When I was 19 years old, I experienced one of those mystical situations where the universe seems to conspire, with conflating events, to test who you are. Three things happened in curious succession.
First, I had this summer job where I'd saved what was a ton of money for a 19 year old in 1990 - $5,000.
Next, I was dating a gorgeous girl I was crazy about. She'd done pretty well at this summer job, too, so we both had some money. We impulsively agreed to bunk off college for the semester and spend a few months travelling around Europe together. With the money we had saved we'd be living large... you know, eating at places called restaurants, that sort of thing. It would be a romantic escapade. We bought the plane tickets and started planning.
Third, I got arrested.
I was driving home after a night out drinking with friends when I realised I wasn't in a fit state to drive. So I pulled over to sleep it off. Unfortunately, when I passed out I left the car running. A policemen noticed my car, and in America that still counts as a DUI. He takes me to jail and charges me - the crux of this story is the court date.
If the court date is set for when I'm in Europe, no problem. Just show my plane tickets and I can reschedule when I'm back in the country. If it's before we leave, we have to hope it's at least two weeks before we leave.
Here's why. The penalty for DUI is either a $5000 fine or 14 days in prison. If I pay the $5k, I have no travel money. If I accepted the prison time, and the court date is less than two weeks, then I could still be in prison when the flight departs.
Of course, fate intervenes and the court date is set for just 10 days before the flight is scheduled to depart. What to do.
There was only one hope. The prosecutor tells me if I plead guilty, and go to prison, I'd usually serve less than half the sentence for good behaviour. So I could, in theory, just plead guilty, go to prison voluntarily, even though I had the exact amount of money in the bank needed to pay the fine.
As it's my only chance of making it to Europe with this girl, I say yes. Send me to prison.
At the time I agreed it, I hadn't given one thought to the prison itself - Atlanta Fulton County Penitentiary. It is located in the centre of Atlanta, which has its fair share of rough criminals. But I didn't think about that. I just thought about being good, doing my time and getting to Europe with my girl. Besides, they're not gonna but some college kid on a DUI charge in prison with hardened criminals, are they?
Then I arrived at Atlanta Fulton County Penitentiary. Remember those amazing, beautiful shots of Shawshank prison, the textured stone, the grand architecture? AFCP is nothing like that. It's a huge geometric lump of cheap, dirty cement, with almost no windows - just an angular entrance which has a dark door at the heart of the angle, like you walk in its backside.
I start wondering, what have I done. They take your stuff, hose you down, strip search you, and give you a prison outfit.
I stopped thinking about my girlfriend.
They took me to cell block H which was triangular, with 30 cells over two floors for 60 men, smaller than I expected. Two sides of the triangle housed the cells. The third was a large wall which would have had windows had the architect not been Franz Kafka.
Looking around the room, I see 58 African-American men staring at me, and a cold chill comes over for me. For this first time, I'm scared. I'd be lying if I didn't admit the racial card was part of that fear, but only part. These guys looked rough, and they're all just watching me walk into the room. Time slows down. I'm 19 and it was an intimidating situation.
So I walk over to the one other white guy in the room. Both then and now, I thought it was weak of me; why was I so magnetically drawn to this one other white guy, what made me think he would be any more supportive than any other man there. But I was just afraid, looking for something familiar.
The other familiar thing I saw, in a stack of other board games, was a chess board. Lamely, I ask the white dude if he plays chess. He doesn't. However, another man chirps out, helpfully, "hey man, ole LeRoy is the chess master in H Block..."
So before I could say a word, I'm sitting across LeRoy who is 5'10 and 300 pounds, with a chess board between us.
There's no game on the television, nothing else to do. And so it begins: all the other 58 inmates surround us in circular fashion, and start murmuring between themselves. A sense of suspense begins to build.
LeRoy grabs a black and white pawn, holds one in each hand, and asks me to choose. I choose white. For the chess geeks out there, I start with e4, and he responds c5 - a Sicilian Defence. Interesting. Over the next few moves I realise LeRoy can play.
But he and I are the only people who can. They knew nothing about chess, but they knew who they supported. When each of us moved, everyone reacted loudly with enthusiastic cheer's or damning boo's. Just imagine. I move, and nearly sixty men "Booooo" in unison. LeRoy moves, and they celebrate wildly. Repeat. No matter how good or bad the move, the same reaction.
My heart is still beating through my skin. But I look at LeRoy, and LeRoy can tell I'm not giving him the game. I'm playing to win. His eyes, just slightly, smile at me. Leroy and I share some sort of bond, a mutual respect, and the situation becomes a surreal manifestation of transcendent beauty. I'm playing this really good chess match, in prison, in front of a screaming audience. Completely surreal experience.
My fear subsides. Looking at LeRoy I realise I'm more than safe, I've entertained them. I'm Golden. They all continue to hoot and holler, and it become a bit of a fun game, with everyone laughing. In the end, I won that first match. LeRoy shook my hand, and the crowd faded away. We played another match, and another, and LeRoy won both. In truth, he was a better chess player than me.
When it came to meal time, that fabled crucible where the new inmate has to find a table to eat, LeRoy called me over. The boys on H block had reserved a spot for me. They were awesome. They looked after me over the next few days, LeRoy and I played several more games of chess (he won slightly more than me, but I won a few more times). As weird as it sounds, I had a great time in prison.
LeRoy taught me a lot over those few days. He was quiet and intelligent. Mostly, he taught me to back myself, to have courage, and let the chips fall where they may.
LeRoy taught me a lot over those few days. He was quiet and intelligent. Mostly, he taught me to back myself, to have courage, and let the chips fall where they may.
As it turns out, they released me after about 5 days for good behaviour, and I had a great time travelling around Europe.
