Ispovijest poznatog Hrvata koji je 32 godine proveo u američkim zatvorima: Većina prijateljstava nastaje zbog straha ili dosade

Zvonko Bušić vjerovao je kako dobre stvari trebaju biti dostupne svima. Ono za što je živio, radio i vjerovao, za što je podnio žrtvu, objavljeno je u knjizi “Zdravo oko”, koja je dostupna na Amazonu. pod nazivom “All Visible Things”. Poglavlje po poglavlje, kap krvi po kap krvi i život dan po dan objavljujemo svaka dva tjedna u 33 dijela – samo s jednim ciljem! Trajat će!

Ova sjećanja, što je čitatelju već od prvog poglavlja očito, ne iznosim držeći se kronologije, poglavlja su vođena nekom središnjom mišlju oko koje se asocijativno slažu moja životna iskustva tvoreći tako jedan mozaik koji će, nadam se, čitatelju predočiti cjelovitu sliku moga života.

U ovom poglavlju namjeravam napisati nešto o specifičnom zatvoreničkom načinu putovanja velikim američkim prostranstvima. Iz Atlante sam premješten u Lompoc u Kaliforniji, s Atlantika na Pacifik. O uvjetima u Atlantskoj kaznionici već sam pisao.

Julie je izdržavala kaznu u Kaliforniji. Sudac je čak htio i mene i nju poslati u isti zatvor, ali su ga uvjerili da to ne bi bilo dobro, jer bih ja sigurno pobjegao iz takvog zatvora. Onda se rodila ideja da budem upućen u neki zatvor nedaleko od onoga u kojemu je bila Julie. Njezini roditelji uspjeli su razgovarati s upraviteljem svih zatvora Normanom Carlsonom da me premjesti bliže Julie. Koliko je to pomoglo, ne znam, ali činjenica je da sam nepunih mjesec dana nakon toga dobio premještaj u Lompoc, u Kaliforniji.

Tako krećem za Kaliforniju, a meni sučelice sjedi ljudina, on natmuren, ja još mamuran. Pa me pita: „Što to gledaš?“ Ja mu kažem: „Ne gledam!“ On meni: „Gledaš!“, a ja njemu: „Ne gledam!’’. I tako nekoliko puta. Na kraju meni dosadi, već sam se i razbudio, pa pređem u protunapad: „A što ti gledaš mene, a?“ On se tada nasmije pa kaže: „Imaš pravo! Čini mi se da si OK.“

Tako zađemo u razgovor. On mi se predstavi, a ja se, čuvši mu ime, Clyde, sjetim da sam čitao o luđaku koji je terorizirao cijeli Milwaukee, pljačkao banke, trgovine, benzinske crpke, šamarao i zlostavljao ljude. I unatoč svemu, sudac ga je, kada je došlo do sudskog procesa – oslobodio. Pitam ga kako mu je to uspjelo. „Duga priča!“, odgovori mi on. No kako nam samo vremena nije nedostajalo, ispriča mi sve.

Imao je sestru koja je vodila javnu kuću, gdje su navraćali političari, suci i druge ugledne osobe. Clyde je ugradio skrivenu kameru te je snimao klijente znajući da mu to u budućnosti može dobro poslužiti. Zaglavio je kada je prilikom jedne pljačke trgovine ranio dvojicu policajaca, a nekoliko svjedoka ga je prepoznalo. Na samom suđenju u sucu je prepoznao jednog od klijenata u javnoj kući svoje sestre. Sudac je krenuo oštro, no Clyde ga je pljunuo i rekao: „Kučkin sine, što ti meni imaš dijeliti lekcije, a sam si pokvareni perverznjak!“

Odvjetnika je poslao kod sestre s naputkom da kuvertu koju mu ona da odnese sucu i kaže mu da će, ako Clyde bude osuđen, takva kuverta biti upućena na dvadeset novinskih adresa. Sudac ga oslobodi unatoč mnoštvu dokaza protiv njega.

Nakon sučeve nenadane odluke mediji su se raspisali o njegovim visokim načelima i nepokolebljivoj pravičnosti jer je, eto, oslobodio osumnjičenika čija su prava u proceduri bila povrijeđena uslijed policijske prevelike želje da dotičnoga strpaju u zatvor. Clydeu se fućkalo za javni moral i sve ga je to dobro zabavljalo. Međutim, ovaj slučaj ukazuje na visok stupanj perverzije, licemjerja, pa i psihopatoloških poremećaja u redovima takozvanih američkih „stupova društva“.

Pitao sam Clydea kako je ponovo zaglavio u zatvoru i kamo ga odvode. Rekao mi je da je kockao u Las Vegasu, izgubio sav novac pa mu nije preostalo ništa drugo nego da opljačka banku. Sve je dobro isplanirao, no ipak je stvar krenula po zlu. Umjesto da ukrade automobil potreban za pljačku, njemu se činilo jednostavnijim da glumi kupca te kada mu prodavač automobila da automobil da automobil na probnu vožnju, jednostavno pobjegne i obavi pljačku. Međutim, prodavač je, očito nešto sumnjajući, ustrajao da sve vozi s njim. Dobro kad baš hoćeš, pomisli Clyde. Uzme prodavača sa sobom te ga na pustoj cesti skine do gola i istjera iz automobila nadajući se da nitko normalan neće stati potpuno nagom čovjeku na cesti. Na njegovu nesreći, prvi automobil koji je naišao bio je onaj policijske patrole. Tako je Clyde bio uhvaćen upravo za vrijeme pljačke. Sada ga odvode u Nevadu.

Prvi konak na tom putovanju imali smo u gradu Jacksonu, u Mississippiju. Neugledni gradski zatvor u prljavom usputnom gradu, u kojem se ništa posebno nije dogodilo. Putovali smo tako autobusom dugi niz dana. Super osigurani, na nama lanci, noćili bismo u samicama u usputnim zatvorima. Obojica smo iza sebe imali prilično burnu i potpuno različitu prošlost, predjeli kroz koje smo prolazili, barem meni, bili su lijepi i zanimljivi, razgovarali smo i šalili se. Sve u svemu, i to putovanje u lancima u usporedbi sa skučenošću zatvorskog života imalo je nešto od okusa autentične pustolovine.

Preko Alabame stigosmo do Texarkana u Teksasu. Tu nas smjeste u samice, jednu do druge. Pitam stražara da mi da cigaretu, a on ne da. Čuvši naš razgovor, Clyde ga stane uvjeravati da njegovu prijatelju ipak treba dati cigaretu. Ispočetka ljubazno, a zatim sve nervoznije, u stilu: „To je moj prijatelj, budite stoga ljubazni… kučkin sine, daj mu cigaretu… govno jedno, osvetit ću ti se!“ I osvetio se. Pustio je vodu u toaletu i začepio odvod, i sve poplavio. Clyde se uspeo na gornji krevet, iskidao plahte i od njih napravio konopac, na konopac svezao olovku i – peca u prljavoj klozetskoj vodi. Dok stražari čiste, on im ne da da se maknu jer mu plaše ribu. Kako je i napismeno imao da nije baš uračunljiv, ništa mu nisu mogli.

U El Renu, u Oklahomi, proveli smo osam dana. Tu su nas dugo držali svezane pa je Clyde napao stražare iz protesta što mu nisu dali lijek. Kad je došao red na mene da idem na kupanje, stražari su rekli da je za taj dan gotovo iako su bila tek tri sata poslijepodne, a oni rade do četiri. Clyde je i to iskoristio za sukob sa stražarima. Kad mu je stražar donio obrok, neke špagete, on mu ih razmaže po licu govoreći: „Evo, sada se ti tuširaj!“ Stražaru dolazi pojačanje, suzavac, gumeni metci, brutalno prebijanje. Tada se i ja umiješam pitajući: „Tko je kapetan? Ovo je ozbiljna situacija, netko će odgovarati za nasilje nad bolesnim čovjekom! On je neuračunljiv, nije dobio svoj lijek, i to vašom krivnjom, a sada ga još i fizički zlostavljate. Netko će zbog ovoga nastradati!“

Nakon toga su se stražari povukli, a nas dvojica smo se zbližili u ljudskom smisli, koliko god kao osobe bili različiti. U El Pasu su nas stavili u istu ćeliju. On mi se povjeri da namjerava pobjeći. Kako je bio težak čovjek, uvjerio je psihologa da mu se odobre kukice kojima se povezivala oprega za okvir kreveta, jer se boji da će propasti na donji krevet zajedno s oprugom. Kukice je umotao u toalet papir i progutao, nadao se da će ga odvesti u zatvorsku bolnicu odakle će relativno lako pobjeći. Odveli su ga, ali prozreli njegovu namjeru. Vodili su ga na rendgen i kada su vidjeli što mu je u želucu, svezali su ga za krevet, a dva su stražara cijelo vrijeme bila uz njega, sve dok progutano nije izbacio kroz probavni trakt. Ukratko, plan mu nije uspio. Kada ga je psiholog upitao zašto je to učinio, on mu je odgovorio: „Slabo nas hranite! U hrani koju nam dajete nedostaje željeza.“

Upravo tada mi je Julie javila da je Bruno ubijen u Parizu, ispunilo se ono proročanstvo bugarske gatare. Do naše je ćelije došetao jedan viši časnik i naredio mi da pospremim krevet. Inače bio je homoseksualac koji je volio gledati zatvorenike. Bio sam umoran i izmučen u šest sati ujutro, a on bi, bolesnik, gledao kako pospremam krevet! Odbrusim mu i nastavim ležati. Kad evo njega u jedanaest sati ponovno, sada traži da dignem neki sandučić, ja ga opet odbijem uz obrazloženje da je sandučić tu bio i prije. Clyde se ponudi da će on to učiniti, časnik međutim ne želi pristati, nego ustraje da ja to učinim. Poslije podne dolazi opet, ovaj put s kapetanom, opet gnjave s tim sandučićem, a ja ih, izmrcvaren i shrvan viješću o Bruninoj smrti, opsujem. Vezali su me u lance i bacili u samicu!

Tijekom cijelog putovanja Clyde je bio na ratnoj nozi sa šefom autobusa kojim smo putovali. Cijelo ga je vrijeme provocirao, prijetio mu i radio mu razne psine, tako da vjerujem da je tom zatvorskom časniku to putovanje bilo jedno od težih u životu. Osvetio nam se tako što nas je prokazao stražarima u zatvoru u Kaliforniji gdje su nas dopremili. Iako u tom zatvoru služe lakši zatvorenici, nas je zbog cinkanja dočekao strog režim. Clyde je jednom prilikom čašom vruće vode zalio stražara koji mu se zamjerio. Ovaj mu se osveti tako da ga zalije cijelom kantom vrele vode. A Clyde, poput junaka iz jedne Raosove priče, nikome nije ostajao dužan. Nabavio je šibicete je, zagrijavajući plastiku četkice za zube u nju utisnuo žilete i napravio improvizirani nožić.

Zamolio je stražara da ga pusti na tuširanje, prišuljao se do ovoga koji ga je bio zalio vodom i s nožićem navali na njega. Izrezao ga je, slomio mu ruku i nanio niz drugih ozljeda. Poslije toga bacili su nas u zatvor u Los Angelesu. Kada se stražar vratio iz bolnice pitao je Clydea zašto ga je napao. Utvrdilo se da je zapravo napao pogrešnoga čovjeka! Clydeu je bilo toliko žao da je plakao kao dijete. Bilo je čudno gledati tog neukrotivog gorostasa kako plače. To je ujedno bila i naša posljednja zajednička postaja na tom neobičnom putu.

Ni ti dani nisu protekli bez Clydeovih nepodopština. Tako je, primjerice, poplavio cijeli kat iz protesta što su nas smjestili na različite katove. Prije nastavka putovanja obećao je maršalima da im neće stvarati probleme tijekom daljeg putovanja u Nevadu, ako mu dopuste da se oprosti s Bušićem. Znajući njegovu inatljivu narav, maršali su ga pustili da se dođe pozdraviti sa mnom.

Rekao mi je, za njega neobično svečanim tonom, sljedeće: „Više se nećemo vidjeti, ali bilo je lijepo s tobom putovati“. Bio je gangster, pljačkaš, nasilnik i čovjek lak na obaraču, no imao je u sebi jednu izraženu ljudsku žicu, svoje pomalo nestandardno shvaćanje časti, prijateljstva i odanosti. Uz to bio je na svoj način vragolasta i duhovita osoba, i vrlo hrabar. Za svoje grijehe, kao i svi mi, račune će polagati Bogu, država je svoje ionako od njega naplatila, no meni će ostati u lijepoj uspomeni kao jedna od plemenitijih „zvijeri“ s kojima sam se susretao u „zatvorskoj džungli“.

Inače zatvorska prijateljstva su dosta hazardna, jer koliko god prijatelj prijatelju može u nuždi puno pomoći, isto tako čovjek može i svoj vlastiti život izgubiti ako odlučno stane na stranu otkrivena cinkaroša, ili u zaštitu nepažljiva i neodgovorna prijatelja. Tu je, također, stalno prisutna mogućnost da jedan od njih bude iznenadno premješten ili otpušten, a kad se to dogodi, onaj drugi je obično tužan i izgubljen sve dok ne ostvari novo prijateljstvo. To je uglavnom stoga što većina zatvorskih prijateljstava nastaje zbog straha i zbog dosade, čovjek se osjeća sigurnije kada ima nekakvo društvo, jer su, posebno u strožim zatvorima, ljudima strah i samoća najveći neprijatelji.

Kad bi mi pošlo za rukom moje zatvorske prijatelje pojedinačno izmjeriti na nekoj psihološkoj vagi, uvjeren sam da bi svi oni, pored duhovne živosti i veće naobrazbe, pokazali barem još jednu zajedničku crtu, svi su po prirodi vukovi – samci. Možda je ta njihova karakteristika za me bila najvažnija, jer mi je intuicija govorila da će takvi ljudi moju veliku potrebu za samoćom ne samo lako razumjeti, nego i poštovati. Što se tjelesnoga osiguranja tiče, mi smo po svim strogim saveznim zatvorima i pojedinačno imali vrlo dobru reputaciju, i mogli smo kad je god to ustrebalo na brzinu formirati svoj čopor i tako obeshrabriti bilo kakvu bandu siledžija.

Zvonko Bušić

EN

Zvonko believed that good things should be shared with everyone. What he lived, worked for and believed in, what he sacrificed for, is presented in his book “All Visible Things”, which is available on Amazon. Chapter by chapter, drop of blood by drop of blood, and life day by day in 33 parts – with only one goal! He will live on…

From the Atlantic to the Pacific

These memoirs, as the reader can see from the first chapter on, are not presented in any chronological order. The chapters are led by some central thoughts around which my life experiences are woven, creating a kind of mosaic, which, I hope, will provide the reader with a complete picture of my life. In this chapter, I intend to write about the specific way prisoners are transported throughout the wide American expanse.

After Atlanta, I was transferred to Lompoc, California, traversing from the Atlantic to the Pacific. I have already written about conditions in the Atlanta federal prison. Julie was serving her sentence in California. The judge had wanted to send her and me to the same prison, but he was persuaded this was not a good idea, since I would probably escape from the lower security facility. Then the idea was born that I would be sent to a prison not far from Julie. Her parents had succeeded in speaking to the director of the Bureau of Prisons, Norman Carlson, to encourage him to transfer me closer to Julie. I do not know how much that helped, but the fact was that, only a month later, I was given a transfer to Lompoc, California.

So I left for California. Seated next to me was a big gloomy man. I was still half asleep. Then he asks me, “Why are you looking at me?” I answered, “I’m not.” He said, “Yes, you are!” I said, “No, I’m not!” We went back and forth until I got tired of the game. I was fully awake now and launched a counterattack. “Why are you looking at me? If you weren’t, you wouldn’t know if I was looking at you!” Then he smiled and said, “You’re right. You seem OK.” We started talking. He introduced himself and when I heard his name, Clyde, I remembered reading about some lunatic that had been terrorizing Milwaukie, robbing banks, stores, gas stations, slapping and abusing people… In spite of all this, when he went to court for these crimes, the judge freed him. I asked him how he succeeded in being acquitted. “Long story,” he answered. Since we had plenty of time on our hands, he told me everything.

He had a sister who ran a bordello frequented by politicians, judges, and other “big shots”. Clyde installed a hidden camera there and recorded the clients, knowing it could be of benefit to him in the future. During one of his robberies, he got into a big jam; he had wounded two policemen and several of the witnesses had identified him. When his trial began, he immediately recognized one of his sister’s clients: the judge. The judge started out aggressively, but Clyde spit on him and said, “You son of a bitch, don’t give me a lecture; you’re a rotten pervert!” He had sent his attorney to his sister with instructions to bring an envelope to the judge and tell him that if Clyde were convicted, another identical envelope would be delivered to twenty newspapers. The judge freed him in spite of the overwhelming evidence against him.

The judge’s perversion was more bizarre than disgusting. He would come to the bordello with bags of succulent fruits and have the girls take off their clothes and stomp on them with high heels while he masturbated. This would all take place without any physical contact whatsoever. It was all very strange to the girls, but it did not bother them. The owner of the bordello was angry, however, because after his visits, she had to pay to have the room cleaned. His sister complained about it once to Clyde, and that is how he came to notice that the judge was one of the many customers.

After the judge’s unexpected decision, the media praised him for his high principles and flawless sense of justice for having freed a suspect whose rights had been violated by policemen too anxious to have him locked up. Clyde did not care at all for public morality; he was just amused by it all. But this case illustrates the high degree of perversion, hypocrisy, and even psychopathic disorders within the ranks of the so-called “pillars of society.” At around the same time, another truly disgusting case came to light involving a judge who had a pump beneath his robes with which he would masturbate when he delivered the most extreme sentences, such as life imprisonment or death.

I asked Clyde how he had ended up in prison again and where they were taking him. He said he had been gambling in Las Vegas, lost all his money, and had no other choice but to rob another bank. He’d planned everything well, but still things went wrong. Instead of stealing a car to use for the robbery, he thought it would be easier to pose as a potential buyer to a car dealer and ask to take a car out for a test drive, after which he would drive off and do the robbery. But the car dealer, suspecting something was amiss, insisted on driving with him. If that’s the way you want it, Clyde thought. He took the car dealer with him, drove out to a deserted road, made him strip naked, and left him there, assuming nobody in his right mind would stop to help a strange, naked man. But to his dismay, the first car that passed by happened to be a police car, so Clyde was arrested while the robbery was still in progress. He was now on his way to Nevada.

We took our first break in Jackson, Mississippi. It was an unattractive city jail in a dirty transit town in which nothing special ever happened. We traveled for days like this. Under tight security, in chains, we would spend nights in single cells in these transit lockups. Each of us had quite stormy and very different histories behind us. The scenery we passed was, at least to me, pretty and interesting. As we rode, we talked and joked around. All in all, even this traveling in chains was a kind of authentic adventure compared to the restrictiveness of prison life.

We passed through Alabama and arrived in Texarkana, Texas. Here we were put in single cells next to one another. I asked a guard for a cigarette, but he refused. Hearing our conversation, Clyde tries to persuade him to give his friend a cigarette. Nicely at first, and then more and more nervous, “This is my friend, so be nice….” followed by “You son of a bitch, give him a cigarette…” to “You piece of shit, I’ll get even with you!” And he did. He turned on the water in the bathroom, plugged up the drains, and everything flooded. Clyde climbed up on the upper bunk, ripped up the sheets and made a kind of rope from them; then he attached a pen to the end and began to “fish” in the dirty septic water. While the guards cleaned up the mess, he told them to move because they were scaring the fish. Seeing as his paperwork said that he was mentally incompetent, there was nothing they could do to him.

We then spent eight days in El Reno, Oklahoma. They kept us chained for a long time here because Clyde had attacked a guard in protest for not giving him his medication. When my time came to take a shower, the guard said showers were over for the day, even though it was only three p.m. and they worked until four. Clyde used this also to provoke a conflict with the guards. When the guard brought his meal, spaghetti, he smeared it all over his face, saying, “Now YOU better go take a shower!” Backup for the guard arrived: tear gas, rubber bullets, and then a brutal beating for Clyde. At that point, I got involved. “Who is the Captain? This is a serious situation and someone will answer for beating a sick man! He is mentally incompetent, did not get his medication, which is your fault, and now you are physically abusing him. Someone’s going to get in a lot of trouble!” The guards then retreated. The two of us became even closer after that, in spite of how different we were as individuals.

In El Paso, they put us in the same cell. He confided in me that he intended to escape. Since he was a large man, he convinced the psychologist to approve some hooks he could attach to the bedsprings, since he was afraid he could fall down onto the lower bunk. He then wrapped the hooks in toilet paper and swallowed them, hoping they would take him to the prison hospital, from where he could escape relatively easily. They took him to be x-rayed and when they saw what was in his stomach, they tied him to the bed and two guards watched over him the whole time until the hooks passed out of his digestive system. In short, his plan failed. When the psychologist asked him why he had done it, he answered, “We’re not fed well enough here. Our diet lacks iron!”

Just at that time, Julie got the message to me that Bruno had been murdered in Paris; the prophesy of the Bulgarian fortune-teller had been fulfilled. A higher ranking prison guard, otherwise a homosexual that enjoyed peeping on the prisoners, came over to our cell and ordered me to make the bed. I was tired and exhausted – it was six in the morning – but this sadistic person insisted on watching me make my bed. I ignored him and continued lying in my bed. At 11:00, he was back again, telling me to move a locker. I refused again, saying that the locker had been there already. Clyde offered to do it instead, but the guard would not accept that; he insisted I do it myself. A little later, he came back again, this time with an even higher officer, still insisting I move the locker. I was devastated and shattered by the news of Bruno’s death, and this time, I cussed them out. They chained me and threw me in an isolation cell.

Throughout our entire trip, Clyde was on the warpath with the supervisor of the bus we were traveling in. He provoked him the whole time, threatened, and played various pranks on him. I am sure this trip was one of the hardest he had ever taken in his life. He got his revenge by denouncing us to the guards in the California prison they had hauled us to. Although this was a medium-security prison, we had a stricter regime due to this denunciation. Clyde threw a glass of hot water one time at a guard who had made him angry. The guard took revenge by throwing a whole bucket of boiling water on Clyde. But Clyde, like a protagonist from one of Raos’ stories got his revenge. (Note: Ivan Raos, 1921-1987, Croatian dramatist and poet, wrote extensively on the Croatian cause.)

He got hold of some matches and melted the plastic of a toothbrush enough to be able to press a razor blade into it, creating a makeshift knife. Then he asked the guard to let him take a shower, snuck up on the guard who had poured the water on him, and attacked him with the knife. He stabbed him, broke his arm, and did all sorts of other damage to him.

After that, they put us in a jail in Los Angeles. When the guard returned from the hospital, he asked Clyde why he had attacked him. It turned out that he had attacked the wrong person! Clyde felt so bad he cried like a baby. It was strange watching this incorrigible giant cry. This was our last station on this unusual journey. But even those last days did not pass without Clyde’s pranks. For instance, he flooded his entire cellblock in protest that they had put us on different floors.

Before the continuation of the trip, he promised the marshals he would not cause any more trouble on the way to Nevada if they would only allow him to say goodbye to me. Aware of his spiteful nature, the marshals allowed him to come to say his farewells. He told me in a formal tone that was very unusual for him, “We shall never see each other again, but it was wonderful traveling with you.”

He was a gangster, robber, violent man, and quick on the trigger, but he had a very highly developed human chord, a somewhat different sense of honor, friendship, and loyalty. Along with that went his devilish, humorous and courageous side. He will settle accounts with God for his sins, as we all will, while the state had already taken its cut. But Clyde remains for me one of the more noble “savages” I have met in the “prison jungle.”

Prison friendships are in general hazardous, because although you are in the position to help a friend in time of trouble, you can also lose your life by taking the side of an exposed snitch or protecting a reckless or irresponsible friend. And there is always the possibility that a friend will be suddenly transferred or released, and when that happens, all those who care for him are saddened and feel totally lost until a new friendship can be formed. This is why most prison friendships come into being through fear or boredom; a person feels safer having some kind of group, because especially in high security prisons, fear and loneliness are one’s greatest enemies.

If I were capable of weighing each of my prison friends on some kind of psychological scale, I am convinced that, in addition to their spiritual energy and higher level of erudition, they would all have another quality in common:they were by nature lone wolves. That characteristic was perhaps the most important for me, because intuition told me that such people would not only easily understand but respect my need for solitude. As far as physical safety was concerned, all of us had good individual reputations in these high security prisons, and were able at short notice to form a “pack” when needed to head off any aggressors.

Zvonko Bušić

Ključne riječi #Bruno Bušić #Julienne Bušić #Zvonko Bušić