I hate standing in lines. But there I was, happy as a clam, standing in line; for a fake diploma. (The real one came later by mail.) But it did represent the culmination of four years of pure hell, dental school. Some people didn't seem to mind it. But for most of us, it was a long grind. Basically one must study continuously. This is interrupted only by eating, sleeping, and labwork. Seriously. I am not inviting sympathy. One's time is simply occupied until graduation. I finally learned of shortcuts that apparently many students knew, but it was too late to use them. And I don't think I would have anyway, but that is for another story; my dental school experiences.

Since there was no time to assess my coming work situation, I graduated needing a job, housing, and money. My parents still lived in a rural town in central Illinois. They had seen an advertisement in the local paper for a dentist at Pontiac Maximum Security Prison. What? As in, what was I thinking? I know. I thought the sane thing. I mean the same thing. But, I could earn a little money, live with my parents, buy a car. You know, start life.

I interviewed, and unfortunately got the job. Now, this was done by an "administrative company," responsible for hiring all the healthcare professionals for Illinois' prisons. This is pertinent, because before, each individual dentist contracted with the state. This may not seem significant. It didn't to me either. But, oh boy, was it ever. The only thing that matters in prison is power. Yeah, to be sure, the prisoners are in a stark Darwinian experiment. Yes, but all that matters to the guards is power. And to the multiple wardens. Think I exaggerate? Read on, gentle reader. So the dentist before me was there some thirty years. And he had his own self to answer to. I didn't realize how irritated the wardens were with this setup. Petty? Absolutely. But we're just getting started. Turns out there was a lot of built up, pent up resentment over the dental area not being under the direct control of the prison officer hierarchical system. Guess what? I wasn't informed of all the myriad political land mines I was soon to step on. In fact, I firmly believe if I had listened only to the advice from my administrators, I wouldn't be alive today.

So I pull in to the prototypical gravel parking lot at 7:30 AM. Pontiac was one of my old stomping grounds from high school. Quik's was still there. Used to polish up the car or pick-up truck and drive around Quik's. Over and over until even we almost lost our minds. Cruisin'. Yep, we used to cruise Quik's for hours. Good burgers. Probably not, but hey, we were teenagers. Big parking lot. Actually multiple lots for several businesses. All shut down after five or on weekends. Cruise, check out chicks. Repeat, ad infinitum. Once every hour or so, a new set of mounds bounced around. Gas was thirty cents a gallon. Gear heads. Pot heads. A little head every now and then just to get by. Never got in trouble. Don't know how.

Oh yes, the Pontiac Prison gravel parking lot. Cool morning. Crunch of old familiar sounds as I stepped out onto the gravel. Almost brought a subconscious recognition of fear. Only time we heard those sounds, (of crunching gravel beneath our feet), was getting out of a car for a fight or a friend. I looked towards the prison.

Simple barbed wire outer fence, with a small guard house. Grass lay after this for twenty feet or so, and then the administrative complex which housed everything, basically, except the prisoners. Long and rectangular, looked like a school. Ran the entire north side of the prison complex. Enter through glass doors and then proceed ten feet to the oldest, biggest, most intimidating steel gate that I had ever seen. August Rodin's "Gate of Hell," without the ornamentry. Just swung grudgingly open momentarily, before slamming shut momentously on those huge groaning hinges. Shut. Silence, every time. For a moment, just made one reflect on the "end." Period. Never have had quite the same feeling about gates since. Shudder, groan, goodbye, is all they ever said.

As I said, just stepped out onto the dewy morning gravel. A new day. A new life. Whoa there, cowboy, probably not what was said on the "inside," eh? I have tried to tell people about this..."feeling" one notices eminating from Pontiac Prison. No one really pays it much mind, until you'll be going in. Ancient. Evil. Stark. Mania. Insanity. Loneliness. Despair. Hopelessness. A forever feel to these piled up, reeked up, soiled up rock confines. One feels the cement used is from Roman times. Filth, eking out of this place and contaminating you as you watched, mesmerized. Yes, I know. My assistant used to laugh at my exaggeration of these elements to the story of Pontiac. Till I took her there one day. Parked in the old gravel parking lot. Saw her laughs turn to that first recognition of fear.

"Maybe we should go," she said.

"Why? We jus' got here. Come on, get out and take a look. Wanna go in?"

She just shuddered and got back in the car. We talked about it later. She wasn't laughing. She also felt that creeping nausea, that evil reach out to...
Yep, that's Pontiac alright...the parking lot.

So, here I was on my first day. Boots on the gravel. Built like the proverbial "Brick .... House." No, I'm not kidding. Thought I should mention this. It's from dental school and the sick environments created there. But applies here too. Actually helps almost anytime ,anyplace, as far as I can figure. Now, I wasn't going in here to prove my manhood or fight or anything like that. Just the same, Darwinian is Darwinian. Went to the little gatehouse.

"Hi," the guard said. The guards get, and security in general gets, progressively more surly as one goes inside and/or their rank goes up. Not that the guards treated me badly, they didn't.

"Hi, uh, I'm the new..."

" Dentist, aren't you? Yes, I can see that."

He may not have even asked me for ID, after all, what were the chances some young punk would come here on the day the new dentist was, and falsely announce himself? Also, I don't believe they ever searched me. It was a courtesy. They may have once for a lock-down.

"Just check-in at administration. They'll take it from there."

Walked up about twenty feet, went through the administrative looking doors, and voila', instant prison life. Like switching on a light. Someone young, or white, stands out. Period. You better hope you're standing out because you are NOT in prison blues. Just stopped to catch my breath.

"Who you think you lookin' at? Huh? You better get your pearly white back up da hall where it belong. Fish."

"Ahem, me?"

"Yea, YOU. Who the hell you think I talkin' to?"

A guard appears, "Alright Marcus, ain't you s'posed to be somewhere? Best be gettin' there."

Guard: "Can I help you sir?"

"Uh, yes, looking for administration?"

"Healthcare or Prison?"

"Healthcare."

"Right around that corner. You the new dentist?"

"Yes, yes, that's right."

As I rounded the corner I couldn't help peeking into the room where the inmates made their personal phone calls, or met with people and visitors. Just pure chaos. Boyfriend arguin' with girlfriend.

"You know I didn't. You tell Jackie his ass be mine."

And so on. And then I ran into that big fake smiling face I had seen so many times in the salesmen who frequented my father's hardware store. The typical, seedy, untrustworthy, lyin' when I can, and then some, face of my immediate superior in the health administration. A job with little beginning and similar education, and obviously soon representing nothing to me but a pain in the ass. I just wish I wasn't always right on these matters.

"Hello, you must be Victor."

"Uh, yes, you just interviewed me, remember?"

"Oh, yes, of course I do. We're just excited to have you join us and start your career, aren't you?"

"Yes, about that. I actually don't have my license back from the state yet. It's just procedural, but don't you think I should have it?"

"Oh, don't worry about it. You're under our malpractice umbrella."

Now, at this time, I was actually so naive, I thought if he says so, it must be alright. Fortunately, my license arrived that week and all was well.

"I think all your paper work has been signed. Now, do you remember where the dental clinic is?"

"Sure." I kind of half thought to myself.

"Ok, all ready? Here we go."

He walks me back down the hallway, where this other prisoner is now back again looking at me with defiance. Then turns right to the "gate." Tells the guard to open it, this is the new Doc. As I'm still travailing the length of the door upwards with my eyes, I vaguely recognize...

"Do you need anything else?"

I felt like I was just ready to go under for anesthesia. Dream like. Then the guard slammed the ton gate closed and my world reverberated. Boom. Unimaginable stopping-retaining power. I shuddered for a moment. Was just going to say something to the guard when I noticed he was on the other side of the gate. I stumbled a little on the interior cement steps then caught my balance. Turned around into the sun. 8:15 AM. The yard. Full of prisoners mowing, clipping, hoeing, scything, (I kid you not) the grass. Maybe two or three hundred of them.

ALL came to a dead stillness. Not a sound. Not a twitch of a muscle. Uh huh. Well this was a bad decision and I turned back for the gate. The guard just smiled. Ok, ahem...ahem, ahem. Wasn't ready for this today. Just a simple little two block walk to the dental clinic, through these boys. Now, you may think what you like, but every man knows intrinsically what's going down here. I had NO doubts. Ladies, you'll just have to believe me there are certain moments in a man's life that cannot be misinterpreted.

Besides, I still had Ronnie R.,in the tower to protect me. Yes sir, he would shoot down any gang member trying to do me bad. If he got permission to load his gun. If he wasn't looking the other way on purpose. Ronnie would level that gun and shoot a gang member to save me. Hahaha. Yes, it was a pretty good joke, on me. Ronnie would no more do this than...I don't know what. He works there. Hello. Even if he quit that day, there would be a contract out on the street for him to be dead. And the best part about it was, I knew Ronnie, from high school. Yep, he was our local drug dealer and all around Charlie Manson look alike. (And if you need a psychiatrist to tell you Charlie Manson's crazy, you might as well ask your priest if it's time for an affair.) Yes sir, I was...screwed and tattooed.

So I took a deep breath, let it out, and took my Goddamned testosterone Superman pill, and started to walk a walk, I would remember for a very long time. See, this was about not showing fear. Believe me ladies, I know of what I speak. These men could easily kill me, beat me, etc. But that wasn't now. Now was to see if the boy could walk the walk. Remember, I told you I was built like a brick shit house. And thank God for me, psychologically at least. These guys hadn't moved a muscle since I came in. Some on the sidewalks. Some on the grass. Leaning on hoes. Foot in my way. Chest in my way. You get it. Oh, by the way, the game is played like this: Must stay on sidewalk. That's where one would normally walk. Walking around or in the grass, is big mistake. Of course walking into someone is big mistake also. Therein lies the crux.

I walk down the few remaining steps to the yard. No movement but the eyes. They follow me. Test me. Judge me. Dare me. I come up to the first man who is in my way, partly, on the side walk. I'm actually getting pissed off. This helps me. I know where I am, but this intimidation, bully-stuff never set well with me. So, I mumble an excuse me, and do a combo go around (a little), push him away,(a little), and stare at him, (a little.) He says nothing, but there is no retaliation. This goes on in several similar confrontations, but mostly "eye fu..ing" as they say. Although one guy just had to not move and I was forced to push a little more than I wanted. You don't really push as much as take your shoulder and bump him out of the way. I thought things had been going well. One block-two hours. It seemed. Then this guy, and I thought there would be a little trouble. (uh, yeah...I accidently knocked him over), (oh, BTW, that's a no no).

But who should come to my rescue at that opportune moment? Ronnie R? No, even better. The cell blocks were just huge. All cement. Facing the yard, but all one could see was an oblong filth. The one I currently was in front of was like that. Complete silence still. Then a BOOMING BIG BLACK VOICE rung out from the empty cement cell block...

"Hey, hey...I know what you need boy. (Just reverberating and booming in the silence.) You need someone tha's been locked up a LONG time. Hey, hey."

Oh yeah, that just made my cracker ass day. Then all hell broke loose. Everybody cat-callin'. Whistlin' what a nice ass I had. You get it. All the way to the clinic. Everybody was laughin' now.

Uh huh. First day jitters? Tell me 'bout it.