"I WAS TORTURED IN THE PASADENA JAILHOUSE"
Part 3
By Robert James Fischer
CONTINUATION OF ‘I WAS TORTURED IN THE PASADENA JAILHOUSE’
THE NEXT thing I knew I was brought my first food for over 24 hours, which shows
you never know what to expect next in a madhouse. It consisted of 2 T.V.
dinners and a little bit of a soft drink. I ate one T.V. dinner and decided to
save the other one for later since the “room service” was so irregular. A while
later, however, I was transferred back to the cell they’d put me in originally
when I first came to the jailhouse. I asked the jailer to let me take the other
T.V. dinner with me but he refused permission.
The
cell they returned me to now had no running water. They claimed they couldn’t
understand it: “the water and plumbing had worked just fine in there before,”
–chuckle, chuckle. After I was returned to this cell for what seemed like a
very long time—some 10 hours or so or perhaps more—I became very, very thirsty,
having had only a small amount of water to drink since my arrival. (Of course,
how could I know they would later deny me even this basic necessity?)
I
told them I was hungry and especially thirsty, and that there was no running
water in my cell. Just to make doubly sure I didn’t get any water to drink, the
toilet was full of urine. They either laughed, made snide remarks, ignored me,
or told me I was being “punished” for my attitude. Finally, after countless
repeated requests for water, a big, tall blond or red-headed cop came to my
cell window and smiled in and said, “Here, I’ve got some water for you.” Something
about his “friendly” laughing attitude made me suspicious, and I said, “Open
the door and bring it in—I can’t take it through the steel mesh opening. It’s
too small, how can I get it?”
He
answered, “You ever hear of a straw? Come here, I’ll give it to you through a
straw.” I half suspected something was up and as I got up out of the bunk I
found I was right—he threw the water all over my back and on the metal bunk and
on the small pieces of toilet paper I had placed on the metal bunk to make it
ever so slightly softer. The big cop walked away laughing hysterically. He was
saying to his jailer officer buddies, “Did you see that? Ha, ha, ha!” I said,
“You’re really sick, only a sick person would do that.” He said, “I know it,
ha, ha, ha, that’s why they hired me, ha, ha, ha, ha!” This is typical of a
kind of sicko’s and whacko’s who run the Pasadena jailhouse and work for the
Pasadena police force.
I should also add
that in the jailhouse there are lady jailers and female prisoners. The female
jailers were constantly walking past my cell and could see right into it and
see me stark naked. The same for women prisoners. I remember at least one
colored young lady prisoner being led past my cell. Where is the decorum and
decency in all this? Also, I was twice forced to walk stark naked down the
hallway of the jailhouse when I was transferred to different cells, in plain
view of all.
Later
I was threatened again with being sent to a mental hospital for 30 days
observation, then I’d be sent back here, and he said something about Norwalk,
or Norfolk. Numerous times I told them I thought I have the constitutional
right under the Fifth Amendment to remain silent. They replied, “No, not until
you give us the information we want.” I said, “You mean you’re going to keep me
here forever, incommunicado until I talk?” “That’s right,” was the answer.
“Here, or we’ll send you to a mental hospital. You’re obviously a very sick
person.” Finally some time on Thursday morning, May 28th, I received
my breakfast, which consisted of a few tablespoon of milk, a small carton of
sugar coated cornflakes, and a canned peach slice. This was the first liquid I
had had in a very long time.
A
man who said he was the chief jailer there, an older white-haired cop, told me
that the reason for my clothes were taken away from me was that I might use
them to commit suicide since I was obviously crazy. I said, “Well, have
somebody watch me then.” Answer—silence. Then he promised to send me to the
judge that morning if I’d answer just five questions. I asked him to tell me
the five questions (it turned out to be six) in advance and I’d consider it.
The six questions were: 1. Your name 2. Your place of birth 3. Your date of
birth 4. Your address 5. Your height 6. Your weight. I answered the questions
and sometime later was given my clothes back. I got dressed and was transferred
to a big cell with several other prisoners.
The
police now for the first time answered my questions about what the charges
were. They told me the charges against me were interfering with the duties of
an officer. (I joked to some of the other prisoners that I was being charged
with “interfering with the crimes of an officer.”)
I
was also told that I had a second charge against me now I was brought into the
jail, i.e., destruction of prison property, namely a prison mattress. The old
white-haired chief told me the mattress cost $80.00 new. “You’re going to be
charged with destruction of prison property for getting in that mattress.” They
also told me that bail was set at $500.00 on each count, for a grand total of
$1,000.00 cash.
I
told the head jailer that now I wanted to see the judge as he’d promised. He
broke his word and said that there’ would now developed some problem and that I
wouldn’t be able to see a judge today that I’d have to wait until tomorrow for
that.
I
was allowed to make phone calls from the public pay phone in this new cell. I
called someone and told them the situation, that I’d been arrested, choked by
the neck, and held in Pasadena jailhouse incommunicado and stark naked for the
past 48 hours or so, etc. The person was shocked but relieved to hear from me
since naturally the person had been very worried about my disappearance.
After
the person came down to the jailhouse and put up the bail money, I was taken to
a special room for mug shot and to be fingerprinted. I asked the head jailer
what if I refused to be fingerprinted, what would he do? He said they’d break
every bone in my hands if they had to get those fingerprints.
After
the mug shot and the fingerprinting, thumb printing, hand printing, palm
printing, etc., I was told to sign numerous documents, perhaps as many as 10 or
more. I told the chief jailer that I like to read documents before I sign them.
He insisted that I just sign them.
I
reiterated my previous statement and started to read them. He demanded that I
sign the documents at once without giving me time to even partially glance at
them. He covered the documents with his hand and arm and said, “All that
concerns you is this here part at the bottom of the page,” indicating what
looked like a kind of stamp or form letter part of certain words which I did
not have time to read either.
Having
had little or no sleep for over 2 days and suffering from exhaustion, and
knowing that a document signed under physical duress has no validity in law,
and being in a hurry to get out of that damn hell hole, I signed the documents
without reading them. I was not allowed to read them.
For
all I know I signed a confession that I killed 20 Pasadena police officers and
that I destroyed all the mattresses in the entire jailhouse and then tore the
jailhouse down with my bare hands.
(TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT ISSUE)
Source:
Chessmate by Roberto Hernandez
Tia Belau Newspaper
October 04-10, 2010
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