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Had I been busted alone, my only charge would have been attempted petty theft, a misdemeanor. Bob, though, told the cops that I was showing him how to open the coin boxes of public phones. Thus I was charged with burglary, a felony. Since I was a parolee from Colorado, I was held without bail.
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While I was being held in the city jail in Berkeley, two detectives,from the robbery details of Oakland and San Leandro, respectively, came to question me about a series of armed robberies in those cities. C.D. had told them that Mike, Manuel, Tad and I were bandits also, and that I had supplied the shotgun C.D. had used to shoot the cop off his bike. The cops had beaten him so badly that he had to be hospitalized for several weeks. Maybe under those circumstances, I would have ratted too.
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We sat at a table in a small interrogation room. Detective Prince, the Oakland cop, had about a dozen files on the table in front of him. Detective Rodriguez had only one. I sat at the table across from them. Prince spoke first, "John, I'm inspector Prince, out of the Oakland Police Department. This gentleman on my left is inspector Rodriguez, from the San Leandro P.D.. These files stacked here in front of me are the robberies Mike and Manuel admitted. I'm not going to bullshit you. They didn't rat on you. We learned about you from our informants on the streets. We know that you gave the shotgun to C.D. that he used on one of our officers. Do you know what we do to assholes who shoot one of our own?"
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"Yeah," I answered. "You came within a heartbeat of killing C.D."
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"How come you didn't shoot the guy who knocked you down on your way out?" Rodriguez asked.
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"Well," I answered, "if it would have been me that pulled the robbery you're talking about, I Â probably would have shot him."
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"Well John," Detective Prince said, "we're going to run you through a lineup."
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Four Berkeley police officers were dressed in jail coveralls, as was I. None of the witnesses that viewed the lineup could identify me. The inspectors again talked to me. Prince wanted me to confess, but I refused to answer any questions, and told inspector Prince, "You can beat the hell out of me if you want. I will not admit anything. I am not going to be walking the yard of San Quentin for the next five years, kicking myself in the ass because I couldn't hold my mud."
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"I believe you John," Prince said. "We've got you on this charge here, in Berkeley, and the charges will stick. Ordinarily, you would have only gotten a 30 day county jail sentence for the charges you're being held here for. But we're going to press for a felony. And we will succeed."
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Sure enough, I was convicted by a jury and sentenced to fifteen years. I had been in California barely six months. Mike and Manuel were sent to San Quentin. I was sent to Folsom Prison for a few months, then I was transferred to Susanville, a new prison which had just been built. It was a training center for forestry conservation where inmates were being trained to fight forest fires.
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Just before leaving Folsom, I came very close to a violent incident. While a young inmate and I were walking back to our cells from the mess hall, I noticed an older convict entering my friend's cell. I asked my friend if he knew the con, who he hadn't seen enter his cell, and he responded that he knew no one in the entire prison, except for me. It was pretty obvious to me that the con I had seen entering his cell was up to no good. I supposed, at the time, that he wanted to have sex with the kid, rape him or something. I told the kid what I thought was happening. I told him to to get ready for some action. I walked to his cell with him. As we entered the cell, the older con, probably in his mid 40s, was seated on the cot. I looked at my young friend and asked who the hell this guy was. The older con leapt to his feet in a panic, clutching a home made knife.
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I managed to get the intruder in a bear hug, rushed him through the door out on the tier and threw him over the rail. A guard armed with a rifle was pacing the caged catwalk which ran along the wall of the cell block. I thought for sure he was going to shoot me. Talking into his walkie talkie, the guard shouted, "Man down, man down, south side cell house five, bottom tier!"
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I went to my cell expecting to hear the crack of the guard's weapon. But nothing happened. Some medical workers came with a gurney and carried the guy away. I was certain that the guard in the caged catwalk had observed the whole incident, but I never heard anything about it. The cellhouse barber told me a few days later that the guy who fell off the tier was in the infirmary with a broken hip.
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The kid was very frightened by the whole incident. When we went to the yard, he would not leave my side. I tried schooling him on prison life, how to carry himself and stuff like that. Try to find a buddy that will back you up. The main thing is not to sacrifice your self respect out of fear. Attack the situation, like we did when we threw the guy off the tier. You will gain everyone's respect and no one will mess with you.
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