Many federal prisons have a gaggle of Canadian geese that look for food – and are fed – around and inside the fences of the institutions. Perhaps the geese are cared for because for both inmates and employees, it’s a safe (and socially acceptable) way to show their humane side. (Actually, it’s not just geese that are shown special care; there are many inmates who befriend creatures both large and small, from spiders and mice to birds and lizards – even praying mantis. They do this by catching the various creatures that creep and crawl through the prison and make them “pets.” Considering the inhumane treatment inmates are subjected to, it is like witnessing a miracle when these often hardbitten, angry people reach in their pockets and feed these creatures their own food. It brings tears to my eyes to see it.)
This is actually a time-honored tradition. One prisoner, popularly known as The Birdman of Alacatraz (although it was really Leavenworth where he became an ornithologist and raised and sold birds), rescued birds of all types, from sea gulls to finches. He discovered and cataloged a range of illnesses and treatments that had not yet been identified, all while confined to his cell. The Birdman became so proficient and well known that scientists around the world went to him with questions. His work ended, however, when he was transferred to a prison that refused to allow him to practice his trade. Such a typical prison administration, not allowing talent the sustenance it needs to thrive.
The Fairton gaggle of geese
A case in point is what I call “Not-So-Fairton FCI (New Jersey): We have our own gaggle of geese that fly into our rec yard at meal times. (They know when it’s time to eat; I think they even know the menu, since they don’t show up for chicken-on-the-bone day, Thursday.) They make a lot of noise; they honk, chase each other around, strut and preen, and even mate and breed. You can walk down the sidewalk on a typical day and there will be 10 to 15 breeding pairs lined up begging for a handout. They like crackers and bread – and cookies if they can get them.
It gladdens my heart to see supposedly ruthless, heartless inmates (according to the BOP) feeding wild geese their bread or crackers and yes, even cookies, despite the many signs posted on every building on the compound, saying “Do NOT feed the geese!” I laugh when I see a goose fast-walk up to an inmate with its neck stretched out and mouth open, making a low, hissing sound like a teakettle. Then the inmate reaches out with a piece of bread or a cracker, and the goose stops and timidly extends its neck, bashfully nibbling at the offering. Only when it’s sure it won’t be hit or harmed will it start to gobble. They almost seem ashamed to have to beg, but their hunger and the need to provide for their family members compel them to risk it all on the hope that these “BOP-processed nonpersons” have a spark of compassion or pity. I can see the fear merging into hope in their eyes.
These are not dumb animals after a free meal. These geese recognize each of us; they even know all of the guards. Want proof? Yesterday, I watched my dorm officer come out the front door, happening upon a pair of mating geese who had established a nest. Usually, all the geese mix together and fly in flocks of 15 to 20. But when they start mating, the geese pair off and become protective of their nesting area. One of the pair sits on the nest and the other stands guard a few feet away, panhandling. If another goose tries to horn in, the guard honks loudly, standing up to full height, neck stretched out, wings fully extended and flapping.
Geese are normally moody and confrontational. They will chase and even bite just about anyone who gets too close. Some days you can walk by a goose that is a few feet away and it will just eye you; other days, it can be 30 or 50 yards away and come after you full speed. But these geese are a lot nicer. So, imagine my surprise when this officer comes out of the dorm and not just one but both of the mating geese take after him full bore, honking and flapping from about 40 yards off. The officer stood his ground, kicking at them. Man, that was a sight.
Later, I joked with the officer, saying, “Man, I don’t know what you did but those geese hate you, dude!” He responded, “Well, I don’t like them either! If I could, I would kill ‘em al!l”
Two days later, that same pair of geese moved their nest further away from the front door where the officers like to stand. And lo and behold, in the small depression in the grass was a beautiful, bright, white goose egg, about the size of an orange. Momma goose stood there nudging some grasses around the egg. I swear she looked like my wife when she tucked our newborn daughter’s blankie around her. She moved with that same unconditional love and tenderness. And just a few feet away stood the very proud papa goose! It was as if he was saying, “Look at my family! Have I got it all or what?!”
The next morning, when we went to breakfast and I walked by the pair, they were both standing by the walk panhandling for breakfast. But when I looked at the nest, I was startled to discover that the beautiful egg was gone! Please, I thought, don’t tell me some heartless damn inmate stole their egg! How dare someone do something so cruel, so heartless, so evil! I vowed that if I found out who had done this crime, I would give them a sound tongue lashing. I was so saddened it ruined my day before it really began.
Later that day, on the way to dinner, someone remarked, “Hey, didn’t they have an egg?” I said, “Yeah someone took it.” Someone else said, “Oh yeah, the cops took the egg last night and smashed it!” I was shocked to the core. “WHAT!!!??? No, no way.” This is the federal government! Aren’t they supposed to protect animals? Isn’t this federal land? That’s why the geese hang out here; it’s not just the free food. They are supposed to be safe here. But I was wrong. “Nope,” said the speaker. “I have been here for years and every year, when the geese lay their eggs, the cops smash ‘em.”
“For God’s sake why?” I asked. “They don’t want the geese here because they make a mess when they poop on the sidewalks,” came the response. “What??? That’s just heartless,” I said. “No, it’s true,” said another. “They don’t like having to step around the poop or, God forbid, in it.”
“Wait,” I said. “This place uses all the spoiled food, including the rotten meat leftovers, as mulch that smells like a slaughterhouse. It turns the stomach to have to smell that everywhere all day and all night for seven months a year. Yet they don’t like goose poop so much they kill all the baby geese?”
Meanwhile, remember the officer those geese went after? The next day, he was talking to another officer in front of the dorm. And as I walked up, I realized they were talking about the geese. I said to the other officer, “You should have been here the other day when those two geese took off after Mr. ____. I don’t know what he did to them but they do not like him.” The officer I was teasing responded, “Yeah, they had a nest over here and I went over and took the egg and destroyed the nest. Then, two days later they built another nest and laid another egg. We got that one too!” And he laughed!
Why don’t they instead gather the eggs and give them to a game reserve to hatch? I cannot fathom a good reason to just smash goose eggs.
Inmates are just like geese
But then I remember exactly where I am and anger and angst flood in. I have been through so much at the same hands, by the same policies and procedures, that allow the smashing of those eggs. These are the same people who a few weeks ago locked the compound down and interrogated all the inmates, asking us what we knew about drugs, weapons or threats to staff at Fairton. Then they came through B dorm and tore all our cells apart, randomly seizing food we had paid for, clothes, etc. We were kept locked down for a week (with only one shower allowed) before they let us out. It seems that one or two inmates had passed notes (“kites”) to staff, alleging that someone was going to kill a staff member or had just gotten a bunch of drugs.
Considering the fact that an inmate had just killed his cellmate with a pencil a few weeks prior, it was understandable why prison staff had to respond. But then we got a memo, advising us that the inmates in B-dorm would be limited to spending only $25 a week in the commissary ($100 a month vs the normal $360). Why? Staff believed someone in my dorm had written the kite. A few days later, it got worse. They locked down the entire compound this time, bringing inmates from the camp across the street to feed us bag meals. For supper, they gave us five packets of saltine crackers, two squeeze packs of frozen peanut butter and an apple. No bread, no drink. Again, we were allowed only one shower over the next week. Staff came back in with pepperball guns and tore our cells apart a second time. Again they interviewed us, this time adding a new question to their list: “We have been told that a drone was spotted and it supposedly is delivering drugs and maybe weapons. Have you heard anything?”
Finally, after another week, they let us up. And then we got another memo: Due to the bogus notes, thus wasting the time of staff and administration, the entire compound was now on a commissary restriction of $25 per week for a month. And, it said, if any more kites were dropped, the sanctions would increase. Whaaat? It seems very petty to use the behavior of one or two inmates against all of us. Whoever dropped those kites doesn’t give a fig about all of us being punished. In fact, they most likely felt empowered by the control they clearly exerted over the entire compound. Yet if one of us saved a life, the administration wouldn’t reward us. That’s for real.
I am glad I’m not a goose. But we don’t have it much better. So much for fair at Fairton.
