Guts & Glory: Angola Prison Rodeo (2 of 3) - Angola, Louisiana
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Stumble It!Guts & Glory: Angola Prison Rodeo
Angola, Louisiana
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"Old Sparky", now on display at the museum, had executed 87 men until the state went to lethal injection in 1991. |
The prison band could be heard throughout the stadiums, playing cover songs and originals so clear and diverse, they could easily have gigs booked every night of the week "on the outside." "Angola's Most Wanted", as they called themselves, donned fancy cowboy hats along with the standard rodeo worker shirts. Food booths flanked the walkways, selling every Louisiana specialty from catfish po-boys to red beans and rice. Buying a taco salad from the Angola Drama Club, I watched the young man carefully prepare it before gently handing it to me with a smile. He had a look of innocence and kindness about him, not a face I could picture on a violent man.
At 77 percent, blacks make up the majority of Angola's population, which is older than most prisons with an average age of 37. Almost 39 percent of the inmates are shipped in from the streets of New Orleans and Jefferson Parish. But all the statistics and studies in the world don't say anything about the faces that you meet. There is a certain fascination and morbid curiosity with blood letters and madmen where people "wan't to see his face" – we want to look into the eyes of men that have killed.
I saw faces of men that could have been from every segment of society. There were men with cold, bloodshot menacing eyes, grizzly beards, and missing teeth. Others had potbellies, limps, and soft voices like that of a schoolgirl. Some men had neatly pressed uniforms, well-groomed hair, and spoke with the intellect of a university professor, while others were covered head to toe in devilish tattoos. They were fathers, grandfathers, sons and uncles, that had made a serious mistake at some point in their lives and were now paying the price. Behind each one of those faces lay a story that was beyond our comprehension – tales of violence and mayhem.
The hobby craft marts of the old stadium led to the back where another section lined a long fence in a rectangular courtyard. Attended to by volunteers, the hundreds of inmates stood behind the razor-wire fences separating them from the public. They are the artists, who guards aren't quite comfortable mixing with visitors. Sitting quietly on the benches, they occasionally whispered to themselves, with shockingly good behavior that one might not expect of violent men. Every so often, one of the inmates would stand up and haggle with a visitor who was interested in purchasing his crafts. Peering through the tables, many of the men leered at passing women – this might be the only looks they'll get for a year. The eyes of some sent shivers down your spine. Slowly walking and browsing the crafts, you know that only a few feet and a fence separate you from countless murderers and rapists. Yet in between the menacing looks were the sad eyes of men who seemed to simply enjoy watching passing families and smiling faces. It was a rare sense of normalcy and freedom at The Farm.
The crafts were simply ingenious works of art that could only be done by the most skilled craftsmen or men with a lot of time on their hands. Leather shoes, sandals, vests, hats, wood furniture, tables, chairs, picture frames, candle holders, toy cars, painted oars, jewelry boxes, wood carvings of fish and ducks, outdoor and wildlife paintings. Most of the men had worked year-round to have items to sell in the craft fair. When the only other option is to slave the fields for four cents an hour, even the most hardened criminals have a sudden interest in painting and carving.
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Replica of a typical cell from the old Camp A. |
Just before 2pm, the crowds began to pile into the new 7,500-seat stadium, which had been built by the inmates in just 100 days. Near the grandstands in Section 2 were more than 100 inmates who had been marched in 3 hours earlier. They sat in silence on the crammed, steel benches. Beside them were 50 or so teenage boys with shaved heads and tough faces – juvenile offenders who now turned to scared, little boys sitting so close to real, murderous men. Perhaps part of some sort of "scared straight" program, all the convicts were segregated by yellow "caution" tape and a line of guards who stood between them and the free world.
As the announcer galloped in on horseback through the stadium, he took special care to point out that former boxer Leon Spinks was in the crowd, before relaying to the visitors that Bush had just sent the first tomahawks to Afghanistan. The crowd busted into cheers and claps as Angola's "Rough Riders" galloped through the stadium, unfurling the American and Dixie flags. One poor fellow was thrown from his horse, sending him and the stars and stripes straight to the dirt. The show went on as he wobbled back to the gate with his head hung low – the inmate's one shot at glory had been ruined. A line of riders and horses began to emerge from the gates, making the most elaborate formations. Perhaps 100 men, women, children and groups from surrounding towns had entered the stadium, scattering every which way with flags and hats that looked like some sort of battle scene out of the civil war.
Read all three parts of Guts and Glory: Angola Prison Rodeo
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
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