RDAP
It was in TI that Dan started looking into getting home early. We had thought we were prepared to cope and he saw that I was barely functioning. I don’t know why I thought he was only going to serve one year of his sentence, but for whatever reason I did. He would talk for hours about the calculations of Good Time Credit, I tried to listen but it was all math and dates. Good time credit means 10% off your sentence assuming you have no issues while you are in. If you do not get in trouble - no fights or problems with the staff or inmates, every federal sentence gets an automatic reduction. You can lose your Good Time Credit too.
There was another way to get time off- through a program called RDAP- Residential Drug Abuse Program. Inmates who participated in extra programs provided by the BOP, could gain credit that counted favorably in their files. Many inmates took classes like a parenting class or an exercise class to get certificates. It was also a productive way to pass the time. When the unit team reviews an inmate, they look very favorably on inmates who make the effort to earn these certificates, and it will aid in them receiving a better outcome.
There was another way to get time off- through a program called RDAP- Residential Drug Abuse Program. Inmates who participated in extra programs provided by the BOP, could gain credit that counted favorably in their files. Many inmates took classes like a parenting class or an exercise class to get certificates. It was also a productive way to pass the time. When the unit team reviews an inmate, they look very favorably on inmates who make the effort to earn these certificates, and it will aid in them receiving a better outcome.
Inmates have to qualify to participate in RDAP- usually through their PSR. The Pre-Sentencing Report (PSR) is the document a judge will review when weighing sentencing. No one will tell you this prior, but your PSR is perhaps the most important document you can get before sentencing. It trumps how good your lawyer is, even how lenient the judge is. You meet with a pre-trial officer and they will ask you every question under the sun. Their job is not to figure out if you are guilty or innocent, but merely to document exactly what kind of person you are, what kind of life you have led, what your life circumstances are…everything and anything you have ever done can come into play. A lot of inmates never even realize that their lives are literally on the line with this report, and most lawyers don’t understand the gravity of it either as far as I can tell. I think you can have your lawyer answer all of the questions on your behalf, and I assume that ads a layer of protection in terms of confidentiality when you actually get to trial. Dan and I, however, not being experts at this sort of thing in the slightest, had dutifully attended his interview together without a lawyer present (this all occurred pre-trial and pre- prison in case the timeline got confusing).
We talked to the officer at length about our life and our marriage, financials, details about the case, even mentioning extremely personal details about ourselves. She asked, she had a badge, and we were under the impression that we were obligated to answer everything almost as though we were under oath, in fact to my recollection Dan had to sign off on it at the end of the meeting. After that, the officer prepares a report and you get the chance to object to any details or facts that you may not think they understood or wrote up properly. But, as was the case many times throughout the judicial process, no one told us that and we never even reviewed it with that understanding.
Your PSR is the document which the judge uses to weigh his opinion of you and becomes part of your legal file with the court. The reason for this long winded explanation is that it is within the pages of this report that any drug or alcohol problems you might have are supposed to be written up here. For clarification, it should go without saying that this PSR does not matter one bit after court if you in fact win your case…it is only in the unfortunate event that you lose that it matters because to the BOP your PSR is the bible. BUT if you lose- once you get to prison, the BOP takes every single word in it as the law and base every decision on it.
The RDAP program is designed to rehabilitate inmates serving time who have a pre-existing noted problem with either drugs or alcohol, or both. There are weekly classes on addiction, diseases, anger management, family as well as one-on-one meetings with the Unit Team and your assigned counselor. The goal of the six month program is to educate and help addicts overcome their issues so that when they get released they can cope properly in the world. There is such a high demand to get into an RDAP program that some facilities have waiting lists that take six months or more. The reason it is such a desirable program to take part in, aside from the obvious benefit of hopefully learning skills that will aid you in your free life down the line, is that it qualifies you for a sentence reduction. That’s priceless. When we were dealing with the BOP, certain facilities were giving six months to a year off of prison terms. Not every prison has an RDAP program and inmates wait in other facilities for class space to become available, only then do they get transferred to the prison where they can sign up and hope to get into the next ‘semester’.
When Dan found out about the programs existence, he immediately knew he wanted to take part in it. Six months off from a fifty seven month sentence, in addition to the 10% good time credit… according to his calculations if everything went perfectly he could shave more than a year off. There was the slight problem of not actually being a drug addict or having much of a history with alcohol abuse (I presumed the occasional glass of wine at dinner should not be a qualifier in this instance). Due to the most amazing stroke of luck, there was one line in his PSR bible that mentioned Dan had turned to alcohol to cope with the death of a very close friend. That one sentence was enough to allow him entry into the program. After that it was just a matter of waiting for a seat to open up in the program.
Another detail about RDAP, inmates in the program do not dorm in the regular dorms with the general population. They are assigned a separate dorm on the grounds and no one who is not in the program is allowed into their building. The reason is simple- inmates do not react well when they think someone else is getting a special exemption or benefit and there was always the fear that one prisoner would be jealous that another was getting out early and could cause problems for him. Any sort of violation and you could lose your place in the program, not to mention your good time credit and any awarded time off. So while the program and it’s benefits were a phenomenal thing to be allowed access to, it was accompanied by risk of becoming a target on other people’s radar. I witnessed more than a few instances where a person would have only a few more weeks left to serve and unfortunately some other inmate would take it upon themselves to involve them in conflict and all the accrued time off would be revoked.
There are certain very specific visuals that have remained in my mind from prison. One that affected me very deeply was an event that I watched take place a few times at TI- the day RDAP inmates got released. It was usually on Monday mornings, before visiting started. As I would drive up to the gates hoping to be one of the first visitors in, I would see families waiting by the side of the road in their cars. They didn’t come in for processing so I couldn’t figure out what exactly they were waiting for. Later when I was sitting in the waiting room for our group to be led into the courtyard for visits, I saw them.
Usuallyfour to six inmates would come out of the doors from the courtyard carrying a box or pushing a cart with a few boxes on it. They were not dressed in prison greens like inmates getting visitors, but rather they were wearing standard issue grey sweat pants, white t-shirts or grey sweatshirts and sneakers. As they filed past the visiting waiting room you couldn’t help but notice the expressions on their faces. They were literally taking their first steps towards freedom. Some were smiling, others were just walking without making eye contact, but the energy in the air was so palpable. There was hope, triumph, fear, relief- you could almost taste it. I wanted to know what their thoughts were in those moments. Most of the time they were going to be picked up by their families or friends (the previously noted individuals waiting in their cars across the street) but sometimes they had no one there waiting for them and they would have to stand outside waiting for the prison shuttle driver to drop them at a bus stop.
Usually
The image of these men filing past me in their sweats remains something that inspires me every time I think about it. It is hard to put into words, but some of these men were coming off of very long sentences- twenty years or more- and you got to see them looking at the world that was so utterly different from what it was when they first went into prison. I think during our time at TI I saw three classes get released, and every time I would start to get emotional and tears would form in my eyes as I wished desperately that one of those men would be Dan . It is funny to me looking back on it now, but every time I saw an inmate leaving a prison for any reason, I always had this tiny flicker of hope that it could be him, that they said we made a mistake or that he had been punished enough and it was time to get back to normal life. Positive thinking at its finest, even if the logic is completely flawed.
Dan became the master of programming in the BOP. Seriously, he took part in any and every class offered to him and I have the certificates to show for it. He knew he needed to get into that class and set about making it his mission. First, he had to get classified as being eligible for it. Getting reclassified for anything in the BOP is a daunting task and up to the person who makes the decision at the facility, so depending on their mood the day the request hits their desk you are either golden or SOL (shit out of luck). Once the approval and reclassification was done, he had to get on the waiting list. This meant scheduling a Unit Team meeting to discuss requesting the program and having them approve you and put you on the list. Then he had to wait until the previous class graduated and a new class started, and you cannot actually start the class until you have less than two years left on your sentence so it was all about timing.
Dan was able to get into the actual class so he could start the educational part of the program but he was not able to get on the list for RDAP early release, but we weren’t complaining, it was a step in the right direction. Dan also got lucky because his assigned counselor really liked him and she helped walk him through all of the steps to get into the class. The idea that he had someone in his corner who would advocate for him put us both at ease and I continue to regard her fondly to this day, even thought she and I never met. You would think that all counselors would do that for all inmates who want it, but the reality is that most BOP staff don’t really care about helping inmates beyond doing the minimum they have to do at their jobs. That probably sounds like a harsh generalization but it remained a pretty constant fact throughout the facilities we went through. The funniest thing about RDAP for us was that even though Dan got into the class, he never actually graduated from it because he transferred to a new facility just before he would have been eligible to get on the early release list- and this happened more than once.
One of the times that I watched an RDAP class get released, the most heartbreaking thing happened. I came to TI a little bit late, probably due to traffic, and as I walked up to the front door an inmate came out in sweats carrying a box. I held the door for him and he looked scared, unsure if he should accept or interact with me, and I realized immediately that he had just been released. I smiled at him, trying to convey happiness and comfort with my eyes and then he smiled back. In my head we were sharing a moment of acknowledgment that he was experiencing the first tastes of freedom. If you had asked him, he was probably stoked that he could smile at a pretty girl and might even get lucky later in the day with someone. The visit that day was uneventful and at the end of it I hugged Dan and walked out of the front doors towards my car.
As I exited the parking lot, I saw the same now ex-con sitting on the side of the road with his box next to him. He was just sitting there, with a lonely, lost look on his face. I don’t know if his ride had stood him up or gotten lost and were late or if he was sitting there because he did not know where to go next. I think I cried a little bit after I drove off because it was so sad to think about someone finally getting their day of freedom and then having no one to share it with, no place to go. You are wondering why I did not stop to ask him if he needed anything like a ride or a phone to call someone. BOP 101 - Never get involved in someone else’s business, especially if you still have someone on the inside doing time. You just don’t know- what if this guy had been a complete jackass toDan and did him wrong when they were in together? What if an officer saw me talking to him and thought something could be up and then took action against Dan? Everything in the BOP becomes suspect so yes, while I empathized with the sad lonely releasee, I also knew I had to just drive away and hope he wasn’t still sitting there when I showed up for my next visit. In case you are wondering, he was gone when I came back a few days later. Hope he made it out there in the big, wide world.
Taft
Taft is a privately run prison. The company that runs it is called Wackenhut, and it is a publicly traded company. Some prisons in the United States get contracted out to companies that specialize in running facilities. It’s all about making money at the end of the day, but make no mistake, it is still a very real prison with rules and consequences should you break these rules. According to the BOP website:
Taft was a totally different world than the other prisons we had been at because of the vast freedom the campers had. I still giggle a little bit at the term campers but that is what they were called. In my head, campers invokes the traditional summer time visual of kids wearing shorts and t shirts living in cabins in the woods near a lake for two months. Actually, the description isn’t that far off from what prison camp seemed like, minus the lake. And add in the barbed wire and guard towers across the street.
The road leading up toTaft is called 12 Mile Road . Probably because it is twelve miles long- I once checked. After you exit the freeway, you turn onto this two lane barely paved road that has farmland, orchards and dirt along it. You drive a few minutes, make a right at the stop sign, then a quick left and then literally drive straight for twelve miles. The speed limit is 35mph I think. Prison staff and guards would pass me on this road easily doing 100mph. They would just fly along it, kicking up dust behind them. It doesn’t sound so terrifying except that the road was not a level twelve miles, it had dips and swells so you were on the straightest roller coaster from hell. There was also the risk of cattle and other animals wandering onto the road, in addition to oncoming traffic passing you at the same breakneck speeds. I would drive along it at about 80mph and it always blew my mind when the car behind me would get impatient, swerve around and pass me.
One of my favorite songs to blast at top volume while I zoomed along this specific stretch was Limp Bizkit’s ‘Break Stuff’. I haven’t touched on this yet but once I started commuting to prison’s for visiting, I started relating specific songs to each place. For instance, the now forgotten Kevin Rudolf smash ‘Let it Rock’ and The Killers ‘Are We Human’ are from TI (I mentioned the Killers earlier when I discussed TRULINCS). As the story continues, I will touch on what I listened to in the car a bit more, because later on it became very relevant to my drives back and forth for visits.
Taft has had famous inmates just like every other prison we ever went to. A few of the inmates have gained renown for an assortment of reasons. Justin Paperny was an ex-stockbroker serving time at Taft while Dan was there. He chronicled his prison sentence by writing a blog and having someone else post the articles online for him. You can google him- I believe he now consults with people before they surrender to prison. I don’t remember if I was ever introduced to him but I know he was in the visiting room a few times when I was there.
As I exited the parking lot, I saw the same now ex-con sitting on the side of the road with his box next to him. He was just sitting there, with a lonely, lost look on his face. I don’t know if his ride had stood him up or gotten lost and were late or if he was sitting there because he did not know where to go next. I think I cried a little bit after I drove off because it was so sad to think about someone finally getting their day of freedom and then having no one to share it with, no place to go. You are wondering why I did not stop to ask him if he needed anything like a ride or a phone to call someone. BOP 101 - Never get involved in someone else’s business, especially if you still have someone on the inside doing time. You just don’t know- what if this guy had been a complete jackass to
Taft
On January 7, 2009 , Dan received official word that his bed at Taft had become available finally and that he was going to transfer. It was a wonderful Anniversary gift for us both, as we had gotten married on New Years. It was also an early birthday present since Dan’s birthday was two days later. We waited with excitement for the transfer thinking that finally, this was going to get easier because he was going to be in a camp where he should have been all along.
They woke him up super early on January 9 and he boarded a bus, black boxed and chained but eagerly anticipating the next phase of the journey. Taft is located two hours north of Los Angeles , right next to Bakersfield . I had driven past the exit on my way up to Sacramento from Los Angeles many times without even knowing it. A two hour bus ride in the BOP transit world should be a simple, easy thing but of course that is not how it worked out. The bus made numerous stops throughout the course of the day and it was dark when Dan finally got to the R and D building at Taft. R and D is short for receiving and delivering, it is the department in every prison that handles inmate intake, release and also the processing of packages and mail into and out of the facility. Taft is comprised of a Medium security prison and the satellite camp, but the R and D office is in the Medium so the inmates coming in are treated like Medium security inmates until they make it into the actual camp.
Approximately 15 percent of the Bureau's inmate population are confined in secure facilities operated primarily by private corrections companies and to a lesser extent by state and local governments, and in privately-operated community corrections centers. Contract facilities help the Bureau manage its population and are especially useful for meeting the needs of low security, specialized populations like sentenced criminal aliens. Staff of the Correctional Programs Division in Central Office provide oversight for privately-operated facilities.
Usually when inmates first get to R and D they are placed in a holding cell as a group (picture the oft filmed scene on TV where people go when they have been arrested and spend the night in jail- just a large cell with a concrete bench). The CO on duty will call each inmate up one at a time and process them in. This means that they undergo a complete physical, a short interview and review of their inmate file and then they get fingerprinted, pictures get taken and an ID gets made. They are never allowed to keep the clothes they come in with, because it could be used to hide items and smuggle contraband or weapons in, so they strip down and endure a complete body search (cough and squat included) and then they are issued prison greens, sweatpants, a pair of underwear, a pair of socks and a t-shirt. They also get basic toiletries (plastic toothbrush, soap and a small towel) and a pair of slip on canvas shoes with rubber souls known as Bobo’s.
Rumor has it that BoBo’s are owned byBob Barker and that's why they are called that . I think the Bush family also owns a company that has the exclusive contract to supply the prisons with toiletries, although I am not sure if both of these are actual facts or just rumors. It seems biased and unfair that the ex-president of the United States would be allowed to profit off of the prison system, but I guess someone has to do it.
Rumor has it that BoBo’s are owned by
Intake can be a very long process, especially when it occurs later in the evening, and instead of getting assigned a bed in general population, new arrivals will almost always get placed in SHU until they can be assigned a proper bed. Dan got lucky this time and he was given a bed in the camp that same night. His phones did not turn on right away so I didn’t know that he had actually arrived there, but it is comforting to know that he wasn’t treated too badly when he first got to the long anticipated camp.
I mentioned the downside to being in a camp located next to a higher security prison earlier. The guards work shifts at both so they tend to treat the campers poorly, either out of spite that these men seem to have it easy or just out of habit because medium inmates are regarded as more of a threat. I did not like the guards at Taft. They were mean to me, treated me badly and were openly anti-Semitic. I will describe some of the worse encounters in a bit more detail soon. At the start, I was so thankful that Dan was finally at the camp. It was an utterly different world than what he had previously endured. Inmates were mostly low key, complacent and easy going. Instead of restricted movement, he was allowed to roam the grounds of the camp itself and could move freely within the buildings of the camp. The medium was across a dirt road, surrounded by barbed wire fences with guard towers. Some of the campers worked in the medium, but for the most part it was kept separate. Taft is in the desert, so the climate is dry and dusty and the entire place looks exactly like prisons do in the movies.
Driving to Taft was a little bit more difficult than driving to TI, because it was a longer distance and located in the middle of nowhere, but it was a pretty direct route so once I figured out the easiest ways to get there it was just a matter of getting in the car with everything I needed and making it on time for visits. It took me approximately two hours each way to drive up to see Dan. I would wake up at 4 or 5am , make coffee and put it in a travel mug and get into my car. The streets were usually fairly empty and the freeway portion of the trip uneventful. I would like to proudly state that I never once got pulled over or ticketed (except for the one New Year’s incident at TI) during the entire time Dan was in prison, although I easily commuted more than 60,000 miles. It is probably a much higher number but I just don’t care to sit and figure it out. I can say that Lexus makes a phenomenal car because I lived in mine for the entire time. Aside from the extreme amount of flat tires I encountered later, it was the most comfortable way to handle the drives and I often ended up napping or waiting in my car for long periods of time- so thank you Lexus. You made a small part of my very strange life a lot more comfortable.
Dan was able to work out at Taft, unlike at previous places, because he could do it on his own time and without fear of encountering unpleasant groups of inmates who could cause trouble for him. He would walk the grounds at night, looking up at the stars and enjoying the fresh air. There was no weight room or gym equipment, but he learned to play tennis and sometimes the guys organized a softball game when it wasn’t too hot. Most of the inmates were walkers, putting their headphones on and listening to the fuzzy reception of whatever radio station a battery radio can pick up in the desert.
The road leading up to
One of my favorite songs to blast at top volume while I zoomed along this specific stretch was Limp Bizkit’s ‘Break Stuff’. I haven’t touched on this yet but once I started commuting to prison’s for visiting, I started relating specific songs to each place. For instance, the now forgotten Kevin Rudolf smash ‘Let it Rock’ and The Killers ‘Are We Human’ are from TI (I mentioned the Killers earlier when I discussed TRULINCS). As the story continues, I will touch on what I listened to in the car a bit more, because later on it became very relevant to my drives back and forth for visits.
Once you reached the last mile of twelve mile road, you could see the sprawling facility surrounded by desert with the scary guard towers and barbed wire. Then you slowly approached a brick entrance, turned right and drove along the curvy road slowly, circling around the perimeter of the Medium facility and bouncing over the speed bumps, following the signs until you passed a trailer that was pulled up to a loading dock. Next to the trailer there were a few empty docking bays, and all of these attached to a small one story building with a parking lot. This was the camp itself. I think because Taft was located literally in bumblefuck USA , we were allowed to wait in our cars in the lot instead of not being allowed to enter the property until visiting started. All of the visitors would pull in and start getting their items ready- sweaters, money…and when the time came for visiting we would line up by the front door and fill out our forms and wait to be called in.
Visiting here was different than the previous two places because there was no metal detector to get past, just a quick pat down (easier than at the airport I swear) and a pocket check. Again the rules about clothing were in place with regard to color and revealingness, but it was a bit more laid back and easy going. The officer sat in a room behind a thick sheet of glass (same architect and designer as MDC I guess) and you slide your form and license through the slot. They kept your license until the end of your visit, and you took your car key, money and jacket or sweater in with you. If necessary, you could also bring in limited feminine products but I was always mortified by this part of the process. Once you entered into a visit you could not leave- if you did the visit was over for that day, so if you thought you might need those tampons you had better bring them in with you or you were screwed. Another thing I didn’t have to deal with until later was visiting with kids- especially infants who require formula, diapers, wipes… I watched mothers struggle with this at every place and it was always difficult to see them trying to wrangle the kids, the items, the officers, the paperwork. It made me supremely thankful that as tough as this was for me, at least I did not have kids that I had to cope with on top of it all. It was painful to acknowledge that although we had wanted children, we knew it was not the right time in our lives to have them, then be grateful that we had none.
One by one we would go into the visiting room and pick out a table and place our keys to mark our spot, then go survey the vending machines for items. Taft had mediocre food from what I recall. Whatever company is responsible for those damn BBQ wings- oh my god. I know they make a killing in terms of sales, because it is the most desired item at every place I have ever visited except one- but those wings smell and look so awful. I would get nauseous just watching people eat them. Taft had a game closet where inmates could check out games but you were only allowed to use them if you had kids at the visit. Once we were allowed to scribble on paper with crayons and spent the visit drawing cartoons and enjoying the activity, but usually we just sat and talked. The best part about Taft visiting was that we were allowed to hold hands and if the officer on duty didn't say anything, I could sometimes rest my head on Dan's shoulder and listen to him talk. The visit lasted seven hours, if I got there first thing in the morning. Of course I always did.
Taft also had a tiny outdoor patio for visitors to use. It was not big at all, just large enough for three picnic tables to fit on the concrete slab, and it was covered by an awning so we couldn’t tan in the sun (fair enough though, we were in the desert), but at least we could sit at the tables outside in the fresh air. The one negative to the outdoor patio was that the inmates who had kids visiting them tended to end up out there so you would be surrounded by these loud, bored kids running around until a guard would warn the parents to keep their kids at the table and quiet. Inevitably the screaming and running around would start up again, but we grew immune to the surrounding chaos and learned to zone out of our surroundings and just focus on each other.
Just like at TI, there was an inmate who served as photographer and we took pictures every once in a while. The rumor was that if you left a sandwich or candy bar on the lid of the trash can on the patio, you were guaranteed fifteen minutes or so of quiet time when you could get away with being physically affectionate. Dan was pretty much told by every inmate that if he wanted to be intimate with me, there were many ways, but I was too scared to break rules and too afraid of the consequences, even though the idea was so tempting.
The hardest part of visiting at Taft was leaving. At every other place, when the visit was over, we were taken away from our loved one and left without seeing them. At Taft, as I would exit the building, Dan would be standing by the loading bay watching me. There was just grass separating us- no fences or barriers. It wasn't even that far of a distance, just like if he was standing across the street. The first time I had to get in my car and drive away, I could see him in the rear view mirror waving and it took every ounce of determination not to turn the car around, zoom up and yell for him to make a break for it. It was actually harder to make myself leave than you can imagine. I would cry for at least the first few miles of twelve mile road and then usually just put the car on cruise control once I got to the freeway and drive home on auto pilot. The visits were long, sitting there all day once or twice a week (depending on points), but Dan was flourishing so it felt like a small price to pay to see him smiling again.
Because there were no gates or fences, there was the possibility of getting into shenanigans although Dan and I never risked it. I knew of a few guys who would sneak out to the parking lot at night and have their significant other meet them so they could conjugate under the cover of darkness. The potential fallout should you get caught in the midst of this endeavor was severe. Getting caught breaking any rule at a camp resulted in severe punishment because the inmates were entrusted with so much more freedom than inmates in higher security places. Any infraction could and usually would result in the offending inmates immediate expulsion from camp and reclassification to Low security, and redesignation to a stricter place. Inmates usually took this seriously and rarely tried to test the boundaries of their hard earned privileges but it did occasionally happen. There were also a few escape attempts- every once in a while you read about it in the news that a prisoner just walked off the grounds. They always got caught eventually and then were punished with extensive time added to their sentences plus no hope of ever getting back into a camp again, but some people did attempt it. I imagine the temptation of being in a border less prison became too great to withstand.
Another Taft inmate who gained a lot of publicity is Michael Santos . He was sentenced to 45 years in prison for a drug bust and had been serving that sentence since 1987. He is one of the few inmates I met who managed to not only better themselves in prison but also maintain a marriage and add to society in a positive way while still incarcerated. His wife, Carol , posted blog entries that Michael hand wrote and mailed her every day. He served approximately twenty six years in prison and was released on August 13th, 2013. He was a very sweet and quiet presence in the visiting room and I wish him the best of luck with all that the future holds for him and his wife. I invite you to read his blog, he is a sweetheart and a great example of someone who made the best out of what happened to him: MichaelSantos.com
Dan said Taft was much cleaner than any facility he had been in previously. There were only 480 campers. Brooklyn MDC had 3300+ and TI had 1300+ by comparison. The camp building had four dorms and Taft even had a "quiet room" on premises that was used only for studying. It was a totally new experience for Dan. Everything was run by the inmates themselves and at night there were only five CO's on duty- one for each unit and one in the control room. Taft didn't have email so we were back to writing letters and quick little phone calls.
We had heard that Dan would be able to apply for a community service job while at Taft. If he could find a company or organization willing to take responsibility for him, he could fulfill his prison work requirement off grounds. We wanted this desperately so that I could come see him during the day. It was one of those things we knew other people had, so we were going to figure out how to get it too. We never did though.
Dan said Taft was much cleaner than any facility he had been in previously. There were only 480 campers. Brooklyn MDC had 3300+ and TI had 1300+ by comparison. The camp building had four dorms and Taft even had a "quiet room" on premises that was used only for studying. It was a totally new experience for Dan. Everything was run by the inmates themselves and at night there were only five CO's on duty- one for each unit and one in the control room. Taft didn't have email so we were back to writing letters and quick little phone calls.
We had heard that Dan would be able to apply for a community service job while at Taft. If he could find a company or organization willing to take responsibility for him, he could fulfill his prison work requirement off grounds. We wanted this desperately so that I could come see him during the day. It was one of those things we knew other people had, so we were going to figure out how to get it too. We never did though.
The Lady Under the Bed and Molly the Dog
Life at Taft was so much easier for Dan , you could see the physical and emotional changes in him almost immediately. He played tennis every day and I would get so aggravated when I would talk to him and ask him how he was doing, and he would bubble up with a response like “Today was great! I played tennis and walked a lot and had a really great day!”
I wanted him to have a great day, but it was so hard for me to exist the way we were. Hearing him accept the way our life was and be ok, even enthusiastic, hurt me somehow. It almost felt like I was the only one suffering. I was still fairly damaged from my car accident and had started smoking cigarettes again. It was the only way I could handle driving on freeways, even though I had quit smoking five years earlier. It sucked that Dan was in such a great place mentally and physically and I was in a totally opposite place. Taft was SO much easier that he was able to forget a lot of the misery we had endured up to that point. Not totally forget, but sort of put it aside and be ok in the moment. For me all that had changed was that I had a longer drive and less face time with Dan.
I was also stressed because our tenant in New York had moved out of our house in the city and now we had to find a new tenant. Their rent had paid our mortgage on the place, and it was going to be a serious problem if I didn't get it rented quickly. We had a broker who was helping us but now that we didn't have email I had to make most of the decisions on my own if they were time sensitive. He didn't know Dan was in prison and had dealt with him directly before, so he didn't really tell me all of the details. But he did email them to Dan's personal email, which of course was really me responding on his behalf. It was a lot of pressure.
I was also stressed because our tenant in New York had moved out of our house in the city and now we had to find a new tenant. Their rent had paid our mortgage on the place, and it was going to be a serious problem if I didn't get it rented quickly. We had a broker who was helping us but now that we didn't have email I had to make most of the decisions on my own if they were time sensitive. He didn't know Dan was in prison and had dealt with him directly before, so he didn't really tell me all of the details. But he did email them to Dan's personal email, which of course was really me responding on his behalf. It was a lot of pressure.
Dan would write me the funniest stories and I would retell them to our families and have them cracking up. One story that other inmates kept telling Dan was about the lady under the bed. As he relayed it to me, before Dan got to Taft there was an inmate who missed his wife so much, he convinced her to sneak onto the grounds at night and stay. Supposedly, she lived at the camp for months, hidden under his bed and eating whatever he brought her. I don’t really believe this one, because it seems utterly ridiculous but then again, you just never know.
There was a camp pet, a stray dog that the inmates adopted and called Molly . She was a mutt and someone had tied a red bandanna around her neck. I used to watch her roaming the grounds while I waited for visiting to start. In addition to Molly , there were a lot of stray cats that the guys would feed sort of look out for. No one acknowledged that they had Molly as a pet, it was not allowed, but I assume it was comforting to the prisoners to feel like they had some sort of animal to care for.
As with the other facilities, Dan had to work at Taft. He got assigned the job of Fire Safety Inspector. He had no previous experience (although he once rushed into a burning house and saved an employees cat from the fire- true story) but his job suited him. He had a red clipboard and was tasked with walking the grounds surrounding the Medium and checking that all of the fire safety equipment was in good working order. Basically his job meant he walked around in the sun all day. I think he was making thirteen cents an hour for that job. He loved it. He had access to all areas- the garage, the storage areas, the gardens.
There was a project called "Wheels for the World" that some of the inmates worked on. They would fix donated broken wheelchairs, thousands of them, and ship them out to third world countries. It was a beautiful charity project and I haven't heard of anything similar since. Dan liked to stop by and watch the guys working when he was on his fire inspection safety route.
He was perplexed by the garden. The prison allowed the inmates to tend a garden, and it counted as a job. However, all of the produce that was grown was tossed away. And inmates as well as staff were banned from entering the gardens unless it was during work hours and for the specific purpose of tending to the plants. Dan also noted that it took an incredible amount of water to maintain the garden since most of the stuff grown was not indigenous to the desert. Per his letter "The gardens are an anomaly, they serve no purpose and are quite sad".
Before Dan went to prison we had stocked up my apartment with frozen dinners and toilet paper. This sounds really goofy but it meant the world to me. I ran out of the frozen foods but I still had 6-8 cases of toilet paper left in my closet around this time. We had bought them on sale at some store and just stacked them all up in the back of my closet. He was trying to make things easier for me, and also bought extra light bulbs, paper plates and boxes of tissues...in one of my letters I mentioned I was almost out of toilet paper and it made me sad because I was slowly running out of things he had gotten for me. I was going to physical therapy a few times a week and everything still hurt but I was slowly healing. Dan knew I wasn't doing well and started pushing me to find a psychiatrist. I wasn't against it, and it probably would have helped tremendously, but I just didn't have the energy to actually go find one. Instead, I spent my days wandering Los Angeles, finding quirky spots to sit down and people watch. I spent a lot of time at Venice Beach, looking at the art work for sale and getting henna tattoos with Dan's name. I felt comfortable in Venice- I was not the weirdest person there. I still couldn't sleep at night and started taking Tylenol PM's to knock me out. The downside was the medicine made me useless the next day, so I could only take them if I didn't have visiting to get to.
It was rough for me to feel so gloomy when Dan was doing so well, I felt guilty. I also started a "Friends and Family" newsletter email chain- every week after our visit I would write up a quick weekly summary and send it to our families and the few friends who knew what was going on. Most everyone wrote to Dan directly and mailed him cards and books, but to get information out it was easier if I did it instead of him having to write a letter to each person separately.
Weird things set me off. I watched an episode of Grey's Anatomy where the staff had to save an inmates life who was a serial killer and scheduled to be put to death in a few days. In the episode, the inmate wasn't sorry for what he had done but he didn't want to die in prison, he wanted the doctor to help him die in the hospital. There was a little boy in the hospital waiting for a transplant to become available and the inmate wanted to donate his parts to the boy. But the doctor couldn't make that happen and attended the inmate's execution a few days later. (The boy got organs from another donor). I lost it. I cried for hours after I watched it. I know, I should have shut it off, but I couldn't. It seemed like prison stuff was all around me and I was so sensitive to it. I felt like a damaged baby deer, wobbling through nature alone with big scary predators all around me in the shadows.
Dan moved bunks and had a new bunkie named C-Boogie. Boogie was a well know former LA club promoter doing time for a well known E ring drug bust. A lot of people I knew in LA knew him, and it was strange to think that he could write one letter or mention Dan's name to someone and then everyone would suddenly know my secret. He was a cool bunkie for Dan though- they were both neat freaks although as Dan wrote to me:
"Best thing: Boogie is very clean
Worst thing: Boogie is insanely clean.
Chani, he deloused my mattress, washed the walls with bleach, made my bed to show me how he wants it to look, waxed the floors, washed his chair and mine and cleaned my locker."
I thought it was a good thing for Dan- in our relationship I was always the "messy" one even though I am obnoxiously organized. It perked me up to know that Dan was now the messy one, and had a new standard to upkeep.
I knew Taft was a good place for Dan to be. It was six months in and we were finally in the right place and he was finally getting into a routine that was normal. Now we only had to get through the next few years without another disaster. As my dad is fond of saying "We plan, and God laughs". I believe in my case, I am his own personal punch line.
There was a project called "Wheels for the World" that some of the inmates worked on. They would fix donated broken wheelchairs, thousands of them, and ship them out to third world countries. It was a beautiful charity project and I haven't heard of anything similar since. Dan liked to stop by and watch the guys working when he was on his fire inspection safety route.
He was perplexed by the garden. The prison allowed the inmates to tend a garden, and it counted as a job. However, all of the produce that was grown was tossed away. And inmates as well as staff were banned from entering the gardens unless it was during work hours and for the specific purpose of tending to the plants. Dan also noted that it took an incredible amount of water to maintain the garden since most of the stuff grown was not indigenous to the desert. Per his letter "The gardens are an anomaly, they serve no purpose and are quite sad".
Before Dan went to prison we had stocked up my apartment with frozen dinners and toilet paper. This sounds really goofy but it meant the world to me. I ran out of the frozen foods but I still had 6-8 cases of toilet paper left in my closet around this time. We had bought them on sale at some store and just stacked them all up in the back of my closet. He was trying to make things easier for me, and also bought extra light bulbs, paper plates and boxes of tissues...in one of my letters I mentioned I was almost out of toilet paper and it made me sad because I was slowly running out of things he had gotten for me. I was going to physical therapy a few times a week and everything still hurt but I was slowly healing. Dan knew I wasn't doing well and started pushing me to find a psychiatrist. I wasn't against it, and it probably would have helped tremendously, but I just didn't have the energy to actually go find one. Instead, I spent my days wandering Los Angeles, finding quirky spots to sit down and people watch. I spent a lot of time at Venice Beach, looking at the art work for sale and getting henna tattoos with Dan's name. I felt comfortable in Venice- I was not the weirdest person there. I still couldn't sleep at night and started taking Tylenol PM's to knock me out. The downside was the medicine made me useless the next day, so I could only take them if I didn't have visiting to get to.
It was rough for me to feel so gloomy when Dan was doing so well, I felt guilty. I also started a "Friends and Family" newsletter email chain- every week after our visit I would write up a quick weekly summary and send it to our families and the few friends who knew what was going on. Most everyone wrote to Dan directly and mailed him cards and books, but to get information out it was easier if I did it instead of him having to write a letter to each person separately.
Weird things set me off. I watched an episode of Grey's Anatomy where the staff had to save an inmates life who was a serial killer and scheduled to be put to death in a few days. In the episode, the inmate wasn't sorry for what he had done but he didn't want to die in prison, he wanted the doctor to help him die in the hospital. There was a little boy in the hospital waiting for a transplant to become available and the inmate wanted to donate his parts to the boy. But the doctor couldn't make that happen and attended the inmate's execution a few days later. (The boy got organs from another donor). I lost it. I cried for hours after I watched it. I know, I should have shut it off, but I couldn't. It seemed like prison stuff was all around me and I was so sensitive to it. I felt like a damaged baby deer, wobbling through nature alone with big scary predators all around me in the shadows.
Dan moved bunks and had a new bunkie named C-Boogie. Boogie was a well know former LA club promoter doing time for a well known E ring drug bust. A lot of people I knew in LA knew him, and it was strange to think that he could write one letter or mention Dan's name to someone and then everyone would suddenly know my secret. He was a cool bunkie for Dan though- they were both neat freaks although as Dan wrote to me:
"Best thing: Boogie is very clean
Worst thing: Boogie is insanely clean.
Chani, he deloused my mattress, washed the walls with bleach, made my bed to show me how he wants it to look, waxed the floors, washed his chair and mine and cleaned my locker."
I thought it was a good thing for Dan- in our relationship I was always the "messy" one even though I am obnoxiously organized. It perked me up to know that Dan was now the messy one, and had a new standard to upkeep.
I knew Taft was a good place for Dan to be. It was six months in and we were finally in the right place and he was finally getting into a routine that was normal. Now we only had to get through the next few years without another disaster. As my dad is fond of saying "We plan, and God laughs". I believe in my case, I am his own personal punch line.
"Oh my God - I just remembered I can fly." Dan sent me this in one of his letters when he first got to Taft. I felt it was apt to include it here. |