believe it or not, courage was more respected than strength. if the littlest guy in the block was called to the box (the shower stall to fight), and he didn’t refuse the challenge, even if he walked out beaten to a pulp he would earn the respect of everyone. even the wolves that would once extort him for his commissary would leave him alone after that, which was interesting because he was still an easy target. it’s the prison ethos… like being thrust back to the seventh century. the single most defining feature of character was one’s courage for battle. didn’t matter if you lost, only that you tried. but being that you had to be combat ready at all times, pretty much everyone, with the exception of the very religious (who wouldn’t fight), was constantly training and working out. you hit the weight pile everyday. but all in all, there weren’t as many fights as you’d think. most inmates don’t want to fight and would only do so - either start a fight or answer to a challenger - if they had to prove something. for one thing, if you got caught fighting, you could lose all kinds of privileges. and the officers had it down to a science. if an inmate was seen with a fresh bloody nose or busted lip, the officers would storm the block, line everyone up, and examine each inmate for signs of fighting. torn shirt, red knuckles, elevated breathing and heart-rate… signs that you just had a tussle. i saw many an inmate get busted for beating someone up that way; find the guy in the line, cuff him right there on the spot, and take him to seg… and remember that every move you made was being monitored (except in the very back corner of the shower stall where you could fight). even on the yard; guards in trucks drove circles around the yard without pause. so everyone wanted to avoid fighting if they could… except for… you guessed it… the gang members. constantly fighting without any concern about getting busted. for them, privileges were less important than gang honor.
and the gangs had more control over the prison than the guards. if you were in the laundry or canteen line, and a blood jumped in front of you, you didn’t say a word. that’s just the way it was. if you wanted to call him out, you risked having to fight a whole mob of em who would come to his aid. and one on one fights with a gang member were a pain in the ass to get clearance for. you had to find the highest ranking member and ask him for permission to fight the dude one on one. fuck all that, just jump in front of me, asswipe. you can have it.
and not standing up to a gang member was unanimously understood as okay. it didn’t mean you were a coward… it meant you weren’t an idiot. that was the law. but unaffiliated inmates had different rules. if a dude called you out, you had to get it in, mang. put them shooters up, drop a three piece on his ass, and put em to sleep… or take a nap yourself. lol… that was a common phrase before a fight; ‘you ready to take a nap, nigga?’ i’ve walked into the bathroom and seen dudes knocked out in the shower. laying there, out cold. inmates would check on you, and if you weren’t dead, they’d try to wake you up. fights were like a big event… and when they were over, that was it. no more beef. the same two dudes that were fighting would be cool with each other minutes later, like it didn’t even happen. something i never understood. if i went so far as to exhaust all other means of diplomacy and fight you, you are an enemy. end of story. we ain’t gonna be playing cards together two hours later. stay the fuck away from me or i’ma put that three piece on ya again.
yeah but i seen the littlest dudes hanging out with the biggest motherfuckers on the yard. that kid might be little, but he got heart. that’s all that matters.