Yard Down: From the Crime Scene to Testifying in Court

SECTION I

CHAPTER 1

MY BACKGROUND

Seriously, who grows up wanting to work at a prison? In the mid-1990s, I grew up in a small city in Northern California. During this time, I worked as a courtesy clerk, bagging groceries at a major grocery chain. I remember one of the older cashiers informing me that he was quitting soon to go work at a prison. I remember asking, Why would you want to work in a prison? He told me that the prison system was a good career with good wages, great benefits, and an excellent retirement plan. I really didn’t understand the big picture at the time, but he convinced me to apply.

At the age of 20, I applied for the California Department of Corrections (CDC). I was informed that I needed to be at least 21 years old to work at the prison, but they were accepting applications for individuals aged 20. Around 1994–1995, the CDC was going through a hiring freeze, but I didn’t care. I put my application in anyway. After about a year and a half, I received a letter in the mail from the CDC informing me to take a written exam. I still remember my mother telling me that I received a letter from the prison, and I was like, Seriously? She said, Are you sure you want to do this? I said, Yes. I had to take a written exam, be interviewed, undergo a physical and then wait to see if I passed the written exam to advance to the academy.

I still didn’t know what to expect or what I was getting myself into. At the time, family and friends would tell me there was a no-hostage policy for staff in prison and that it was dangerous. A no-hostage policy for staff in prison means that in the event you are taken hostage by the inmates, your freedom will not be used as a bargaining+ chip to allow the inmate to be released from prison custody. However, staff will do everything they can to regain your custody. This is all they knew or heard about prison, which had me second-guessing my decision to become a corrections officer. Not too many people really knew about the prison system, and it really wasn’t a job normal people wanted. Back then, most parents would tell their kids, "You’re not working at no prison! You’re loco! It’s too dangerous, and that’s the end of this discussion!"

CHAPTER 2

TRAINING TO BE A CORRECTIONS OFFICER

Around the spring of 1996, I was notified by the CDC via mail to report to the Richard A. McGee Correctional Training Center in Galt, California. I remember showing up, and it was like I enlisted in the military. We were in a long line for registration and to receive our uniforms. In 1996, our uniform consisted of brown pants and a khaki-colored short-sleeve shirt. We looked like we worked for the United Postal Service (UPS). We had to have our uniforms ironed and creased and our boots shined, and grooming standards were strictly enforced. During the briefing inside the auditorium, the instructors were going around looking for individuals with long hair or hair that was otherwise out of compliance. They would pick out those individuals and send them to the academy barber to cut their hair. While we were sitting down, they were yelling "Stand up!" and we would all stand up. Then they would yell "Get down!" and we would sit down immediately. After doing this repeatedly, we were all in sync with each other. We had to make our beds with hospital corners, and our uniforms had to be a certain way. We had the duties and responsibilities of cleaning our rooms, making our beds, cleaning the showers, and working in the academy dining hall, serving food to all the cadets.

Later, I found out they were teaching us discipline, responsibility, unity, and teamwork. And they were also building character. There were two pay phones that cadets could use for fifteen minutes. I still remember having to wait in line to use the phone to contact our loved ones. After six long weeks of correctional training, I graduated from the academy and was on my way to my new career at a maximum-security prison called Salinas Valley State Prison (SVSP), located in Soledad, California.

Getting Started—Salinas Valley State Prison (SVSP)

At the time, the only California prison offered to me was SVSP. SVSP was the newest prison in California and was a Level 4 maximum-security prison. SVSP was already gaining a reputation for being one of the most violent prisons in California. Most new prisons have an immediate problem with violence and have a high rate of staff assaults. This has a lot to do with the fact that a new prison accepts a large amount of intake throughout the state, including high-ranking gang members and inmates with a history of violence, as well as prison politics within the inmate population. Prison politics are a set of rules that the convicts, gangsters, and other inmates abide by. There was a whole prison’s worth of unclaimed territory and a lot of very violent people jockeying for control, and there was no institutional memory of how any of the longer-term inmates behaved. A lot of issues occurred in a new prison when gang members began establishing territory in the prison yards.

At the age of 22, I was the third phase of officers to arrive at SVSP. I still wasn’t sure if I had made the right decision when I decided to become a correctional officer. Upon arrival, I realized I was surrounded by young, inexperienced correctional staff. This made me feel more secure and comfortable as a new officer, knowing I wasn’t alone. There was a handful of experienced staff that had five to ten years of experience in the department. But most of us were new and young officers who needed to learn on our own and make wise decisions in order to survive. I quickly fell in line and began to get educated on the duties and responsibilities of being a correctional officer. The strange thing was that some of my training officers had just left the academy themselves. You might ask yourself what more they could know than the officers who graduated with me, but SVSP’s A, B, C, and D yards were all fully functioning, very active Level 4 General Population mainlines that all had their share of violence and problems. During these years, there was no such thing as a Sensitive Needs Yard (SNY) yet. If an inmate had an issue, he would just be moved to a different yard or prison.

So, officers who worked second watch (day shift, 0600–1400 hours) and third watch (night shift, 1400–2200 hours) in the housing units or on the prison yards had earned respect and experience because they were out there dealing with day-to-day violence. In fact, there was so much violence going on in the prison yards that third watch officers began checking out equipment at control before entering the facility to protect themselves. During shift change, the yard was normally out, and the gangsters knew what time shift change was, so they knew that it was the best time to plan an assault or an ambush on an officer or an inmate. Therefore, officers were checking out a PR-24 baton as protection or as a defensive device when crossing the prison yard during shift change. To understand the prison layout, just imagine a football field and divide it into four pieces. Each piece would be considered a prison yard—A, B, C, and D (only ten times bigger). Each yard has 5–8 housing units, depending on the prison. Now keep in mind that these are generally the prisons that were built from the 1980s to the present time. The older California prisons have just one yard.

Prison Equipment

When I started at SVSP, the department had just rolled out a new line of uniforms. The pants reminded me of slacks, and the new style of jackets were big puffy jackets with a black fur attachment on the collar. It looked like a shiny black mink was on your shoulders. Everyone knew we were brand spanking new to the department, but when you see a new guy wearing a new line of uniform, it makes things even more awkward. They could see us coming from a mile away. I remember the veteran officers saying, Those are some ugly pants or I’m not buying or wearing those pants. The jacket was actually nice and warm, but everyone had the old-school thin, shiny-green jackets. Those of us in my academy’s graduating class didn’t know any better, so we had to just deal with it. Some of my academy partners and I began buying the old-school wool/polyester green pants to conceal how new we were or just to fit in. However, when you’re new, everyone knows you’re new, no matter what uniform you wear. Especially the inmates. You’re the new face in the crowd who looks like a deer in the headlights.

In 1996, correctional staff didn’t even wear stab-proof vests or carry pepper spray. We only wore our uniforms and carried the basic equipment. A stab-proof vest was just that extra protection against being stabbed or slashed. The only correctional staff who wore the stab-proof vests were staff assigned to the Security Housing Unit (SHU) or Administrative Segregation Unit (ASU). Soon after I started, the CDC began to roll out small canisters of OC pepper spray called MK-4 for the supervisors to carry. Officers only carried a PR-24 old-school baton, handcuffs, keys, a radio, a whistle, and maybe an alarm, depending on their work assignment.

Salinas Valley State Prison—Violence

I remember driving on CA Highway 101 to SVSP for my third-watch shift and always seeing a Code 3 ambulance departing the prison. I used to always wonder if the ambulance was transporting an officer or an inmate from the yard that I worked on. As you drive into the prison parking lot, you will see the inmates down on the ground where the alarm is happening. As you park, if someone has called yard down, you see all the inmates lying down on the ground, and you see your fellow officers responding and dealing with the emergency. This always meant that it was going to be a dangerous and tough day. I wouldn’t doubt it if people considered calling in sick from the parking lot before entering the prison for their shift.

A facility is like a prison yard. For example, if someone were to ask you where you work at the prison, you would tell them Facility A or A Yard. Each facility is like its own city. It has its own set of officers, inmates, cells, recreational yard, and dining hall. Once, when I was working third watch on Facility A, Building 1, around 3 p.m., a radio transmission went out over the institutional radio indicating that a riot was in progress on Facility C. Facility C staff were requesting additional staff for assistance. Therefore, Facilities A, B, and D were instructed to put their yards down as a security protocol and send additional staff to assist on C Yard. I was one of the individuals instructed to respond to C Yard. Now keep in mind that Facility C is at least two football fields away from Facility A, and there are many security gates you must go through. SVSP did have some golf carts that held about eight people and transported staff from yard to yard. If you didn’t make it on a cart, you were expected to run to the next yard to assist a fellow officer. As we were arriving at C Yard on the golf cart, we received another radio transmission. The radio transmission indicated there was an alarm in A Yard and a riot was in progress. All Facility A staff responding to assist C Yard were now ordered to report back to Facility A to assist. So we had to go back to A Yard to assist. During race wars, it was like a domino effect. If it happened on one yard, it was likely to happen in another.

On another occasion, during dinner, my partner and I were assigned as the seating officers in the dining hall. As the inmates entered the dining hall, something seemed strange because it was quieter than normal. This is always a clue that something has happened or is going to happen. The next thing we heard was an alarm in the housing unit where the inmates had just left. The announcement was Alarm in Building 2, requesting medical and a crime scene kit. My partner and I stood next to each other in the dining hall with our backs against the wall, watching a dining hall full of inmates. An inmate had been stabbed in his cell, and there were no suspects apprehended because all the inmates were in the dining hall with my partner and me. As medical and staff responded to the crime scene and treated the stabbed inmate, the inmates in the dining hall began to get restless and impatient. After waiting in the dining hall for almost an hour, they all began banging their plastic cups against the metal tables, creating an unbearable noise. I still remember my partner and I standing next to each other near the locked exit door, just staring at our gunner in the dining hall tower, hoping that if something happened, he would react accordingly.

Nobody wanted to transfer to SVSP due to the extreme violence, its reputation, and its high rate of staff assaults. I didn’t blame them. When I arrived at SVSP, a seasoned officer told me, We don’t have false alarms here. If you hear an alarm, you stop what you’re doing and respond to the area to help your partners. Boy, was he absolutely right.

June 10, 1998, was one of my most unforgettable and frightening days as a correctional officer. I was assigned to Facility A, Building 1. I was floor officer #2 on third watch. Prior to releasing the inmates for the evening meal, the control booth officer (a good friend) asked me if I could switch positions with him for the evening meal so he could interact with the inmates a bit more. I informed him that if it was approved by the supervisor, I would switch with him. It was approved, so we switched. I began releasing the inmates housed in the A section of the building. As they left the building, I was instructed by staff to start releasing the B section. At the time, our building had an ASU inmate housed in cell 219. The inmate was considered an ASU inmate due to having been in possession of a weapon a few days prior. However, SVSP was so violent at the time that there were no ASU cells available for the inmate. The inmate had a cellmate that wasn’t considered ASU status, so we were instructed to just let the inmate out who wasn’t ASU.

So my partner, whom I had just switched with, went up to cell 219 and instructed me to open cell 219. From the control booth, I opened the cell door, and the inmate exited the cell and went to the evening meal. My partner was still at the cell door, as if he was talking to the ASU inmate. Within seconds, my partner was running for his life as the ASU inmate exited the cell and chased him on the tier with a weapon. I activated the housing unit alarm and directed staff to the area. I responded to the control booth window, where I could have a clear view, and positioned the Mini-14 rifle to take a clear shot. Instantly, my partner reacted by turning around and wrestling the inmate down to the ground as correctional staff responded to assist. Later, we found out that the inmate had been ordered by the Nazi Low Riders prison gang to stab the next officer with whom he had been in contact. I almost lost a good friend that day, and I would have felt horrible because that should have been me up there instead of him. I think back and ask myself, If that had been me on the tier that day, what would I have done? How would I have reacted? Would I have been stabbed or even killed by the inmate? With less than two years of experience in the California prison system, I was already experiencing some of the serious dangers of working there.

SVSP was always having riots, assaults, attempted murders, etc. Nobody wants to work in that type of environment. As officers, we want to work in a safe environment that has a consistent routine, which in prison we call a program. The only thing that was consistent at SVSP was new staff and violence. But as peace officers, this is what we signed up for when we joined the California Department of Corrections.

Transferring to California State Prison, Corcoran

For a while, SVSP had a freeze on all lateral transfers for correctional officers due to a shortage of officers. It was very frustrating for officers who were from other counties and had a long commute. But after putting in three years of hard work, I was finally granted permission to transfer to California State Prison, Corcoran (CSP-COR), another maximum-security prison that included a very active SHU. The SHU housed validated gang leaders and violent and assaultive inmates who were facing disciplinary infractions or felony charges. This was an extremely dangerous area to work, and you must have great communication skills and camaraderie to survive.

Corcoran was my only option to leave SVSP and get closer to home. So I took full advantage of the situation and packed my bags. On my last day of working in A-1, I went in the control booth and made an announcement over the unit public announcement (PA) system, informing the inmates that after three years of working here, I was finally leaving this war zone and transferring to an established prison. Of course, some clapped, but most were yelling, Fuck you, Rey! and started pounding on the cell doors. Some of those inmates probably wished they could have transferred as well.

Becoming an experienced officer changes you. I’ll never forget the first time I went home to visit my family for the weekend. I pulled up to the driveway, and my father and uncle were outside talking. I got out of my truck and hugged them both with joy. We began talking about what it was like working at a prison. I began telling them about assaults, riots, fights, stabbings and all the violence occurring at SVSP. They couldn’t believe I worked there and all the violence I was around. In fact, both my father and uncle said, "Mijo, you have changed, and you’re different. What happened?" At first, I didn’t know what they were talking about. I thought I was the same person I was when I left to work at the prison. Looking back, I understand exactly what they were talking about. I did change: my awareness, security, mannerisms, posture, and attitude had undergone a 360-degree change. I worked in a setting where if I didn’t adapt, I wouldn’t survive. I also made some great friends at SVSP that I would consider hermanos.

Inmate-on-staff violence can happen