You Can Run but You Can't Hide (13 page)

At the moment, I feared that poor bastard. Yet, I felt God’s hand

upon my heart. I had opened myself up to Him and He was there. I

knew I never wanted to be without Him or my faith ever again. His

strength, his love, and his guidance would help me cope with losing

LaFonda and being trapped in prison.

The next morning, I went to the prison chapel to pray. I prayed

for redemption, I prayed for the Lord to ease my pain, and I prayed

for the nonbeliever I met the night before. I wanted to commit sui-

cide. I knew the Lord would understand. I felt he would let me into

Heaven. “Please, Lord, bless me with Your presence, Your wisdom,

L i g h t i n t h e Da r k n e s s

73

and Your almighty light.” In the chapel, a black man started singing

the most beautiful version of “Amazing Grace” I’d ever heard. It

brought tears to my eyes.

On my way back up to the hospital, I caught a glimpse of the

man who ate the bad mushrooms, lying dead on a gurney.

When I got back to my bed, the man who challenged me about

God was gone too. I asked the orderly what happened. He said,

“Kinda weird. One died right after the other.”

That night, God came into my dreams. He was sitting on a

throne and was letting the mushroom guy pass though the gates

into heaven. The other guy, who’d been arguing against the Bible

with me, was standing there as well, pleading with God. “Please,

Lord,” he said. “Just give me a chance.” An angel then came over

with a movie screen that was playing a movie of him and me argu-

ing about the Bible. The Lord told him, “I did give you a chance.” A

voice came out of somewhere and said, “I will never turn against

you, Dog. Everyone else has, but I will not.”

The officials at the prison could’ve cared less about inmates’

personal issues. There was no sympathy. An inmate was supposed

to be in pain, but to the other prisoners it was different when it

came to a man losing his family. No one deserved to suffer through

that. To help me get through my heartache, the others reached out

and offered their support—food, smokes, whatever they could.

It was the darkest time in my life, but I looked to the Lord for

guidance and strength. Every night, while other men cried out in

pain, I talked to the Lord. I closed my eyes and told him, “Please

show me the way out of this darkness, Lord.”

It was about this time that the Jester Two warden, Curly Hor-

ton, began to take an interest in me. He was a short man with a

thick head of wavy hair.

He found out I was helping some of the other inmates write let-

ters. One day, he walked up and said, “Listen Chapman, I want

you to tell me the spelling of the word ‘criminal.’ After I spelled it

correctly, Horton asked, “You know anything about numbers,

Chapman?”

“Yes sir, Boss.”

“Can you spell names?”

“Yes, sir, Boss.”

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Yo u Ca n R u n , b u t Yo u Ca n ’ t H i d e

“All right, boy. I’m promotin’ you to new laundry bookkeeper.”

It was one of the better prison jobs. It sure beat grinding it out

all day out in the fields with Hoe Squad Three. My basic duty was

to keep everybody’s clothes in order.

I needed an assistant, so I convinced the guards to let me take

on Whitaker. He helped me interview the incoming cons. If one of

them thought he was a tough guy, the bus driver signaled us. While

we took down his sizes, the guard on duty would wander away for a

while so Whitaker and I could make our move.

When I had enough of their smartass bull, I’d give Whitaker the

signal and he’d come up on him like a bad dream.

Kapow! He’d go down with a single punch. Once he pulled him-

self back up to his feet, I’d start the interview over again. He’d al-

ways get it right the second time around.

The new guys didn’t understand that
acting
tough and
being

tough were two different things. The smartasses ruin it for every-

one. The last thing you need is for some mother to piss off a guard.

It was important to let the badasses know the deal as soon as they

stepped out of the bus. I’m glad someone like Whitaker wasn’t

around the day I arrived at Huntsville.

Even though Warden Horton acted like he hated me, deep down

I think he really liked me. The same went for Boss Espinosa and

Boss Brunson. Boss Ironhorn, on the other hand, was a different

story. Every time I saw him, he’d just glare at me.

One day, Ironhorn came into my cell with another guard and

told me to get up against the wall. I did as I was told and he stepped

up and looked me over for a moment.

“Boy, you need to shave,” he said.

“Yes, sir, Boss.”

“You got a razor in here, Chapman?”

“No, sir, Boss.”

To tell the truth, I never had to learn to shave. Even though I was

twenty-four, I’d never had facial hair. I always had a light peach

fuzz moustache that didn’t amount to much.

Boss Ironhorn eyed me like I was some kind of redneck moron.

“You don’t know how to shave, boy? Your daddy never taught you?”

“No, sir, Boss.”

“All right, Chapman,” he said, letting out a sigh. “You ain’t go-

ing into laundry today.”

L i g h t i n t h e Da r k n e s s

75

I couldn’t understand why he wanted me to stay in my cell and

not go right out to work. I saw him walk over and say something to

one of the guards, who immediately took off down the hallway. He

returned a minute later and handed something to Ironhorn.

“You’re going to learn how to shave, boy,” he said. I could see he

had a towel and a razor in his hands. He laid them out on the sink.

My own daddy never taught me how to shave. I don’t know why

Ironhorn cared so much. For a moment, I thought it might have been

a trick so he could cut my throat. I couldn’t let him know I was sus-

picious. I had to go along, or I’d end up in the shitter. But it wasn’t a

trick.

The way Boss Ironhorn taught me to shave that morning is the

exact same way that I shave today. This was the first act of kindness

a guard showed me in prison. It meant the world to me. It was a vul-

nerable moment for both of us. We became friends. After that day, I

got anything I needed from Boss Ironhorn.

C h a p t e r Tw e l v e

THE BARBER

OF HUNTSVILLE

One after noon, a
guy came strutting down the hallway in

the cleanest set of prison whites I’d ever seen. He looked slick. I no-

ticed all the inmates talking to him with great respect. Even the

guards were treating him differently. I stared at him in awe. When

he walked past my cell, I realized he was even wearing cologne. I fig-

ured he had to be connected to the mob.

I immediately found Boss Bronson. “Hey, Boss, who is that guy?”

“He’s Warden Horton’s barber,” he answered. “He’s getting out

in two weeks. I heard his job is going to be open.”

“How do I get the barber’s job?”

“If you were a barber in the real world, you can put your name

in and wait your turn.”

“That’s great,” I told Boss Bronson. “I’m the best barber in

Texas.”

He narrowed his eyes a bit. He knew I was bullshitting him,

but he nodded anyway. “Is that right, Dog? Just to be safe, why

don’t you grab a few books from the library and brush up on your

technique.”

The only book I could find in the library that had anything to do

with being a barber was from around 1937. I only read it at night. I

had to burn toilet paper so I could see. Everyone already knew that

I was gunning for the job, and “the best barber in Texas” didn’t

want to be discovered with some instructional book.

Th e B a r b e r o f H u n t s v i l l e

77

Finally, a few weeks later, they gave me a chance for the job. All I

had to do was pass one test—Give Warden Curly Horton a haircut.

A couple of the guards brought me down to the barbershop. It

looked like a set from
Gunsmoke
. There were three barber chairs

and a coffee table covered with some magazines. The first guy I met

was Ronnie Coleman, the shoeshine boy. He showed me where

everything was.

As soon as I had put my white smock on, Warden Horton strolled

in, flanked by a couple of guards. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to

look through the combs or anything. I straightened up immediately

and flashed them a smile.

“Come right in and have a seat, Boss,” I said, welcoming him.

I couldn’t let the warden see I was nervous. I acted like I had been

cutting hair for years. I cut a little here and there and smoothed it all

out with gel cream and hairspray. I’d spray and then pat the hair

down. When I was finished, the warden looked at himself in the mir-

ror and smiled. “I’ll tell you, boy. Looks like you’ve done a real good

job,” he said.

I’d made it through the test. Or so I thought.

The following morning, I went to the barbershop to start my

first full day of work. I’d made sure that my whites were clean and

starched, and I even threw on a splash of Aqua Velva for good mea-

sure. I was in the middle of checking myself out in the mirror when

Warden Horton came in. He looked pissed.

He sat down in the barber chair and glared at me without saying

a word.

Finally, he said, “Last night, I went home and took a shower.

When I got out, my wife looked at my wet hair and said that

every single hair on my head was uneven. This has to be the worst

haircut in the history of haircuts! What in the hell did you do,

boy?”

I scrambled. “Ah, Warden, I figured you were in a big rush, so I

thought I would complete the other half of your haircut today.”

He fell silent, probably out of utter amazement that an inmate

would tell him such a ridiculous lie. Warden Horton sat in the chair

shaking his head.

“Well, Chapman, I’d advise you to fix it, or you’ll be spending

the rest of your time in the shitter.”

Ah, he said “wet hair.” So, I wet his hair to even it all out, so I

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Yo u Ca n R u n , b u t Yo u Ca n ’ t H i d e

could see what I was doing. If I didn’t, I’d find myself back in the

fields “hoeing and going.”

When I was done, he walked over to the mirror and carefully

checked my work. I held up another mirror so he could see the back

of his neck line. After a long silence, he nodded his head and said,

“Everything looks OK now, but I don’t know how you were a bar-

ber out in the world.”

I didn’t respond.

Later that day, Boss Ironhorn got ahold of me in the hallway.

“Wait up a minute there, Chapman,” he said. “Somebody told

me you’re Warden Horton’s new barber.”

“That’s right, Boss.”

“I want to know about something, though, Chapman. You say

you’re a barber out in the world, huh? A barber that don’t know

how to shave?”

I didn’t answer. Ironhorn smiled and walked away. I hoped he

wouldn’t rat me out.

One morning as I was cutting Warden Horton’s hair, he said,

“Chapman, I think it might be a good idea if you sign up for A.A. It

would certainly help your case with the parole board.”

I’d never heard of A.A. before, but if going to those meetings

would help get me out of Huntsville sooner, I was all for it.

I was trying to do the right thing by going to the meetings and

listening to the warden, but I nearly blew it all on Mother’s Day in

1978. All the mothers were allowed to visit. My momma didn’t, be-

cause Denver was too far away.

Since I had a knowledge of religion, Warden Horton selected me

to recite the invocation prayer. When all the inmates had gotten

seated with their mothers in the auditorium, the warden pulled me

aside. He held out a piece of paper with the prayer written on it and

looked me dead in the eye. “Now, boy, I want you to read precisely

what I’ve put down on this paper here. Repeat after thee.”

“Of course, Warden. No problem at all,” I answered.

As soon as he walked away, I looked at the paper. It was all bull.

All fake. I knew right away I wouldn’t utter a word of it.

The warden stepped up to the microphone and flashed the audi-

ence one of his phony grins. “I want to welcome all of you here to-

day. Please bow your heads as Dog Chapman leads us in prayer.”

I stepped up to the microphone and looked out over the crowd.

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79

“Dear Lord, please forgive us for the sins which we have commit-

ted against you. For when we commit a sin against you, we are com-

mitting a sin against our families. We know that we’ve hurt our

loved ones, especially our mommas, who we love desperately de-

spite our sins. Lord, in our hearts You know we are good men, be-

cause we come from good women. Please bless our mommas who

are here with us today and those who could not be, whom we love

just the same. Lord, sometimes we have disagreements with the

guards, but they know they can never talk about our mommas. In