THE ROOMMATE Chapter 3 Thanksgiving Adventures
When it became time for the Thanksgiving Break, I of course invited Beau to join my family for this commemoration which my family, and most citizens of Massachusetts believed was really their own which they had generously shared with others. However all true early generation descendants of the early settlers really felt that this holiday was theirs alone and noblesse oblige was involved in allowing others to also participate.
As I was taking my suitcase down to Beau's car, I again looked at his BMWX5 35i. It was a beauty. As I pushed the button to raise the back hatch, I put my suitcase and study materials in the back. I then moved to the front of the car, and although I was ashamed of myself, I opened the euphemistically called glove box. Yes the invoice had been placed inside the box along with the owner's manual. The price on the invoice was $63,605. My Dad would never buy an automobile that expense for himself, and NEVER for a teenager like myself. I felt guilty for a vehicle that would command such admiration and envy from those whom we passed on the road to East Longmeadow. Fortunately, I was safely walking back to our room to see if Beau needed any help when I saw him coming down to path to the car. "I was just coming back to see if you needed any help. It looked like you were packing enough clothing for a month and not just a long weekend." "Well, my esteemed roommate, the difference in need is the difference between you're going home and whatever clothing you have there, which I would guess is considerable, and that I must anticipate several possible scenarios that you will just be able to go to your closet to become properly attired. I must admit that his explanation did make sense, and soon Beau and I were on our voyage to my home in Easy Longmeadow, Massachusetts. I handed Beau the directions to my home which was down US 7 until we hit I-90, then to I-91 and then to Sumner Avenue, and finally to North Main Street to East Longmeadow. I told Beau I would then guide him through some local streets to give him an idea of what East Longmeadow was like, and finally to my home. As we were driving down US 7, we came across a sign about an inmate work crew ahead, and then indeed came to their transportation parked at the side of the highway, which was like a white school bus, but with steel grates over the windows. About twenty feet down the highway from the bus, we were stopped to allow for an inmate crew, which I think we in the north would call a chain gang, to cross the highway. A couple of chain gangs of probably seven or so inmates each were cleaning the sides of the road or trash and weeds, and one chain gang that crossed the highway in front of us, had shovels and wheel barrows and were digging out and cleaning ditches. Beau, looking at the leg shackled and orange jumpsuit clad inmates at work did react. "Is this the northern idea of slave labor?" For some reason the question did needle me. "No we DO NOT have slaves in Massachusetts. These are inmates from a state correctional facility doing public welfare. We do not use the Fourteenth Amendment to enslave." "Really." Beau replied. "It does look a little like an inefficient attempt at slave labor to me, but you can use any euphemism you want." I looked over at Beau, and saw a slight smile on his face, as I think he believed he was catching me in some Massachusetts hypocrisy. I was uncomfortable as chained men, under guard, was indeed perhaps too close for a good denial. "These are not naked, branded, slaves who have permanent steel slave collars, wrist and ankle cuffs on them, which is what I understand is the style of the convicts in the south who have been leased to private persons to use as slaves." I blustered to cover my discomfort, All the time we had lived together I had carefully not broached the subject of slavery. I was well aware that Beau's family, and his wealth came from his family's ownership of a large plantation in Southern Tennessee which ran on what we in Massachusetts called slave labor. I had avoided the topic as I realized Massachusetts and the other New England states were the few who had not opted to use persons duly convicted of crimes, to be leased to private firms for hard manual labor. "So this chained group of prisoners is just some sort of unusual use of the labor resource that is just there waiting to be used?" "Yes normally persons in our prisons do some jobs around the prison, but mostly just spend their time in cells, and in some recreation." I could sense Beau's disdain for my reply which I had to admit to myself seemed a bit lame. "Well, I guess I some use of this potential source of allowing someone who has been convicted to breaking society's laws to give back useful service is better than nothing. What do you convicts do with their time?" "I don't really know" I admitted. "My Father is on some sort of state corrections oversight board, and perhaps while we are at home, he could arrange for us to visit one of two correctional facilities around Springfield since east Longmeadow is really a suburb of Springfield." "That would be interesting." Beau replied in a slow thoughtful way. I momentarily wondered what was going through his mind, but dismissed the fleeting question as once again, we were allowed to proceed. When we completed our trip to my home, which was a fairly large brick federal style home, Beau did not make any disparaging comments, and when we pulled to the back of the house and parked in a parking area by the garage (my Mother was involved in many clubs, and hosted her bridge club frequently) both my Mother and Father came out the back door to greet Beau, and me. I say these names in the order of my parents' interest. They both warmly welcomed Beau. My parents were followed out by Frank and Callie. Frank was the husband of Callie, our housekeeper and cook, and Frank was our handyman. Frank was in his usual spotlessly clean jeans and blue shirt, and Callie in her spotlessly white dress. Beau was his most gregarious and charming self. I could see that by the time we were in the house he had won all of my family over. When we were inside the kitchen, my sister, who was in high school, came by for introductions. She was a high school junior, and I could see Beau's southern drawl, and his charm had her swooning also. Well Beau settled in, and soon had my entire family very much as taken with him as almost everyone else had been. Thanksgiving dinner was a great success, and Beau made sure that Callie received very special attention and compliments for dinner and everyone else in my family for some outstanding quality or qualities. That evening, and the Frank, Beau, and I had been satiated with football games and left-overs, delivered to the TV room by Callie, and my Mother and sister. As the games became boring, (really how many times can the Detroit Lions lose on Thanksgiving), and discussing the world, politics, and generally being lazy thanksgiving males, I brought up the chain gang which we had seen on our way down. I had considered leaving the subject lie, but I really did want to see where the discussion with my father would go. "Dad we saw a convict work gang working on US 7. Is this something new?"
"Well son, the answer is yes and no. Inmate work gangs have been part of jail and prison life in Massachusetts all our history as far as U of Mass research informed the Corrections Council. We are experimenting with a few inmates from both the Hampden Correctional Center and more from Enfield Correctional Center going out and doing hard labor work which cannot be done easily by machine or is too labor intensive to have paid workers do it. Where did you see these inmates working?" "Well it was on 7, near the Pleasant Valley Wildlife Sanctuary." "Yes work in that area was on the list of places where these inmate work parties were assigned. There is no town too near, and there is not either the manpower or mechanized devices to economically accomplish these tasks." I had to suppress a smile here. That answer was vintage Dad. He sounded like a university professor or lawyer even when talking to family and friends "What we noticed was the use of leg shackles. I remember seeing inmate work crews many times before, but not working in chains." "True. We had to resort to the use of leg shackles because the state cannot afford enough guards to watch both the honor inmates, who are those doing trash pickup and such from inmates who are strong enough to do very heavy manual labor. We were able to determine that with the leg shackles we did have enough guards to keep track of and make sure that the inmates are working and have no opportunity to run away. The second was our real concern. If there was a concerted escape by inmates there is simply not enough guards for this work crew to effectively recapture the escapees. The inmates doing trash pick-up are trustees who are short term inmates serving sentences of six months to two years. They have had explained that serving their time is preferable for what would be a short period of so-called freedom. As we explain to them that if they run, they might no longer be under the supervision of guards, and they would not return to the correctional facility at that night, but we would eventually be able to recapture them because that area is very rustic, and they would have to know how to live off the land, and we do exclude those inmates whose background would indicate they might be able to do that. Those on the work crew are real urban offenders who would quickly starve, get lost, and freeze in the cold at night. Those on the chain gang have longer sentences, and are chosen because they can do heavy labor. Actually many of these inmates have been doing heavy manual labor before their incarceration. These inmates also have volunteered because they are tired of being just locked away in the correctional facility." The last remark caused Beau to suddenly react, and show more interest in our conversation. Beau looked at Dad. "Sir, why would these inmates not just want to stay in the correctional facility? We in the rest of the country have seen pictures of jails and prisons here in these non-slave states, and they look rather luxurious to us. We see that these are air conditioned in the summer and heated in the winter, and all they have to do is eat, watch TV, and play basketball all day." My Dad looked at Beau. "Well, we do feel an obligation to treat our inmates fairly and humanely, but most inmates I interview on my site visits do not seem to believe that life in a correctional facility is anything but punishment." Dad paused here, and looked at Beau. I thought perhaps Dad was waiting for some response from Beau, but I guess Beau was just weighing something in his mind. But Dad, after a pause I suppose to see if Beau had anything else to day, which Beau's silence indicated he did not, said in an even more deliberate way, "Actually Beau, Franklin mentioned you had had a discussion about the difference between what most of the states of the United States do with offenders, and we do in these New England states do, and so I thought that if this subject of discussion would arise, I would be prepared to offer some first- hand experience for you." Beau filled the silence with the question, "So SIR, are you going to send me to jail?" "Actually Beau, and have made tentative arrangements to send both you and Franklin to a couple of jails...however just as visitors." "Well SIR I do appreciate this opportunity to learn. I will admit that in the South we tend to see that just warehousing men in cells seems pernicious to the men and wasteful and counterproductive for society. However, SIR, I have reserved any judgment until I have facts and not just second hand information, SIR." I was shocked. I had never been offered to tag along with Dad when he did inspections of jails and prisons, and he had just offered the two of us to go visit BOTH Hampden County AND Enfield. I ended my internal discussion with a really jealous note which is unworthy of me. I should have expected a visitor would get more consideration than a son. I know that this reaction is both incorrect and self-centered, but at least I realize that this reaction is not true and just my jealousy speaking. What I said was not what I was thinking. "Dad, that would be great! I have always wondered how close some of those TV shows were to reality. " I stopped before I admitted that I had watched the HBO series "OZ" and found several of the scenes to cause some stimulation in my pubic area. "Well tomorrow then at 11:000 you will visit Enfield Correctional, and then at 3:00 Hampden Correctional. I have asked the wardens to allow you as much access as I would be given if I myself was doing an inspection. You will be able to go into the cell houses. Your will be allowed to talk to inmates without a co being present, and I have specifically asked that you be allowed to see the disciplinary block, and even the Special Handling Unit at Hampden." Seeing Beau's raised eyebrows at mention of the SHU (pronounced "shoe"), Dad said, "I'll let you find out first- hand about the Special handling Unit, which everyone at the facility calls the "shoe" because of the initials `SHU. The SHU is probably the closest to what most persons think prisons are like. Finally Dad looked at us and added, "There are a couple of restrictions even for specially connected visitors like you will be. You may not wear blue jeans, and you will not be able to bring any metal into the facility, and you also will need to leave your watches and whatever other and any necklaces or other jewelry at home. Just carry your driver's licenses and some small amount of paper cash there. Even those items will probably be left in the warden's office or in a locker. I guess that means you will need about a dollar's worth of quarters for the locker to lock away all personal items before you enter the facility. I really imagine you will be able to leave your personals in the warden's office, but it would be better to be prepared in case the warden is not able to see you and you have to go into the facility through the normal visitor's entrance, your billfolds and anything in your pockets will need to be locked away before you enter the inmate area of the facility." Looking at both of us Dad finished with "Any questions?" Both Beau and I shook our heads. Soon after we had this conversation, we returned to pretending we were interested in some football game. We were soon saved when my sister came into the TV room and announced that the Evening of Thanksgiving buffet was laid out in the dining room, and we were welcome to come, fill our plates, and return to the TV room or any place else. We went to the dining room, and after saying grace, we piled our plates with the leftovers from the Thanksgiving dinner, but arranged to either allow making sandwiches or just a repeat of the dinner itself. All of us opted for sandwiches, and returned to the TV room. However this time we turned off the TV, and Beau and my father discussed business, and I basically ignored them and engaged in some private anticipation of being inside a prison, and actually being up close and personal with real inmates. I had never admitted to anyone that I had always fantasized about being an inmate, and hoped I could keep my cock under control. I mentally wondered if I could get away with wearing a jock for the trip tomorrow. Would I have to strip down and would the guard see I was wearing a jock? If that happened I would face some real questioning from Dad, because with his position I am sure this little detail would be too juicy not to pass along. I decided I would opt for some tighter athletic briefs that I had worn under my tennis shorts when I played tennis in high school. I had expanded a bit in size (read gotten fatter) on dorm food, and I hoped that I could force myself into the briefs without a rip. Then rest of the evening Beau and I talked a bit about some school work we needed to accomplish before classes resumed, and decided that we would travel back to campus late on Saturday. With that and the trite comment that "Tomorrow is sure to be both a very busy and a very interesting day." I do not know what Beau did, but in the privacy of my room I found myself impossible drawn to a hand job on my cock, which I did to a vigorous and healthy response from my libido. I had prepared by having a washcloth handy which I then vigorously washed again and again in the sink to rid it of all evidence of what I had done in it. After I got into the bed, I was tempted to do another hand job, and thought that I could probably shoot again, but instead exercised some control over my id, and went to sleep trying to keep my ideas to more acceptable fantasies.