The "Chain Gang"

As the six prisoners each shuffled their feet in an eerie unison, Sam Cooke’s “Chain Gang” came to mind:

That’s the sound of the men…working on the chain….gang…

They weren’t actually going to work on a chain gang; but hoping in the passenger seats of the sheriff’s department van seemed nothing short of being shipped off to some hot part of Athens to wield some type of labor instrument necessary to perform some cheap work.  In fact, they were headed off to the state courthouse downtown for the regularly scheduled “Status Check” as participants of the county’s DUI/Drug Court program.

We were dressed more like Halloween characters rather than actual prisoners aside from the full bodied chain apparatus, shackling our hands and feet…

Chains…

Bound from movement of limbs anything more from 6 inches to the left or right of either side.  Even if I wanted to scratch the unlikeliest of itches, it’d just have to wait.  The chains weren’t coming off.

We were the last to enter the 5^th floor courtroom.  Participants who had been assigned to the program as part of their respective sentences lined most of the pews in the room as those who were transported from the jail had to sit together.  The stares were embarrassing although I knew that they had been in the same position as I was at one point or another, yet that didn’t bring any less shame to my thoughts.  No one in the room had been at liberty to judge other than those members of the program’s administrative powers; and while there eyes may have given off the “seen it all before” vibe, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of judgment that I was being labeled as just another case in their file…another criminal for them to watch.

And in all honesty, I was.

Athens-Clarke County DUI/Drug Court program was the brainchild of State Judge Kent Lawrence.  A former UGA letterman and graduate, Judge Lawrence formed the county’s version of drug recidivism program as a means to cut down on the number of repeat offenders of drunk driving in the Athens-Clarke Co. area through a means of intensive probation and accountability as an alternative to just throwing people in jail and letting them dry out—only to go back on the streets after their time is done and do the same stupid thing over again.

48 weeks of treatment.  Group therapy which involves meeting with substance abuse counselors once a week.  Mandatory, random, drug testing at the discretion of the court/program.  AA meetings.  “Check-ins” that served as a means for just making sure all participants are following rules or as a means to collect a random sample for drugs and alcohol, which included the day’s “status conference.”

Not to mention…$240 a month for program fees/costs.

Top that all off with a bulldog of a probation officer who probably didn’t give a **** (insert your own four letter word) about what it took to get you sober just as long as you did what you were told and were inside your residence (or at least the county limits) when he came a knockin’ – you were either going to be on top of your stuff or your ass would’ve been in jail with very few questions asked.

“Status conference” was like a roll-call of sorts, making sure everyone who was signed up to participate was doing what they needed to do to get through the program.  If you were a model participant or made progress, they would praise you.  I you were a hard case, they would encourage you to do better thought some means of encouragement that would include sanctioning of even the smallest of privileges you were allowed as grounds of not following the rules.

This was only my first “status conference” so there was little for the judge to way other than to welcome me on my path to “RECOVERY,” promising that they would do all they could to make sure that I was offered every advantage to have a chance at a new life without using drugs or alcohol.

I had yet to hear a word the judge had been saying.  My concern lie with no one else in the room other than that of the mind of the prisoner occupying the orange jumpsuit I had been assigned.  While the attention of the others was on the judge, my attention had floated away to when I had told my grandmother about my arrest that night.  Vividly, I could recall he using the adage “like them stupid a** ni---s” to describe my behavior in which my already damaged psyche had burst into flames made of remorseful tears.

Obviously, she had seen and heard the countless number of men in our city…our community…our family that had been taken into custody for a number of reasons, becoming just another statistic of the country’s penal system. 

Now it was her first-born grandson, her “Boobie,” that was now the statistic.  A two-time delinquent with mug shots to boot.  Was her pride hurt?  Sure.  I won’t run down my accomplishments again as I had in an earlier post, but why wouldn’t have she been proud of her oldest grandson?  Why wouldn’t she have wanted the best for me?

Yet as I ran my hands down the grooves of the cold links of my handcuffs, I had to ask myself:

Why wouldn’t she have been ashamed to know her grandson is in jail?  Why wouldn’t she have not cursed me out more than she had before as my name…her name…our family’s name…would have been marred by what was viewed as a destructive habit?

My hands tightened around the shackles, carelessly daydreaming that Hulk-like powers would surge through my body to free me from my bondage…or that the judge would just be merciful because I was the one who was “different” and just let me go.

Judge Lawrence had wished us well throughout our journey in the program.  While the “free” persons filed out of the courtroom to go back to their own lives (or what lives they led, all things considered), the chained prisoners stayed put until everyone had cleared the room.  The officers charged with our care instructed us to gather ourselves to be transported back down to the holding cells to wait for our transport vehicle back to the jail. 

One foot in front of the other, we shuffled to assemble in a straight line…making that sound again…

The same sound as the men…working on the chain gang…