Editor’s Note: This week’s essay comes from Corrections One (and PoliceOne) Member Obi Linton. This essay first appeared on CorrectionsOne, where it was highly-regarded by both COs and LEOs alike. There’s a healthy rivalry between these two groups, but a bond and a brotherhood also runs deep. In PoliceOne “First Person” essays, our Members and Columnists candidly share their own unique view of the world. This is a platform from which individual officers can share their own personal insights on issues confronting cops today, as well as opinions, observations, and advice on living life behind the thin blue line. If you want to share your own perspective with other P1 Members, simply send us an e-mail with your story.
By Obi Linton
Police1 Member
It was a night like no other. I vaguely remember it being rainy, dark and cold in East Baltimore City (Md.), as I stood outside of my police car waiting for the ambulance to arrive. I was standing over my third homicide victim for the night. He was a 15-year-old black male, honor student, athlete and good Christian boy.
That’s what his mama would tell you but I knew the truth. I knew that this so called kid was possibly wanted in several shootings, robberies, and even a case of check fraud of all things. Yeah, I knew this kid far too well to believe that he was all those angelic things his mama made him out to be.
You see, I worked this post, I knew these families and I knew that when I hooked and booked them, I dropped them off at large stone building with a wire fence towering over the city’s blue lights and I wouldn’t have to deal with them for a long time, maybe never again.
On occasion I would enter to drop off my cargo in exchange for a receipt and guaranteed job security. I would look at the COs as they closed the large steel door behind them, and laugh at their misery.
I remember talking to a good friend of mine about working in the big house. I listen to his stories of how so many inmates have wasted their lives and all these hidden talents that so many of them possessed, and of course the occasionally case of sodomy and good ol’ beat downs.
I looked at my pal and shook my head, knowing deep inside that he wanted to always be a cop. Between us, most cops look at COs and think that they couldn’t cut it, they couldn’t pass the test, or maybe they are too scared.
As I finished my day I prepared for my one- hour commute back to Pennsylvania, and reflected on my life. I decided to make a major change in my life and stepped out on faith. Along with my wife, I opened a restaurant and ran it successfully until a b@#$% named “recession” entered my life. She entered with no remorse, she took away my customers, yet she still sent me bills.
After we were fed up with this dream, the badge bug bit me in my ass. I was destined to get back to law enforcement, and I took several tests and passed them with flying colors, only to sit on multiple waiting lists.
A Life-changing Suggestion
It was at my fraternity meeting when a good friend would change my life. He said, “Hey the prison is hiring.” He waited for my response as I said, “Are you freaking joking, I would never be a security guard in jail.” As I stood waiting for the back and forth argument, of him defending his career, I received no response. He never defended his choice of career, never got mad he just smiled and shook his head, and said, “ok.” Several weeks passed and my buddy again reminded me that the prison was still hiring. I decided to put in an application and received a call several weeks later.
Now as any ex-cop will tell you, the thought of working on the inside after working on the outside is somewhat terrifying. I sat amongst several applicants, whose experience ranged from teachers, former COs, gas station workers, military and one former city cop from the area. After having a heart to heart with myself, I decided to accept the job, hoping that in the future, a police department would call me and I would gracefully evacuate the premises.
The first day of the academy, I sat in the training room as the training Captain spoke with extreme animation and seriousness at the same time. He was extremely educated and informational, and repeated the importance of care, custody and control, and the purpose of the job, and urged us to never get complacent.
And then it happened, the moment I dreaded and wondered what it would be like. It was the moment of OJT or on-the-job training, we entered the sally port walkthrough and several unforgettable moments occurred all at once.
I stood waiting along with the other newbies, and I towered over them with my large frame, yet I jumped like a school girl in a horror movie as the metal door clanged behind me.
My classmates glanced at me as I played it off by pretending I was as cool as ice. But it was when the opposite door opened that would change me. I was immediately introduced to what the training captain and all the current COs called the “smell,” which can be summed up as an aroma that amalgamates throughout the air causing anyone who is unfamiliar to it too immediate stop and ask, “what the hell is that smell?”
It is a reminder of where you are, it is the combination of disappointment, lies, cheaters of society, people who turned mistakes into decisions and so forth.
More Challenges Ahead
As the weeks of training went on, I quickly stop smelling the “smell,” because there were many more obstacles and challenges I would face. I was later introduced to Picasso. This was a five-foot nothing inmate who sat facing multiple heinous charges in a one-man cell because of his psychiatric status.
He acquired the name from his amazing ability to take his own feces and mold it into two-to-three inch miniature figurines. I’m not talking about your everyday smearing act, although he was good at that as well, this guy actually made art: small horses, the statue of liberty etc. It almost made you sick to see it sitting on his cell window because you knew what it was but had to admit that it looked pretty damn good.
If that’s not enough, if you worked his area you found yourself looking for his tantalizing turds. On that very moment I knew mentally I had crossed over to the twilight zone, a place where the mind of a CO goes when he can say he has seen some crazy crap, “no pun intended.”
Not only do COs deal with everything and anything police officers deal with on the street, but you are dealing with it up close and personal every day. It’s basically like doing time yourself, I mean think about it, although you can leave any time you want, if you want to keep your job that wouldn’t be a good idea. I have discovered that while inside the walls, you are grossly outnumbered; all you have is your batman-like utility belt and each other.
But if backup is called and a CO is in trouble, watch out, because you don’t have to all get along but you want everyone to get home safely. I am discovering the lighter side of corrections, now this isn’t the case for every prison, but if you have a great team, there are days when you literally can relax, something my job calls the CO lean.
With a load of overtime and un-doubtable job security I am here to stay. I have received numerous call backs from police departments in the area for employment, which I have been more than happy to say “no thanks” to. I always laugh at my wife’s reaction when I get home and she says, “Hey how was your day?”
I look her in her face smile and say, “baby, I just love jail. It’s great!”
