Читать книгу Sold Short In America - Richard A. Altomare - Страница 6

I must confess I often have looked past the barbed wire of prisons thinking that our government ran a "tight ship" with our prisoners. Prisoners were bad. They obviously were guilty of something. These prisons kept law abiding citizens like me and you safe from them. Yet, tonight, Friday May 2, 2008 as stated, I have erroneously been accused of civil contempt by one Federal Judge, and I have been ordered to report to the Metropolitan Correctional Center located in downtown Manhattan, NYC.

Anger, embarrassment, shock and disbelief were only some of the emotions I felt as I boarded a plane in Florida to arrive the same day that the Judge refused to allow a forensic accountant to explain what he obviously refused to believe. I simply did not have the money to pay his outrageous fine, which was already on appeal. I am sure this "stay" will be a one or two day occurrence, so the judge can show his power and “make a point”, and I will be placed in some non-criminal minimum security facility. Maybe, I will be assigned to a prison like the one in which I was a warden, when activated to serve when I was in the military reserves many years ago. Now I, someone without a moving traffic violation, was actually going to prison! Life is filled with many unusual experiences, so having had a pretty full life, I figured I could at least have some new interesting dinner stories and be home by Monday.

I will discuss the aspects of this case throughout my diary which resulted in this incarceration, but to every American reading this diary, hold on to your hats and read about the "world within our world" called the Bureau Of Prisons (BOP) which spends over 60 billion dollars of our money annually.

Closely follow my story, as I visit but one “Club Fed”, for what I thought might be a short weekend junket, and I report (in far greater detail than I had originally anticipated) on what is happening inside the barbed wire at thousands of U.S. prisons nationwide.

Everything you will read is true. I will endeavor, through my observations to expose the reality that you or someone you know, innocent of any crime, and without a trial or conviction for anything, could suddenly and unwillingly be checking into any one of the “Club Feds”.

This diary can be a primer for "What you always wanted to know about prison life but were afraid or not previously interested enough to ask." The purpose of this personally psychologically revealing diary is to give a pro and con of a broken system through one non-criminal's eyes. I am not a criminal but have been sent here by a lifetime appointee to be "put in my place" or to be silenced. After reading this book, you can decide for yourself.

For "my protection", (non-felons) are often placed in solitary confinement for 24 hours a day. That's a 10 foot x 6 foot cell to be described in grisly detail later on in this diary.

This diary is presented without prejudice or elaboration. It is devoid of any slanted facts due to my obvious negative feelings towards my Judge and his tactics or his attempts to endear his governmental employer. It simply reports on a place most of us, including me, never thought I would live in for a minute - certainly not 83 long but insightful and educational days! And that means 24 hour consecutive days and nights.

On the day I was to report, the Federal Marshals removed my shoelaces and belt (suicide tools). The initial check-in process took about 3 hours with 8 other inmates. All of us were handcuffed, frightened or angry. This is where I began my initial observations of our penal system.

We were placed in filthy rooms with no windows as we filled out prison forms with rubber pencils or only wiggly refills to prevent us from attacking another inmate or hurting ourselves. Suicide occurs far too often in here. This is where I first met a 27 year old, William F. from Manhattan, accused of selling a gun. Based on my initial dialogue, the Marshals abruptly removed him from a drug clinic boot camp which he was attending. This young frightened father of three babies was my first roommate along with at least six mice and rats in our cell. I watched him and the mice during my first sleepless night.

Our first "food" delivery was served in small brown plastic trays about 6"x8" in size. It appears that some of the guards try to treat the inmates with courtesy; I will elaborate throughout this diary on the behavior of those who mishandle their unlimited power over many of the inmates.

That reminds me of my initial undressing from my civilian clothing in front of a prison trustee. I guess depending on his sexual preference, this may be a dream job for him. The undressing is done in front of only one inmate and prison clothes are issued while your civilian clothing is put in a numbered hanging bag.

I was given "rules and regulations for MCC-NY (attached) and "sexual abuse guidelines", which aids in one's first night of one-eye closed sleeping in that 10x6 foot cell. The toilet bowl and sink is one unit and located directly in front of the door which has a small window. When going to the bathroom an inmate either covers himself with his own blanket in order to not be seen by his bunkmate or to avoid the plain view of anyone looking through the window on the door. An inmate's cot is similar to a hard poolside lounge. The surrounding noises initially are frightening or later on humorous if you can detach yourself from the sounds of mice (or rats) in the walls. There are screamers, some yelling at each other, some yelling at imaginary people, and most yelling at guards. Unfortunately, the guards are forced to become as noisy and crazy as the inmates under their charge. The initial sounds alert you to the painful fact that this is not like any other place you or I have ever experienced.

During my check-in interview I answered yes to two questions, 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.