Tattoos behind bars

While waiting on the number 6 bus yesterday morning, An older man wearing a matching tan shirt and pants came up to the bus stop. He was using a cane. He looked to be in his mid 70's. At first, we just nodded our cursory hellos. But, his arm and neck and some of his face were completely covered by tattoos. Now, I'm kinda creeped out by body "art". Have never responded positively to it. But, recently, I've tried to overcome my trepidation by asking folks about the marks all over their arms. They seem to like to talk about them. So, I said to him, "can you tell me a little about your tattoos? I've never seen so many on one person". And he said, "Well, I got 'em in the joint. I was in prison for 39 years. Just got out a month ago". "How does it feel to be free?", I asked. He told me he's had some trouble having to go live at a halfway house and dealing with the men who continue to choose to live their lives by dealing drugs and committing petty crimes, despite the fact they are no longer incarcerated. He has found another place to stay, part time, with an easier way of life.

We got back to the subject of his tattoos - they were not the most artfully rendered I had ever seen. He told me about an invention prisoners had come up with, involving an old tape cassette recorder. They dismantle part of it, use the motors and hookedthem up to ink pens. Apparently, they work very similarly to how a professional tattoo "gun" (don't know what they're called) works. He told me his ENTIRE body was covered in art and that they were his way of expressing his individuality behind bars. Let me tell you, he did look fierce. Must have been a scary mother in the joint who wouldn't be messed with. Turns out he got into quite a lot of fights and his parole was denied several times, accordingly.

His manner was somewhat sweet, but matter-of-fact with me, as I sat in the grass in the shade next to the bus sign. I asked if the tattoos hurt and he explained that the only ones that really hurt were the ones on his sternum, as this is the place in the body where all of the nerves and muscles came together. (I don't know if that's true, but it sure explains why I was in such agony after my open-heart surgery!). Maybe nobody had ever asked him these questions without judgement, before. To be truthful, I don't know if I was judging him or not. I just wanted to know about him. And then, he told me his age. He was 58 years old!!! This means he went into prison when he was 19 - almost an entire life spent in jail. I thought about the movie, "The Shawshank Redemption" and about the librarian character, old man, Brooks, who was finally released but could not handle life on the outside and wound up hanging himself under the words "Brooks Was Here" scratched on the ceiling beam.

I never got the name of the former inmate I spoke with, but then, he told me he had blood clots in his legs and was having difficulty walking - was taking aspirin to thin the blood. Well, then, I had a story to tell him, about my recent hospitalization, etc. I told him I was going to the county social services to try and get the medical bill reduced. At that point, he became almost fatherly in his advice and made sure I got on the correct number 2 bus, after I transferred and insisted that I pull the cord after the bus rounded the corner from Wells to 9th to make sure I got off at the correct stop.

We sat near each other on number 6 ride - my turn to talk, this time, describing the bizarre journey I had been on this past year (frankly - I'm sick of telling that story and am ready for a new one!) and he listened attentively. Once we reached our transfer point, he lead me across the street to the correct location for the #2 bus. All I said was "Thank you, sir", at the end.

Than I wondered when the last time was he had been called "sir" and I wished him well.