Misery
"Some people know how to be people. They do not have to go to school for it. They are just naturally good at it." — Irving Elmer Bell.
At Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison, those general population prisoners who have the money to do so and are in good standing with the authorities are permitted on a regular basis to go to one of the prison's stores to make purchases. Those of us who are held in the four cell blocks of G-Unit are not allowed to leave the unit for that purpose. Instead, we are required to fill out and submit order forms indicating the items that we need. Two days later a prison store staff member brings those items in bags into the corridor adjacent to each G-Unit cell block and distributes them.
Over the years a variety of prison store staff have delivered our items. Most, but not all, have not been well schooled in the art of humane interaction with prisoners. In fact, I am being charitable when I report that some have been incapable of engaging in even limited civil communication with anyone, least of all the prisoner who discovers an overcharge on his balance sheet. I am reminded of one staff member in particular. The racist tripe that flowed from his mouth made you think that you were talking to a fart.
It has been a couple of years since he left the scene, and now a woman by the name of Ms Suggs passes out our store orders. I have observed her interactions on repeated occasions and not once have I seen or heard her be anything but civil and courteous in every way. Whereas with most of the prison staff it is easy to forget about civility and courtesy, Ms Suggs is one of those handful of people here who help keep us in touch with what civility and courtesy is, and is not. She has become, for most of us, a much appreciated breath of fresh air.
The poem that follows is my way of letting Ms Suggs — and the world — know that she stands out like a beacon of dignified civility in the darkness that most of this prison's staff members bring to G-3's corridor. Ms Suggs occasionally wears a tiny, very real-looking ladybug pin on her shoulder which she refers to as her "little Ladeebug".
In the corridor of misery
where Ladeebugs roam freely
as symbols of beauty
attached to Infinity's
love for all of Humanity
... only
quiet dignity we see
where Ladeebugs roam freely
In the corridor of misery
BY BRANDON ASTOR JONES
[The writer is a prisoner on death row in the United States. He welcomes letters commenting on his columns (include your name and full return address on the envelope, or prison authorities may refuse to deliver it). He can be written to at: Brandon Astor Jones, EF-122216, G3-77, Georgia Diagnostic & Classification Prison, PO Box 3877, Jackson, GA 30233, USA, or email <brandonastorjones@hotmail.com>. Jones depends entirely on donations. He welcomes contributions in any amount. In Australia, please transfer or deposit money directly into account #082-631 53 096 4691 at the Australian National Bank, Ltd. This account, under the name A. Frischkneckt, is entirely dedicated to receiving donations for him. US readers: please make a money order or cashier's cheque payable Del Cassidy, Jones' trustee, and send it to him at 142 Wilmer Street, Glassboro, New Jersey, 08028. Jones is seeking a publisher for his collected prison writings. Please notify him of any possible leads. Visit Jones' web page at .]
From Â鶹´«Ã½ Weekly, November 21, 2001.
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