![]() Some guys used it simply as a way to occupy their minds. ![]() For many guys, it was about winning, no matter what the endeavor was. It was all about how you did your time, like finding a hobby or hustle to get you through your bit. “Bid” was something entirely different, more like a purpose or raison d’être. From what I could gather, the word seemed to derive from the noun “bit,” pertaining to the length of a prison sentence, much like a “stretch” or a “stint.” Something like: “This seven-year bit is a fuckin’ bummer.” It seemed like an arcane term that didn’t really make sense until you’d lived in the system for a while. After watching me lie in bed all day, my celly - a skinny, middle-aged dude from Detroit - tried to offer some words of encouragement. Most new guys just end up lying in bed on their first day the bunk becomes a sanctuary, a safe space where they hide from others, as well as a new reality - as if you could just go to sleep and one day wake up and suddenly everything will be back to normal. “A brazen plot doomed to fail,” read the front-page headline in the Lexington Herald-Leader, alongside our four mugshots, covering in exhaustive detail the case that had quickly been dubbed the “Transy Book Heist.” Among the millions of dollars’ worth of stolen artwork and rare manuscripts was a first edition of Charles Darwin’s “On the Origin of Species.” The crime made headlines around the world, but it was an especially popular topic of conversation in our hometown of Lexington, about two hours from the prison. We later enlisted an acquaintance from high school, a guy named Chas, whose family was well-off, to act as both the getaway driver and financier. My other friend, Warren, and I were enrolled as freshmen at the University of Kentucky, which was just down the street. The year before, when I was 19, my two best friends and I robbed the Rare Book Room of the Special Collections department at Transylvania University in Lexington, Kentucky, where one of them, Spencer, had been attending his first year of college. ![]() In their words, it was because I was famous, but more importantly not a pedophile. “Oh, dang, you’re one of them art robbers!” he blurted out, chuckling in a high-pitched tone - and just like that, the interrogation was over. ![]() Luckily for me, the crime I’d committed had gotten quite a bit of media coverage, so right off the bat one of the guys recognized me. But refusing to show it is as good as admitting to being a child molester, so everyone just hands it over. The welcome party’s request to see your paperwork isn’t exactly a friendly one, and of course there’s a natural urge to resist. This task is usually carried out by a group of guys from one’s hometown, which is easy to learn since the last three digits of your ID number indicate which district court handled your case - a kind of proxy for geography - information that, along with your name, is printed on the front of your shirt for everyone to see. Once the guard was gone, a few guys cornered me in my cell and demanded to see my paperwork, the documents new arrivals receive, which detail their criminal charges - prison’s version of a welcoming party, which shows up mostly just to find out if you’re a pedophile. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |