which resulted in me being moved into a solitary cell the next day. Frankly, it should have happened immediately upon my entry, but I was soon to learn that prisons are not operated like our outside world expects them to be. The questions were: Was I ever a political candidate or political official, and was I ever in law or prison enforcement? Since both answers were yes, I was hastily removed from William F. and moved into a solitary cell for my "own protection" 24 hours a day. At least, I didn't have to put a blanket over myself when I went to the bathroom (some initial relief). What to do? … What to do? My "counselor" would arrive by Monday - phone calls, visits, supplies, all were only possible through the counselor. They injected me with a TB test and I was told that seventeen cases of chicken pox were circulating through the population estimated at one thousand prisoners. The previous inmate had left an old envelope and a four inch rubber pencil. I made a deck of cards and sat like Papillon or Rainman for the next nineteen hours playing cards. I began exercising but without any change of clothing for the next three days, I tried not to add to my anti-social appearance and scent by exercising. Showers were Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I had no soap or toiletry items.
Fortunately, I experienced something that most inmates do not receive, making these diary pages possible to sneak out. I had legal visits. Those legal hours gave me contact with the outside world and a constant reminder that my incarceration was not for any crime. As a former Marine, I fought for the right to exercise my freedoms of disagreeing with a "life time" appointed Judge and his own arrogantly self-appointed one man jury. He needed no second opinion. My second day was spent alone except for my legal visit.
I am writing this initial diary entry on my sixth day and still no counselor has arrived. I realize that William F. has sat without contacts for those entire days. William F. and I started speaking a little through the walls, but that doesn't use up too much of the twenty-four hours. Maybe I can read a Bible? That is the best I can hope for now, since it is the only book I was given. Perhaps a future anthropologist, studying the demise of our great Nation, will explain why the Bible was banned from our classrooms, yet appears to be standard issue in our prisons.
On day three, I received clean bedding (a sheet, a pillow case, no pillow and a towel). This Monday will be my first handcuffed prison shower and my first change of clothing. I will receive one pair of socks, one tee shirt; one used underwear and one orange jumpsuit. No shampoo, no razor, no shaving cream, no toothpaste or toothbrush is issued. However, I will get a shower overlooking the center of the "Day Room". After I go into the shower, they will lock me in and take off my handcuffs. At least I can see what is going on around here from there. The Day Room is like a 70x70 foot central command with one old desk and five unmatched chairs in the décor of an old subway station with a black and white vinyl tile floor.
After each departure from my solitary cell, I am strip-searched upon my return. No writing materials are permitted, but I was able with a piece of snuck-in legal paper, to make a rudimentary set of Scrabble letters to play on my twelve inch steel desk that is bolted on the wall of my cell. My Scrabble set joined along with my self-made deck of cards as my own form of self-created entertainment. Sometimes I get unusual meals; today it was a piece of cauliflower, one whole pepper, two packets of jelly and three packets of mayonnaise. That is really all there was!
On my fourth day of isolation, for society's own good, I received some generic medicines which my earlier physical check–in required. Most inmates get drugs in prison.
Breakfast has been the same every day. It consists of 1 half-pint of milk, 1 cereal packet and 1 tangerine. The cardboard milk carton must become my glass for the day. Tepid sink water is all that we get every day. One white plastic teaspoon/fork will be with me for my entire time. The nights are very cold, so one must sleep in the standard prison issue orange inmate outfit, but fortunately, I am told that, in a few days; I will meet my counselor and be able to get toiletries and commissary privileges. Unfortunately, the toilets began to overrun in neighboring cells so the complaining noises and odors add to my initial civil incarceration punishment. I did today leave my light on all night to hopefully keep away my night visitors of mice and rats.
I received a mystery book which had the last six chapters ripped out, but I read it anyway. Twenty-four hours in total isolation is a very long time. The book had a note from a previous reader. It said, "I ripped out the ending - fuck you. In here, none of us have an ending." How prophetic that statement was to become.
On day six, one of the inmates gave me some opened toothpaste and a small finger sized used toothbrush. No counselor. No Lieutenant. No Warden. Forget about me, I listened to inmates pounding on the doors because some have been waiting three weeks and have received no phone calls, no visitor forms, and no contact with the outside world and, unlike me, no legal visits.
As I write this initial report on this sixth day, still catching up because I just snuck in refills and paper, I remain in isolation. I look out my narrow door and see 8 other rooms or cells and hear these inmates at night. This diary is not only about the mice, rats or ranting of the inmates; it is about the minimizing the underbelly of our society and creating an expose' about this prison system and the invalid causes of my incarceration.
Guards have a very difficult job dealing with gang members, rapists, murderers, hardened criminals and now one sixty year old grandfather who dared to not have the ability to pay an appealed and ridiculous fine imposed by a Judge. How dare one question the wisdom of a man who is part of this unsympathetic, unresponsive and unprofessional system of supposed justice? This facility is right in the center of New York City. Always remember that as you read the stories and descriptions that follow.
If a society is measured by the way it handles its prisoners. Boy, did I see a lot this first week. It is not a recommended spa but if one wants to lose weight, find religion or learn to enjoy handcuffs - reservations can be arranged by incurring the unchecked wrath of a politically appointed lifetime Judge, whose poor decisions will ultimately be exposed in an objective Courtroom and the more important court of public opinion.
It is now May 10th and my eighth day of incarceration and in addition to my still being here, it amazes me more that a counselor has not appeared. More than that, NOTHING can be done, no calls, no supplies, no visitation forms UNLESS this counselor gives them to you. Men are begging to call home at night and the Corrections Officers simply say, "Talk to your counselor". It is a continued emotionally abusive game, or a sadly stated organizational ploy.
When an inmate psychologically snaps, and snap they do; they scream gutturally, pound and kick the door and make the longest and most unnerving sounds. Then the guards let them make a telephone call even without a form. What then is the expected behavior of an unbalanced inmate to call or get their requests? You guessed it! Act irrationally and get attention. On the outside of each steel door is a muted mouthpiece speaker, which forces an inmate to scream to be heard. Normal voice volume levels elicit no responses. Polite questions posed to guards are ignored unless the inmate irrationally performs like the zoo animal the guards are accustomed to conditioning. The guards tell me that some inmates throw feces and urine at them. Today I do not wonder why. In the days to follow, I will wonder why that is all they do.
Chapter 2 – Settling In
All I have requested during my first eight days is for a book to read. Neither any counselor nor any education employee has aided me in receiving one. Today from another inmate, I received the "History of Salt". That book is not a page turner or best seller, believe me!
At night the guards play and party. I can hear them. My only fear is in a fire or evacuation or medical emergency I would be trapped due to their inability to put down their pizzas, donuts and Chinese food. They could not possibly hear us during their loud and uproarious clubhouse shenanigans when no one is watching them. They appear to be more closely supervised during the daytime.
I would be remiss if I did not try to describe the daily food distribution in the Special
