During my 47 years in Angola (Louisiana’s State Penitentiary), I think I held something in the area of 8-10 different jobs. Doesn’t sound like a really good track record in the “free world,“ but trust me, it’s very good in prison.
I met the coolest of older dudes – they’d all been in the system for decades – when I finally made Trusty and moved to Camp F where the vast majority of trustys lived, worked, ate, slept and played. It was a world unto itself with a totally different caliber of men than found in the Main Prison or any of the other outcamps. They were older, more mature, stable. It was away from the hectic pace of the rat race that passed for the wider general population
I knew guys who had 30+ years in one job assignment, but they were trusty and hardly ever moved around the farm and usually had a “technical” or highly-skilled job. An example of this was my friend, Wayne…he worked in the Electric Shop, and had done everything from sweeping and mopping the floor, to working on the “pole truck,” and doing high-voltage line work, to working in the motor rewinding shop. He was finally released some time back and went directly into some well-paying job with all that experience. He’s currently living the good life in rural Louisiana.
Another of the guys, Earl, was a laundry worker – he had worked in every single assignment in the laundry, from orderly to washer to dryer, to presser and folder. He had been there for 27 years and loved his job and would often step in for someone who had a visit or was on callout or just didn’t go to work because he could operate any piece of equipment there.
Forget the fact that he had three cats he had raised from kittens that he cared for like a fussy and dotty old aunt. He died several years ago from a stroke, still working in the laundry.
Trusty workers always brought him special finds – wild onions, greens, garlic, peppers, tomatoes – from the various fields around the farm. He prepared a stack of good soul-food plates on weekends for sale for cigarettes and gave away half of what he made to poor and disabled convicts.
Tall cooked in various kitchens around the farm for over 40 years. He suffered from diabetes, and as a cook was on his feet for hours and hours every day. Finally, his legs were lost to age and his culinary skills lost to Angola.
Or, take Jerry…a sophisticated backwoods country boy who always proclaimed his innocence and bitterly cursed “the bastards in that damned parish who don’t want to see me free!” while passing out well-worn hoes, rakes and shovels along with the occasional weed eater or lawn mower from the Tool Shed. Every single tool had to be checked out and signed for by the borrower and accounted for upon its’ return. He was meticulous with records and inventories, especially of chemicals and flammable liquids.
Jerry had been at Angola for about 30 years when I was around him and had seen his share of interesting events. He had, at various times, worked in Tool Sheds around the farm, been an Inmate Counsel, been a cook, a club president, an orderly, an ACA compliance clerk, and a general pain-in-the-ass to virtually everybody.
Jerry was an ornery bastard but, at heart, was a good dude. He had tried several off-time activities, but eventually settled on one of the rarest of penitentiary hobbies – taxidermy. He combined his job with his hobby and his source of income. And it was a good choice – he maintained the support of the “old guard” crew of wardens and high-ranking security while he had the opportunity to build bonds (and customers) with the new guard. He gradually moved his taxidermy operation into a remodeled partitioned space in his Tool Shed and kept a pretty cluttered area that was highlighted by his own stove where he often had a big pot of jambalaya. He had a BBQ pit where on special occasions deer meat or pork steaks would be found for those fortunate enough to be invited.
When I left Angola, he was still busily handing out tools, checking levels in fluid containers, stitching animal hides and stirring up jambalaya, all the while proclaiming his innocence.
Or, “Ole Fox,” who never saw a pair of boots he didn’t want to lick. He had been down a little over 30 years when I was last around him. He was a middle-aged leaning in to older poor Black man who came from a bitter and impoverished background, and had had to work hard for everything he had ever had. When you first met him, he would come off as sort of gruff, with a deep and gravelly kind of voice. He had a habit of talking with his hands – like a lot of Italians do – and he made it a point of maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. If you looked away he wouldn’t hesitate to touch you on the arm or shoulder or back to return your attention to him.
He worked at the Mule Barn where the mules were there for the purpose not only of being working beasts of burden but for show as well. When they weren’t busy hauling fresh-picked produce from the field farm lines or delivering 500-gallon tanks of drinking water to the crews picking those crops, they were being groomed and made ready for TV. The Warden at the time, Burl Cain, loved to show off his mules and the Barn was a favored spot for taking escorted visitors on tours of “The Farm,” as Angola became famously known. Who decided to jump into the lurch and become the featured mule expert? Fox, of course. When not at work, he loved to talk about his job and the things that went on there, and would do so with anybody within earshot.
He called Burl Cain “his daddy,” and meant it. Once, Burl saved Fox in a disciplinary-type situation and the CO who was on Fox’s ass got chewed out pretty royally. Fox never let him or anyone else forget it.
“I’ll go to Burl on your ass in a minute!” became his standard reply when confronted with virtually any situation he didn’t like or was threatened by, Talk about stretching the limits!
These are just a few of the guys whom I was around while I was doing time. Angola was – if nothing else – a total hodge-podge of personalities that made up the unique environment that was Angola prison. I’m so glad I’m gone – they can keep it!
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