MY RESEARCH IS UNIQUE

My Memoir

Danger and Trust: San Quentin, the Mexican Mafia and the Chicano Movement, my memoir, relates details regarding research I began as a graduate student while in the anthropological doctoral program at U.C. Berkeley.   
            When I began my research among Chicano prisoners at San Quentin Prison in 1966, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine what frequently unforeseen things would occur over the next 31 years—inside San Quentin for 20 months and “on the streets” (outside of prison) in California until 1997. Some of those unpredictable, almost incredible things included:

            In my memoir, I elaborate on the above-noted events and some of the many other things that occurred during the 31 years that I was involved with Chicano prisoners inside San Quentin Prison and with the Chicano movement on the streets in California.
            The late 1960’s and the following years were an exciting time in California, especially in Berkeley, and the San Francisco and Los Angeles areas: The Chicano movement, The Brown Berets, The so-called “race riots” at San Quentin, The Black Panthers, The Free Speech Movement at U.C. Berkeley, The Berkeley Barb underground newspaper, The Peace and Freedom Party, The war in Vietnam, and Numerous manifestations of social protest in California during those years.
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MY RESEARCH IS UNIQUE.
            No other anthropologist has conducted fieldwork inside a prison and simultaneously extended that research to include the Chicano movement that arose on the streets outside of prison in California in the 1960s. The lengthy nature of my 31 years of research provides a unique view.
            Unlike social or behavioral scientists who had studied prisoners in the past, as a participant observer I refused: to use a proffered office, to interview prisoners who were on a list given to me by administrators, to use questionnaires, to take notes or do anything that to prisoners would even resemble something formal like an interview. I had the blessing of administrators to go virtually anywhere I wanted in the prison—except death row. So, I went to where the prisoners were—from places like someone’s cell, to where they worked, to “the hole” where they were being isolated as punishment.
            Many of the places I went were places that Free Men (non-employee outsiders) never went. Almost always I was out of sight and/or sound of any guards or prison employees—merely having an open-ended, two-way conversation with one or a very few prisoners. 
            When discussing my fieldwork with prisoners who were curious about me, some indicated that in the past they had been subjected to the more formal methods that were used by other researchers (such as questionnaires in an office setting). Those prisoners often made negative comments about those methods. They indicated that they were much more comfortable with my participant observation approach—where we merely had conversations and shared experiences and knowledge as friends would do. At the beginning of my research, the prisoners frequently would learn much more about me than I would learn about them. Our conversations definitely were two-way learning experiences. Later, I was the one who learned the most—from the prisoners who became my teachers.
            I was clean-shaven and dressed in suit and tie. To appear in casual clothes or with a beard would have led to the generally conservative staff thwarting my research. Several times I heard guards make derogatory comments about Hippies.
            I took no notes while inside the prison. To do so would have turned off the prisoners and the staff. There was a great amount of paranoia inside the prison walls, among both the prisoners and staff. However, not taking notes was a challenge which I overcame by going to my old Royal typewriter after dinner and spending several hours reliving the events of the day, producing as many as 8 to 10 or more pages of typewritten notes. An unexpected side-effect of those hours reliving each day at San Quentin was that those experiences were transferred from my short-term to my long-term memory. Consequently, to this day, I have a wealth of vivid memories from the time that I spent in San Quentin. Return to Menu


MY ETHNOGRAPHY ALSO IS UNIQUE.                   
            Chicano Prisoners: The Key to San Quentin, my ethnography, was
published by Holt, Rinehart and Winston in 1974 and remained in print until 2004.
            Chicano Prisoners became a classic in ethnography, describing the
salient features and hidden depths of the prisoners’ own culture—very much as the prisoners themselves understand their largely illegal and/or rule-breaking culture. It helps the reader understand why prisoners think and act as they do in their culture and particularly gives insight into the behavior of Chicano prisoners, and much more.
            Recognizing the widespread, positive reaction to my ethnography—in anthropology and other disciplines—Holt, advertised my book more broadly than they had ever done for any of the 84 ethnographies in their extensive Case Studies in Cultural Anthropology series. Also, Holt included my book in a separate series—Case Studies in Contemporary American Culture. Parts or all of my ethnography were included in articles and books on criminology, sociology and penology. I gave guest lectures and talks to many of the colleges and universities in Southern California—on the subjects of cultural anthropology, applied anthropology, criminology, Chicano studies and Chicano psychology.
            Parts of my ethnography are dated, but surprisingly much is the same—still being of value to those who now are interested in California prisons, Chicano prisoners, the birth and early development of the Mexican Mafia, types of prisoners, differences in behavior between Black and Chicano prisoners, failed efforts to apply anthropological knowledge to bring about legitimate change in our society, and much more. Return to Menu


MY BACKGROUND
            Being from a large family, I worked my way through college, and relied on scholarships, the GI Bill and educational loans. My jobs ranged widely: life insurance sales, construction laborer, roofer, D-8 cat driver, U.S. Army supply clerk, bartender, taxi driver, surety bond underwriter, journeyman meat cutter and others—all being a valuable personal asset while conducting my research.
            I began my undergraduate studies at Menlo College. Later, after two years in the army and two more years working to repay educational loans, I entered U.C. Berkeley, receiving a BA in English in 1961. Then, after two and a half years in the corporate world, I began my graduate studies in anthropology at San Francisco State College. Later, in 1966, while at U.C. Berkeley, I began my doctoral fieldwork among Chicano prisoners at San Quentin Prison and soon transferred to U.C. Davis.
            In 1969, I had run out of financial resources (personal and educational loans) and was forced to make a significant change. My professors agreed with me that—even though I was very close to receiving my Ph.D.—my research was so timely and of such social import that I should take a leave of absence from the doctoral program at U.C. Davis. To facilitate my teaching at the college level while supporting my family, continuing my research and writing my dissertation and/or ethnography, I received my MA in 1969.
            I taught anthropology at Cabrillo College (near Santa Cruz, California), and was harassed by undercover FBI agent provocateurs posing as students. But I learned how to recognize them and avoid their efforts to have me do illegal things I never would have imagined doing. I continued my research until, in 1971, I was “not rehired” by Cabrillo administrators for criticizing California Department of Corrections and protesting the U.S. bombing of Cambodia.
            In spite of persistent efforts by the FBI to prevent me from gaining a teaching position at any university, college, or community college on the West Coast, El Camino College (near Los Angeles) hired me in 1971. Again I was harassed by agent provocateurs posing as students as I continued my research and wrote Chicano Prisoners. The publication of my ethnography in 1974 resulted in a flurry of activity for me—guest talks and lectures at many universities, colleges and interested groups and organizations.
            I lived under a death threat against my family and me for six weeks in 1976. I cut my San Quentin and Chicano ties in January 1979, but repeatedly people usually failed in their attempts to bring me back into involvement with Chicanos. I relate two very significant such failed attempts that occurred in 1990 and 1997 in my memoir.
            January 1979 was the beginning of a new direction in my life—writing screenplays. It was a hiatus that would last until I began writing my memoir.
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SCREENWRITING, MY NEW DIRECTION
            In January 1979, I was contacted by a Hollywood writer-producer who Had read Chicano Prisoners and wanted to talk with me about a screenplay he was writing that would be largely be set inside prison. Our “talk” being much more than Everett Freeman anticipated, he agreed to share credit on the script.
Almost every day we discussed the script, and by late spring we had completed the first draft of our screenplay. Then Ev had a stroke! Later he suggested I turn my writing talents to screenwriting, which I did.
            It was interesting to me that my San Quentin research and my book had quite unexpectedly turned my life in a new direction. Several screenplays followed—six by 2005. Without screen credits or personal connections in Hollywood, I lost out to writers who did have credits. Often an agent would ask if I had credits. When I said no, the agent’s stock answer was, “Well, come back when you do.”
            Disgusted with agents, I decided to turn myself into an expert on the Donner Party and write a screenplay that would vividly bring the shocking details of one of the most riveting tragedies of American history to life.
            To become an expert on the Donner Party, I read reams of books, dug through original documents at the Bancroft Historical Library, 4-wheeled out the Donner trail from the Continental Divide two times, hiked and 4-wheeled over the Sierra many times, snowshoed across Donner Pass atop snow more than twenty feet deep, and vicariously lived and re-lived the experiences of the principal individuals in order to empathize with them and accurately bring them back to life.
            I did not focus on George Donner, who was not the real leader of the party and never reached the lake, peak and pass named for him. Instead I focused on Jim Reed (the real leader), Maggie Reed (Jim’s wife) and Bill Eddy (the best hunter in the party). By focusing on these three, I am able to breathe life into all the historically accurate, astonishing events faced by the party—extraordinary confrontations with life and death; courage and cowardice; starvation, madness and murder; love and hate; cannibalism and survival.
            Three times I gave away free options for my eight-hour miniseries screenplay.  Each time the agents concluded that it is “just too big for me to handle.” I personally feel that the miniseries could find a receptive audience on PBS.
            Finally, I turned the screenplay into an historical novel, Donner-Reed Tragedy. Using all the same material, I presented it in a different format. I was extremely pleased that my book was highly regarded by Donner Party experts and reviewers.
            For those who might be interested in my historical novel, I do have a website that contains a considerable amount about my Donner work on it. www.donner-reed.com.
            I retired in 1993, moved to the Bitterroot Mountains in Montana, and designed and built my home where I now actively write and live. Return to Menu