Writing in Prison

I read an amazing essay by a University of Kansas English professor who teaches creative writing in the Lawrence, Kansas jail. His observations and his experiences working with inmates match my own. Dr. Brian Daldorph’s essay, “What Truly Matters,” appears in the Spring, 2010 issue of JJournal (www.jjournal.org).



He quotes from another prison teacher, Sister Helen Prejean that inmate writers write in order to:


“. . . bear witness, to stay sane, to keep their hearts pumping, to not be eaten up by rage or despair, to figure out how they got there, or to discover what truly matters. . . .”


What truly matters. Three simple words, yet put together are at the heart of what every man in my writing class explores, why they, why I, write each and every day. Who am I? Why am I here? Why am I in this situation? What will happen to me?


Each day we try to come to grasp with our mistakes, our losses, our emptiness.


As Dr. Daldorph notes,


“Inmates scrawl again and again about the misery of incarceration, the guilt, the sleepless nights . . . They relive their crimes again and again. They write about how often they feel abandoned by people on the outside, even by family and those they considered close friends. . . .”


I have read so many powerful, anguished poems and short stories by the men in my writing classes. Each day I write stories with the same themes: love lost, alienation, failure and redemption.


Until you find yourself in these circumstances, you will find it difficult to empathize with, to comprehend, the loss and loneliness, and emptiness one feels while incarcerated.


Words pour out; emotions, raw and transparent are printed out on page after page. So many men and women while locked up refuse to address it, to confront the pain they feel, to examine the whys of their existence. Yet in writing class they open up. They read you their stories about being beaten as a child when they failed to learn to tie their shoes (“Lil Man”), watching their best friend die in a shooting, they recite their poems about methamphetamine and heroin use.


I sit quietly, taking it all in, then urge a change of a word here, a semi-colon there, urging them to bring structure to their chaotic experiences as re-told on paper.


I’ve found through my own failure, my redemption. I’ve discovered “what truly matters”. In my loss, in my abandonment, I’ve discovered how important and fragile love is. I’ve found compassion and forgiveness and hope. I hate these circumstances, but I love the discoveries. I ache over what I’ve lost; I know I will never truly heal from my divorce, the loss of the woman I loved; yet, I am a better, wiser, more loving person.


While at the law library this week I met and helped a transgender inmate conduct research on his case. Prior to this I could never even comprehend the existence of a transgender person. My attitudes, my prejudices, my self-righteous opinions about so many things have been turned upside down.


Like most of the inmates who write in prison, I write to understand who I am and why. In Psalm 139, one of the most beautiful Psalms written; the writer concludes his praise for God’s omniscience and omnipresence with these words:


“Search me, O God, and know my heart;
Try me and know my anxious thoughts,
And see if there be any hurtful way in me,
And lead me in the everlasting way.”


Those are words I see over and over in my student’s writings, in my own writings. They are the words of one discovering what truly matters.

The Molester Debate

Amazon.com found themselves in the news a great deal this week, and not for any quarterly profit information. No, they were being called out for posting for sale “how to” e-books encouraging and defending pedophilia. Amazon.com made their biggest mistake trying to justify the sale on first amendment grounds (“we oppose censorship”) instead of admitting they screwed up. Worse yet, their own posting policies were violated (they do, in fact, censor for content).



Under enormous public pressure, they finally pulled all the “author’s” titles. I use the word “author” loosely. The writer, in my opinion, is nothing but a sick, twisted child molester.


I do my “bid” with a number of child molesters. During this past year, I have reached a number of conclusions about their behavior, their personalities, and their grasp of reality. While I try to remain open-minded about all inmates, I can’t about them. Quite candidly, they are not rehabilitated by prison. If left unchecked, they will molest again. They are sick and the sickness only festers in here.


One thing that disturbs me is, for the most part, they look just like me or my friends from my “free” days. They are white, middle-aged, better educated and better read than the vast majority of inmates locked up. They are the kind of guys that know history, literature, art and music. But, they all get sexual gratification thinking about children. Worse yet, they don’t think there is anything wrong with their behavior. They really believe they’re being picked on.


I don’t understand the brain “wiring” that allows a man to get “turned on” seeing little girls and boys. I know how I felt with my wife, the arousal and passion, but I just don’t get how those feelings can be brought out by a child. These guys – if given the chance – will wax poetically about cultural taboos. They’ll cite some pre-industrial culture as evidence that adult-child sexual contact is healthy. Frankly, it’s at that point that the “father in me” comes out and I want to beat these guys to a bloody pulp.


Most inmates, if given the opportunity for a “do over”, will admit to you how much they regret the behavior, the actions, that put them in here. Whether it’s murder, armed robbery, or embezzlement, guys understand this is no way to live.


Not so with child molesters. First, they continue to feed their sickness. They play games (as I’ve written before, Dungeons and Dragons is a big pedophile draw in prison), watch Saturday morning cartoons, and order “young girl” soft core porn (“barely legal,” “look pre-teen”). They see themselves as normal, with healthy libidos. They are arrogant. They believe 1) they’re smarter than “real” criminals; 2) they don’t deserve prison because they haven’t done anything wrong; and 3) they have normal needs.


Take “Will”. A former NCO in the Air Force, working on his master’s degree via correspondence coursework. He’s halfway through a twelve-year sentence for repeatedly sexually abusing his own five year old daughter.


There’s “Tony”. He had “relations” with a number of his daughter’s girlfriends. His daughter’s age during this: thirteen to fifteen.


“Jim” was arrested with a computer full of images of his own kids and relatives’ kids nude and in suggestive positions.


These guys hang out together, work together; belittle the other “less intelligent inmates” together. Ironically, and perhaps this explains part of my bitterness – they all received sentences shorter than me and two of them remain married to women who visit and write regularly and continue to support them during their sentences. (So, I steal $2 million from a company over twelve years that annually takes in $200 million, and my wife of 25+ years divorces me for my “lies and deceit”, even though I remained faithful to her. I get a longer sentence and lose more than a guy that rapes his own little girl. Ain’t justice grand!)


I struggle with my pledge to be “open-minded and non-judgmental” about anyone’s case versus my disgust with these men.


I faced that issue directly a few weeks ago. “R” asked me to handle a pardon request for him. I met with him and discussed his circumstances.


“I was in a bad marriage. I convinced my twelve year old step daughter to perform oral sex on me.”


My reaction: stunned silence. Then, I “rationalize” in my mind, it was only once, he’s been through the ten week “don’t touch children” sex offender program. I agree to handle his pardon provided he agrees that one of the conditions we suggest is intense therapy on release.


A week later we meet again. Now I get “the rest of the story”. “Other than the oral, when she was seven . . .” Seven? “Yeah. Nothing happened until I propositioned her right before her twelfth birthday. Then she told her mom. I never touched her, even when I helped her with her baths and showers.”


I froze. This guy is sick. Unfortunately he’s not the exception, he’s the rule. Prison doesn’t break their mindset; it only fosters their feelings of persecution.


These guys need intense, in-patient treatment. Pedophilia isn’t like “other crimes”. It is a sickness that can’t be cured at a dormitory-style low custody prison and a ten week course on “healthy sex feelings”. For the sake of our children, these guys have to be stopped.

End of the Line

I was watching PBS the other evening and a story came on the show “Frontline” about the conviction and release years later of the “Norfolk 4”. It was a story of dishonest police tactics, the despair of prison, yet the amazing capacity of humans to survive. I thought immediately of a favorite song of mine from 1989, by the Traveling Willburys. The song, “End of the Line”, is an up tempo ballad featuring Roy Orbison, Bob Dylan, Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty and George Harrison.



One verse in this song about getting through life until “judgment day” went:


“Well its alright
even if they say you’re wrong
well its all right
sometimes you gotta be strong”.


The story of the “Norfolk 4” should be a sobering reminder that just because the powers that be say someone is guilty doesn’t make it so. It is the story of four young sailors from the USS George Washington who were accused and convicted of the brutal rape and murder of a Norfolk woman. An overzealous detective lied, coerced and threatened all four men. A jury believed the Commonwealth’s case even though the police knew DNA testing of all four men cleared them of involvement. That evidence was withheld from the four defendants.


All four spent almost twelve years in a high security level Virginia penitentiary before being released by executive act of the former Governor.


Unless you have been on the receiving end of a police interrogation you cannot imagine the deceit that is used. It is not about “getting to the truth”, it’s about finding someone to convict. Thousands of men and women are wrongly convicted each year in this country.


John Grisham has a new bestselling novel out called “The Confession” that is a stinging indictment of capital punishment in Texas. The book is selling well, but will it make a difference? Will the public finally give a damn about justice and force states to reform police practices, the courts and prisons?


I remember a conversation I had with my wife a few months before my arrest. She reminded me (during a heated debate about terrorists) that on our first date I told her “its better that a thousand guilty men walk free than one innocent man be executed”. I looked at her like she was nuts. “One life, small price to pay for safety.”


I was wrong in my later opinion. No innocent person should ever have to see the inside of a prison. Justice requires more. Justice demands perfection when a person’s liberty, his freedom, is at stake.


We claim we accept as a basic tenet of American justice “you are innocent until proven guilty”. Fact is, from the moment a person is arrested and the weight of the state begins to pressure you, and the story is released to the newspapers or TV, perception that the person is guilty begins to grow like a giant wave.


Ask the security guard wrongly accused of setting off the bomb at the Atlanta Olympics; ask the Duke Lacrosse players; ask the Norfolk 4.


Laura Hillenbrand, author of the book “Seabiscuit” has a new bestseller out called “Unbroken”. It is the true story of Louis Zamperini, a navy flyer shot down in the Pacific. He survived 47 days on a leaky raft only to be captured by the Japanese, imprisoned and tortured.


It is the story of him overcoming imprisonment, alcoholism and bitterness by finding his faith, forgiving his captors and living a wonderful life.


Consider the accused. Keep an open mind. Look in your heart for what justice really means. Demand perfection from the system. You never know when you or a loved one will be on the receiving end of the criminal justice system.


As the Willburys said “sometime you gotta be strong”. There is strength in real justice, not retribution or vindictiveness, but true justice. And true justice demands what happened to the Norfolk 4 should never happen again.

Word Powers

I had an interesting conversation with another tutor this week. His name is Powers. He’s a 38 year old black man from Brooklyn who’s been locked up almost twenty years with ten more to go. He murdered a man in Northern Virginia. He makes no bones about what he did. He killed the guy. He’ll do his sentence. Murder one. Thirty years for mandatory parole.



Powers and I are both tutors in the same class. When I first met him I was extremely intimidated by him. He speaks very seldom and usually has a serious expression. I, quite frankly, in my bias saw him as a very angry black man. I concluded he hated whites.


I’ve gotten to know Powers in the past two months. He’s a student in my creative writing class. He’s extremely bright, well read and has a wickedly precise sense of humor. In short, every pre-conceived notion I had about him has been turned on its head.


In writing class the other day I was discussing our assigned reading: Joseph Conrad’s “The Lagoon”. My beginning writing class has 19 participants, all black. The guys were very quiet as I asked them about Conrad’s themes and character descriptions.


“So you hated the story,” I said. Powers spoke up. He pointed out Conrad’s eurocentric writing style and how the lengthy short story drug on. “OK”, I said. I then told a new story about two brothers working for the largest drug dealer in Miami. One brother catches a look at the drug boss’s girl and decides he has to have her. He and his brother grab the girl. The boss finds out and he and a group of armed thugs chase the brothers and girl all over South Beach.


The one brother decides to make a stand while the other, with the girl, gets away. All we hear is the brother screaming through a hail of gunfire.


Later, we see the other brother hiding out in a dump of an apartment. The girl lies on a bed beside him taking her last breaths. The brother has lost everything.


The guys sat transfixed as I spun this story of covetousness, disloyalty and lust. I then said “That’s Conrad’s story. I just put it in a modern context”.


Powers spoke to me after class. He told me all the guys like the stories I tell. I’ve known for a good while that I can tell a story and, candidly, I have 51 years of them. Plus, I’m not one to hold back. I put the good, bad, and ugly of my life out there, whether it be the failure of my marriage, my arrest or my views on things.


Powers told me he respected me. “You’ve kept your head up in spite of all the bullshit.” He added a distinct “but”. And that was when I learned his “philosophy” on a number of issues.


Take his view on selfless, unconditional love. “There’s a reason they put Jesus on the cross. He was selfless. You give it all, no conditions, you’re gonna get screwed.” He explained this to me so I’d understand my giving everything up to my wife and kids was, well, “plain stupid”. He said “people always say they admire selfless people. There’s a reason you see it so seldom. It’s because people are self-centered. They play each other. Honestly look how your wife played you. You did the ‘right thing’, the ‘noble thing’ and got kicked in the ass.”


“You’re probably right,” I told him. “But, I’d do it again, no matter what the result.” Powers smiled and said “that’s what I like about you, eternal optimist.”


He told me he became a Muslim after concluding “Christians profess belief in a God who has one simple rule: love and forgive each other.” He had me there. I look at all the men I serve time with. I look at my own circumstances, the family and friends who cut me loose, abandoned and betrayed me, the folks who are so bitter and angry and I have to conclude most us don’t have a clue what it means to be a Christian.


“But, people can change, “I told him. Fact is, I like the person I’ve become. I’m a lot wiser, more humble, more compassionate, more forgiving, than I ever was before my arrest. If you would have told me ten years ago I’d be not just content, but happy, tutoring men to earn their GED’s, I’d have laughed at you.


“Yeah a lot of people let me down. I’m hurt. But I can accept it, still love them, and move on day by day.”


We talked about respect being an overused word in prison. How one of the failures of the “system” in sending so many people to prison is that you now have thousands of young guys doing short bids; two, three, maybe four years at a time. Prison becomes “just a place to go”. Those guys by and large lack respect for anybody or anything. The vast majority of problems in low custody facilities such as this are from these “short time” guys. Act like they do here at a higher security level and you’ll find yourself beaten to a bloody pulp or shanked.


The strange thing about my talk with Powers is though we are from entirely different worlds and I disagree with him on much of what he says, I find him to be a decent guy. He clearly is a man of character and substance.


He killed a man. He is serving his sentence. Yet, he has developed into a complex man. He is a man I respect. I can see beyond his crime committed almost twenty years ago. I consider Powers my friend. I need to tell him he was wrong. Sometimes you can put prejudice and bias aside and see the real person.

Wants

I’ve been thinking a great deal about all the things I wanted in life. I’m not talking about material things. I had all the stuff, all the crap we buy and accumulate to feel good, feel our life is successful and blissful.



I was a big buyer of stuff. Anything my wife and kids wanted, I got them. She’d plan a shopping day with “the girls”, I’d hand her $500 dollars. Every weekend I’d go to Walmart and come home with DVDs for my younger son. A couple of times a month I’d run by Barnes & Noble and bring home stacks of books and CDs.


Our refrigerator was packed with fresh high-priced foods. The wine rack full of expensive reds and whites.


Our home was packed full of brand name things. We were real consumers. No one lacked for anything; no one went without. There was no want. Or was there?


There was so much I wanted. I’ve come to realize, that I never got. The strange thing is the people I most wanted from never even bothered. I’m sure if they read this they’d say “why didn’t you tell us”? They don’t read the blog (my ex “it’s despicable!” my folks “why do you have to write about all this?”) and anyway, how do you explain to someone you doubt their feelings for you.


I watched an interview the other night with former President Bush discussing his newly released memoir, “Decision Points”. In it, he reprints a letter he received from his father on the eve of his inauguration as Governor of Texas. The letter (which W can’t read himself because he chokes up reciting the words) spoke of his father’s love for him. It was about the pride his father had in him.


My own father has never written me, never told me anything. He has always been remote and distant, never sharing with me any insight. The only time I ever was rewarded any emotion from him was when I screwed up.


Even now as I sit in this place he visits and complains about “the Democrats” or who’s been a pain in his ass, or his new windows. He’s never said a word to me about this situation, never asked about the hole in my soul over the loss of my wife and sons, never told me if he thought I did the right thing in confessing and giving everything away.


I’m 51 years old and I know nothing about my father. My entire life he shared his opinions, but never said a word about who he really is. In the past six months, I’ve learned more about my father and his family from his estranged sister – my aunt – than I ever knew. The facade of Protestant morality, of Christian virtue, has been lifted. As I suspected, my grandmother was vindictive and opinionated (I knew long ago she wasn’t particularly fond of my wife; she thought I could have done “better” and should have married someone who put me first). I’m OK knowing all that. At least the family isn’t pretending to be something it’s not.


All a child wants is to be loved by his mother. My wife was wonderful with our kids. I watched her nurse them, comfort them, caress them. I’m not sure they know how lucky they are having a mom so loving.


I wanted that. Instead, my mom required me to conform. Everything was about appearance. “What will people say, what will people think?”


Independence was wrong. I had to be and act the way she expected. Discipline was more important than love.


My mother to this day believes someone is “screwing her” out of something. She is overwhelmingly angry and negative. I can’t even recall all the times her insensitive remarks hurt my wife. Imagine having to explain over and over again to your spouse “that’s just mom being mom”.


She’s better about her church, her younger son (she speaks horribly about my brother then wonders how he “ended up” the way he did), the way I was treated in court (though, everyone else deserves to be locked up), her life. She thinks everyone blames her for everything and yet, every situation depends on her feelings.


My mother has never been happy, never been carefree. She is judgmental and difficult. And with the exception of my ex-wife, her attitudes, her disappointment in my life hurts me more than anything.


All I ever wanted in a soul mate was a woman to love and appreciate me. I thought I had that. Perhaps (sorry, but Freud may be right about a few things) I was so willing to do anything, undergo any disappointment, for my wife because I was so starved for affection from my mom.


All I know is, when she and I first met it was magical. But, I told her “I love you” first. I pursued her. My life, my career decisions, my impulsiveness, and my refusal to ever say “No” to her about anything, all began early on. Her family, candidly, didn’t give a shit about me or even her. Her parents were, are, self-centered narcissists. They did nothing for us as a young, married couple. Every problem our relationship suffered early on was a direct result of them. I found I married a perfectionist, a woman who couldn’t just be happy being in love with me.


It’s difficult to admit that all you want to hear is “I love you; I miss you; I need you”. My wife said over and over she didn’t need me to be happy. Ironically, that was my overwhelming obsession.


I wanted to hold hands walking on the beach. I wanted to walk in the house, be kissed and told “I love you”. I wanted to be able to put my arm around my mate while we fell asleep. I wanted a wife that wanted me emotionally and physically.


Now I sit in prison and wonder, will I ever be given a chance to get what I want?

The Task Force Speaks

I received a copy of the December 2009 Report and Recommendations from the Virginia “Alternatives for Non-Violent Offenders” Task Force. The task force was created by the Secretary for Public Safety to address the “difficult fiscal situation” the Commonwealth faced, specifically finding ways for DOC to downsize. “The times, they are a changin.”



DOC spends a great deal of time and money hiding the truth about the actual costs to taxpayers. Politicians – Democrats and Republicans alike – want the “law abiding public” to believe Virginia can continue to lock inmates up for long sentences, deprive them of parole or other forms of early release, and maintain a “tough on crime” approach without regard to the long term costs. Folks, you can’t have it both ways. Continue to run prisons as you have and it will cost you. You can’t have quality schools, medical care, roads, and low taxes and continue incarcerating people at the current rate.


Here are the facts right from DOC:


1) In 1982 there were 9,192 inmates, at the close of 2009 - 38,387. That’s a 300% growth.


2) Beginning in 2008, operating budget for DOC exceeded $1 billion, an increase of almost 74% since 1998.


3) The state inmate population is expected to reach 40,000 by 2015. Community corrections supervises another 59,000 offenders.


4) Virginia’s elimination of parole in 1994 has led to substantially longer sentences, which has led to a dramatic increase in the number of inmates housed.


5) Approximately half of all new prison admissions in 2008 were non-violent offenders (45.2%). Of those, 39.7% were convicted of larceny or fraud type crimes, 25.8% of drug possession.


6) Virginia has an abnormally high incarceration rate and low community supervision rate – the fourth highest rate in the country.


7) In 2009, the cost to house one inmate rose 6.6% to $24,667.


8) To build a 1000 bed facility costs $100 million and over $25 million each year to operate.


9) Virginia spends 20 times more a day to house an inmate than supervise one in the community: $66.62 per day vs. $3.39 per day ($739.70 million versus only $78.04 million spent on community corrections which manages almost 20,000 more offenders).


10) Costs to operate prisons continue to increase even as budget cuts have caused layoffs in DOC (the largest state agency with over 13,000 employees) and a shortage of bed space.


All of these ten facts came directly from data provided by DOC and governmental agencies responsible for the budget. These are the rantings of a “bleeding heart liberal”. No, these are the cold calculations of the very people who direct, manage and budget for, the Virginia prison system. It is a costly failing venture and it’s getting worse.


I have been incarcerated 27 months. My crimes: over a 12 year period I embezzled $2.1 million from my employer (five counts) and at one point I created a fictitious letter from the Virginia State Bar for my personnel file (one count forgery of a public document). On the date of my sentencing I signed a settlement agreement with my employer. I agreed to plead guilty to all six counts, no documentation required by the Commonwealth. I transferred assets worth over $500,000 in partial restitution. The company allowed my wife and I to keep our house, personal property, college funds for our kids, and cash funds. I then gave my wife everything in a property settlement (“coincidentally”, my wife, within 30 days of me signing everything over to her, filed for divorce. True love is beautiful).


My sentence guidelines were one year to five years, one month. I did not realize, however (and my lawyer in a letter specifically failed to advise me), that each count carried a separate sentence. The judge sentenced me to serve five years per count. He then suspended 2 ½ years off each sentence. I am serving six consecutive 2 ½ year sentences. Ironically, the sentence guidelines for second degree murder are ten years to 22 years. I have a longer sentence than many murderers, rapists and armed robbers.


Did I deserve to be incarcerated? Yes. I broke the law. I broke my employer’s trust and stole a significant amount. However, I did not deserve the sentence given. Nor is it justifiable from any economic or rehabilitative premise. In short, I am the face of all that is wrong with sentencing and incarceration policies in Virginia.


My case is just one example of money being wasted. Each year I stay in prison the cost to keep me increases. I am being maintained and supported on the public dole. I have free medical and dental care (there is a small copay and the doctors are incompetent). Meanwhile, tens of thousands of Virginians have no medical coverage.


I pay no taxes. I am unable to pay restitution to my employer. I am unable to help raise and support my younger son.


Are there alternatives available? Yes. Put me on supervised probation. Let me use my education and skills to be a working taxpaying member of society. Let me pay restitution and support my family and community.


The fact is over $1 billion is being spent to incarcerate inmates in Virginia. There is sufficient money for programs to educate, train and rehabilitate. House and hold. By and large, that’s all $1 billion is getting Virginians. That and a bloated, inefficient agency that is sucking money away from schools, roads and healthcare.


These aren’t the observations of a disgruntled inmate. These are the facts known by the Governor, every member of the General Assembly, DOC itself.


It is time for courage and daring on the part of Virginia’s politicians. It is time for honesty about the true cost of running DOC. It is time for early release of nonviolent felons and real treatment and rehabilitation programs for violent felons.


As Bob Dylan sang and the task force showed “the times they are a changin.”

Lockdown Again

Lunenburg was on lockdown all last week for its semi-annual shakedown. At higher custody level facilities, lockdown is serious business. For example, Nottoway prison – about seven miles from here and which is a level 3/4 violent felon prison – has been on lockdown for over a month since the stabbing death of an inmate and an assault on an officer.



Here, however, lockdown is more like a parent sending their child to their room and only letting them come out for meals. For most guys here, lockdown is viewed as a vacation, a chance to get out of work for a few days, catch up on sleep, TV, and reading. Other than the actual search of your things, it’s a pretty boring week interspersed by the occasional fist fight that breaks out as a result of 96 guys being crammed together without break for four straight days.


As I reported last spring, everyone knows lockdown is coming. Much like moving the clocks forward and back, lockdown comes in spring and fall. The concept is this: eliminate all unnecessary movement of inmates around the compound, then swoop in with a large mass of officers and search every building for drugs, weapons and contraband. In theory, it’s a necessary component to the effective maintenance of security and order at the prison. In practice, it’s a joke.


At 7:45 am last Monday morning, the intercom announced “cease all inmate movement. Lunenburg is on lockdown until further word”. Within ten minutes of the announcement a pile of blue state shirts and jeans appeared along with dozens of towels, sheets and pillowcases. Then, inmates began hiding plastic knives (used for cooking) and extra shoes (inmates are limited to one pair of boots, one pair of sneakers and one pair of shower shoes).


There are thirteen housing units that are in use here. There is a vocational education building; a maintenance shop, two chow halls, two kitchens, a staff dining room, an enterprise factory, a medical unit, a programs building holding four classrooms, a library, a law library, barbershop, school and psychologist office, gym and visitation room, as well as two large rec yards. Every one of those areas needs searching during a shakedown. Even with extra staff working overtime, there is a limit to what can be searched in one day. During this shakedown three housing units a day were searched.


My building went through “shakedown” on Tuesday morning. We were led up to the visitation room after passing by the drug dogs. The dogs then pass through the building (no drugs were detected). Inmates are then called back ten at a time (five sets of cut mates) for individual shakedown.


You are taken into the bathroom and undergo a strip search. Following getting dressed, inmates (by cut) are assigned two officers that actually go through your things, and a third officer to keep records.


In my case, I was assigned the chief investigator for the compound. Being mildly OCD has its benefits. All of my property is organized. I have numerous file folders set up with paperwork, including receipts for every purchase I’ve ever made during my incarceration.


The investigator picked up a few things, looked at me with a smile and said “You’re that lawyer here. I know there’s nothing in here to worry about”. He then made me toss out two empty peanut butter jars. That was it.


The big “contraband” item found was 53 televisions inmates left behind for friends who didn’t own their own set. All electronics are engraved with your inmate name and number. DOC prohibits inmates from giving or receiving anything from another inmate. In principle, the policy makes sense. You never want to be indebted to another man in the penitentiary. But, as a practical matter, guys look out for their “stick men” (friends).


Friday at lunch, “lockdown” ended. I headed outside for a nice run. Six more months and the whole process starts again. I can’t wait!