by Osbun Walton, San Quentin State Prison, CA
December 1st, 2020, Coronavirus “COVID-19” pandemic has the whole world in its deadly claws. I thank God I’m a survivor, but I am still experiencing some of its effects like memory loss. San Quentin State Prison is on modified program, which consists of controlled movements where various workers and those being escorted to the clinic, education, board hearings, canteen etc. have to be escorted by prison guards or their assigned bosses. However, it didn’t stop my typical early morning wakeup at 4am.
Although my PIA job is shut down, I still rise as if I’m getting ready for work. It is also the best time for me to prepare myself for today. Whatever that means, but I wash up as I boil water in my personal hot-pot for some Folgers/Mojo mix coffee, a helpful readiness for cleaning the cell for prayer and personal creative writing, creative writing homework, letter writing, legal work, etc.
It is a very quiet time to gather your thoughts before the North Block inmates awaken around 5am-6am of another beginning of endless noise and chaos. Not forgetting the shouting guards, slamming iron and a wooden doors as if no one occupies the building but them, in their haste to get off work.
The guards entering their work place carrying negative baggage of frustrations they earned at home ready to inflict their ills on the inmates still dead-locked into their cells. At times the inmates would wake up cussing at the noise inconsiderate guards and the cussing begins for a short while.
In the groove in my personal creative writing to try to complete a fictional story “The Corner Poet,” that I have been working on for some time have finally materialized to my desire due to my rewriting countless times. Creative writing is a positive outlet for me that I love and enjoy. Being a student writer in Zoe Mullery’s workshop and The Beat Within heightened my ability to not only write but also to try my hand in art and meaning to my writings.
Two nurses appeared at my cell informing me that I had to take another Coronavirus test before being released seven days of this date of December 1st, 2020. This information totally took me by surprise to where I had to question them.
Walt, “Nurse, you sure you have the right person?”
Nurse #1 says, “You are Osbun Walton?”
Walt, “Correct.”
Nurse #2, “Hold your head down to the stray slot so I can take your temperature and stick this medical Q-tip up your nose.”
I did comply and they left me with my mind truly blown at this particular moment and I was so glad that I was in my cell alone. The shocked expression on my face had to be one of confused silliness that I refused to look in my canteen mirror.
My neighbor stated, “Walt, I heard everything they told you. Hey man, it’s your turn for freedom. What did you do?
I said,“ I did everything that was and is allowed us for possible freedom, in prayer to restore mine, such as that 1170.95 with the Long Beach Court and the COVID-19 Relief with Marin County courthouse.”
Then my neighbor said, “I did nothing because I didn’t believe in their process.”
Those words coming from him also came out of the mouths of other lost souls that have condemned themselves worse than the system has criminally convicted them with senseless years behind prison walls. This nightmare is at its end.
I couldn’t wait for breakfast so I could go to my nephew, JC’s cell on the other side of the building on the second tier, third cell, as well as those close to me, the blessed news of my release.
Everyone was happy and I did something unusual for me to do was to approach a Sergeant asking him for a phone call, since I couldn’t make contact with my family through the inmate phone system to tell my woman, Beatrice, the great news. I gave him my information and he dialed the number and handed me the phone receiver.
My woman answered the phone and at first didn’t know my voice until I said to her, “You mean to tell me that you have forgotten your husband’s voice?”
She laughed. I told her the greats news hating to hang up. Thanking the Sergeant and he told me he was glad to do me the favor and that he hopes I have good luck in my release as I departed from his office.
I dedicated the rest of the evening separating my personal property of what I am giving my nephew T.C. to have in case I return, what I gave away and what I’m keeping with me. I kept hearing my woman’s voice and laughter all night long as I committed myself into completing, “The Corner Poet.”
Hearing my woman’s voice, I mentally seen myself crawling through the phone lines to her to embrace her in every way I possibly can. I’m a letter writer to safeguard myself from feeling more homesick than I do. Catching the blues is nothing nice and that is putting it lightly, especially behind these confinements, behind prison walls without a date for release. But I was on a natural high so ready to begin my life again in the free world, at last. All I can hear is Etta James singing those two words, “At Last.”
I managed to write my mother in Texas and my niece in Portland, my creative writing instructor Zoe Mullery, informing them of my blessing.
Three days before my, “Final Count down,” I finished “The Corner Poet,” Fictional Story and packed it away into my personal cardboard box. On the morning of my thoughtful, much longing release, confusion was created as to what kind of release I was having. 1) Was I being released into the custody of a transitional home? 2) Was I being released from San Quentin State Prison? Or, 3) was I being released to Los Angeles County jail?
In my mind, I’m thinking either way, I will be free soon as I were going to R&R (Receiving and Release), but it seemed as if I were approaching R&R, my natural high seemed to fade away from me. The inmate worker Brown took my personal box and told me that I am being released to Los Angeles County Jail as I entered a holding cell there and they were late as usual.
I really didn’t pay much attention to his information until a friend of mine, Champ, as we all called him, was also being released. As he got into a van and was driving off prison grounds I was still left behind in this cold degrading cell. I stood there in that holding cell for countless hours trying to keep hope alive in my freedom.
Self-help talking was difficult and inmate Brown came and fed me lunch that I barely touched and I started exercising trying to keep my mind thinking positively and away from the dark side entering and invading my mind. I can’t allow nothing to interfere with my long awaited release that I earned for the endless “bull shhh” I’ve endured to get this far.
Tell me, sincerely, I’m not hearing laughter in the background behind my back? What happened to the “natural high” I was experiencing about my release? Why am I beginning to feel like a mouse caught up in a deadly unforeseen trap? I asked God to allow me to understand this seemingly matter of a tormented nightmare that’s been a great part of my life.
I’ve been knocked down so many times, I wonder at times is it worth it? But I always mange to find strength to get up and continue the fight.
Finally, my transportation arrive around 11:30am and after the paperwork and check points, we were on our way around 12pm. The two guards transporting me were nice and respectful and they drove that van like they were speed racing on some professional track. The views were very pleasant and I truly appreciated the difference after spending eleven years at San Quentin State Prison.
What amazed me most was that I couldn’t identify most of the cars on the route we were on and the quickness we arrived at Los Angeles County Jail that evening around 7pm. The arrival was different and strange, but I soon learned that now you first arrive at the Twin Towers, which seem more like a mental hospital. There were so many inmates naked in a heavy cloth, handcuffed to special seats, that they had no problem duplicating at random.
As more drugged out inmates arrive, it got really crazy that it reminded me of those movies of the Living Dead in fast motion. I’ve seen people get crazy using certain drugs like Crystal Meth and Sherm, and back in the ‘70’s Crystal, that was like basically pure. It seems like inmates were going crazy every ten to fifteen minutes screaming shouting, and putting off their clothes doing all sorts of weird and sexual acts, truly demeaning themselves.
This drug, many of the younger generation are now using is called Fentanyl, which many have overdosed in San Francisco alone, not to mention the entire nation as well. Rich or poor it has been a death sentence for a great number of people and the usage of such a deadly drug continues more so. I feared where to sit and talking to people. It was that kind of craziness. I was surrounded for twenty hours before we moved to another quiet and cleaner holding cell with only about ten people. Then they finally moved me to the Central Jail 5100 dormitory setting.
As soon as I got settled in and met a few people, I went immediately to sleep. My court date is December 11th, 2020, in Long Beach Courthouse concerning 1170.95 a fairly new law that really gives relief to the prisoner that wasn’t the actual murderer.
I am the actual murderer but there was some confusion if I qualify or not. My ex-cellie, Talib talked me into going personally to court, which I didn’t feel was necessary so I agreed to appear November 16th, 2020, but no transportation come to transport me. My lawyer informed me that my court date had been changed to December 11th, 2020 through the mail.
The COVID-19 pandemic was still quite active especially in Los Angeles, so I had wrote my lawyer a letter telling her to go ahead and take care of my case instead of me making that long trip and getting trapped in Los Angeles if the decision didn’t go in my favor. She claimed she never got my letter.
Another matter that blew my mind were the mentality of the guards with inmates and how they interacted and communicated humanely with one another. I couldn’t believe this far cry of cruelty and death of my yesterday’s experience here in Los Angeles County Jail system that always been a nightmare greater than being in a deadly prison riot. In those times, inmates pleaded guilty quickly even when they were innocent, just to go to prison to get away from Los Angeles County Jail’s inhumane treatment.
December 11th, 2020 I awoke early than expected, 3am, ready to get to court, but when all the inmates were called for court, my name was not mentioned. This got to be some error as I approached the guard in the booth, which he took my number and ran it through his computer and told me that court date had been changed to February 8th, 2021.
Momentarily, I stood there wordless, unable to comprehend another delay for a simple decision. I’m not going to get into the situation I’m still having with the canteen here, which I wrote them up twice, is no doubt mainly the problem why I am going through the hell they are making me endure.
Yet some brothers and others have made sure I was not left without nothing such as my basic needs of food, cosmetics, some treats, as well as tennis shoes. My tennis shoes were taken from me on my arrival because they had shoe strings. I owe debt of gratitude to these people for rescuing me in my hardship and I will get their names and numbers before I leave here.
The usual bull shhh seemed more constant during this period of the scary Coronavirus Pandemic and the inmates were basically left alone to govern themselves! Through this experience, I also gained a “hater,” something I’ve experienced since my childhood. As long as I breathe, I know this will be a not to exclude family members…(to be continued).