Chapter 22
Stamps
Sending
money to prisoners in a federal prison is a rather simple process. It is wired,
usually by Western Union, to an account set up for the inmate in the Federal
Bureau of Prisons. I would wire it to the account and Matt could use it to
purchase items at the prison commissary. There was a $300 spending limit per
month where prisoners could purchase personal items, toothpaste, deodorant,
soap, and even a few special items like gym shorts or radios. Each inmate had a small locker in his cell
which constituted his personal space. His dad and I were generous with his
monthly allowance and usually tried to send him between $250 and $300 each
month. We considered it our contribution as if we were helping him through
college. I had used that analogy when I tried to encourage him about a
seven-year sentence. “Your brother took six years to finish college, so it’s
just one more year.” Somehow my comparison didn’t bring much joy to the
situation.
So, when I
received a phone call asking for money to be sent to some stranger outside of
the prison I was totally confused. “Mom, please just do what I ask. I need some
stamps. I’ll explain at the next visit but I can’t do it over the phone.” What now? Do I honor his request? Is he using
drugs inside prison? And what in the world are stamps? I could send him stamps
if he needed them.
My curiosity
and my motherly need to please got the best of me and I sent a small amount to
a person somewhere in Texas for pickup at the nearest Western Union. Am I crazy
or what? I was definitely worried but more concerned that he might be in
trouble with someone inside. What if he was being threatened? What if the other
inmates found out we had a nice home and thought we had some money they could
get to? All the thoughts began to surface and I remember taking a quick breath
and asking God for guidance in this and all situations regarding Matt. God was
faithful.
As expected,
the next visit began with questions about the money and stamps. Stamps, it
seems, was a form of currency used between fellow inmates. Yes, they were old
postage stamps, but no, one could not buy new stamps. That would be like
issuing counterfeit money. Stamps were used to purchase things that could not
be bought at the commissary…fruit taken from the kitchen, a place in line for
the dentist, a used pair of Nikes that were no longer sold at the prison store.
These men had learned how to work the system from the inside. To some of the
prisoners, having money to send home was more important than purchasing items
for comfort within their cells, so they sold stamps and asked for the money to
be sent to someone outside the walls. That is just what I had done for Matt. I
had sent money to a family member in exchange for stamps that my son could use
inside the prison.
Out of
necessity these men, confined to a small area of a big institution, had found a
way to bargain and trade goods and services. No doubt, the trades could be used
to purchase contraband like drugs or alcohol but, these men had also found a
way to place value not just on tangible items, but also on their own self-worth.
They had created a civilization within the confines of their concrete
boundaries.
Chapter 23
The
Visiting Room
The waiting
area for visitors was large at Coleman FCI compared to the other facilities we
would eventually visit. There is something intimidating about simply being
there and knowing why. Certain rules
apply to all facilities but each one is allowed some discretion in applying and
enforcing individual guidelines. For
instance, Joe wore khaki pants at several visits to Coleman, but Edgefield FCI
did not allow visiting males to wear them. I can understand the ban on tight
shirts for women, but having to wear what was almost a turtleneck was extreme.
I saw several women denied entrance because their top was sleeveless. After
all, this was south Florida.
The closest
I came to a wardrobe violation was with my shoes. Those who know me will attest
that I can almost always be found in a pair of Keens, which are my go-to shoes
for all seasons. They can be classified as a sandal, but they are closed toe
for protection. The Board of Prisons may have meant sandals when they described
non-acceptable foot attire, but the rules said no open-toe shoes so I was
granted permission to carry on with the visit. I could wear my capri pants
which amount to old lady shorts, but Joe had to wear pants. We were allowed to
carry a light jacket into the room since it could get rather cool in the area
for visiting. Everything else stayed in the locker.
At Coleman
FCI, we carried cash in to purchase fast food from vending machines. We could
carry $30 for each person who went in so we usually had around $60 which went
fast when faced with a prisoner who got no outside food for a few months. I
remember the Big Az Cheeseburgers that Matt liked were $4 each and he could eat
3 or 4 with each visit. Add a few bags of chips and drinks and deserts and the
money did not go far. We never minded the extravagance at each visit. Heck, it
would have cost us that to take him out to eat at a restaurant if we were able.
I rather enjoyed watching him enjoy his fast food meal. Reminded me of our
trips to McDonalds when he was a small child, but this time the playground was
two clusters of four small chairs that face each other.
After
passing the first station with metal detectors and the ion scanner, we were
seated in a special group of chairs where we waited to be guided over to the
visiting room. The guards on duty had specific jobs for the day, so those who
did the check in and the metal detectors stayed at the front desk during
visiting hours. The other set of guards took the prisoners back and forth
stopping at each station. We had to wait until our guard returned from a run
and prepared to take another group of seven or so visitors over to the other
building.
When our
guard returned, he or she would call us by name to line up. We got the mark for
the day with indelible ink that only showed up under a blacklight. We went to
the next station where we were matched with our photo id, then led through the
first set of metal electric doors. We all waited inside a small chamber where
we then showed our mark to another guard positioned behind the glass where we
could see different cameras, clocks and security devices.
Once
everyone was checked, the second set of metal doors open and we exited to an
open yard. We waited as our guard went ahead of us then motioned for us to come
forward. We gathered again outside a solid metal door and our guard signaled
for the door to open. We entered yet another chamber and waited for the large
metal door to close behind us. This chamber had 2 doors but we entered the
visiting room through the door on the left. I assumed the other door went into
the prison. Only one time in all my visits did I see anyone come from behind
door number 2.
The visiting
room was huge with rows and rows of groups of chairs facing each other. I
counted once and I think there were over 200 seats for visiting at Coleman. Upon
entering the area, we were directed by the guard to sit a specific set of
chairs, our assigned area for the day. All visitors faced one direction and the
prisoners faced the other, usually facing the desk area where we checked in.
The only contact we had with the other visitors was an occasional smile or a
brief comment. The longest conversation I ever had took place at the microwave
as I waited for the Big AZ sandwich to heat for 90 seconds.
There were
very few children and even fewer teenagers, but those who did make the journey
were allowed to sit on the same side as the inmate. A small table separated our
space from the other visitors which is where we placed out drinks and chips. It’s
odd some of the things the prison makes visitors do. We had to pour out our
chips on a plate and toss the bag. Guess it could be used to hide something if
need be. Anyway, all food items were placed on paper plates. Coleman had as
many vending machines as any hospital waiting room I’ve been to, even more than
the student snack room at a commuter college. Whoever had that business made a
nice profit since every visitor there spent just as much as we did by providing
fast food for our incarcerated family member. Now, I never take for granted the
convenience of driving through and picking up a meal of my choice or sitting
down and eating a pleasant meal at a decent restaurant, even enjoying a home
cooked meal cooked with lots of love and seasoning.
At least the
rest room doors had locks on them, for the visitors anyway. Matt had to ask a
guard for permission to go to the rest room and sometimes that was quite a
wait. He said the guards were very careful during visitation to make sure they
watched as he peed. They didn’t want him hiding anything that might have
slipped from us to him during the visit. I am sure it was done by some visitors
and inmates, but I am too honest. I could not even lie about bringing a bottle
of liquor into the stadium when it was in my purse. I could not hold to my
Poker Face when asked, “Ma’am, do you have any alcohol in your bag?” My husband
had learned the hard way not to ask me to sneak in the booze.
The only
contact we were supposed to have with the prisoner was a big hug when we met
and when we left. I did pat him over and over. No one was going to deny this
mama some love for her baby boy. I managed to get a squeeze in here and there
during the visit. I’m sure the guards were constantly watching for illegal
transactions between visitors and inmates, not to mentions the shows of
affections from two people who had not seen each other in a while. Some first-time
hugs were more than just hugs and if a kiss lasted too long the guards would
intervene.
And I am
sure transactions did happen. Once Matt told me to quietly drop a quarter from
my money to the floor. I gave him a puzzled look, but he asked me to just do
what he said. He slowly slid the quarter his way and managed to “tie his shoe”
and put the quarter inside. When I asked him why, he said, “Mom, there are guys
in here who have not seen a quarter in 20 years. I just want to show them what
they look like.” I had never really thought about that thought until right at
that moment. Amazing! Some of these guys have never seen a computer or a cell
phone and have no concept of what the internet is. When I think about how much
has changed in the seven years Matt was serving his time, I cannot even imagine
how much those who are serving longer times will miss. No wonder it is so hard
to return to society. I don’t think I could even go back to school because
technology has changed the way we do so many things. Try as I might, I can’t
stay up to date with all the changes in today’s world and I really do try.
Visiting
hours passed quickly since we had so many things to catch up on. Most Federal
Correctional Institutions have regular weekend visitation hours. We could visit
on Friday from 1-5 but we tried to make the drive down and save our time for
all day Saturday, at least 8-2. Waiting until the last group left could take
time, so we tried to get there early and leave before closing. We made the
mistake the first time and waited until 9 to get there. We were not familiar
with Count which happens at 10, 2, and 4 each day.
Count is
just what it is, a count of the prisoners.
At 10:00 a.m. all prisoners are directed to line up against the wall and
be counted. This sounds simple, but it requires a lot of cooperation within the
prison. Everything stops for Count. So, no one goes in or out until count is
finished. That includes count in all parts of the prison. So, if we get there
right before count or during the preparation, we have to wait. If the numbers
are off somewhere then we wait even longer. All stations and guards report
their count and when all is well, an all-clear is issued. Then visitation gets
back to normal. So, by arriving at 9:00 and doing our normal registration, we
got held up by the Count, even though it was an hour later. We didn’t make that
mistake again. Meeting Matt at 11:30 when we had been there since 9:00 was no
fun for either party. Matt knew we were coming and kept waiting for his call
and we were anxious to get in. That is another reason we leave before 4:00 and
the next count.
After
driving 530 miles for our visit, we got as much time in as we could, so we
returned for a Sunday visit before our trip home. As much as we enjoyed our
stay, it was tiring with the stress from the visit and the long drive there and
back. Still, Joe and I tried to visit every couple of months. Funny, we were
only 40 miles from Disneyworld but we never made a trip there. We had one
purpose when we traveled to Ocala and that was to visit our son.
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