Jeffrey McKee is an accomplished Prison Journalist and dear friend. I was allowed the tremendous privilege of naming Groot; I can’t wait for you to “meet him,” and I hope you love Groot’s origin story as much as I do. -Rita
Republished with permission of the Prison Journalism Project.
The weight deck at the Washington State Penitentiary is not an easy place for vegetation to take hold, let alone thrive. Sunbaked gravel further compacted by decades of dumbbells dropped from prisoners hands, its the last place one would imagine new life to spring up.
About the only thing growing is a few tumbleweeds.
This background contrasted the unusual looking weed – plant – tree? I noticed growing in the middle of the razor wire toped cage we call the weight deck. The green teardrop shaped leaves with a purplish hue stood out to me in the misery of an August heatwave. Our then unit supervisor, who is in charge of the housing unit I reside in, gave some of us little pots of dirt with seeds to grow in our cells.
However, I did not want to wait for seeds to grow so I decided I was going to smuggle this weed – plant – tree? past the gaggle of guards who pat search each prisoner returning from the yard.
My first obstacle was getting it out of the weight deck without raising suspicion from the two gun towers overlooking the area. I did not fear being shot. Only a little worried they would notice one man ripping out the shrubbery and stuffing it in his shorts amongst a group of shirtless sweating men pumping iron.
I went to the restrooms located in the gym to soak some paper towels and lined the waistband of my shorts with the wet towels. Next I made it past the guard who checks for updated weight cards at the entrance of the weight deck. After the gate was locked I causally walked over to the rack that holds the weights and pulled the weed/shrub out of the gray gravel while retrieving one of the plates. I returned to the rack for another plate, slyly wrapping the paper towels around the roots, leaving it under the rack until “weights up” is called over the bullhorn.
The tricky part of this operation is the time between “weights up,” when two officers enter the weight deck to count equipment, and “yard in” when we return to our units. I saw the two guards get up from their seats and walk across the yard indicating “weights up” was about to be called. I casually scooped up my prize, rolling it into the part of my shirt I tuck in my shorts.
Prison policy requires your shirts to be tucked in anytime your out of your cell. I don’t know what the reason is for this policy, but it certainly makes it easier to hide your contraband.
“Hey McKee. You need to trim your bush.” said John.
“Huh?”
Maybe I should have picked a smaller shrub as the leaves were sprouting out of my waistline.
A couple more rolls and all the leaves were neatly tucked in.
Out of the weight deck I went, into the group of guys milling about at the next gate for the final call “yard in.” As the call was made I positioned myself in the middle of the group of men strolling down the long path of chain link and razor wire to the next gate of 13 guards impatiently waiting. About the only thing a prison guard hates more than showing up to work is having to do paperwork. I figured if they found the shrub, at most, they would tell me to throw it in the garbage can holding other found contraband.
I picked the most annoyed looking guard in the group and assumed the position. Arms out legs spread.
Tap tap, pat pat, “get out of here” said the guard and away I went.
I swiftly made it through the last gauntlet of four gates, two metal detectors, and one cell door to the dirt filled flower pot on my windowsill.
Groot, as my pen pal lovingly named it, has been with me since August 2022 and was recently transplanted into a bigger pot. I mentioned to the unit supervisor yesterday “I think Groot is actually a tree because its grown taller since being transplanted.”
“What are you going to do when it gets too big for your house?” she asked.
I guess I’ll have to figure out how to smuggle a saw next.
