Page 8 - Sonoma County Gazette MARCH 2020

By Wil Shonbrun
The last exit to San Quentin State
The Meaning of Freedom
Prison on Route 580 is an easy right
turn just before the Richmond Bridge.
San Quentin is the only prison in
California that executes condemned
men, but there has not been an execution since 2006. However, Death Row is still there and the vibe that echoes through you when you enter that world is still palpable.
there are jerks, just like everywhere else. Once you get through the outer first station and pass muster with its long list of restrictions and searches for possible contraband, it’s a not unpleasant walk, except in cold, wet
in the same room, metal cage actually – or “non-contact visits,” which are by phone and through a thick Plexiglas separator like in the movies. The sound quality on these phones ranges from very poor to inaudible. Such is the fun of prison visits.
So let us go then, you and I, to San Quentin.
The person I’m visiting is Jarvis Jay Masters, a most remarkable man, who’s been on Death Row for 38 years, 21 of which were in solitary confinement, longer than any other prisoner in San Quentin history. I know Jarvis to be an innocent man, wrongfully
That’s the most I’ve ever seen of the inside of San Quentin and it’s enough. It was built in the 1850s, but I’d say its current buildings were constructed much later. It’s not a dungeon, but it looks and feels institutional to the max and operates on a bureaucratic scaffolding of rules and regulations that cannot, will not, be broken or bent.
A Visit to Someone in San Quentin On Death Row
weather up to the second station that house the visiting sections.
Visits with inmates are either what’s termed “contact visits” – face to face
convicted, and we have been friends for 20+ years. More about that later.
So what, you might be thinking, prisons aren’t supposed to be playgrounds. People are incarcerated for a reason and that’s true. But there are also people there, guards and visitors for instance, who’ve not committed any crime, but nevertheless are spending time there. Truth is nobody cares that much about living, breathing people, especially the visitors, but the guards have a union and therefore a voice.
A visit to San Quentin is a journey to juxtaposition. The ride along the rocky coast where the prison
sits fills the eyes with the ocean’s raw beauty and familiar sounds of the
sea against the shore. All is set against the stark background of drab and aging buildings that house desperate souls whose prospects are grim.
Curiously they too spend time in lockup, and that’s what they have in common with their prisoners. Among these inmates are some angry, violent and dangerous people who need to be separated from society. There are also many who don’t fit that bill, but that’s another matter.
Will Shonbrun (on the left) is visiting is Jarvis Jay Masters
Visitors and inmates share a (approx.) 4x8 heavy steel mesh cage, about six per row and there are three rows in total. They’re all joined together forming in aggregate one gigantic cage partitioned by steel mesh walls. There’s no privacy, guards patrol or just hang out constantly, and conversations from neighboring cages are easily overheard. Me, I’m too much in concentrated conversation with my friend to even hear what’s going on around me and I couldn’t care less anyway. A wall of vending machines provides a background soundtrack while inmates await a break from the usual prison fare.
In the long and narrow
windowless visitor’s admission’s building awaiting entry, children of all ages, mostly black Americans, play and laugh and sometimes get scolded by worried families. As common a scene as we’ve all experienced. As compared with the next step, the tightly confined, caged visit with their inmate relative or friend, the contrast of childhood enthusiasm with the heavy reality of the inmate’s locked-down life offers a stark relief.
It is a strange mixture of mundane life and society-
sanctioned death. The oneness of opposites.
Like entering any new place it helps to know the lay of the land, the customs and the rules of the game.
Here’s a little primer.
If the prisoner hasn’t arrived at the appointed cage he comes in from a separate entrance to the visiting room, accompanied by guards of course, and the makeshift cell is opened at the other end from the one the visitor went in. The inmate, his hands behind his back in steel handcuffs, stands at a narrow opening on that side of the cage, bringing his hands up to it and the cuffs are unlocked by a guard. You are then allowed one hug if you so want and you’ll be allowed one more on departure when visiting time is over. Visiting time is three hours max.
Getting in to see someone on Death Row is by appointment only and requires jumping a bunch of hoops and considerable phone time. It can take hours of busy signals, interminable waits on hold and then getting disconnected. Hours easily turn into days of trying to get through and make an appointment as days and times to call are limited. Once there, getting inside to see family or friends is a strictly regulated procedure and you’d better know the scene or you’re in for some misery.
I’ve become increasingly claustrophobic over time. Airplanes freak me out and I’ve pretty much given up flying. I can overcome it in this situation because the cage lets in air, light and sound, and if I concentrate on the conversation at hand, I can pretty much drown out the surroundings and ignore the other cages and their inhabitants.
Unsuspecting newcomers to S.Q., as it’s commonly called, await admission in a long, narrow, windowless building, anywhere from 1 to 3 hours only to be told their clothing is wrong. They can’t be wearing blue, green or brown. That’s the guards and inmates’ colors. They’re then directed to a small building not close by where they’re issued alternative clothes that are redeemed later. No prior warning or notice has been given. The message is clear.
Visitor and inmate share a 4x8 heavy steel mesh cage. Photo: acidcow.com/pics/inside-san-quentin-prison
We have the power,” it says. “You have no say in the matter.”
We humans are nothing if not adaptable, otherwise why would anyone put up with steerage class air travel or
It’s the same with the inmates. They’re issued identical prison blue denim pants, shirts and jackets. Message understood. “You have no identity here. You’re just another blue clad being in the herd.”
commuter traffic day in and day out? We can even adapt to jail, some of us. But the point of all this is not about what prisons look like or how they
Most of the guards I’ve come across are a pretty decent sort, but of course
operate. The descriptions I’ve given you are more by way of setting the scene.
FREEDOM cont’d on page 7
8 - www.sonomacountygazette.com - 3/20