Booker T: From Prison to Promise: Life Before the Squared Circle Read Free

No one had told me anything. I was on a journey like Dorothy’s in
The Wizard of Oz,
having been ripped away from the comforts of my home and sent on a trip among strange characters on a seemingly unending road. My road wasn’t paved with yellow bricks but with gray concrete.
    Finally my last day at The Wall came. At four in the morning, early enough to avoid the possibility of rousing other inmates and trouble, the guards escorted me and about twenty more prisoners through the dim halls. With one tiny bulb suspended a few dozen feet above us, I could see only the grim outline of each face.
    I was relieved as we left behind the pungent air tinged by the regular use of the electric chair. As on my previous trip, I was shackled and led into an ominous old bus and cuffed to the seat. We pulled out of the confines of The Wall, leaving Huntsville permanently behind.
    Since it was still dark, I couldn’t see anything through the tinted and barred windows. It was still so early that I felt like a zombie in a foggy daze. My anxiety kicked in. Though no one said much, two of the guys were laughing, and I wondered,
How in the fuck can they be having a good time right now?
It must not have been their first ride to prison.
    The trip in the blackness was a sixty-mile straight shot to Navasota, Texas. The bus made a turn onto Wallace Pack Road toward Pack 2, a work prison that held about fifteen hundred inmates serving for anything from arson to rape to armed robbery and murder. The day was breaking, and so was I.
    Wide awake, I watched the intricate process as the bus entered the yard. The first razor wire gate opened, and we rode in and stopped while it shut behind us. A second gate released, and we pulled up to the main area. We were unlocked from our seats and led single file to the building. Armed guards were lined up as far as the eye could see on both sides.
    Quickly I surveyed the surrounding outside areas, all woods void of leaves and life. It was January and cold even by Texas standards. The grounds were expansive and went a few hundred yards in each direction before hitting the tree line. Also visible on the outskirts of the property were a couple of rickety field houses where the guards must have lived.
    Once inside I was unshackled, stripped, and given a cavity search. That was a real treat, let me tell you. Humiliating? Yes. Angering? Absolutely. Then I was taken to the laundry room and handed a blanket and my three sets of whites—my basic prison gear consisting of white shirts, pants, and sheets. I was responsible for keeping these cleaned and pressed at all times. Nothing was to be lost or stolen, or there would be penalties. As the guards rattled off the instructions, I tried to absorb the onslaught of information.
    Once those procedures were taken care of, the rest of the new prisoners and I were led through a hall about half the length of a football field with the stalest of air like any old high school’s. Bars separated us from the other inmates to the left and right. All those dudes ran up to get a good look at us, talking smack and howling catcalls like, “Fresh meat!”
    I kept real cool. These guys looked like any number of the people from the streets back home and didn’t intimidate me in the slightest. In fact, a lot of them seemed desperate and downtrodden. However, some of the younger ones were obviously bitter and trying to hide behind false bravado. I didn’t make eye contact with any of those dudes. I held my head high, where it was going to stay for the duration of my time at Pack 2.
    I was led to my dormitory, which had a wide-open setup. Lined up in two neat rows were fifty racks, which are small beds with lockers at the end, just like in the military. Once I got to my rack, there weren’t any formal introductions. The guard didn’t have much to say other than, “This is prison. Mind your own business, and you’ll be fine.”
    Thanks for the advice,
I thought.
I already know that shit.
    Now it