Chicken Blues

Disgruntled Employee or Spoiled White Collar Criminal?

I stood before a giant steel rack at least 7 feet tall stacked with trays, each of which was filled to overflowing with a dripping, oozing mass of chicken parts. Blood and viscera dripped from the trays to the floor, which was slick with shards of fat and feathers. To my right bubbled an enormous metal pot filled with a gurgling witches brew of blood, guts and drumsticks.

My job was to manhandle each incredibly heavy tray from the rack to the pot. Once I dumped the parts and filled the pot, I was to thrust my arms up to the shoulders into this gunk to separate the half-frozen parts.  Next I was to drain the blood, which gushed from a drain in the pot over my boots, take a huge plastic oar, and stir the chicken as it basted in the goop.

Now, I know from recent experience that I can happily chop onions all day: the relentless crying is not really a reflection of my inner state. I can mop the entire chow hall. Twice. For an inspection that never materializes. I can even clean toilets, scrub the grease pit, dump garbage cans and heave 100 pound bags of spuds. All with a smile on my face. Or at least not a grumpy frown.

But with the chicken let's just say that the smile was strained. I couldn't help but think of how I was doing all this - at 4:30 in the morning - for a paycheck of $12/month. I couldn't help but think of my past: of my hated high school job de-boning frozen chicken at our town's Kentucky Fried Chicken.

My mood was so poor, my smile so strained, that the lead cook, a gruff and bossy fellow inmate with a communication problem, noticed my state. "What's wrong?" he asked abruptly.

"Nothing," I muttered, wincing for a moment before plunging my arms back into the blood and guts.

The cook turned to leave, or so I thought. Fine with me. Every exchange with him, no matter how minor, turned into a confrontation. I grabbed the oar and made ready to stir. Instead, he whipped back around and barked, an inch from my face: "You had a maid, didn't you?"

I looked at him in surprise, unsure how to respond. My first thought was what the f--- does that have to do with anything? That's pretty much how I responded.

"Answer me," he grunted, his voice rising.

"No way," I said, digging in my heels. "I'm not answering that."

This went on for a few, relentless minutes. Finally, unable to take it anymore, I pulled my arms from the muck and walked to the back of the kitchen, grabbed a broom, and pretended to sweep. As my anger cooled and the blood congealed on my arms I considered the exchange.

Where I had seen myself as a justifiably (or so I thought) disgruntled employee unhappy with doing what was objectively a very shitty job that reminded me of a past I did not like, my colleague, or so I surmised anyway, saw a spoiled white collar criminal "too good" to do the work. That many of the other inmates - white collar or not - would not do that work either was beside the point. He saw me in a certain light colored by his background and mine. In my self pity, I had failed to consider that point of view.

The fact is that this happens often in prison. I'm not judged by who I think I am but by certain outward trappings: the color of my skin, my education. Certain stereotypes then come along with those assumptions: that I come from a privileged background (I don't), that I fail to admit my wrongdoing (I do, though many white collar criminals maintain their innocence). Hence the cook's focus on whether I had a maid.

I try to catch myself from doing the reverse, but I occasionally find myself falling into the same trap: judging a drug dealer from the hood or a border jumper from Mexico based upon stereotypes rather than the man as a person.

In my next post, I plan to "go deep" as they say here at RDAP, and look at how I'm really doing, what I'm really feeling. And I promise to stop writing about the chow hall.

The White Collar Criminal Club: Who We Are

Now that I find myself an honorary new member of the white collar criminal club, I have become increasingly interested in who in fact becomes a white collar criminal. And why.  I find myself wondering at night whether I fit the description and share the traits. I wonder if the FBI were to profile me, whether they would target me as a risk.  I wonder whether I have the words "White Collar Criminal" pasted across my forehead.

For a long time after committing my crime, I set myself apart. I didn't really try to put labels on myself or consider myself a criminal, just a person who had made one very stupid mistake. When I thought about what I had done, I figured that I must be unique. That is because certain elements of my crime were in fact unique: the Russia element, the fact that I stole from a corrupt billionaire oligarch, the exotic locales (Russia, Switzerland, Hong Kong), the international manhunt that was set off after my wrongdoing came to light.

But then, later, as I began to meet other esteemed members of the white-collar club, I began to realize that I wasn't very unique at all. When I looked across the table at them they looked quite a lot like.... ME! I could have been looking in the mirror. General traits I noticed in my (admittedly small) sample: well educated, considerate, male, white, early middle age, intelligent, former occupants of the rungs of middle management at large companies. It's possible of course that I was self selecting my newfound friends, but the fact was that if I was sitting next to any one of these guys on an airplane, the last thing I would think of is 'criminal'. To me, they just seemed normal. 

While scholarship has increased, the study of white collar crime and criminals is still in its infancy. That is why a recent article that profilers at the FBI were working up a character-traits profile for white collar criminals caught my eye. I read it with interest, looking for brilliant deductions that captured (no pun intended) my personality. Unfortunately, I was disappointed. In fact, most of the listed traits - such things as a controlling personality, overly aggressive, greed, hunger for power, intellectual superiority - are the exact opposite of mine. One of the listed traits - revenge - does in part cover my actions, but that's just one trait out of eight. Not exactly a great batting average. So, at least in my case and, I would venture, in the case of those I have met, the FBI struck out big time.

One question I have is why white collar criminals are almost all male: statistics show that men commit white collar crimes twice as often as women. It is true that crime overall is predominantly male, so does this explain the disparity? Or is it that men predominate in the types of industries and companies where white collar crime most often takes place? Or are men just more stupid?

Walt Pavlo, in an amusing article entitled "How to Spot a White Collar Criminal" cites to a study that identifies certain risk factors to watch out for. These include people who are "living beyond their means" and "experiencing financial difficulties". As Walt writes, this describes "nearly 90% of the work force".  Sad to say, it's a conclusion no more useful than saying that burglars have a propensity for black face masks or that mobsters like spaghetti with meatballs.

In my case, my crime was inextricably linked to a destructive midlife crisis marked by frustration, dissatisfaction, anger and resentment. I not only stole some money but engaged in more typical misdeeds: affairs, drug abuse, fast cars. I was an idiot but I suppose I have my 40th birthday to blame. Statistics, in fact, support the 'mid-life crisis' theory: men in their 40's and 50's commit the predominance of white collar crimes. But researches conclude that this is because these men occupy positions with higher authority.  While this may play a role, my view (based if nothing else on my own experience) is that actions and feelings associated with the mid-life crises experienced by men in this age group play a larger role.

Another element that seems to be overlooked in the research is drug addiction. At least in my case, my addiction changed who I was and how I acted. I don't blame my crime on my addiction, but without the pills I wouldn't have done what I did. My theory here is that research into white collar criminals would uncover higher than average levels of drug or alcohol abuse.

Even more than internal factors, though, I would venture that external factors related to the workplace contribute most heavily to the commission of white collar crimes. Working for the oligarch, I was surrounded by corruption, dissolution and greed.  Truth be told, it made me mad, so mad that I wanted justice. I wanted revenge. In that I don't think I was unique.  Many of the gents I've met were working in what they called 'corrupt' companies or industries, companies that may have not been engaged in blatantly illegal activities like mine but where money took precedence over morality. It is easier to justify illegal actions when surrounded by immorality.