I WAS KOOL
By Michael Orndorff
I was the one you saw decked out in black from head to toe. The one kicked back like a Greek Adonis. It seems everywhere you went, I was there hanging out.
I never just did anything. I had to exaggerate it; my moves, my speech, everything, because I was kool.
My phone rang night and day. Girls calling to chat. Guys coming by to go where the action was. To talk about all the kool things we saw and did at school. They would ask what I wanted to do. If my friends and I didn’t want to do it then it wasn’t kool, so no one did it. Our group was it. We were what was happening.
Sometimes I would disappear for a few days, then mysteriously reappear. When my school friends asked where I’d been, I’d always have an exciting tale to tell them, full of adventure and mystery. This just made them want to be a part of all this and do these things. It made me do it more.
Then the high school kids wanted to hang around me. They said I wasn’t at all like those other junior high kids. They said “I was kool.” But I wonder if this had anything to do with the fact that I was selling them liquor in a dry county.
However, I did feel exalted in the eyes of my junior high classmates. I was chosen and accepted by the older crowd. I’ve gotta be kool.
Through my friends I then met, and started living with an older woman. You can’t imagine the pats on the back I received from my school friends, not to mention the high school boys. Talk about a new ball game, I moved into another league altogether. Grown men were now partying with me, introducing me to their friends, showing a big interest in me. This made me too kool to hang out with the young crowd anymore, now that the older crowd had accepted me.
Because of my new adult friends, I was now a middle man between the grown ups and the school kids. Yes, I was now a dealer, and I was also exempt from the law. I couldn’t be busted, I was too kool, too slick.
Let’s run through this again. I’m so kool, I’m accepted at high school, I’m living with an older woman, I’m accepted by adults, and I’m a drug dealer. Why I’m so kool now what else could possibly happen?
Other than my Mom and Dad nagging me about what I am doing and all these unkool people, all these squares at school telling me I’m on my way to jail, other than that, I’m on top of the world. Besides they just don’t understand, I’m too kool for jail. What do they know? If they knew more than me, they would have the home, the woman, the adult friends, and they would be dealing in dope making this easy money. What do they know? They’re not kool. I’m way ahead of them. I’m no longer a school boy. I am a man.
Whoa. Talk about lady luck. I finally met someone else who is only 16 who has a house. And get this, not a woman, but women. This guy has women, not to mention a house full of stereo equipment.
How does he do it? No job. He’s not a dealer. Then the lucky break. My connection is also a friend of his. He’s going to let me in on his money making venture. We are going to rip off the produce from a Wal-Mart truck. So this is how he’s making his money. Now I’m going to do it too. We’re going to do it because we’re kool. We’re not scared like those squares at school. That’s why we’re doing so well and they’re not. Besides, my friend has never been caught so he must know what he’s doing.
On the way to this big heist we pass a drug store, and that’s when we notice the window being opened a crack. So we decide to stop here for a quick easy score.
The squares were right. Here I go handcuffed heading to jail. I’m scared, but I’m too kool to show it. This is a nightmare. What kind of people will I meet in jail? What will happen to me? Will I get out or will I go to prison? A thousand things run through my mind at once. One thing though, I must remain kool. My fear intensifies as I’m told, “I can’t be put in the juvenile’s cell because I might incite the juveniles.” So off I go to the tank that houses the men. Those squares at school said this would happen.
As I approach the bull pen that houses about 40 men, all thoughts quickly fade because I know about 90% of the men here and they’re happy to see me. Big T introduces me to Judge. “This is the kool guy I told you about.” Judge shakes my hand and says, “You can’t stay in here unless you have a nickname. Since you broke into a drug store we will call you “Little Pill’.” Wow, “Little Pill,” a nickname. Some of the coolest guys in town gave “me” a nickname. Boy, I am kool.
Well, six months later I’m out of jail. And can you believe it, those stupid squares were wrong. Jail wasn’t rough. Not only that, I learned about 20 world-class card tricks and about 50 jokes. I learned all kinds of ways to make fast money and what to say to pick up women. Plus I met a lot of kool guys.
One of the kool guys introduced me to a man who made amonitrate. Man, if those squares only knew jail wasn’t nothing. I made it and had some fun, plus I learned a lot. Why I came out better than I went in. Wait until my classmates see me now. Those squares at school are dumb. If they said this about jail, what’s prison like? They must be cowards or they wouldn’t be listening to Mom and Dad and doing all that stupid stuff they do. They would be getting with it.
“It’s hip, hip, so hip to be square.” That’s just what Huey Lewis just finished singing. This brings on an agreement by all the men I’m talking to. You see, I’ve had six year to think about this. The ones I’m talking to have had more than six years. You see, every man here is kool. There’s not one square amongst us.
The reason there’s no squares here, is because “they’re still doing the same old things they always did; going fishing, hunting, out to eat, to movies, dating. “Everything” us kool guys wish we could be doing.
You may ask, “What happened to our urge to party, to joke, to be kool?” We still have all that. It’s just “now” I see it’s best to be square.
Let’s look at the percentage. One hundred percent of the squares are fishing, going out, doing all the things squares do. While 100% of us kool guys here wish we would be doing these things.
How could someone so kool take up for those nerds, those squares. You see, 100% of us kool guys are in prison on Death Row waiting to die. Now that’s some statistic. One hundred percent in prison are kool. Now this tells me the chances of a kool person being busted is 100%. While the unkool or square person’s chances of coming to prison are 100%, he or she won’t come.
Now let me tell you something you don’t know about prison or jail. Something you can only see when you look back at what might have been, or think of what you would like to do one more time, or the ones you ridiculed as the squares are out there “right now” saying, “I told you so,” and thinking I could be out there right now had I not been so kool.
One thing you don’t realize when you go to jail, you know most everyone. It’s in your hometown, but when you come to prison you know very few people. You see all your hometown boys in jail. They’re not all going to come with you, so you ride alone and no one is exempt from prison because they are too kool or slick to get caught. That’s just a lie you tell yourself. You say it’s always the other guy who gets caught. I’m too slick for that, but its like Russian roulette no one is immune from it. If you play the game you take the same risk the rest of us took and your number will eventually come up. And my friend, I know what I’m talking about. I have no reason to lie. Something else, I’m lucky to be on Death Row because prison population is about 50 times worse. Let me tell you a little about it.
First, you’ll walk into a barracks that houses 100 men. These aren’t cells; this is a room with 100 beds. As you walk into this barracks you will call home, how many years will depend on you. Certain thoughts cross your mind. Such as, out of these 99 men I “must” live with which ones are the murderers, the rapists, the robbers, and the thieves. You look at the faces looking back at you and try to imagine the best you can “which is which.”
Sleep doesn’t come easy. Not with 99 men sleeping around you, all are men of ill repute. This is especially so when you see someone three bunks down pull out a sock with a lock in it and go to whipping someone. Then the scary part is you find out he had no reason to do it. He just flipped out. Now that that’s over, you go to the shower, glad it wasn’t you. Man, that shower felt good. It helped you relax and calm down. But as you head back toward your bed you notice your locker box is open. That’s right, while you took your shower someone stole everything; family photos and all. But with about 50 guys looking at you smiling, it’s hard to tell who ripped you off.
You then head towards the chow hall, but you know what to expect because everyone who passes you up is cursing or talking bad about the food. When you get in you find the only thing edible is the bread. It’s no wonder someone ripped you off and stole all your commissary (snack foods). One thing is for sure you won’t go to McDonald’s or Pizza Hut, and you can’t go to the ice box. So you walk around hungry, watching other men eating chips and candy, possibly the same that was stolen from you.
You think of those squares at home snuggled up to the T.V. with their family pigging out, while you’re so hungry you’re thinking of begging someone for food. Some guys are begging for food.
Food is quickly forgotten. A fight has just broken out and all because someone is tense and wants to take out his tension on something or someone else. This is one crazy place. It must surely be hell. I can’t even go to the restroom because the homosexuals are all in there and I don’t have to say what they’re doing. But this is only physical. What really tears you apart is the psychological part of it all. Besides there’s nowhere to go, no one to talk to, to comfort you, or just tell you they care. You entertain the thought of why did all my kool friends desert me. Not a few, but all of them. Deep down you know why. They’re busy partying and being kool.
One consoling fact is, “At least I have my family.” But this is only torture. You see the more they write, the more you miss and want to be with them. If they don’t write, then you long to hear from them. So either way you’re torn apart. You’re silently screaming from the inside and you’re the only one who knows it.
You’re tense and raging inside from the torment you can’t abandon or escape, because there’s no way you can escape out of your own mind. How do you relieve such anxiety?
You want to just grab someone, as you saw earlier, and relieve your anxiety on them. This is why you watch everyone, and they watch you because who knows what might happen or who might blow up next.
All these things are going on, all these things tearing at you and others. You may think this sounds awful, but the most terrifying thing of all is this, “What you have heard so far is nothing compared to what I haven’t told you.” I will refrain from telling you because it’s better left unsaid.
Listen, if you like watching your back and everyone around you as a possible threat. If you like being hungry, abused, ripped off. If you like seeing homosexuals in action and being mentally tormented with no way out, then go ahead and be kool. Remember what I said about Russian roulette. You’re not immune and your number will come up. You’re not exempt.
So go ahead. I’ll be here waiting, and I’ll be waiting along with 98 others. Ninety-eight others you don’t know. And be sure of one thing, the squares you laughed at and ridiculed will be home doing the things you only wish you could be doing. And as for me, I’ll just stay here, a tormented soul. Being haunted by those words I disagreed with for so long as Huey Lewis sings “Its hip, hip, so hip to be square!!”
By the grace of God, Michael is off death row and is serving a life sentence. His address is Michael Orndorff, #104119, P.O. Box 240, Tucker, AR 72168.