Chapter 4: What Do You Call a White Supremacist?

I spent the next few days learning the ropes. I learned how to orient fresh Woods into their new lives on the Unit. Carl left, then it was up to me. Eighteen years old and in charge of fifteen people. Men, some as old as my father coming to me for advise on how to resolve issues with the other inmates.

I sat facing Rob across the chess board.

He had sent this skinny little Aryan Brotherhood prospect for me. I went. At the table, Rob was setting up the pieces. He motioned for me to sit. I sat. We played three games in silence, then he spoke.

He told me that I was “Solid Wood,” and that solidarity was a good thing. He explained how at first, there was no respect at all for the whites. How in the eighties and nineties if you were an unaffiliated white person you either had to fight, fuck or catch out. He told me about how it was the Aryan Brotherhood that fought to make sure we Woods even got a spokesman.

He said I owed him.

I asked him what he was getting at.

He told me that he wanted me to join them. They wanted to prospect me for the Aryan Brotherhood. They were even willing to overlook my “little incident” with the rapping, and all I had to do was share my commissary. I told him I was not interested. I told him about how my grandfather fought on the beaches in Normandy. How the Nazis pulled my grandmother’s father out into the street and shot him in the face.

He told me it was all bullshit. The whole holocaust never happened and was just an American propaganda story. He said this with a straight face. He held out a book, said it was more important than his bible. My Awakening: A Path to Racial Understanding by David Duke. It was even autographed. I flipped through more out of politeness than anything. The book explained the holocaust hoax, and how African Americans were racially inferior. The photos were grainy and the portions that I read were poorly written. I held it back to him with two fingers. Told him I wasn’t interested, tipped over his white king, and left.

The book was sitting on my bunk when I returned from the chow hall mocking me. I sat down, opened it, flipped through the pages.

What bullshit.

I decided that I had to use the restroom. I took the book with me, yelling “Permisso” as I entered, which was the rule. I sat down, shat, opened the book, tweezed out a medium sized piece of shit and closed it firmly in the middle. I used a dab of toilet paper to clean the edges. I cleaned my fingers off by writing “NAZI FAG” over David Duke’s holy autograph. I showed Sweet. He laughed. I let him piss on it. I stuck the book back in Rob’s locker the next day. I know that this was extreme, but sometimes there is no getting through to people.

Nobody liked the White Supremacists. We commonly referred to them with demeaning nicknames like Fag Nazis and Anal Beads.

Next time you see a White Supremacist on the streets, call him a Mayonnaise Monkey. They turn purple when you do that.

I was moved to a new dorm the next day

Comments
  1. […] 2: Frankenstein and the Chow LineChapter 3: Rec Yard BluesChapter 4: What Do You Call a White Supremacist?Chapter 5: LockdownChapter 6: Saber RattlingChapter 7: The CockroachChapter 8: Cookie […]

  2. […] 2: Frankenstein and the Chow LineChapter 3: Rec Yard BluesChapter 4: What Do You Call a White Supremacist?Chapter 5: LockdownChapter 6: Saber RattlingChapter 7: The CockroachChapter 8: Cookie […]

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