I'm doing some background work on my character. He's an ex con in a New Orleans campaign I looked up state pen's in Louisianna and found this web article Guts n Glory: angola prison rodeo It's a genral article about the prison and the prison rodeo that they still hold Today (that's a link in case you want to buy tickets to the spring '07 season)
There's a lot of interesting stuff in the article about the prison, history and present day, that doesn't really remind me of the steriotypical ideas I have about prison life. It made me wonder what prison was like for my character.
I'm asking y'all what do you think prison life was like for my character in 2070?
for those who can't open links at work I'm pasting the text of the article in the next three posts (it's fairly long). Please wait until I have all three sections up befor you post your ideas
Thanx
[EDIT] I forgot to credit
the next three posts are an artical
Guts & Glory: Angola Prison Rodeo
Angola, Louisiana
By Craig D. Guillot
from the site
bootsnall.com
Full Version: Prison in 2070
SECTION ONE
More than a mile of cars lined the end of Highway 66 on a foggy morning in October. Tucked away in the rugged Tunica hills in the corner of Louisiana, we were quietly waiting to get into a place they call "The Farm". Twenty miles from the nearest town, The Farm is a lost land of 18,000 acres of rolling greenery, surrounded on three sides by the murky waters of the mighty Mississippi River.
Not just an ordinary farm, we were at the gates of the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola. The largest prison in the United States, 63 percent of the men in its confines will die there. Originally a plantation manned by slaves from the African nation of Angola, the state started sending its prisoners to the area in the late 1800s. There wasn't much of a concern for inmate welfare – 216 men had died in 1896 alone. Along with a history of natural disasters and violence, there were more than 10,000 "official" floggings between 1928 and 1940. When World War II came around, Angola was all but forgotten until the 60s when it had slipped back into medieval times. Such stress, chaos and fear had caused The Farm to change wardens 9 times between 1964 and 1968.
By 1973, violence was an everyday part of life at the Farm. Men were attacking each other with double-bladed swords, knives, hatchets, and even homemade shotguns. It was common practice for men to go to sleep at night with thick catalogues and steel plates tied to their stomachs underneath their shirts. Angola was a prison of gang warfare and chaos. Between 1972 and 1975, there were 40 murders and more than 350 serious stabbings in the prison. Throughout the 80s, violence continued with stories of kidnappings, escapes, and slain guards. In the museum, I saw pictures of hacked-up faces and bodies and the remains of a truck that had crashed through the front gates.
At 9am sharp, the line of cars slowly began to make its way through the front gates. Inching our way through the suspicious guards, we passed the infamous death row which lay right inside the perimeter. With clean sidewalks, well-maintained shrubbery and flowers, the modern building looked more like a doctor's or lawyer's office. But the bundles of razor wire along the roof and courtyard reminded us that there were 91 men inside, waiting to be poked by the lethal injection that the juries of Louisiana have cast upon them. Inside that building, the condemned men sit in their cells, 23 hours a day, year after year, awaiting their fates. One could only imagine what stories of horror lay inside those walls.
We headed out into the open plains of The Farm that stretched as far as the eye could see. Out on the horizon, among the rolling hills, I could barely make out the tops of the "outcamps" which housed some of the 5,100 inmates. Traveling down the main highway lined by white picket fences, herds of cow peacefully chewed the grass as flocks of birds took to the blue skies. I had to remind myself that I was in a prison.
Had this been an ordinary day, we would have seen why they call it The Farm. Holding the belief that an idle prisoner is a troublemaker, every able-bodied inmate at Angola is required to work. With schedules like those on the outside, inmates work 8-hour days, 5 days a week in the fields under the blazing Louisiana sun – and the watchful eyes of armed guards. At four cents an hour, a full-time weekly paycheck in the fields of Angola is $1.60, not even enough for a pack of smokes. In protest of working these fields, 31 inmates had sliced their own Achilles tendons back in 1951. There are many who say the conditions can only be described as "slave labor".
Confiscated weapons on display at the museum. Take note of the "homemade shotgun" in the center.
[edit] sorry the above was a caption for a picture on the web page[/edit]
Despite its violent and problematic past, things are slowly changing for the better under current warden Burl Cain. A Southern Baptist, Cain has established a four-year accredited college for theology (the only one of its kind in the nation), a church, and a prison museum which opened in 1998. More importantly, he constantly supports the 30 or so self-help organizations in Angola such as the Human Relations Club and the Substance Abuse Clinic. The Angolite, LSP's bimonthly magazine, has been praised around the nation its in-depth reporting.
Yet it's a strange fact to know that Cain has killed more than most of the men in his prison. As warden, he is responsible for executing death sentences that Louisiana's juries have handed down for certain heinous crimes. While he has no opinion in the matter nor directly acts as the executioner, he holds the hands of each one of the men as they die and prays with them. It's a job that can take its toll on a man. One of Cain's predecessors, Warden C. Murray Henderson, was convicted of shooting his wife 5 times.
Far in the middle of the warden's rolling grasslands, guards waved us into an open parking area where the line of cars began to accumulate. Buzzing around on ATVs and galloping through the fields on horseback, the guards wandered as far as the eye could see. Among the most underpaid and uneducated correctional officers in the nation, there are more than 1,500 of them keeping Louisiana's predators behind bars. They range from middle-aged women, to old white-haired men, to boys who haven't even grown hair on their faces yet.
Walking into the enclosed area surrounding the stadiums, I found myself in a world run by convicts. They were cooking, cleaning, selling souvenirs, playing in bands, doing soundchecks, and preparing livestock. Some were welcoming visitors and mixing in with the rest of the crowd as if they were free men working a regular job. But the white collared shirts with the words "Rodeo Worker" on the back let everyone know that they didn't drive in through the gates this morning. These are some of the prison's most trusted convicts – men who have long histories of good behavior or rehabilitation behind bars, or those who are nearing the end of their sentences.
Despite the smiles on their faces and welcoming gestures, there seems to be something unnerving about mixing and mingling with convicts. Angola is not like the prisons you hear about on the news, where the majority of inmates are relatively harmless drug addicts: 90 percent of the men at The Farm are violent offenders; almost half of them are in for homicide. I find it's a natural reaction to slowly scoot away from a group of these men or start to get the shakes when accidentally stepping on a toe.
More than a mile of cars lined the end of Highway 66 on a foggy morning in October. Tucked away in the rugged Tunica hills in the corner of Louisiana, we were quietly waiting to get into a place they call "The Farm". Twenty miles from the nearest town, The Farm is a lost land of 18,000 acres of rolling greenery, surrounded on three sides by the murky waters of the mighty Mississippi River.
Not just an ordinary farm, we were at the gates of the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola. The largest prison in the United States, 63 percent of the men in its confines will die there. Originally a plantation manned by slaves from the African nation of Angola, the state started sending its prisoners to the area in the late 1800s. There wasn't much of a concern for inmate welfare – 216 men had died in 1896 alone. Along with a history of natural disasters and violence, there were more than 10,000 "official" floggings between 1928 and 1940. When World War II came around, Angola was all but forgotten until the 60s when it had slipped back into medieval times. Such stress, chaos and fear had caused The Farm to change wardens 9 times between 1964 and 1968.
By 1973, violence was an everyday part of life at the Farm. Men were attacking each other with double-bladed swords, knives, hatchets, and even homemade shotguns. It was common practice for men to go to sleep at night with thick catalogues and steel plates tied to their stomachs underneath their shirts. Angola was a prison of gang warfare and chaos. Between 1972 and 1975, there were 40 murders and more than 350 serious stabbings in the prison. Throughout the 80s, violence continued with stories of kidnappings, escapes, and slain guards. In the museum, I saw pictures of hacked-up faces and bodies and the remains of a truck that had crashed through the front gates.
At 9am sharp, the line of cars slowly began to make its way through the front gates. Inching our way through the suspicious guards, we passed the infamous death row which lay right inside the perimeter. With clean sidewalks, well-maintained shrubbery and flowers, the modern building looked more like a doctor's or lawyer's office. But the bundles of razor wire along the roof and courtyard reminded us that there were 91 men inside, waiting to be poked by the lethal injection that the juries of Louisiana have cast upon them. Inside that building, the condemned men sit in their cells, 23 hours a day, year after year, awaiting their fates. One could only imagine what stories of horror lay inside those walls.
We headed out into the open plains of The Farm that stretched as far as the eye could see. Out on the horizon, among the rolling hills, I could barely make out the tops of the "outcamps" which housed some of the 5,100 inmates. Traveling down the main highway lined by white picket fences, herds of cow peacefully chewed the grass as flocks of birds took to the blue skies. I had to remind myself that I was in a prison.
Had this been an ordinary day, we would have seen why they call it The Farm. Holding the belief that an idle prisoner is a troublemaker, every able-bodied inmate at Angola is required to work. With schedules like those on the outside, inmates work 8-hour days, 5 days a week in the fields under the blazing Louisiana sun – and the watchful eyes of armed guards. At four cents an hour, a full-time weekly paycheck in the fields of Angola is $1.60, not even enough for a pack of smokes. In protest of working these fields, 31 inmates had sliced their own Achilles tendons back in 1951. There are many who say the conditions can only be described as "slave labor".
Confiscated weapons on display at the museum. Take note of the "homemade shotgun" in the center.
[edit] sorry the above was a caption for a picture on the web page[/edit]
Despite its violent and problematic past, things are slowly changing for the better under current warden Burl Cain. A Southern Baptist, Cain has established a four-year accredited college for theology (the only one of its kind in the nation), a church, and a prison museum which opened in 1998. More importantly, he constantly supports the 30 or so self-help organizations in Angola such as the Human Relations Club and the Substance Abuse Clinic. The Angolite, LSP's bimonthly magazine, has been praised around the nation its in-depth reporting.
Yet it's a strange fact to know that Cain has killed more than most of the men in his prison. As warden, he is responsible for executing death sentences that Louisiana's juries have handed down for certain heinous crimes. While he has no opinion in the matter nor directly acts as the executioner, he holds the hands of each one of the men as they die and prays with them. It's a job that can take its toll on a man. One of Cain's predecessors, Warden C. Murray Henderson, was convicted of shooting his wife 5 times.
Far in the middle of the warden's rolling grasslands, guards waved us into an open parking area where the line of cars began to accumulate. Buzzing around on ATVs and galloping through the fields on horseback, the guards wandered as far as the eye could see. Among the most underpaid and uneducated correctional officers in the nation, there are more than 1,500 of them keeping Louisiana's predators behind bars. They range from middle-aged women, to old white-haired men, to boys who haven't even grown hair on their faces yet.
Walking into the enclosed area surrounding the stadiums, I found myself in a world run by convicts. They were cooking, cleaning, selling souvenirs, playing in bands, doing soundchecks, and preparing livestock. Some were welcoming visitors and mixing in with the rest of the crowd as if they were free men working a regular job. But the white collared shirts with the words "Rodeo Worker" on the back let everyone know that they didn't drive in through the gates this morning. These are some of the prison's most trusted convicts – men who have long histories of good behavior or rehabilitation behind bars, or those who are nearing the end of their sentences.
Despite the smiles on their faces and welcoming gestures, there seems to be something unnerving about mixing and mingling with convicts. Angola is not like the prisons you hear about on the news, where the majority of inmates are relatively harmless drug addicts: 90 percent of the men at The Farm are violent offenders; almost half of them are in for homicide. I find it's a natural reaction to slowly scoot away from a group of these men or start to get the shakes when accidentally stepping on a toe.
SECTION TWO
The prison band could be heard throughout the stadiums, playing cover songs and originals so clear and diverse, they could easily have gigs booked every night of the week "on the outside." "Angola's Most Wanted", as they called themselves, donned fancy cowboy hats along with the standard rodeo worker shirts. Food booths flanked the walkways, selling every Louisiana specialty from catfish po-boys to red beans and rice. Buying a taco salad from the Angola Drama Club, I watched the young man carefully prepare it before gently handing it to me with a smile. He had a look of innocence and kindness about him, not a face I could picture on a violent man.
At 77 percent, blacks make up the majority of Angola's population, which is older than most prisons with an average age of 37. Almost 39 percent of the inmates are shipped in from the streets of New Orleans and Jefferson Parish. But all the statistics and studies in the world don't say anything about the faces that you meet. There is a certain fascination and morbid curiosity with blood letters and madmen where people "wan't to see his face" – we want to look into the eyes of men that have killed.
I saw faces of men that could have been from every segment of society. There were men with cold, bloodshot menacing eyes, grizzly beards, and missing teeth. Others had potbellies, limps, and soft voices like that of a schoolgirl. Some men had neatly pressed uniforms, well-groomed hair, and spoke with the intellect of a university professor, while others were covered head to toe in devilish tattoos. They were fathers, grandfathers, sons and uncles, that had made a serious mistake at some point in their lives and were now paying the price. Behind each one of those faces lay a story that was beyond our comprehension – tales of violence and mayhem.
The hobby craft marts of the old stadium led to the back where another section lined a long fence in a rectangular courtyard. Attended to by volunteers, the hundreds of inmates stood behind the razor-wire fences separating them from the public. They are the artists, who guards aren't quite comfortable mixing with visitors. Sitting quietly on the benches, they occasionally whispered to themselves, with shockingly good behavior that one might not expect of violent men. Every so often, one of the inmates would stand up and haggle with a visitor who was interested in purchasing his crafts. Peering through the tables, many of the men leered at passing women – this might be the only looks they'll get for a year. The eyes of some sent shivers down your spine. Slowly walking and browsing the crafts, you know that only a few feet and a fence separate you from countless murderers and rapists. Yet in between the menacing looks were the sad eyes of men who seemed to simply enjoy watching passing families and smiling faces. It was a rare sense of normalcy and freedom at The Farm.
The crafts were simply ingenious works of art that could only be done by the most skilled craftsmen or men with a lot of time on their hands. Leather shoes, sandals, vests, hats, wood furniture, tables, chairs, picture frames, candle holders, toy cars, painted oars, jewelry boxes, wood carvings of fish and ducks, outdoor and wildlife paintings. Most of the men had worked year-round to have items to sell in the craft fair. When the only other option is to slave the fields for four cents an hour, even the most hardened criminals have a sudden interest in painting and carving.
Replica of a typical cell from the old Camp A.
[edit] sorry another picture caption again[/edit]
Just before 2pm, the crowds began to pile into the new 7,500-seat stadium, which had been built by the inmates in just 100 days. Near the grandstands in Section 2 were more than 100 inmates who had been marched in 3 hours earlier. They sat in silence on the crammed, steel benches. Beside them were 50 or so teenage boys with shaved heads and tough faces – juvenile offenders who now turned to scared, little boys sitting so close to real, murderous men. Perhaps part of some sort of "scared straight" program, all the convicts were segregated by yellow "caution" tape and a line of guards who stood between them and the free world.
As the announcer galloped in on horseback through the stadium, he took special care to point out that former boxer Leon Spinks was in the crowd, before relaying to the visitors that Bush had just sent the first tomahawks to Afghanistan. The crowd busted into cheers and claps as Angola's "Rough Riders" galloped through the stadium, unfurling the American and Dixie flags. One poor fellow was thrown from his horse, sending him and the stars and stripes straight to the dirt. The show went on as he wobbled back to the gate with his head hung low – the inmate's one shot at glory had been ruined. A line of riders and horses began to emerge from the gates, making the most elaborate formations. Perhaps 100 men, women, children and groups from surrounding towns had entered the stadium, scattering every which way with flags and hats that looked like some sort of battle scene out of the civil war.
The prison band could be heard throughout the stadiums, playing cover songs and originals so clear and diverse, they could easily have gigs booked every night of the week "on the outside." "Angola's Most Wanted", as they called themselves, donned fancy cowboy hats along with the standard rodeo worker shirts. Food booths flanked the walkways, selling every Louisiana specialty from catfish po-boys to red beans and rice. Buying a taco salad from the Angola Drama Club, I watched the young man carefully prepare it before gently handing it to me with a smile. He had a look of innocence and kindness about him, not a face I could picture on a violent man.
At 77 percent, blacks make up the majority of Angola's population, which is older than most prisons with an average age of 37. Almost 39 percent of the inmates are shipped in from the streets of New Orleans and Jefferson Parish. But all the statistics and studies in the world don't say anything about the faces that you meet. There is a certain fascination and morbid curiosity with blood letters and madmen where people "wan't to see his face" – we want to look into the eyes of men that have killed.
I saw faces of men that could have been from every segment of society. There were men with cold, bloodshot menacing eyes, grizzly beards, and missing teeth. Others had potbellies, limps, and soft voices like that of a schoolgirl. Some men had neatly pressed uniforms, well-groomed hair, and spoke with the intellect of a university professor, while others were covered head to toe in devilish tattoos. They were fathers, grandfathers, sons and uncles, that had made a serious mistake at some point in their lives and were now paying the price. Behind each one of those faces lay a story that was beyond our comprehension – tales of violence and mayhem.
The hobby craft marts of the old stadium led to the back where another section lined a long fence in a rectangular courtyard. Attended to by volunteers, the hundreds of inmates stood behind the razor-wire fences separating them from the public. They are the artists, who guards aren't quite comfortable mixing with visitors. Sitting quietly on the benches, they occasionally whispered to themselves, with shockingly good behavior that one might not expect of violent men. Every so often, one of the inmates would stand up and haggle with a visitor who was interested in purchasing his crafts. Peering through the tables, many of the men leered at passing women – this might be the only looks they'll get for a year. The eyes of some sent shivers down your spine. Slowly walking and browsing the crafts, you know that only a few feet and a fence separate you from countless murderers and rapists. Yet in between the menacing looks were the sad eyes of men who seemed to simply enjoy watching passing families and smiling faces. It was a rare sense of normalcy and freedom at The Farm.
The crafts were simply ingenious works of art that could only be done by the most skilled craftsmen or men with a lot of time on their hands. Leather shoes, sandals, vests, hats, wood furniture, tables, chairs, picture frames, candle holders, toy cars, painted oars, jewelry boxes, wood carvings of fish and ducks, outdoor and wildlife paintings. Most of the men had worked year-round to have items to sell in the craft fair. When the only other option is to slave the fields for four cents an hour, even the most hardened criminals have a sudden interest in painting and carving.
Replica of a typical cell from the old Camp A.
[edit] sorry another picture caption again[/edit]
Just before 2pm, the crowds began to pile into the new 7,500-seat stadium, which had been built by the inmates in just 100 days. Near the grandstands in Section 2 were more than 100 inmates who had been marched in 3 hours earlier. They sat in silence on the crammed, steel benches. Beside them were 50 or so teenage boys with shaved heads and tough faces – juvenile offenders who now turned to scared, little boys sitting so close to real, murderous men. Perhaps part of some sort of "scared straight" program, all the convicts were segregated by yellow "caution" tape and a line of guards who stood between them and the free world.
As the announcer galloped in on horseback through the stadium, he took special care to point out that former boxer Leon Spinks was in the crowd, before relaying to the visitors that Bush had just sent the first tomahawks to Afghanistan. The crowd busted into cheers and claps as Angola's "Rough Riders" galloped through the stadium, unfurling the American and Dixie flags. One poor fellow was thrown from his horse, sending him and the stars and stripes straight to the dirt. The show went on as he wobbled back to the gate with his head hung low – the inmate's one shot at glory had been ruined. A line of riders and horses began to emerge from the gates, making the most elaborate formations. Perhaps 100 men, women, children and groups from surrounding towns had entered the stadium, scattering every which way with flags and hats that looked like some sort of battle scene out of the civil war.
SECTION THREE
No matter what acts these men have committed, few people in the state will call Angola a "country club" prison. Merely a visit to the place is enough to make any man think hard about ever finding himself in a situation that could get him sent there. The Farm's reputation for brutality and violence has only invited more criticism of the event. They compare it to a barbaric modern-day equivalent to a gladiator event, where hopeless, enslaved men risk their lives for others' entertainment. Its a statement that is hard to deny – how many people would actually show up to watch a convict basketball game, talent show, or drama production?
But for all its danger and apparent exploitation, the rodeo is an annual event where these men can once again feel like humans. Even those caged like animals behind fences at the craft fair can be among children, families, and smiling faces. For 361 days out of the year, the men of Angola are forgotten, cast away, and sent to die. Yet for these four days in October, these men risk their lives and limbs not just for entertainment, but for a chance at something. It's a chance to be victorious. A chance to be a hero for a day.
They are looked upon with awe as they ride bucking broncos, get beaten down by horned bulls, and are carried away in stretchers. Their bravery is unparalleled; whereas most contestants in rodeos are trained professionals, these men haven't the slightest clue what they are doing.
First up was "Bust-Out", one of Angola's famed events where 8 men on bulls are released from the chutes at the same time. As the gates opened, a frenzy of violence erupted in the ring with thrashing beasts and men being thrown in every direction. The rodeo clowns taunted and antagonized the bulls as the fallen riders scurried for safety. Eight lucky men, each on a wild bull, and all escaped uninjured.
"Convict Poker." Last man sitting at the table wins. Credit: 2001 Angola Rodeo Souvenir Program. The Angolite.
Other events included the "Bareback Riding," "Wild Horse Race," and "Bull-Dogging," where teams of two try to take an angry 500-pound calf to the ground as quickly as possible. Everyone in the stadium stood at the start of "Convict Poker." Four men were seated at a table in the middle of the ring as an angry bull was released – the last man sitting at the table wins. The bull emerged from its pen, eyed the men and charged the entire table, smashing it all to pieces and sending bodies in every direction. No one had remained sitting, and it wasn't clear just who won.
During the "Wild-Cow Milking" event one inmate was crushed by a jumping cow that came down on his head and upper body. Others ran to his aid as the clowns lured the cows away. The medics swarmed in, carefully placed the man on a stretcher and threw him into the waiting ambulance which carried him away. "Let's give a round of applause for those medics," the announcer said before continuing to the bull riding event. The man could have very well been paralyzed and appeared to be seriously injured, but there was little concern – he's just a convict.
Everything went quiet as the ring cleared in preparation for the last event, which even promoters describe as "pure insanity". "Guts and Glory," as it is called, is simple: one man must grab a poker chip from the horns of a raging, 2,000-pound bull. This year's contestant was an older black man who appeared to be in his late 40s. Running out into the pen in his stripes, he waved his red hat at the crowd and inmates who were cheering him on. Another dozen men followed him into the ring to "help" with whatever it was that they could do. Looking at one of the middle chutes, I could see an enormous bull banging against the gates. Its horns had been sprayed with a florescent orange paint, along with the poker chip that was tied between them.
The Guts and Glory Event, where inmates try to grab a poker chip from between the bull?s horns. Credit: 2001 Angola Rodeo Souvenir Program. The Angolite.
[edit] the above is a caption from a picture again[/edit]
There wasn't much of a countdown or warning before the gate was released and the bull came storming out. The man jumped around, waving his arms and hat, intentionally getting the bull to charm him – its the only way to get the chip. Lowering his head and running at him, the man moved just in the nick of time, missing the horns that were trying to impale him. The bull pounded him with his front hooves and the side of his head, as a group of men gathered around to distract the beast before being chased up onto the fences.
But time was running short – the contestant had only three minutes to get the chip. Enticing the bull to charge him once more, he waved the hat again. Lowering his head, the bull began kicking up dirt with his rear legs as the crowd stood in the seats and gasped. Still waving the hat off to his side, the man began inching his way closer and closer to the angry bull that was preparing to launch at any minute. The suspense rose as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up in the realization that I was perhaps about to watch a man be killed.
He was only a couple of feet from the bull's lowered head as he carefully reached down for the poker chip. Just as he moved, the bull rammed its head out into the man and threw him high into the air. Hanging onto one of the horns, he was spun around and around like a rag doll. Some people in the crowd began to scream, as it appeared that the horn had gone through the man's midsection. He was finally thrown back down to the ground and kicked around, before the others come in for the rescue.
Rising from the dirt with red hat still in hand and a look of confusion on his face, I was shocked to learn that with the exception of a few nasty bruises and maybe a broken bone, the man was all right. The crowd continued to applaud his bravery and courage. It didn't matter what he did to get himself there; no one cared at that moment. One could almost see tears in his eyes as he stood in awe and glanced at the thousands of people who had driven hundreds of miles to cheer him on.
He was neither a killer nor a convict that day. He was a hero.
The Angola Prison Rodeo is held every Sunday in October, and there is also the possibility that future years will have a second spring rodeo season. Tickets are available to the general public but are on a first-come, first-serve basis and often sell out. No cameras, recording devices, or cell phones are allowed. For more information, check out www.angolarodeo.com.
No matter what acts these men have committed, few people in the state will call Angola a "country club" prison. Merely a visit to the place is enough to make any man think hard about ever finding himself in a situation that could get him sent there. The Farm's reputation for brutality and violence has only invited more criticism of the event. They compare it to a barbaric modern-day equivalent to a gladiator event, where hopeless, enslaved men risk their lives for others' entertainment. Its a statement that is hard to deny – how many people would actually show up to watch a convict basketball game, talent show, or drama production?
But for all its danger and apparent exploitation, the rodeo is an annual event where these men can once again feel like humans. Even those caged like animals behind fences at the craft fair can be among children, families, and smiling faces. For 361 days out of the year, the men of Angola are forgotten, cast away, and sent to die. Yet for these four days in October, these men risk their lives and limbs not just for entertainment, but for a chance at something. It's a chance to be victorious. A chance to be a hero for a day.
They are looked upon with awe as they ride bucking broncos, get beaten down by horned bulls, and are carried away in stretchers. Their bravery is unparalleled; whereas most contestants in rodeos are trained professionals, these men haven't the slightest clue what they are doing.
First up was "Bust-Out", one of Angola's famed events where 8 men on bulls are released from the chutes at the same time. As the gates opened, a frenzy of violence erupted in the ring with thrashing beasts and men being thrown in every direction. The rodeo clowns taunted and antagonized the bulls as the fallen riders scurried for safety. Eight lucky men, each on a wild bull, and all escaped uninjured.
"Convict Poker." Last man sitting at the table wins. Credit: 2001 Angola Rodeo Souvenir Program. The Angolite.
Other events included the "Bareback Riding," "Wild Horse Race," and "Bull-Dogging," where teams of two try to take an angry 500-pound calf to the ground as quickly as possible. Everyone in the stadium stood at the start of "Convict Poker." Four men were seated at a table in the middle of the ring as an angry bull was released – the last man sitting at the table wins. The bull emerged from its pen, eyed the men and charged the entire table, smashing it all to pieces and sending bodies in every direction. No one had remained sitting, and it wasn't clear just who won.
During the "Wild-Cow Milking" event one inmate was crushed by a jumping cow that came down on his head and upper body. Others ran to his aid as the clowns lured the cows away. The medics swarmed in, carefully placed the man on a stretcher and threw him into the waiting ambulance which carried him away. "Let's give a round of applause for those medics," the announcer said before continuing to the bull riding event. The man could have very well been paralyzed and appeared to be seriously injured, but there was little concern – he's just a convict.
Everything went quiet as the ring cleared in preparation for the last event, which even promoters describe as "pure insanity". "Guts and Glory," as it is called, is simple: one man must grab a poker chip from the horns of a raging, 2,000-pound bull. This year's contestant was an older black man who appeared to be in his late 40s. Running out into the pen in his stripes, he waved his red hat at the crowd and inmates who were cheering him on. Another dozen men followed him into the ring to "help" with whatever it was that they could do. Looking at one of the middle chutes, I could see an enormous bull banging against the gates. Its horns had been sprayed with a florescent orange paint, along with the poker chip that was tied between them.
The Guts and Glory Event, where inmates try to grab a poker chip from between the bull?s horns. Credit: 2001 Angola Rodeo Souvenir Program. The Angolite.
[edit] the above is a caption from a picture again[/edit]
There wasn't much of a countdown or warning before the gate was released and the bull came storming out. The man jumped around, waving his arms and hat, intentionally getting the bull to charm him – its the only way to get the chip. Lowering his head and running at him, the man moved just in the nick of time, missing the horns that were trying to impale him. The bull pounded him with his front hooves and the side of his head, as a group of men gathered around to distract the beast before being chased up onto the fences.
But time was running short – the contestant had only three minutes to get the chip. Enticing the bull to charge him once more, he waved the hat again. Lowering his head, the bull began kicking up dirt with his rear legs as the crowd stood in the seats and gasped. Still waving the hat off to his side, the man began inching his way closer and closer to the angry bull that was preparing to launch at any minute. The suspense rose as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up in the realization that I was perhaps about to watch a man be killed.
He was only a couple of feet from the bull's lowered head as he carefully reached down for the poker chip. Just as he moved, the bull rammed its head out into the man and threw him high into the air. Hanging onto one of the horns, he was spun around and around like a rag doll. Some people in the crowd began to scream, as it appeared that the horn had gone through the man's midsection. He was finally thrown back down to the ground and kicked around, before the others come in for the rescue.
Rising from the dirt with red hat still in hand and a look of confusion on his face, I was shocked to learn that with the exception of a few nasty bruises and maybe a broken bone, the man was all right. The crowd continued to applaud his bravery and courage. It didn't matter what he did to get himself there; no one cared at that moment. One could almost see tears in his eyes as he stood in awe and glanced at the thousands of people who had driven hundreds of miles to cheer him on.
He was neither a killer nor a convict that day. He was a hero.
The Angola Prison Rodeo is held every Sunday in October, and there is also the possibility that future years will have a second spring rodeo season. Tickets are available to the general public but are on a first-come, first-serve basis and often sell out. No cameras, recording devices, or cell phones are allowed. For more information, check out www.angolarodeo.com.
| QUOTE (OneTrikPony) |
| I'm asking y'all what do you think prison life was like for my character in 2070? |
I'm thinking that it would highly depend on whether or not your character is awakened.
| QUOTE (Fortune @ Dec 5 2006, 08:16 PM) | ||
I'm thinking that it would highly depend on whether or not your character is awakened. |
about that, what do you immagine that they do with spellcasters and conjurers. If you have a life sentence I can see them just cutting up your essence (in metagame terms) untill you have no effective magic attribute. But what if you only have a 5 year sentance. Do you spend 5 years drugged or wearing a mage mask?
wouldn't that be worse than loosing your magic atribute?
[edit] just realized that was a question.
my character in an ork sammi no magic.[/edit]
| QUOTE (OneTrikPony) |
| about that, what do you immagine that they do with spellcasters and conjurers. If you have a life sentence I can see them just cutting up your essence (in metagame terms) untill you have no effective magic attribute. But what if you only have a 5 year sentance. Do you spend 5 years drugged or wearing a mage mask? |
I could see the Mage Mask being utilized on a full time basis until the awakened convict can be shipped somewhere appropriate. I imagine that there are some enterprising Corps out there who would take advantage of some of the Magic-dead, or at least Magic-reduced areas to set up prisons for just this type of inmate.
| QUOTE |
| my character in an ork sammi no magic. |
Well, he'd have more than likely had that little device installed (can't remember the name offhand ... age sucks!) that deactivates all his cyber, at the very least. In certain places the actual cyber itself would be tampered with (wires cut, jacks stopped up, etc). I would assume though, that if the latter actually happened, then the character has since had the cyber fixed (I wouldn't make a character start the game with fucked cyber ... unless it was a (separate) flaw).
Other than that, I would think that in 2070 as it is now, prisons are prisons. Lots of boredom, broken up by the occasional fight or ass-fucking.
He doesn't have anything that needs a skill twitcher/jack stopper besides wired reflexes. He has a pain editor but that's bioware and my DM didn't screw me on that. (I'm pretty sure I have a kink bomb though )
The article made prison sound alot less than boring. if guys were making armor out of phonebooks it sounds pretty exiteing. Can you immagine work sucking so much that you maim yourself?
I'm also wondering what the corps who run prison systems in 2070 are doing to turn a profit. The article made it sound like all those prison made goods (in section 2) were selling as fine handcrafted goods. It's not like the inmates were getting any of that cash. And the rodeo drew a pretty big crowd. It's bi-annual now. Are prison sports a big draw in the CAS in 2070? (i know that aztlan puts their prisoners on bloodsport trid shows.)
When I first wrote my characters history it was pretty much; "he sat in a cell for 7 years." but now i wonder if I should flesh that out alot more.
)The article made prison sound alot less than boring. if guys were making armor out of phonebooks it sounds pretty exiteing. Can you immagine work sucking so much that you maim yourself?
I'm also wondering what the corps who run prison systems in 2070 are doing to turn a profit. The article made it sound like all those prison made goods (in section 2) were selling as fine handcrafted goods. It's not like the inmates were getting any of that cash. And the rodeo drew a pretty big crowd. It's bi-annual now. Are prison sports a big draw in the CAS in 2070? (i know that aztlan puts their prisoners on bloodsport trid shows.)
When I first wrote my characters history it was pretty much; "he sat in a cell for 7 years." but now i wonder if I should flesh that out alot more.
The Wired Reflexes would have been shut down in some way.
It is entirely possible to sit in a cell for 7 years. It is also possible to do work, either in the day-to-day running of the institution or, as you say, making license plates or other stuff (for the Corp). Prisoners nowadays do get paid for their work, but it is a nominal wage at best, barely covering stuff like tobacco.
Don't let the article fool you though. People play shit up for the media, or even their visiting families. No matter what though, a prison sentence will certainly contain hour upon hour of intense boredom. Sure, as I said above, there are moments of excitement, but on the whole it isn't glamorous. Imagine just how long it takes a person to sharpen a blunt spoon into a usable shank (knife) just by scraping it back and forth along the wall ... zzzz.
Criminals don't necessarily read because they like it ... they read because there is sweet fuck all else to do. Same thing as the hour upon hour of lifting weights isn't done because they suddenly feel the need for physical fitness.
It is entirely possible to sit in a cell for 7 years. It is also possible to do work, either in the day-to-day running of the institution or, as you say, making license plates or other stuff (for the Corp). Prisoners nowadays do get paid for their work, but it is a nominal wage at best, barely covering stuff like tobacco.
Don't let the article fool you though. People play shit up for the media, or even their visiting families. No matter what though, a prison sentence will certainly contain hour upon hour of intense boredom. Sure, as I said above, there are moments of excitement, but on the whole it isn't glamorous. Imagine just how long it takes a person to sharpen a blunt spoon into a usable shank (knife) just by scraping it back and forth along the wall ... zzzz.
Criminals don't necessarily read because they like it ... they read because there is sweet fuck all else to do. Same thing as the hour upon hour of lifting weights isn't done because they suddenly feel the need for physical fitness.
Iirc one of the SOTA-books has a longer article about prison life in 2060+. In short: it's not nice. The prisoners are left for their own, survival of the fittest and all that. The guards just sit in their towers or secured watch rooms and are there to prevent a riot and get the dead prisoners out.
Cyberware is jammed or taken out (like cyberarms). Mages either play nice or get a mage mask or are drugged down to lose their whole magic.
It's like today's prison ten times worse.
Cyberware is jammed or taken out (like cyberarms). Mages either play nice or get a mage mask or are drugged down to lose their whole magic.
It's like today's prison ten times worse.
Part of it depends on the type of prison your sent to, and more importantly, who owns it.
Lonestar for example would probably have relatively decent prisons. Corps would probably have not too friendly prisons, some (like the azzies) would probably make modern prisons look like disney land.
At the same time I wouldnt be supprised if they had some significantly more friendly prisons to boot for subjects of unwillful extraction. Yes.. you get a nice posh room, with all the wants and needs of meta-humanity necessity and desire. But you can never leave sublevel 12 or you or your faimly will be killed.
For the average con it realy depends on what you did when you were arrested, and who's prison you wound up in. In the world of SR corps dont blink twice at using cons as research fodder. Hell some of them do that even today. Yes we will give you a reduced prison term if you let us preform experiment(s) X uppon you.
And with the corps, for all you know it's some latest greatest way to make an even better cyberzombie.
Lonestar for example would probably have relatively decent prisons. Corps would probably have not too friendly prisons, some (like the azzies) would probably make modern prisons look like disney land.
At the same time I wouldnt be supprised if they had some significantly more friendly prisons to boot for subjects of unwillful extraction. Yes.. you get a nice posh room, with all the wants and needs of meta-humanity necessity and desire. But you can never leave sublevel 12 or you or your faimly will be killed.
For the average con it realy depends on what you did when you were arrested, and who's prison you wound up in. In the world of SR corps dont blink twice at using cons as research fodder. Hell some of them do that even today. Yes we will give you a reduced prison term if you let us preform experiment(s) X uppon you.
And with the corps, for all you know it's some latest greatest way to make an even better cyberzombie.
We've been through this before, I believe.
There are two effective ways to deal with mages in prison, background count and UV VR. Some mage prisons are built of sites that have extreme background counts. This is canon. A mage in such a prison would have a difficult time casting or summoning. The only problem is aspecting. Unfortunately, if you put a death-aspected magician into Auschwitz then you've just made that magician far more powerful. For this reason, the horribly broken Virtuoso metamagic would be in high demand amongst prison guards.
The second method is to hook the mage up to a UV host. If he tries to cast a spell his virtual avatar will cast the spell in the virtual world. If he tries to astrally project then his virtual avatar will project in the virtual world's virtual astral plane. While your at it, you can use psychotropic conditioning to teach him to knit whenever he has antisocial impulses.
There are two effective ways to deal with mages in prison, background count and UV VR. Some mage prisons are built of sites that have extreme background counts. This is canon. A mage in such a prison would have a difficult time casting or summoning. The only problem is aspecting. Unfortunately, if you put a death-aspected magician into Auschwitz then you've just made that magician far more powerful. For this reason, the horribly broken Virtuoso metamagic would be in high demand amongst prison guards.
The second method is to hook the mage up to a UV host. If he tries to cast a spell his virtual avatar will cast the spell in the virtual world. If he tries to astrally project then his virtual avatar will project in the virtual world's virtual astral plane. While your at it, you can use psychotropic conditioning to teach him to knit whenever he has antisocial impulses.
Just like Demolition man 
I'd be willing to bet that organleggers have a high presence (if only background) in both the guard and prisoner population. Someone willing to pay for dead prisoners could easily have a regular crop coming out of there.
Yeah just pay off the dirty warden and BOOM instant organs. Also corp experiments for new drugs or ware. Just think of all the free test subjects not to mention PRISON LABOR.
Just think of the really bad convicts!
Just think of the really bad convicts!
There's a lot of hazardous work out there that needs doing. In the Britain of 2070 I am imagining, state convicts - especially the political onces - are handed over to private prison camps/penal institutions run by Petrolus (sp?) and Zeta-ImpChem, doing work in the toxic fields, "cleaning" them. In reality of course, they are just put to work in factories with minimal protection from toxic wastes and such.
Corpses are used for whatever they can be used for.
Corpses are used for whatever they can be used for.
I can't help but think of the "Canary" teams from the last season of Red Dwarf.
You know what kind of prisons are fun? Women's prisons
test center for behavior changing BTLs
Actually, I was thinking about realistic women-in-prison sims with captive actors. I mean, if a simulated lesbian plunger rape makes money then a real lesbian plunger rape would be even better.
In my opinion, all women's only institutions in the Sixth World mimic the women-in-prison exploitation movies of the 70s and 80s.
In my opinion, all women's only institutions in the Sixth World mimic the women-in-prison exploitation movies of the 70s and 80s.
hyzmarca, as sick as that is, it's exactly what I'm talking about. The prison rodeo, as hilarious as it seems, is exploitation of the prisoners.
Here's some cannon info I found from the LoneStar book circa 2054
pp. 104 (Doin' the Time)
Here's some cannon info I found from the LoneStar book circa 2054
pp. 104 (Doin' the Time)
| QUOTE |
| Lonestar doesn't build or operate incarceration facilities, only holding vacilities. Fedral governments own almost all existing prisons. Few Corps own maximum security facilities...Certain private facilities have been known to use prisoners for genetic experimentation. One corp-owned slammer actually produced a trid game show called "blood Alley." As the contestants, the prisoners had to undergo savage tests to win valuable prizes such as food, mattresses, and a shower every three days. I'm pretty sure Renraku owned that place... --Papillon (13:09:15/11-16-54) >>>> (I remember that. None of the regular networks would touch it, but a couple of pirates cleaned up in sweeps week by programing Blood Alley marathons. Pretty twisted drek, like you'd expect to come out of Aztlan.)<<<<< --Markus (15:22:34/11/18/54) >>>>>(Like other people have said (check the division of Penology section), the star is starting to get into the long-term incarceration biz, mainly by contracting to take over facilites run by the feds.)<<<<< --Dirk (23:06:11/11-19-54) |
So I'm thinking by now that the star may be running quite a few of the federal facilites.
IIRC one of BigD's behests was a chunk of cash for anyone who could develop a reliable non leathal weapon that would work at long range. I don't think that one's been caught by anyone yet. I'm thinking some prisoners are testing the (non) lethality of the Star's research in that area.
Prison Break anyone?
Y' know, I've never watched that show. I assume there are aplicable theems?
Ultimately it all comes down to the kinda slammer you wind up in. It also matters a -great- deal if your a SINer, or SINless. SINLess have no rights.
Ehh, prision break could give you some ideas but you have to watch the whole first season to get them.
Cant wait till it comes out on DVD ill buy it then
Cant wait till it comes out on DVD ill buy it then
As a minor aside, Papillon is a fantastic movie.
actually, to deal with a mage the first thing you do is take a DNA sample so you have a material link (actually several, since the links get used up when you do ritual magic). Mage acts up or escapes, you slam him/her with ritual magic... hard.
Magemask might work too. I forget exactly what a magemask consists of, but I seem to recall it is basically a blinder, right? Longterm, you probably don't want to have something like that, but a mask that consists of purely electronic visual displays would work, since you can't target through technology (cybereyes notwithstanding).
Prison cells can be warded, but of course you need to have mages on staff to maintain those wards.
Best,
Chazuli
Magemask might work too. I forget exactly what a magemask consists of, but I seem to recall it is basically a blinder, right? Longterm, you probably don't want to have something like that, but a mask that consists of purely electronic visual displays would work, since you can't target through technology (cybereyes notwithstanding).
Prison cells can be warded, but of course you need to have mages on staff to maintain those wards.
Best,
Chazuli
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