A union lawyer then shows up. He’s livid about how we’ve been treated. To him, the charges aren’t that serious. With all the legal jargon that he is spitting out about how our situation is bogus, still there is nothing he can do to stop us from getting locked up. A female captain comes into the area and tells the officer on watch that we can’t sit here, that we must be placed in a holding pen. We all get up and march to our respective one-man pens. The officer that I know gives me a sad stare and the captain locks the pen.
“Yo, bigman!” a detainee, soon to be inmate, yells out to me.
I’m deep in thought, so I ignore him. Really I’m in shock. I can’t comprehend what is going on around me. My chest tightens, my breathing becomes shallow, and my brain feels like it’s too big for my skull. Again, “Yo, bigman! Why you in here, bigman?” Getting no response from me, the detainee asks a passing corrections officer, “Yo, CO, why he gets to be in a pen by hisself and we gots to be packed in here like sardines and shit? Who the fuck is he, the president?” The officer just looks at me with disgust, shakes his head, then turns to my tormentor and says, “Shut the fuck up before I give you something else to worry about besides being sandwiched in.” The officer glares at me. All I can do is put my head down.
I have just finished being processed and I’m waiting to see the judge. And what I think is going to happen, doesn’t. I thought that because I was a corrections officer, the judge would let me go on my own recognizance so that I could fight my case from the street.
Instead, the DA gives a speech that makes me look worse than Saddam Bin Hussein Laden. She hits the judge with all sorts of hideous and heinous acts and shit. She’s all upset about me being uncooperative (not snitching) and shit. Da fuck! By the way she is describing me you’d swear that she’s referring to a guy who killed like thirty little kids or something. I lose count after the first five or six charges. I just keep looking at the judge, shaking my head.
During the arraignment I look over my shoulder and I see her. Moms. We make eye contact and I crumble. My heartbeat is getting louder, blocking out whatever is being said about me. She looks supportive. She also looks embarrassed, humiliated, and pained. I want her to see that I’m sorry. I didn’t want her to come here to find out about me this way. I want to say so many things that will comfort her, something that will make the pain go away. But I can’t. I’m instructed to face forward.
That is when I hear this front-page-grabbing, charge-exaggerating, I’m-bucking-for-promotion-on-this-nigga’s-black-ass bitch say, “Your Honor, we are asking that the bail be set at one hundred thousand dollars.” I look over at this crazy bitch and say, “You buggin’!”
I shake my head frantically. I look back at my sister, who accompanied my moms. She looks shocked. I can hear my cardboard cutout of a lawyer argue to get my bail reduced, but all I’m thinking is I’m sorry.
I go back to the holding pen where my man, do-dirty (the detainee), has recruited a supporting cast. It’s now a group effort to find out why I’m isolated. I ignore them. Then without warning I hear the television. It faces the pens so inmates can see. The news is on.
“Three corrections officers and three counselors were arrested today on drug charges.”
I turn to look up at the television. Right there, front and center, they have my picture plastered all over the tube. No they didn’t! No these dirty muthas didn’t! But, yes, they did. They have my picture up there blown up for the world to see as the report explains and exaggerates the story. I remember the newscaster saying, “Correction Officer Gary Heyward could be facing life in prison.” For a half ounce of coke!? Come on now, knock it off! Then comes the coalition. I put my head down to brace myself.
“Ayyooo, bigman! You was doing it like that, bigman?”
Then one detainee to another, “Yo, son, dude was gettin’ it.” He and his backup dancers break out in laughter. I was the topic of discussion for the rest of the night.
“I bet it was a snitching-ass nigga that blew it up.”
“Niggas don’t know how to act when they got a nigga looking out for them.”
I sat there thinking about my family, my kids. What will they think when they find out? Damn, how the fuck did this happen?
CHAPTER 50
THE TRANSITION
I was harassed by the peanut gallery all night until I was moved out of the Bronx courthouse. They took me and the other officer to a jail called the Boat, also located in the Bronx. It was actually a large floating barge. We were placed in a cell in the intake area until they figured out where we would go next. We sat in that cell for hours, rarely speaking. We overheard that he would be bailed out by his wife. I had no wife. I had no one to bail me out. I had no stash and nothing to show for all of the hustling. All the dirt I was doing was for nothing.
We were visited throughout the night by officers we knew. They consulted us and expressed that they thought the department was wrong for what they were doing to us. They gave us the benefit of the doubt. They believed that when we got exonerated we could sue the Corrections Department. When they left, I’d shake their hands but I couldn’t look them in their faces. How could I? I considered these officers my friends, that I, on occasion, went into battle with. They taught me the job. They had my back. And here I was disrespecting everything that they stood for. They performed their duty every day but did not crumble like I did.
Eventually I got moved to the Nassau County Jail in Long Island. The officers there were giving me the benefit of the doubt and thought I would make bail and fight this from the streets. When I got there I was allowed the courtesy of placing a phone call. I prepared myself to do the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do in my life. I called my moms. I hadn’t talked to her since all this started. I remembered the look on her face in the courtroom. I knew that I had cut her deep.
I took a deep breath and dialed the number. Half a ring and I heard a hello. I could tell she had been up waiting to hear from me. I was sure she just wanted to hear that I was okay. “It’s me,” I said. She was quiet. Then she asked me if I was okay. I told her I was fine and she went right into talking about getting my bail money up. She told me she’d been filling out paperwork and that she would take out a pension loan from her job. She’d also contacted my aunt in Alabama about putting her house up.
I didn’t want her to know that I was stressing. The same way she was being strong for me, I wanted to be strong for her. She was going so hard for me. But there was something I had to tell her. I had to hold my head up and not let her hear my voice crack. When she started to speak again, I stopped her.
“Ma.”
She paused to listen. I hadn’t said a word since she started telling me about her plans to bail me out.
“Ma, I did it.”
Dead silence.
Don’t crack. Don’t break down on this phone.
I told her that I didn’t want her to take out any loans for anything or do anything with anybody’s house. I told her about how the child support payments were the reason I had made this bed. I told her that I would deal with everything myself. She was quiet. I could feel the added pain that I was causing her. I felt I had to admit everything because I knew that my mother would fight for me until the very end. I broke the silence by telling her when my next court date was and that I would be okay here where I was, and that I would call her as soon as possible. Then I said the stupidest thing that I could say to her. I told her not to worry, which I knew would make her worry more. When I got off the phone I got processed into jail.
I gave up the clothes that I had on in exchange for an orange shirt and pants. Written on my new shirt was the word “inmate.” The transformation was quiet. The officers who escorted me weren’t saying anything. I guess they felt awkward about escorting me. I was silent because of the shame I was feeling. It was a routine process for the officers but devastating for me as a new inmate. I kept my head dow
n and my words were few. Just one-word answers when I was asked a question. I got searched and instructed to strip. I was ordered to open my mouth, lift my arms, and bend over, spreading my ass so that they could check it for contraband. I was given an orange pair of sneakers. The Timberland boots that I was wearing weren’t authorized for inmates to wear in jail. I was then escorted to a cell. Inside there was a bed, a sink, and a toilet. I knew my surroundings well. I’d checked them things for weapons over a million times. I settled and I realized that I was tired. I’d been up all day, so I tried to get some sleep.
During the next couple of days I was kept in my cell for twenty-two hours out of the day, allowed out only to shower and use the telephone. I was fine with being locked in for now because I didn’t really want to be around other inmates. I tried to sleep for much of the day because when I was awake all I could think about was how much time I was going to get.
The next morning a CO came to my cell and let me know that I had a visitor. I already knew who it was. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and prepared to see my mother face-to-face. As I was escorted to the visitors’ floor, I kept saying to myself, “Stay strong. Don’t break down. She doesn’t need to see you like that.” When I saw her, I went over and gave her a hearty hug. We sat and began to talk. She told me that she was holding up okay and that she was concerned about me in here. I looked at her and said, “This is a fine mess that I have gotten myself into, huh?” She answered, “Yeah.” She let me know that my kids didn’t take the news well. She put her head down. I tried to convince her that I was alright and not to worry. But I was not sure it was registering with her. She looked up and told me that my story was all in the papers and on TV. I already knew but I hadn’t watched TV since I’d been locked up. So I asked her, “What were they saying exactly?” She said, “They just be going on and on about the things that you did, the charges that they have on you, and the fact that you’re facing life if convicted.”
That last one kind of hung out there. We both didn’t particularly care for the “life if convicted” part, so to ease her concern I said, “Ma, you know the papers make things up to hype up a story.” She agreed with me but she was not convinced. My hour was up and my visit was over. We hugged again. She stood there looking at me until the door opened for me to go back and I disappeared into the jail.
When I got back to my cell I was wide awake and as usual thinking about all the stuff that had happened. I remembered when I got the letter to be a CO and how happy my mom was and how we danced around the living room that day. I thought about what it was supposed to mean for our lives. Then I thought about what she was going through, how my kids must be affected. If something happened to my family, what could I do for them now? I thought about all the things that I was trying to fix by hustling. But it didn’t fix anything, it just made things worse in my life. Now my family was suffering, too. I then did something that I hadn’t done in over twenty years. I didn’t do it when my brother died or when my father died. I never really felt a need. That day, I sat in that cell and broke down and cried. It seemed like my body had wanted to for a long time. I just released everything. Tears came down my face as if I had opened the floodgates. For the first time in my life my big 290-pound ass was lying on the bed provided for me, in a fetal position, whimpering to myself like a little bitch.
CHAPTER 51
THE COPOUT
I’m going through it. Now I can’t sleep. I’m staring at my reflection in this dull piece of plastic on the wall that’s supposed to be a mirror.
Look at Gary Gee from the Polo Grounds projects . . . look at Big Gee the marine . . . look at Nutmo the corrections officer . . . now look at Gary L. Heyward, Nassau County Correctional Facility inmate.
I’m in my cell thinking about the possibility of life in prison when I hear a bang coming from the cell across from mine. I look up and see an inmate trying to get my attention. He points to his head, indicating that I hold my head up and that everything will be okay. He mouths to me that he was a Rikers Island CO and that he was going to request that we be put together for our one-hour recreation time. I nod “okay.”
When recreation time comes, they let me spend it with the inmate across from me. A few other inmates are there, too. He tells me that his name is CC and that he was a CO on the Island who got caught up in a messed-up situation. He tells me that he’s been here a minute but has a court date coming up and he’s hoping that he’ll be released.
We talk for a while and he gives me the lowdown of the jail. For the most part, the officers don’t mess with you as long as you do what you’re told. He tells me that he knew who I was from the newspapers and that the department was trying to railroad me by trying to give me life. I can’t focus on that right now though. We’ll see what happens when I go to court tomorrow.
Our one hour of rec time goes by fast and I’m back at my cell. I find out that I have a legal visit. I’m escorted to an office where a counselor from the law firm that represents the Department of Corrections is sitting. Very plainly he tells me that a jury has already indicted me. So if I try to fight the evidence, there is the undercover (which I think is Flocko’s sister), the videotape, the voice recordings, and the inmate who is supposed to testify that I was running a major organization. Upon hearing this I am really feeling the pressure. I am shook. Then he says, “If you take the deal that I’m about to offer, you can make it a little less painful for yourself.” My heart’s pounding. Here is the moment of truth. I didn’t know if he would say twenty-five, fifteen, ten years, or what. I take a deep breath and ask, “What is the offer?” He explains, “I know the DA on your case, and, not to make light of your actions, my office still tries to give the best representation that we can. So I pleaded with her saying that your job record was real good until now. I asked if she could go a little easier on you. As a favor to me, she said that she’s offering two years. It’s only on the table today; if you don’t take it now we are going to start picking a jury for trial.”
He just sits there waiting for my response. I’m quiet, thinking that maybe he has more to offer.
Two years? Two years? Maybe they don’t have what they say they have? Fool, yo black ass is on that tape. You saw that yourself and if a jury sees that, how would you explain your actions?
He’s still waiting for an answer.
“I’ll take the deal.”
When I get back from my visit I am moved into a cell with CC. I tell him that I’m going to take the two years. He’s more relieved about it than I am. He thinks it’s a great deal under the circumstances. He explains to me that since this is my first offense, it’s possible that I could get into an early-release program like Shock (a military-style program that lasts for six months and then you go home) or Work Release (a program where an inmate can go out into the city and get a job by day and come to jail at night). For me, either one of those would be better than serving time upstate. To qualify for the programs you’re rated by a point system. You get points according to what kind of citizen you were, if you’ve been in and out of jail, if you’ve held down a job, and if your crime was a violent one or not. You need more than thirty-two points. After tallying up my score I had forty-five. I’m feeling good about my chances.
I call my mother to tell her the news about my plea. She’s not too thrilled that I agreed to take the two years. She feels that the jump from a life sentence to two years means that I have a chance to beat the case. I’m thinking two years is great given all the dirt I did. But she didn’t know that. I also tell her about the different programs that would grant me an early release. She’s not that interested in all that, she just wants to get this chapter of our lives behind us. Right before I get off the phone, she says, “Don’t worry about me. You just do what you have to do in there to get out of there.”
I’m back at my cell just in time for chow when I’m greeted by yet another CO, who wants to see the corrections officer who is locked up
. I felt like I was on display sometimes. When they brought my food they’d come, look, and just stare, then make a comment. This time my food tray is thrown down on the table and the comment behind it is “Heyward, tell me, how does this food taste?” I don’t respond, because I know that this is just the beginning of things to come.
The next day I’m taken to the city for trial and sentencing. I’m sitting in a holding pen waiting for my case to be called and I see several officers whom I worked with at one time or another. Some stop by to look at me in disgust, others give me a few words of encouragement. I really felt embarrassed and humiliated when officers whom I was close to would visit. All I can do is turn my head away. I just want this sentencing part to be over with so I don’t have to come down here again.
An hour or so has passed when the judge calls me in. As I’m being led over to my lawyer, I see my sister and my uncle sitting there. My mother is not here. I see Officer Rains and Zepa, my copstitutes, on the other side of the courtroom. They’re crying. I’m instructed to face forward and at this time I notice four officers, two corrections and two court officers, standing behind me. It would appear that I am some kind of dangerous person who warrants this type of attention. I just shake my head at the show.
The judge announces my name and asks if I understand the terms of the plea bargain deal in front of me. I answer, “Yes.” Then he asks if I have been threatened or coerced into taking this deal and I say, “No.”
“I am sentencing you to two years incarceration and one year postrelease supervision,” the judge orders.
Before the judge hits his gavel, my lawyer says, “Your Honor, my client qualifies for the Shock Incarceration Program and was wondering if we could get that for him?” The judge says, “Give him Shock if it’s available for him.” I’m excited, because this means that I can finish the program and be home in six months. All I have to do now is just stay focused and get through this.
Corruption Officer Page 20
