Vernon C. Bain Center (VCBC) aka The Boat

by

Marzian Alam & Prisoner K

The Vernon C. Bain Center (VCBC), known more commonly as The Boat, is a converted freighter docked off Hunts Point in the Bronx across the Long Island Sound from Rikers Island, bought and docked in 1992 as an overflow facility for Rikers Island detainees. Even with the whittling down of the Rikers population to about ⅛ the size it was in 1992, the boat remains open. It may in fact end up the last component of Rikers Island remaining after the jail is closed in 2027.

Re/Creation facilitator Marzian Alam served as a tutor in one of the few programs offered on the Boat as part of the Petey Greene Program. She describes here a typical day for a civilian visiting the facility.

The Boat is located at Hunt's Point, next to the Fulton Fish Market. The stench of fish and algae hits your nostrils as you walk towards the gates. Docked in the East River, the Boat is hidden in plain sight, similar to many of the detention facilities across NYC. Other than the Fish Market, the area is industrial and surrounded by auto shops.

Only one special crosstown bus goes to the Boat. I would catch the bus from across the city, at Yankee Stadium, and was often the last person left on the bus when it stopped at the Boat. There's a long stretch of driveway with no sidewalk from the bus stop on the street to the front gates. On rainy days the walk felt even longer as DOC busses and people in cars rushed past me. The walk up to the gate is daunting, there is no guarantee of admission, even as a regular volunteer. As a volunteer, you can sometimes make it through several checkpoints and still not make it inside to do the work you came for. The Boat had more lenient measures than any facility I had visited on Rikers Island. The guard at the front gate barely looked at my ID before letting me through the magnetic gate on the barbed wire fence. After a quick wave, I followed a winding path of barbed wire that led to the ramp to get onto the Boat.

There are typically over 900 people living on the Boat, plus the correctional officers and staff. The place was extremely cramped. I once got a short tour of a few of the floors, but didn't come across the visitation spaces. Instead I saw a newly renovated gym, with brand new nets and fresh floorboards that was inaccessible to the people detained. It was there for the officers to “blow off steam”. The office for program staff was so crowded, I hesitated to think about the dorms or canteen. Ours was one of the few programs that was given a classroom to offer students. Classrooms were usually reserved for construction or electrical work. Educational programs were typically expected to go into already crowded dorms and try engaging people in Math and Science. It was always covered in drywall dust and equipment from previous classes, but we were lucky to have the space in a real classroom. The beginning of each session was spent cleaning up and arranging the seats to look like a classroom. The setup also helped us kill time while we waited for students to be brought down to the classroom from various floors. The unfortunate part about being in the classroom is having to be on the schedule of the jail. 

After meeting facilitator John Proctor at a writing workshop at another facility on Rikers Island, Prisoner K was transferred to the Boat after he accepted a plea and was sentenced. He describes here one particularly memorable day at the facility.

When I think of the Boat, I remember being in Holding one morning. I saw a quiet young man. Like us, he was being transported to court but he was separated from Gen Pop. Held in a cage by himself. I would learn he was one of the teens arrested for killing a Chinese delivery man. You may remember the incident. A group of boys attacking a man and literally chopping him to pieces. Horrible, horrible monsters these teens were called. But right then, all I saw was this slight child sitting on a hard bench with the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

I’d seen this scene many times. I mean the very idea of being enclosed in the walls is daunting beyond words. This boy knew he was going to spend a huge part of his life in prison and it seemed to crush him. It could crush him for the moment. After all, his boyz weren’t around. He wasn’t obligated to be that nigga you don’t eff with. No. He didn’t have to look at the world as his bitch to be conquered. Sitting alone in his cell, he could be a child of a woman who couldn’t have imagined this fate for her son. He could be that kid who wished he’d read more books and spent less time in the street. He could be scared. 

Later, later, when he was back on the tier he could lay on the gate and talk loud and cuss and brag about his exploits in the town. But right then, at that moment, he was allowed to sit in that small box with only a small section of glass for any glimpse of the world and be the kid that knew his life was fucked. He had put himself in the position of Murderer. And he was afraid he’d have to live up to that because, God bless his soul, he was going to be tested. He was young. He was not going to let anyone think he had any fear about prison, about having his freedom taken away from him. No. He’d walk the walk, talk the talk. He’d connect with all the right people who’d have his back. He’d sit in the day room and play cards and dominoes and laugh and watch television. He’d learn chess because goddammit that’s what inmates do. He’d spin the yard and smoke his cigarettes and call his momma every day and crack wise about all the hos he’s boinked. But right now – and my guess, every night for a long, long time – he’d think about where his life has turned and how in the hell he let it come to this.

I know. That’s what I did. And I didn’t kill anybody.

Marzian Alam is a founding organizer and facilitator with Re/Creation. She co-facilitated workshops with Re/Creation founder John Proctor at Rikers, and is now a team member  of an organization serving at-risk youth in the Toronto area.

Prisoner K was a member of the first cohort of the first workshop John facilitated at Rikers Island. He was recently released from his sentence in an upstate facility, and is a working technical writer. He values his and his family’s privacy and like John has read Kafka’s The Trial, thus the pseudonym.