From Kola Nuts to Kolaches: A Texas Prison Guard’s Tale

By

The Living Breathing James Brown

The echoes of clanging cell doors reverberated through the prison corridors, a sound that remained unchanged from 1978 to 2019. However, the shifting faces behind those bars and the evolution of uniforms painted a picture of transformation within the Texas prison system. My journey as a Texas prison guard began amidst the watchful eyes of the Czechoslovakian veterans, weathered by the scars of war. Their language, spoken in hushed tones of a distant past, created an aura of mystery. Court proceedings conducted in Czech seemed like a relic, a reminder of a time when the prison housed German POWs, the very reason these veterans were stationed here.

The 1940s brought a different time for America and right here in Texas. Everyone living on active Ration Books which allowed a person to buy certain things if you had enough Stamps like those stamps needed to buy a tire for your truck or car.

Even children toys were made of cheap materials success glass during WW-II

Everyone rationing to send all We could to Our Boys fighting Overseas. A Proud and Desperate time for America and our Allies, yet everyone pulled together with blood, sweat, and caring for each other. This War like Vietnam and WW-I must never be forgotten or ignored. Certain Veterans gave, Some gave All.

As years passed, the crisp uniforms of the Czech guards faded into memory, making way for a more contemporary look that mirrored the changing demographics of Texas. Then, in 2019, on the cusp of my retirement, a new wave of guards arrived – Nigerians. Their vigor and dedication were palpable, carrying with them

aroma of kolaches the Czechs used to share during breaks.

The transition was not seamless. The old guard, myself included, grappled with a sense of displacement in the face of the unfamiliar. Even the bringing women to work alongside all of us didn’t go without a bunch of hiccups and only the toughest gals could do the work.

But the Nigerians, their humor, slang, and approach to handling situations felt like a foreign language. Misunderstandings and conflicts emerged, casting shadows of doubt. Yet, amidst the discord, a subtle bridge began to form. A trust emerged. We delved into their Eid celebrations, a vibrant display of colors and communal meals, while they expressed curiosity about the dwindling Czech traditions cherished by the remaining veterans. It was a true changing of the Old Guard for a New Guard.

And at Some Units, disruptions did take place and White Prison Guards often heard Offenders ask them-Hey Boss, do you know how to spell

C H O C O L A T E? (which was a reference to the very dark skin complexion of the Nigerians-they were a new Black) A brother of a different Color as it is and just fine to me. But very black. For me, I didn’t care. Two black men had lived with us in our home in Sweetwater, Texas as part of a Test Program for the American Government in American Agriculture.

Moodi Gold was from Nigeria and Mike Maluki was from Kenya. And yes, they were dark, but very good people and I wished every America had the unique opportunity that we had with our being Ambassadors for America.

And sure, it had its hiccups because

R A C I S M

was very powerful and an evil Mojo in Texas in early 1970s. But even my father had to talk to our Church Congregation as No W H I T E person sat on the side we sat on with our African Guests. But after his blistering Talk of Fiery Damnation upon Christian Values that our own Congregation failed to Apply like love for your fellow man was very fake and just words.

But the next Sunday, everyone was on the same page and Church looked regular like always except for our Guest and he picked on me when I drove and My father would say Home James. And our black wonderful guest would laugh out so very, very loud because for him, in Kenya, Home James was what was said to the family chauffeur, the lowest spot for a son who worked for his father as his driver.

Lol. But let me continue-

One unforgettable moment unfolded during a tense lockdown when a young Nigerian guard named Emeka unveiled a treasured book of folktales. With a beaming smile that could thaw even the coldest hearts, he translated stories for the restless inmates, merging their diverse languages into a temporary harmony of understanding. This simple gesture spoke volumes about the magnifying power of shared humanity in the most unlikely of settings. But not everyone can fearlessly speak to Offenders when the Kettle is about to boil over. Talking to 64 Offenders in a tight fit room by yourself can be intimidating. Not everyone has it in them to do that. Being a Texas Prison Guard is a very Thankless hard to do Job.

Stepping out for the final time, my gaze didn’t merely skim the physical walls of the prison, but instead, beheld

a mosaic of Texas itself – a tapestry woven with threads of various cultures, all united by a common duty to uphold order. The changing of the guards transcended not mere personnel shifts; it symbolized the profound metamorphosis of justice and the timeless resilience of the human spirit seeking connection, even amidst the shadows cast by prison walls.

And I’m sure the knuckleheads in Austin, Texas

will simply say-We’ll get more Nigerians-whenever the number of Texas Guards falls below a critical number. And what is that Number?

I never knew what that Number was even as I walked out for the last time from a Texas Prison.. I always wondered what it was. But I know it’s got to be Close Today.

Now, I did my part in keeping Texas Safe from Offenders and Offenders Safe inside the Texas Prisons-so, if you would, read my books-

And when these books take to the Screens, who would you like to see play JeanPaul, the Panther? If you got a great person in mind, send a message over to Tyler. Must be very likable and athletic.

Enjoy your Holidays-