Years ago, when a new warden noted the institution had too many flammable items inside its walls, he decided the place needed, no “demanded,” a general cleanup because of security reasons. Each and every change at Waupun was done in the name of security, some of which were questionable, but getting rid of flammable items made a lot of sense. One area that needed “cleaning” was the carpentry shop in the Electrical and Maintenance (E&M) department, located in a building behind the prison school. The civilian carpenter telephoned Farm #1 and ordered in a truck so that scrap wood could be carried out to the dump at Farm One.
Most minimum security inmates, housed each night at the “Bunkhouse,” three blocks from the prison, worked on the farm, itself, located a short distance east of Waupun’s city limits. Some farm inmates were assigned as “drivers.” Of the drivers, most drove Chevrolet automobiles or station wagons and drove correctional officers and civilian staff members to various places, including Madison Central Office. A few inmate drivers were assigned as truck drivers. One of those trucks came in just about every day to carry out the institution’s garbage.
On the prescribed day for removing scrap wood from the carpenter shop, an inmate truck driver watched his vehicle being given the security check by the correctional officer crew assigned to the Truck Gate’s sally port. Eventually, the driver had to permit officers to “shake him down,” search his person for any contraband. (Come to think of it, the driver knew most of the officers by their first names). He and the truck he was assigned to were cleared and he headed directly to the carpenter shop’s exterior where shop inmates tossed scraps into the truck’s box while the driver walked inside the shop for a smoke break. Smoking outside institution buildings was not allowed except during recreation periods on the rec. field only.
When carpentry inmates loaded the truck to the hilt, the driver placed a staked tailgate on the truck’s rear. In the truck gate, officers, using the long spears, stabbed between and under and around pieces of wood in order to determine no inmates were hiding within. The sergeant made certain they did an especially good job. After officers shook down the driver in order to determine that he was not carrying any contraband with him, he was given the go-ahead to leave the sally port and take the load to the Farm One’s dump area on the other side of Highway 49 directly across from the farm where the wood would be burned.
At the dump, the driver began the arduous task of unloading the wood scraps by himself. When he was near the front of the truck’s box and almost finished, he heard groaning. He discovered an inmate from the institution had secreted himself under the load. Although the escapee was speared a number of times, he did not cry out but now begged the inmate driver to help him. The driver refused because he neither wished to return to the walls as a maximum security inmate nor did he want to add any time to his sentence. Furthermore, he’d was expecting the parole board to free him in a few months. Here’s the story we heard from those in the know.
“You’ve got to help me. You’re a fellow con,” the wounded man allegedly had cried out.
“No way,” retorted the driver, “I’m not going back to the joint with extra time. I’m expecting to be free on parole pretty damn soon.”
“You’ve got to help me.”
“’I’ll do this. I’ll tell the Farm supervisor, and I’m certain he’ll have an ambulance out here in no time,” said the driver.
“No, don’t do that.”
“Okay, then, I’ll leave you here where you’ll probably die.”
“I’d rather die than return to prison.”
“Okay by me,” said the driver as he entered the truck and was about to close the door.
“No,” screamed the bloodied man, “tell him.”
“Tell who?”
“The farm supervisor.”
“Okay, but remember I’m no snitch. You’d better not call me a snitch, you hear?”
“No, you’re not a snitch. Hurry up before I croak.”
After the ambulance carried the man to the hospital, doctors stitched him up. In the meantime, all carpentry shop inmates were escorted to the hole for investigation. The wounded escapee was returned to prison and a judge eventually added a five-year consecutive sentence. Crime doesn’t pay, not even in prison.
Most minimum security inmates, housed each night at the “Bunkhouse,” three blocks from the prison, worked on the farm, itself, located a short distance east of Waupun’s city limits. Some farm inmates were assigned as “drivers.” Of the drivers, most drove Chevrolet automobiles or station wagons and drove correctional officers and civilian staff members to various places, including Madison Central Office. A few inmate drivers were assigned as truck drivers. One of those trucks came in just about every day to carry out the institution’s garbage.
On the prescribed day for removing scrap wood from the carpenter shop, an inmate truck driver watched his vehicle being given the security check by the correctional officer crew assigned to the Truck Gate’s sally port. Eventually, the driver had to permit officers to “shake him down,” search his person for any contraband. (Come to think of it, the driver knew most of the officers by their first names). He and the truck he was assigned to were cleared and he headed directly to the carpenter shop’s exterior where shop inmates tossed scraps into the truck’s box while the driver walked inside the shop for a smoke break. Smoking outside institution buildings was not allowed except during recreation periods on the rec. field only.
When carpentry inmates loaded the truck to the hilt, the driver placed a staked tailgate on the truck’s rear. In the truck gate, officers, using the long spears, stabbed between and under and around pieces of wood in order to determine no inmates were hiding within. The sergeant made certain they did an especially good job. After officers shook down the driver in order to determine that he was not carrying any contraband with him, he was given the go-ahead to leave the sally port and take the load to the Farm One’s dump area on the other side of Highway 49 directly across from the farm where the wood would be burned.
At the dump, the driver began the arduous task of unloading the wood scraps by himself. When he was near the front of the truck’s box and almost finished, he heard groaning. He discovered an inmate from the institution had secreted himself under the load. Although the escapee was speared a number of times, he did not cry out but now begged the inmate driver to help him. The driver refused because he neither wished to return to the walls as a maximum security inmate nor did he want to add any time to his sentence. Furthermore, he’d was expecting the parole board to free him in a few months. Here’s the story we heard from those in the know.
“You’ve got to help me. You’re a fellow con,” the wounded man allegedly had cried out.
“No way,” retorted the driver, “I’m not going back to the joint with extra time. I’m expecting to be free on parole pretty damn soon.”
“You’ve got to help me.”
“’I’ll do this. I’ll tell the Farm supervisor, and I’m certain he’ll have an ambulance out here in no time,” said the driver.
“No, don’t do that.”
“Okay, then, I’ll leave you here where you’ll probably die.”
“I’d rather die than return to prison.”
“Okay by me,” said the driver as he entered the truck and was about to close the door.
“No,” screamed the bloodied man, “tell him.”
“Tell who?”
“The farm supervisor.”
“Okay, but remember I’m no snitch. You’d better not call me a snitch, you hear?”
“No, you’re not a snitch. Hurry up before I croak.”
After the ambulance carried the man to the hospital, doctors stitched him up. In the meantime, all carpentry shop inmates were escorted to the hole for investigation. The wounded escapee was returned to prison and a judge eventually added a five-year consecutive sentence. Crime doesn’t pay, not even in prison.
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