Copperheads of Ouachita

There were several large gangs within the prison, consisting of separate demographics that very rarely dared to venture outside the boundaries of their territory. The yard of this large southeastern penitentiary called Ouachita, after a local Indian tribe, was split into islands, as if sojourning into an unusual section would render an immediate trip to the electric chair that already awaited so many. Hundreds of rapists, robbers, and thieves all in a yard little more than half the size of a football field. The guards' apathy toward the gangs and violence was not from lack of honor, as many times they would interject into mass brawls that would leave several inmates dead, but from the realization that all their efforts to rehabilitate these masses were futile.
One man who was an outlier within this prison was a quiet, rough looking man by the name of Joe Marciano. From the time he initiated his sentence at Ouachita it seemed as if he did all of the wrong things in this place. Namely, attempting to actually be rehabilitated. He had yet to fight or be sent to solitary, and would likely be out in a year, previously serving two. He was sentenced because he had been tangled in a web of money laundering and fraud in a corrupt business, trying to make some extra money so his children and wife would not have to continue to live in squalor. Joe served as the scapegoat in this mess, while most of the affluent, high class men bought their way to freedom so they could go on using expendables such as Joe for their schemes, turning their already great fortunes into greater ones, with the bottom rung peasants scratching for a few extra dollars to keep their water from being shut off.
All Joe’s life he had been the victim of men with greater sway than him. But now, a new threat was about to impose itself upon Joe in a different form, the likes of which he had never seen.
Prior, the gangs of separate races were mentioned, and naturally, if Joe did not want be indefinitely killed, he would have to join the gang of white supremacists. In truth, not many of them were white supremacists, but forced to conform with the law of the land, which in this case was either join your particular gang or soon be killed, forcing these men to view the black clan as evil. The white gang had smaller pockets of more polarized hatred, some more violent than others. Such as the Copperheads, a small but volatile group that consisted of generally killers, several of which should have been committed to maximum security insane asylums. One of the Copperheads, an imposing force of a man named Billy Sampson, controlled every one and thing within the White Supremacists. He was in for the malicious murder of his wife and child, sentenced to death, but appealed and received a double life sentence. He stood at 6 feet 4 inches and weighed close to 260 pounds of muscle. Normally child murderers such as this would be killed days after setting foot on Ouachita, but not a soul dared cross Billy Sampson. He had stabbed many men in his time at Ouachita, killing four. It was just recently that it had came to his attention a man they say was named Joe Marciano was unaffiliated with his gang or any of their wretched allies. This did not sit well with Billy.
Joe was not an imposing force like Billy, and at 5 foot 8, he went unnoticed while in prison. He often would stand on the edge of the fence separating him from the outside world, looking out toward the woods beyond the large field of tall grass. He would stand in the dirt of this yard looking out, hoping that he could get out and see his family once again. He desperately wished they would not think themselves better off without him, though in the back off his mind he knew this to be true.
This is where Lane Thomas and Jim Clayton found Joe on this sweltering summer day. Gazing into the field that would put his mind at ease. Thomas moved forcefully toward Joe, Joe completely oblivious to the men approaching. Thomas stopped a few yards away from Joe and shouted, “ Joe Marciano!”
Joe turned and noticed these men looking at him with a great hatred in their eyes. The entire group of men to their left were watching with intent. “ Come here!” Thomas said. Joe hesitated not quite sure of what business they had with him.
“Now asshole!” Clayton shouted to him. Joe began to slowly creep toward them. “Can I help you ?” Joe said in his deep, quiet tone. “What do you think you’re doing?” Clayton asked.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Joe replied. Thomas shot back, “ You know what I’m saying, why the hell aren’t you going with Billy Sampson’s men?” Thomas scoffed. “I’ve just never concerned myself with the gangs around here.” Joe’s senses began to sharpen, he could tell from their agitated looks that was not the answer they were looking for.
“Well listen up, even if you don’t concern yourself with gangs around here, you know who Billy Sampson is, and you better know what he does to punks who think they‘re too good to run with him.” Joe began to realize exactly the intent of these men.
“So, you think you’re too special, or do think you should be smart and stick with the Copperheads.” Joe had never harbored hatred of another race, and he knew all the time the Copperheads were attacking the black gangs in vicious beatings that would leave several dead. However, he also remembered Kevin Jamison, a man who called Billy Sampson a child killer. The guards found him in his room with his skull shattered. Some of the Copperheads put his head under a bed-post and jumped on it till his brains splattered on the cold concrete.
“And I assume you know what he told us to do if you were giving us trouble.” Thomas whispered to him while he noticed an object being taken out of Clayton’s pocket. His heart started to pound in his chest while his knee’s began to quiver. Thomas smiled at him in an intimidating manner, knowing Joe was now their’s to command. Suddenly, Joe felt a surge come over him. It was pure anger. Anger that he knew men like this were always going to push around whoever they pleased. Thomas put his arm around Joe’s shoulder.
“Come on.” he said to Joe. Joe did not move. Thomas began to move away but stopped when he noticed Joe remaining stationary. Thomas looked back at him wild eyed and infuriated. This man is trying to defy him? Thomas then grabbed Joe’s shirt by the shoulder and forcefully yanked, but Joe resisted. Joe shoved Thomas and stepped back prepared to fight with every ounce of anger and fury built up from the years of victimization he had incurred. The Yard erupted in frantic shouts as they surrounded the scene of the scuffle. Clayton held his shank an arms distance from Joe, waiting for the time to strike. Suddenly, Thomas lunged forward with a wild haymaker intent on dropping Joe. Joe was an intelligent man, and while not big, still powerful. He leaned back allowing the strike to go harmlessly past his face, and countered with a hard cross that landed flush on the chin of Thomas. Thomas staggered and dropped to the ground. Joe now turned to face the more troublesome opponent. Clayton stood, now appearing to be slightly worried. Joe remained in fighting stance waiting for Clayton to make a move. The Black gang now stared with intent at the fight, their leader, Marcus Conley, sitting cool, arms crossed, atop the steps while the rest of the inmates retrogressed to spectators of the coliseum.
Sampson began to move toward the action, thundering across the yard, shoving all those in his way to the side. At this moment Clayton lunged at Joe with his knife hand, aiming straight for Joe’s throat. Joe recognized all the indicators of the strike well before the actual lunge, and acted accordingly. He leaned to his left and allowed the knife to slip past his head. As Clayton began to retract his arm, Joe grasped his arm at he wrist and thrust his knee into Clayton’s groin. He snatched the knife from Clayton’s hand as he crumpled to the ground. Joe stood upright and unscathed as the crowd now fell silent. They now knew the fate of Joe Marciano was sealed. Guards began to converge on the scene to break up the action. Joe would be sent to solitary for the night and back into the yard tomorrow, where this time no half-wit lemmings like Lane Thomas or Jim Clayton would handle Sampson’s business. This time, Billy Sampson would handle Joe personally. As the guards moved Joe through the crowd, he brushed past Sampson. “You’re fucking gone.” He ached out with the raw, grizzly tone of one who had lost all concept of humanity from a time long ago. Joe was taken to solitary, a dark, musky room with no sink or bed, just a hole for excretion. That night, Joe slept better than he had in years.
The next day the inmates were in the respective regions in the yard, more quiet than normal, anticipating the imminent slaughter at the hands of Billy Sampson. The heavy steel doors to the yard swung open, Joe emerging, completely prepared for whatever awaited him.
He made no attempts to stroll off to the side and avoid the confrontation that awaited him, he boldly walked right to Billy Sampson, maneuvering through the mass before him, and coming to a stop. The soft whispers of the crowd fell to little more than the buzzing of insects and chirping of the crickets.
For a moment, none spoke. Every soul stood to see who would make the first move, who would utter the first word. Then, Billy Sampson said, “So you’ve came here to beg that I won’t kill you, if I’m right.”.
“No” Joe retorted. “ I came here to tell you that I won’t kneel before men like you. No longer I am going to allow myself to be the victim of men like you, men that haven’t the slightest bit of compassion for those less than you. And I don’t care if you and your crew rips my guts all over this yard right now, I will die knowing that I at least one time fought back.”
Silence hung heavy over the yard once more. The magnitude of what had just been spoken was beyond anything ever witnessed at this prison. Moments later, Billy said,
“Yeah, you might fight back, but men like me will always run little shits like you. And now, we’re fucking kill you.” Suddenly, a man emerged next to Joe, starring at Billy.
“You can kill me too, you fucking animal.” Billy was on the brink of eruption hearing that, and screamed, “I’ll Fucking Kill All Of You!” The men in the yard did not seem deterred now as more filed in to Joe’s side, aligning themselves with the one man who had shown them justice in years.
Then, an act more profound than all the others occurred. Marcus Conley walked up to Joe’s flank, and said, “I will not allow you to kill this great man, after showing us how low you are, how cowardly you are you son-of-a-bitch.”. “He’s right, men like you, one day or another, will get what they have coming to them.” And just like that, in an instant the yard was no longer a pit of segregation and hate. Blacks were standing among whites, all unified behind Joe Marciano.
“I and all of my men will come down on you to defend this man, the days of hate are over.” Billy stood dumbfounded as his 14 Copperheads now were outmatched against 300 men in an act of defiance never before witnessed.
Billy lowered his shoulders, pocketed his shank, and said, “This aint over.” To which Joe replied, “You’re right, you will be dealt with someday. And all the lives you‘ve destroyed will be avenged. It‘s sure as hell not over.” The copperheads turned and walked to the tables behind, not uttering a word.
Joe turned to Marcus and said, “Thanks for the help.” Marcus looked at him confused, and replied, “Joe, today you showed me that there is good to be found in even the most terrible places, don’t thank me for anything.”
It was never the same after that. The yard was no longer a breeding ground of prejudiced hate and segregation, now every man moved about freely among the men, regardless off the color off his skin. Joe Marciano showed the broken men of Ouachita that hope and goodness can save any man, and no man needs to buckle to the floor in front of men like Billy Sampson. The Copperheads remained, but never again dared to instigate a confrontation with Joe Marciano, the man who unified Ouachita prison.