The Advantages of Literacy

There was a time when I could not read. I think it was the summer I was in the third grade that my folks realised this. My mother spent most of that summer tutoring me. Of course I hated it, but she persisted and I learned. I can never thank her enough.

Perhaps it is because I learned to read a bit later than most, but I clearly remember most of the fairy tales and other stories that we read that summer. The stories of Chicken Little, the boy who cried wolf and the boy with the new boots, were not just stories but lessons to be applied later in life.

Last night the story of the girl who painted herself into a corner came to mind. While I have never seen anyone literally paint themselves into a corner, figuratively speaking I see it every day.

Last night one of our Adseg inmates painted himself into a corner. He was complaining, loudly and belligerently, that he had a phone call coming. We looked up his file and found nothing to indicate that he did. No note from a caseworker and he was still on Disciplinary segregation, so, no phone call.

About 6:00 pm he told Sarge that he was gonna kick his door until he got a phone call. Sarge told him to go ahead, the door could take it. Then he switched gears and said he was gonna beat his cellies ass. He just backed himself a whole lot further into that corner.

Just like the robots of Robert Heinlein we have a couple of prime directives. Number 1: Protect the public. Number 2: protect the staff. Number 3: Protect the inmates.

To protect the cellie we now have to move the protagonist. He refused to cuff up. His available floor-space is shrinking exponentially. He began shouting to the rest of the wing that we would have to put a team together to remove him from the cell.

It takes an hour or so to get the 5 man extraction team together, pulling officers from their regular posts, getting them suited up in their armor, briefed on the situation and down to the housing unit. The LT showed up, talked to the guy and then began making phone calls.

I stepped outside and had a smoke, figuring to let the guy cool off a few minutes and then try to reason with him, just to save everyone the trouble of getting the team together. After my cigarette, I stepped to his cell door and asked if he really wanted to go this route. He ranted and raved about forcing us to do our job. He told me that the team didn't scare him, that he was ready to fight. Then he spilled that bucket of paint. "I am holding my cellie hostage!"

Prime directive number 3 kicked in. I informed Sarge of the hostage situation, he informed the LT, LT called the captain. The captain said " Get him out of there, now!".

Standing at his door, I directed him to cuff up, last chance. He refused and told his cellie, who was sitting on his bunk, " If you get off that bunk I will kick your ass!". We opened the door.

The look on his face was priceless. He began shouting that we weren't a team, that we couldn't touch him without a cameraman recording. He went down beneath a pile of meat. He didn't get to play with the team, he got to play with 6 officers in a hurry to get him out of the cell.

He ended his defiance with the orange paint of pepper spray on his face, not just on the soles of his shoes. Now he has time to read all those stories of our childhood. Those stories that were more than entertaining, those with life lessons hidden in the simple words.