My Panamanian Prison Adventure

Part I: How did I get here?

When I joined the Navy in 1968 I was a dumbass kid without much in way of brains, but I knew one thing... I was about to get drafted.
This meant probably going into the Army, but at that time about 10% of draftees went to the Marines. Being a drafted Marine would be really bad news. The regular Marines would hate you. the general public would hate you. The Viet Kong would hate you. So Crazy Mike and I went downtown and joined the Navy. Besides, we heard the food was better and how hard could it be...you go sail around in a boat for a few years and you're done.
After boot camp in San Diego they told me I was going to be a radio operator so I did some school stuff and then I went to Panama while about a third of my boot camp company went straight to Nam.
Panama truly was a picnic. The government was stable most of the time, the bar girls from all over south America were friendly, and it was fun sending morse code messages to the ships going through the Panama Canal.
But that's not what this story is about. Fast forward 18 months and it's supposed to be my last night in Panama. Three friends and I are driving around downtown saying goodbye to some of our girlfriends.
Suddenly, at an intersection, A police car flashes its lights and pulls us over. (The Panamanian National Guard serves as the police force.)
Three officers tell us to get out and put our hands on the roof of the car. They then begin to search the car. One of them pulls a baggie from under the front seat and sees that it contains marijuana. Suddenly there are police cars all over the intersection blocking us in. THEN a truck backs up to where we are standing and there is a guy with a machine gun pointed at us! A guy in civilian clothes who must have been a detective or something steps up and says, "You are under arrest, don't run!"
I almost laughed becasue there we were, surrounded by armed soldiers, including a machine gun! UH...OK I'm not running.
We found out later that there had been a bank robbery and a roadblock had been set up to try to catch the robbers.

To Be Continued...

This was posted in Scams, Scandals, and Shadiness, so I moved it over here, since I know most of the people interested on are on this side of the forum.

Do go on...

Part II: "You're going down..."

From the street, Carcel Modelo in downtown Panama looks like any police station in a moderate size city. You can't see the actual 3 story prison behind the entry and the lobby.
We were escorted inside and told to sit on a bench near the front desk. We were not handcuffed or searched and nothing was taken from us at that time. We sat there. And sat there some more as they did shift change and all the guards who were there when we were brought in left, to be replaced by new ones. We were there for several hours and no one seemed to be paying any attention to us. In fact, I had the idea that if I just casually stood up and walked out the door no one would notice. I didn't have the guts to try it though.
At this point we were not taking the whole thing seriously, as we were sure that any moment now someone from the Navy would come and get us. But then it got ominous...
We were brought to a window and a man said, in heavily accented English, "Put your belongings in these envelopes, because you're going down!"
We got very quiet. Suddenly I was really scared. No more fantasies of walking away.
We were led down a stairway to a large room with no windows and bars on the doors. It was about the size of a school lunchroom, but ot was absolutely bare except for the fifty some people sitting around on the floor by the walls or against a few concrete pillars here and there. There was a dark opening in the back of the room which we discovered was the bathroom, with two concrete commodes and a sink. The four of us tried to avoid going in there as long as we could, but eventually had to chance it, going in pairs.
We spent two days in that room, gradually getting to know some of our "housemates," who were all there for minor crimes and drug possession.
On the second day a man was brought in who some of the folks seemed to know and who seemed very angry, cursing loudly in Spanish. We learned that he had just been to trial and had been sentenced to two years for possession with intent to sell marijuana.
I watched as he took a cigarette from his pocket and it broke in half before he could light it. I was sitting near him and I took a pack of Marlboro out of my pocket and slid it across the floor to him. He took one out and started to return the pack but I motioned for him to keep it. He looked at me suspiciously for a moment but then accepted it with a nod. I did not know it at the time, but I had just made an important ally.

To Be Continued...

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Bilbodoggins

Part II: "You're going down..."

From the street, Carcel Modelo in downtown Panama looks like any police station in a moderate size city. You can't see the actual 3 story prison behind the entry and the lobby.
We were escorted inside and told to sit on a bench near the front desk. We were not handcuffed or searched and nothing was taken from us at that time. We sat there. And sat there some more as they did shift change and all the guards who were there when we were brought in left, to be replaced by new ones. We were there for several hours and no one seemed to be paying any attention to us. In fact, I had the idea that if I just casually stood up and walked out the door no one would notice. I didn't have the guts to try it though.
At this point we were not taking the whole thing seriously, as we were sure that any moment now someone from the Navy would come and get us. But then it got ominous...
We were brought to a window and a man said, in heavily accented English, "Put your belongings in these envelopes, because you're going down!"
We got very quiet. Suddenly I was really scared. No more fantasies of walking away.
We were led down a stairway to a large room with no windows and bars on the doors. It was about the size of a school lunchroom, but ot was absolutely bare except for the fifty some people sitting around on the floor by the walls or against a few concrete pillars here and there. There was a dark opening in the back of the room which we discovered was the bathroom, with two concrete commodes and a sink. The four of us tried to avoid going in there as long as we could, but eventually had to chance it, going in pairs.
We spent two days in that room, gradually getting to know some of our "housemates," who were all there for minor crimes and drug possession.
On the second day a man was brought in who some of the folks seemed to know and who seemed very angry, cursing loudly in Spanish. We learned that he had just been to trial and had been sentenced to two years for possession with intent to sell marijuana.
I watched as he took a cigarette from his pocket and it broke in half before he could light it. I was sitting near him and I took a pack of Marlboro out of my pocket and slid it across the floor to him. He took one out and started to return the pack but I motioned for him to keep it. He looked at me suspiciously for a moment but then accepted it with a nod. I did not know it at the time, but I had just made an important ally.

To Be Continued...

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I would have had to try this. Especially with a pack of smokes in my pocket. Just step outside, pause for a moment and light up a cigarette and see if they notice. If they did and were right behind you, play ignorant and act like you just stepped out for a smoke.

Back then, if they didn’t immediately notice and you had been able to catch a cab to your ship or base, would you have been home free or would they have handed you back on the off chance the locals came asking about you?

If I thought I was home free if I make it to the base, seems worth the shot.

Of course they might have just shot you.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by BCR

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Bilbodoggins

Part II: "You're going down..."

From the street, Carcel Modelo in downtown Panama looks like any police station in a moderate size city. You can't see the actual 3 story prison behind the entry and the lobby.
We were escorted inside and told to sit on a bench near the front desk. We were not handcuffed or searched and nothing was taken from us at that time. We sat there. And sat there some more as they did shift change and all the guards who were there when we were brought in left, to be replaced by new ones. We were there for several hours and no one seemed to be paying any attention to us. In fact, I had the idea that if I just casually stood up and walked out the door no one would notice. I didn't have the guts to try it though.
At this point we were not taking the whole thing seriously, as we were sure that any moment now someone from the Navy would come and get us. But then it got ominous...
We were brought to a window and a man said, in heavily accented English, "Put your belongings in these envelopes, because you're going down!"
We got very quiet. Suddenly I was really scared. No more fantasies of walking away.
We were led down a stairway to a large room with no windows and bars on the doors. It was about the size of a school lunchroom, but ot was absolutely bare except for the fifty some people sitting around on the floor by the walls or against a few concrete pillars here and there. There was a dark opening in the back of the room which we discovered was the bathroom, with two concrete commodes and a sink. The four of us tried to avoid going in there as long as we could, but eventually had to chance it, going in pairs.
We spent two days in that room, gradually getting to know some of our "housemates," who were all there for minor crimes and drug possession.
On the second day a man was brought in who some of the folks seemed to know and who seemed very angry, cursing loudly in Spanish. We learned that he had just been to trial and had been sentenced to two years for possession with intent to sell marijuana.
I watched as he took a cigarette from his pocket and it broke in half before he could light it. I was sitting near him and I took a pack of Marlboro out of my pocket and slid it across the floor to him. He took one out and started to return the pack but I motioned for him to keep it. He looked at me suspiciously for a moment but then accepted it with a nod. I did not know it at the time, but I had just made an important ally.

To Be Continued...

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I would have had to try this. Especially with a pack of smokes in my pocket. Just step outside, pause for a moment and light up a cigarette and see if they notice. If they did and were right behind you, play ignorant and act like you just stepped out for a smoke.

Back then, if they didn’t immediately notice and you had been able to catch a cab to your ship or base, would you have been home free or would they have handed you back on the off chance the locals came asking about you?

If I thought I was home free if I make it to the base, seems worth the shot.

Of course they might have just shot you.

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I've wondered about that myself. This was the Woodstock era and we were young, well-educated, highly skilled technicians pretending to be radicals. The Navy, especially the older generation was none-too-pleased with us. They might have seen this as a way of punishing us by giving us to the Panamanians.
The national Guard was not just shooting people yet. That came later with Noriega.

Subscribed

wow karen's rebrand is going great.

not so patiently waiting for part 3 lol :)

Part III: DENY EVERYTHING!

After two days in the holding cell they bring the 4 of us to the regular prison. This is a three story building with a long hallway or "galleria" with about 10 cells on each side, on each floor. So 60 cells, if my memory is correct. There is also another building somewhere behind us but I know nothing about so I won't be talking about it.
The first floor seems to have mostly "white collar" criminals and political prisoners. The second floor is gang members and more violent street criminals. The third floor, where we are taken, houses foreigners, drug busts, and other low level criminals.
Each cell has four canvas bunks bolted to one wall. These are occupied by either the senior or toughest of the 16 prisoners assigned to the cell. The rest of us sleep on the concrete floor. We are so cramped that if I wanted to turn over in the night, I had to do it within the space of my body. I noticed that my floor mates were sleeping on rolls made up of flattened cardboard boxes. Some inmates worked in a supply room and would sell or trade the boxes that came in with supplies. After a few days I had a roll madr up of about 6 layers of boxes. During the day we would roll them up with whatever possesions we had (jacket, toothbrush, magazines, etc.) and put them against the wall. During the day we were free to move around the galleria, visiting in other cells, or go out into the yard, which looked much like what you see in "The Shawshank Redemption." At night you could sit out in the hall in front of your cell if the crowding got to be too much. One night one of my friends, who was in a different cell, came and asked me to sit outside with him because one of his cellmates was trying to molest him.
If you wanted to use the bathroom during the night you had to ask permission, which you did by shouting, "Cabo! llave?" to the guard at the galleria entrance.
One day somone from the US military came to see us. He told us they could not help us, and that we would be assigned a Panamanian lawyer. The next day the lawyer came and told us we had not been charged yet and there was nothing he could do until that happened. He also said, "Deny everything." I thougt, but didn't say, "We're Americans but we're not stupid".

Then, things took a frightening turn. Someone on my floor apparently didn't like me, because suddenly two guards came and took me to a cell on the second floor, where the more violent criminals were, and where I was the only gringo. Seperated from my friends and the mostly mild-mannered prisoners I was getting to know, I felt very scared and lonely. The first two nights on the second floor I slept sitting against the wall outside my cell becuse I was too afraid to go inside.

To Be Continued...

part 4 please :)

Part IV: Blanket Party
New admissions to the second floor were often greeted with "blanket parties". They would grasdually be herded to the end of the hallway and surrounded by a group of 10-20 peolpe so the guard could not see. A blanket would be thrown over their head and they would be robbed of whatever meagar valuables they had (cigarettes, money, jewelery, etc.) They would scream and cry, but were never seriously injured as far as I could see.
I was terrified that the gang responsible for this were just biding their time until it was my turn. Then on the third morning I noticed someone doen the hall looking at me. It was "Ricky," the guy I had given cigarettes to in the holding cell. Her was apparently some sort of big shot in the prison. He spoke to one of his "underlings" who came down the hall and spoke to me. "Ricky says don't worry. No one is going to bother you. Ricky will look out for you". You can imagine my relief!
He must have really had connections, because a couple of days later the guards came and transferred both of us up to the third floor, which was where my friends were and where it generally seemed much safer.
Since we had arrived at Carcel Modelo, we had been hearing about Coiba Island (which I heard pronounced as "Cueva").
Modelo was for those awaiting trial or sentenced to no more than two years. When a prisoners name was called and he was told to gather up his belongings he would often appear to be in shock because the stories coming out of "Cueva" were all bad.
One morning after returning from the yard after breakfast, I noticed that my nice Navy issued jacket was missing from my bedroll. This was a little unusual as mostly people respected other peoples stuff. No one had much to begin with and you couldn't exactly hide something you had stolen.
I took a chance and walked down to Ricky's cell where he and several riends were playing dominoes. I asked in a very non-aggressive tone if he had any idea how I could find out where my jacket was.
He replied, "The guy went to Cueva today. He needs it more than you do." I nodded and left the room, in complete agreement.
We spent the days talking, reading, playing chess. We could spend as much time as we wanted in the large courtyard.
I can still vividly remember sitting alone in my cell one day, telling myself, "Look at where you are right now, Let it sink in where you are. If you get out of here, never do anything that could get you sent back."
I had this waking, dreamlike fantasy that if I closed my eyes, I could make reality flip between being inside Carcel and being outside on the street. If I could just open my eyes during the "outside" flip, I could walk away. But each time, I missed it, and there I was, right back in my cell.
The bathroom was just a large concrete room with sinks, showers, and about six toilets, also concrete. Their were no seats on the toilets so you had to balance with your feet on the rim and squat over the bowl. It was tricky at first but I really built up my calf muscles to the point where it became routine.
But then one day someone brought one of my friends an item which became one of the most prized and envied possessions on the floor, a gleaming white plastic toilet seat! No lid, no bolts or anything, just the seat. A chosen few of us took turns bringing it down to the bathroom, doing the necessary, and bringing it back to my friend's cell. The life of luxury!
To Be Continued...

I’m starting to wonder how long you were in. I kind of figured a few weeks or something, but building up calf muscles and the rest are starting to make it sound like a longer stay.

i hope part 5 is coming...:)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by 1dollarboxcar

i hope part 5 is coming...:)

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Sunday!

great read so far keep it up

Part V: Endgame

I have purposely not said how long we were incarceratd at Carcel Modelo because I wanted to give people a sense of what it was like for us not knowing wihat was happening. As I mentioned, we saw a US military official once and a Panamanian lawyer once, both within the first week after our arrest. No other with any officials. Our friends from the Navy base visited a couple of times to bring us books and a little money, but they didn't know wihat was going on, either.
So, the days passed and things became routine. We read books, played chess, listened to a small transistor radio (I loved hearing "Let the Sunshine In" in Spanish). I wrote some songs. One was about the "Cardboard Man" who was the source of our sleeping pallets.

And then, on the evening of day 59, the guard called out "Henry ___, gather your things, come to the front!"
"What? Are they letting him go because he's the one of us that's married?"
But then, in succession, "David ___, gather your stuff...
Michael ___, gather your stuff..
James___, gather your stuff...
And then a horrible thought hit me. "They're taking us to Cueva!!! They're going at night so the American authorities don't find out!!!
We looked at each other and I could tell my friends were tdhinking the same thing.
As the guards walked to a rear entrance where there was a waiting van with engine running, I thought to myself, "I can't let this happen. I have to make a run for it. Should I do at as soon as the door opens or wait til we get to the pier?"
I decided to wait because the van was still inside the prison walls.
So I sat, terrified, as the van pulled through the gate. But I soon noticed that instead of heading toward the water, we were entering an upscale neighborhood with many large, fancy looking residences.
We stopped in the long circular driveway of one residence and got out. There were national Guardsmen all around as we were escorted inside and told to go into a large office.
There, to my utter shock and surprise were, Henry's wife, Michael's father (from Boston), and... the civilian President of Panama! (Not Omar Torrijos, the Head of the National Guard). Several other government officials who never said anything.
The President said to us "We now believe you were set up at the roadblock, so we are letting you go. The guardia who were responsible will be punished. I just need to know one thing, was the marijuana really yours? We're letting you go anyway, but I don't want to punish anyone who doesn't deserve it."

I was so overcome with gratitude that I told him, "the Marijuana was mine, thanks for letting us go!"


Really? NO, of course not. We continued to deny any knowledge of illegal substances.

And then? The most bizarre moment in this whole story!
The President walked over, and silently put a single dollar bill in each of our shirt pockets!!!
To this day I can't figure out what that was about.

that's just about it. I'll post a brief ending part probably tomorrow...

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Bilbodoggins

Part V: Endgame

I have purposely not said how long we were incarceratd at Carcel Modelo because I wanted to give people a sense of what it was like for us not knowing wihat was happening. As I mentioned, we saw a US military official once and a Panamanian lawyer once, both within the first week after our arrest. No other with any officials. Our friends from the Navy base visited a couple of times to bring us books and a little money, but they didn't know wihat was going on, either.
So, the days passed and things became routine. We read books, played chess, listened to a small transistor radio (I loved hearing "Let the Sunshine In" in Spanish). I wrote some songs. One was about the "Cardboard Man" who was the source of our sleeping pallets.

And then, on the evening of day 59, the guard called out "Henry ___, gather your things, come to the front!"
"What? Are they letting him go because he's the one of us that's married?"
But then, in succession, "David ___, gather your stuff...
Michael ___, gather your stuff..
James___, gather your stuff...
And then a horrible thought hit me. "They're taking us to Cueva!!! They're going at night so the American authorities don't find out!!!
We looked at each other and I could tell my friends were tdhinking the same thing.
As the guards walked to a rear entrance where there was a waiting van with engine running, I thought to myself, "I can't let this happen. I have to make a run for it. Should I do at as soon as the door opens or wait til we get to the pier?"
I decided to wait because the van was still inside the prison walls.
So I sat, terrified, as the van pulled through the gate. But I soon noticed that instead of heading toward the water, we were entering an upscale neighborhood with many large, fancy looking residences.
We stopped in the long circular driveway of one residence and got out. There were national Guardsmen all around as we were escorted inside and told to go into a large office.
There, to my utter shock and surprise were, Henry's wife, Michael's father (from Boston), and... the civilian President of Panama! (Not Omar Torrijos, the Head of the National Guard). Several other government officials who never said anything.
The President said to us "We now believe you were set up at the roadblock, so we are letting you go. The guardia who were responsible will be punished. I just need to know one thing, was the marijuana really yours? We're letting you go anyway, but I don't want to punish anyone who doesn't deserve it."

I was so overcome with gratitude that I told him, "the Marijuana was mine, thanks for letting us go!"


Really? NO, of course not. We continued to deny any knowledge of illegal substances.

And then? The most bizarre moment in this whole story!
The President walked over, and silently put a single dollar bill in each of our shirt pockets!!!
To this day I can't figure out what that was about.

that's just about it. I'll post a brief ending part probably tomorrow...

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No, no, no. Did not read, will not read because you chose this forum to tell a story. Why would anyone do that? So fuck off. Absolute trash.