Kenn Crawford Published Songwriter, Author & Amateur Photographer

Jimmy Sampson was the younger and smaller of the two punks. At fifteen he was already a two-year veteran of the Cape Breton Correctional Centre for young offenders with a grocery list of arrests: drunk and disorderly conduct, assault, resisting arrest, and drug charges including possession with intent to sell.

Jimmy was a tough, street-smart kid who survived jail by first supplying the bigger inmates, and a few guards, with a steady supply of narcotics. He then quickly positioned his reputation as a ruthless son-of-a-bitch by stabbing one inmate with a rusty shank and beating another so viciously the other kid was sent to the infirmary for a month and a half. With bigger kids watching his back, and a remorseless temper, the inmates at The Correct knew you just didn’t fuck with Jimmy “The Shank” Sampson. Two weeks fresh out on parole and Jimmy had already grown bored of small town life in the coal mining community of Glace Bay and was itching for some destructive action.

Grady Fisher was a year older and a dozen years slower. Unlike Jimmy, he was generally harmless and had never been in any serious trouble. His only real crime was getting hooked up with the likes of Jimmy the Shank.

Jimmy’s latest brainchild was to do a little B&E at Holy Cross church where, as a pre-teen, Jimmy’s mother made him serve as an Alter Boy. He hated being dragged to church every Sunday and forced to stand in full view of his schoolmates. He often stole a few sips of the wine and once spit in the chalice, but the day a kid he particularly didn’t like rolled his eyes mockingly during communion, Jimmy threw the wine in the kid’s face and then beat him with the chalice until three men had to drag him off the bleeding kid. That was the last time Jimmy Sampson ever served as an alter boy.

Unlike Jimmy, Grady didn’t really mind being an Alter Boy. He found the services painfully long and boring, but church was his escape from his father’s usual Sunday morning hangovers, and the beating that soon followed if Grady was being too loud, too quiet or simply within striking distance. Church was his sanctuary until he learned that his mother, frail and worn down, took the beatings Grady was not there to receive. Since then he stayed home to be the punching bag until the day he decided to hit back. With his crying mother pleading for him to stop, and his father crumpled on the floor begging for mercy, Grady kept punching until he could no longer lift his arms to swing. Drunk, hung-over or otherwise, his father never raised his hand to him, or his mother, again.

“Maybe we shouldn’t wreck the place” Grady offered in his slow, baritone voice as they cut through the darkened back yards of Caledonia Heights.

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Jimmy chided him, “it’s not like any of that religious shit is real.”

“I know but… but a lot of people believe…”

“Believe what?” Jimmy scolded him. “That all their hocus-pocus, religious voodoo crap is real? Gimme a fuckin’ break will ya? Just a bunch of snot-nosed, do-gooders praying to some dude who supposedly walked on water? Jesus man, anybody can walk on ice, big deal. Don’t even get me started on the whole crucifix thing. He dangled from a stick of wood for…”

“Okay!” Grady shot back, “I’ll do it, just don’t….”

“What?”

“Don’t…,” Grady’s voice softened, “just don’t say nuttin’ anymore. Let’s just get this over and done with.”

“That’s more like it,” Jimmy smiled as they approached the back of the church. “Now we need to get through that door.”

By ‘we’ Jimmy meant Grady. Hesitantly, Grady threw his bulky shoulder into the door. The loud crack of wood splintering echoed in the still church yard.

Once inside, Jimmy gave the orders and Grady, unable to resist, reluctantly obeyed. Minutes later Jimmy was spray painting 666 on the wall behind the Alter. The thrill of destruction overwhelmed Grady and he too joined in on the demolition.

Jimmy squealed his approval when Grady topple a life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary. When it crashed to the polished hardwood floor, cries of shattering plaster resonated in the sacred building.

A bright light illuminated the Virgin Mary’s cracked face and seconds later, it swallowed the darkness that surrounded Grady. He stood frozen, unable to breath, transfixed by the Holy Mother’s eyes staring mournfully back at him.

“Cops, run!” Jimmy yelled as he disappeared from view.

Grady fell to his knees and gently picked up the statue’s decapitated head and whispered, “I’m sorry,” as the light raced towards him. Something slammed into his back, knocking him to the floor. Like a butter-fingered linebacker that fumbled the ball, the Virgin Mary’s head slipped from of his hands. The hardwood floor crashed into Grady’s cheek. He felt his wrists being forced behind his back and heard the metallic click of handcuffs as his watched Mary’s head roll away then wobble to a stop, Her unbearable eyes still staring at him, penetrating deep into his soul. A single tear kissed the floor as a police officer pulled Grady to his knees and then to his feet.

Grady remained mute throughout his arrest, the interrogation and his sentencing. He did not give up his accomplice who managed to escape the church undetected. Grady vaguely heard the judge’s disapproving personal remarks before sentencing him to six months at the Correctional Centre.

On the bus ride to the Correct, Grady sat listlessly in his seat staring out the window, the deep shadows under his eyes underscoring his fatigue.

“Hey bro,” a voice from the kid seated next to him whispered, “what’d they get you for?”

Grady ignored him.

“Hey, I’m talking to you mother fucker,” the voice demanded.

Grady turned and stared unblinking into the other boy’s eyes. A cold silence dropped between them until the boy faltered under the weight of Grady’s penetrating stare and looked away.

Grady turned to look out the window again as the world, and freedom, passed in and out of view. He concentrated on remembering the stories Jimmy told him about what life was like at The Correct.

“Never let them see you sweat, bro” he remembered Jimmy telling him on more than one occasion, “Them bastards can smell fear the minute you step off da bus.” Grady continued to stare vacantly ahead as Jimmy’s voice flooded his memory.

“Don’t matter if you is so fuckin’ scared you think you gonna piss your pants, don’t never show fear. Never back down and don’t ever let nobody take nuttin’ from you. It’s a sign of weakness and them fuckers will eat you alive. Somebody tries to take sumthin’ a yours you beat the living shit out of him right then and there. You gots to man, survival of the fittest and all that shit.”

Grady felt as if really was going to wet himself. Not from fear of the kid sitting next to him, not from the thought of spending the next half a year locked up like an animal. The only thing that scared Grady was closing his eyes at night.

That’s when he saw Her. The memory of Her head as it rolled across the wooden floor. Her penetrating eyes staring deep into his blackened soul.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed silently as tiny droplets of rain ran down the bus window like a thousand scornful tears.

The prison bus rolled to a stop inside the gates of the Cape Breton Correctional Centre and the doors creaked open. Like a group of orange-clad Lemmings, they sauntered out and stood apprehensively along the length of the bus.

Six armed guards, oblivious to the sudden downpour, formed a protective phalanx around the warden as they waited for him to make the customary introduction.

“Welcome to Baby Jail,” the Warden said with a crooked smile. “Some of you might be thinking this place was nicknamed Baby Jail because your time here will be a walk in the park.” He stopped at the first kid and stared at him until the kid’s insides quivered.

“But I assure you,” The Warden continued, “everything you might have heard about this place is a myth.” He stopped at the next kid in line.

“For all you who are too dumb to read a dictionary, a myth means those stories are simply not true. It is because you are dumb and ignorant you think rules don’t apply to you. That you are somehow special, that you are above the law. You’re wrong. Dead wrong.”

The Warden’s voice bellowed in full military swagger.

“You are here today because your mamma’s were too stupid, too drunk or too busy out whoring to teach you right from wrong.” The Warden stopped in front of Grady.

“You are here because society…” the Warden’s speech faltered as he stared into Grady’s darkened eyes. The guard’s shot a questioning glance at each other as they waited for the Warden to resume his performance.

“What’s your name, son?” The Warden asked, veering off the practiced routine. Grady looked past the Warden, staring at nothing.

“The Warden asked you a question!” One of the guards commanded as he stepped forward and drove his nightstick into the back of Grady’s knees. Grady crumpled to the ground but remained mute.

“So you’re the lucky one,” The Warden said, sliding back into his monologue. “There’s always one kid who thinks he’s better than everyone else. Thinks he’s tougher than everyone else. And, just like every smart ass before him, he is going to get a rude awakening.”

“Get up boy,” The guard ordered. Grady stood, still staring ahead. Another crack to the back of his legs dropped him to the ground.

Defiantly, Grady stood up and braced himself for another blow. He fought the urge to vomit when the guard’s nightstick slammed into his abdomen. The other prisoners felt a pang of pity as they watch Grady fall into the mud.

“Get the fuck up you piece of shit!” The guard screamed.

Grady gasped in a mouthful of air and struggled to his feet.

“Let’s try this one more time shall we?” The Warden said as he put out his hand, palm up, waiting for the guard to hand him the night stick.

“What is your name?”

“Grady” He answered in a pained whisper.

“You see,” the Warden said with his crooked smile, “that wasn’t so hard now was it?” Grady’s dark eyes stared ahead.

“One more thing,” the Warden added as he started to walk away from Grady, “When I ask for your name I expect to hear your entire name.”

Fragments of the Warden’s last sentence rang in Grady’s ears as the nightstick slammed into the side of his head. A wash of unconsciousness swept over him.

The Warden looked from one scared face to the other. “Let me remind you, what you witnessed here is nothing. Remember this,” He bellowed, “Jail doesn’t begin when you’re locked in a cell… jail is when that cell door opens tomorrow and we throw you in with the rest of the animals. Sleep tight boys. Welcome to Baby Jail.”

The guards ushered the stunned and scared kids inside.

“What about this one?” One of the guards asked.

“Leave him out in here in the mud for awhile. Maybe all this rain will wash the fight out of him.”

“But Warden, he’ll…”

“I said leave him!” The Warden snapped back. “The kid’s here are long overdue for a lesson on who’s really in charge. So leave him out here as an example of what happens if you cross me.”

The guard looked uneasily at the door.

“Is there a problem Mr. Jones?” The Warden asked.

“No problem, sir. Just wondering who to assign to watch him.”

“That’s easy,” The Warden said with his crooked smile, “You can stay out here and watch him.”

The minutes dragged into an hour before Grady coughed up the coppery flavor of blood and water from his lungs. In a wash of dizziness he attempted to get up. Jones, who was standing in the doorway, stepped out in the rain to help him.

“Don’t touch me,” Grady said, raising his hand.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you boy, just going help you out of the rain.”

“No.” Grady blurted, “don’t touch me, I… I don’t like to be touched.”

“Suit yourself,” Jones said backing off, “but a word of advice: being a hard ass won’t make your time in here any easier.”

Grady laughed as he spit a mouthful of blood into the mud.

“Believe me,” he said looking at the guard, “There are things far worse.”

Grady staggered to his feet and stood unsteadily. He tried to take a step and staggered, Jones grabbed his arm to help steady him. Flashes of the Virgin Mary’s face and her haunting eyes raced through Grady’s mind and then… nothing.”

Grady looked perplexed at Jones for a moment then said in a soft, baritone voice, “Thank you, Mr. Jones. You’re a kind and decent man.”

“How did you know my name?”

Grady did not answer.

“Never mind,” Jones continued, “just watch yourself kid. Its bad enough you pissed off the Warden, but there’s a boat load of wanna-be gangsters in here who need to prove they’re tougher than everyone else. They’ll be looking to knock you off your pedestal.”

“I don’t deserve to be on any kind of a pedestal,” Grady said in his baritone whisper.

“That don’t matter,” Jones said as he led Grady to the door, “your defiance of the Warden will have earned you some respect with most of the inmates, but it also put a target on your head for a few others. Keep your nose clean and your back to the wall and hopefully,” Jones sighed, “You’ll get out of this place unscathed.”

Both he and Grady doubted that was going to happen.

“Hey, Bruno,” Jones said as he unlocked the cell door, “Your new roomy is here.” He looked from Grady than back to the other inmate. “You boys play nice.”

Grady entered the cell carrying his prison issue blanket, laceless shoes and roll of toilet paper. He felt a shudder run down his spine when he heard the loud metallic click of the cell door close behind him. A moment later, he heard Jones’s footsteps fade. Bruno jumped from the top bunk and sized up the boy still standing by the cell door.

“So you’re the bad ass who got his skull crushed by the Warden. That means either you’re a dumb faggot or you think you’re some kinda tough guy. So which is it? You a tough guy or a faggot?”

“I don’t want no trouble,” Grady said as he headed for his bunk.

Bruno stuck out his arm and blocked Grady’s path.

“I guess that makes you a faggot then. The top bunk is mine.”

Grady tried to maneuver to the lower bunk but Bruno stepped in front of him, “Bottom bunk is mine too.”

“Don’t touch me.” Grady ordered.

“Don’t touch me,” Bruno repeated mockingly as he grabbed Grady by the face. Grady closed his eyes but a single tear escaped.

“You’s the one gonna be touching me bitch,” Bruno yelled, “so get down on your knees cry-baby and suck my…”

Before Bruno could finish his sentence, Grady’s large hands grabbed the side of his head in an unbreakable grip.

“Bruno J. Martini,” Grady said in a deep, calm voice. “Seventeen years old, you’ll be eighteen next month. Sentenced to three years, plus a day, for manslaughter. You mugged an eighty year old lady. When you discovered she only had nine dollars and forty-five cents in her purse you kicked her in the head over and over again, then you left her die in the alley behind the Savoy theatre. You live…”

“What the…?” Bruno gasped.

“at 2010 Brookside Street,” Grady continued as if Bruno hadn’t interrupted. “Your father left when you were five, your mother doesn’t visit you. Once you pled guilty she told you she couldn’t bear to look at you. I wonder how she would feel if she knew that little old lady was not the first person you beat to death?”

Bruno moved his mouth in speech but sounds failed to escape his quivering lips.

“I asked you not to touch me,” Grady told him, “but you didn’t listen. Now I know. I know how scared you are, how you feel like you have to prove you’re tough so the other guys don’t rape you in the showers like the boys in Block C do.”

“Who the fuck are you, man?” Bruno cried, his head pounded as if a giant vise was about to obliterate it.

“The hour of atonement has come,” Grady’s deep voice whispered. Fright raced down Bruno’s cheeks in the form of tears.

“It’s time you pay for your sins, as I must pay for mine. Welcome to hell.”

The minutes ticked painfully by before Grady could finally release his grip. Bruno crumpled to the concrete floor, a flood of tears racing down his face.

When the first light of dawn peeked through the tiny, barred window of Grady’s cell, the guards had to carry Bruno out of the cell as he cried profusely like a colicky infant. Grady never saw him after that. Neither did the boys in Block C. Rumor spread that Bruno just snapped and was taken to The Butterscotch Palace, the nickname given to the local psychiatric hospital. Others claimed the big guy from the Bay beat Bruno senseless even though the guys that cleaned the infirmary swore there wasn’t a mark anywhere on Bruno.

Grady entered the cafeteria for breakfast and, following Mr. Jones’s advice, found a spot where he could sit with his back to the wall. As a gang of Sydney boys approached Grady he realized keeping his back to the wall also meant he had nowhere to go.

“Don’t matter if you is so fuckin’ scared you think you gonna piss your pants, don’t never show fear,” Jimmy’s warning sounded in Grady’s head. “Never back down and don’t ever let nobody take nuttin’ from you. It’s a sign of weakness and them fuckers will eat you alive.”

Grady stood up and faced the five Sydney boys.

“What the fuck did you do to Bruno?” One of them asked as he reached down and grabbed Grady’s toast.

“Somebody tries to take sumthin’ a yours you beat the living shit out of him right then and there. You gots to man, survival of the fittest and all that shit.” Jimmy’s voice warned him.

Grady took a slow, deliberate breath, his darkened eyes staring at the thief.

“Same thing I’m gonna do to you if you don’t put my fucking bread back on my plate.”

“Make me,” the thief said. Grady grabbed the plexiglas food tray and summoning all his strength he swung it at the kid’s head. He was unconscious before he hit the floor. Grady continued to swing the tray, connecting with a few while others ducked and ran for safety. By the time the guards raced into the room Grady was sitting quietly in his seat, eating a piece of toast, an unconscious kid lying at his feet.

Grady’s defiance of the Warden, paired with rumors that he was Jimmy the Shank’s homeboy had helped, but the story of Grady using the fallen kid as a foot stool while he nonchalantly ate breakfast had sealed his reputation as somebody you just didn’t fuck with.

For the remainder of his sentence, Grady kept to himself and everyone left him alone.

On the day of his release, Jimmy was there to greet Grady when he stepped off the bus.

“You kept yer mouth shut Grady boy, you’re a good man.”

Grady smiled, glad to see his friend..

“Jesus man, you look like shit. When’s the last time you slept?”

Grady didn’t answer. It didn’t matter since Jimmy was still talking.

“Me and the boys are having a little party in yer honor,” Jimmy told him as he led him through the Queen Elizabeth Park. Jimmy sat on a swing and lit up a joint. “Want a hit?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Grady answered softly.

“What, you too good to get high with yer ol’ buddy?” Jimmy asked, offering the joint.

Grady’s glance fell from Jimmy’s eyes to the hand holding a small joint.

“Maybe later.”

“Fuck later, bro,” Jimmy said as he extended the marijuana, “no time like the present I always say. Here, take a hit. You look like you need it.”

“Later.” Grady answered calmly.

Jimmy jumped off the swing and stepped towards Grady, who quickly took a step backwards.

“What the fuck is eatin’ you? I ain’t gonna bite.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Touch you? What the fuck they do to you in there?” Jimmy said, stepping forward and grabbing his friend by the arm.

A vision of the Holy Mother’s face and her mournful eyes flashed in Grady’s mind, followed by an onslaught of horrid images. Every crime and wrongful act Jimmy had ever committed flooded into Grady’s head like water from a ruptured dam.

“I wish you hadna done that,” Grady whispered in his baritone voice as he wiped a tear from his eye.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I know,” Grady answered flatly.

“What you talkin’ about?”

Grady looked remorsefully at his friend.

“I know what you did. How could you have done those things?”

“Done what, man? What the fuck are you going on about?”

“She was just a little girl.”

Jimmy’s eyes stared unknowingly, “Listen Bro, I don’t know what you heard, but…”

“I know!” Grady shouted as he stepped towards his friend. “I know you raped that little girl! She was only twelve years old you sadistic fuck!”

“W-who told you that?” Jimmy stuttered.

Grady grabbed his friend on either side of the head, “You did. Welcome to hell.”

Jimmy’s back felt shredded as if he was being whipped a thousand times. His hands and feet itched and then burned in agony as he felt the pain of spikes being nailed through them as if he was being crucified. Jimmy The Shank’s mind was flooded with gruesome images as more than two thousand years of pain and suffering from every evil act committed against man and every hurt inflicted on an innocent.

Jimmy experienced it as if was happening to him. In his mind, it was happening to him.

When Grady could finally release him, Jimmy crumbled to the ground, crying violently and babbling incoherently – his body beaten and broken, his mind shattered.

The image of the Holy Mother’s face flashed in Grady’s mind. He saw a tear run down her cheek. His tears echoed Hers. Grady had felt Her pain every time he closed his eyes. For the remainder of his life he knew he had to make every sinner he touched atone for their sins. That was his atonement.

Grady left the park, left Jimmy rolling in pain and mental anguish, and walked to Holy Cross church. The interior of the church had been repainted but through his eyes he could clearly see where Jimmy had once spray painted 666. The broken statue of Mary had been replaced, though Grady could still see the wounds he inflicted.

Her penetrating eyes still stared deep into his blackened soul.

Grady knelt before the Alter and whispered in his soft, baritone voice: “Bless me Father for I have sinned.”