"HEY, MAN." Jonathan Wayne Nobles grins at me through inch-thick wire-reinforced glass, hunching over to speak in a deep, resonant voice through the steel grate below. A feeble "What’s up?" is the best I can manage. The visiting area in Ellis One Unit is crowded with other folks who have traveled, in some cases thousands of miles, to visit relatives and correspondents on Texas’ Death Row. They sit at intervals in wooden chairs surrounding a cinder block and steel cage that dominates the center of the room. There are cages within the cage as well, reserved for inmates under disciplinary action and "death watch" status. Falling into the latter category, Jon must squeeze his considerable bulk into one of these phone-booth-sized enclosures. It’s
They find meaning in their lives.Before purpose and survival or redemption and salvation can be discussed, an idea of what Angola is must be produced. The warden of Angola is a large man by the name of Burl Cain. Some believe that he is the reason for Angola being what it is. Bergner believes different:The striking tranquility at Angola—confirmed by the ACLU’s National Prison Project and Louisiana’s own watchdogs—could not be credited to Warden Cain alone. Twenty-one years ago conditions had been so anarchic and murderous a federal judge had ruled that the prison "shocked the conscience" and breached the Eight Amendment’s guarantee against cruel and unusual punishment. Reform had begun then.
A life behind bars is not an easy life, but a life that many people become accustom to, not because these people want to, but because they have to. The prison life is one that includes adverse challenges, dangerous situations, gang violence, and unpleasant living conditions. As shown in the documentary, Hard Time: Worst of the Worst, the inmates at the Southern Ohio Correction Facility in Lucasville, Ohio are no strangers to the prison life. Opened in 1972, the prison houses some of Ohio’s most dangerous inmates, totaling 2,200 inmates. The Southern Ohio Correctional Facility is known as a level 4, or a maximum-security facility. Here, correction officers control each and every movement of inmates. The Southern Ohio Correctional Facility houses inmates who find themselves in trouble once they are in inside of prison, such as stabbing or killing another inmate. The inmates are then sent to Lucasville to serve “jail time” for whatever act they may have committed while in prison.
It is the opinion of the author that the main purpose and goal of death row is "human storage." (Article, p.48) By this the author is suggesting that "condemned prisoners [are] treated essentially as bodies kept alive to be killed." (Article, p.48) The author goes on to use examples given by inmates on death row to illustrate the above-mentioned point. On such example included the alleged treatment of a suicidal prisoner on a death row in Texas. Apparently this prisoner was "placed in a straightjacket …handcuffs…placed on his wrists…a crash helmet…. was placed on his head and there he lay for weeks, helpless, alone and drugged." (Article, p. 49) Unfortunately there is no information given as to what else could have been done for the prisoner or what facilities the prison had to deal with this type of issue. This is also an anecdotal example given by someone on death row themselves. It is quite possible that this example may have been exaggerated or distorted in the re-telling or even told in an attempt to get staff in some form of trouble or get back at the staff for a 'wrong' done against the prisoner.
Zero awoke to find himself standing, it was not something he was familiar with and he searched his memory for any recollection of it happening before. Quickly he discovered that large parts of his memory were missing, gone were the seemingly endless data bases of information. Quickly he sent out feelers trying for a connection of some sort but he drew a blank. It seemed that where ever he was now, had limited connection capacity. Instead he used his visual feed to survey his surrounding, it appeared he was in some kind of desert of discarded parts.
Knowing and understanding the author’s purpose, we see where he is coming from and what his “point of view” is. We see that the author is someone that does not agree with the activities that occur in the native prison. It makes the author feel uncomfortable with the establishment and its procedures.
Through two metal, cold doors, I was exposed to a whole new world. Inside the Gouverneur Correctional Facility in New York contained the lives of over 900 men who had committed felonies. Just looking down the pathway, the grass was green, and the flowers were beautifully surrounding the sidewalks. There were different brick buildings with their own walkways. You could not tell from the outside that inside each of these different buildings 60 men lived. On each side, sharing four phones, seven showers, and seven toilets. It did not end there, through one more locked metal door contained the lives of 200 more men. This life was not as beautiful and not nearly as big. Although Gouverneur Correctional Facility was a medium security prison, inside this second metal door was a high wired fence, it was a max maximum security prison. For such a clean, beautifully kept place, it contained people who did awful, heart-breaking things.
Brock awoke to the sound of a trumpet. He was ready to get training. Brock put on his long johns, pants, shirt, coat, and hat. Then he slowly walked out of his tent. When he walked out he was greeted by Major General Wayne. He said, “Follow me i'll show you where you will be training.” Brock followed him for a about a mile until they walked into a large field with hundreds of saddled horses, and about 80 other men. Major General Wayne said,
“Men, for many of you, today is your first day training as a Knight of Camelot,” said Prince Arthur to the group standing before him. “And be grateful you’re not stuck in a torrential downpour as I was on my first day of training here on this very field. The sun is shining and I plan to work you hard.”
Writing can be a very difficult process for those who do not know how to go about constructing
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
I have received your letter, are the children healthy and well? How are you lately? Have you been sick recently? I am fine, well, as right as one is capable of being over in this land. I have thought of you every second of every day, there is not one moment I have forgotten about you. I just wish to be back home again. Last time you said that Henry was feeling slightly ill, I have some medicine stashed away in the bottom cupboard near the grand clock. If he shall start to feel very poorly, you may go there and find him medicine. You will know which one it is once you see it, I do not want Henry to turn out like poor Will did.
The war has been more than I could ever imagine. I have seen such horrific sights, that will remain with me for as long as I live. War is not as they tell us back home. There is no dignity and pride in killing another man; there is only damage and grief. War is exhausting. Half of us do not even understand why we are here, except to kill the Germans. We just want to be home, even the Germans have families they miss too. The trenches we have been staying in have been especially brutal. We stay here for days on end, staring into fields of shrubbery, waiting for the Germans. Sleep is limited and cherished.
Life in the camp is epitomised by one big question mark. Uncertainty is the order of the day. I don’t know how long I’ve been here or why I’m here. I’m lost in desolation and blended into the sea of blue and white. Papa tells me everything will be fine one day but he has lost the spark in his eyes and is now filled with despair. Today we continue to work on building huts, I can make an escape and meet up with Bruno like I usually did. A soldier gives me a wheelbarrow and I barely manage to hold it upright. I run towards the pile of rubble that hides me from the soldiers, the place where I meet Bruno. But before I could escape a blonde soldier yells at me. “Hey you! Come here. Faster you rat!” My heart pumps loudly, ringing in my ears. I run towards the soldier and he raised his hand, I immediately cower and waited for him to deliver the fatal blow. Instead he grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the entrance gates. “We need someone with tiny fingers, you’ll be going somewhere where you are not allowed to talk. Is that clear?” The soldier ordered, I didn’t want to think what they wanted with my small bony hands.
“There is no royal path to good writing; and such paths as exist…lead through…the jungles of the self, the world, and of craft” (Jessamyn West, qtd. in Lindermann 22). As West states, the process of creating “good writing” is as much an individual process as it is a challenging course to accomplish. How does one teach an individual process to a class of students? In order for instructors to reach every student, they need to inform students of the personal, ongoing process it takes to write a paper, or in the words of Lindermann “Writing involves not just one process but several”(22). To reach every student, instructors need to apprise students of the personal, ongoing process it takes to write a paper. The writing process is not a formula, or template to be taught as a one size fits all aspect. Lindermann attempts to answer the question, what does the process involve by tackling the elements of the process as what is
November 25, 2012. That day, or should I say night that changed everything. My best friend/sister of six years decided she no longer wanted to be friends with me. She looked me in the eye and said, “It’s just not the same.” Most people would say that’s not such a big deal, it happens all the time. In most situations it wouldn’t have been a big deal but that night I would soon realize that my life was going to spiral out of control and I was going to witness a domino effect like no other.