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Behind the Walls
A Guide for Family and Friends of Texas Inmates
By Jorge Antonio Renaud, Alan Pogue University of North Texas Press
Copyright © 2002 Jorge Antonio Renaud
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-57441-432-5
CHAPTER 1
diagnostic
Since October 1, 1849, when a horse thief became the first person to be held in the state's custody instead of by local law enforcement, Huntsville has been synonymous with Texas prisons. The beautiful town of Huntsville—nestled in the midst of the state's most lovely forests; four votes from being state capital instead of Austin; adopted home of General Sam Houston—is, nonetheless, by virtue of that first prison, fated to always be linked with prisons in the minds of Texans. That unit, built in what would soon be downtown Huntsville and known as the Walls, also soon included the growing system's administrative offices. Over a century later, as the system began to expand rapidly, it became obvious that a separate unit was needed as a processing center. The Diagnostic Unit, built in 1964 a few thousand yards from the original Walls, became that intake unit. While there are now other units that may also serve some of the functions as the Diagnostic Unit, (now called the Byrd Unit), it was the first, it remains the most thorough, and it is the one I will use as a model.
Once men and women are sentenced to prison, they wait in the county jail until they "catch the chain" to Huntsville. That phrase—probably a reference to either the way inmates were chained together outside overflowing small jails or to one-time chain-gang work squads—means to be transported, by county or state vehicle, to prison. TDCJ does not allow inmates to keep their clothes, radios, televisions, books, etc., but neither does it give inmates advance warning that they will be on a particular chain on a given day. If you have been convicted and are awaiting transportation to Huntsville, it is best that you have someone pick up all that you can not take with you. The only items allowed to each inmate are a watch, a wedding ring, a chain and religious medallion, and a pair of shoes. If inmates have cash money, it will be taken and deposited into an account in the inmate's name and number after arrival. Incoming inmates should understand that if their jewelry and shoes are gaudy and/or expensive, other inmates will try to steal them. Since TDCJ sells inexpensive watches and shoes, I advise inmates to bring only an inexpensive chain with attached religious medallion, and, if married, a small wedding band. Anything else will attract attention and trouble. The first few hours at Diagnostic are by turns boring—inmates sit around in shorts and socks for hours at a time—and terrifying, at least to new inmates. The officers do what they can to impress inmates with the seriousness of the situation, and their gruff demeanor and harsh commands usually intimidate the newer inmates. Most experienced convicts are used to this, but "drive-ups" are noticeable by their bug-eyed faces and rigid postures. While stories of violent "testing" of new inmates by other inmates are mostly true, this will happen, if at all, upon arrival at one's assigned unit, not at the Diagnostic Unit.
TDCJ does not allow long hair or facial hair on male inmates; so all males get a burr, are ordered to shave, and may have to submit to a spraying of intimate areas with disinfectant. Inmates are allowed to spend a few dollars on necessary items and are assigned to cells. Although TDCJ has a policy of integrating inmates regardless of their prejudices, this will not happen until inmates arrive at their assigned units. While on Diagnostic, all inmates are assigned cellmates of the same race and roughly similar age and criminal history. This is to avoid violence before the system gets a chance to identify those prone to violence.
The purpose of Diagnostic is to examine inmates in order to better classify them so they will present the least security risk to TDCJ. Any talk about an inmate's rehabilitation and personal needs is way down the list of priorities. This is important: the system is not there to rehabilitate, to perform surgery, or to provide education or substance abuse counseling. Those may be a by-product of prison, but they take a back seat to security. The mission of TDCJ is to incarcerate convicted criminals and to ensure they don't escape. Becoming aware of physical and mental problems that may threaten the efficient running of a prison is part of incarceration. That is why Diagnostic exists—to physically, mentally, emotionally, and psychologically test inmates and assign them to units where they will present the least amount of security risk.
For example: if an inmate's knee problem is not discovered and he later claims it was created or worsened through TDCJ negligence, the funds and manpower wasted disproving that assertion detract from the incarceration mission of the system. Fixing the knee is a by-product of that concern. If an inmate has psychological problems that should be addressed and corrected before that inmate can safely return to society and contribute to society is of little concern to TDCJ. Identifying those problems is only important in case they might contribute to a violent attack on staff or inmates or perhaps lead that inmate to attempt to escape. All testing is geared to dig out anything that may cause problems for TDCJ. Any benefit the inmates receive is coincidental.
Inmates are given hearing, eye, and dental examinations, which are as thorough as can be expected, given the cattle-call aspect of the health care provided through the managed health care system. Inmates are given IQ tests and something called an Educational Achievement (EA) test, which the system uses to have some sort of standard for admittance into the vocational courses offered in prison but that has little free-world relevance. Inmates are interviewed by sociologists and quizzed about their criminal, social, institutional, educational, employment, family, military, and substance abuse history. If it is determined that an inmate has lied in his responses, he may be given a disciplinary case. TDCJ takes the diagnostic process seriously, because that is how inmates are classified, and classification leads to custody levels, which affect security.
There are four levels of custody—minimum, medium, close, and maximum, or administrative segregation (ad seg). (See chapter six for a more detailed explanation of administrative segregation and protective custody.) Initial custody assignments are determined by an inmate's length of sentence, age, charge, and by his behavior in the county jail and in Diagnostic itself. As I said in the introduction, almost every Texas prison is maximum security. Custody applies to the directness of supervision and degree of freedom that inmates have within a particular unit. Minimum custody inmates have more freedom and privileges than medium custody inmates, who have more freedom and privileges than close custody inmates, who for the most part have more freedom and privileges than inmates in ad/seg. (I'll clear up the "most part" in chapter six.)
However, and this may seem strange to those not familiar with prison: a convicted murderer sentenced to life can be in minimum custody, and a hot-check writer with a three-year sentence may be in close custody. Both may be in a maximum security environment, but a murderer who follows rules, keeps quiet, performs his assigned duties while showing no inclination to threaten the security of the unit (to escape), and does not threaten the staff or other inmates will be granted minimum custody status. The murderer may never be given a job outside the fence, but he will be allowed as much freedom within the fence and will be awarded as many privileges as a non-violent, short-term offender. TDCJ, to a large extent, does not care what you did to get in prison—what matters is what you do within its fences.
The Reception and Diagnostic Center Classification Committee (RDCCC), now armed with the results of the tests and whatever personal evaluations were done by the sociologists and psychologists, will assign each inmate to a unit and recommend a custody level, good time-earning category, and may recommend a job assignment. Once an inmate arrives at his unit, he will be given a job and housing in line with his custody designation. The system tries, within limits, to assign inmates with similar characteristics together. It reserves certain units for certain types of offenders. Some are for first-time, youthful offenders, others for older convicts; some have special arrangements for the handicapped, some for the psychologically disturbed. But with more than 140,000 inmates, the best that can be done is to try for a balance—a racial balance, an age-group balance, and a balance between lifers and short-timers. There are exceptions.
If an inmate is twenty-two, in prison for the first time, has a five-year sentence for drug possession, no criminal history, and a degree in business administration, he may be classified a minimal risk and assigned to one of the smaller, medium-security units, or even be assigned to an outside trusty camp. Then again, he may go to the Robertson Unit and be assigned by the Unit Classification Committee to the field squads, where he immediately gets into fights because of his youthful appearance or his precise, educated diction. He will then be demoted in status, to medium or perhaps close custody, and have to do his sentence day for day.
It's a roll of the dice. While TDCJ strives for a mix, if an inmate fills a need, he will be assigned wherever and however that need is best met. Once in the system, at his assigned unit, he may find a way—via educational or vocational programs, mostly—to get transferred to a unit more conducive to his needs, but TDCJ doesn't consider those needs a priority, unless they are medical. Do not expect proximity to family to be a factor when inmates are assigned to their unit.
CHAPTER 2
living quarters
In prison, privacy is precious. Inmates need some place to brood, to read and write letters, to kneel and pray. There is no place to be by oneself, except for rare instances. What little privacy inmates have is in their living quarters.
Depending on the age of a particular unit and on an inmate's custody level, he will live in one of three fashions: single-celled, in administrative segregation; double-celled, in all close, most medium, and some minimum assignments; or in a dormitory, which is only for minimum-security inmates. While many inmates would prefer cells, ironically only close-custody inmates—who have few privileges to speak of—are guaranteed cells.
At the time Ruiz v. Estelle was heard, TDCJ consisted of eighteen units—sixteen for males and two for females. Their design was primarily the same—one long corridor, intersected at intervals by housing blocks that extended, wing-like, to both sides. Imagine a cross with eight arms instead of two and you have the idea. Each block contained from two to four tiers, with twenty-one to thirty-one cells per tier. Designed for one inmate, there were never less than two inmates assigned to each cell, and severe overcrowding—a main issue in Ruiz—resulted in three or sometimes four inmates living in a forty-five-foot space.
This particular design, coupled with a severe shortage of officers, was a nightmare for both inmates and staff. The pickets, which contained cell-door control and communications equipment, were in the hallway, at the head of the blocks. The officers, expected to control traffic in and out of the blocks and also watch the dayrooms, spent most of their shift in and around the picket. This meant that the tiers were rarely patrolled, and nothing could be seen from the pickets. No one knew what went on in the far reaches of the run and in the cells themselves, and much went on—rapes, beatings, killings, drug trafficking and consumption, etc.
If anyone you know lives on Eastham, Ellis, Estelle, Ferguson, Coffield, Beto I, Wynne, Diagnostic, Retrieve, Ramsey I, Goree, Darrington, Clemens, or Central, he may still live in one of those old cells. Construction may have added other wings with larger cells, but there is no way to enlarge those particular cells. Most are nine feet long, five feet wide and eight feet high. The overall space varies—from forty-five square feet to sixty square feet. Most have forty-five. The cells have two bunks, one over the other, attached to one wall, with maybe a thirty-inch aisle between the bunks and the other wall. There is a toilet—without either seat or lid—in one corner of the cell farthest from the door and a small sink in the other corner. There is no hot water. In fact, none of the cells in TDCJ have hot running water, except perhaps on the privately run pre-release units.
The storage area consists of two shelves directly over the bunk. On some units, lockers have been installed in place of the shelves so that property can be locked away. These lockers very in size, but average twenty-four inches wide, twelve inches tall, and eighteen inches deep. There is no desk, no stool, and no place to set any electrical appliances—fans, radios, typewriters—all must be placed on the floor or bed. A bare bulb lights the cells. The cells have no windows, as they are built into the buildings, away from the outer wall. The cells have poor circulation, are not air-conditioned, and are stifling in the summer and cold in the winter.
The newer units, reflecting the concerns raised in Ruiz, do not have many of these design problems and have many more amenities. The buildings that house inmates are of a pod-like design—the picket is in the center of the pod, with the cells built around it, and all cell doors face the picket. This allows the picket officer to visually monitor all cells, and the rover, or the officer on the floor, to stay in sight of the picket officer while he walks the blocks. The picket officer, with all door controls at his fingertips, can open one door or all of them as he sees fit, and can open and close one or all pod doors, thus effectively sealing off one block in case of trouble. Each pod usually consists of twenty-four two-man cells, on two or three tiers. The cells are much larger—eighty square feet. Each includes a twenty-four by thirty-six inch desk with attached stool, two shelves for electrical appliances and cosmetics, and two lockable storage units—each twelve by twenty-four by twenty-four inches.
The bunks are still stacked, but each has a window over it, which can be opened and closed by inmates. The cells are bright, with fluorescent lighting. While not air-conditioned, (except for ad/seg,) the cells have vents that ensure a flow of fresh air, and they are extremely well heated. Each cell has a polished steel mirror; wall hooks for clothes; steps built into the wall for the inmate who must climb off and onto the top bunk—all items the old cells don't include—basic as they seem. However, there is still one crucial item lacking—a way of notifying the officers in case of trouble in a locked cell.
Concerning security, the new design is only as efficient as the staff on duty. Few officers walk the runs, unless it is necessary to close the doors, or while taking count of the inmates. Few picket officers watch the cells—they instead read or talk with other officers via telephone or intercom. Inmates trapped with a violent cell partner, or inmates undergoing a medical emergency, are at the mercy of inattentive officers.
Another change provided by the new housing units is that each wing has four or five one-man showers, allowing inmates to shower at any time during the day. The old units have huge communal showers, with as many as a hundred inmates showering at once, at the time decided by the staff. The inmates on newer units may shower when they want, with a measure of privacy.
Dormitory life, while different from cell life, has not changed much throughout the years, except that inmates have more room and a bit more privacy. Before Ruiz, on some units, inmates were so cramped that you could have a bunk over you, one directly at your feet, one at your head, and one on either your left or right side, in what was basically one huge bunk. I quote here a relevant passage from Ruiz:
"The population density of inmates confined in dormitories is shocking. At the Central Unit, for example, two rows of double-decker bunks, adjacent to each other, run down the middle of the dormitory. The scene was described as resembling one giant bed. Except for his bed, an inmate in this dormitory has no assigned space. Even while asleep, an inmate so confined is within easy and immediate reach of three other inmates (those sleeping at his side, at his head, and at his feet), and he is directly above or below a fourth inmate.... Under both of these arrangements a total deprivation of privacy in insured, since every inmate is in full view of dozens of others at all times. Not even the urinals or toilets are screened or partitioned from the rest of the space." Ruiz v. Estelle, 503 F.Supp. at 1278.
The cramped conditions meant that inmates had no way to get away from each other—they were always within touching and smelling distance of each other. Given the shortage of staff, this meant there were innumerable fights over petty and not-so-petty arguments. Everyone knew what everyone else had, and theft was common. Life in the dormitories was a dreaded environment. Now each inmate in a dormitory lives in a cubicle, with four-foot high partitions enclosing each living space. (Exceptions are in transfer facilities, where some dorms still have bunks stacked on one another. TDCJ exempts these facilities from its new policy, stating they are temporary living quarters and thus don't fall under Ruiz stipulations.) Inmates in dorms have storage lockers under their bunks, away from curious eyes. Each cubicle encloses a small desk and a tiny shelf. The living area itself is approximately four by twelve feet.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Behind the Walls by Jorge Antonio Renaud, Alan Pogue. Copyright © 2002 Jorge Antonio Renaud. Excerpted by permission of University of North Texas Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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