The Practical Application of Newton’s Three Laws of Motion or…………AHH SHIT!

In Three Parts


I was never a star pupil in school. I was lazy, always was, always will be. The old fashioned report cards that the teachers sent home always said the same thing. “Curt shows promise but is unwilling to put forth the effort required to be an excellent student.”

This is what I have come to know as a “shit sandwich”. For those who don’t understand the term I will dissect the sentence. “Curt shows promise” is one slice of bread. Harmless all by itself and even a bit of flavor, perhaps leading the reader to prepare for the meat. The sentence ends with the words “excellent student”. So, a quick glance at the two slices of bread could lead one to believe that Curt shows promise and is an excellent student. But. I love that word. It is sort of like saying, “hold my beer” or “watch this”.

“but is unwilling to put forth the effort required”. This is the shit in the sandwich. It killed my self-esteem. Okay, not really, but it could have if I had cared. I didn’t. I was too busy riding motorcycles, fishing and being a boy to really care what some teacher thought about me.

I digress. The purpose of this article is to discuss the practical application of Newton’s three laws of motion. The first three paragraphs merely serve to inform the reader that I learn things the hard way, generally through the repeated application of pain.

Newton’s first law.

“An object at rest will remain at rest unless acted on by an unbalanced force. An object in motion continues in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.
This law is often called
"the law of inertia".”

I learned this lesson early one Sunday morning as my parents lay sleeping. Mom’s new Yamaha 100 Twin sat in our basement garage next to Dad’s equally new Yamaha. This was back in the days when even small street bikes came equipped with the center stand that most cruisers lack today. I was a boy filled with curiosity and imagination and I loved those bikes. I was also forbidden to sit on them unless Dad was around. But, I am a slow learner.

This particular morning Dad was going to take me to the local ball field and let me ride his bike in circles while he and a friend drank beer and lied to each other. Of course I was too small to actually touch the ground or even the footpegs so Dad would put me in front of him, drop the bike into gear, ease the clutch out and , when the bike was in motion, simply stand up and let me ride out from under him. I would ride slow circles around the playground until they ran out of beer.

So, this Sunday morning I sat on the basement steps waiting for Dad. I imagined myself roaring around the world on the little 100 Twin and, like the fool I still am, I simply had to get on the damned thing. Absolutely certain that I would hear my parents rise from their bed in time to get off the bike, I climbed on the shiny new bike. I sat there, arms spread wide gripping the handlebars, making motorcycle noises and tearing across the landscape only my mind could conjure. I was wearing Mom’s new Bell helmet, yanking on the handlebars because, the way the bike balanced on the center stand, the rear wheel was in the air and the front was on the concrete and if I yanked hard enough to turn the bars that front wheel would somehow torque the legs of the stand and the bike would move. Sideways, but it would move.

Faster and faster I rode, the white lines on the imaginary highway becoming dots, the motorcycle sounds emanating from my 6 year old mouth becoming louder and louder until, my Dad asked as he stood at the bottom of the steps, “ What the hell are you doing?”. As I whipped my head around I yanked on the handlebars, the helmet fell forward over my eyes, my butt slid sideways on the seat and the bike fell to one to side.

This, this was my first motorcycle related “ahhh shit” moment. As the bike tipped it was suddenly clear to me that I was about to crash, not just Mom’s bike, but Dad’s as well.

AHHHHHH SHIT !!!!!!!!

Barely 6 and I was already dead. The tragic end to the greatest motorcycle rider ever to grace the face of this earth. Both bikes and I went down in a tangle of chrome, plastic, steel and a father’s wrath. I prayed that I would die in the crash. There would grandeur in that. Being beaten to death by my pissed off dad would just be anti-climatic.

When the sound of crashing finally ceased I lay in the twisted aftermath. I peaked from beneath the helmet, through the clutter of chrome and plastic, to see Dad sitting on the steps, face in his hands, moaning. He looked up, shook his head and said, “Come over here, I am going to beat you.” I went, he did.

I learned several things that day that relate to Newton’s first law. “An object at rest will remain at rest unless acted on by an unbalanced force.” I was an unbalanced force that kept my father in motion for more years than I can count.

Conspiracy

I wish that I believed in conspiracy theories. At least I would have the reassurance that someone was in charge, that there was a master plan. Alas, there is only average people trying to muddle through.

We have a new group of OJT's working their way through the system. This is not a bad thing. The bad thing is that when you replace an experienced officer with someone who has never even seen Adseg you pretty much ruin my day.

Yesterday they gave me an OJT. One would expect that they would schedule the new guy to work with the regular crew a few times before they throw him to the lions. Not in this place. The first hour is our busiest. We have to count and do med-pass between 3:30 and 4:30 count. With two experienced officers we usually get it done with a couple of minutes to spare. With a guy who has never counted a house or cuffed an inmate, it ain't gonna happen.

Throw in a nut job who refuses to take his meds and you have a cluster fuck. So, I have to teach the OJT how we count and then, while trying to hurry, also teach him how to cuff through the food ports. Hurrying in Adseg is a prescription for disaster.

When we hurry we forget things. When we are trying to explain things or have a guy asking questions we forget the little things, like cuffing the second guy in the cell before we pop the door. When we hurry we miss seeing things. Trying to keep an eye on two offenders, a nurse and an OJT requires more eyes than I have.

Sometimes, things go wrong in a heartbeat. Every time I open a door to give medication I ask myself, if this guy goes stupid, what do I do first? Push the nurse out of the way, slam the guy, block the guy, spray him? My job is to protect the nurse. But I have a brand new CO. Is he going to help me? These inmates can kick my ass one on one. Even with cuffs on, most of these guys can and will hurt me. It is a comforting to know that you always have backup. I lose that comfort when it is just me and an OJT.

So, yesterday, I worked scared. I don't like working scared and I cannot show that fear, that would be suicide in this place.

I wish there was someone in charge with a real plan.

Unintended Consequences

Early one Saturday evening we got a call from our zone lieutenant telling us we were getting a lock-up from one of the dining halls. Lt gave me the guys number and I accessed his records via computer to prepare the paper work. He is a guest of the state for several reasons. Fairly typical of the inmates we deal with. In short, he is not a guy I would want for a neighbor.

However, the reason for him being sent to Adseg was, in my mind, bullshit. Seems he stole a lunch bag from the chow hall and got caught. Usually an infraction that gets you room restriction in your housing unit for a couple of weeks, not a trip to the Septic Tank.

My opinion aside, I assign him a cell and cellie based on his custody level and mental health score. His record in prison is actually pretty good, seems to be a quiet guy who doesn't get a lot of tickets. His new cellie is also a quiet guy who never gives us any trouble, so things should work out well.

One of the yard officers brings him from the chow hall in restraints, as we do with everyone coming to the Hole. During our interview in the office the guy appears calm though a bit chagrinned. Of course he is not contrite over stealing the lunch bag, only that he got caught.

I grab the paperwork and, along with another officer, escort our new resident to his new cell. I yell at the guy in the cell and he comes to the food port to be cuffed. About this time, Mr Lunch Bag says, "I really think I want a cell to myself."
This not being a Holiday Inn, I ignore him and apply restraints to the cellie as the other officer says, " The only one man cells we have this weekend are suicide cells, so I don't think you have much choice". And then Mr. Lunch Bag says, with a grin, "ok, I think I am going to kill myself".

I sigh.

I remove the restraints from his no longer to be cellie, close the chuckhole, turn to our genius and say, "Ok, you win, you get a one man cell". He grins from ear to ear. He knows he just stuck it to the man.

His arms are cuffed behind his back and, with one officer on either side holding him just above the elbows, we escort him to a one man cell in another wing of the housing unit. He is happy, smiling, laughing and feeling good. By this time our control room officer has called the sergeant and two more officers to assist us. Mr Lunchbag hasn't a clue.

Inside the 8 foot by 12 foot cell I direct the inmate to stand facing the back wall and say, "Mr Lunchbag, I am now going to remove your restraints. When the cuffs are removed you will turn slowly, face me and remove your shirt. You will hand me your shirt. You will then remove the rest of your clothing and hand me each item. Is this going to be a problem?"

He says, "Why I gotta strip out, man?"

I reply, "Sir, you have stated your intention to harm yourself. It is our responsiblity to see that you do not do that, therefor, you will be stripped out, your clothing stored in a locker and you will be issued a Kevlar smock until the psychiatrist tells us that you can have your property."

He whines, "Man, all I want is a one man cell."

The sergeant steps in, " Sir, your statement of self-harm has taken all decisions away from Custody and the only one who can get you out of this camera cell will be the psych".

"Camera cell?" he moans. " Man , I don't wanna be in no camera cell. This is bullshit, man." He looks around the concrete room, misery filling his eyes as he takes in the raised ledge that is the bed.

We strip him out without incident. He is given the suicide smock and he stands forlornly as we step out of the cell and the door slides closed. We exit the wing and I go to the officer, fill out the suicide intervention form, contact the zone lieutenant and fill out the Close Observation Log. Two minutes of paperwork and a phone call. Yup, he stuck it to me.

A few minutes later I am in the wing passing mail and he calls me over. He says, "So when do I see the shrink and get out of here"?

I smile and say, "Sir, this is Saturday. The psych works Monday through Friday."

He looks stunned, "You mean I ain't gonna see him tonight?"

"No sir, you will probably see him before noon on Monday."

" Fuck ! "