Walking and Talking
By Steve Clemens. FPC Duluth. April 30,2006
As Yogi Berra said, “It was deja vu all over again.” When I saw in the chapel bulletin that the prison chaplain was bringing the sermon this morning, I had the same sinking feeling I had back in the mid 80s when I discovered Jimmy Carter was slated to preach at Koinonia’s worship.
Actually, as sermons go, both were good and, at times, inspiring. It wasn’t the proclamation but rather the practice that caused my consternation. It was difficult to hear President Carter talk about Jesus when what went through my mind was a Commander-in-Chief who threatened the Soviets with nuclear weapons and an administration which proposed a neutron bomb which would kill people but spare buildings.
When I hear the chaplain’s name (or title), I immediately think “police” rather than “pastor.” When one’s role involves the continual caging of other humans, it is hard to set that fact aside to hear anything else. When one has threatened an action which could precipitate the end of the world as we know it, it makes it difficult to suppress that awareness to honor such a man with the Nobel Peace Prize.
Incarnation—the words becoming flesh and blood must also be coupled with consistency for the message to be heard. There must be a correlation between one’s proclamation and one’s profession. When Carter puts on his bib overalls and grabs his Habitat hammer I can hear what he says about the son of the carpenter of Nazareth. But when he acts in his role as commander-in-Chief, the words about the Prince of Peace are without effect. The chaplain’s sermon, “Did Easter Make a Difference?” talked about God’s presence, the peace Jesus gives, the new purpose we are called to, and the power of the Holy Spirit to get the job done. But when he talked about “the peace that frees us” while wearing the name tag in the pulpit that is inscribed Federal Bureau of Prisons, FPC Duluth, Chaplain, the “freedom” he is talking about is not the same as the gospel that calls us to tear down the prison walls, release to the captives. When the chaplain included in our “new purpose” being “advocates for the poor and seeking social justice,” somehow I don’t think his critique applied to this “compound.” When the benediction at the close of the service included “render no one evil for evil” I could think of nothing but the real nature of the prison system. All of us have blind spots in our faith journeys. It is my prayer that all of us help each other strive for consistency between our walk and our talk.
- Steve
PS I highly recommend Lee Griffith’s The Fall of the Prison to understand the scriptural perspective on the prison.
Letters From Prison 2006 #7- Revenge or a Balm?
Revenge or a Balm?
By Steve Clemens. FPC Duluth. April 30, 2006
Delusions of grandeur? Or desperately clinging to hope... or revenge? At breakfast this morning I overheard the guy at the end of our 6 person table talking about his case to the inmate across from him. “I’m gonna nail that SOB...I’m gonna take his house, his wife, his wedding ring... I’m gonna file racketeering charges on his ass....” Yada, yada, yada. Some guys can never let go of their cases because they’ve let them stew and fester inside this fence. This inmate claims he’s getting out next week (May 5) and will have the FBI agent who hounded and arrested him “arrested and throw his butt into jail.” The likelihood of a convicted felon being able to turn the tables on a federal officer is the stuff of pipe dreams in here but it is a strange way to hold on to hope by plotting revenge.
I’m noticing a pattern that some guys will talk to anyone who’ll listen with even a modicum of empathy in order to vent some of the pain that has been bottled-up for years and eats like a cancer within. I can imagine some of these guys spending all their waking hours (and even their dreams?) plotting their revenge and thus destroying any possibility of normalcy upon their release. Maybe one of the saddest products of this “corrections” or “justice” system is knowing that more than 80% of all convicts will eventually be released to our streets and the system has only kept picking at the scabs—never letting old wounds heal.
But I’ve also witness another approach. At the Catholic Scripture discussion group meeting this past week, a guy who used to be involved in organized crime [I guess a lot of the crime that brought people here was disorganized!] said that “since coming to Christ, I’ve forgiven the guys I ran with, I’ve forgiven the judge, the prosecutor....” “I just want to be able to make things right.” Another inmate in our small gathering of five, including the visiting nun in her 80s, said he keeps going over and over and over again some of the things he’s done (or left undone) and “although I know God has forgiven me, I can’t quite forgive myself yet.”
I’ve seen my share of “jailhouse religion” and, at times, all the God-talk makes me want to retch—especially all the “Father-God” language in prayers that cries out for an anthropomorphic God to fix the father-wound many of these men have. Yet here were two men, both in their fifties I’d guess, struggling with what forgiveness might look like instead of revenge. The good Sister (I can say that because she comes highly recommended to me by my fellow Pax Christi board members in the Twin Cities) listens with empathy and love, not rushing in too quickly with the pat assurances I’ve heard so often when I’ve been “inside” the cages and confines of jail and prison life.
There is always the risk that any jailhouse religion is an opiate of the masses. But opiates or the myriad of other narcotics many have been sent here for using, possessing, selling, and/or “conspiracy to sell,” often only mask the hurts, pains, and wounds society has inflicted (or which have been self-inflicted). I do believe, I have also experience the “Balm in Gilead” that Martin Luther King often talked about. How can we help to spread that healing balm, the “healing river” of the gospel song, upon this parched, dry ground?
By Steve Clemens. FPC Duluth. April 30, 2006
Delusions of grandeur? Or desperately clinging to hope... or revenge? At breakfast this morning I overheard the guy at the end of our 6 person table talking about his case to the inmate across from him. “I’m gonna nail that SOB...I’m gonna take his house, his wife, his wedding ring... I’m gonna file racketeering charges on his ass....” Yada, yada, yada. Some guys can never let go of their cases because they’ve let them stew and fester inside this fence. This inmate claims he’s getting out next week (May 5) and will have the FBI agent who hounded and arrested him “arrested and throw his butt into jail.” The likelihood of a convicted felon being able to turn the tables on a federal officer is the stuff of pipe dreams in here but it is a strange way to hold on to hope by plotting revenge.
I’m noticing a pattern that some guys will talk to anyone who’ll listen with even a modicum of empathy in order to vent some of the pain that has been bottled-up for years and eats like a cancer within. I can imagine some of these guys spending all their waking hours (and even their dreams?) plotting their revenge and thus destroying any possibility of normalcy upon their release. Maybe one of the saddest products of this “corrections” or “justice” system is knowing that more than 80% of all convicts will eventually be released to our streets and the system has only kept picking at the scabs—never letting old wounds heal.
But I’ve also witness another approach. At the Catholic Scripture discussion group meeting this past week, a guy who used to be involved in organized crime [I guess a lot of the crime that brought people here was disorganized!] said that “since coming to Christ, I’ve forgiven the guys I ran with, I’ve forgiven the judge, the prosecutor....” “I just want to be able to make things right.” Another inmate in our small gathering of five, including the visiting nun in her 80s, said he keeps going over and over and over again some of the things he’s done (or left undone) and “although I know God has forgiven me, I can’t quite forgive myself yet.”
I’ve seen my share of “jailhouse religion” and, at times, all the God-talk makes me want to retch—especially all the “Father-God” language in prayers that cries out for an anthropomorphic God to fix the father-wound many of these men have. Yet here were two men, both in their fifties I’d guess, struggling with what forgiveness might look like instead of revenge. The good Sister (I can say that because she comes highly recommended to me by my fellow Pax Christi board members in the Twin Cities) listens with empathy and love, not rushing in too quickly with the pat assurances I’ve heard so often when I’ve been “inside” the cages and confines of jail and prison life.
There is always the risk that any jailhouse religion is an opiate of the masses. But opiates or the myriad of other narcotics many have been sent here for using, possessing, selling, and/or “conspiracy to sell,” often only mask the hurts, pains, and wounds society has inflicted (or which have been self-inflicted). I do believe, I have also experience the “Balm in Gilead” that Martin Luther King often talked about. How can we help to spread that healing balm, the “healing river” of the gospel song, upon this parched, dry ground?
Letters From Prison 2006 #6- "Be Not Afraid"
"Be Not Afraid"
By Steve Clemens. FPC Duluth. April 28, 2006
Last night at Catholic Mass we sang "Be Not Afraid." I haven't sung that song in a while but as soon as I started, I was immediately transported back 25 years ago when Larry, Kathy, LaDon, Vince, Mary and I sang it on the cold February 10, 1981, morning in Amarillo, TX as security guards from the Pantex plant stood pointing their automatic weapons at us, telling us not to move--waiting to be arrested. "Be not afraid, I go before you always; Come follow me, and I will give you rest." Somehow, those words were meant to be sung in the jails prisons and paddy wagons as people of faith choose to resist the powers of death and domination.
The three months in Potter County jail followed by three months at the Federal Prison at Texarkana were a time of profound spiritual growth and renewal--a "mountaintop" experience is the term often used in Evangelical circles. I think that phrase must be analogous to the transfiguration story of the gospels where the disciples experience Jesus in a new way. In prison one experiences the crucifixion every day, yet there are also glimpses of resurrection and transfiguration as well. As my friends at the Open Door so often proclaim: "Christ comes in the guise of the stranger, the homeless, the prisoner."
Acts of kindness and generosity abound--even in the midst of the daily grind, the hassles of the guards or even worse, the "counselors." I think of my wonderful friend, Mardi, and I cringe at the bastardization of what the "corrections system" identifies as counseling. Just yesterday, my "cellie" Beetle had his long-awaited meeting with the Unit Team--the Unit Manager, the Case Manager, and the "counselor." He's been waiting for weeks for this meeting in hopes of getting word that he would be going to a halfway house soon since his 18 month sentence expires in August. Often inmates get a 6 month transition into a halfway house at the end of a longer sentence and a somewhat shorter period for Beetle's relatively short incarceration period.
If this wasn't a men's prison, I think he would have returned in tears but that expression of emotion isn't in evidence very often. (The place I'd look for it is at 2:45 pm in the visiting center when it is time to say one's goodbyes). Beetle was told that due to his medical "issues" (he's been on SSI disability for the past 12 years since he was run over by a combine and has tried to resist being assigned to a work placement here because prolonged standing causes his ankles to swell), he would not be sent to a halfway house nor be released with an ankle bracelet for electrical home monitoring. This came the day after he was called to the chaplain's office and given a call because his mother had just been taken by ambulance from Mason City to Rochester's St. Mary's Hospital because her cancer had spread to her bowel.
In a healthy society such news might prompt a visit from the chaplain, a counselor, or even a member of the Psychology Services here. But Beetle is left to fend for himself and at least he was able to share some of the pain, hurt, and fear with me.
The powers of death and domination are strong in here --yet Wednesday evening the drumbeat and the voices of the "Gospel Choir" came spilling out of the chapel so loudly that the Catholic Scripture discussion group in the room down the hall had to close the door to be able to hear each other as Sister Timothy, a blessed nun in her 80s, encouraged us to focus on the resurrection appearances of the Christ. So, the battle continues between the forces of darkness and the forces of liberation--and, at times, we can remind one another, "Be not afraid...come, follow me."
- Steve
PS: I'm reading The Word on the Street by Stan Saunders and Charles Campbell about doing theology in the context of the city streets with the homeless. A perfect book to be reading “in the belly of the beast.”
By Steve Clemens. FPC Duluth. April 28, 2006
Last night at Catholic Mass we sang "Be Not Afraid." I haven't sung that song in a while but as soon as I started, I was immediately transported back 25 years ago when Larry, Kathy, LaDon, Vince, Mary and I sang it on the cold February 10, 1981, morning in Amarillo, TX as security guards from the Pantex plant stood pointing their automatic weapons at us, telling us not to move--waiting to be arrested. "Be not afraid, I go before you always; Come follow me, and I will give you rest." Somehow, those words were meant to be sung in the jails prisons and paddy wagons as people of faith choose to resist the powers of death and domination.
The three months in Potter County jail followed by three months at the Federal Prison at Texarkana were a time of profound spiritual growth and renewal--a "mountaintop" experience is the term often used in Evangelical circles. I think that phrase must be analogous to the transfiguration story of the gospels where the disciples experience Jesus in a new way. In prison one experiences the crucifixion every day, yet there are also glimpses of resurrection and transfiguration as well. As my friends at the Open Door so often proclaim: "Christ comes in the guise of the stranger, the homeless, the prisoner."
Acts of kindness and generosity abound--even in the midst of the daily grind, the hassles of the guards or even worse, the "counselors." I think of my wonderful friend, Mardi, and I cringe at the bastardization of what the "corrections system" identifies as counseling. Just yesterday, my "cellie" Beetle had his long-awaited meeting with the Unit Team--the Unit Manager, the Case Manager, and the "counselor." He's been waiting for weeks for this meeting in hopes of getting word that he would be going to a halfway house soon since his 18 month sentence expires in August. Often inmates get a 6 month transition into a halfway house at the end of a longer sentence and a somewhat shorter period for Beetle's relatively short incarceration period.
If this wasn't a men's prison, I think he would have returned in tears but that expression of emotion isn't in evidence very often. (The place I'd look for it is at 2:45 pm in the visiting center when it is time to say one's goodbyes). Beetle was told that due to his medical "issues" (he's been on SSI disability for the past 12 years since he was run over by a combine and has tried to resist being assigned to a work placement here because prolonged standing causes his ankles to swell), he would not be sent to a halfway house nor be released with an ankle bracelet for electrical home monitoring. This came the day after he was called to the chaplain's office and given a call because his mother had just been taken by ambulance from Mason City to Rochester's St. Mary's Hospital because her cancer had spread to her bowel.
In a healthy society such news might prompt a visit from the chaplain, a counselor, or even a member of the Psychology Services here. But Beetle is left to fend for himself and at least he was able to share some of the pain, hurt, and fear with me.
The powers of death and domination are strong in here --yet Wednesday evening the drumbeat and the voices of the "Gospel Choir" came spilling out of the chapel so loudly that the Catholic Scripture discussion group in the room down the hall had to close the door to be able to hear each other as Sister Timothy, a blessed nun in her 80s, encouraged us to focus on the resurrection appearances of the Christ. So, the battle continues between the forces of darkness and the forces of liberation--and, at times, we can remind one another, "Be not afraid...come, follow me."
- Steve
PS: I'm reading The Word on the Street by Stan Saunders and Charles Campbell about doing theology in the context of the city streets with the homeless. A perfect book to be reading “in the belly of the beast.”
Letters From Prison 2006 #5- “Get a Job”
“Get a Job”
by Steve Clemens, FPC Duluth. April 24, 2006
Occasionally, while vigiling for peace at the Lake Street/Marshall Ave bridge between St. Paul and Minneapolis or at the headquarters of Alliant TechSystems in Edina, makers of cluster bombs, land mines, depleted uranium
munitions and other weapons of mass indiscriminate destruction, someone will drive by and yell "Get a job!" The assumption is one that "working for peace" is not a "productive endeavor." Peacemaking should only be a
secondary activity because it doesn't help boost the GNP, provide more consumables, or produce a paycheck.
Some of my friends have found a good middle ground: they work for nonprofits building homes for needy families, provide social services for immigrants, teach peace studies or conflict resolution, help children with increasing communication skills... All of these "jobs" bring in income (often lower than typical "market economy" jobs) and simultaneously make our world a better place.
I took a less conventional path to "get a job"--federal prison. But now I'm "gainfully employed" at a whopping 12 cents an hour. I have both great "job security" (these prisons can't afford to "outsource" my job) and good
co-workers. Most of my fellow inmates have been friendly, helpful, and generous. There are always the exceptions to this, like in any work place.
The biggest downside is 'the boss.' While some prison guards and other 'staff members' try to maintain their humanity, the caging of humans, coupled with legalized slavery is bound to take a toll on the oppressor as
well as the oppressed. (I say legalized slavery because the 13th Amendment, which prohibited slavery in the U.S. made one exception: local, state and federal prisons).
I have been assigned to the 'dish pit' in the Food Service at FPC Duluth. All meals are served through a food line on stainless steel trays divided into 6 compartments. We have plastic 'silverware,' plastic drinking
'glasses' (for both hot and cold beverages), and plastic bowls. Inmates are encouraged to eat quickly, as there are seats at tables in the food service for only about 250, with a prison population of 902. When finished eating, you take your tray to a window-opening into the dish pit. Glasses are placed in a rack, silverware is tossed in a separate tray, and the stainless food tray, with any paper or food left on it, is dumped into a trough with
running water, to carry the debris away to a machine that pulverizes it for disposal. The now empty, soiled trays are racked in plastic racks designed for our Hobart dish washer. At the next station, an inmate hoses off the
soiled trays to remove as much remaining debris as possible. Then the rack is pushed into the automatic dish washer. Other racks of glasses, silverware, and other kitchen utensils follow. We also washed the plastic
compartments that are used to send food to those inmates locked in the SHU--the hole.
We re-supply the serving line with glasses and silverware as needed. Clean serving trays and bowls are brought to the serving line as well. The work area is cleaned up and sanitized when we finish all the dishes for the meal.
The officer on duty allows us to brink a book to read during the 'down time' between breakfast and lunch following the count at approximately 7:30 am. Food service inmates in the morning can eat their breakfast at the beginning of the shift and we can eat lunch before the other inmates start to arrive at 10:45 for lunch. After the noon count is completed, usually by 12:30, my shift is free to go. Because we have so many inmates here, there is a completely different pm shift for the dish pit.
Working helps pass the time 'inside' for some inmates who don't wish to spend their time reading, writing, or exercising. Working side-by-side with other convicts helps one get a sense of the others as well. Working for
peace inside the federal prison means learning more about what Dorothy Day has called "this filthy, rotten system" and getting the word out to pressure our political leaders to find better, more humane ways to deal with those our society has chosen to "punish."
by Steve Clemens, FPC Duluth. April 24, 2006
Occasionally, while vigiling for peace at the Lake Street/Marshall Ave bridge between St. Paul and Minneapolis or at the headquarters of Alliant TechSystems in Edina, makers of cluster bombs, land mines, depleted uranium
munitions and other weapons of mass indiscriminate destruction, someone will drive by and yell "Get a job!" The assumption is one that "working for peace" is not a "productive endeavor." Peacemaking should only be a
secondary activity because it doesn't help boost the GNP, provide more consumables, or produce a paycheck.
Some of my friends have found a good middle ground: they work for nonprofits building homes for needy families, provide social services for immigrants, teach peace studies or conflict resolution, help children with increasing communication skills... All of these "jobs" bring in income (often lower than typical "market economy" jobs) and simultaneously make our world a better place.
I took a less conventional path to "get a job"--federal prison. But now I'm "gainfully employed" at a whopping 12 cents an hour. I have both great "job security" (these prisons can't afford to "outsource" my job) and good
co-workers. Most of my fellow inmates have been friendly, helpful, and generous. There are always the exceptions to this, like in any work place.
The biggest downside is 'the boss.' While some prison guards and other 'staff members' try to maintain their humanity, the caging of humans, coupled with legalized slavery is bound to take a toll on the oppressor as
well as the oppressed. (I say legalized slavery because the 13th Amendment, which prohibited slavery in the U.S. made one exception: local, state and federal prisons).
I have been assigned to the 'dish pit' in the Food Service at FPC Duluth. All meals are served through a food line on stainless steel trays divided into 6 compartments. We have plastic 'silverware,' plastic drinking
'glasses' (for both hot and cold beverages), and plastic bowls. Inmates are encouraged to eat quickly, as there are seats at tables in the food service for only about 250, with a prison population of 902. When finished eating, you take your tray to a window-opening into the dish pit. Glasses are placed in a rack, silverware is tossed in a separate tray, and the stainless food tray, with any paper or food left on it, is dumped into a trough with
running water, to carry the debris away to a machine that pulverizes it for disposal. The now empty, soiled trays are racked in plastic racks designed for our Hobart dish washer. At the next station, an inmate hoses off the
soiled trays to remove as much remaining debris as possible. Then the rack is pushed into the automatic dish washer. Other racks of glasses, silverware, and other kitchen utensils follow. We also washed the plastic
compartments that are used to send food to those inmates locked in the SHU--the hole.
We re-supply the serving line with glasses and silverware as needed. Clean serving trays and bowls are brought to the serving line as well. The work area is cleaned up and sanitized when we finish all the dishes for the meal.
The officer on duty allows us to brink a book to read during the 'down time' between breakfast and lunch following the count at approximately 7:30 am. Food service inmates in the morning can eat their breakfast at the beginning of the shift and we can eat lunch before the other inmates start to arrive at 10:45 for lunch. After the noon count is completed, usually by 12:30, my shift is free to go. Because we have so many inmates here, there is a completely different pm shift for the dish pit.
Working helps pass the time 'inside' for some inmates who don't wish to spend their time reading, writing, or exercising. Working side-by-side with other convicts helps one get a sense of the others as well. Working for
peace inside the federal prison means learning more about what Dorothy Day has called "this filthy, rotten system" and getting the word out to pressure our political leaders to find better, more humane ways to deal with those our society has chosen to "punish."
Letters From Prison 2006 #4- A Roller Coaster of Hope and Despair
A Roller Coaster of Hope and Despair
By Steve Clemens, FPC Duluth, MN. April 18,2006
I've seen this before in prison--getting your hopes up that something "special" has arisen in your case meaning that you'll get released sooner, have an appeal granted, or...(fill in the blank).
"Beetlejuice" (that's the nickname he prefers over his given name, Stacy) came back to the room this morning ecstatic. "I just talked to a guy in the library who used to be an attorney. He says I just have to file Form #___ and I will automatically qualify for a half-way house." I asked him where he would get such a form (from our "counselor" [sic]) and whether he'd cooperate with filing it. Beetle burst out, "I'll be out of here--two weeks max. They have to give it to you."
Talk around the compound the past few days has been about a new court decision which affects anyone sentenced to more than one year. Twenty-five years ago, back when there was credit for "good time" given if one did not have it revoked for disciplinary reasons, one could go to a half-way house early if you didn't have violence on your "jacket" (the file of your criminal history). In the rush to "get tough on crime" during the Reagan years, "good time" was done away with in Federal prisons and it was to be replaced with more realistic sentences which would remove such selective judgments from one's length of incarceration. But this new supposed court victory that everyone is talking about has given rise to all kinds of speculation.
Beetle, who only has a couple days more than two months of his relatively short 18 month sentence to serve, claimed that with his disability (he was run over by a combine 12 years ago and collects SSI) they’ll probably just give him an ankle bracelet and let him finish his sentence at home in Northern Iowa. “I just have to file this form and they must approve it—it’s a slam dunk!”
At lunch time for the past two days there has been a lineup of “dignitaries”--the chaplain, some “counselors,” Case and Unit Managers, and today—the Warden and the Associate Warden. I haven’t met them yet, so I asked some other convicts which one was the warden since I’ve only seen his/her? name on some documents or notices posted to bulletin boards. “Did you see that big guy with the sports coat and a mustache? He’s the Associate Warden. The Warden is that little black guy who is dressed like a pimp.” Now that brought a smile to my face.
Anyway, I’m told “he’s a nice guy.” Beetle comes back to the room after lunch and says, “I talked with the Warden and he says I’m too short to qualify for the early release.” (Too short means you don’t have enough time left on your sentence to “bother” with the extra paperwork). I told him he should file it anyway, because it is your right to do it. Immediately the other two of my roommates said, “No—you don’t want to piss off the Warden; he can make your life hell for the rest of your time here.”
“But,” Beetle adds, “he did say if Dr. LaSalle here keeps threatening me with having to work (thus revoking his disability status), he’ll intervene for me.” Hope and despair. Hope again and be ready to be crushed again. Novice and transient that I am in this penal system, I said that I’d file the form anyway, insisting they do their jobs. We are constantly lectured to “obey the law” yet every day this prison violates Federal law regarding minimum standards for treatment of federal prisoners. But most are vulnerable here. They are told that “camp” is a privilege and if you cause too much “trouble,” you are likely to be shipped off to a higher-security (and greater hassle) prison.
So, Beetle continues to sleep away his days and evenings. Despair doesn’t give one extra energy and hope, although it springs eternal, fades quickly in this confinement. I hope he at least can dream he is free.
By Steve Clemens, FPC Duluth, MN. April 18,2006
I've seen this before in prison--getting your hopes up that something "special" has arisen in your case meaning that you'll get released sooner, have an appeal granted, or...(fill in the blank).
"Beetlejuice" (that's the nickname he prefers over his given name, Stacy) came back to the room this morning ecstatic. "I just talked to a guy in the library who used to be an attorney. He says I just have to file Form #___ and I will automatically qualify for a half-way house." I asked him where he would get such a form (from our "counselor" [sic]) and whether he'd cooperate with filing it. Beetle burst out, "I'll be out of here--two weeks max. They have to give it to you."
Talk around the compound the past few days has been about a new court decision which affects anyone sentenced to more than one year. Twenty-five years ago, back when there was credit for "good time" given if one did not have it revoked for disciplinary reasons, one could go to a half-way house early if you didn't have violence on your "jacket" (the file of your criminal history). In the rush to "get tough on crime" during the Reagan years, "good time" was done away with in Federal prisons and it was to be replaced with more realistic sentences which would remove such selective judgments from one's length of incarceration. But this new supposed court victory that everyone is talking about has given rise to all kinds of speculation.
Beetle, who only has a couple days more than two months of his relatively short 18 month sentence to serve, claimed that with his disability (he was run over by a combine 12 years ago and collects SSI) they’ll probably just give him an ankle bracelet and let him finish his sentence at home in Northern Iowa. “I just have to file this form and they must approve it—it’s a slam dunk!”
At lunch time for the past two days there has been a lineup of “dignitaries”--the chaplain, some “counselors,” Case and Unit Managers, and today—the Warden and the Associate Warden. I haven’t met them yet, so I asked some other convicts which one was the warden since I’ve only seen his/her? name on some documents or notices posted to bulletin boards. “Did you see that big guy with the sports coat and a mustache? He’s the Associate Warden. The Warden is that little black guy who is dressed like a pimp.” Now that brought a smile to my face.
Anyway, I’m told “he’s a nice guy.” Beetle comes back to the room after lunch and says, “I talked with the Warden and he says I’m too short to qualify for the early release.” (Too short means you don’t have enough time left on your sentence to “bother” with the extra paperwork). I told him he should file it anyway, because it is your right to do it. Immediately the other two of my roommates said, “No—you don’t want to piss off the Warden; he can make your life hell for the rest of your time here.”
“But,” Beetle adds, “he did say if Dr. LaSalle here keeps threatening me with having to work (thus revoking his disability status), he’ll intervene for me.” Hope and despair. Hope again and be ready to be crushed again. Novice and transient that I am in this penal system, I said that I’d file the form anyway, insisting they do their jobs. We are constantly lectured to “obey the law” yet every day this prison violates Federal law regarding minimum standards for treatment of federal prisoners. But most are vulnerable here. They are told that “camp” is a privilege and if you cause too much “trouble,” you are likely to be shipped off to a higher-security (and greater hassle) prison.
So, Beetle continues to sleep away his days and evenings. Despair doesn’t give one extra energy and hope, although it springs eternal, fades quickly in this confinement. I hope he at least can dream he is free.
Letters From Prison 2006 #3- The “Informal” Economy
The “Informal” Economy
By Steve Clemens, FPC Duluth. April 14, 2006
"You can get anything you want--at Alice's Restaurant ('ceptin' Alice)"
(Arlo Guthrie)
It seems you can get anything here at FPC Duluth as well. Creativity abounds within the human spirit. One sign that human spirit has not been totally crushed within the prison is the barter economy. One of my cellmates (not a cell but a dorm--but to say roommates or dorm-mate implies one is still at college) works in the kitchen chopping veggies. So, the going price for a good-size green pepper is 3 stamps (2 stamps for a smaller one). Onions and tomatoes are a stamp apiece unless they’re bigger. Even though we were scheduled to have chicken with fried rice at the mess hall last night, he and another guy down the hall decided they'd make their own fried rice with chicken in the dorm microwave. Out came a cutting board and a makeshift "chef's knife"--a metal piece a little bigger than a credit card, which neatly chopped up the green pepper and the breaded chicken ingredients. He doesn't have much experience with doing fried rice in the microwave so several others dropped by to give him suggestions of how to do it. He used the olive oil--but didn't soak the rice in egg (not sure he had one). He forgot to add water to the rice the first time so the plastic bowl melted. The second time he got it right and with the chicken bouillon cube added by another, they said it was delicious. Ours wasn't bad either at the mess hall, but the creativity here is a wonder to behold.
Inmates who have access to the hobby craft room can make leather wallets--but the sign in the commissary says they are contraband and will be confiscated. So you can make them but can't "give" them to anyone here
because they assume you bartered them for something.
Because tobacco products were outlawed on January 1, the currency of this realm is stamps. A "book" of stamps (a page of 20 first class stamps) sells for $7.80 in the commissary. One of the guys in the room said, "Why did you pay that much? I can get you a book for $6.00 or if you buy four books at once, for $5 each." Of course, I don't have $6 or $20 in cash for the purchase. You just hand a commissary sheet to the "seller" and he fills out
what he wants worth the $6 or $20 or whatever agreed price and you buy the items for him and then make the swap. Of course all of this has to happen on the QT since it is strictly forbidden to exchange anything here. Wink, wink, nod, nod--until one of the officers decides what to enforce against whom.
Many of the longer-term inmates run some kind of "business" in order to earn money (or equivalents) for commissary purchases. Some buy a 12 pack of soda pop and then sell each can for a stamp or 2. Since each can costs the original buyer less than 29 cents, a profit can be made--especially at 2 stamps/can. The vending machine charges 75 cents each but you have to have the money credits on your card. You can “pay” (stamps) to have your boots shined and your “dress greens” pressed (ironed) for your visits. You can “buy” more stylish “cargo-style” pants for some stamps. Hair cuts at the barber shop are 6 stamps. Extra chicken from lunch, “betting in card games”, a pizza shell from the kitchen bakery all cost stamps. As cigarettes get scarcer, the price goes up- 5 stamps for a commercial one, 2 or 3 stamps for a roll-your-own type. A carton of “store-bought” cigs is now about $200. equivalent in stamps.
By Steve Clemens, FPC Duluth. April 14, 2006
"You can get anything you want--at Alice's Restaurant ('ceptin' Alice)"
(Arlo Guthrie)
It seems you can get anything here at FPC Duluth as well. Creativity abounds within the human spirit. One sign that human spirit has not been totally crushed within the prison is the barter economy. One of my cellmates (not a cell but a dorm--but to say roommates or dorm-mate implies one is still at college) works in the kitchen chopping veggies. So, the going price for a good-size green pepper is 3 stamps (2 stamps for a smaller one). Onions and tomatoes are a stamp apiece unless they’re bigger. Even though we were scheduled to have chicken with fried rice at the mess hall last night, he and another guy down the hall decided they'd make their own fried rice with chicken in the dorm microwave. Out came a cutting board and a makeshift "chef's knife"--a metal piece a little bigger than a credit card, which neatly chopped up the green pepper and the breaded chicken ingredients. He doesn't have much experience with doing fried rice in the microwave so several others dropped by to give him suggestions of how to do it. He used the olive oil--but didn't soak the rice in egg (not sure he had one). He forgot to add water to the rice the first time so the plastic bowl melted. The second time he got it right and with the chicken bouillon cube added by another, they said it was delicious. Ours wasn't bad either at the mess hall, but the creativity here is a wonder to behold.
Inmates who have access to the hobby craft room can make leather wallets--but the sign in the commissary says they are contraband and will be confiscated. So you can make them but can't "give" them to anyone here
because they assume you bartered them for something.
Because tobacco products were outlawed on January 1, the currency of this realm is stamps. A "book" of stamps (a page of 20 first class stamps) sells for $7.80 in the commissary. One of the guys in the room said, "Why did you pay that much? I can get you a book for $6.00 or if you buy four books at once, for $5 each." Of course, I don't have $6 or $20 in cash for the purchase. You just hand a commissary sheet to the "seller" and he fills out
what he wants worth the $6 or $20 or whatever agreed price and you buy the items for him and then make the swap. Of course all of this has to happen on the QT since it is strictly forbidden to exchange anything here. Wink, wink, nod, nod--until one of the officers decides what to enforce against whom.
Many of the longer-term inmates run some kind of "business" in order to earn money (or equivalents) for commissary purchases. Some buy a 12 pack of soda pop and then sell each can for a stamp or 2. Since each can costs the original buyer less than 29 cents, a profit can be made--especially at 2 stamps/can. The vending machine charges 75 cents each but you have to have the money credits on your card. You can “pay” (stamps) to have your boots shined and your “dress greens” pressed (ironed) for your visits. You can “buy” more stylish “cargo-style” pants for some stamps. Hair cuts at the barber shop are 6 stamps. Extra chicken from lunch, “betting in card games”, a pizza shell from the kitchen bakery all cost stamps. As cigarettes get scarcer, the price goes up- 5 stamps for a commercial one, 2 or 3 stamps for a roll-your-own type. A carton of “store-bought” cigs is now about $200. equivalent in stamps.
Letters From Prison 2006 #2- “The Christians”
“The Christians”
by Steve Clemens. FPC Duluth. Maundy Thursday. April 13,2006
"We're a Christian room," I've been told several times. It has always been accompanied with an offer or two. A guy dropped by my room today and asked how my 'first night' had been. When I told him it was my second night and it wasn't the best due to the vertical pipes running under the bedspring of my upper bunk to give added strength, he said, "We need to find you a better mattress. I'll keep an eye out for one when someone leaves."
When Christianity comes with a servant attitude, I'm much more open to any follow-up "message." My first night in the 211 ("Superior") dorm included a visit downstairs to see "the Christian brothers." I was escorted downstairs by the son of a friend from the Twin Cities. His mom told him to look me up and within a few minutes he inquired about what we might need. Donnie was out of his room but his roommate Mike (?) was in and he said "the Christians" wanted to help out with tennis shoes and shower shoes. "They've all been washed in bleach so they're safe." "You gotta wear shower shoes so your feet don't rot off in here." The shower shoes were new ("Praise the Lord," Mike added). "We live off donations. There is no charge. Of course, if you are a millionaire, you can pay us back--otherwise we're happy to get any donations people are able to make."
Tom got me a soap dish and new bar of Zest soap. He also loaned me an alarm clock when he saw I had no watch. When Donnie returned, he added a toothbrush holder, a half bottle of shampoo ("it goes farther that way—you don't mind if it is in a pill bottle, do you?" John didn't mind at all!) Some writing paper, a map of the grounds, 2 stamped envelopes. "It will hold you over until you can get money on your books" (commissary account).
And after the "service," a brief message: "There is a good Bible study in the chapel almost every evening at 6. We have a black preacher (he's good) and a great choir Wednesday evening. We have videos you can watch at the chapel. We'd love to have you join us."
Personally, I'm hesitant to go around proclaiming my identity as a "Christian." There is too much cultural and civic-religion baggage attached to it. I'd prefer to quietly share with those who may ask "for what reason I have hope within."
But at least I must tip my hat to "the Christians" who have made the transition from the “outside” to the “inside” much easier than it might have been.
by Steve Clemens. FPC Duluth. Maundy Thursday. April 13,2006
"We're a Christian room," I've been told several times. It has always been accompanied with an offer or two. A guy dropped by my room today and asked how my 'first night' had been. When I told him it was my second night and it wasn't the best due to the vertical pipes running under the bedspring of my upper bunk to give added strength, he said, "We need to find you a better mattress. I'll keep an eye out for one when someone leaves."
When Christianity comes with a servant attitude, I'm much more open to any follow-up "message." My first night in the 211 ("Superior") dorm included a visit downstairs to see "the Christian brothers." I was escorted downstairs by the son of a friend from the Twin Cities. His mom told him to look me up and within a few minutes he inquired about what we might need. Donnie was out of his room but his roommate Mike (?) was in and he said "the Christians" wanted to help out with tennis shoes and shower shoes. "They've all been washed in bleach so they're safe." "You gotta wear shower shoes so your feet don't rot off in here." The shower shoes were new ("Praise the Lord," Mike added). "We live off donations. There is no charge. Of course, if you are a millionaire, you can pay us back--otherwise we're happy to get any donations people are able to make."
Tom got me a soap dish and new bar of Zest soap. He also loaned me an alarm clock when he saw I had no watch. When Donnie returned, he added a toothbrush holder, a half bottle of shampoo ("it goes farther that way—you don't mind if it is in a pill bottle, do you?" John didn't mind at all!) Some writing paper, a map of the grounds, 2 stamped envelopes. "It will hold you over until you can get money on your books" (commissary account).
And after the "service," a brief message: "There is a good Bible study in the chapel almost every evening at 6. We have a black preacher (he's good) and a great choir Wednesday evening. We have videos you can watch at the chapel. We'd love to have you join us."
Personally, I'm hesitant to go around proclaiming my identity as a "Christian." There is too much cultural and civic-religion baggage attached to it. I'd prefer to quietly share with those who may ask "for what reason I have hope within."
But at least I must tip my hat to "the Christians" who have made the transition from the “outside” to the “inside” much easier than it might have been.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)