and ignorance).
What’s the difference between a jail, a prison and a penitentiary?
Well, jail (I was in county jail, where the county courthouse was also located) is where you generally go immediately after being arrested to be held until trial or until release on bail. As for the difference between a prison and penitentiary, I don’t know.
Jail is typically for sentences less than a year, prison is for anything longer than a year and a day, only felonies would receive a prison term.
Penitentiaries were at one time a particular kind of prison. They were run on the Pennsylvania System, which was a reform theory based on the plan of isolating a prisoner from all human contact and giving him no opportunities to do anything but think about his past and repent of his crimes. It was actually considered a humane program at the time (it was developed by the Quakers) but the result was many of the prisoners were driven insane by the isolation.
Nowadays, a penitentiary is just a somewhat archaic term for a prison, usually an older one that was once run under the old system. The offical term now is usually correctional facility.
I’ve given my opinions in past threads on this subject. Briefly, I find that reports of forcible rape are greatly exaggerated. “Weaker” prisoners may be coerced into homosexual acts that they wouldn’t have agreed to in other circumstances but actual cases of somebody being raped without at least a token consent are rare. Keep in mind that the rapists are locked in with their victims, most of whom are already serving long prison terms and have nothing further to lose and would actually regain some status by revenge. It’s easy to see that committing rape is not a good long-term survival strategy.
I’m showing my elitist fascist asshole tendencies here, but the kind of person who spends a lot of time in prison, is he typically able to evaluate good long-term survival strategies?
Basic Training. 4 days in my Unit’s 'pen (which was really just a couple of pup-tents near the Staff-Sgt’s quarters, right on base.)
Had gone to hospital to follow up a (relatively minor) injury. Was given seven days “Liberty at Home” by the Military MD there.
… Aparently, I was supposed to have gone back to my unit (about 3 busses and 4 hours South) to have said “Liberty” OK-ed by my commander. In contradiction to what I had been told by the “helpful” staff at the Hospital’s Military Liason Office :smack: Well, I was about 4 weeks in the Army, how was I supposed to know?
Never as a civilian.
No, though as a teen I visited a jail as part of a training (I don’t remember why); one of my relatives worked there, but that was the only time I visited.
I’ve also gone into juvenile lock-up a couple of times to administer tests as a psychologist, and have worked on two psychiatric units with locked wards, which has similarities and differences.
IANAPW nor do I play one on TV, but from what I hear, some of them are notoriously good at long-term survival strategies… so long as it is within the limited world of prison.
Haven’t been to prison.
A cousin of mine, who’s never been the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree and got it compounded by very bad caretaking (he’s identical to his Pa, but my uncle claimed he was the plumber’s; his parent broke up when he was 4 after several years of violent fights; his mother then started collecting bad boyfriends and drinking heavily; when she left town years later, she left the kids in the care of my grandparents… that’s the obsexed gramps), once got arrested for “possession of multi-colored little pills with intent to sell” (possession and sharing are not illegal but selling is); he didn’t consume. The lawyer was able to get him one month: he had to be in prison every day but spent nights at home; the police van picked him up at 8am and returned him at 10pm.
Scared him pretty bad. He broke up with his gf a few months later: she didn’t see any reason to not go back to selling; in his words “ain’t her who was there!” For several years he’d completely refused to do any job that involved reading or writing (even walked out of a supermarket’s office when they gave him a form to fill with his name and address). He got a job in construction, then one as a security guard, back to construction… has been consistently employed since and is now the shift manager in a gasoline deposit.
I realize that I worded my response poorly. Copping the plea did not keep me from going to Vietnam. Getting busted did.
I had about an ounce on me when I was arrested. The over/under for felony/misdemeanor in my state at the time was 5 grams, so I was charged with both felony and misdemeanor possession.
For some reason, no one in the DA’s office wanted to make a deal. My lawyer told me they were convinced I was some kind of big time drug offender. My guess, and it is only a guess, is that the cops in the vice squad were pissed off at me for being such such a smartass when they brought me downtown. To be fair to me, they asked me some dumbass questions, like “Do you know anyone else who is dealing drugs in Contraville?” “Nope. Just me. You guys got the Kingpin tonight. Might as well close up shop.”
Anyway, my lottery number was 66 and a dead lock for induction. A couple of times a year the local draft board would send out questionnaires so we could update various aspects of our status. One of the questions was along the lines of “Have you been convicted of a felony, or are you currently awaiting trial on felony charges?” Hooah! In great big letters I wrote “Yes. Felony possession of a controlled substance; to wit, marijuana.” A couple of weeks later I received my draft card in the mail. I was 4-F. On the back of the card was an explanation of the various categories. One of the reasons for a 4-F classification was “Morally unqualified for military service.” Chew on that for a while, considering the number of straight arrows who went over there and came back junkies.
After several postponements, I finally went to trial. The head of the vice squad was at his father’s funeral, and all of the other members were there as an honor guard. There was no one to protest the misdemeanor plea, so I copped to it, got a six-month sentence in a youthful offender’s camp suspended on the condition of no bad behavior for five years, and walked out a free man.
Nope, never. I went to pick someone up once, that wasn’t fun. I value my freedom very, very much. Prison would be hell for me.