Randall R.

I realize that I'm going out on a limb with the following post. It's not something I would have admitted to doing back when it occurred some 28 years ago, but it is a good story and I wanted to share it here. I am not the same person I was when this happened and I owe that to God and my wife. As I am writing this, I happen to be listening to an old Mustard Seed Faith song titled "Sidney the Pirate"which is about a man who was changed by God. Not that I was as bad as the pirate in the song, but a changed man nonetheless. So, here's my story:

Randall Roman

Juvenile Hall was sometimes a violent place due in part  to the impulsivity and lack of restraint of the minors which resulted in chaotic events. GC’s often broke up verbal and physical altercations, some of which were gang- related, some were sexual assaults, others were just because of perceived slights by one to another or just plain old personality conflicts. There were quite a few suicide attempts. I personally stopped one minor from hanging himself. During a routine room check I found a minor with a t-shirt tied tightly around his neck, hanging from the top bunk in his room. I was able to loosen the knot and get him down. In the 13 years I worked in the Hall, I can only remember one successful suicide. This is amazing in light of the many attempts that were made.

Also contributing to the problem of violence were some of the staff who appeared to enjoy agitating the kids and stirring up trouble. I worked with several GC’s who were just plain mean. They treated kids unfairly and seemed to revel in the power they wielded over the population. 

I do not put myself in the same group as these GC's. In fact, I went out of my way to be nice and to be fair. This is my nature. However, sometimes it was difficult to maintain an even temper. One day early in my career I was assigned to the B1 unit which held the most serious offenders such as rapists, murderers, sexual assaultive minors, and those who had committed armed robbery. B1 also housed minors waiting to be transported to the California Youth Authority (CYA). One such minor was a kid named Randall Roman who was 18 at the time, but had committed his offense when he was 17. He was white, approximately 6'4" tall and weighed about 180 pounds. I don’t recall why he was being sent to CYA, other than it was a violent offense. 

Like all the other kids, I got along pretty well with him. He was intelligent and liked the music that I liked from the 60’s and 70’s. He could name the songs and the artists who recorded them. The thing about  him was that he was mostly despised by the other minors and some of the counselors. He had a sharp tongue and was always trying to get under someone else's skin. I prided myself on the fact that he was unable to push my buttons and I got to the point that he stopped trying. The population of B1 at that time was less than 20 minors. As a result, we sometimes sat the entire unit in front of the television to watch a movie or documentary. 

One day, we were setting up the minors to watch a movie complete with popcorn and soft drinks. As this was happening, Roman got into a conflict with another minor. I had seen the incident start and I knew it was Randall's fault. So, I sent him down to his room with the intention of talking to him once we had started the movie. After the other minors were settled in and the movie  ahd begun, I told my two coworkers I was going down to Roman's room to have a talk with him. As I entered his room he was standing with us back against the right side wall. I told him that he was wrong about what he had been doing and that I was having him sit out for a while to think about it. I went on to go over the rules again: about not causing trouble, keeping one's hands to oneself and following instructions. I concluded by asking him if he thought he could go back down to watch the movie and behave himself. He looked at me and totally disregarding everything I had just, he responded, "You know Mr. Faddis, you're big and you're tough. Everyone in this place is afraid of what you could do them if you got mad. But, do you want to know something? I know I could kick your ass." 

Finally, Randall Roman's ability to push buttons had gotten to me. Within a second, my hand went up to his neck and I pushed him against the wall, choking him. I was infuriated and held him there until he turned red, then purplish and then blue. Suddenly, I came to my senses and pulled my hand away. As I did so I saw clearly my handprint on his throat which was already beginning to look bruised. I was very afraid of what I had just done. To this day, I do not know what came over me. Such a thing had happened to me several times when I was younger, but I was certain those days were past. 

Roman calmly said, "I want a Grievance." He was referring to a form that minors could submit when they felt their rights had been violated or they had been improperly reprimanded. Grievances covered many complaints so nearly being choked to death by a staff was surely in that category. I knew that I was in deep trouble because, not only would I lose  my job, but I was also probably going to go to jail for assault under the color of authority. I told Roman I would go get the grievance and left to go to the desk to fetch it. My coworker asked me what was going on. I told him that Roman was upset about missing the movie and he wanted to grieve it. I got the form and a pencil and took it back down to the minor’s room. I handed it to him saying I would be back in ten minutes to get it. I added, “If you write that grievance, the next time I grab you like that, I'm not gonna let you go.”  In essence I had just threatened to kill this kid. It was a stupid thing to do but I was still running on adrenaline, was not thinking rationally and attempting to intimidate him to not write a grievance against me. I went back to the desk and tried to remain calm as I waited for the ten minutes to go by. 

When I got back to his room, he handed me the form which he had filled up completely with writing. I read it carefully;  it was a perfect account of what had happened. There were no erasures or misspelled words and I knew that I was going to go to jail. I handed it back to him to ask if there was anything else he wanted to add. I then told him, “Randall, I really don't know what came over me. I lost my temper and I'm sorry that I hurt you.” A big tear appeared in the corner of that kid’s eye and rolled down his cheek. He then took the grievance and tore it up into pieces.  He handed it back to me saying, "Mr. Faddis, you are the coolest counselor in this whole f*****g place." He never said another word about the incident to me, or to anyone else, I guess, and I didn’t bring it up. He was transported to CYA about two weeks later and I never saw him again. To this day, I wonder what ever happened to Randall Roman.