I have a buddy who is a corrections officer and he showed me this. This is required reading for all new officers and a reminder for them to keep their distance and not be suckered into being a tool like the schmuck in this story. I thought it was highly interesting so enjoy!
http://www.phylon-tgonzalez.com/downingaduck.html
This story was related by prisoners who know and understand the set-up process. They were inmates who, at one time or another, had been implicated as conspirators in several illegal contraband cases involving prison staff
members. They would not discuss their own individual techniques of modifying prison personnel behavior, but they did relate events of the set-up process implemented by one of their cohorts, citing the procedural as typical. The
authors cannot attest to the validity of their statements; however, the individual being discussed does indicate consistency between his behavior in the situation and expected manipulative pattern.
The prison jargon term duck refers to an institution employee who can be manipulated or easily fooled.
Cracking the Shell Takes Time and Effort
You have to go about developing a duck in a manner that creates very little suspicion. A man would be a fool to just walk up to a joint cop and ask him to bring in grass, booze or money. You have to go slow, which takes time and
effort. The dudes who get caught are the ones who get over-anxious and move too fast. The first thing you gotta do is watch. You know, things like the way a person acts, walks, stands, sits, or dresses can tell you a hell of a lot about them. Things they laugh or smile at; what makes them sad or angry; their likes and dislikes; this is all important information if you really want to develop a duck. You gotta start small if you want to get a person to a point where theyll do just about anything you say. The last duck I developed was natural. Naïve, shy, friendly as hell, a do-gooder who could be made to believe anything. You see, prisons dont know how to warn their people. They gotta say, Be friendly, be nice, but they dont know how to tell them when theyre going overboard. So Im gonna tell this story like he was my duck. At any rate I started my duck with nothing more than getting him to give me pencils and paper in excess of what he was supposed to give. Heres how I developed him.
Developing the Duck
I watched this cop for a long time. He had all the traits. He was uneasy round his boss, pushed the nice guy bit so strong on us he overlooked violation of some small unit rules in other words, he didnt take care of business. He couldnt put across his orders with any kind of firmness, and the cons were givin him a rough row to hoe. When you find a guy like this, you can pretty well figure you got a duck--but you can be too hasty, you gotta be sure.
I sent some friends of mine to get him involved in philosophical discussion to find out where his head was and to push him a little to see how far hed let things go. They talked about how bad other cops treated them and how they
hoped he didnt become like all other cops. He agreed, and told them about things hed seen the other bulls do that supported their reason for disliking cops. While the talk was going on, some of the guys broke rules like stepping
inside another cons cell, putting marks on the wall, suggesting playing poker--all minor rule violations. The officer said nothing. Each time he started to leave and tell some guy to knock it off theyd praise the hell out of him and hed get back into the conversation. Me, I just watched. The guy was very easily distracted and we build on the nice guy image. He didnt look like a cop--sloppy dresser, half done jobs, and hed come unglued if someone said he did a poor job, or if someone didnt particularly like him. When this happened hed get in a downer conversation telling the cons how no one understood him. Theyd agree, and build his ego. They got him on a first name basis--its harder to tell a guy NO when youre that friendly.
When I was absolutely certain that this guy was the one I wanted to develop, I had his unit orderlies do a sloppy job so he wouldnt pass inspection. The sergeant gave him hell. When the sarg left, I went over to the guy and said, You know what, Pete, you didnt have that coming. The sarg doesnt know you like we do. Out of all the cops in this joint, youre the only one the cons trust. Remember, we told you where to find the convict home brew. He didnt remember you made that bust. Ive been talking with the other cons in this wing and were going to make you look good from now on. My duck kept raving on how that sergeant has been on his back; that he just cant seem to do anything right. So I told him, I got extra time each day and Ill fix this place so youll not only pass inspection, but youll get a commendation for the cleanest wing in the joint. I aint gonna let no crummy sergeants talk to you that way anymore. The cop said he would be grateful.
As the days and weeks passed, I worked my tail off for this joker. He began passing his inspection with honors. He had the habit of leaving his lunch box open or his cigarettes laying on his desk so I began helping myself. I didnt
over do it, and he said nothing, so I asked him for a couple of full writing pads and a few pencils. He was supposed to give only one pencil, usually used, and only a couple of sheets of paper. With a long explanation and unsteady
voice he turned me down. Saying No was hard for him. I looked hurt and said, Oh, Im sorry, I wasnt thinking. I thought you knew I liked to relax and write after working at my regular job, then cleaning this unit for you. I only
asked you because most of the guys in the wing told me you understood things like that--that you like to see us doing constructive things. Oh, well, it aint no big thing. I tried to let my expression say my feelings were hurt, I was sorry he didnt trust me, and I guess he was like all the other cops. With my head down I sauntered to my room. Shortly Pete was at my cell door. He made sure no one was looking then slid a dozen new pencils and three new
writing tablets under my door. I said, Pete!, youre the greatest! Just like all the guys say, you really try and help convicts stay out of trouble. I worked extra hard that next week winning Pete praise from the sergeant who formerly
cussed him out. Pete was pleased and said, Thank you, Terry. He used my first name, a sign I was developing him properly.
Several months had passed now and we had become good friends. I sought personal, financial, and marital advice, which he freely gave. And since he liked baseball, I liked baseball. He disliked hunting, so I disliked hunting. Now
you gotta be careful with this too. If you have too much in common, thats not good, so you let him talk you into believing as he does. For example, he asked me if I believed in God. I seemed hesitant and confuse. I let him
convince me there was a God. You gotta remember when developing a duck that youre always the student and hes the teacher. You appear to be fascinated by his knowledge. You make him think you kneed his help; that hes making you a better person; and that you wanta be like him. I had this joker bringing me candy, magazines, cigars and he mailed a couple of birthday cards for me. I always told him he shouldnt do things like that cause he could get in trouble and then I would hint around for something else I needed. Pretty soon hed bring it, but I made him feel I was looking out for his welfare. Then I figured it was about time I got a little more serious with this guy. One day a fight broke out in the wing and my duck tried to stop it. He wound up facing a couple of cons with knives who said they hated cops and were going to kill him. He was scared spitless. I let him stay in that situation for a while and finally rushed in, got between the cop and the cons and talked them out of hurting him. I never saw a guy so grateful. Right at that time this duck said hed do just about anything for me. I told him friends needed to stick together; that no one should expect favors for doing what was right. That night I used Petes own cigarettes to pay off the guys who staged the fight for me. Sometime later I showed this officer a letter from my sister stating the wife of a guy in our wing had been killed in an accident. The con was a friend of mine so I asked my duck to tell the guy. He couldnt do it because he gets too emotional he said, so I wound up telling the inmate my self.
When your grooming a duck you are limited only by your own imagination. Here are two situations that I set-up to learn something about the dude. The fight told me fear and friendship could get me what I wanted from this cop,
and the second added sympathy to the list.
Everyone in the wing was sad over the loss of this convicts wife, especially the cop, so the next day I brought my duck a sympathy card signed by most of the cons in the unit and told him they had taken up a collection for the cons kids. I told him I knew it was against the rules, and that convicts aint supposed to have money, but this was different. This would do a lot of good. There ought to be some rules we can break, I said. Most of us convicts have spent a lifetime taking things from people, and the one time we want to give, theres a rule against it. It just doesnt seem right! The cop was concerned over the amount of money with the card and that he might get caught. At about this point my personality began changing a little. I had to let this guy know he had already done some dumb things that could get him into trouble--to do so in a way that showed we were still good friends but that I meant business. So I reminded him of a few past situations. For the first time, he didnt quite know how to take me. I immediately got nice again. I said, Ah, come on, it would do us a lot of good to give for once in our lives, you cant deny a person that kind of inner satisfaction. Any doctor will tell you its good therapy. Besides, the penalty for taking a letter out with money in it aint no greater than the ones youve already taken out. Dont get me wrong, I would never tell, but I have had some trouble keeping some of these other cats in the unit from telling the sergeant thats always on your back. He was beginning to feel the pressure. The confusion on his face was obvious. He wasn"t sure where I stood. As I continued talking, I slid the envelope into his inside jacket pocket. There aint no way youll be caught. They don
t search cops like they do inmates. Gosh, man, you cant let little kids starve just cause their old man is in the joint. Those kids aint done no wrong. There aint a con in this place who would understand the deep hurt a person goes
through when someone you love gets killed. I thought you were different. You dont have to worry, we took care of those people who might have snitched to the sarg. No way are we going to let you get in trouble. Besides, Ill never
ask for a favor like this again. Its just that those kids I walked away and left him to think about what I had just said.
I had been my old friendly self for a few days so my duck could become comfortable over taking the letter and money out. Then I told him some relatives of my friend--the deceased womans husband--would be sending a
package to his house. The package would contain nothing but prayer beads for the grieving inmate. Dont open the box till you get here, I told him. we need the address to thank these people, and they were really grateful for that money. He agreed. When the package came, I told the cop Id show him the contents later and he said never mind he didnt want to know. His voice told me I needed to butter him up a little because we both knew he was over the barrel. I had him right where I wanted him. But I still had to develop him more deeper. I knew he was in debt on the streets so I got the training officers clerk (an inmate) to add extra time on the dudes pay records. The cop appreciated the extra money and said nothing. Because I let him know I was responsible for the little favor, he became more friendly, but he was still cautious with me. By this time I was about the only friend the cop had.
Sometime back his real friends began telling the guy he was being too friendly with convicts. I couldnt let that go on, so I started a rumor that this cat was living with an inmates wife. He came under investigation. Cops like to go with
winners, not losers. This guy was a loser so left him alone. He had to talk to someone, and I was the only person available. I had the guy right where I wanted him, for sure! It took time but you gotta develop a duck carefully if you want it to pay off. Now the guy was ready for the big one. He had to do anything I said or I tossed him to the wolves.
Turning the Duck into a Golden Goose
I had done a lot of time in my life and was tired of prison. I wanted to get out. Id been thinking about this for a long time now. Getting out had become an obsession with me. My duck and I were about the same size so I got him off to the side and said, You dont know it yet, but Im going on parole, and youre going to help me get there! My voice was stern and commanding. He looked confused, but he knew I meant business. I want you to bring me a cops uniform! We had joked about this kind of thing before and he hoped I was still kidding. With all the hatred I could muster I shouted, Look you stupid S.O.B., you aint got no choice! Every convict in this wing will snitch you off. You took out letters, money, you brought in things we still have stored to use as evidence against you, and youve been accepting money from the state under false pretenses. Now you bring in that damn uniform or youre dead, sucker! I stood glaring at him and let what I had just said sink in for a moment. Then I handed him a letter from the people who had received the money in the letter he had taken out. It stated they were
willing to testify against him. He had no choice. He had to so as I told him. Listen, you rotten bastard, I continued, you bring a shirt tomorrow, trousers the next day and so on until I have the complete uniform. DO YOU
UNDERSTAND?!
The duck brought a piece of the uniform each day in his lunch box. As I received them I rolled each new item and neatly placed it in the bottom of the foot locker. Then I told this dumb cop to call me off my job when ever the
institution search team came into the wing. Make some excuse like I didnt clean my room I told him. I knew if I were on hand when my room was being searched, I could talk the searcher out of going to far into my locker.
Some cops do their job and look at everything in the room, but most of them dont like searching and can easily be talked out of looking in places where a lot of work is involved. You know, theres a psychology behind handling a
searcher. One of the first things convicts learn when they first come to a joint is how to beat the search team. Like, if you want to hide a major contraband in your room, then you leave a minor contraband item so it can be discovered. The dude searching will usually abandon the search when he finds the piece you salted, and he leaves feeling hes done a fine job. You got to be just a little bit smarter than they are to survive in prison. On the other hand there is that occasional sharp cop who cant be fooled. When this happens, youre in trouble. So the way you handle this guy is you get all the cons in the area to complain about how the guy dumps stuff on your floors, tears your bedding, etc. If the complaints keep coming about the guy, joint big shots take the attitude that where theres smoke there must be fire, and they give him a job change. Can you beat that? The dude gets punished because hes doing a better job that anyone else.
One morning my duck called and said the search team was going to be in his unit. I rushed and stood nonchalantly by my cell door. A cop was already in my room searching. I was polite, joked with him, pointed to an area in my
room he failed to search. I even complimented him on his thoroughness. When he came to the foot locker I said, Man, Im sorry, its going to take you hours to get through all the junk in that box. By seeding this thought he gets
tired just looking at the job. Theyll usually just give the box a once over lightly and quit. I pointed to a master list of things in the footlocker that was taped to the underside of the lid. I said that because the box was so full the list might make the job more bearable; that it was packed military style; and it took me hours to do it. But you got your job to do, I emphasized, and I dont mind repacking, even though it will take me most of the day--go ahead on. The dude was impressed by my politeness and complimentary attitude and he was convincing himself that a con who encourages a thorough search is probably clean. I did ask him, however, that as he took things out of the foot locker to place them on the bed--if he didnt mind; and that he could glance at the list to see how orderly I kept my things. By this, I knew two things would take place in his mind: his eyes would check the list as I suggested; when he consistently found things in order, hed feel hes wasting his time; and the old buddy association I was developing would help convince him I was hiding nothing. So I figured after removing a few things he would conclude the search.
It happened just as I thought.. He removed the top row of clothing and about half of the next, then said, O.K., youre clear, and he moved on to the next cell. Whew. Breathing a sigh of relief, I decided this searcher came a little close and I had better put my escape plan in action soon. Tomorrow morning, I thought, was as good a time as any. My duck comes on duty at 7:45 a.m. At 8:00 a.m. the night shift goes home, and at the same time there is a major
work release for prisoners: the corridor is always crowded at that time. I figured I had 15 minutes to get out of my room, slip into the broom closet, get into the uniform then melt into the crowd unnoticed. I would go to the exit door next to the control room where a sergeant is supposed to identify everyone leaving and stand with the group of officers waiting to go home. The procedure for releasing officers from the security area at the joint is done like this: The sergeant at the control room looks at everyone wanting into the sallyport (a sallyport is a holding area in between two locked steel doors). When hes satisfied hes only releasing staff, he pushes a button which opens the first of two electronically controlled doors. Everyone enter and the first door closes. Before the second door is opened, an officer looks at everyone to assure the sergeant made no mistakes. Once the second door is opened they
cross a patio to the administration building where another sallyport exists, and the procedure is repeated. When everyone passes through the administration building, there is a final sallyport where a tower man and a sergeant make sure the proper people enter and leave. In each of those sallyports, the employees who opened the doors were nightshift people and I had suspected that because they were tired and sleepy, they released people not on the basis of positive identification, but because they were a uniform. Well, at any rate, tomorrow morning I would find out how correct my suspicions were.
The night passed slowly. I had a difficult time sleeping, so I spent most of the night going over and over every detail of the escape plan. Finally it was 7:45 a.m. I heard the lock door snap, and I knew it was my duck letting me out. I
grabbed the uniform and rushed to the broom closet. The uniform fit like a glove! Its funny how clothes can make you feel. I suddenly felt clean, almost like I wished I were on the side of the law and not a criminal. Then I thought
of my stupid duck and decided I was better of as a hood.
During morning work release, the day shift officers stand in the center of the corridor as inmates pass up and down the long hallway on their way to job assignments. Staff members going home walk along one wall to the control
room and they are usually looking into the units being released; their faces are away from the corridor officers in the corridor, so it would not be suspicious if I did the same. I started out of the unit. As I passed the officers stations, I took my ducks lunch box for realism. He started to object and I said, Dont say it, you dummy, or youre dead. I slipped into the crowd and made my way to the control. The sergeant was peering through the mirror identifying people. Then suddenly the bolt snapped and the electric door opened. Everyone stepped into the sallyport, and the door closed behind us. I kept my head down slightly so no one could get a direct look at my face. The officer looked everyone over from a small unbreakable window, and he was being careful. I thought it might be over at this point. The officers phone rang, some people were turning in and drawing keys, and in his momentary distraction, he opened the second door.
When I was crossing the patio to the administration building, an officer coming on duty stopped me and asked me for a match. I felt panic surge through my veins. If the group got through the first door without me I would be alone,
and alone, an unfamiliar officer was certain to be challenged. I searched my pockets quickly and said, Sorry, guess Im out of matches, too. I hurried and caught the group just as the first door opened. The desk officer was flirting
with a little blond secretary and just let everyone pass because they were all uniform personnel. The last sallyport was about 75 feet in front of us and the hardest one to get through. An officer in the tower by the entrance building--
main gate as it was called--would identify the people leaving. If he recognized everyone, he would open the first gate. Once were inside the sallyport, the main gate sergeant checks everyone a final time before the gate to freedom can be opened.
As the group approached this final sallyport my heart was in my throat. I began to think for the first time there was a possibility of my making it, even though I knew this would be the hardest hurdle. Everyone had now reached the gate. I kept my head low without being obvious about it. The tower man was scanning faces. Then he shouted, You there, look up! I didnt know if he was talking to me but assumed he was. I shadowed my face with my hand like I was trying to keep the sum from blinding me and looked up, slightly waving my hand at him to indicate I recognized him. A long moment passed, then the door slid open. While waiting for the final check, I noticed a large group of officers standing in the main gate sergeants station ready to be admitted after the night crew were identified and released. I heard someone in our group say they were new officers going on an orientation tour. The gate sergeants eyes were scanning the group. I was trying to be inconspicuous by looking slightly away from him. It seemed an eternity of silence was being lived in those few moments. Then, my world fell apart when he shouted, You, the officer with his back to me, come over here. I approached the window he was looking through and this time I looked him right in the eye. I felt disappointed and angry over being so close and getting caught, and had about decided to suddenly hit the fence even though I knew the tower man would shoot at me. I was mad enough to take that chance.
The sergeant asked, What are you doing there? Youre supposed to be with these new officers out here. Thinking quickly, I replied in an apologetic voice, Im sorry sarg. But I thought the training officer said to meet him
in the administration building. Who the hell let you in anyway? The sergeant sorta growled in a tone indicating he was irritated with me. He
opened the gate, and as I entered the gate house, he stood in front of me and demanded, Now you stay with your group, understand? Yes--I will--sir. But do I have time to run to my car before the training officer gets here? I forgot my I.D. card. The sergeant looked disgusted. Theres one in every group. All right, make it fast, the lieutenant doesnt like to be kept waiting!
I hurried to the far end of the main parking lot. Behind the last row of cars was a fence separating a corn field. I dropped to my knees behind a car and crawled on my stomach and slid under the barbed wire fence to the safety of
the tall corn stalks. Keeping low I made my way to the main highway. I saw a car parked on the highway shoulder. No one was in it so I assumed the driver had run out of gas. I decided to stand in front of the car and hitchhike. My
thinking was being in uniform and in front of the parked car, drivers would think it was mine and I had experienced car troubles. It worked! I had been standing about two minutes when this car pulled over. The driver motioned me to hurry when I noticed he was wearing the same kind of uniform I had on; my heart dropped. What was worse I recognized him as one of the wing officers at the joint I had just left. I was caught. Get in. he said sharply. I almost
confessed O.K., you caught me, Ill go peacefully but I didnt. The lump in my throat wouldnt let me. Where to? he asked with a half smile. The first town you come to so I can get some gas, I managed to answer. The town was bout 20 miles away. As we drove, I gathered my wits. He said hed help me get the gas and run me back to the car. He asked if I was a new employee at the joint and I was glad to confess I was. Then I said,
You dont need to return me to the car. Ill call my wife and shell pick me up. O.K., he said, its no bother--you know, you sure remind me of someone Ive met before! Really? Well no! Im sure weve never met, I
said. He dropped me at a service station, wished me well, and drove away. I was free! About three days later, I was miles away from that prison. I was hungry and tired so I decided to rob a store near the outskirts of the nearby city. During that robbery, I killed three people, but managed to keep from getting caught for over a year. Never mind how I got the gun. I was eventually apprehended, convicted and returned. I hated that stupid cop I ducked, and while I was on the streets my obsession to get a message to authorities so that cat would be fired was the thing which led to my apprehension and new conviction. Eventually I had to testify at his trial. Of course I couldnt tell them much except that I had developed the duck and then the details of the cops violations. Anything else you folks would like to know? I asked my interviewers.
Only one thing. Now that you are back in prison, are you trying to acquire, or have you acquired another duck? I leaned back on my chair, fixed my eyes on the petitioner as I thought about the question, took a stick of chewing gum from my shirt pocket, unwrapped it, and slowly slid it into my mouth. I stood to leave the room, paused at the door, smiled, and said, They dont sell gum in these joints later, man!
http://www.phylon-tgonzalez.com/downingaduck.html
This story was related by prisoners who know and understand the set-up process. They were inmates who, at one time or another, had been implicated as conspirators in several illegal contraband cases involving prison staff
members. They would not discuss their own individual techniques of modifying prison personnel behavior, but they did relate events of the set-up process implemented by one of their cohorts, citing the procedural as typical. The
authors cannot attest to the validity of their statements; however, the individual being discussed does indicate consistency between his behavior in the situation and expected manipulative pattern.
The prison jargon term duck refers to an institution employee who can be manipulated or easily fooled.
Cracking the Shell Takes Time and Effort
You have to go about developing a duck in a manner that creates very little suspicion. A man would be a fool to just walk up to a joint cop and ask him to bring in grass, booze or money. You have to go slow, which takes time and
effort. The dudes who get caught are the ones who get over-anxious and move too fast. The first thing you gotta do is watch. You know, things like the way a person acts, walks, stands, sits, or dresses can tell you a hell of a lot about them. Things they laugh or smile at; what makes them sad or angry; their likes and dislikes; this is all important information if you really want to develop a duck. You gotta start small if you want to get a person to a point where theyll do just about anything you say. The last duck I developed was natural. Naïve, shy, friendly as hell, a do-gooder who could be made to believe anything. You see, prisons dont know how to warn their people. They gotta say, Be friendly, be nice, but they dont know how to tell them when theyre going overboard. So Im gonna tell this story like he was my duck. At any rate I started my duck with nothing more than getting him to give me pencils and paper in excess of what he was supposed to give. Heres how I developed him.
Developing the Duck
I watched this cop for a long time. He had all the traits. He was uneasy round his boss, pushed the nice guy bit so strong on us he overlooked violation of some small unit rules in other words, he didnt take care of business. He couldnt put across his orders with any kind of firmness, and the cons were givin him a rough row to hoe. When you find a guy like this, you can pretty well figure you got a duck--but you can be too hasty, you gotta be sure.
I sent some friends of mine to get him involved in philosophical discussion to find out where his head was and to push him a little to see how far hed let things go. They talked about how bad other cops treated them and how they
hoped he didnt become like all other cops. He agreed, and told them about things hed seen the other bulls do that supported their reason for disliking cops. While the talk was going on, some of the guys broke rules like stepping
inside another cons cell, putting marks on the wall, suggesting playing poker--all minor rule violations. The officer said nothing. Each time he started to leave and tell some guy to knock it off theyd praise the hell out of him and hed get back into the conversation. Me, I just watched. The guy was very easily distracted and we build on the nice guy image. He didnt look like a cop--sloppy dresser, half done jobs, and hed come unglued if someone said he did a poor job, or if someone didnt particularly like him. When this happened hed get in a downer conversation telling the cons how no one understood him. Theyd agree, and build his ego. They got him on a first name basis--its harder to tell a guy NO when youre that friendly.
When I was absolutely certain that this guy was the one I wanted to develop, I had his unit orderlies do a sloppy job so he wouldnt pass inspection. The sergeant gave him hell. When the sarg left, I went over to the guy and said, You know what, Pete, you didnt have that coming. The sarg doesnt know you like we do. Out of all the cops in this joint, youre the only one the cons trust. Remember, we told you where to find the convict home brew. He didnt remember you made that bust. Ive been talking with the other cons in this wing and were going to make you look good from now on. My duck kept raving on how that sergeant has been on his back; that he just cant seem to do anything right. So I told him, I got extra time each day and Ill fix this place so youll not only pass inspection, but youll get a commendation for the cleanest wing in the joint. I aint gonna let no crummy sergeants talk to you that way anymore. The cop said he would be grateful.
As the days and weeks passed, I worked my tail off for this joker. He began passing his inspection with honors. He had the habit of leaving his lunch box open or his cigarettes laying on his desk so I began helping myself. I didnt
over do it, and he said nothing, so I asked him for a couple of full writing pads and a few pencils. He was supposed to give only one pencil, usually used, and only a couple of sheets of paper. With a long explanation and unsteady
voice he turned me down. Saying No was hard for him. I looked hurt and said, Oh, Im sorry, I wasnt thinking. I thought you knew I liked to relax and write after working at my regular job, then cleaning this unit for you. I only
asked you because most of the guys in the wing told me you understood things like that--that you like to see us doing constructive things. Oh, well, it aint no big thing. I tried to let my expression say my feelings were hurt, I was sorry he didnt trust me, and I guess he was like all the other cops. With my head down I sauntered to my room. Shortly Pete was at my cell door. He made sure no one was looking then slid a dozen new pencils and three new
writing tablets under my door. I said, Pete!, youre the greatest! Just like all the guys say, you really try and help convicts stay out of trouble. I worked extra hard that next week winning Pete praise from the sergeant who formerly
cussed him out. Pete was pleased and said, Thank you, Terry. He used my first name, a sign I was developing him properly.
Several months had passed now and we had become good friends. I sought personal, financial, and marital advice, which he freely gave. And since he liked baseball, I liked baseball. He disliked hunting, so I disliked hunting. Now
you gotta be careful with this too. If you have too much in common, thats not good, so you let him talk you into believing as he does. For example, he asked me if I believed in God. I seemed hesitant and confuse. I let him
convince me there was a God. You gotta remember when developing a duck that youre always the student and hes the teacher. You appear to be fascinated by his knowledge. You make him think you kneed his help; that hes making you a better person; and that you wanta be like him. I had this joker bringing me candy, magazines, cigars and he mailed a couple of birthday cards for me. I always told him he shouldnt do things like that cause he could get in trouble and then I would hint around for something else I needed. Pretty soon hed bring it, but I made him feel I was looking out for his welfare. Then I figured it was about time I got a little more serious with this guy. One day a fight broke out in the wing and my duck tried to stop it. He wound up facing a couple of cons with knives who said they hated cops and were going to kill him. He was scared spitless. I let him stay in that situation for a while and finally rushed in, got between the cop and the cons and talked them out of hurting him. I never saw a guy so grateful. Right at that time this duck said hed do just about anything for me. I told him friends needed to stick together; that no one should expect favors for doing what was right. That night I used Petes own cigarettes to pay off the guys who staged the fight for me. Sometime later I showed this officer a letter from my sister stating the wife of a guy in our wing had been killed in an accident. The con was a friend of mine so I asked my duck to tell the guy. He couldnt do it because he gets too emotional he said, so I wound up telling the inmate my self.
When your grooming a duck you are limited only by your own imagination. Here are two situations that I set-up to learn something about the dude. The fight told me fear and friendship could get me what I wanted from this cop,
and the second added sympathy to the list.
Everyone in the wing was sad over the loss of this convicts wife, especially the cop, so the next day I brought my duck a sympathy card signed by most of the cons in the unit and told him they had taken up a collection for the cons kids. I told him I knew it was against the rules, and that convicts aint supposed to have money, but this was different. This would do a lot of good. There ought to be some rules we can break, I said. Most of us convicts have spent a lifetime taking things from people, and the one time we want to give, theres a rule against it. It just doesnt seem right! The cop was concerned over the amount of money with the card and that he might get caught. At about this point my personality began changing a little. I had to let this guy know he had already done some dumb things that could get him into trouble--to do so in a way that showed we were still good friends but that I meant business. So I reminded him of a few past situations. For the first time, he didnt quite know how to take me. I immediately got nice again. I said, Ah, come on, it would do us a lot of good to give for once in our lives, you cant deny a person that kind of inner satisfaction. Any doctor will tell you its good therapy. Besides, the penalty for taking a letter out with money in it aint no greater than the ones youve already taken out. Dont get me wrong, I would never tell, but I have had some trouble keeping some of these other cats in the unit from telling the sergeant thats always on your back. He was beginning to feel the pressure. The confusion on his face was obvious. He wasn"t sure where I stood. As I continued talking, I slid the envelope into his inside jacket pocket. There aint no way youll be caught. They don
t search cops like they do inmates. Gosh, man, you cant let little kids starve just cause their old man is in the joint. Those kids aint done no wrong. There aint a con in this place who would understand the deep hurt a person goes
through when someone you love gets killed. I thought you were different. You dont have to worry, we took care of those people who might have snitched to the sarg. No way are we going to let you get in trouble. Besides, Ill never
ask for a favor like this again. Its just that those kids I walked away and left him to think about what I had just said.
I had been my old friendly self for a few days so my duck could become comfortable over taking the letter and money out. Then I told him some relatives of my friend--the deceased womans husband--would be sending a
package to his house. The package would contain nothing but prayer beads for the grieving inmate. Dont open the box till you get here, I told him. we need the address to thank these people, and they were really grateful for that money. He agreed. When the package came, I told the cop Id show him the contents later and he said never mind he didnt want to know. His voice told me I needed to butter him up a little because we both knew he was over the barrel. I had him right where I wanted him. But I still had to develop him more deeper. I knew he was in debt on the streets so I got the training officers clerk (an inmate) to add extra time on the dudes pay records. The cop appreciated the extra money and said nothing. Because I let him know I was responsible for the little favor, he became more friendly, but he was still cautious with me. By this time I was about the only friend the cop had.
Sometime back his real friends began telling the guy he was being too friendly with convicts. I couldnt let that go on, so I started a rumor that this cat was living with an inmates wife. He came under investigation. Cops like to go with
winners, not losers. This guy was a loser so left him alone. He had to talk to someone, and I was the only person available. I had the guy right where I wanted him, for sure! It took time but you gotta develop a duck carefully if you want it to pay off. Now the guy was ready for the big one. He had to do anything I said or I tossed him to the wolves.
Turning the Duck into a Golden Goose
I had done a lot of time in my life and was tired of prison. I wanted to get out. Id been thinking about this for a long time now. Getting out had become an obsession with me. My duck and I were about the same size so I got him off to the side and said, You dont know it yet, but Im going on parole, and youre going to help me get there! My voice was stern and commanding. He looked confused, but he knew I meant business. I want you to bring me a cops uniform! We had joked about this kind of thing before and he hoped I was still kidding. With all the hatred I could muster I shouted, Look you stupid S.O.B., you aint got no choice! Every convict in this wing will snitch you off. You took out letters, money, you brought in things we still have stored to use as evidence against you, and youve been accepting money from the state under false pretenses. Now you bring in that damn uniform or youre dead, sucker! I stood glaring at him and let what I had just said sink in for a moment. Then I handed him a letter from the people who had received the money in the letter he had taken out. It stated they were
willing to testify against him. He had no choice. He had to so as I told him. Listen, you rotten bastard, I continued, you bring a shirt tomorrow, trousers the next day and so on until I have the complete uniform. DO YOU
UNDERSTAND?!
The duck brought a piece of the uniform each day in his lunch box. As I received them I rolled each new item and neatly placed it in the bottom of the foot locker. Then I told this dumb cop to call me off my job when ever the
institution search team came into the wing. Make some excuse like I didnt clean my room I told him. I knew if I were on hand when my room was being searched, I could talk the searcher out of going to far into my locker.
Some cops do their job and look at everything in the room, but most of them dont like searching and can easily be talked out of looking in places where a lot of work is involved. You know, theres a psychology behind handling a
searcher. One of the first things convicts learn when they first come to a joint is how to beat the search team. Like, if you want to hide a major contraband in your room, then you leave a minor contraband item so it can be discovered. The dude searching will usually abandon the search when he finds the piece you salted, and he leaves feeling hes done a fine job. You got to be just a little bit smarter than they are to survive in prison. On the other hand there is that occasional sharp cop who cant be fooled. When this happens, youre in trouble. So the way you handle this guy is you get all the cons in the area to complain about how the guy dumps stuff on your floors, tears your bedding, etc. If the complaints keep coming about the guy, joint big shots take the attitude that where theres smoke there must be fire, and they give him a job change. Can you beat that? The dude gets punished because hes doing a better job that anyone else.
One morning my duck called and said the search team was going to be in his unit. I rushed and stood nonchalantly by my cell door. A cop was already in my room searching. I was polite, joked with him, pointed to an area in my
room he failed to search. I even complimented him on his thoroughness. When he came to the foot locker I said, Man, Im sorry, its going to take you hours to get through all the junk in that box. By seeding this thought he gets
tired just looking at the job. Theyll usually just give the box a once over lightly and quit. I pointed to a master list of things in the footlocker that was taped to the underside of the lid. I said that because the box was so full the list might make the job more bearable; that it was packed military style; and it took me hours to do it. But you got your job to do, I emphasized, and I dont mind repacking, even though it will take me most of the day--go ahead on. The dude was impressed by my politeness and complimentary attitude and he was convincing himself that a con who encourages a thorough search is probably clean. I did ask him, however, that as he took things out of the foot locker to place them on the bed--if he didnt mind; and that he could glance at the list to see how orderly I kept my things. By this, I knew two things would take place in his mind: his eyes would check the list as I suggested; when he consistently found things in order, hed feel hes wasting his time; and the old buddy association I was developing would help convince him I was hiding nothing. So I figured after removing a few things he would conclude the search.
It happened just as I thought.. He removed the top row of clothing and about half of the next, then said, O.K., youre clear, and he moved on to the next cell. Whew. Breathing a sigh of relief, I decided this searcher came a little close and I had better put my escape plan in action soon. Tomorrow morning, I thought, was as good a time as any. My duck comes on duty at 7:45 a.m. At 8:00 a.m. the night shift goes home, and at the same time there is a major
work release for prisoners: the corridor is always crowded at that time. I figured I had 15 minutes to get out of my room, slip into the broom closet, get into the uniform then melt into the crowd unnoticed. I would go to the exit door next to the control room where a sergeant is supposed to identify everyone leaving and stand with the group of officers waiting to go home. The procedure for releasing officers from the security area at the joint is done like this: The sergeant at the control room looks at everyone wanting into the sallyport (a sallyport is a holding area in between two locked steel doors). When hes satisfied hes only releasing staff, he pushes a button which opens the first of two electronically controlled doors. Everyone enter and the first door closes. Before the second door is opened, an officer looks at everyone to assure the sergeant made no mistakes. Once the second door is opened they
cross a patio to the administration building where another sallyport exists, and the procedure is repeated. When everyone passes through the administration building, there is a final sallyport where a tower man and a sergeant make sure the proper people enter and leave. In each of those sallyports, the employees who opened the doors were nightshift people and I had suspected that because they were tired and sleepy, they released people not on the basis of positive identification, but because they were a uniform. Well, at any rate, tomorrow morning I would find out how correct my suspicions were.
The night passed slowly. I had a difficult time sleeping, so I spent most of the night going over and over every detail of the escape plan. Finally it was 7:45 a.m. I heard the lock door snap, and I knew it was my duck letting me out. I
grabbed the uniform and rushed to the broom closet. The uniform fit like a glove! Its funny how clothes can make you feel. I suddenly felt clean, almost like I wished I were on the side of the law and not a criminal. Then I thought
of my stupid duck and decided I was better of as a hood.
During morning work release, the day shift officers stand in the center of the corridor as inmates pass up and down the long hallway on their way to job assignments. Staff members going home walk along one wall to the control
room and they are usually looking into the units being released; their faces are away from the corridor officers in the corridor, so it would not be suspicious if I did the same. I started out of the unit. As I passed the officers stations, I took my ducks lunch box for realism. He started to object and I said, Dont say it, you dummy, or youre dead. I slipped into the crowd and made my way to the control. The sergeant was peering through the mirror identifying people. Then suddenly the bolt snapped and the electric door opened. Everyone stepped into the sallyport, and the door closed behind us. I kept my head down slightly so no one could get a direct look at my face. The officer looked everyone over from a small unbreakable window, and he was being careful. I thought it might be over at this point. The officers phone rang, some people were turning in and drawing keys, and in his momentary distraction, he opened the second door.
When I was crossing the patio to the administration building, an officer coming on duty stopped me and asked me for a match. I felt panic surge through my veins. If the group got through the first door without me I would be alone,
and alone, an unfamiliar officer was certain to be challenged. I searched my pockets quickly and said, Sorry, guess Im out of matches, too. I hurried and caught the group just as the first door opened. The desk officer was flirting
with a little blond secretary and just let everyone pass because they were all uniform personnel. The last sallyport was about 75 feet in front of us and the hardest one to get through. An officer in the tower by the entrance building--
main gate as it was called--would identify the people leaving. If he recognized everyone, he would open the first gate. Once were inside the sallyport, the main gate sergeant checks everyone a final time before the gate to freedom can be opened.
As the group approached this final sallyport my heart was in my throat. I began to think for the first time there was a possibility of my making it, even though I knew this would be the hardest hurdle. Everyone had now reached the gate. I kept my head low without being obvious about it. The tower man was scanning faces. Then he shouted, You there, look up! I didnt know if he was talking to me but assumed he was. I shadowed my face with my hand like I was trying to keep the sum from blinding me and looked up, slightly waving my hand at him to indicate I recognized him. A long moment passed, then the door slid open. While waiting for the final check, I noticed a large group of officers standing in the main gate sergeants station ready to be admitted after the night crew were identified and released. I heard someone in our group say they were new officers going on an orientation tour. The gate sergeants eyes were scanning the group. I was trying to be inconspicuous by looking slightly away from him. It seemed an eternity of silence was being lived in those few moments. Then, my world fell apart when he shouted, You, the officer with his back to me, come over here. I approached the window he was looking through and this time I looked him right in the eye. I felt disappointed and angry over being so close and getting caught, and had about decided to suddenly hit the fence even though I knew the tower man would shoot at me. I was mad enough to take that chance.
The sergeant asked, What are you doing there? Youre supposed to be with these new officers out here. Thinking quickly, I replied in an apologetic voice, Im sorry sarg. But I thought the training officer said to meet him
in the administration building. Who the hell let you in anyway? The sergeant sorta growled in a tone indicating he was irritated with me. He
opened the gate, and as I entered the gate house, he stood in front of me and demanded, Now you stay with your group, understand? Yes--I will--sir. But do I have time to run to my car before the training officer gets here? I forgot my I.D. card. The sergeant looked disgusted. Theres one in every group. All right, make it fast, the lieutenant doesnt like to be kept waiting!
I hurried to the far end of the main parking lot. Behind the last row of cars was a fence separating a corn field. I dropped to my knees behind a car and crawled on my stomach and slid under the barbed wire fence to the safety of
the tall corn stalks. Keeping low I made my way to the main highway. I saw a car parked on the highway shoulder. No one was in it so I assumed the driver had run out of gas. I decided to stand in front of the car and hitchhike. My
thinking was being in uniform and in front of the parked car, drivers would think it was mine and I had experienced car troubles. It worked! I had been standing about two minutes when this car pulled over. The driver motioned me to hurry when I noticed he was wearing the same kind of uniform I had on; my heart dropped. What was worse I recognized him as one of the wing officers at the joint I had just left. I was caught. Get in. he said sharply. I almost
confessed O.K., you caught me, Ill go peacefully but I didnt. The lump in my throat wouldnt let me. Where to? he asked with a half smile. The first town you come to so I can get some gas, I managed to answer. The town was bout 20 miles away. As we drove, I gathered my wits. He said hed help me get the gas and run me back to the car. He asked if I was a new employee at the joint and I was glad to confess I was. Then I said,
You dont need to return me to the car. Ill call my wife and shell pick me up. O.K., he said, its no bother--you know, you sure remind me of someone Ive met before! Really? Well no! Im sure weve never met, I
said. He dropped me at a service station, wished me well, and drove away. I was free! About three days later, I was miles away from that prison. I was hungry and tired so I decided to rob a store near the outskirts of the nearby city. During that robbery, I killed three people, but managed to keep from getting caught for over a year. Never mind how I got the gun. I was eventually apprehended, convicted and returned. I hated that stupid cop I ducked, and while I was on the streets my obsession to get a message to authorities so that cat would be fired was the thing which led to my apprehension and new conviction. Eventually I had to testify at his trial. Of course I couldnt tell them much except that I had developed the duck and then the details of the cops violations. Anything else you folks would like to know? I asked my interviewers.
Only one thing. Now that you are back in prison, are you trying to acquire, or have you acquired another duck? I leaned back on my chair, fixed my eyes on the petitioner as I thought about the question, took a stick of chewing gum from my shirt pocket, unwrapped it, and slowly slid it into my mouth. I stood to leave the room, paused at the door, smiled, and said, They dont sell gum in these joints later, man!
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