Whistle Bets and Prison Humor: When a Tier Became a Stage

Jeremy Nuckles recalls the day a simple whistle set off an unforgettable prison bet that turned an ordinary tier into a stage for comedy, chaos, and honor.

Funny happens in prison, too. I sometimes think things might be even funnier when they happen in here, if only because those funny moments are contrasted against such starkness. Humor in prison is vaguely of a darker nature. (It would take a tone-deaf oaf to say some of the things that we laugh at in prison, out on the streets.) But funny is funny, wherever it appears.

The Whistle Bet

We gamble a lot. Sometimes among close associates, to change things up, we bet stupid shit. “If you lose, you gotta wear pasties on your nipples in the shower for a week.” No matter how stupid, men of honor pay their debts. If you won’t do it, don’t bet it.

One particular bet I lost centered around a whistle. (The procurement of said whistle will remain a mystery. Men of honor don’t explain whistle possession in prison.) A big, silver whistle like P.E. teachers and coaches used to wear around their necks. (Kids, think “air horn” but sounded by your own lungs.) You should have seen the looks on the officers’ faces when this whistle got blown. (“Was that a…? Nah!”) Endless fun and also a story for another time.

“Loser has to drop everything when the whistle is blown, and without hesitation or explanation, break into Jim Carrey’s half-time dance in the pink tutu from Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.”

Ridiculous. Hilarious. Also dangerous, because when prisoners don’t know what’s going on, and everyone is laughing about something they know nothing about, they worry the joke might be at their expense.

An epic bet and infamous payment, which of course I lost.

Halftime: Ace Ventura on the Tier

I was determined to turn the joke back on itself by killing it. I set my jaw and awaited that busted whistle. The guy I had bet with would be sure to make perfect timing for his own amusement. The guy is also a sadist, because I had to wait for the whistle. And wait, I did. To tell the truth, I had forgotten all about the bet, so much time had passed.

My first inkling it was coming was a whisper campaign. In prison, if multiple prisoners are moving from cell door to cell door with a momentary whispered conversation at each, you’d better pick up on it. Violence is coming on swift feet.

I was standing in the center of the tier, talking to a buddy, and the person doing the whispering campaign is what keyed things for me. That whistle blast was coming. I groaned inwardly, because there was a sergeant and a lieutenant on the tier, doing whatever it is those people of rank do when they appear on a tier. I only had time to draw a huge breath, and whistle sounded.

“HALFTIME,” I shouted. My buddy’s eyes widened in surprise and confusion. I roared the sound of the band music. I marched back and forth like a fool, knees high, baton-arm pumping, keeping time. The entire tier was frozen in a tableau of “what the fuck is going on here?” I will always remember and treasure it. (Except the guy I lost the bet to and his whisper campaign conspirator. They were grinning and chuckling like hyenas.)

Payment by Honor (and Forehead)

I ended the show at the water fountain with a long, drawn out “Whoo-ooo!” and splashed myself copiously, a la Carrey. But the face plant on the bench was going to have to be at the nearest place to sit. Of course, it was the silver, four-seater table that the aforementioned brass was clustered around.

But a bet is a bet, and men of honor….

I bashed my head good. The clang of my forehead on stainless steel hung in the air for what seemed like a long time. I couldn’t see the tier any more, because I was face down on the circle seat, but whatever transpired caused the whistle-wielding hyenas to hurry over.

“It was a bet! It was just a bet!”

Who Really Laughed?

On reflection, I don’t know that most of the men on the tier found our antics particularly funny. Most probably don’t even remember it. Maybe none of them even saw Ace Ventura. But I can tell you one thing: all it takes is a whistle blast and I remember. Funny? You’d have to ask the men who were present that day. But I handled my business and had fun doing it.

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