People Would Buy Tickets

By Joey D. Ossian

People Would Buy Tickets is my first attempt at creating
fiction. Do not be misled into thinking
I am getting tremendously creative here.
Realistic fiction becomes fiction only because I have changed the names
of people and the titles of the places where it was necessary. I am still telling stories that really
happened, only embellishing where I lack details or think it would be more
interesting. The part of this book that
is really fictional and dreamt up is in the descriptions and actions of the
main characters, but I am still using stories from, and characteristics of,
people I have known personally. That
said, Heck and Count are
wholly fictional characters, and are not meant to symbolize or represent
anybody.

When I began this
project, the title of the book was, Count
Is Clear. After careful
consideration, that title works only if you are familiar with correctional
jargon. I had intended some word play
with the term count, and a main character, Count, but it does not work if you
are not already familiar with the term as it applies to corrections, and the
character. The title that I decided on, People Would Buy Tickets, comes from a
co-worker, who does not want his name mentioned here.

Many of you know my
previous work, and realize that I was simply writing about things that really
happened. There is not much writing
talent in regurgitating, just a skill for translating real life to paper.The primary characters are all fictional, as
is much of their background, but the inter-woven humorous short stories are mostly
factual, if only slightly embellished events related to me by co-workers and my
own experiences while working in the corrections field.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 25, 2008
• ISBN: 9781467831871

Joey D. Ossian

A Native of Nebraska, Joey D. Ossian holds a Master’s Degree in Educational Administration from the University of Nebraska.  Following ten years in education as a teacher and administrator, Ossian settled in Southeast Nebraska, where he is currently a Caseworker at the Nebraska State Penitentiary.  Ossian and his wife have three children.

Book preview

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive, Suite 200

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2008 Joey D. Ossian. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 4/1/2008

ISBN: 978-1-4343-4295-9 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2008900762

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

foreword

preface

about the book

about the author

foreword

I began working for the Nebraska Department of Correctional Services (NDCS) in May of 2003, sort of by accident. I had absolutely zero intentions of making a career out of the field. Corrections was simply the instant back-up plan, so I could continue to support my family. You see, my wife and children had become accustomed to eating and sleeping indoors. Oh, we have a very nice tent…but nobody wants to live in it 24/7. Work was the obvious choice.

I had been wrongly banished from a career in education for which I had spent the better part of my adult life preparing. The allegations were multiple; including a great deal of debauchery and malfeasance, and the local press coverage was not helping. It was only a matter of time before I was partly responsible for the Lindbergh baby and the 9.11 terrorist attacks. People frequently asked me, What the heck was going through your mind when the bomb dropped? There was no time to sit and stew about it. I was in what politicians call damage control. There had to be work somewhere that had insurance benefits, and flippin’ burgers for minimum wage was out. I have no problem with flippin’ burgers. There is dignity in every job. I just needed something that provided more income with a benefit plan. Desperation took hold.

To keep our financial heads above water, I had been picking up some extra active-duty days with my National Guard unit when a former Marine friend and member of the unit, Master Sergeant Tommy Butts, told me about the department of corrections. When it came to the thought of working with inmates, the slight fear and intimidation I felt was normal. The public misconception that 99% of all inmates are cold-hearted rapists and violent axe-murderers was not lost on me. I went in with incredible anxiety regarding how long it would take for me to get a feces bath or a beat-down.

I started my correctional tour at the Diagnostic and Evaluation Center (DEC, or D & E) on West Van Dorn in Southwest Lincoln, Nebraska. The D & E is the receiving facility where all male state inmates are in-processed (diagnosed and evaluated, hence the title). An adult male inmate typically spends up to five weeks here before his final residence is determined, unless he is a county safe-keeper, then his time varies tremendously until he is assigned a state number. At that point, the inmate will be transported to one of the following facilities: the Omaha Correctional Center (OCC), which is an hour drive on the interstate, passing through Carter Lake, Iowa to get there; the Lincoln Correctional Center (LCC), which is connected to the D & E via tunnel; the Nebraska State Penitentiary (NSP), which is about a five minute trip via West Van Dorn, the Homestead Expressway, and Pioneer’s Boulevard; or, the Tecumseh State Correctional Institution (TSCI), which is almost an hour drive, going east down Highway 2 to Syracuse, and then south down Highway 50. TSCI will be on the west side of the road before you reach Tecumseh, a small, mostly-catholic town of roughly 2,000 people. Coincidentally, Tecumseh is also my birthplace.

No one told me, but it did not take long to realize that I was no better than many of the inmates. In fact, a large number of the inmates I have come to know over the past several years are serving time for less serious crimes than many of us get away with on a regular basis. There are some, I dare say, that are flat-out much better people than I will ever be. Eventually, you grow out of the fear, and realize that you are probably as safe on the inside as you are on the free-side, depending entirely on your communication skills, your desire to preserve your credibility, and your ability to respect your fellow human beings.

I have learned that people who are career criminals and suspect that they might commit crimes in their future occasionally move to Nebraska. Why, you might ask? It is widely known amongst criminals that prison in Nebraska is an adult day-camp where their time will be served with ease. The gamble of criminal activity is greatly reduced, because the consequence of prison time is not nearly as severe as in many other states.

The key to getting along on the inside is the same as it is for getting along on the outside. Most inmates arrive with damaged dignity. Allow them to keep what dignity remains, and treat them with respect. The problem with working in corrections for very long is that you tend to get lazy and accustomed to doing little more than watching people. I am sure it would be very difficult to return to the demands of a normal occupation. A friend of mine who used to work in the department, Mike Jepsen, talked about leaving corrections like this, Recognize when you need to move on. Once you stop caring about people, it’s too late. You will never start caring again. Mike is of course assuming that working in corrections will eventually make you stop caring about people.

A rather large concern while writing this book is the observation that some things will not make the transition out of the department of corrections. The sayings, the sightings, the facial expressions, etc. may not have the same impact for readers, especially for those who have never worked in the field. I suppose that problem exists for every writer and every transition. If you think this book is funny, and I hope you do, you will have experienced a small fraction of the humor to which I was exposed.

Thanks for reading.

Joey D. Ossian

preface

What is meeting your potential? Being all that you can possibly be? Who other than the Army in their old commercials does that? It is very unlikely that everyone who has all the snappers and meets all the criteria will turn out to be a doctor, a professional athlete, or an astronaut. Please notice, I did not say lawyer. Sorry John. Sorry Jason. There is more than hard work involved. Luck and money are two huge factors.

Teachers have cornered the market on the phrase, I do not think your child is meeting their potential. Hypocrites! All of them! Did they meet their potential? Could they have possibly been more? Who determines what potential is? Is it a dollars driven concept? If money is not involved, is it driven by your impact on the world? Why can it not be the profound happiness we bring to our own surroundings? Our children, our family? What a downer to spend your life thinking things like: If only I would have practiced more; If only I had studied harder; If only I had worked harder. Look, there are only so many people named Pete Rose, Jackie Robinson, Lance Armstrong, and Larry Bird out there. The rest of you need to be happy with what you have accomplished and get over it.

What does it mean to have exceeded your potential beyond what you should have? How is that possible? Are we talking about when you accomplish things that you should not have been able to accomplish? Are we confusing the term potential with expectation? Is it just semantics, or glorification of an accomplishment to make yourself sound like you have done more with less? Only Marines can do that.

What sort of potential does an inmate have once they are released? Is it entirely up to them? Will they be subjected to the new expectations that our society has for ex-cons? Will they be given the full opportunity of a second chance? When do they really stop doing time?

about the book

People Would Buy Tickets is my first attempt at creating fiction. Do not be misled into thinking I am getting tremendously creative here. Realistic fiction becomes fiction only because I have changed the names of people and the titles of the places where it was necessary. I am still telling stories that really happened, only embellishing where I lack details or think it would be more interesting. The part of this book that is really fictional and dreamt up is in the descriptions and actions of the main characters, but I am still using stories from, and characteristics of, people I have known personally. That said, Heck and Count are wholly fictional characters, and are not meant to symbolize or represent anybody.

When I began this project, the title of the book was, Count Is Clear. After careful consideration, that title works only if you are familiar with correctional jargon. I had intended some word play with the term count, and a main character, Count, but it does not work if you are not already familiar with the term as it applies to corrections, and the character. The title that I decided on, People Would Buy Tickets, comes from a co-worker, who does not want his name mentioned here. He said these words in the form of a statement almost daily due to the hilarity of inmate interaction.

Many of you know my previous work, and realize that I was simply writing about things that really happened. There is not much writing talent in regurgitating, just a skill for translating real life to paper. The book you are about to read (that is right, you can not put it down now) has portions of fiction and vast portions of truth, so I am not trying to get completely out of my comfort zone. The primary characters are all fictional, as is much of their background, but the inter-woven humorous short stories are mostly factual, if only slightly embellished events related to me by co-workers and my own experiences while working in the corrections field.

Real places in this book, such as Lincoln, Tecumseh, Surprise, and York, Nebraska; and Chillicothe, and St. Joseph, Missouri, I have taken the liberty of changing them however it suited my fiction. Some places, such as Burriell and Greenville, are as fictional as Metropolis and Wisteria Lane (The Teri Hatcher connection there was purely coincidental, unless I have some underlying infatuation with the woman.).

I have attempted many things here, and I am hoping I will not confuse readers or myself. In addition to the plot development, sporadically inserted amongst the short stories, is a dream journal. The entries belong to Charlie ‘Count’ Mount, a primary character, and should shed some light on why he is the way he is. In addition to the journaling, there are some bits of scripture. On the surface, the scripture readings may appear out of place. Perhaps they are. The intention of adding scripture amongst specific challenges in a few of the main characters’ ordeals is to reveal that they are not completely happy with their lives and their subsequent lack of direction. If it does not work, it will not hurt you to read scripture anyway.

It donned on me while editing this book for the 134th time that, as you read, there may be some character confusion between the two main characters, Heck and Count. If I had not written this, you might have wondered if that was intentional. I wish I was that good. Just read it and wonder. If you can not figure out who is speaking, imagine I did that intentionally to make you wonder if Heck and Count have so much in common regarding their struggles with their personal honor and integrity that it could be either of them. That might make for a strange twist in the plot, while simultaneously making me look very talented. I have changed my mind. It was intentional.

The stuff that sounds believable is probably invented in my own head, and the stuff that makes you wonder, How the heck did this nutty individual dream this stuff up? is probably not creative at all, but lived experience.

Oh, if my fictional characters use phrases like;

That dog won’t hunt.

She’s as cute as a speckled pup.

She’s as handy as a pocket on a shirt.

I’m going to put some verbs in my sentences. or,

That raises the price of poker. They have collectively been watching too much Dr. Phil at 4:00 p.m., CST on Channel 8, KLKN, Lincoln’s own.

This book is dedicated to the fine men and women working in corrections and law enforcement, particularly those employed by the State of Nebraska at the Diagnostic and Evaluation Center, the Lincoln Correctional Center, the Tecumseh State Correctional Institution, and the Nebraska State Penitentiary.

Additional thanks go to the multiple inmates at all of the above named locations for unintentionally providing a great deal of the material on which this book is based. No, you do not get a cut.

Also, to Russell Zywiec, who died of heart failure leaving his post, on May 19, 2006, and Thomas Roti, who died of a brain tumor on April 17, 2007. Russell and Tom were two of my academy classmates.

All errors are mine and mine alone, but I would like to thank my editor, mentor, and hero, Dr. James E. Ossian, for taking the time to help me with this project. If I were Charlotte, I would weave Some Editor in the corner of his office.

Thanks Dad.

With the exception of the Psychology of the Snake piece, the sketches in this book have been provided by the finest illustrator on the planet, my brother, Richard E. Ossian.

The maps and assorted photography were ripped out of the Lincoln, NE phone book, taken by me, or borrowed from the Internet.

Additional thanks to Jim Jarvis of Jarvis Fine Photography for his work on the cover.

The Nebraska State Correctional forms are either completely true, or somewhat doctored.

Dear Reader,

It would behoove you to study the 10-codes and correctional jargon glossary at the end of the book, prior to reading it. Not that you would gain significantly better understanding of the text, or find all of the codes and glossary’s samples embedded in the text. It would simply give you a chuckle as you preview what is to come.

Why Do I Have To Leave?

Why do I have to leave?

I wish I could stay

Nobody bothers me

The World leaves me alone

No child support

No rent, no taxes

No bills, no high gas prices

No pressure to get a job

I don’t drink

I have all the pornography I can stand

Why do I have to leave?

-- Anonymous inmate

It gives me tremendous pride to work for the only Correctional Department in the country whose sole means of execution is the electric chair.

- Wishing to remain anonymous, Please don’t tell anybody I said that. - O

People Would

Buy Tickets

001.jpg

Aerial View of the Nebraska State Penitentiary

Mom, I work inside a fence with 1,200 kidnappers, murderers, drug-addicts, rapists, and chimos. Perhaps this is not the exact part of the human race we want to join.

Questionable Moral Character

Maybe women should run the world. Men have had their shot, and they are not showing any clear cut dominance or talent for it just yet. After all, women have half the money now, and they have always had all the pussy. If that is not the combination of the two most powerful things on the planet, I do not know what is. The trouble with this line of thinking is that there are many powerfully intelligent women in the world that think the human race can survive without men. Man as a gender or sub-species, might not last long if those women were in power.

What is questionable moral character (QMC)? Do all Marines have it? Does everybody have it? Whose perspective counts? If somebody questions you, does that make you questionable? The individual in question will usually say they do not have QMC. Others may say they do. I guarantee that most folks out there have had somebody question their moral character at one time or another. Hell, folks even questioned Jesus Christ’s moral character. That being the case, who does not have questionable moral character?

My name is Hector Batiste. Daddy said it Bat, like the flying mammal and Teest, long e in the middle, with the silent e on the end. Friends call me Heck. You might guess from my name that I am of Hispanic descent. You would be right. My father’s father was half Mexican, and that makes me an eighth Hispanic. Do not ask me what the rest is, because I have no fucking clue. I may be part Hispanic, but about the only Spanish I know is Tengo un gato de vente cinco libras en me pantelones. If I said that correctly, I have a 25-pound cat in my pants.

A friend in the Corps gave me my first valuable Spanish lesson; He said to tell the waitress,

Dos Cervesas, por favor.

I said, Hey, doesn’t dos mean two?

He replied, Yes, you’re buying me one for the lesson.

Above all things, I am an Old Corps Marine, and I place tremendous value on honor, integrity, and credibility, even though I sometimes struggle at maintaining them. I was born on April 14th, the day the Titanic struck the iceberg, the same day President Lincoln was shot, and Pete Rose’s birthday. It is not outside the realm of possibility that I have a dark shadow hanging over my life. I should not be surprised that on the day of my birth, 14 April, 1954, the British Charts had Doris Day’s Secret Love listed as their number one song. Perhaps this was a bad omen.

There are three things I have faith in that I can not see: God, gravity, and electricity. I am a simple guy, and I can live with that. I like money, but I do not want to work very hard for it. I love getting drunk, but I do not like hangovers. I love pussy, but I do not like women. That could be interpreted in a lot of ways. What I really mean is, I do not want them to talk to me or have needs when I am finished. Do not lay with me, do not cuddle, just go away. If you want, you can leave me your number; make me a sandwich or a pot-pie before you go, but go. I have shit to do that does not involve you.

It is unfortunate that this lifestyle is so hard to accomplish. I am a realist. Experience has forced that down my throat. However, in the last few years, despite some difficulties, I have inched a step or two closer. That requires some explanation. Over the last few years, I have experienced some life-changing events. I received a five-year suspension from teaching, lost most of an eye in Iraq, and was run out of the local National Guard for questionable moral character (mostly due to the teaching suspension). At the age of 49-ish, I am starting a career in corrections and my soon-to-be-ex-wife is no longer interested in sex. I would say my life is sucking badly. Those of you with thinner skin are probably wondering why I do not just end it all, and kill myself. Well, I might. I have come up from nothing a couple times before, but I have not hit rock bottom yet. Besides, I have attended Thick-Skin 101, and…I have a girlfriend who does not suck badly.

I started working in corrections. In reality, I am a grossly overpaid babysitter with a benefit package. I sit on my rather large and growing ass, teasing inmates with my bon-bons for 30K per year. When I took this job, Dad told me I would be working with certifiable dullards. He must have been wrong, because since I have been here, I have met some of the smartest people. What’s that? Oh, maybe he was referring to the staff.

I have this theory about corrections and its relation to how we name our children. If you name your child Shaniqua, Sha-Cole-Slaw, or something else that makes your family tree look like the McDonald’s value menu, you have given them a predisposition for unemployment. I hope you are not named after the special sauce. Please, stop naming your kids after hefty garbage sacks, household products, and tampons. Nobody will hire your daughter if their name is Velveeta, Stay-free, Always, or Freedom. That gives them a predisposition for doing crimes. Then they become single mothers, and have sons who perpetuate the process.

If you are named after a season, a seasoning, precipitation, or a confectionary product, you have a predisposition to be a hooker or a stripper. That does not mean I will not like you, but it does mean you will dance on tables and perhaps stand in line for cheese later in life.

In addition to my full-time work, I collect a nice supplement to my state income from a National Guard unit across the state line in Missouri, and an additional bonus from the Veterans’ Administration for permanent partial disabilities suffered during a sandstorm in the war on terrorism in January of 2004. It is not completely work-free, but it is an arrangement with which I can live comfortably.

The hangover dilemma is not completely fixed yet, but Captain Morgan followed by lots of water and aspirin is very close. If I could just stay away from Anheuser-Busch products, I would have it made. They seem to have the most negative impact on me. But who am I to turn down a free, cold beer? It is, after all, a Marine’s favorite.

Now, if I could just keep supplied with constant strange about four or five times a week, I would be Golden. Why, you might ask? Women are interesting. They have more crevices. In