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| Group gets one-night taste of life in prison |
| By billingsgazette.com |
| Published: 01/08/2010 |
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TORRINGTON — How would you handle your first night in medium-security prison? I was one of 28 people who found out Wednesday night as some of the first occupants of Wyoming’s new medium-security prison just outside Torrington. We weren’t exactly hardened criminals — we were state legislators, reporters and even the prison’s architects. All of us had accepted the Wyoming Department of Corrections’ offer to spend the night getting as close as one could get to prison life without blemishing his or her criminal record. Even so, this was no high school lock-in, as Warden Mike Murphy made clear upon welcoming his newest “inmates.” “Once you all come through that intake unit, I’m your warden, and you’re my prisoner. And there’s not going to be any banter or anything,” Murphy said. “Quite frankly, we’re going to treat you all in the way professionally that we treat inmates.” This look inside prison life wasn’t just for our sake, Murphy said. We would be good practice for the prison officers and staff members, many of whom were new graduates from the prison’s training academy at Camp Guernsey. I kept that in mind as we were loaded into a white van and driven to the intake unit on the north side of the massive prison building. Escorted seven at a time, we cooled our heels in a holding cell. Eventually, an officer came in, took our names and clothing sizes, and left us with a second officer who cheerfully answered our questions. “She won’t last the week,” someone joked as the second officer left. Check-in time finally arrived. We filled out forms asking if we had any suicidal tendencies. We all turned over our clothes and possessions. In exchange, we each received a bag with ketchup-red prison garb, black Crocs and toiletries that included “all-in-one” soap/shampoo/shaving gel, a 3-inch-long toothbrush and by far the worst-tasting toothpaste I’ve ever encountered. Led into our new home, Cell Block D, we were shown a “demonstration cell” with a neatly made bed and sparkling interior. Our cell had to look like that every day in time for morning inspections, we were told, or we would be punished. Other rules followed. No fighting. No blocking the cell window with sheets or blankets. No entering another inmate’s cell. No cussing out the prison officers. Any inmates who break the rules could, among other things, be put on TRO status — social isolation. They can’t talk to any inmate, and no inmate can talk to them without the risk of being put on TRO status themselves. I had barely made my bunk in cell D5203 when a guard appeared at my cell door. Chow time. For most people, the words “prison food” certainly carries negative connotations. But the cooks at Torrington prison did their level best to change that perception with chicken, rice, veggies, Jell-O with fruit and two cookies. Comfortably full, we were filed out and led to a room for class, or “group.” Senior caseworker Tate Thompson was waiting for us. That night, the “group” topic was about how to listen to others. Thompson passed out worksheets listing five steps of being a good listener: look at the person who is talking, remember to sit quietly, think about what is being said, say “yes” or nod your head, and ask a question about the topic to find out more. When you’re thinking, he said, try putting your middle and index fingers to your forehead. It’s a way to slow the reaction process down — to think about things before responding or acting. “Group” time over, we returned to D Block for “down time.” Some went to the rec center to play basketball; I stayed to play some Scrabble — at least, until 10 p.m. “Down time is over,” said a guard, walking up to our table. And like that, the game was over. No debate. We spent the next hour locked in our cells before “lights out” — a figure of speech, as each cell’s “night light” was so bright that it took some time before I could finally fall asleep. The most jarring change for me was how privacy suddenly became an uncommon luxury. Anyone using my cell’s toilet always stayed in view of the guard station — not to mention their cellmate. At night, guards regularly peered in our cells to detect breathing movement under our blankets. Being thrown into this new place, I was confused and even a bit nervous at times. I found myself submissively obeying any authority figure’s orders, scared of accidentally breaking the rules even though I didn’t necessarily have to follow them. What helped me was that I was placed into a set routine. Dinnertime is always at 6 p.m., everyday. Lights out is at 11 p.m. Wednesday night, though, a good night’s sleep was not part of my routine: at 5 a.m., a guard gave a wake-up call through my cell door. Bleary-eyed, I nevertheless quickly worked to make my bed, trying to remember how the sheets were folded in the demonstration cell. I quickly showered — in a stall, not in a notorious communal prison shower. After a hearty meal of pancakes, bacon and eggs, our street clothes and possessions were waiting for us when we returned to D Block. Read More. |
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