On sunsets, monsoons, prison, "the hole"- 1978 or so

For the next two years, I become intimately familiar with doing hole time for infractions of one kind or another. One particular point of contention came up repeatedly. That was about sunsets – or rather, being deprived of them. Sunsets were something precious, a big deal to me. Having lived in Arizona most of my life, during the monsoon season of the year, I had been privileged to witness the most exquisite on the planet; they took my breath away. It was rough losing those completely natural, free displays of magnificence, and my defiance on this issue resulted in my being sent to the hole three or four times. Officers Hatton or Valenzuela would announce across the yard on a megaphone “YARD CLOSED!!!!!” On more than one occasion, I resisted and declared, “No, and I’m not going in.” At this, the officers radioed for recruits and four- pointed me; in other words, I was tackled by four officers, who secured both my arms and legs, then dragged me to the hole. I was left there for fifteen days each time, punishment for refusing a direct order.