Glenn Langohr's Blog, page 16

Glenn Langohr's New Book, Prison Riot: A True Story of Surviving a Gang War in Prison, is FREE Today With Kindle

Glenn Langohr's New Book, Prison Riot: A True Story of Surviving a Gang War in Prison, is FREE Today With Kindle. Go here to download it to your phone, reading device or computer- http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009K7IGOQ

Here's the first review.

5.0 out of 5 stars(1) 5.0 out of 5 stars
5 star14 star03 star02 star01 star0See the customer reviewShare your thoughts with other customers Write a customer review Most Helpful Customer Reviews5.0 out of 5 stars  True story, intense prison politics, riots and how the author survived it all!!! October 8, 2012By JDOGFormat:Kindle EditionI am reading all of this authors books and this one is incredible. I can't even imagine having to survive through what this guy has lived through. The author gets labeled a Southern Mexican gang member by the Department of Corrections even though he is WHITE!!!
Prison war riot, Solitary confinement, respect, pride, survival. Forget reality TV, this is much better, it is reality!
Buy all the books, you won't regret it, or gift to a loved one who may be facing incarceration.
Don't forget Roll Call is in print and can be sent to any prison or jail to give inmates hope they can turn it around. Here's a review- A harrowing, down-and-dirty depiction--sometimes reminiscent of Steven Soderbergh's Traffic--of America's war on drugs, by former dealer and California artist Langohr. Locked up for a decade on drugs charges and immersed in both philosophical tomes and modern pulp thrillers, Langohr penned Roll Call, a light fictionalization of his troubled life. "I went from obsessively pacing my cell and wondering and worrying about how I was actually going to get my attorney to defend me, and how many years this sentence would bring," writes Langohr in an afterword, "to realizing that if I find a way to write what's in my head, I can find a way out of this hole I had put myself in!" Roll Call makes for exciting reading--gunplay, covert operations and backhanded deals abound. A vivid, clamorous account of the war on drugs. --Kirkus Discoveries, Nielsen Business Media, 770 Broadway, N.Y YkPR Newswire articles

This Is The Best Email Response to one of My Books Ever!

The best email response to one of my books ever! 
Hi Glen, I came across your books on my Kindle somehow and since they were least expensive I gave 2 of them a chance. That was this morning... And now with 2 of them read you left me wanting more. Thank you. The combination of your first hand experience and vivid, intelligent language and the level of honesty puts your work in a class of its own. This is the style and frankly the form of art that I am a fan of.
I grew up in communist Russia back in the 80s in Moscow. I went to visit my aunt in a Sibirian penitentiary. Talk about torture, violation of each and every human right imaginable... She was serving 2 years for possessing a Bible and a typewriter on which she would type the copies and distribute them. KGB kicked her door in on a Christmas morning. I STILL have nightmares about that day.
I came to LA, San Fernando Valley from Moscow in 1994 at the age of 15. I am 33 now and recovering heroin addict. Through the years I paid a few visits to Twin Towers LA County jail and CIW prison in Chino against my will. All of my 20s I lived a life of the agony of selling my soul to the devil of streets, institutions and jails. I knew that there was the light in the darkest places. It kept me holding on even when I was convinced that I was damned to the lowest existence of mental torture and completely forsaken by everyone including God himself. I try to live my life opposite of what it used to be. My aunt lives in SFV - a whole planet away from Siberia. She is a Christian. This past year on 11/11/11 I turned 33. She told me that that was the age of Christ when he got crucified and resurrected. He knew his purpose. I feel like I am just starting to see things clearly.
I am not proud of my battle scars but each and single one is attached to a war story. What I LOVED about your work the most is that your life experience comes with a redeeming value which in return gives underdogs like me hope. Hope is where everything starts. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
TanyaPR Newswire articles

My Inspirational Thriller Upon Release From Prison is Featured in Ereader News Today!

Upon Release From Prison is featured as a bargain book in Ereader News Today. To get into Ereader News Today with one of your books, it has to have a 4.2 rating with over 10 reviews. Here's the link-  http://ereadernewstoday.com/bargain-kindle-books-4-great-books-for-10-10-12/6719715/

Upon Release From Prison has 20 reviews from all over the globe. I wrote Upon Release From Prison after I finished 7 years of prison time. Here is a review that explains it pretty well. In Glenn's first book, Roll Call, we follow B.J. from his childhood being shattered and a path he takes that ends in incarceration. It's a detailed journey that makes you feel you are there through it all. Upon Release picks up where Roll Call left off...B.J. has been released from prison, living in a shelter and reconnected with an old acquaintance Annette. Annette is newly sober and still struggling to leave her past behind as well.
This time our journey with him shows the difficulty he faces...not for the first time...of re acclimating to life as a free man. They have to find jobs to stay at the shelter. Not only are jobs hard to come by, but when you have a record and/or you are a recovering addict, your chances go way down of being hired. B.J. just wants to get his book out there and selling and encourage those in prison with their writing, art, etc. Nothing happens fast enough and the old life is always there calling and teasing with it's 'easy' money. Through a series of misunderstandings--B.J. is soon on the lamb--again!Many of the characters from Roll Call return. Both friends like Damon and foes such as Detective Pincher. There are some real surprises in this book. It is more fiction than Roll Call. But Glenn continues to add his past 'real life' experiences into his writing. We once again are in Mexico among the cartels, in prison where shots are still called to handle things on the outside, Pincher is still a stinker. The writing is still captivating and keeps you hanging on to the end. Be prepared for a mental work-out as well because B.J.is still a runner.
**Language, violence and sensual situations. Considering the background of this book with drugs, gangs and prison, the author has kept all of this at a minimum.Glenn Langohr's other books include: Roll Call 2.99 with kindle, Race Riots ( Prison Killers ), Lock Up Diaries ( Prison Killers Book 2 ), Gladiator ( Prison Killers Book 3 ) and Underdog ( Prison Killers Book 4 )
Here's a couple other reviews I like. "Locked up for a decade on drugs charges and immersed in both philosophical tomes and modern pulp thrillers, Langohr penned Roll Call, a story of his troubled life. The author was not content to tell the story through the protaganist perspective, instead he toggled the angle like a master director. A vivid, clamorous account of the U.S. War on Drugs." 
~ Kirkus Discoveries Nielson Media

"Three intricate plots tell three separate stories that ultimately intersect in a not-for-Hollywood ending. The story is replete with drug culture and prison culture and police culture. Instead of some fictionalized or romanticized version of any of the cultures, there are just 'been there done that' accounts that leave no doubt that this is a world none of us ever want to encounter. There are no heroes in this book, there are only real people who face real problems and deal with them in real ways the only way they know how. The social and political commentary is delivered the same way as the fights, and the loving; full-on, live or die. This is a binary book, you are going to love it, or you are going to hate it."

~  JT Kalnay PR Newswire articles

Old prison photo of me and characters in my books.

Old prison photo. God is so good to get me from there to here! Half the characters, including me, are in my prison thrillers on Amazon found here-http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00571NY5A Download them to your phone or any computer for .99 cents and spread the word. My books shine a light on corruption and are full of redemption!

I'm the one in the top row on the right without any tattoos. Blitz is in a couple of my prison thrillers and is in the top row. Damon, also known as Sir Rott is in all of my books and is in the top row. That's what he gets for being in my cell for a couple of years and having a bullet shaped head.

Here's a review from my first novel Roll Call. "A harrowing, down-and-dirty depiction--sometimes reminiscent of Steven Soderbergh's Traffic--of America's war on drugs, by former dealer and California artist Langohr. Locked up for a decade on drugs charges and immersed in both philosophical tomes and modern pulp thrillers, Langohr penned Roll Call, a light fictionalization of his troubled life. "I went from obsessively pacing my cell and wondering and worrying about how I was actually going to get my attorney to defend me, and how many years this sentence would bring," writes Langohr in an afterword, "to realizing that if I find a way to write what's in my head, I can find a way out of this hole I had put myself in!" Roll Call makes for exciting reading--gunplay, covert operations and backhanded deals abound. A vivid, clamorous account of the war on drugs." --Kirkus Discoveries, Nielsen Business Media, 770 Broadway, N.Y Yk

Here's the blurb for Roll Call by Glenn Langohr Number #1 Best Seller. Roll Call is a story with a cast of characters that include Mexican drug cartels, southern California street gangs and Hell's Angels all fighting for their piece of the drug culture. In the middle of it all, B.J. is hell bent for destruction until he realizes his destiny in the nick of time.
Add a good detective squeezed out of the loop by an overzealous narcotic detective; a robust prison union trying to call the shots; a handful of drug criminals trying to find their conscience and you have the perfect recipe for a revolutionary uprising, bound by blood, all leaving the reader wondering, who are the real criminals?  PR Newswire articles

I got another great review for Race Riot!

Race Riot is the first in the prison thriller series. I have taken experiences from over 10 years in prison on drug charges, with 4 of those years in solitary, and turned it into books. I'm hoping, ( my definition of hoping is expectantly waiting ) these books get turned into movies and hit TV shows. Here's another review for Race Riot. Out of 33 reviews it has a 4.2 rating, not bad. Here's a link to all of my thrillers on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00571NY5A



Very important book on the California Prison Sys! This is The real deal. If you want to know what prison is like, go no further., October 8, 2012
This review is from: Race Riot, A SHOCKING, 
Inside Look at Prison Life (Prison Killers- Book 1) 
(Kindle Edition)This is a very important piece of literature. This is also an important historical document on the prison system. This current look into the prison system is written by Glenn, who actually lived this! You will never read another prison book like this as it is told from the man who actually went through these experiences. This is a story of survival in a society so strange, so alien, and so mad that you can't believe this stuff actually goes down like it does.... Yet, it is real!
Breathtaking, gut wrenching, nail biting, and downright awesome. Buy this book now if you want to know what prison is like or send it to a loved one who may be going to prison to help understand what it is like.

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Excerpt from Lock Up Diaries, Drug Debts ( Prison Killers Book 2 )

Here's an excerpt from Lock Up Diaries by Glenn Langohr... You can buy all of my books on Amazon in print, kindle or audio.


I watched from the cell door and saw the brass come into the building. There was a dark black man  over 50 years old who looked like he was the Warden, another black man with lighter skin who looked like he was the head counselor, known as the CCII, and a round table of three other lower level PrisonAdministrators. They all went into an office under the building’s gun tower. Heart stripped me out for security. I knew the drill and dropped the white state boxer shorts andlifted my testicles, then turned, then squatted and coughed, then lifted each foot and waited for the metal detector wand. Heart waved it by my butt cheeks and said, “I have to handcuff you but I’ll do it with your hands in front of you.” I walked down the stairs and saw the usual suspects behind cell doorswatching. L’il Bird was always perched.The office was a 14' by 14' room. There was a 6' by 3' wood table that my criminal history was spread out on. The brass was already positioned by rank. At the end of the table the Warden sported a name plate – Jackson. Next to him was the CCII, Allen. On the other side of the table the three lower ranking prison guards. Heart stood behind me waitingfor me to be seated at the end of the table where the brass could study me like an insect.Everyone stared at the warden waiting for him to start. He had his head bent down while he scrutinized the papers in my file. His big black bald wrinkled head finally looked up at me. He studied me through bifocals for far too long, then said, “Benny Johnson…Sit down.”I sat with my handcuffed hands resting on the table in front of me staring at the Warden, and waited…and waited…I broke the staring contest and looked at CCII Allen’s face. A little nicer, some smile lines, some laugh lines, compassionate eyes… Warden Jackson said, “What are you doing here?”I stared back at the warden wondering if I could create any smile lines…”I’m looking for Club Med. I must have made the wrong turn.”The warden’s forehead creased in anger and it pulled his bifocals higher up his bulbous nose. Ilooked at CCII Allen. He was trying not to laugh but his eyes were crinkled. I had to assume the warden meant, how did I get out of the last prison and make it to his so I said, “I didn’t make the arrangements, you’re going to have to talk to the travel agent.”The warden still didn’t look like he liked my answers. His voice growing more irritated as he said,“This file says you are an inch away from an indeterminate SHU.” That meant for the rest of my prisonsentence I’d do my time in the isolated Pelican Bay SHU. I stayed quiet though my soul raged; I don’thave a single tattoo and have never claimed a gang! Yes, I have been involved in violence in prison buthow else do you survive?The warden began with the questions…”What’s your AKA, what do they call you?”“Benny Johnson.”“What gangs are you affiliated with?”“Which ever ones you house me with, or put me in a cell with.”The warden was getting pissed. The bifocals were straining higher. The wrinkles in the foreheaddeepened. In an angrier voice he asked, “What neighborhood do you run with?”“I run solo, but sometimes circle the YMCA.”The warden shouted at me, “Where are you from?”I felt the anger rising in my soul like fire. This man just wanted to write down that I was a gang member or shot caller and put that in my file to discard me like trash, all with these questions to label me. I didn’t bother telling him I’m from my momma, and said, “I don’t have a tattoo, I’ve neverclaimed a gang, I’m just a drug addict who struggles with impulse control and finances…” I shut my anger off by ending with, “But I’m saved by the blood of Jesus.”The warden seemed to calm down and in a softer tone said, “You’ve got four counts of battery onpolice officers, and a pile of violence in prison.”He had it wrong, or at least the perspective. The sheriffs in Orange County jumped me in the county jail after I was a witness to police brutality and interviewed on the news.As far as the in prison violence, it is a predatory environ and if you don’t lead you either get pressured or led. I wasn’t going to try to explain myself. Nobody listened anyway.The warden said, “I’m clearing you for yard but at this prison we shoot people like you. I’m going to post a memo for all the gun tower guards to keep an eye on you with a hair trigger.”
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An Excerpt from My First Prison Thriller, Race Riot

Race RiotThe Mexican from Tijuana acted normal in his greeting as he led the way and gave the Mexicanfrom LA a shadow to hide in. The Mexican from Tijuana clapped hands in a handshake with Danger,who had his arm sticking out the steel bars enclosing the showers.His black arm got slammed at an angle against the steel bar at his elbow and the Mexican keptpushing it that way. I heard the bone fracture and Danger screaming in pain. He tried to resist by armwrestling his arm back into the safety of the shower but it was useless. His fractured arm wouldn’trespond it was uselessly folded at the elbow.The other Mexican came out from behind and thrust a thin steel ice pick at an angle through theshower bars into Danger’s face as he leaned away to use the steel bars for protection, while at the sametime still trying to get his fractured arm back through the bars. After getting hit in the cheek just belowhis eye he backed hard enough to free himself.The other Black Crip, T-Rock fired punches at the second Mexican attacker. The steel barsenclosing the shower were blocking any further action and the outraged T-Rock yanked the door open,yelled, and slipped in shower shoes. The second Mexican took advantage of his slip and used his leftarm to hold the shower door open and with his right hand jabbed the steel into T-Rocks shoulder. TRockgathered himself with even more rage. The warrior took the ice pick poking as if it were only beestings and fired so many punches that the Mexican backed out of the shower, but closed the door on theforward charging T-Rock. He made it through the narrow closing door but took the impact on hisshoulder and head and was made even more furious. His anger alone separated him from the twoattacking Mexicans. Incited by his partners rage, Danger came running out of the shower with hisfractured arm hanging at an unnatural angle.The sound of the block gun was next, “Boom!”I slid down Popeye’s cell with my back against it to sit on my haunches and realized inmates incells were yelling and kicking their cell doors. I looked at the tower and saw the smoke from the tip ofthe rifle and at the same time heard the alarm send a siren of decibels in screeches that rose and fell.Another tower guard at the control booth yelled into the microphone, “Get down! Get down!”, thenran to the opening in the tower window with another rifle.The two Black Crips were engaging the Mexicans with punches, kicks and grapple throws witharms going everywhere. All four inmates were bouncing off cell doors with the fight going furtheraway from the tower, down the tier. Prison guards poured through the vestibule and got as close as theycould and fired block guns, then pointed canisters of pepper spray at them from four feet away, astream of painted orange followed the combatants still fighting and bouncing off cell doors.The gun tower yelled into the microphone, “Get the fuck down! Live rounds coming!” I saw thefour inmates fighting hesitate for a millisecond, like they knew what they’d heard from the towerchanged this melee into deadly consequences or life sentences but they kept fighting for honor waitingfor the other side to back down first.“Boom!” The block gun spoke, then “Ping”, a live round ricocheted, and it was enough. All fourinmates sprawled out on the floor just as another army of prison deputies with gas masks came pouringthrough the vestibule with plastic shields thrust in front of them.Popeye said, “That was weak.”Twenty minutes later the four inmates were led out of the building in handcuffs. The building’soccupants inside cells emanated energy that blew rage, frustration and confusion through the air likewind. I walked up the stairs wondering if any Mexicans or Blacks heard Popeye say in disgust, “Thatwas weak.” I agreed with him, it was weak.Not the battle, the reason for it and the position it would put every single one of the inmates in,along with the deputies, along with the families of both, along with the communities outside the prisonwalls.My cell door popped open and I took a last look with my shirt over my mouth. The tear gas fogfloated slowly in a cloud and I could see the canisters it came out of under the tower still whisperinggas. Almost every inmate and guard coughed and felt the sting burning their eyes.Down the tier from the canisters, the floor was painted orange in a path the pepper sprayextinguishers’ sent, followed by a line that went up and on a few of the cell doors the combatants hadbounced off. Blood stains soaked some of the floor and stained a few of the cells. Almost every cellstill had a bald head with a pair of eyes at their cell doors, studying the building the way I was, with shirts bunched up covering their mouths.PR Newswire articles

Underdog is available for kindle so here's an excerpt!

We watched the yard gate open where dozens of prison guards from other yards were waiting to help with the escort. Over fifty prison guards dressed in green uniforms, that resembled military fatigues, positioned themselves on both sides of the single file line of inmates. Every prison guard was holding something. Some had 50 caliber rifles, others block guns and others held pepper spray canisters the size of a fire extinguisher. In contrast, the inmates all looked like tattooed down body builders and soldiers of a different ilk. The procession stretched for nearly 100 yards.The experience felt eerie, almost out of body. As we walked I felt the pepper spray on the side of my face and neck eating deeper into my skin as it progressed down my body with my sweat, leaving a ‘burned by fire’ feeling in its wake. We walked by the second prison yard and through the razor wire fences saw over five hundred prisoners lying on the ground with prison guards walking amongst them holding guns at the ready in case our yard’s riot kicked off another there. We passed that prison yard and I knew the inmates would remain on the ground in the prone position until we were housed in the Hole Administrative Segregation.We walked another 500 yards and passed two more prison yards before reaching our destination. The Hole, Ad Seg, was behind the last yard in an isolated compound and we circled it. On the way that eerie feeling magnified with the noise. Men were training their bodies in a choreographed and precise manner. One leader was barking orders with the rest of the group responding, followed by the sounds of bodies exercising and grunting. I began to make out the cadence, “Surenos!! Raza!! Estamos listos? Vamanos!” I knew enough Spanish prison slang to understand the cadence was being applied to the Southern California Mexicans and the Mexicans originally from Mexico, The Race, according to them and always at the ready to go. Around the corner the building opened up enough to peer in at the portion the prisoners were allowed to use for yard two hours every other day. Instead of a regular prison yard, the prisoners were confined to kennels. Row after row of fenced in rectangular dog runs allowed two prisoners per cage 6' by 10' of width to pace back and forth or work out like they were now.I realized something monumental. I had to find L’il Bird and Boxer, the two Mexicans labeled Mexican Mafia who were removed from the yard before the ensuing power struggle. I needed to communicate to them that the policy we had ironed out together hadn’t been respected by Stranger, who stepped up to fill their void. Now that Stranger was gone from the yard, now in line with us to get processed into Ad Seg, the yard we just vacated was void of leadership again. Both L’il Bird and Boxer had the influence and reach to send word to that yard to keep the peace.We turned the corner of the building again and were able to see the yard through the fence. I zeroed in on L’il Bird and Boxer. Their sturdy, older bodies stood out amongst the younger, less seasoned Mexicans. Both of their sweat glistened bodies were covered by tattoos blasted in aged ink from decades ago and fading. Both had collages of Aztec war scenes and I was hoping their power to command wasn’t fading like the ink. I searched out the rest of the kennels and in the sea of Mexicans found four White men. The four Whites were distinguishable from the rest of the prisoners by their sheer size.All four men had large bald heads and only one of them didn’t have his scalp covered in tattoo ink to the forehead. That behemoth was the largest at 6’7" and at least 280 lbs of iron clad frame. He was scrutinizing us with so much energy I couldn’t look away. The eerie feeling magnified even more as I watched him focus on ascertaining why we were in line to get housed in Ad Seg with him, apparently his spot. He used his fingers for sign language and introduced his name, Bam Bam, his counterpart’s name in the kennel with him, Blitz, along with Sinner and Traveler in the next kennel.Next he used his fingers to ask us questions. “What prison yard had we just come from?” With our hands cuffed behind our backs in zip ties we had to communicate by nodding our heads or shaking them. He finger questioned, A-Yard? We shook our head no until he got to D-Yard. Then, he finger questioned, What happened with the Mexicans? His fingers were taking too long to go letter by letter so he resorted to mimicking possibilities that started with lifting a drink to his mouth to see if we had been drunk? We shook our heads no. He nailed it with his next one. He mimicked the act of registering a needle and shooting dope into his arm. We nodded our head vigorously that he was so warm he was in the oven with us. Next he lifted his hand and ran his fingers together in the universal sign for money and then used his hand to slide by his throat to say the money hadn’t made it. We nodded our heads that he understood our problem. He then used his hand to make it look like he had a knife in it and jabbed it into his other hand repeatedly to ask if weapons were used. We shook our heads no. Then he used both of his fists to fire straight punches and we nodded our heads yes. 
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My Newest Prison Thriller, Prison Riot, is on Sale on Amazon Kindle

Prison Riot, A True Story of Surviving a Gang War in Prison is available on Amazon Kindle. Here's an excerpt...
Yard business
For yard we were only allowed to wear our boxer shorts, a white shirt and flip flops. We went through the strip search and backed up to get handcuffed. We walked to a door that opened to a narrow concrete path that went for 30 feet to the yards. The sunlight blinded me after not being out of our cell for a month and I had to walk slower to let my eyes adjust.
We walked the path that led to two mini yards. Each yard was about the size of a half court for basketball. There was a 10 foot high fence around it and razor wire in swirls at the top. In place of a tower, above the yard, was a steel catwalk with two prison guards holding guns. The escort guards led us into our yard. It started with a separate boxed in fenced area about the size of a bathroom. We got our handcuffs released through the tray slot and one of the guards asked, “Do you want to use some clippers to cut your hair or trim your beard?”
We needed some man grooming in a desperate way and used the clippers to make us as close to bald headed as possible. My facial hair had turned into an out of control goatee and I removed as much as I could. While we played barber on each other the southern Mexican inmates started to arrive.
Pericho and Sureno walked with their backs straight and their chests sticking out as far as possible. I almost laughed out loud but instead thought about how sad it was. They were a couple of 18 year olds who desperately didn't want to look weak. The guards unlocked the first cage in the mini yard next to ours and they walked in. Pericho was the crazier one with wild eyes and a bald head with scars in multiple places. As soon as he got his handcuffs off he took his shirt off.
After we finished grooming ourselves we entered our mini yard. There was a basketball hoop on one end that faced the other mini yard 6 feet away. On the other end of the yard there was a shower head and a toilet. I noticed a basketball in the corner and got it. Giant and I took turns shooting free throws and watched all the southern Mexicans walk in handcuffs to the yard cages.
One by one they got their handcuffs off and entered the yard. The inmates from the bottom floor were put in our yard and the inmates from the top floor went into the other one. The younger inmates all took their shirts off as soon as the handcuffs were removed and I realized it was in defiance. They weren't going to let anyone tell them they had to wear a shirt to cover neighborhood tattoos. I saw Johny get his handcuffs removed and he walked toward us with his shirt on. He looked different, like his outlook on life wasn't as positive. Maybe it was that all hope of ever getting a chance to parole on a life sentence was gone.
He stopped in front of us and forced a smile. Giant was so happy to see him he gave him an immediate hug. I followed up with one next and asked, “Are you alright?”
The love from both Giant and I brought back a little spark to Johny's smile and he nodded his head. He said, “Thank you for helping us out.”
It hit me that maybe he was also depressed that he'd killed another person. Even though it was self defense, it probably had him thinking about how he'd committed himself to being in that position his whole life. I encouraged him, “Johny you protected your people and couldn't avoid it.”
I looked him right in the eyes and his were brown pools of sorrow. He broke the eye lock and looked at the ground and nodded his head. Our attention was broken by a distraction on the other mini yard.
“Hey Johny!”
There were over 20 inmates on each of the mini yards and almost everyone stopped what they were doing to watch. The man who called Johny was Topo. He was staring at us from the other mini yard with his hands holding the fence. He looked like a Mexican Joe Pesci. He took off his white shirt and from his waist to his neck there was a collection of tattoo art. His usually bald head had a little hair on it and it made his widow's peak more prominent. We watched Johny walk to the fence. He grabbed it with his hands like Topo was doing and stood almost a foot taller looking down.
I looked at Giant. He noticed the difference in Johny also. He said, “He's changed. Even his voice is deeper.”
I nodded my head and noticed all the southern Mexicans on both of the mini yards beginning to establish positions. They were all somewhat watching Johny and Topo like they were waiting for orders. They constantly looked over at the two elders and then went back to whatever they were doing.
Johny nodded his head to Topo and turned and walked to us. His expression was even harder and I realized what it was. While I knew him on the mainline prison yard before the riot, he was himself due to the lack of heavy politics. Now in Administrative Segregation heavy politics were being forced on him.
The pep in his step was gone. He looked up at us while deep in thought and forced a smile and asked, “You guys want to work out with us?”
I felt my expression harden on my face over the stress of our situation. I nodded my head and said, “Sure… We need to see if you can help us figure something out after...”
Johny nodded his head and it was obvious he already knew it was over us being labeled and housed as southern Mexicans. I realized in that instant that every southern Mexican on both yards was aware. None of them had even greeted us. There were a handful of southerners that had looked up to us and loved talking to us on the mainline. Now they were avoiding us.
I heard Topo get everyone's attention in Spanish slang and understood him. He yelled out, “Excuse me! Attention brothers! It's time for our workout. Everyone line up!”
Johny nodded his head to us and said, “We'll help you figure it out after we exercise.”
He quickly got into his role as leader on our mini yard and shuffled all of the southern Mexicans into a line. Giant and I maintained our positions and backed up to melt into the line forming around us. Our backs were to the fence and we were facing the gun tower catwalk above us. I looked up for the first time on the yard and noticed that both guards were studying the dynamics of how all the inmates were congregating. It was easy to see and understand that Topo was running one yard and Johny was running the other one. Both Topo and Johny had their backs to the tower guards while we were all facing them. It had to look like we were a part of the southern Mexican army.
Topo called out the cadence in Spanish and I understood it
“One hundred jumping jacks…Ready Begin!”
We did the jumping jacks.
Topo yelled, “Fifty squats…Ready Begin!”
We did the squats.
Topo yelled, “Fifty pushups…Ready begin!”
We did the pushups.
Topo yelled, “Southern Mexicans!! How do you feel?”
Everyone, including Giant and I, yelled, “One hundred percent!”
Our exercises continued for 45 more minutes. When we finished Topo came back to the fence and called Johny to talk to him. Giant and I watched the two communicate and waited for them to call us over. We both looked at the two tower guards.
Giant said, “This doesn’t look good.”
I looked my friend right in the eyes. His were confused pools of blue ocean water. I joked, “Where’s your Mexican pride?”
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Batty For Books: Underdog: The Pelican Bay Hunger Strike Review

Batty For Books: Underdog: The Pelican Bay Hunger Strike Review: Underdog: The Pelican Bay Hunger Strike Glenn Langohr Publisher: Lockdown Publishing Publishing Date: March 1, 2012 Genre: Non...

I got another great review for my novella Underdog! Chastity has a great site. Check her out! Check out my drug war and prison thrillers with kindle, in print or audio. Full of true life action and redemption. You can't find prison culture like this anywhere else. http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00571NY5APR Newswire articles