18: Step Inside
Walking into prison for a 30 day sentence
I arrived at Milan FCI at around 1:15 PM on Feb 22, after driving from my home in Chicago. I had a small duffle bag with a few clothing items they allow, 2 bibles (one for reading and one for sharing), 3 reading books, a logic puzzle book, a pad of paper and 2 pens, my glasses case, and hearing aid supplies. My wife dropped me off in the parking lot, and I walked in.
I don’t think they get many walk-ins. And, given that I didn’t need to report until March 5, I’m sure they thought I was nuts. I get it - if I was going in for two years, I’d want to delay as much as possible. 30 days? Let’s get this over with.
The intake Commanding Officer (CO) knew I was a J6er. He mentioned I was the second one to go through the facility. He asked me a bunch of questions (mostly identification, but also that I understand why I’m there). He then asked me if I knew that sometimes standing up for your country has unfortunate consequences, with a knowing smile. The CO’s were “on my side”, but I’ll get to that later.
Our prison system is not designed for 30 day sentences. Most inmates at Milan had sentences between 3 and 10 years. 3 years is considered a “short sentence”. In fact, the CO mentioned that the last 30 days for an inmate are when they spend time preparing to get out, like finalizing plans, who will pick them up, etc. He said that the very next day, Feb 23, he would be starting my exit paperwork! He mentioned that this was really a waste of time. I looked at him and said “well, sir, this wasn’t exactly my idea!”. We had a brief chuckle.
After he was done with the paperwork, I met with someone from “medical”. I wanted to procure the meds I take daily before I arrived, but that was not to be. I was prepared with a list of all my medications. She said that she would be able to get some of them fairly quickly. Apparently “medical” has a high level of authority. It was decided that I would be in quarantine for my entire stay. I had no idea what that meant. I would soon find out!
He went through my duffle, and said I could only bring three books. I really wanted to bring two bibles. I was reminded of a time I was going through enhanced security in Johannesburg, South Africa. The young man looked through my backpack and asked, “is that a REAL bible?” (it was a smaller, travel bible). I said “why yes.” He replied that he always wanted one, especially in English. I pulled out the bible and handed it to him. He gave me a big smile and placed it carefully on his table. So, here, now, in Milan, I could foresee the same thing. Unfortunately, I did leave one of them in my duffle, and grabbed one reading book and the logic puzzle book along with one bible.
I was able to bring my hearing aids and supplies (batteries, filters), and my glasses case and cleaner with me. I went through a final inspection, then was given some clothes to put on so I could go into the facility.
I grabbed my items, he radioed to someone, and I was let outside, to the inside of the facility. Another officer walked me over to a building, opened a door to a 2-story building, led me to the CO inside, and closed the door. That’s the last time I would be outside for awhile. The CO opened a big steel door, told me I’m in room 7, upper bunk, and slammed the door.
My heart was racing as I walked up the stairs. I didn’t have the slightest idea what this world would be like, regardless of how much I had read about it. I heard a loud TV, and a lot of talking. The stairs end in a common room, so I was immediately facing a bunch of other inmates.
Before I go further, let me state something. I’d been told that prisons are racist institutions. That is correct from what I saw. Everything is sorted by race - where you sit, who you interact with (generally), who you eat with. More importantly, it also includes who gets to have control of the TV, who sits in “the back of the room”. And, it’s the exact opposite of what society might think. The black community definitely is in charge. This was true in quarantine, and definitely in the general prison population (Gen Pop). I will add that, at a low-security facility, there is no violence, and that everyone generally gets along. It’s more like getting a hint that you should not be sitting in the front row of the TV room, for example. Someone might mention that the seat is where “Smitty” sits or something. So, uh, find another seat.
Back to the staircase. Two black men approached me as I walked in. They introduced themselves, and asked me where I was from. When I said “Chicago area”, they said “us too - I’m from Humboldt, and he’s from the south side.” I mentioned that I was from the burbs. They asked me how long I’m in for, I said 30 days. They shook their heads. And said “you’ll be alright.”
I found my cell - #7. I knocked, and opened the door. An older gentleman was sitting on the lower bunk, with religious headwear, reading a book. We introduced ourselves, and he was very kind. He had an extra cup for me (Styrofoam).
He is a 71-year old Pakistani doctor with a practice in Ann Arbor. It sounds like the general partner of the practice may have been defrauding Medicare (or something), and all the partners were found guilty. He was serving 7 months. He would be moving to Gen Pop after quarantine. He walked with a cane. Many times a day he would take a religious mat into the hallway and conduct his devotion, meditation, and prayers. He would generally stay in the cell or in the hallway while he was there.
I didn’t have a mattress.
Here’s another learning. Inmates don’t dislike the officers (usually - there are a few). However, officers aren’t there to do things for you. Most problems are solved by inmates working together. There is a feeling that, well, we are all here facing the same s**t, let’s help each other out. So, word went out that I needed a mattress, and one was quickly handed to me. Of course, it wasn’t a GREAT mattress, but upgrades come later. I made my bed the best that I could. I haven’t made a bed on a bunk since college.
At 4:30, someone yelled “CHOW”, and there was a mad-dash to the common area. Two trays of Styrofoam containers were on the table. I grabbed a container and sat down. Mexican night. Edible. I met a few others, including a Hispanic young man who would bet on sports nightly, and an older gentleman who drove rich people around the Caribbean in yachts, lived in Haiti, but is German. I met someone else who had been in a municipal jail for several months before coming here. He was from Joliet, and, importantly, had a subscription to the New York Times.
I’d like to mention what I saw in quarantine. This is where inmates go when they first get to Milan, or when they are getting ready leave, often times to a halfway house. So, it was rare that a “walk in” like me would show up. Usually, there is a prison plane or bus that arrives at the facility. That means that there may be 5, 10, 15 new people that show up. They may all be from one facility, or may come from several other facilities, but arrived together on one plane.
There were two floors. I don’t know much about the ground floor, but the second floor had about 20 cells, so, room for up to 40 people. During my time, we had as few as 18 (we each had our own room), and as many as 34 (too many for one common area).
As any corporate psychologist can tell you, group dynamics are different at 18 (some sense of accountability) versus 34 (get away with what you can). This did cause problems. The CO’s have “COUNT” 2x per day. We stand outside our cell, and two officers, independently, count the number of us. If they agree on the number, we are done. If not, they do it again. They use this to order meals (and, of course, to make sure everyone is there).
So, there are the exact number of meals provided on the trays. When there are 18-20 people, everyone takes 1. When the group gets bigger, someone would take 2, saying one is for their cellmate, and someone would go without. This typically happened when a new group arrived via bus or plane. I was one of those without a dinner one night (I think my third night there). No one fessed up, so I went down the stairs and banged on the big steel door. I told the CO that we were short one. He was not happy. He said “you are new here?” I said yes. He handed me his dinner (he ate the same as us). Thank you Officer Wilson. That was very kind.
After dinner, some people would play cards or chess, some would read. It was also a good time to hang out in the hallway and share stories and get to know everyone in the ever-changing makeup of quarantine.
I crashed early the first night, which I couldn’t believe. The officers doing “COUNT” left me alone since I was in deep sleep. One of the first men I met told the CO that it was my first night and I was out. They left me alone.