First Day (#30)

Jeff decided to take his readers through the details of his entry into prison. He wants to tell more of the story of his imprisonment. So, here is the first installment.

First Day

When I first walked into the prison here at Taft, the rules started immediately. The first rule that I recall I learned from an odd situation. After replacing the clothes was wearing with an oversized t-shirt, boxers, and a humiliating orange jumpsuit, I was put into a sound proof room with benches and a toilet. I was with two other guys. Occasionally we talked, but we mostly just sat there in the silent shock that comes with realizing that we were in beginning a new life in prison. As the three of us sat there, exchanging silent stares or nervous banter, we noticed a guard frantically waving their arms at us and angrily yelling something through the soundproof windows. I looked at them in confusion, because I obviously could not hear them. Then the gesticulating started with increasing levels of crimson on their faces. After playing this silly game of charades, it occurred to me that they wanted us to stand up. I told the other two prisoners that this song and dance the guard was doing meant that we needed to stand up. So, we stood up and the guard was relieved. I later learned that at that time of the day, all the prisoners are required to do a standing count. I have no idea why standing is the preferred position for the inmates, but nevertheless, the inmates must stand up, even those inmates who have just arrived and attempting to communicate from a sound-proof box. I’m generally offended when movies and televisions shows portray our crime fighting and governmental intelligence as simpletons, but the guards should have known that as new arrivals, we were not aware of the standing count and that even if we were, we did not know what time it was and could not hear the standing count call from the guards or loudspeaker. This would not be my only confounding brush with the intelligentsia that makes up the Bureau of Prisons (BOP).

Shortly thereafter, I was transferred to the camp. Upon entering the camp, I gave back the orange jumpsuit and was given a tan pair of pants. Why give me the orange jumpsuit in the first place? I’m not sure about this procedure either, but I don’t make the rules. One thing I learned about the rule makers and enforcers is that one is best served by neither being known nor knowing the guards. Following this rule has served me well so far.

One other thing that the BOP gives new inmates is a handbook. The handbook is full of rules that the inmate must follow, and procedures for completing various tasks (such as filing complaints, requesting new jobs, etc). I learned quickly that there are two sets of rules, those in the handbook and those from the prisoners. I read the handbook cover to cover my first weekend (I arrived on a Friday afternoon). I don’t remember most of it. As you can imagine, most of the staff do not know the rules in the handbook either. I did not realize this until a few months into my time here.

My experience with the BOP and prison, however, started before I even arrived. I was what the BOP calls a self-surrender. When the judge handed down my sentence, my attorney had already requested a self-surrender. If one is not granted this, the convicted is handcuffed, perhaps given a chance to say goodbye’s to family and taken to a local jail for transportation. Self surrender allows for the convict to leave the courtroom, go home, and take care of personal matters before surrendering to the BOP. The BOP gave me two months. Some are given more time, some less. My dad’s wife was ill, and his self surrender time will end up being around 9 months. Other inmates in the minimum security camp are transferred there from higher prisons, or from jails after their conviction. As a self surrender, I have a status in the prison. My status was that of a target. I knew little to nothing of prison hierarchy and society. I was ripe to be swindled.

Within two minutes of my entry to camp, I was confronted by a situation that was a breach of the rules. A guy walking out of the chow hall asked me if I was new (my new pair of blue canvas shoes, and the large black L, the size of my shirt, boldly announced to all that I was new). There was no point in answering him, because the answer was obvious. But, I did. He then asked if I had eaten. I ate a large lunch because I figured I may not get to eat dinner on my first night. I told this inmate that I had not eaten dinner. He proceeded to offer me an orange. The rule is that you are not to accept anything of value from another inmate. Before I entered I read that you should not accept anything from other inmates because then you will be indebted to them. The way it works is that you are offered something, which on the outside would seem like a kind gesture. In prison, however, if you accept, you owe that inmate something. A few days later, the inmate will ask for something from you, and you are expected to produce it. I have found that inmates are passive aggressive. They never tell you what they really want or what the terms of any transaction are.
The rule about not accepting anything from another inmate is written in the handbook. It must be a good rule because the handbook contains very few rules that apply to the informal inmate code as well. I did discover that there are many ways around this rule, and that in many cases, trading with other inmates is good. Despite the rule, inmates break it constantly, as if it were not a rule at all. After I declined the orange, the same inmate took me to the chapel. It turns out that the Christians at the prison have a tithe box. The Christian inmates buy supplies to give to the new inmates. It’s a great ministry. I discovered that the guy who offered me the orange was a Christian. This posed some interesting dilemmas in my mind that I would later figure out as I learned more the rules of prison.