“…I laid back down in my bed, put on my headphones to catch the local radio station news, when I heard “United States Penitentiary Canaan, is locked down due to the murder of office Erick Wilkins, by an inmate in the unit he was assigned to.”
“Oh shit P-Lee!” I shouted, shooting up out of the bed and snapping on the light.
“Yo! What’s up man?” raising from under the blanket, eyes squinting from the sudden brightness.
“We’re locked down because they killed a CO last night.”
“Get the fuck out of here, Eddie.”
“I just heard them announce it on the local news,” I said, walking over to the cell door to look out on the unit, “And the TV’s are turned off.”
“Oh shit, they’re about to put us through it. They killed a fucking officer,” P-Lee said, shaking his head while climbing down the latter.
“I’m glad my mother brought the girls to visit last weekend because we’re about to be on lockdown for months,” I said, walking over to my locker and pulling out my bag of commissary to do a quick inventory assessment, preparing to ration out my personal food for the duration of this ordeal.
An hour later, the main unit door slammed shut and I heard the jiggling keys of the officers. I walked over to the door and saw them loading cardboard boxes on the pushcart.
“Food trays are up P-Lee.”
“Good, I’m starving.”
Two officers were feeding the unit, coming to each cell door, unlocking the food slots and shoving in the two brown cardboard meal boxes, along with two cartons of milk. This type of meal wouldn’t sustain a kindergartner, let along two grown men. Watching the officers as they approached, I saw the anguish on their strained screw faces.
Rumor on prisoner.com said that allegedly, four officers that work on the compound were ordered by the shift lieutenant, to shake down an inmate named Jessie’s cell, which is a standard procedure normally done by the one officer working the unit. For some reason, the shift Lieutenant, nicknamed “Big Show,” because he looked just like the professional wrestler, tall, overweight, bald with a thick mustache, directed the four compound officers to rip this particular cell apart, and they did.”