The following is an excerpt from The Last Governor Diaries, by John Heffernan. The book is a revealing and candid behind-the-scenes look at life inside Australia’s largest prison system through the eyes of a former governor. For more information, check out Mr. Heffernan’s website.
‘Working for a living is a mug’s game...’ Ray declares emphatically. Then, pausing for effect he sucks in another lungful of smoke, exhales, gulps down a mouthful of coffee and adds the inevitable, ‘...you know what I’m sayin’?’
I am in a prison workshop in the middle of the Long Bay Complex of Prisons, the year is 1975 and it’s about 10am in the morning. Ray is holding the floor, something he does quite well I will later learn. Something I will also discover is that although normally quiet and reserved, when passionate about an issue, Ray is someone who is prepared to argue long and loud. I have walked out of the office onto the floor of the workshop just as he is making his point to the other two prisoners who, I notice, appear to be hanging on his every word. Talk about a captive audience. All three are sitting on wooden stools in the workshop, a mug of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other, surrounded by a cloud of foul-smelling White Ox tobacco smoke. I have met Ray for the first time that morning; of a similar age to me, he is of medium height with shortish dark hair and olive complexion, most likely a result of his Italian heritage. A likeable kind of fellow, he is just commencing a sentence of 12 months for a minor charge relating to the supply and use of drugs. While he is a first time offender I am in my early days as a probationary prison officer. In essence, we share a common interest – we are both novices to the prison system, each of us taking the first steps in our newly chosen vocations.
Morning smoko in the prison workshops is supposed to be a short break in the monotonous work routine for inmates to enjoy a coffee and a smoke. However, I find that some prisoners, being the unwilling workforce that they are, will often attempt to drag any breaks out as long as possible simply to avoid going back to work. To this end one of their favourite ploys is to engage the supervising officer in a discussion so absorbing that it will cause the officer to lose track of time. The trick is to find the officer’s weakness, a subject he is keen to talk or argue about. On this particular day Ray has found just the right buttons to push to get the required reaction.
‘What’s wrong with working for a living, Ray?’ I reply sharply.
‘It’s a mug’s game,’ he repeats, looking directly at me, one eye closed in protest at the rising haze of smoke drifting from the roll-your-own now hanging precariously from his bottom lip. ‘I would make more in a week than you would ever make in a year, boss.’ Then, realising he may have gone too far, his face quickly breaks into an awkward smile as he adds, ‘with respect.’
‘Well, your theory has obviously worked well for you, Ray,’ I respond, with more than a hint of sarcasm in my voice. ‘Look where you are ...’
‘Not so fast, boss,’ Ray counters quickly. ‘For the next 12 months you blokes will be looking after me. Three square meals a day, a bed, my medical needs all taken care of, the only thing I can’t do is go home. With remissions I’ll be out in just a few months and for what I made before I came in here that is a small price to pay; you know what I’m sayin’? And, it’s all waiting for me when I get out.’
‘He’th got you there, bossth,’ one of the other inmates offers, deciding to throw some more fuel on the fire. This middle-aged prisoner hasn’t got a tooth in his head; his toothless state more than likely a direct result of the endless supply of drugs he has swallowed, sniffed and injected into his body over the preceding years.
‘Ray, did you ever stop to think that what you were doing was wrong?’ I reply accusingly. ‘What about the number of people affected by your drug dealing? What about those that get hooked; and those that die from an overdose?’ Ray lets those questions slide through to the keeper.
‘Boss, not only did I make a lot of money, I also invested it. I bought two houses with what I made before I came in and I rent both of them out. I’m actually making more money while I’m in here. Like I said, working for a living is a mug’s game.’
‘Ray, you’re living off the proceeds of crime, that’s also illegal.’
Ray smiles and starts to roll another cigarette. It doesn’t appear we are going back to work anytime soon. To the obvious delight of toothless and the other prisoner he and I proceed to ‘debate’ the issue for quite some time with me doing my level best to offer not only a legal argument but also a moral one. It matters little however, Ray is having none of it - he simply points out again and again the amount of money he has accumulated, most of which is waiting for him on his release. His logic is simple. Make enough money out of crime to set yourself up, do the time if you must and, on release, go out and live the high life.
I have been raised on the principle that ‘crime does not pay’ yet, here I am being presented with what appears to be living, breathing proof to the contrary. In the face of a discussion going around in circles, completely frustrated by ‘crim logic’ I decide to tell Ray he is a goose and pull rank by sending everybody back to work. Whilst I refuse to concede as much, the points look to be in Ray’s favour for now at least.
My pristine uniform isn’t the only thing that demonstrates to all and sundry my ‘brand new’ status – my approach is typical of an idealistic, fresh out of training, ‘baggy arse’ prison officer. I have only been in this new role for a few months and even though I am just shy of thirty years of age I am impressionable and honestly believe I can, ‘make a difference.’ Whilst I am reluctant to admit it, Ray has planted a seed of doubt in my mind.
Over the next few months, prior to his release, whenever I find myself rostered to the workshops Ray and I will resume our debate although time and familiarity will usually reduce any serious discussion into sarcastic comments and humorous banter.