Update 4

Sunday, June 20

Dear Prayer Partners,

As the buss pulled up to the booking office we were waiting outside the booking office waiting to be booked in. It was raining, the place looked bleak. We saw a lot of men walking on the compound dressed in army green suits. The scene was bright and beautiful, it was dark.. The booking officer came out and was taking our names. A man (I presumed an inmate) walked up like he was going into the booking office. The booking officer screamed at the man to get out of here and don't let me see you again. It reminded me of how we might run off a stray dog on the farm when we didn't want to see him on the farm again. I thought to myself that this must be a really bad guy. I certainly wouldn't want to have anything to do with a guy like that (meaning the inmate). We had no idea the day could come when we would be treated like that man.

The door opened and we were marched in. Two officers were doing the booking. Please understand I was in the Navy. I have gone through boot camp; I wouldn't argue with someone who would say that booking should not be pleasant, but I would not agree. The C.O.'s at this place are beyond constructive discipline. They are people who hate their jobs, they hate inmates, are lazy, and see people like us as obstacles to mess up their quiet, self-centered lives. Inside we were all place in either of two cells and they took us out one at a time, taken to another cell and strip searched - and I mean strip searched like never before. We were then given some temporary surgical type suits and slippers just to last us the next day, but they also easily identified us as new prisoners. I think us older guys were shown a tad bit of respect which can only be recognized by comparing to the others. We were passed from psychologist, to nurse, to counselor. The interview went something like this (C.O. stands for counseling officer) I need to add a little of the expletives here or it won't be realistic; but you must understand if I put them all in this letter the letter would be twice as long. That's the way it is all over this compound at first. The interview went like this:

CO: What the F--- is an old man like you doing here?
me: Taxes
co: If you got any f--ing questions just ask them. I wanta get this over with.
me: Will there be an orientation?
co: What the f--do you want to know?
me: How will we know when to report?
co: You'll find out. Next?
me: When will we find out the rules.
co: This is a f--ing camp.
me: Will we be in a cell tonight?
co: I'm done. Get the f-- out of here.

I've been with a young farmer from Southern MN in Sherburne County for 5 weeks. His name is Jeff. Jeff is in for buying cocaine on the phone. Jeff like to talk way too much, talks dirty as the C.O. and claims to know much about everything but comes across as really foolish to anyone who is a little older. The C.O. read him really quick and really gave Jeff a bad time. He asked Jeff if he was a member of a gang. Jeff said, "No", so King checked "Gang Associates". Jeff hasn't been associated with a gang, so he is really nervous about that. The C.O. couldn't find his pen, so he was accusing Jeff of staling the pen and was screaming, "You think this is funny, this is a prison ___ ___. Your going to learn we don't need any comedians around here, you can land in the hole." I happened to know that another C.O. didn't have a pencil and took it so I was able to pull Jeff out of the fire that time. They seemed to believe it if I said it (Thank you, Lord). We were in line waiting around until 9:00 PM. Then we were escorted to our dorm. The dorms are Air Force barracks that were built in the 50's. They drops off the guys at their dorm. I finally arrive at my building 208. 208 has 150 inmates in it. It's an old two story wooden structure. We walk in out of the rain and inmates have just finished "cooking" their after dinner meal. Their cooking is with beans, rice, curie and a lot of other seasonings I have never smelled before. Men were all over, peering at me, wanting to get a look at the new guy. The sights and smells were very different. It was much like being dropped off into a ghetto. The C.O. was walking ahead, me following upstairs, down the hall and stopped at a room with four bunks, three men - I'll be the fourth. Mark is black and from Grand Rapids, MI, serving 10 years for selling cocaine. (Cocaine is the charge for all three). Mark is 38 years old. Ace is 22 years old, a black man from Milwaukee. Jose is 26 years old from Milwaukee. The C..O. shows me my bunk and tells me this might be temporary. The C.O. leaves and some of the guys come to introduce themselves. One gives me a tooth brush and toothpaste. Another leaves me some shower slippers. I feel like I might have some friends here. I go to bed and lay there in the dark thinking through the day. I pray for the events, thank God for the small acts of kindness. I think of this bed, the smells, these guys, this being my home for the next four years. I intentionally change my thought. This is not a good time to think about the four years. I sleep but wake up repeatedly. Soon there are a lot of foot steps and morning has come.

I have survived the first day.