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By Root 674 0

both front doors open, our only Lifer; Koko, the twenty-threeyear-old Canadian burglar who has twelve more years to serve; Cottontop, the idiot from Oklahoma; Babalugats, a four-time loser, pulling five years for creeping the Miami mansion of Al Capone’s brother; Blind Dick, the selfstyled sex maniac who proudly shows you the pictures and the article in Coronet magazine showing him being mauled by a posse after three days of frantic flight and pursuit in the Everglades; Alibi Moe; Tramp; Bullshit Bill; Preacher, whose mother is a policewoman in Jacksonville and who is doing a three spot for stealing a cow; Loudmouth Steve, the juvenile delinquent; Society Red; Blackie, the bigamist; Dynamite, who finished a year for stealing a car, was free for six days, stole a car with which to return home to Connecticut, had a wreck, was caught and given three more years—all of us were‘there; the big ones and the little ones, the cagey and stupid ones, the quiet and the shy and the guilty, the gray and the nameless as well as the bold ones, the wild ones who bore the names of barbarian warriors.

This was the Family, our true family. There were fifty-four of us all together and there was nothing that we hadn’t done. There was no dream that we had not dreamed. There was no crime that we had not committed.

We went out in the morning and we rolled all day. Then we loaded up and went back to Camp. But on Wednesday the convoy of trucks turned off on an alternate route that brought us roaring along the back roads and past the edge of Lake Apopka. Somewhere near Ferndale the cage truck stopped at an intersection waiting for an opening in the swarm of southbound traffic before making the turn. Behind us the entire black and yellow convoy closed up in a bunch, the motors racing, the guards vigilant, the men in the open squad trucks clustered together like a swarm of bees.

Right in the corner of the two roads was a juke joint, three jalopies parked in front, a red neon sign in the window reading “Budweiser,” music drifting from a juke box through the screen door with a big rip near the bottom. Then a woman came out and walked across the rutted yard of crushed shell. She was a large and buxom brunette wearing a bar maid’s apron and moved towards us with an open, eager smile. We looked at her, catching our breath. Bear-caught or no bear-caught we were tantalized by the sight of her face, her breasts, her legs.

But all the while she had been carrying a small gray kitten in her hand. Just as the cage truck started up she suddenly held it up in the air and yelled out so all of us could hear,

Hey! Do yo’ll want a pussy?

Without thought or agreement or hesitation, from right out of our guts and our chests and throats there was one, spontaneous, unified roar that went echoing over the countryside; a single, sharp yell that drowned out the whine of gears and pistons and wheels and violated every Chain Gang rule there was, the whole Family letting out one violent, grated howl of eagerness, of desire, of daring, of torment—

YEEEAAAHHHH!!!

But when we got into Camp there was nothing said. No one was called out to go down to the Box. Our breach of discipline was simply ignored.

Thursday began as just one more day of following the spray truck and spreading sand in its wake, of covering the surface of the pool of asphalt in our own immediate area, pitching a shovel load at the spot where Boss Godfrey pointed with his Stick and then running up to the head of the line to start all over again.

By then Cool Hand Luke had already emerged as the master of the Family. He was the absolute Champion. None of us could keep up with the grueling pace of his day-long fury, even the biggest, the strongest and the fastest men all falling behind, unable to match his turbulent frenzy. Koko was forced to drop back, his chest heaving, his knees shaking as he slowed down to the mediocre pace of the rest of us. Even Dragline had to slow down.

But Luke surged on ahead without his working partners. All the Rollers from the other squads went insane trying to keep up with him,