Prison Boys: Teens in Hell

By Castor

This is a transcription of a series of interview with the men who experienced the brutality of a prison system long since reformed. It is their words, their experiences and their lives set out in graphic and disturbing detail. Yet, at the end of the day, the two find that love survives and overcomes the horror of the past which cannot hurt them anymore.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Castor
• Release date: Aug 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370962778

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PRISON BOYS: TEENS IN HELL

by

Castor

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My sincere thanks to Tim for the courage to confront issues, Chad for contacting me in the first instance and to Otis Whitney for the counselling he provided to both Tim and Chad as they worked to support each other.

My thanks also to the King Edward Hotel and Air Canada.

TIM’S NARRATIVE

Many stories have been written about experiences in prisons. Some are reflective of reality, while others are mere fantasy. Timothy (Tim) Carlyle’s story is simply a recording of the facts as Tim recalls them. There is no embellishment (although I admit to toning down some of the language) and the following is what Tim remembers or, perhaps what he wants to remember. His story harks back to the 1960s and the beginning of the counterculture – a time of drugs, sex and rock ‘n’ roll.

*******

I suppose everyone who goes to prison thinks they are hardly done by. Many of the man I met claimed to be innocent, but as I got to know some of them, they were just as guilty as me. Perhaps, as some said, a three-year sentence for dealing a few tabs of LSD was harsh. But I have to admit that I knew the risks and I needed the money. Belinda, my girl, knew what I was doing and why I was doing it. She was right when she said that being done for a few tabs overlooked all the other shit I had sold before.

Whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, three years is what I got and two is what I served.

No words can adequately describe the terrible sinking feeling that you experience when the judge passes the sentence or the other despair when you are taken from the court and placed in the custody of those who will transport you to prison.

The journey itself is remarkable only because of the other people who, like you, are chained to your seat. They were varied lot. There were no murderers amongst them, but there were a few who had tried to slice and dice their enemies, a couple of guys who had been done for theft and the rest were petty criminals like myself. I looked as best I could, through the grill on the windows to see the city as we drove through it. You don’t notice really what a city is until you are isolated from it. People walk by on the streets oblivious to your own predicament and probably uncaring as well. You don’t understand, and they probably couldn’t comprehend, the misery that awaits you.

Out on the edge of the city your new home awaits. It is, of course, just a series of buildings, but it seems to have its own life. If a building has a soul, this one was malevolent in the extreme. It was cold and dank and had its own sort of smell, one which will probably remain with me forever.

Prison is a place of regimentation. It has to be: otherwise there would be anarchy. The guards are generally badly educated and badly paid. They act tough, and some are tough, but most are really scared shitless about a place which is constantly on the verge of anarchy. They have to kowtow to the prisoners’ system of government which is the only thing which stops the entire place descending into chaos. Amongst the guards there runs a thinly veiled sadistic streak, covered only by a veneer of boredom. It’s interesting to observe, provided you’re not on the wrong side of them.

Our arrival, probably mirrored thousands before it. Unchained, we were led into reception where we were, to use the jargon, processed. This involves giving up everything that you possess from your clothes to your dignity. The latter is removed, not only by the presence of the guards, but also behind a wire mesh, the presence of other prisoners. For a first timer like me, the whole procedure is confusing. My mind was in a fog as I obeyed the instructions and tried to ignore everyone. If you can build a fence around yourself, perhaps survival and self-preservation are possible.

Of course that is a myth. You cannot be meat in a meat grinder and think that somehow you are different. I differentiated myself by my education and my youth. It’s not worth going over the reasons why I wasn’t in college, but at 17 that’s I where should have been, rather than in this dismal place.

I had no time to contemplate what might have been because reality was all around me. Naked, inspected, showered and then allowed to dress in prison garb, I knew that was my reality and only in my dreams, if that were possible, could you possibly escape.

Most of the others who arrived with me were taken to a separate area of the prison while I was taken to a wing which housed young offenders and first timers. The guard who escorted me to my cell was a big, overweight, a man of Polish extraction with unpronounceable name. Everyone called him slim, to observe for obvious reasons, and he was either too dumb or complacent that the intended offence washed over him.

My new home was anything but impressive. Two double bunks, a table, an open toilet and a dim light, constituted the accommodation. Three young men were sitting on two of the bunks and stared at me as I entered. I asked them where I would be sleeping and their apparent leader indicated that they were sitting on the bunk I was to occupy. I dumped the few possessions I had, namely a towel, a change of underwear, and a bar of soap onto the bunk.

I introduced myself as Tim and the leader of the three introduced himself as Carl. He also introduced the other two as Andrew and Rafe. None offered to shake hands and I felt decidedly isolated. Finally, they moved so that I could sit down since there were no chairs to accompany the table in the room.

It was difficult to assess both the atmosphere in the room and the nature of my cellmates. Carl was obviously the leader and Andrew had a look that suggested that he