Follow Up by Jerral Miles from Heart of Christianity Sunday School from The First United Methodist church of San Diego, California, United States for Monday, 15 June 2015

Follow Up by Jerral Miles from Heart of Christianity Sunday School from The First United Methodist church of San Diego, California, United States for Monday, 15 June 2015
I was reminded by somebody in the discussion group this morning that I had failed to send the story to group about the time I got hit on the head when I was twenty-five and worked at San Quentin prison as a correctional officer, a guard. After the New York prison break, I guess this is a good week for prison tales, but the truth about that story is that I never got hit on the head… not at work anyway. What happened is that one night I dropped everything I had in my hands… my stick (the one I used for gently tapping on a lump of blanket until I could see skin or until something moved in the lump and my flashlight and the keys to my little office… everything I was carrying… not only dropped everything but I ran back the entire length of the cell block to where my heart finally dropped back down into my chest and my breathing slowed and I realized I was O.K… but that I’d have to telephone the watch Captain to come to my rescue… and I’d have to face the cell block full of inmates who’d know that I had been frightened of of my mind. Here’s what happened:
I was doing my first night of duty (1st watch, eleven o’clock at night until seven o’clock the next morning) in a new prison building named appropriately THE ADJUSTMENT CENTER. In the Adjustment Center, as in the other cell blocks, a count of inmates is taken every two hours. At the beginning of the night, already done when I was let into the cell block, a bar is lowered which locks the entire cell block. Each cell is locked separately in addition to the one that locks them all. There is absolutely no way anyone is going anywhere; but the count has to be taken. When the time came for the two o’clock count I was especially quiet, careful not to wake the inmates. You wouldn’t describe as nice guys any of the people in the Adjustment Center. I don’t remember how long I had worked at the prison, but it was long enough that I knew I was safe… I knew the hardest thing I had to do was to stay awake… In my little office was a telephone which I used after every count to report the number of “live bodies” under my supervision. A row of cells, maybe twenty of them, ran along one side of a hallway… on the other side was a blank wall. The tiers weren’t stacked on top of each other in the Adjustment Center as they were in the South, North, and East Cell Blocks (five high in those buildings and many more along each side. Opposite the row of cells in the regular cell blocks, on each floor, was a railing, and on the top tier, the bottom of the cell block was a long drop down. That’s what I had been accustomed to managing until my first night in the Adjustment Center. I always had someone else with me when I was on duty in the other cell blocks. In the Adjustment Center, I was locked in alone for the night. I didn’t have a way out.
For the count, I made my way along the cell row, my flashlight held right close to the bars with my stick handy in case I had to lift covers until I could see skin and see breathing. I made my way along silent as a cat. About midway down the row an inmate was waiting for me. He was standing at the bars, as close as three or four inches from my face, so I came to his face with the light; he threw out his arms (not through the bars but out to either side of him), and he yelled as loud as he could. I was in absolutely no danger, but in the low light, in the middle of the night, in the middle of my watch… I was terrified. I dropped everything and ran. The inmate had pulled my stick, the light and the keys into his cell. Because I had dropped the key to my little office, I had to push an emergency button to get help. The watch captain was a good guy. The Inmate handed over the “stuff.” It had been a joke. Everybody else in the cell block applauded as we we went back down the length of the corridor. I shall never forget the night… and my terror. I shall never forget the two years I spent in that job. I had been a school teacher for two years before going back to graduate school… I went back to school teaching.
That’s the incident my neighbor Jim Fudge heard from me.
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Comment by Ben Christiansen:

Even the prisoners, who need adjusting, have a sense of humor, I'd say on the macabre side! I'm glad you didn't have a heart attack. Best wishes, Ben

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