jailhouse rock

Chpt 5 pt 3 "jailhouse rock"

 

In 1962 Adelaide gaol stand over types were looked down upon and an atmosphere of democracy prevailed. Prisons were not yet overcrowded with drug offenders and Adelaide had single cells. Inside was a wire base bed, a stool, a toilet bucket and a steel box above the door with an on-off switch for the radio speaker. Like most Aussie "b***s" (jails) the choice of radio station (5KA) was controlled from a central control room. Prisoners had no choice of station but I was delighted to lie safe and warm in my cell listening to "Rhythm of the Rain" by The Cascades and other top 40 hits.

 

There was no library but many crims had thin paperback cowboy novels stuck in their belt. We'd swap them like kids in the '50s did with comics. The tucker was OK. Once a week we'd be issued our only "luxuries": a tin of jam, 100 gm of cheddar cheese and 50 gm of cheap tobacco wrapped in red and white check striped paper wallets. We also got 2 packets of cigarette papers and 50 redhead matches. We split the matches into 4 (or 8 if you were frugal: or 16 if you were a delicate slicer) using our weekly issued razor blade.

 

The injustice of people being jailed for vagrancy, drunk and disorderly or and not paying fines made me despise "the government" and I swore (when released) I'd extract some sort of revenge.

Adelaide Gaol was laid back. In big concrete exercise yards no one exercised. We lay about getting sun tanned listening to crim anecdotes about insane escapes from zealous cops. Old drifters exchanged reports of missing pals and filed them away in memories to retell at future chance meetings.

 

After enjoying 2 mirthful weeks with hobo aristocracy I was transferred to Yatala Labour Prison where the crims were nasty and the guards hard. We were searched for weapons and contraband and slept in back bending canvas hammocks. I couldn’t be bothered hanging it up at night because in the morning you had to fold it (and your blankets) in a neat bundle with exact military precision in time for cell inspection. I never got it right first go so from then on I camped on the floor to save the hassle.

 

There was a rock breaking quarry for smart arses. In the yards crims walked up and down plotting future jobs while loners and lifers read novels and old men played checkers. Tough guys played cards for tobacco or teased the weak. Being one of those weaker ones, I hated those concrete triangles and yearned to be back in my cell. I acted slightly psychotic so crims wouldn't pick on me. Back in my "slot" I could relax and travel to other worlds by reading. Yatala had a small library.

 

After 3 weeks I given my "hard labour" and sent to the farm section to weed rows of vegetables, pitch hay and carry bags of potatoes. My muscles grew hard from doing press-ups in my cell. My c**k was getting hard also: more than usual. One day after work, I finished my meal and glanced at a large red tomato I'd pinched from the farm. It was just lying there seductively and the idea it might be amenable snuck into my vacant mind. It looked luscious and, although we'd never spoken, I acted impulsively and cut a slit in it. Without even asking its name I got to work, keeping one eye on the door peephole. I didn't want to be caught by a screw while I was having one. If word got out I was a vegetarian blokes would pick on me for being a fruit. After 20 seconds I ground to a stop. It was too cold and not the right texture at all. Next morning my dork had a rash. That revengeful vegan tomato had given me a citric acid burn.

 

While chopping weeds I noticed a new bloke called "Elvis." About 20 years old, he was well bodied and seemed slightly simple. Blokes kidded him he looked like Elvis Presley, but the only resemblance I saw was very full lips and long sideburns. When he chipped near I asked nicely,

"How come they let you keep your sideburns? Usually everyone gets short back and sides when they come in." The prison Governor liked the barber to give only "shorn sheep" hair styles. Elvis answered,

"I don't know. I told him I was Elvis and that I needed them." I asked,

"Do you know this one? (I sang) Feel so-oh ba-ad, feel like a ball game on a ra-ai-ny day." I gave my best Elvis imitation, of which I am proud. I've studied The King's breathing and unique pronunciation for years and I was a good imitator. The kid took it up and sang the next verse,

" Oo oo oo oo oo, Baby that's the way I fee-e-e-eel. Guess I'll git ma suitcase, pack my grip and ride away-ay-ay." He was good. Like me, his vocal tone wasn't the same as E, but the mouthing, breathing and soul were spot on.

 

We moved along slowly chopping weeds and he said he was in for housebreaking. The time flew by as we compared songs and tried to better each others singing. Every few hours bored crims would kid him,

"Hey Elvis, what was it like when you went in the army? Did the soldiers f**k you like the crims do here?" This was typical Aussie jail banter. Elvis was embarrassed but valiantly shrugged it off by saying,

"No man, why Colonel Tom Parker'd kill any no-account fella who tried that on his number one hit maker." Sometimes his repartee got a smile and he was left alone, but half the time it just led to,

"Well now smart arse, the colonel ain't here now, so kneel down and suck my dick!" Then poor Elvis had to either laugh it off or get angry and go into psycho mode like I did if threatened. He'd shape up to fight. Now Elvis was a little simple in some ways but twice I saw him go psycho and he looked like he’d kill. He was a big bloke and the teasing crims backed off and pretended they were,

"Just kidding you man. Don't go getting' all upset now E."

 

They left him alone until next time they were bored. A lot of that behavior went on in jail and it pissed me off. It turned the joint into a place of punishment instead of the holiday camp it could have been. The only people who suffer in jail are the weak and sensitive. The strong and stupid do time easily. Judges should consider this when sentencing.

 

After 4 weeks at Yatala, I was sent up to Cadell Prison Farm on the River Murray. It was a low security place with individual motel style rooms and the best food I'd ever tasted. We'd get eggs delivered to our rooms in the morning in whatever style we preferred. The place was a holiday camp. My body became fit from pitching hay and carrying irrigation pipes. We dug potatoes, picked broad beans and became sun tanned. Picking fruit in the orchard I met a new bloke with a wide smile. I told him,

"You look like Cantinflas, that Mexican actor in 'Around the World in 80 Days'." After that he adopted a Mexican accent,

"Si Senor. I am harping to see you in Santa Keel-dare juan day. Looking for me in ze snook-air room." There was no TV in jails back then but once a week a screw got out a projector and screen. We watched a newsreel, a cartoon and a Hollywood movie while we were served toasted cheese sandwiches. I recall one movie was "Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter" with Jane Mansfield and Tony Randall. Cantinflas said

"They always show General Exhibition stuff. Never any crime. That's to brainwash us into being good citizens- but not me- I'm going straight back to St. Kilda and live off prostitutes."

Now he had my undivided attention. I said,

"Yeah? How you gonna manage that?

He explained,

"I don't mean I'm going to be a "hoon" and make them go out and f**k all the time. I'm just going to find a nice one, get to be her boyfriend, live in her flat, eat her food and be nice to her. Those pro's like to have someone waiting when they come home after work." I agreed it was a good idea.

He was handsome enough to pull chicks and as days went by we became good mates. We'd have each other in stitches with our combined quirky humour..

 

Another enjoyable crim in Cadell was Barney the Bear. He could imitate a proud clucking chicken that'd just laid the biggest egg in the world and got enraged if teased about his short sightedness but his sense of humour was strong. He had "CUT ALONG DOTTED LINE" tattooed around his neck along with an actual dotted line. For that act of insanity I had immense respect for him.. I wonder if you're still alive Bear and what you made of your life.

I spent my last 7 days loading bags of spuds onto trucks then was handed a train ticket to Adelaide and my "release money" of 4 pence a day (now about 40 cents).With this (now $36) amount I was ready to take on the world.

 

Now I'd seek out that bloody beat subculture. They had to be out there somewhere, probably in big city Melbourne or Sydney. A character in Kerouac's novel was studying Zen Buddhism. Those exotic words intrigued me so I searched in granny's shed and dug out my copy of Lin Utang's "The Art Of Living" I'd stolen (by mistake) a year before. The enlightening Taoist philosophy awoke my mind a little but not much. The first chapter I read was "The Importance of Loafing". That was something I knew I'd be good at.

 

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Author's Note

I later edited these chpts better---but could only paste earlier drafts