Tension between the BCA and security escalated as the fear of an institutional takeover grew in the minds of prison officials. The riot of 1973 served as the basis of that fear. The Black Cultural Association represented an organization that could mobilize support for a prison uprising swifter than had occurred in the past. Prison officials flexed their muscle at BCA members. Some members resigned from the group because of this pressure. Most endured.

To defuse this time bomb, in January of 1976 Jamel planned a special meeting of the BCA in the chapel. Before we could develop any strategies to resolve this dilemma, events of the day resulted in the greatest overreaction to an incident that I ever witnessed.

The morning of the meeting Brother Steve came to see if I could attend the meeting. Since we were going to meet during lunch and pill call, I sacrificed part of my planning time to meet with the group. Most of the members congregated at the steps to the chapel. We climbed the steps only to find the door locked.

Jamel said, “Them rollers told us that the chapel was going to be open for us. I guess we will have to meet on the stairs. About seven of us sat on the stairs as Jamel opened the meeting. A commotion in the main hall interrupted Jamel’s speech. Hatcher, the sergeant-at-arms, peered through the door and said, “They got Shorty!”

Shorty, a former member, still had ties with the BCA. Jamel ordered the group, “Stay right here. We don’t want to give them rollers any reason to disband us.” Hatcher disregarded Jamel and bolted out the door. He never returned to the group; he never returned to the general population. Some BCA members would never see him again.

Security reacted swiftly. As if to say, “This is it, fellas. This is the takeover we have been expecting,” the chief of security called for backup. All inmates were instructed to go back to their living quarters. All dormitories were locked, all cell houses closed. Off-duty guards raced over from their living quarters with riot-control gear: stun guns, helmets with plastic face shields, nightsticks. They lined shoulder to shoulder in riot-control stance along the main corridor. I flashbacked to my military police training where I had participated in riot control exercises. That was practice; this is real. I reminded myself that I was in the halls of one of Virginia’s most notorious prisons.

In the midst of the commotion, Marshall, assistant warden of security, called me to his office. As I entered his office, I saw a military bus pull up. National Guard troops exited as if preparing for battle. I heard the pulsation of a helicopter, piloted by the state police. On the ground more state police, accompanied by German shepherds, marched onto the scene. As these organizations assembled at their respective posts, Marshall said, “One of the members of the BCA just assaulted one of our officers. We heard that the BCA was going to try to take over this institution. What do you know about this attempt?”

After dropping my jaw in shock, I answered, “We don’t know anything about a takeover. The BCA was conducting a meeting -- trying to find ways to show we were not a threat to the institution -- when this incident occurred.”

Marshall pressed on, “But weren’t some of your people involved?”

“The only person involved was Hatcher, and that was after the initial incident. We tried to convince him to stay in the meeting.”

“Well, we figured this was the plot to take over the institution.”

“No, I assure you we had nothing to do with any conspiracy,” I said.

“Can you put that in writing?”

“I’ll get right on it as soon as I get back down to the school,” I promised. I know I will have the weekend to think about this because school and every other non-security program will be shut down until further notice.

I left his office and walked through the blue uniforms equipped for battle. I saw the frightened faces of young guards who had never experienced anything like this. I shook my head. The word reached the school that we were on lockdown.

The following Monday, Brother Steve told me that the BCA had composed a memo for me to sign. Baraka brought me an original and a carbon copy of this memo. Slightly offended that I was not given an opportunity to defend the organization, I examined the memo. Written to Thompson, the memo stunned me with its clarity, punctuation and flawless typing. I maintained a copy of that memo to remind me of the talent that can be found behind prison walls. The institutional administration received the memo as a peace offering, but was still wary of the BCA. As long as this organization existed, there was a fear that some cataclysmic event was around the corner.

Even though the BCA denied participation in the incident, Shorty and Hatcher remained locked up in M-Building. Since I was the M-Building teacher, I was able to visit their cells. I wanted to clear up rumors about what had happened.

I rolled my supply cart up to Shorty’s cell under the pretense of conducting class. Since the officers didn’t know which inmates I taught, I could approach any cell as if teaching through the bars. When I arrived at Shorty’s cell, he rose from his bed and greeted me as if I was his only link to reality. I was the only person to visit Shorty since he had been locked up.