Not much changes from day to day in a prison camp except for the people. Unlike most federal prisons, a prison camp has high turnover. People come in for a few months and then they are gone. Those of us who have a longer stay at camp just continue on with our routine. Sometimes a new guy will fit in somewhere; sometimes they won’t. At the beginning of my time I thought I would try to meet all the new guys that came in. I was baffled by the long-timers who later told me they don’t talk to anybody with a 6 month or less sentence. I now know why they do that.
Surprisingly I actually have a very busy schedule. Because I leave the prison camp everyday, my contact with other inmates is limited. When I’m at the camp I try to follow a schedule of exercise and classes. After a while you realize that inmates with short sentences don’t cross your path. I don’t have the time to seek out all the new inmates and get to know them. Rather, I let the prison routine do that. I still meet new inmates. I might sit with one at a meal or meet one in soccer or in a bible study. It’s convenient to meet a new guy in an activity in which you are involved. The activity you have in common has reduced a barrier. It’s easier to approach a guy and get to know him when you can talk about soccer or the bible study topic.
Sometimes you meet a new guy and you know something isn’t quite right. This happens most often with people who have different values than you. On a rare occasion you will talk to someone who is not mentally stable. This happened to my friend and me the other day at breakfast. We sat down with a new guy (it’s obvious who the new guys are because they have on blue canvas shoes and usually poorly fitting shirt and pants) and my friend starting asking harmless, normal questions. Where did you transfer from, where do you live, etc. Normal stuff that all of us have been asked. Oddly, this guy didn’t answer the questions. He started talking, but it was as if the question was simply a signal for him to start talking. When he left my friend looked at me and said exactly what I was thinking, “that was weird.”
Later I heard that this same guy got into some trouble. Apparently he went into one of the Spanish television rooms and changed the channels while several of the Latino guys were watching a program. First, just changing the channel in a tv room is a risky proposition, and second, this guy is Caucasian. (see previous blog for a discussion of the various tv rooms). This is about the worst non-verbal insult you can make at a prison camp. Normally a camp has very little tension or aggressive behavior, but this was a situation where things could have escalated. I think more fights start over what is on television than any other reason. I wasn’t surprised to hear about this guy doing something social inept. He clearly wasn’t operating by conventional social standards of those in prison.
One thing that remains is the assignment of nicknames to newcomers. (Jeff wrote about nicknames in a prior blog as well). Of course, you need to have a lengthy sentence to get a legitimate nickname, otherwise the catch-all nickname is “short-timer.” A favorite, but uncreative nickname is to call yourself by the name of the city or country from which you came. A few examples I have seen here are: Vegas, Fresno, Panama, and Columbia. I suppose those work. What you don’t want is a derogatory nickname based on something you do or say. My dad has a bunkie that we call “Santa Claus” or “Crazy Santa.” He looks like Santa Claus and sometimes he says and does some odd things. Mydad has yet to be given a nickname. That’s probably good. It means he’s keeping a low profile.
On occasion our commissary or store will change the items they sell. This isn’t always a good thing. Recently they changed the coffee. We now get less coffee with a 35% increase in price. The cookie/snack section changes the most frequently. Recently, they added a generic oreo cookie as well as a generic ho ho. The “swiss rolls,” as they are named, are very popular. I bought a box containing 12 rolls. Within 48 hours they were gone. Needless to say, I cannot afford a habit like that.
Another interesting change to the store list was the addition of rayon basketball shorts. I really like these shorts. I would never buy these in the real world, but for prison, they are ideal for running and sports. Sometimes the changes in what they sell can make you feel a little like you do at Christmas. I was very excited to get these shorts. They have proven to be a good purchase.
Jeff
Monday, September 29, 2008
Outside Soccer (#46)
I recently played in a soccer game against a team from outside of the camp. The team was from the Taft Jr. college, and they traveled to our camp to play a game against several of the inmates. This is similar to the movie “The Longest Yard” where the inmates play the guards in football. In the case of the soccer game, the outside team did not have any guards or any staff members that I know of. However, in some other outside games, the guards have played against the inmates on the outside team. The soccer game was the 4th such outside game played at the camp in the past 14 months I’ve been here. The three previous games were basketball, softball, and a second basketball game.
These outside (outside in this context means “not in prison, as “inside” means incarcerated among the inmates) games are very popular events. Generally, an outside team playing a compound team will draw at least half of the inmates as spectators. Part of this is just plain boredom, and the games are something a bit out of the ordinary. But, part of it is also a sense of pride in the inmates. To compete and do well against and outside team gives the inmates, in my opinion, a sense of pride and accomplishment, and acceptance into regular society. I think it makes the inmates feel human a bit, as the camp, and much more so in higher security levels, tend to make one feel inhuman. The game speaks for the inmates saying, “we can do what you do. We aren’t different from you.” That feeling, although not frequently expressed verbally by individual inmates, is expressed collectively when the compound performs well against the outside team.
For me personally, this soccer game ranked in the top 10 games in attendance in which I have played. There were probably 250 people watching this game, about half of the camp. Ironically, this game ranked in the bottom 10 of any soccer game I’ve played as far as importance in my life. It was a bit strange to have so many people care about a soccer game that, to me, had little to no significance in my life. That does not mean I didn’t care about the game. I always want to play well and do my best, but the outcome meant nothing. I wouldn’t get a trophy or a scholarship offer or paid for playing. It was equivalent to an intramural game in college in terms of importance in my life.
If you had asked me 2 months before the game, I would have told you I had no interest in being on the team at all. I was in the middle of the camp soccer league and genuinely hating it. I didn’t want to play soccer at the camp anymore with the people there. I was constantly criticized for my play and attitude. I had nothing to prove, and was playing injured almost every game. I’m a white guy with a long soccer resume playing in a predominantly Hispanic sport in prison. I was going to decline an invitation to play, but when the best player asked me personally to play, I decided to do it. I thought that my best approach would be to keep my mouth shut and do whatever was asked of me. That’s hard for me to do. Over the next month an a half of training, I did my best to encourage others and not get frustrated. Unfortunately, I couldn’t maintain that self control all of the time.
My frustration surfaced during the game. I did not realize that we would be playing 20 year-olds. These guys could run and run. The average age of our team was probably 30 or so, and the starters’ age was higher than that. It became evident after 30 minutes that we weren’t going to be able to keep pace. I cam down with a cold a day or two before the game and got hit hard with the cold on the day of the game. What stamina I had seemed to disappear. Being constantly exhausted makes one’s play deteriorate. That’s when I got frustrated. I was mostly frustrated with myself, but on occasion that frustration spilled over to my teammates, and that’s not good. For any of the guys who played in that game, I apologize.
The game ended in a loss for my inmate team. I think part of the problem was our coach and best player got injured about 20 minutes into the game. We were up 1-0 at that point. I believe we were the more skilled team, but the loss of our coach got us out of rhythm. The other team had some good players, but I think their biggest strength was their stamina. We ended up losing 5-2. It was difficult to keep up with the constant running.
I enjoyed the experience much more than I thought going into it. I enjoyed playing with the team and for the first time in a long time I experienced some good competition. I had given up competitive soccer in return for the much less stressful recreational soccer. This was the first time in about 10 years that I played with a “select team” against another “select team.” That experience was fun and I would be honored to be selected again.
In case you were wondering, the inmate basketball team lost both of its games, but the inmate softball team destroyed the outside team.
Scott’s addition. Jeff sent this blog to me in early June and I misplaced it. It was attached to a letter he sent to me, and I had forgotten that he attached it. He usually sends blogs separately. At any rate, he has since been selected to play against the same outside team in early Sept., and this time the inmates won 7-3. Jeff played about half of the game, to see his team go up 5-1. He was suffering from an abdominal strain and was having difficulty running and moving without pain. But, he wanted to show that he could be encouraging to his teammates. Unfortunately, he is still hurting from the game as his abdomen didn’t get any better.
Jeff
These outside (outside in this context means “not in prison, as “inside” means incarcerated among the inmates) games are very popular events. Generally, an outside team playing a compound team will draw at least half of the inmates as spectators. Part of this is just plain boredom, and the games are something a bit out of the ordinary. But, part of it is also a sense of pride in the inmates. To compete and do well against and outside team gives the inmates, in my opinion, a sense of pride and accomplishment, and acceptance into regular society. I think it makes the inmates feel human a bit, as the camp, and much more so in higher security levels, tend to make one feel inhuman. The game speaks for the inmates saying, “we can do what you do. We aren’t different from you.” That feeling, although not frequently expressed verbally by individual inmates, is expressed collectively when the compound performs well against the outside team.
For me personally, this soccer game ranked in the top 10 games in attendance in which I have played. There were probably 250 people watching this game, about half of the camp. Ironically, this game ranked in the bottom 10 of any soccer game I’ve played as far as importance in my life. It was a bit strange to have so many people care about a soccer game that, to me, had little to no significance in my life. That does not mean I didn’t care about the game. I always want to play well and do my best, but the outcome meant nothing. I wouldn’t get a trophy or a scholarship offer or paid for playing. It was equivalent to an intramural game in college in terms of importance in my life.
If you had asked me 2 months before the game, I would have told you I had no interest in being on the team at all. I was in the middle of the camp soccer league and genuinely hating it. I didn’t want to play soccer at the camp anymore with the people there. I was constantly criticized for my play and attitude. I had nothing to prove, and was playing injured almost every game. I’m a white guy with a long soccer resume playing in a predominantly Hispanic sport in prison. I was going to decline an invitation to play, but when the best player asked me personally to play, I decided to do it. I thought that my best approach would be to keep my mouth shut and do whatever was asked of me. That’s hard for me to do. Over the next month an a half of training, I did my best to encourage others and not get frustrated. Unfortunately, I couldn’t maintain that self control all of the time.
My frustration surfaced during the game. I did not realize that we would be playing 20 year-olds. These guys could run and run. The average age of our team was probably 30 or so, and the starters’ age was higher than that. It became evident after 30 minutes that we weren’t going to be able to keep pace. I cam down with a cold a day or two before the game and got hit hard with the cold on the day of the game. What stamina I had seemed to disappear. Being constantly exhausted makes one’s play deteriorate. That’s when I got frustrated. I was mostly frustrated with myself, but on occasion that frustration spilled over to my teammates, and that’s not good. For any of the guys who played in that game, I apologize.
The game ended in a loss for my inmate team. I think part of the problem was our coach and best player got injured about 20 minutes into the game. We were up 1-0 at that point. I believe we were the more skilled team, but the loss of our coach got us out of rhythm. The other team had some good players, but I think their biggest strength was their stamina. We ended up losing 5-2. It was difficult to keep up with the constant running.
I enjoyed the experience much more than I thought going into it. I enjoyed playing with the team and for the first time in a long time I experienced some good competition. I had given up competitive soccer in return for the much less stressful recreational soccer. This was the first time in about 10 years that I played with a “select team” against another “select team.” That experience was fun and I would be honored to be selected again.
In case you were wondering, the inmate basketball team lost both of its games, but the inmate softball team destroyed the outside team.
Scott’s addition. Jeff sent this blog to me in early June and I misplaced it. It was attached to a letter he sent to me, and I had forgotten that he attached it. He usually sends blogs separately. At any rate, he has since been selected to play against the same outside team in early Sept., and this time the inmates won 7-3. Jeff played about half of the game, to see his team go up 5-1. He was suffering from an abdominal strain and was having difficulty running and moving without pain. But, he wanted to show that he could be encouraging to his teammates. Unfortunately, he is still hurting from the game as his abdomen didn’t get any better.
Jeff
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Spoons (#45)
I recently had a “remember you are in prison” experience. I thought it was worth sharing. This past weekend I got up at 6 am to go to breakfast. One thing about prison that is as close to constant and reliable as you can get is the menu. Every Saturday morning we have corn flakes and coffee cake. If we ever get a different cereal, I am ecstatic. On occasion we do, but that is not the point of this blog. I digress.
The chow hall is also somewhat consistent in terms of what to expect and the procedures for getting food and eating. The chow hall is very similar to a cafeteria. It reminds me of the chow halls in college. Meals are served at certain times of the day. You almost always stand in a line for 15 minutes. When you get to the serving counter you get your tray and plastic wear. The servers are assigned 1 item and put it on your tray. At the end of the line you take a cup and fill it with your beverage. Even the choice of beverage is consistent meal to meal.
On Saturday morning there was a change in the chow hall routine. At the point where we get our plastic wear, we only had spoons. Typically, there are two rows of utensils with forks on the top row and spoons on the bottom. However, the utensils are placed in the dispensers with only the handle showing, so you do not see whether the utensil you are grabbing is a fork or spoon until you pick it out. You go by routine. Spoons on top, forks on bottom. It’s generally not an issue, unless you our out of a certain utensil. On Saturday morning, the fork row was empty. We only had a choice of spoons. I didn’t think a whole lot about it other than it was weird eating coffee cake with a spoon.
At lunch when I arrived at the utensil dispenser there were the two rows of utensils. Naturally, I thought that the forks would be on top and the spoons on the bottom. To my surprise, both rows were spoons. I couldn’t put the spoon back; that’s a prison rule. Once you touch a tray or a utensil, it’s yours. So, I had two spoons at lunch.
A few seconds after grabbing my second spoon, the guard that overseas the kitchen (yes, there is a guard for this – because the kitchen is a great place to steal food and spices to trade) tell another inmate that he only needed one spoon. As I grabbed my cup and passed the guard she told me, “you don’t need two spoons.” I tried to explain the situation. “Yes, but I had already touched the second spoon. I couldn’t put it back after I had touched it.” That seemed to hit a nerve with her. She got angry and retorted, “What? You think I don’t know that?” I replied meekly, “No, I was simply saying that I had no choice once I took that second spoon. There was nothing I could do.” (Inmates often complain about the dehumanizing aspect of prison. When dealing with guards who neither care to learn the facts, or treat the inmates as beneath them, I’m not amazed to hear about inmate violence at higher security prisons).
That evening at dinner I didn’t take any chances. I only took a spoon. By that time the rumor had spread that we weren’t’ given forks because inmates were either stealing them, or throwing them away. The same guard that lectured me about my excessive spoon issue at lunch was back at dinner. I overheard another inmate ask her when we would get forks back. She replied, “You can buy forks at the commissary,” as if to imply that we should buy them and bring in our own forks if we want to use such a utensil. This was odd because it’s against policy for an inmate to bring anything to a meal except one condiment. We are not allowed to bring our own cups to the chow hall. It’s always humorous (frustratingly so) when a guard tells you to do something that is against policy. Needless to say it was difficult to eat my salad and chicken patty with a spoon. I was late for my softball game because of it.
Epilogue: On Monday morning we had forks again. I have not seen the fork Nazi guard, but she will be back this weekend. We might be deprived of forks for all of our weekend meals.
Other interesting things:
For those of you who don’t know, we get counted, literally, physically counted by the guards, multiple times each day. The two main counts, also called standing counts because we have to stand, and several counts during the middle of the night. I don’t understand these. We can’t go outside because the door is locked. Why bother counting? Anyway, the other day a guard announces over the camp PA system to put our chairs in our cubicles. The guards were going to count our chairs. Oddly our chairs have to be in our cubes on Fri. morning as it is at the 8 am weekly inspection. Why not count the chairs then? Oh well, that’s someone else’s problem.
Jeff
The chow hall is also somewhat consistent in terms of what to expect and the procedures for getting food and eating. The chow hall is very similar to a cafeteria. It reminds me of the chow halls in college. Meals are served at certain times of the day. You almost always stand in a line for 15 minutes. When you get to the serving counter you get your tray and plastic wear. The servers are assigned 1 item and put it on your tray. At the end of the line you take a cup and fill it with your beverage. Even the choice of beverage is consistent meal to meal.
On Saturday morning there was a change in the chow hall routine. At the point where we get our plastic wear, we only had spoons. Typically, there are two rows of utensils with forks on the top row and spoons on the bottom. However, the utensils are placed in the dispensers with only the handle showing, so you do not see whether the utensil you are grabbing is a fork or spoon until you pick it out. You go by routine. Spoons on top, forks on bottom. It’s generally not an issue, unless you our out of a certain utensil. On Saturday morning, the fork row was empty. We only had a choice of spoons. I didn’t think a whole lot about it other than it was weird eating coffee cake with a spoon.
At lunch when I arrived at the utensil dispenser there were the two rows of utensils. Naturally, I thought that the forks would be on top and the spoons on the bottom. To my surprise, both rows were spoons. I couldn’t put the spoon back; that’s a prison rule. Once you touch a tray or a utensil, it’s yours. So, I had two spoons at lunch.
A few seconds after grabbing my second spoon, the guard that overseas the kitchen (yes, there is a guard for this – because the kitchen is a great place to steal food and spices to trade) tell another inmate that he only needed one spoon. As I grabbed my cup and passed the guard she told me, “you don’t need two spoons.” I tried to explain the situation. “Yes, but I had already touched the second spoon. I couldn’t put it back after I had touched it.” That seemed to hit a nerve with her. She got angry and retorted, “What? You think I don’t know that?” I replied meekly, “No, I was simply saying that I had no choice once I took that second spoon. There was nothing I could do.” (Inmates often complain about the dehumanizing aspect of prison. When dealing with guards who neither care to learn the facts, or treat the inmates as beneath them, I’m not amazed to hear about inmate violence at higher security prisons).
That evening at dinner I didn’t take any chances. I only took a spoon. By that time the rumor had spread that we weren’t’ given forks because inmates were either stealing them, or throwing them away. The same guard that lectured me about my excessive spoon issue at lunch was back at dinner. I overheard another inmate ask her when we would get forks back. She replied, “You can buy forks at the commissary,” as if to imply that we should buy them and bring in our own forks if we want to use such a utensil. This was odd because it’s against policy for an inmate to bring anything to a meal except one condiment. We are not allowed to bring our own cups to the chow hall. It’s always humorous (frustratingly so) when a guard tells you to do something that is against policy. Needless to say it was difficult to eat my salad and chicken patty with a spoon. I was late for my softball game because of it.
Epilogue: On Monday morning we had forks again. I have not seen the fork Nazi guard, but she will be back this weekend. We might be deprived of forks for all of our weekend meals.
Other interesting things:
For those of you who don’t know, we get counted, literally, physically counted by the guards, multiple times each day. The two main counts, also called standing counts because we have to stand, and several counts during the middle of the night. I don’t understand these. We can’t go outside because the door is locked. Why bother counting? Anyway, the other day a guard announces over the camp PA system to put our chairs in our cubicles. The guards were going to count our chairs. Oddly our chairs have to be in our cubes on Fri. morning as it is at the 8 am weekly inspection. Why not count the chairs then? Oh well, that’s someone else’s problem.
Jeff
Quarterly Update Summer '08 (#44)
Sorry it has taken me so long to update the blog. Just a busy summer. Here is Jeff's quarterly update from July.
I’ve been at Taft Camp for 15 months now. I’ve actually managed to settle in and the days are much easier. At a camp this is called “institutionalized.” I watch whatever movie we get every Friday at 7 pm just because it’s something to do. I’ve figured out what to buy at the store and I even joined a b-league softball league. Most of the activities in which I participate I would not do in my ordinary life outside of prison. For example, I would never play softball. Most of the movies I watch I would never rent much less pay full price to see in a theater. Most of the books I read I would not be able to read because of a lack of time if I were at home. But, these are the ways to pass time here. I have gotten to a point where I actually look forward to the Friday night movie. When I first arrived, I probably watched 4 movies in the first 4 months. There are some weekends where I watch 4 movies.
One of the toughest things that I have had to do over the past 3 months is adjusting to the psychological impact of the completion of my 1st year here. When you start to see the same activities, repeat weather patterns, seasons, and holidays, it’s a challenge to stay focused. I admire the guys who have to do several years here. The redundancy of it would drive me a little crazy. I understand why I play softball when those who know me wonder what I’m doing. It’s new and different to me, and that keeps me a bit more sane. That’s how guys with long sentences avoid the depressing repetition of it all. They play cards, watch tv, play sports, take classes, and do whatever they can to provide some variety.
One of the more interesting things from my time here happened to me last quarter. A guy who was sentenced to 20 months researched prison camps on the web. He came across my blog. It turned out that he was designated for Taft and he contacted me. He arrived at Taft earlier this month (July) and I’ve spent a lot of time with him. It was an encouraging experience for me to realize that this blog is helping other people. I’ve enjoyed talking with this guy (I don’t want to use his name because I haven’t told him I would use his name) and I look forward to developing a stronger friendship as we progress through this time together. I had been struggling with how God is using me here, but I believe God is teaching me not to look for results, but to just remain obedient and focused on Him.
My wife and I both turned 36 earlier this month (Laura on the 4th and Jeff on the 9th of July). This was a difficult time for both of us because our birthdays are close together. We usually go on vacation for our birthdays. I look back at my last birthday and realize how thankful I should be. My wife and I have both matured in our faith during the past year. My wife sees opportunities to use this struggle for God’s glory almost every day. She leads a women’s support group for those who have loved ones in prison. She also facilitates a bible study and hosts a small group at our home. She is constantly sharing with neighbors and friends of her struggle and here endurance through Jesus Christ. I must say I’m very proud of my wife.
On the lighter side of things, the commissary, or prison store, is selling Dr. Pepper again. It will only last for another month, so I buy a lot and try to save it. The store is also selling generic cocoa puffs. I love cocoa puffs. To put this in perspective, I have to work for 6 days to afford a six-pack of Dr. Pepper and a bag of cocoa puffs. In the “real” world, I worked 10 minutes to buy those same items. Buying a 6-pack of Dr. Pepper and a bag of cocoa puffs is like buying a flat screen television for many of you. In other words, it’s a pretty big purchase and big deal here.
In closing, I’m enjoying my new cube with my new bunking. My cube has a window and my bunkie makes me laugh. It has been much easier doing my time in this cube. That’s it for now.
Jeff
I’ve been at Taft Camp for 15 months now. I’ve actually managed to settle in and the days are much easier. At a camp this is called “institutionalized.” I watch whatever movie we get every Friday at 7 pm just because it’s something to do. I’ve figured out what to buy at the store and I even joined a b-league softball league. Most of the activities in which I participate I would not do in my ordinary life outside of prison. For example, I would never play softball. Most of the movies I watch I would never rent much less pay full price to see in a theater. Most of the books I read I would not be able to read because of a lack of time if I were at home. But, these are the ways to pass time here. I have gotten to a point where I actually look forward to the Friday night movie. When I first arrived, I probably watched 4 movies in the first 4 months. There are some weekends where I watch 4 movies.
One of the toughest things that I have had to do over the past 3 months is adjusting to the psychological impact of the completion of my 1st year here. When you start to see the same activities, repeat weather patterns, seasons, and holidays, it’s a challenge to stay focused. I admire the guys who have to do several years here. The redundancy of it would drive me a little crazy. I understand why I play softball when those who know me wonder what I’m doing. It’s new and different to me, and that keeps me a bit more sane. That’s how guys with long sentences avoid the depressing repetition of it all. They play cards, watch tv, play sports, take classes, and do whatever they can to provide some variety.
One of the more interesting things from my time here happened to me last quarter. A guy who was sentenced to 20 months researched prison camps on the web. He came across my blog. It turned out that he was designated for Taft and he contacted me. He arrived at Taft earlier this month (July) and I’ve spent a lot of time with him. It was an encouraging experience for me to realize that this blog is helping other people. I’ve enjoyed talking with this guy (I don’t want to use his name because I haven’t told him I would use his name) and I look forward to developing a stronger friendship as we progress through this time together. I had been struggling with how God is using me here, but I believe God is teaching me not to look for results, but to just remain obedient and focused on Him.
My wife and I both turned 36 earlier this month (Laura on the 4th and Jeff on the 9th of July). This was a difficult time for both of us because our birthdays are close together. We usually go on vacation for our birthdays. I look back at my last birthday and realize how thankful I should be. My wife and I have both matured in our faith during the past year. My wife sees opportunities to use this struggle for God’s glory almost every day. She leads a women’s support group for those who have loved ones in prison. She also facilitates a bible study and hosts a small group at our home. She is constantly sharing with neighbors and friends of her struggle and here endurance through Jesus Christ. I must say I’m very proud of my wife.
On the lighter side of things, the commissary, or prison store, is selling Dr. Pepper again. It will only last for another month, so I buy a lot and try to save it. The store is also selling generic cocoa puffs. I love cocoa puffs. To put this in perspective, I have to work for 6 days to afford a six-pack of Dr. Pepper and a bag of cocoa puffs. In the “real” world, I worked 10 minutes to buy those same items. Buying a 6-pack of Dr. Pepper and a bag of cocoa puffs is like buying a flat screen television for many of you. In other words, it’s a pretty big purchase and big deal here.
In closing, I’m enjoying my new cube with my new bunking. My cube has a window and my bunkie makes me laugh. It has been much easier doing my time in this cube. That’s it for now.
Jeff
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