A Story of Abuse at Central Prison
My complaint is as follows:
On October 11, 2012 I flooded my cell due to a broken shower that emitted a foul odor and went unprepared for two weeks. The hot water on the sink was also broken and stayed ice cold like the cold water.
Officers Moore, Summerlin, Uretha and Bidwell came to my cell for a cell search. I submitted. I placed my hands through the food slot and was handcuffed behind my back. Officers Moore and Summerlin conducted the search. Officers Uretha and Bidwell stood guard over me on the mezzanine.
After the search, I was placed in the shower. I got dressed. Then I was escorted out to the sergeant’s office. Sergeants Ayers and Oates were present. Officer Moore asked the sergeants, “What cell is he going to?” Both sergeants replied in unison, “CL-201.”
While en route to C-Block, Officer Summmerlin said, “Mr. Williams, why you play me for? I told you I was going to tell the sergeant about the shower. You didn’t have to flood your cell three times. I’m tired of getting water up.” Then Officers Summerlin and Moore said, “It’s too late now. You worked us. Now we’re going to work you.” They said this after I had apologized. In front of C-Block, we all stopped. Officer Summerlin went to the front of the control booth and had a conversation with Officer Bush, to which I wasn’t privy.
Moore and Uretha held onto each of my arms while Officer Bidwell walked to C-Block’s stairwell and stood watch. While I was still handcuffed behind my back, Officers Moore and Uretha threw me to the ground, roughly and without provocation. My wrists were bent painfully as the officers kneed, punched, jabbed fingers into vulnerable spots while taunting me. “You ain’t screaming loud enough.” “You’re not going to flood again, are you?” “If you cause us any more problems it will be a lot worse the next time!” “You like how that feel?” The pain was excruciating in my wrists, groin, ribs, stomach, chest, back of my legs, thighs.
I was experiencing a stark fear from not being able to defend myself. I was hopeless, helpless, demoralized, terrified. And no prisoners were around. My head was jerked around and slammed into the floor. I saw Sgt. Ayers standing outside the sergeants’ office, watching, and called out to her to intervene. She didn’t. I saw the officer in “OC-3″ control booth watching. After the assault, Sgt. Oates walked by me, smiling slyly.
I still jerk awake in fright from nightmares about this malicious, sadistic assault.