Corrections and Beyond: My Story of Doing Time on the Other Side of the Bars

By Dr. Ivan Godfrey

When Ivan Godfrey began his career as a corrections officer in the New York State Corrections System, it was still reeling from the brutal retaliation to the prison riots at Attica. As a young African American, he grew up in the Bronx, then he worked in prisons, such as the notorious Sing-Sing Prison. In fact, Ivan often met inmates he knew on the streets from his New York City neighborhood.

His memoir is a wonderful testament to his determination to strive for a better life and take care of his growing family while working in some of the most dangerous prisons in America. It is also a one-of-a-kind window into the life of a young Black prison guard as he struggled to climb the ladder of success despite inherent and overt racial barriers.

Now he is an assistant professor, teaching criminal justice and behavioral science at SUNY Ulster CC, forensic mental health at Russell Sage College, and forensic social work and the criminal justice system at the University at Albany School of Social Welfare. Dr. Ivan Godfrey's memoir is an inspiring journey from the streets of the Bronx to the daily psychological and physical violence while working for over twenty years in the NY State Correction System and finally to the halls of academia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637105337

Book preview

cover.jpg

Corrections and Beyond

My Story of Doing Time on the Other Side of the Bars

A Memoir 

by Dr. Ivan Godfrey

Ivan Godfrey

Copyright © 2021 Ivan Godfrey

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books, Inc.

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2021

I have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from my memories of them. In order to maintain their anonymity in some instances, I have changed the names of individuals and places. I may have changed some identifying characteristics and details such as physical properties, occupations and places of residence.

Front cover photo credit: Irene Cutler

ISBN 978-1-63710-532-0 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63985-245-1 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-63710-533-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

I would like to dedicate this book to my wife and partner in life, Nidia, whose relentless support, guidance, and encouragement made this journey possible.

To our children, Latanya, Danielle, Joe-Joe, Nira, Chanel, and Ray, and to my sister Ingrid Hiller, who all have been a constant source of inspiration.

Foreword

Dr. Ivan Godfrey grew up in the Claremont Village housing project in the South Bronx during the sixties and seventies. Crime, urban poverty, racial strife, and gang violence were rampant. He successfully navigated the perils of urban poverty and crime and became a corrections officer. Why did he choose to become a part of the system that oppressed Black and Brown people? His book, Corrections & Beyond: My Story of Doing Time on the Other Side of the Bars, provides a unique perspective on the topic of doing time. His experience as a corrections officer, an instructor at the Correctional Academy, a forensic psychologist, mental health evaluator, and reentry program coordinator, and assistant professor of criminal justice allows him to explore the experience of incarceration from a holistic perspective. Because of his diverse exposure to corrections and his upbringing in the South Bronx projects, he juxtaposes those experiences and provides an incredibly insightful narrative on the topic.

The book is the beneficiary of his academic training fused with his practical experience. It is not a didactic rendering as so many other books attempt to cover this topic from a holistic approach.

In conclusion, the book is an excellent contribution to the field. Dr. Godfrey’s ability to discuss the subject matter in layman’s terms makes his book a must-read for policymakers, students, and those interested in how the correctional system works.

Dr. Byron E. Price

Professor of Public Policy and Administration

Medgar Evers College of the City University of New York

Introduction

Introduction: Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

Claremont Village, a New York City Housing Authority (NYCHA) public housing development built in 1963, is located in the Morrisania section of the South Bronx and is one of the oldest and largest public housing projects in the USA. Claremont Villages estimated 12,000 residents live in four adjoining projects: Butler, Morris, Webster, and Morrisania Houses. The median income is $30,498, and in 1977 in New York City, there were 154,087 violent crimes, 1,919 murders, 57,193 aggressive assaults, 5,272 rapes, and 89,703 robberies. This is the neighborhood where I grew up.

It was the summer of 1977, Wednesday, July 13, 5:36 p.m., when all the lights went out in all of New York City, including the South Bronx. During this same period, a serial killer roamed through the city looking for brown-haired women. Billy Martin and Reggie Jackson almost came to blow at Yankee Stadium, and throughout the night, mayhem ruled the city with looting, arson, and property damage in every borough.

I was a twenty-two-year-old African American male New Yorker with a growing sense of identity, skepticism, and curiosity about the future. Shortly thereafter, I learned there was no electricity in the entire city of New York, including the South Bronx where I lived. The next day with no electricity anywhere in the city, I recalled the blackout of 1965, and not knowing what to expect, I decided to walk the three blocks from my home to Bathgate Avenue, where most of the merchant clothing and appliance stores were. As I walked, I could feel something strange going on. There were not many cars on the road. No traffic lights or signals were working. It was eerily quiet. I imagined most people preferred to stay in their homes out of sheer confusion or outright fear until the power came back on. Once I crossed the street, where the merchant stores were, I could see several individuals running toward me. Their arms filled with clothing and appliances they had looted from the shops. I am not quite sure what motivated me. Perhaps it was just the opportunity of being at the right place at the right time. However, I decided to enter one of the stores and joined in the looters grabbing items of clothing off the racks.

This fortuitous opportunity, however, was short-lived. After entering the store, I heard an unfamiliar booming voice shout, Everyone freeze! Put the merchandise down! You’re all under arrest!

I turned to see where the voice was coming from, and there in the doorway of the store stood three huge White police officers, including a sergeant, blocking the entrance. The officers immediately began handcuffing the startled looters as they quickly attempted to make their way to the rear exit doors. I panicked and immediately began to consider a justifiable excuse that I hoped would prevent me from being arrested. After all, I was not a common looter but a circumstantial thief—someone looking for something to steal, taking advantage of a unique opportunity on this special occasion.

At least, that’s how I perceived this moment in my mind. After a while, the police sergeant got on his bullhorn and announced that the remaining looters, including me, must leave the premises and merchandise immediately. We were free to go but only because they had no more room in the police cars, vans, or local precinct holding cells. It was a huge relief to learn that all the jail cells were completely full, and I got off scot-free.

I look back on that day and remind myself often how fortunate I was because I didn’t consider myself a thief necessarily. I had never considered spending time in jail or even thought about what it must be like, and I certainly did not want to ever find out.

To this day, I am truly grateful for that divine intervention.

I had worked hard two years earlier and graduated from De Witt Clinton HS, located in the North Bronx, in 1975. About six months after graduation, I applied for and got a job working in the mail room at a rather large malpractice law firm in Manhattan called Boumen and Gartner. At that time, it employed 135 attorneys and almost as many support staff housed on three floors in their offices on Madison Avenue.

It was a good job for a young African American just out of high school. It felt good to be around educated people who had acquired law degrees and were actively litigating hundreds of legal malpractice cases.

One year after I began working in the mail room, I learned the law firm sponsored an apprenticeship program for young men and women entering the workforce to become paralegals. I applied optimistic about the chance to do something other than being stuck in the mail room, hoping to learn more about malpractice law and opportunities for advancement within the company. After all, I was still living with my mom, commuting on the subway, and eating the same affordable lunch every day: two hotdogs or pizza slices and a soda for $3.50.

After several months had passed and I had not heard from the human resources department, I decided to inquire about the status of my application with the court calendar clerk, Charlie O’Hanlon, a retired firefighter, who I was told to give the application to and I was quite friendly with at Boumen and Gartner. Charlie had seemed to be avoiding me lately for some strange reason. About three weeks later, while working late, I spotted Charlie in his office and ran over to him.

Hey, Charlie, how’s it going? I said in an upbeat mood.

Oh, just fine, Ivan. How are you? Charlie replied while looking at his files.

Fine, sir. I was just wondering about my application that I submitted for the apprenticeship paralegal program.

All of a sudden, Charlie’s face went beet red and changed into a serious frown. He informed me the firm was not interested in supporting my application. He was, it seemed, too embarrassed to tell me they had no intention of sending a young Black male employee from the mail room into an apprenticeship program for paralegals geared toward any kind of upward mobility. Certainly not at this law firm.

Despite being stung and naive by that reality, I continued working at the law firm for three years after that insulting incident. I also was actively seeking other career opportunities. I guess looking back now, I just was grateful to have a job.

That same summer of 1977, my sister was dating an NYPD detective named Arnold Webster, who would later become my brother-in-law. At that time, the New York City police force did not employ many African Americans. Except for Arnold, I was not remotely interested in having a conversation with any police officer about career opportunities. Based on what I knew, which was very little, it seemed that the likelihood or probability of anyone from my neighborhood becoming a police officer was extremely low.

As an African American male living in the South Bronx in the seventies, this was our reality—it was common knowledge, and we understood it clearly. The police only came to our neighborhood when something bad happened. We didn’t know them. They didn’t want to know us, and we certainly didn’t trust them. They had no interest in getting to know anyone in our community other than to gather information about a suspect’s whereabouts to make an arrest.

However, in a conversation with Arnold, he suggested to my sister that we both should apply for a civil service exam with the NYS Department of Corrections. First off, I did not have the slightest idea what a correction officer was, what they did, or why anyone would even consider taking the job working inside a prison. However, after some gentle nudging from Arnold, my sister and I applied to take the exam partly as a gesture to appease Arnold’s misguided ambitions for us both and partly out of my morbid curiosity.

The day of the exam was scheduled on a Saturday morning, my sister and I both headed down from the Bronx by subway to Murry Bergtraum High School in Lower Manhattan near One Police Plaza and the Brooklyn Bridge.

I distinctly recall feeling dog-tired from partying the night before, but since I had paid the application fee, I felt compelled to see this charade through. I had no idea how I did on the exam, but there were enough people taking the exam that day that told me this was probably something of value. Several months later, the results finally came in the mail. I passed with 80 percent, and my rank on the civil service list order was 2,674 out of 4,693.

I didn’t think much about the test results and tossed the envelope on my bed and began listening to Earth, Wind, & Fire and thought about more important matters like what I was going to do on the upcoming weekend.

Two months later, several more envelopes came from the civil service department related to the correction officer exam. One of which was to report to the World Trade Center for the physical. At the physical, I was surprised to see two hundred Black and Hispanic men in the same waiting area with envelopes in hand, patiently waiting to be seen, having casual conversations among complete strangers. All of us were hoping to pass the physical for the position of a correction officer.

Three months later, I received another letter that asked me if I was still interested in the job. I was to report to Albany for the agility and psychological exam. This would be the final qualifying aspect of the exam, except for the background investigation, and I noticed again that on this form, there was a box indicating if I was no longer interested to check it, and that would be that.

I traveled to Albany on the Trailways bus (with unbeknownst to me at the time, a group of other correction academy recruits from New York City) to complete the psychological and agility test. A year passed, and I still had not heard anything from my investigator related to the background check, so I figured nothing ventured, nothing gained and went on with my life, planning to take another civil service test when the opportunity came.

However, on January 10, I received a letter directing me to report on February 8, 1979 to the NYSDOCs Correction Officer Training Academy to begin classes to become a Correction Officer. That’s when the reality of what I had gone through and where my future was heading hit me in the gut.

Chapter 1

Attica State Prison—A Defining Moment in the History of the New York State Department of Corrections

Almost a decade before I took my training to become an NYSDOC officer, the state prison in Attica, New York, was ready to explode. Inmates were frustrated with chronic overcrowding, censorship of letters, and living conditions that limited them to one shower per week and one roll of toilet paper each month. Some Attica prisoners, adopting the radical spirit of the times, began to perceive themselves as political prisoners rather than convicted criminals.

On the morning of September 9, 1971, the eruption came when inmates on the way to breakfast overpowered their guards and stormed down a prison gallery in a spontaneous riot. They broke through a faulty gate and into a central area known as Times Square, simultaneously releasing all the