The Chin-up Man

“Morrison!”

The guard said it curtly and nodded to Finn, then nodded to another guard at the fingerprint scanner. Finn walked over and put his right hand on the glass plate. Its bright green line of light winked past his hand,

“Next station!”

Another guard told him to strip down to his underwear. His street clothes, his wallet, his watch – all were confiscated and put into a bag and sealed.

“Move along,” the guard said.

He glanced over to the next station where the guard was pulling on a fresh pair of rubber gloves.

“What the hell am I doing here?” he thought. Finn Morrison – civil rights lawyer for over twenty-five years, never been arrested for anything, barely had any traffic violations, the odd speeding ticket maybe – what was he doing here?

As he bent over he wondered if he should mess with the guard’s head. Pretend he was gay. Moan a bit and mumble “More! More! Ooh that feels good!” He thought better of it. The guard could be a jerk and really hurt him. He always thought it took a certain kind of mentality to be a prison guard. The ultimate job for the authoritarian mindset. Total control. Your subjects at your complete mercy.

The proctology exam over, another guard gave him an orange jumpsuit. “Orange is the new black,” he thought, remembering the Netflix TV series.

Why orange jumpsuits? Why did the cons in old movies wear black and white striped garb? Why not street clothes? Ordinary everyday clothes? Blue jeans and golf shirts? Even a three piece suit if you were so inclined?

He knew the reason. The goal of the prison system was to depersonalize you. To make you a cog, a cipher, a nobody. To strip you of your individuality and make you a compliant automaton.

Now dressed in stylish orange, he was led by another guard to his cell. The guard opened the door.

“Jones, meet your new roomie, Finn Morrison. Morrison, this is Jack Jones.”

“Jack Jones,” Finn grinned. “Now there’s an unusual name!”

“Yeah,” Jones replied. “I keep telling them they got the wrong Jack Jones but they won’t believe me.”

Finn sat down on the rough bench against the wall as the door clanged behind him.

“Finn. Cool name,” Jones commented.

“You can call me 24601.”

“Huh?”

“24601. Jean Valjean. Les Misérables.”

“Don’t know it.”

“Valjean was a character in a novel by Victor Hugo, Made into a stage musical a few years ago. And been made into a movie many times.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“That was Quasimodo.”

“Huh?”

“Sorry. Bad joke. Valjean was an ex-con. Released from prison in 19th Century France. He was essentially a good man victimized by a harsh and unrelenting justice system. He stole a loaf of bread to help feed his sister and her children. He was caught and sentenced to five years in the galleys.”

“So he was a thief but he stole to help his starving sister and her kids?”

“Yes. But he tried to escape at one point and had extra time added. He served twenty years before he was released. All, when you get right down to it, for stealing a loaf of bread.”

“Jesus! That’s harsh, man. Today you’d get a slap on the wrist. A warning. Heck, you might even get social services to help you and your sister out.”

Jones pondered a moment, then smirked at Finn. “So you fancy yourself an innocent man, eh? Don’t we all.”

“Lights out in five!” came a voice over a loudspeaker. Finn took the top bunk as Jones had a claim on the lower one. The lights blinked out; just some low level lights along the floor of the hall that ran past the cells remained lit.

Finn thought back on his career. He entered law because of an overwhelming sense of justice. But his sense of justice didn’t revolve around catching criminals and putting them behind bars. He was no Javert, the hidebound cop who pursued Valjean throughout the novel. He saw it as his mission to support the Valjeans of the world. The wrongfully accused. The victims of an over-zealous judicial system.

He drifted into civil rights law, defending freedom of speech, freedom of the press, indeed, the freedoms of anyone that bucked the system. People who did no actual harm, but who the law criminalized. He was a member of the Canadian Civil Liberties Association, a member of Amnesty International. He supported marijuana legalization even before he became a lawyer. What business was it of the state to tell someone what he could or could not ingest? Were citizens not adults? Why should they be treated as children?

He was also an enemy of privilege. He believed the law shouldn’t favor some at the expense of others. He once defended a farmer who gave away excess milk to the local food bank. The pointy-headed bureaucrats in the milk marketing board nixed that notion damn quick. He won that case. But he lost another where he defended a farmer selling unpasteurized milk.

That might have been the first case he fought against the healthcare bureaucracy. Seinfeld had its soup Nazi. Canada has its health Nazis. If some people want to buy unpasteurized milk, believing there are health benefits to it, and some farmers want to sell, why the hell should the government or its marketing board minions or the health authorities get involved?

He recalled that the current Prime Minister’s father had been a champion of civil liberties. He famously said that government had no business in the bedrooms of the nation and decriminalized sexual acts that had previously been illegal, notably homosexuality. He still remembered the verbatim quote Trudeau pere gave when he introduced the bill. “There’s no place for the state in the bedrooms of the nation. What’s done in private between adults doesn’t concern the Criminal Code.”

But of course, farmers privately selling unpasteurized milk to other consenting adults – that was a no-no!

“What’s wrong with people?” he thought. “Don’t they see the contradiction? What’s the difference between selling milk and having gay sex? Why should one form of private activity between consenting adults be legal and another criminalized?”

“The Health Nazis!” he thought. “Government can justify almost anything under the guise of public safety.”

Finn felt exhausted and fell into a deep sleep.

“Rise and shine!” the voice came over the intercom.

Finn and Jones took turns at the sink, washing and shaving. The cell door opened and they sauntered out under the watchful eyes of a guard. They followed the other prisoners to the giant cafeteria. They took their breakfast trays from the dispensary and found a place at a table with four other convicts.

Jones knew them all and introduced them. He nodded at each in turn and they nodded back as he called their names. “Eddie Rocaro. Jim Steinway. Harry Ferguson. Bill Bishop. Meet…” he paused, grinned, and said, “Meet 24601.”

“24601!” exclaimed Ferguson. “You mean like that Valjean character in Les Misérables?”

“One and the same, Harry! One and the same. Our newcomer fancies himself an innocent man!”

A big round of guffaws greeted this news and Rocaro opined, “Don’t we all!”

Finn nodded and said, “Hello. Pleased to meet you.”

They dug into their breakfasts and after a few mouthfuls, Finn asked, “So tell me, guys. What are you each in here for?”

“Grand theft auto,” Rocaro said.

“Ah… embezzlement for me.” It was Steinway that said it.

“I killed my old lady,” said Ferguson. “The bitch had it coming.”

Finn winced.

Bishop smiled and said, “I robbed a bank. Actually robbed quite a few of them before I got caught.” He seemed quite proud of himself.

Finally Jones offered, “I’m a stick-up man. What about you 24601? What are you in for?”

Finn looked around at each of them. “I’m a chin-up man.”

“A chin-up man? What the hell’s that?” It was Bishop asking.

“Remember about a couple of years ago,” Finn explained. “When we had that pandemic, that COVID-19 thing?”

“Yeah,” said Ferguson. “Ripped through the prison. Fifty-three of us got it. Two died. Both were older dudes. Not in great shape to begin with. But we loved those guys. Sad to see them kick the bucket like that”

“Wait! Wait!” intoned Rocaro. “I know you. You’re that guy got fined for doing a chin-up while jogging through the park. Saw it on TV. You got a fine, dude. Whatcha doin’ in the slammer?”

Finn took on a serious tone as he asked, “What would you guys like more than anything in the world right now?”

“Our freedom, man!” said Jones.

“Yeah, our freedom!” echoed Bishop.

“Getting laid would be damn fine,” said Steinway. “But yeah, freedom’s the thing. All of us want our freedom more than anything in the world.”

“Well,” said Finn. “During the pandemic, the entire population was put into a form of house arrest. We could go out for a run. We could go buy essentials. But everyone was advised to stay home if possible. And to avoid contact with other people.”

“Yeah! I remember,” interrupted Rocaro. “They called it social distancing.”

“That’s right,” said Finn. “Social distancing. And some of our functionaries got it in their heads that closing parks was a good idea. That social distancing couldn’t be practiced in parks. Supermarkets, sure. But parks, no. As if people were too stupid to refrain from doing something in parks but smart enough to refrain from doing it in grocery stores.”

“Do you see the contradiction?” he asked.

“Yeah, but public safety, man,” Bishop responded.

“Look,” said Finn. “You know what quarantine is, right? Jones, what is quarantine?”

Jones looked surprised to be asked but quickly replied, “Quarantine is when they isolate a person with a contagious disease so he doesn’t infect anyone else.”

“Exactly right,” said Finn. “It’s the isolation of an infected person for the safety of the public. But do you see the gross inversion they did with the COVID-19 pandemic?”

“What inversion? What the hell are you talking about?” It was Bishop again.

“During the pandemic, they weren’t isolating people who were infected. They were isolating everyone. Social distancing applied to everyone. Didn’t matter whether you had it or not. You had to social distance. Your workplace had to social distance. And if they couldn’t do that, well hard cheese for you, buddy. You’re out of a job. Over four million Canadians ended up jobless. Over four million made beggars surviving on handouts from the state. That’s not freedom. That’s serfdom.”

“So why are you in the clink?” asked Steinway.

“I was taking my daily run. I was alone. I was minding my own business. I was social distancing. There was not a soul around. I passed the park. I saw the monkey bars. I did a few quick chin-ups. Some officious jerk from the city ordered me off the bars. I complied. He told me he was writing me a ticket. Hey, can’t you just give me a warning I asked. No, he said and wrote me a ticket. A thousand freaking bucks.”

He paused, looked around at each of them in turn. “All my life I’ve been a civil liberties lawyer, fighting to defend people caught in the web of the law, fighting for the Jean Valjeans of the world. Fighting for those victimized by bureaucracy, victimized by victimless crime laws that had government meddling where it ought not to meddle. I fought for freedom.”

He paused and took a sip of orange juice and continued. “So I had a choice. I’m a lawyer. I make a good buck. A thousand dollar fine would not inconvenience me. But it was the damn principle of the thing. If the government can penalize you for doing a damn chin-up in the park, a chin-up that harmed no one, a chin-up by someone who was not infected – I had myself checked before I went to court – then where’s our freedom? I decided not to pay the fine. I wanted to see if they actually would jail someone for doing a chin-up in the park. Because if they’ll do that, then we have no freedom.”

He paused. “And here I am.”

An interjection at this point dear reader. This story has two endings. The ending you choose depends on whether you sympathize with Finn or think he’s wrong. If you sympathize with Finn, the story ends after the next paragraph. If you think he’s wrong, read to the end.

He looked around at the faces of his fellow cons. They stared back at him. Then Steinway put his hands together, clapped his hands together. And the others joined in. One by one they all stood and applauded.

End of story if you sympathize with Finn. If not, read on.

Finn smiled. Although these cons were rascals, he knew they were not ones easily given to going along with the system. He knew they would see the justice of his cause. He was so absorbed in these thoughts he did not notice Steinway and Ferguson slowly circle behind him as they applauded. He did not notice them passing knowing looks between themselves.

Bishop the bank robber spoke up. “We might be cons, 24601. But we’re not anti-social bastards like you. We’re a brotherhood in here, just like the world out there is a brotherhood. When that virus swept through the system it scared the crap out of us. Freddie and Arnie, the old vets, were good guys. They didn’t deserve to die. You have no right to buck the law when the safety of your comrades is at stake.”

Ferguson the wife killer chimed in. “You think you’re our pal, buddy. But you are a picky sort of guy. You’d never defend the likes of us – a car thief, an embezzler, a bank robber, a hold-up man and me, a killer. You said so yourself. You defend those you view as victims of the system. And that ain’t us.”

Steinway the embezzler spoke up. “We may be cons but we’re not fools, 24601. We know we broke the law. We know we victimized people. We know we deserve to be in here. We’re not sanctimonious like you – feigning innocence.”

Rocaro the car thief took his turn. “You’re no innocent, 24601. You threatened harm to others by not following the rules. You think we’re a bunch of dumb yokels? We know which side is up. We follow the news. This pandemic swept the world. Over 250 million cases before it subsided. Over five million deaths, 750,000 of them in the United States. Why the States, you might ask? Because they’re a bunch of dumbasses like you. No sense of civic responsibility. No sense of making small sacrifices to help out their fellow man. Canada escaped the worst of it because most Canadians aren’t dumbasses like you.”

Jones glanced around to see if there were any guards watching. There weren’t. He gave a nod to each of his fellows in turn as he held his hand out, thumb extended. “You were a fool to opt for prison instead of paying a fine that by your own admission would be a minor annoyance for you. The justice system offered to let you off easy but you took the hard road. What you didn’t know, you stupid schmuck, is that we have our own form of justice here. Pedophiles have to be kept in isolation because the prison system knows we don’t tolerate that sort of scum. You’re no pedophile but you are an anti-social bastard, as Bishop put it. You’re no friend of ours. The only question is, what sort of justice will we mete out to you.”

Finn looked around apprehensively. He had miscalculated terribly he realized. But he felt no remorse. He felt anger that even hardened criminals, system buckers par excellence, knuckled under to that great god the state in a time of crisis.

Jones nodded to Rocaro who pulled out a pair of make-shift brass knuckles and put them on his right hand. He held out the other hand flat, the thumb extended.

Jones glanced at Ferguson the wife killer who pulled a shiv from his back pocket. He held it in his left hand - he was a leftie - while he extended his right, palm flat, thumb extended.

Steinway and Bishop each held out a hand like the others.

Jones looked at Finn. “24601, you’re standing before the bar of prison justice. We don’t like you. We’ve already found you guilty of being anti-social scum. You’re no friend of ours. The only question remaining is the sentence. Thumbs up means a beat-down. Rocaro waved his brass knuckles. Thumbs down means curtains for you. Ferguson waved his shiv. If I were you, 24601, I’d pray for the latter because, believe me, a quick death will be a lot less painful than what’s in store otherwise.”

Finn watched in horror as Rocaro rolled his thumb up. Ferguson turned his down. Steinway gave a thumbs up. Bishop gave a thumbs down. It was tie vote. It was all up to Jones.

Jones glanced around to see if there were any guards watching. There weren’t. He turned his thumb down. “Do it, Ferguson.”

Ferguson the wife killer drove the shiv into Finn’s back. “The bitch had it coming,” he said with a wry look.

Finn’s last thoughts were of Javert, the relentless cop who pursued Valjean in the name of his idea of justice. The contradiction that he felt when Valjean had the opportunity to kill him and let him go free wrestled with his mind. Justice or mercy. For Javert, justice knows no mercy. Javert was a villain, but like many of Hugo’s villains, a noble one. Javert kills himself rather than live with the contradiction. A noble death.

If even the hardened criminal despised freedom so much as to kowtow to the state in a crisis, then Finn could not live in this world. As the shiv was passed around and each con took a stab at him, as the lifeblood flowed from his chest, he died… with a smile on his face. He had fought the good fight.

Note: This story was inspired by a true story. A Toronto lawyer did get fined for doing a chin-up in a public park during the Covid pandemic. See $750 for Doing Chin-ups in a Park. Finn Morrison, the character in my story, is purely fictional. His views do not reflect the views of the actual lawyer in the news story. And lest you think killing a Covid restriction resister goes beyond the pale, this was actually advocated by a Liberal Party staffer early in the pandemic. See Shoot on Sight.

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