DEATH ROW BLUES
John A. Bertsch, T-03474
Cell 5-EY-17
San Quentin Prison
San Quentin, CA 94974
October 17, 2002
My name is John A. Bertsch, C.D.C. #T-03474, currently
incarcerated here in East Block on California’s Death Row at San Quentin State
Prison.
I am white, 44-years-old, from Sacramento, California,
and have been disowned and forsaken by all family and friends after my conviction
and sentence of death during my capital trial in the year of 2000 in the Superior
Court of Sacramento County.
I had spent 10 years of my life in the Sacramento County
main jail downtown, trying to get to my trial. Law enforcement and the
District Attorney’s Office prosecuting my case had played games over the
years with the evidence.
My case was one of the first DNA cases in the country,
back in 1989, that the F.B.I. worked upon. The F.B.I. had trouble with
their DNA lab and program in 1993, and the evidence was not reliable for court.
The above action by the F.B.I. was documented in the
1998 book by author John F. Kelly called, “Tainting Evidence: Inside
the Scandals At the F.B.I. Crime Lab” (p. 236, n. 6).
During my stay in the county jail awaiting my trial,
I became a jailhouse lawyer. I would help other inmates with their
cases and other legal matters. I came to know some of the country’s
most infamous criminals, like the “Unabomber”; Theodore J. Kaczynski; Hell’s
Angel Otis “Ruck” Garrett, president of the Nomad Chapter in Northern California;
and other notorious characters. We were housed together on “8 West,”
the high max unit of the jail.
On December 29, 2000, I was transported from the Sacramento
County main jail to San Quentin State Prison by the Sacramento County Sheriff’s
Department. The trip from Sacramento to San Quentin lasted about two
hours. I was put into a white transportation van in the basement of
the jail with belly waist chains, hands cuffed to my side, and leg irons on
my feet.
I was the only inmate on the van, for this was a special,
one-way trip to Death Row. There were two sheriff deputies on this detail,
with a chase car on our tail all the way to the prison.
As we left Sacramento on Highway 80 West going over the
Sacramento River, I reminisced of my past life as a free man in the outside
world.
I was born on November 4, 1957, as a bastard in the basement
of my grandmother’s home in Portland, Oregon; and lived most of my life like
an S.O.B.
When I was only a few months old, my mother married and
we moved to Sacramento, California. I had one half-brother and three
half-sisters that I grew up with in Rancho Cordova, ten miles east of Sacramento.
I grew up in a dysfunctional family. Both of my
parents, my mother and step dad, were both alcoholics, and my mother suffered
from the mental illness schizophrenia and was committed to a mental hospital
two times in the early 1970s.
In 1975 my step dad lost the home that we grew up in
due to his drinking. Also in that year, my mom divorced my step dad
and the family separated. To date, both of my parents are dead, and
I have no contact with other family members.
When I was 14-years-old, I started to work to help support
the family. I worked on a ranch fulltime in the summer and part time
the rest of the time. The farm grew sod; grass to landscapers; hay,
of which we harvested into the barn; and almonds, of which I had to irrigate
the orchards. It was hard for a kid, but I made about $200 cash per
week, which was good for a kid.
At the age of 14-years-old, I started to drink beer and
wine and smoke weed with my friends.
I was a very good athlete in high school. I lettered
in football, baseball and track. I was an outstanding football player
for Cordova High in Rancho Cordova in 1974-75. Cordova won the State
football title championship in 1975 and was ranked #3 in the nation.
After graduating from Cordova in 1975, I went on to play
football at a local junior college.
In January of 1976, I joined the U.S. Army for 4 years,
and in April of 1979, I was discharged from the service at Fort Campbell,
Kentucky, the 101st Airborne Division.
After being discharged from the Army, I went back to
Sacrament to live and work. I went to work as a landscaper, installing
sprinkler systems at shopping malls, along the highways, and at large custom
homes.
I was a landscape foreman for several different landscape
companies in Sacramento, from 1980-85, and would be in charge of crews of
up to 20-50 men at one time.
Landscaping large custom homes was the most fun because
you could be very creative in your work. We installed waterfalls, retaining
walls, redwood decks, hot tubs, and other requested projects.
I made good money landscaping, making from $7-$15 an
hour, and with that money, I would party all the time and live like the devil.
Drinking and using drugs was a big part of my life and my final downfall in
life.
In the early 1980s, I became a hardened alcoholic and
drug addict, shooting up meth-speed and heroin. My life was a living
hell, and the devil himself was hot on my trail.
In the fall of 1985, I got into trouble with the law
in Sacramento and went on the run underground.
For the last 17 years of my life, I have been incarcerated
in jails or prisons across the country, of which has been a living hell that
no person should have to endure.
As the van pulled up to the back gate of San Quentin
Prison, I said goodbye for the last time to the free world as the van drove
into the belly of the beast.
The cops delivered me to receiving to be processed into
the California Department of Corrections (C.D.C.) prison system. This
was my first time in a California prison, even though I spent three years
in a Georgia prison from 1987-90 for a manslaughter conviction in Atlanta
in 1987.
During the intake process, the Correctional Officers
(C.O.’s) will strip search you, issue C.D.C. sate prison clothing to you,
fingerprint you, take your photo, fill out paperwork, and issue you your
C.D.C. identification number to you. All you become at this time is
just a number to the state of California.
The above process took about four hours, and it was about
2 p.m. in the afternoon when the goon squad came to take me to my new home,
Death Row, in the Adjustment Center (A.C. Unit), “The Hole” and disciplinary
unit for The Row.
The total population of San Quentin Prison is over 5,600,
with over 600 condemned inmates on The Row. Death Row is located in
three different locations throughout the prison: 1) the A.C. Unit
with a population of about 100 inmates; 2) East Block Unit with about
400 men on The Row; and 3) North Block A.D. SEG Unit with about 70
condemned men, which was the original Death Row and where the execution chamber
is still located to this day.
All new, condemned inmates upon arrival to Death Row
go to the A.C. Unit for one month to be evaluated and go through the classification
process.
San Quentin Prison is over 150-years-old, predating the
Civil War. The prison is an antiquated medieval dungeon of a hellhole,
not fit for man or beast. The prison is located in the northwest bay
by the water, right by the Richmond/San Rafael Bridge on Highway 580.
For more information about San Quentin Prison and Death
Row, you may look on the Internet at www.cdc.state.ca.us/issues/capital/capital.
The A.C. Unit is “The Hole” for the Death Row inmates
of San Quentin. Life is a living hell and war zone inside of the A.C.
Unit. Inmates that attack and assault the guards and other inmates and
staff and that are gang members, shot callers and “5150” “J Cats” that have
lost their minds and have gone crazy, will live inside of the A.C. Unit until
they die.
The A.C. Unit is three tiers high with about 100 single
cells. The cells are small, about 6’x10’ in size. There are bars
on the front of the cells with wire mesh screens that cap the bars.
There are windows in the A.C. Unit, but you can’t see outside because the
windows are painted over with black paint.
We get three meals on The Row per day, two hot and one
bag lunch. The food is bad here, but it is enough to keep you alive.
The C.O.’s serve you your food inside of your cell, and you eat inside of
your cell.
You get to shower three times per week and go outside
to the yard two times per week. The yards for the A.C. Unit are small
“dog runs” inside of a wire cage 8’x12’. One inmate per cage on the
yard. Every time that you move outside of your cell, you are handcuffed
behind your back through the food part.
Inside of the A.C. Unit you are escorted everywhere by
three officers dressed in full riot gear, with vests, helmets, baton, shields,
a c.o. pepper spray at the ready. One wrong move, and the guards will
club you with the baton and spray c.o. pepper spray into your face.
Some inmates have died in the A.C. Unit during cell extractions when the guards
go into an inmate’s cell to bring him out by force, beating and spraying pepper
spray into the cell. The inmate can’t breathe and dies. This
pepper spray affects all inmates on the tier.
For more on the use of pepper spray in the A.C. Unit
and the death of Sammie Marshall on Father’s Day, June 15, 1997, see West
Magazine, May 3, 1998, San Jose Mercury News, “A Death Behind Bars” (cover
page), “The Extraction of a Management Case” (pp. 9-15), by reporter Mike
Weiss, e-mail: mweiss@sjmercury.com.
The weapon of choice by inmates in the A.C. Unit is “gassing,”
the throwing of human waste, urine and excrement upon the guards. This
will get you a fast beating and cell extraction, posthaste, pain or death.
Then it is off to the “strip cell” with you, where you only get your underwear
and one blanket. This is the end of the line on Death Row; this is the
cell of last resort. If the “strip cell” does not break you, the C.O.
guards will find a way to drive you mad and crazy or find a way to kill you.
Over the last ten years here on Death Row, more inmates
have died by the hands of prison guards than by execution by the state.
The movie “The Green Mile” depicts life on Death Row,
which is a cakewalk compared to life inside of the A.C. Unit.
If you stay out of trouble in the A.C. Unit, you are
allowed to have a 19” color T.V. set and Walkman radio with headphones to
help you pass the time. This is part of C.D.C.’s “carrot and stick
project” to keep inmates in line and out of trouble. For the larger
part of inmates on The Row, this project works.
After my one-month stay in the A.C. Unit, I was classified
as “Grade A” and moved to East Block. East Block is as long and wide
as a football field. It is 5 tiers high with 500 single cells.
There are about 400 condemned inmates inside of East
Block. The place is full of antisocial sociopathic killers.
The other inmates inside of East Black are from the main
line, doing their “Hole” time as AD SEG inmates for disciplinarian violations
of C.D.C. rules under Title 15. The majority of these inmates are shot
callers and hardcore gang members for the Aryan Brotherhood, Nazi Low Riders,
Crips, Bloods, Mexican Mafia, Northern Mexicans, Southern Mexicans, and many
other gangs. The other inmates are “5150” “J Cats,” mad and crazy people,
and other disciplinarian problems that the C.O.’s can’t handle in the other
main line units. Most of the AD SEG inmates are very loud and scream
night and day.
All of the loud noise inside of East Block is a constant
form of mental torment for Death Row inmates. East Block is a boiling
cauldron of racial hatred and gang warfare. This is a living hell that
Dante would have liked to write about in his day.
The cells in East Block are very small (4½’x10’).
You can only take five steps while walking inside of your cell, then you must
turn around. I can stand up inside of my cell, stick both arms out
and touch the side of both walls. I have front bars on my cell like
the A.C. Unit, but I have a dirty window that I can look outside and see
the sky.
Here in East Block only one guard will escort you to
and from the shower or yard, unlike the A.C. Unit. This is still a
lockdown high maximum security unit, and you are always under the gun in
East Block, inside or outside of the unit. The gunners walk the catwalks
on the outside wall of East Block and carry rifles, M-14s, along with a .45
caliber sidearm. There are no warning shots fired inside or outside
of East Black. The gunner can shoot to kill at any time. Even
a fistfight with no weapon can get you shot and killed.
You can go to the shower three times per week and outside
to the yard 4-5 times per week inside of East Block.
There are six yards in East Block for the condemned inmates,
with 50-70 men on the yards at one time. The yards are very small (40’x80’),
concrete, with 20 foot high walls with a lot of razor wire and gun towers
to keep you inside the “Big House of Pain by the Bay.”
The gunners on the yard also have the use of non-lethal
weapons to stop fights, such as the block gun and a large water cannon that
shoots pepper spray.
To go to the yard, you must undergo a strip search; walk
out to the yard in your shoes and underwear with your hands cuffed behind
your back. Your other clothing that you will wear out on the yard is
contained in your yard bag that you carry with you. Before you go outside
to the yard, the guards pat you down, wand you for weapons, and put your yard
bag through the X-ray machine. You go through the same process after
yard coming back into the unit, but for the strip search.
The inmates on Death Row in East Block may also go to
the law library and religious services one time per month. You can also
have full contact visits from family and attorneys.
All condemned inmates on Death Row live in single cells.
Condemned prisoners spend a good amount of in-cell time to themselves.
Isolation and sensory deprivation is the name of the game on The Row.
People fight to retain their sanity everyday on Death Row, but some lose the
game and go mad and crazy and become a “J Cat,” and off to the A.C. Unit they
go. After long periods of isolation, some people become psychotic and
start to hear voices and see things, as in schizophrenia.
The medical staff on The Row try to control the “J Cats”
with psychotropic drugs, but they are losing the war with broken minds.
There are too many toys on The Row to fix.
I would estimate that 15-20% of inmates on Death Row
suffer from some form of mental illness. Moreover, I would also state
that 80-90% of inmates on The Row suffered from alcoholism and drug addiction
on the street, and of which had a collateral effect upon the condemned at
the time of their crime that they were convicted of at their capital murder
trial that landed them on Death Row.
It is axiomatic that the breakdown of the family unit,
dysfunctional families, and divorce are the major contributory factors that
lead to juvenile delinquency and the future criminals that will continue to
fill our country’s jails and prisons.
With over 2 million people incarcerated or on parole
currently in our land, it is time for America to get its “moral compass”
back and to reclaim our youth before they go down that wrong and dark path
to death and self-destruction. The Death Rows of our country are a
testament to the state of our neglect to the young people of our land.
America is currently in a war against terrorism after
the September 11, 2001, attacks upon New York City in which over 3,000 people
were killed. Many of our young people will be joining the military to
help fight this war. We, as a nation, need to make certain that our
young people have their “moral compass” as a good foundation to understand
what America is all about and what they are fighting for.
If I would have grown up in a functional family that
was grounded in love for all members of the unit, I do not think that I would
have fallen into the world of alcoholism and drug addiction to kill the pain
of a broken heart.
By the age of 18-years-old, I was a broken toy with no
moral compass, in the U.S. Army with the same mindset as I had: party,
get drunk, get into a fight, and get the girl for a one-night stand.
This was an every weekend event at Fort Campbell, Kentucky,
home of the Screaming Eagles, the 101st Airborne Division. I was in
Charley Company, 1/502nd Battalion. We were grunts in the infantry and
flew around in helicopters and repelled out of the choppers via ropes to
the ground, then we would hump 10-20 miles to our area of operations to follow
our battle orders for the war games.
We were out in the field for weeks at a time conducting
war games, but this did not stop our party animal spirit, for we brought plenty
of booze, fifths of 151 proof rum, meth-speed, black beauties, and weed to
keep us all happy and flying high as a kite.
When we were off duty on the weekends, we would go to
Nashville, Tennessee, 50 miles south of the base, to visit the nightclubs
and strip clubs to hook up with women for the night. All the strippers
and working girls were always glad to see young, horny soldiers from the base
with a pocket full of money.
There was a group of seven men from Charley Company and
we called ourselves: “The Boys.” “The Boys” were from California,
Texas, and New York City. When we traveled to Nashville to party for
the weekend, we would drive around downtown and locate a good hotel and get
three rooms side by side to set up shop. We would then call a taxi and
go down to the main strip where all the action was at. The taxi drivers
in downtown Nashville were a great source of information about underground
activities ongoing in town, and we tipped them well.
Nashville was also a place to make drug and weapons deals
with a group of truckers that we called the “Hillbilly Mob.” The Hillbillies
had the drugs, weed, and meth-speed; and we, “The Boys,” had the weapons.
Some weapons had come up missing from Fort Campbell, and the Army’s “Central
Intelligence Division” (C.I.D.) law enforcement agency was conducting an investigation
of our little gang.
I do not know the outcome of the above stated investigation
by the C.I.D. because I was discharged early from the Army for fighting and
received a “Chapter 10”--a bad conduct discharge--in April of 1979 and moved
and headed back to Sacramento to live and work.
Now I sit in my small cell here on Death Row thinking
of all the good times in my life, all the happy events over the years, and
all the people that were my friends and lovers at one time in the past, for
this is the only thing that I can hold onto to keep sane in an insane place
as Death Row.
Now all family and friends have disowned me and forsaken
me. This is the end of the line. This is the “House of Pain.”
To stay sane, I read and write a lot and watch T.V. I also gain strength
from my faith in God and Jesus Christ.
If any young people are reading this article about life
on Death Row, one word [of advice] that I would give you is: please
play the game of life right, stay off the booze and drugs, stay in school,
listen to your parents, and do not live a life of crime and come here to Death
Row, for this is the big “House of Pain by the Bay,” and you will not like
life here on The Row.
If anyone would like to write and correspond with me
by mail, please feel free to write to me at the following address:
GOD BLESS YOU ALL,
© Copyright 2003 John A. Bertsch
John A. Bertsch
Cell 5-EY-17
San Quentin Prison
San Quentin, CA 94974
U.S.A.
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