Tred and Retred

PART I
  I had lived in the ghetto of Atlanta for a year without a car. So, whenever I needed groceries I had to walk for a mile to the nearest Kroger by traversing an obstacle course through a no-man's land populated by drug dealers, crack heads and thieves who used this grass filled lot to discard of stolen cash registers and women's handbags. The field was called Rape Alley despite being the preferred route of all my neighbors who, like me needed the cut-through to buy food. Without this 10 minute shortcut, it took 45 minutes to get from my house to the Kroger following the conventional streets. White Flight in the 1970s caused fearful property owners to force the city to block through-streets and erect a 9 foot tall chain link fence that divided the area in two. Black homeowners on one side white business owners on the other. But life finds a way and the efficiency of effort by the ambulatory shoppers undaunted by a feeble barrier. They soon made the path to this field the operational route and there was always a constant stream of people coming and going. It started by going through an abandoned house, out the back, around a wall, down an alley, over a gate, across two roofs, down a trellis, over a wall, then around a muddy sewage culvert.  And soon as the path reached this open field, everyone called Rape Alley, you still had to run the gauntlet of hustlers, drug dealers, hookers, ruffians and drunks in order to squeeze through a narrow slit in the gigantic fence, which ran directly behind the Kroger. On one particular evening, I made it to the store, but after making my purchase, It was pitch dark outside and I didn't like the idea of going back over the trash strewn obstacle course with an armful of food and a 50lb bag of dog food.
  Outside the store I noticed a dapper elderly man. Standing alone wearing a purple 3 piece pinstripe suit with matching Fedora and shoes. He was an elegant gentleman and I watched him stand there as people greeted him and pressed folding money into his hands, gracefully thanking them. In 10 minutes I watched a dozen people hand him hundreds of dollars! I was exhausted and plopped the food down and sat on the bag of kibble. He smiled at me with a glint in his eye. "Hello sir" he said. "How's it goin'?" I answered. "I like your get-up!" He admonished me saying "It's an outfit. Get-ups are what cowboys wear!" I apologized profusely and he laughed showing me his 24 karat capped teeth "That's OK whiteboy, I forgive thee." ( In this neighborhood everyone called me white boy. It isn't a pejorative, but actually a term of endearment! ) "I am not aggrieved by your compliment! You were admiring my distinctive wardrobe, therefore expressing a sophisticated awareness of my fashion proclivity!"
" Indubitably," I said laughing, " I too have a unique love of expressive clothing! Tonight I'm undercover though." Pointing to my dusty jumpsuit, " I have to take the cut-through home and don't want to draw attention!" "Wise choice whiteboy!" He told me, as two more grinning shoppers handed him money.
  "People call me Tred." he explained. "It's short for Tredacious." And he held out a wrinkled hand filled with rings under his purple coat sleeve and yellow ruffled tux shirt. I gave his slender palm a gentle shake, "I'm Romeo, pleased to meet you sir! Are you a pimp?" I asked. "I am not! I abjectly abhor the practice of objectifying women and immoral and evil  sexual slavery for illicit monetary gain! Its a sin!  But in a sense, I am a pimp... for the Lord!" He told me.  " I dress this way to bring light and love into this dark world." We talked for awhile and learned he was indeed a famous local minister of a church that recently burned down following the drunken escapade of his adopted son also named Tredacious, but everyone knew him as Retred. The young man was the beneficiary of all his dad's lifelong work praising the Lord and expressing his love of fashion. But despite being a deacon, Retred caused havoc by smoking crack, and sleeping with whores in the sanctuary. He robbed the church treasury and even wrecked the hearse his father allowed him to use. But even the Lord didn't stop Retred from causing the 150 year old historic church called Old Bertha to burn to the ground. So, with nobody in the community able to give Tred a new place to worship, he made it known that he would be here at Kroger every night taking parishioner's donations to rebuild. It was a heartbreaking story but his resilience was inspiring, so as I started to pick up my groceries and go home, I handed the man $100. and walked into the darkness to go home. "Mr. Romeo!" He yelled, "Can I assist you in reaching you domicile?" He said gesturing to his car, a purple 1978 Eldorado. "That would be so kind of you sir!" I said. He smiled broadly as we walked to his gleaming chariot,  "Any man willing to depart with such a generous gift to God should have good fortune and safe passage home in such an inhospitable and unforgiving environment as this."
"Indubitably" I agreed.

Part II
 The next time I saw Tred was about a year later. I was arrested for stealing an abused  dog from his chain. Everyone around knew I had done it, because I had been to every house on my block trying to find the owner. So, I copped a plea deal to avoid a trial. That way I didn't have to reveal where the dog was. I was fined $3000 but given the option to serve 14 days in the Atlanta lockup if I couldn't pay it. I took the jail time because where else could I save that much money in 14 days? Since I worked on weekends the judge gave me a "weekend pass" that allowed me to log out of jail on Friday evening, but I had to show up Monday at 6:00 am to get locked up for the rest of the week. I was strip searched and given a gray zip up coverall that had to wear all week. They let me keep my underwear and socks because they don't provide them in the city jail.
  The wing I was assigned to had 12 cells, 6 on the ground level, 6 on a tier above the Commons, where there was a "House Boss" desk where the CO sat at a bank of monitors and a big gray control panel that opened and closed the cell doors and operated a large roll up garage door that opened onto a loading dock where the jail received all it's daily deliveries and was the pick up location for all inmates travelling under guard for court appearances. We were the wing with all the non violent convictions and determined to be most trustworthy and all us "grays"  spent our work time moving through that service door until 6:00 pm when It was rolled down and electronically locked from the House Boss control panel until morning. 
  At first I was put in a cell by myself for the first 3 days. It was the first cell by the desk and had a bunkbed and a mattress that was just a mattress cover filled with torn newspaper. A small sink about 6" wide a steel toilet with no seat. The only natural light was from a 3' long narrow horizontal window near the ceiling. The jail had only black men and I was the only white guy out of about 20 inmates. The guards were black as well and half of them were women. I didn't ask for preferential treatment, but I sure wasn't going to turn it down. (Because, you know white privilege I'm guessing). They isolated me from the others and made me a "house boy" (trustee) in this wing of the jail. I was allowed out of my cell for 6 hours each day to sweep the TV bay in the Commons, and empty trash in the CO lounge where all the officers on the bottom floor of all the wings gathered for shift changes and breaks. They all joked with me why I couldn't arrange to avoid jail. They acted like they felt bad I had to be there. They let me sit at the elevated desk and sometimes told me to hit the big Lockdown button on the control panel. It was strangely casual in the jail. ( It was also the same jail that a few months later allowed the ex DeKalb County Sheriff's to stroll out of his cell while awaiting murder charges for having his successor killed)
   I also did chores for the "wing boss" the top officer in my wing who we only saw when there was trouble. His name was Captain B. Low, ( his brass name tag said B. Low, and everyone called him Blow). A real dick. He was a short guy with a strange outfit that resembled General Patton's from WW II. Waist coat, helmet, jodhpurs and riding crop. The whole bit. Problem was he'd get pissed off and strutted around shaking random prisoners down while screaming at them. Everyone, even the COs laughed at the guy. He was a joke. He looked like George Jefferson and the inmates would laugh loudly an behind his back mimic his little tyrant routine.
  One day he came strutting from the elevator with a new prisoner in shackles and handcuffs. An elderly black man I instantly recognized as my friend Tredacious! His hair was long and his gray beard covered his face. He didn't look good. "Hey white boy!" He said with a surprised look. "Mr Tredacious!" I replied offering a handshake. He smiled warmly at me, revealing his golden grin
 Captain Blow began yelling at anyone and everyone who laughed at his funky strut whenever he came to our unit.   He unlocked Tred's cuffs and shackles and strutted off to his office mumbling. "I have found myself entangled in a legal disagreement within the power structure of the black elites in this city and forced to succumb to a forced vacation in this ignominious incarceration facility for the past year! A humiliating defeat by members of my previous congregation who have blamed myself for the actions of my misguided progeny!" He explained. "Indubitably!" I said.
  The House Boss assigned Tred to share my cell and help me around the unit doing busy work.
  By the end of my first week, I was allowed to help feed the prisoners in my unit and unload food from the commissary that arrived every morning in a big box truck. Tred was well-known at the jail because he was a preacher and vocal advocate for the poor, (Also, because his son Retred owed many of them money.) So I arranged for him to help me with my House Boy chores. Next week, after being let out of the jail to work, when I checked myself back in, I brought Tred the only items allowed from the outside. I wore two purple tee shirts, two purple boxer shorts, two pair of purple socks and purple sneakers! (The rules didn't specify how many you could have. He had spent the last year in the State Prison with no underwear at all and only state-issued flip flops. For such a dignified man of God who had always dressed in the finest purple suits, I felt it was the best I could do to help him prepare for being released. He loved them so much and made sure everyone knew where he got them!
Tred and I were cleaning Captain Blow's office one day and I accidently knocked over a whiteboard by his desk. It had the name of all the transition prisoners who were either transferring to other jails, or being released. Since all transition inmates came through our unit before catching the prison bus to the courthouse or getting released, this board indicated their destination with a red or blue magnet by their name. The Wing Boss got very upset because he wasn't sure if we put the magnets on the board properly and caused much confusion for the whole staff.
 Tred was planning on his release in two days to accompany his fuckup son Retred, to a rehab facility in Amsterdam.  The plane tickets were bought and the day of his release was on a Friday. But the asshole Wing Boss picked that day to do an inspection. Tred was afraid it would all fall apart if he wasn't released by 5:00 pm and by 4:30 Blow had only made it through the top tier. "What will I do Romeo? My boy needs help and I have to make my flight!" The transition prisoners were already lining up to catch the prison bus and the ones getting released were sitting in the Commons. As the big roll up doors opened and the inmates shuffled out to the loading dock, I knocked over a bucket of mop water and asked one of the guards to let Tred help me out. Release papers in hand, Tred started mopping up and when I looked outside I saw a purple Cadillac parking by the gate. " Here, go empty this bucket!" And I winked at him. He smiled back at me. I saw Blow upstairs screaming and strutting and soon as Tred was on the dock, I hit the button that closed all the doors. Every cell shut and locked and all the guards were either outside or locked inside their break room, including Captain Blow- the only guard with an override key that could get them opened. I watched Tred zip off his gray coveralls and wearing just the purple outfit I gave him, casually show the guard his release papers and turned toward me and bowed before walking out the gate, greeting his son and driving away. It took two hours before the night Wing Boss arrived to unlock the cell doors. In the mean time I slid into Blow's office and put Tred's magnet in the "release" column and then finished my chores and watched TV. I was reprimanded for "accidently" causing so much trouble that day but nobody said a word about Tredacious.