The Food Police -- April 5, 2013

Last week there were a couple of incidents in the chow hall which has, at least in part, precipitated an increase of security at the penitentiary. It is common practice for guards to wand prisoners with a metal detector when leaving the cell house. Furthermore, prisoners are randomly pulled out of movement lines to be frisked. In the last two weeks these practices have increased along with strip searches. Guards in the cell houses and the movement team are being assisted by Internal Affairs and even SORT in full tactical gear. The main purpose was to find weapons, however, for the most part they were simply finding food. Many prisoners including myself will return with food they were served in the chow hall to eat later. This food is commonly confiscated by guards and thus why I have begun to call them the "food police."

Nearly two weeks ago, the top gallery in E House refused to leave the chow hall. Inmates will regularly delay leaving when they have only been given five or ten minutes to eat. However, in this particular instance, the men seemed to have been protesting a perceived injustice or grievance. Typically, in such cases an administrator will come to hear the complaint and resolve the matter. I tend to believe no one of authority would listen to the inmates and instead the Orange Crush was sent in to distract them by force. From what I have been informed, the tactical team's mere presence persuaded the prisoners to leave without any resistance. They were escorted back to the cell house and placed on lockdown. The feed lines for the entire penitentiary were greatly delayed and there was an order to stop all movement. I have as yet been able to learn what the gallery of men were protesting. I rarely leave my cell and do not have many communications particularly with prisoners in different cell houses.

A couple of days later on Wednesday, there were two incidents which also caused a delay in operations at the prison. Lunch lines were not run in my cell house until after noon and I was uncertain if I would be able to go on a visit. According to what I was told, a prisoner was assaulted by two other inmates on the F House yard. Later when they went to chow another man was attacked by yet two other prisoners. In neither incident was a shot fired by the guards in the gun towers. I am unaware of the motivation in the assaults and the Roundhouse is more isolated than the quarter units. However, this week, the Orange Crush searched a number of cells in the building and prisoners were questioned by Internal Affairs. Investigative personnel from IDOC's state headquarters also were involved which led me to think security personnel believed there to be a broader security concern.

The movement team will occasionally pat down inmates going to and from details. However, in the last couple of weeks, they have been particularly aggressive and thorough. I have listened to men who have various jobs complaining about how every day they are being harassed with intrusive frisks. One prisoner said he felt he had been molested by a gay guard who felt all around his body. I am told how the guards are being petty in confiscating various items which are not security related. One man had some hard candy in his pocket which was taken. In another frisk, a Walkman was found on a prisoner. Prisoners are not supposed to bring anything with them but men like to listen to the radio while working. Kitchen workers have complained mainly about how they are unable to bring back food. Some will sell this food for trade, but others are just bringing back leftovers for their own consumption which would only be thrown out. Kitchen workers can be fired  for theft, but small takeouts are sometimes permitted by the supervisor.

Over the weekend, a detail yard is run. This allows many prisoners who have work assignments and miss regular recreation periods to have some time outside. Quarter unit detail yard is alternated between the small and large south yard on Saturdays with half the building attending one and the other half the other. My cellmate is allowed to go, but never does. Instead he watches TV and this is his preferred recreation. Last Saturday I was surprised he left to attend a special Easter religious service. When he returned, he was very disappointed to have missed his shows. Apparently, the religious service was not inspiring and I was told prisoners read Scripture and sang songs including rap songs about Jesus.

Prisoners who attended the detail yard returned in the early afternoon. A couple of them stopped at my cell to talk with Anthony. They said he should have went out to the South yard with them instead of the religious service. They also mentioned how guards had an assignment list and were checking men's names at the gate. A few prisoners were turned around and possibly written disciplinary tickets if their name was not found. Occasionally the list will be inaccurate or incomplete but other times men will try to get an extra yard period who do not have a job. I assume this extra screening was done not to prevent prisoners from receiving a privilege they were not entitled to, but for security reasons. Unlike other yard or gym periods, men with details can congregate with those on different galleries and from a different cell house. Segregating prisoners is a way security keeps a tighter control over the penitentiary.

I do not have a job and the only extra security I have been able to witness is on the way to or back from the chow hall. Since the fights involving prisoners from the Roundhouse, there has been a significant increase in the inmates searched. Many more people are being pulled out of line to be frisked, particularly in the morning for lunch. On one occasion, a Mexican was told to step out of line, but he kept walking. The prisoner was not attempting to avoid being patted down. He simply was not paying attention and the female guard was ambiguous about who she wanted to search. The woman was a recent transfer from Dwight C.C. and seemed to overcompensate for the misunderstanding. She yelled at the prisoner in Spanish saying something like "Yeah, you! Get your ass over here. Don't tell me 'no English'." Some inmates may have become angry by her tone or words, but he seemed more embarrassed than anything. I think I noticed him blushing when he walked back although this may be due to the inmates who were razzing him.

Many times I will find myself uncertain if a guard wants to frisk me. Sometimes, though, because I have been at Stateville so long the guard will call me by name. A guard, however, who I did not know that was working in the cell house pointed toward me to be patted down. I dislike being always subject to searches and being touched. In prison, it is just something I have had to become accustomed to. I tend to believe it is similar to going through airport security every day. Fortunately, the guard did not grope me although he did go through my jacket pockets. He saw that I had a carton of milk and a couple slices of bread. Occasionally, a guard will confiscate the food and throw it on the floor for cell house workers later to put in the garbage. However, this guard just tapped me on the back to continue on up to my cell.

On Thursday of last week, I went out to chow to bring back a chicken-soy patty. It was only 9 a.m. and I was not hungry at all. I had just eaten my breakfast a couple of hours earlier and did not plan to eat again until at least noon. I knew the cell house would be first to be fed, but did not want to save the breakfast tray for later. Breakfast is served to inmates in the middle of the night and I do not even bother to wake up. When my cell mate returns from work he will take the styrofoam box trays from the bars and put them on the table. By the time I wake up, the food is already hours old. If I saved it any longer, the milk would probably be bad and I would have nothing to eat with my cereal. Thus why I was planning to take my chicken-soy patty to go to eat later.

Typically, prisoners are able to sit where they want in the chow hall. However, on this day a guard was assigning tables and I had to sit with a group of inmates I did not care for, or possibly vice versa. One prisoner was intentionally trying to avoid being seated with me. I have nicknamed this fat prisoner "the Elephant." The elephant has been avoiding me ever since a guard mentioned to him a blog post where I made fun of him for being obese and trying to convince me to give him my dessert from the Thanksgiving meal. The guard thought it was funny and many joke about the man's weight. A name which seems to be catching on is "The Eclipse". The fat man is so big he can blot out the sun. He is actually very useful on hot summer days when lifting weights on the yard and people will actually ask him to stand in a certain spot while bench pressing.

I tend to think the Elephant was more angry about my mentioning how he takes psychotropics and talked to the psychiatrist at length. I do not care if the obese man does not like me particularly after learning what he is in prison for. From law books, I learned he killed his twin 9-month old children. The appellate court's ruling gives a description of him smoking crack and going ballistic when the babies would not stop crying. He is said to have even thrown one baby into a dresser and the other into a wall 12 feet away. His arguments on appeal are not about being innocent as there was no dispute he was the killer. Rather he argued he should be held less accountable due to being under the influence of drugs and having a mild bipolar disorder. His murders are such that I do not care to be funny and joke about his weight, which I have done more so to be playful than mean spirited. After bagging my chicken patty and bun, I turned away from the table and waited to leave.

On the way out of the chow hall, a lieutenant was counting prisoners as they passed by. I knew what she was doing. Every so many prisoners got the good fortune to be strip searched. I happened to be one of the "lucky" ones and was told to stand to the side with a few other men who had been chosen. While standing there, I thought how I had wasted my morning and came out only to be annoyed by a loud and crowded chow hall. The icing on the cake was being strip searched and having my chicken patty taken away. I considered throwing away the food I had brought out into a nearby trash bin, but doing so may have caused suspicion.

After the last of the prisoners went by in the chow hall, I was brought into a long room with a concrete floor. The room had wooden dividers with plexiglass tops to allow prisoners to be seen all the way to the back. In the front was a wood desk where a guard sat and collected our identification cards to record in a registry. I was told to take booth number 3 where another guard went through my clothing as I undressed. My chicken patty and bread hit the floor not causing him any pause. The guards are used to finding food and even though my cell house was the first to eat, I noticed a little pile of state cakes and condiments when I came into the room. My clothes were all put on a plastic chair which was in each of the booths and then naked I raised my hands, lifted my genitals, opened my mouth, turned around,  lifted my feet, and bent over. The guard did not need to tell me the procedure. I have been strip searched thousands of times.

As I got dressed, the guard was talking to another prisoner. While other people may think of a strip search as a serious violation and indignity, it was routine in maximum-security prisons. Prisoners do not have any rights and can be searched at any time. I was almost more bothered about the loss of my lunch than having to undress. I considered asking if I could have the food back but it had hit the floor which was dirty and I reasoned the guards had to show their supervisors evidence they were doing their jobs. I assume the guards were looking for weapons or some other serious contraband. They were not impolite and the guard who strip searched me said he preferred to be doing something else. He has worked at Stateville for a number of years and from my experience acts professionally and is considerate.

This morning, prisoners on the lower floor and part of the 2nd were told to bring their laundry bags to chow. From the chow hall, the line to commissary was being run. I had largely been avoiding the chow hall particularly during the morning. I did not want to deal with the hassle of being frisked or strip searched again. I also did not like much of the food or the crowds of loud, obnoxious or repugnant convicts. However, I could not miss commissary. Unfortunately, I have become more dependent on overpriced commissary purchased food, the more I stay in my cell. My cell mate was sleeping and I woke him up to get ready to leave. He also did not want to go to lunch, but could not miss the line to the prison store.

On the way to the chow hall a prisoner I know was returning and stopped to whisper to me that the Orange Crush was waiting on the other side of the building. He apparently was warning me in case I had some contraband on me. I did not, but was apprehensive about what awaited us. What was the SORT's intentions? Were we all going to be strip searched? Tested for drugs? Spend all day handcuffed behind our backs while our cells were ransacked? When I turned the corner I saw a group of the tactical unit just inside the building in full gear. It was odd and I still could not discern their purpose. As the line went into the chow hall, however, they were pulling men out to frisk them. They did not frisk everyone and I went by them without being harassed. Inside the chow hall,  I asked Anthony what his opinion was, but he had no idea. The SORT was not used to frisk prisoners in the past. Apparently, SORT was also frisking men on the way out as well, but we were taken out a different door to go to the commissary building.

The manpower being used to search prisoners seems excessive and wasteful to me. Metal detectors can do the job of finding most serious weapons that are carried by inmates. They can also act as a deterrence to men taking them out of the cell house. The violence within a maximum-security prison can never be totally eliminated and it is a matter of reducing the incidence. However, much of the security measures applied are redundant and superfluous. They make more work for guards while tending to dehumanize and anger prisoners. Even I who have been incarcerated for two decades am not immune to the continuous invasions of my person. There is a need for conducting searches within a penitentiary, but they can be done much less often and more discriminately. Hopefully, this time period of increased frisking and strip searches was only temporary to address some real and specific perceived threat. When guards are reduced to food police, it devalues the worth of everyone.

The Iron Lady -- April 13, 2013

This post is written in memory of Margaret Thatcher one of the most influential and resolute global leaders of the later 20th century. On Monday, the former prime minister of Britain died and no story I could tell about prison life could come close to matching her remarkable legacy. Immediately upon gaining power, she set upon a conservative revolution, crushing socialism at home and communism abroad. She almost single handedly saved her country from economic as well as social collapse busting up trade unions and dismantling the pervasive big government which was strangling the nation. While the sun seemed to be setting on the past British Empire, she reinvigorated patriotism, winning a decisive war with Argentina and becoming America's staunch ally in the defeat of the Soviet Union. The partnership of Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan become an unstoppable force for freedom and moral fortitude in the Western world. Their leadership was a striking contrast to that which exists in the White House today and hopefully the loss of the Iron Lady is not yet another symbolic reminder of Western decline.

Margaret Thatcher was born in October of 1925 and grew up in the Lincolnshire town of Grantham in east England. Her father Alfred Roberts was s small shopkeeper but also a man of strong political convictions. These probably helped shape the future prime minister's beliefs in hard work, self reliance, fiscal responsibility, and unyielding integrity. Her academic achievements helped her secure various scholarships including one to Oxford where she earned degrees in chemistry and law. She was a laboratory researcher and a barrister before she became elected to parliament in 1959. The Tory Party eventually gave her a cabinet position in 1970 as secretary of state for education. The 1970's was a period of decadence, decline, and weak political leadership. It compelled Thatcher to challenge her party's leader, Ted Heath. She was overwhelmingly elected, however, she was unable to become prime minister until the conservatives gained control of parliament four years later in 1979.

For many years, the powerful trade unions were wreaking havoc on the English economy. They basically controlled the Labour Party and brought politicians to their knees demanding vast wages, benefits, jobs and favorable legislation. When they did not get what they wanted, the country was paralyzed with massive strikes and aggressive picketing strategies. England was in a worse state than modern Greece and if not for an enormous loan from the International Monetary Fund, would have collapsed. Thus, Margaret Thatcher's first order of business was taking away the unions' grip of control. Unlike her conservative predecessors, however, she succeeded by chipping away at their power in a series of laws. Simultaneously, she strengthened the police force and gave them new powers to stop the carnage of union protests. After weeks of brutal fighting and even some loss of life, the two strongest unions were defeated. With the miners and printers capitulation, the other unions surrendered.

Unions were only one part of the problem in England. Nearly every major sector of the economy was owned by the government. The state controlled the coal industry, airline, automobile, telephone, rail, oil, steel and more. The government accounted for an incredible one third of the country's workforce. Like most state-owned companies, these were incompetently run and an enormous burden on the public. Society was forced to accept the inefficiencies and poor service as well as the enormous debt accumulated. Despite fierce opposition and rioting from those who lived off the government, the prime minister enacted widespread privatization. State-owned businesses were sold off to the public helping Britain pay off its debts and turning them into profitable corporations.

Margaret Thatcher was a strong believer in the free market. Economists such as Friedrich Hayek and Milton Friedman contributed greatly to her policies. Friedman is abhorred by socialists because of his espousal of little to no government interference. Some people love the free handouts and safety nets of government. They are fearful of having to sink or swim on their own merits. The social Darwinistic tone of free market capitalism, however, is the best system to efficiently allocate resources, grow the economy, and pull everyone up. Britain's economy under the leadership of Thatcher rebounded and debts were paid off. Gross domestic product grew over 5% and deficits were turned into surpluses. Over half of all European investment was being sent to the country and it rose to the fourth largest economy in the world.

I have read some of Milton Friedman's work and agree with most of it, however, there are caveats. In the 21st century, there is vastly more international trade. Other countries do not play by the same rules and can take advantage of free markets. China, for example, subsidizes its industries, manipulates its currency, has wage controls, and dumps products on Western economies. There is also not the same quality control standards and the Chinese have no problem selling the U.S. poisoned food, toys painted with lead, or products with dangerous chemicals. China's state owned enterprises benefit from government and corporate espionage. Furthermore, while China is free to enter U.S. markets, U.S. companies are restricted and harassed. The U.S., Britain and other Western countries must protect their economies from this abuse as well as assert our own mercantilism policies.

Massive deregulation made London into a financial powerhouse. However, a decade later this was the powder-keg which helped blow up the economy in 2008. In America and across Europe one of the worst recessions ensued. Much of this was due to Europe's excessive social spending, but financial institutions had been allowed to grow too big with little oversight. All capitalist systems can be threatened by bubbles and excessive exuberance. No business should be permitted to dominate a market or be "too big to fail." Thus why there are anti-trust laws. I am glad the Obama administration has toughened the enforcement of these, but incredibly there is no plan to bust up the biggest banks which are now even larger than before the crisis. Even Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac have not been liquidated and are still government controlled.

The Labour government which was in power before Margaret Thatcher tried to rev up the ailing economy with massive spending. Like most liberals they believe printing money and throwing it at problems is the cure-all solution. The new prime minister would have none of this and ushered in a policy of fiscal responsibility and austerity. The growth in the money supply was curbed, interest rates were increased, and concessions to the unions for lavish salaries ended. Inflation which had soared to almost 25% was brought down to 5%, albeit rising towards the end of Thatcher's Tory led government. Fortunately for the U.S., inflation is relatively low except for energy and food and the Federal Reserve has been able to get away with printing $85 billion of new money per month and keeping interest rates at almost zero. However, this stimulus will eventually come back to haunt the U.S. It has warped the markets to such a degree to hide the fundamental failings of the economy that it will most certainly have terrible consequences in the future. Furthermore, the $17 trillion debt the Fed and White House have racked up will eventually have to be paid.

Margaret Thatcher's answer to economic recessive and massive debt was not more socialism, spending, or higher taxes. Contrarily, she was committed to conservative reform. Conservatism was central to her ideology and she held steadfast to these principles throughout her time in office. The government's confiscation of 83 pounds for every 10 earned on Britain's most wealthy and an incredible 98% tax on investment or other income was capped at 40%. Currency, prices and wage controls were done away with and public expenditures which were nearly 45% of GDP was brought down sharply. Britain which had been a socialist basketcase in the 70s was brought back from the brink of disaster by the resolve of Thatcher.

The Soviet Union nicknamed Margaret Thatcher "The Iron Lady" to emphasize her unwillingness to compromise. However, it was her strong conviction and fortitude which allowed her to win over the public. Unlike most politicians that blow in the wind, she was steadfast. She did not believe in wavering to public opinion and is famous for saying such things as "I am not a consensus politician. I am a conviction politician" or "the lady's not for turning." In an age when most politicians alter rhetoric, tone, or policy based on continuous public polling, she did not. Whether one agreed or disagreed with Margaret Thatcher, she was a respected politician. All too often I have contemplated how direct democracy has led to the decline of Western civilization. The empowerment of the ignorant masses,  or what Rush Limbaugh would call the "low informed voter," through universal suffrage and structural changes to representative government have weakened America and nations throughout Europe. The British have a House of Lords which once was a check on the public whims and uninformed in base beliefs and values. In America, the senate was supposed to serve as this function with senators being elected from state representatives instead of directly by the public. The president as well was supposed to be chosen by members of congress from each state. Despite how these mob rule safeguards have been dismantled, the Iron Lady was able to push through painful reforms with her strong and inspiring leadership.

The British Empire which had collapsed after two disastrous world wars and public aversion at home from a civil rights and hippie era movement was still a source of great loss amongst many in the country. The invasion of the Falkland Islands by Argentina in April 1982 seemed to be just yet another defeat that would have to be accepted. The rocky and frigid islands were only home to about 1,800 Britons and had little value, but had great psychological meaning. After watching her country dwindle in power economically and militarily for decades, Margaret Thatcher was adamant in stopping its decline. She quickly declared war and by June the Argentinean military was defeated and islands secured. England suffered hundreds of casualties and the loss of six ships, but it was worth it. She restored the pride of Britain and showed the world it was prepared to fight.

Most Americans probably remember Margaret Thatcher for her unwavering alliance with the U.S. against the Soviet Union. Former President Ronald Reagan had a conservative partner across the Atlantic to take on the oppressive communist regime. While most of continental free Europe was apathetic, pacifist, social democracies unwilling to do battle with their looming giant to the east, Britain was an invaluable ally in ending the cold war. Thatcher helped the U.S. challenge the expansion of communism around the world. Largely the prime minister helped by her scathing public rebuke of the Soviet Union and vocal support of destroying what Ronald Reagan called "The Evil Empire." Even in private she was unabashed and brutally frank even hilariously telling Mikhail Gorbachev after welcoming him to England that she hates communism. Eventually, the Soviet Union would be squeezed to the breaking point and imploded in 1989. Western civilizations greatest nemesis was defeated and hundreds of millions of people in east Europe were free from the brutal, oppressive communist government.

Margaret Thatcher was the longest serving prime minister of Britain winning three general elections and not stepping down until 1990. The conservative revolution of the 1980s has a special significance for me and I am sure many others who grew up during the same era. Twenty years after my arrest, however, I find society and the leadership out of the White House totally foreign. Instead of free market capitalism, Barack Obama seeks to impose the socialism Thatcher and Reagan so vehemently opposed. Rather than reduce taxes and debt, the current president has done the opposite. Some people in the U.S. are forced to fork over half their income or more to the federal government and this still does not placate the redistributionist left wing radical. The debt, despite the sequester continues to rise and will most certainly go over $20 trillion before the end of his tenure. He also cares more about gay marriage than Americans 2nd Amendment right to bare arms. In foreign policy, he puts himself on the back for killing Osama bin Laden, while much of North Africa and the Middle East is in a quagmire. Finally, he shows no resolve in fighting the menace of Red China or its nuclear war threatening ally North Korea. Unfortunately, America does not have the Iron Lady as its leader. Her passing is a loss for not only Britain, but all of Western Civilization.

Conversation with a Religious Volunteer -- March 24, 2013

On weekends, there will occasionally be religious volunteers or missionaries who will wander the galleries of the prison. They will often offer Christian literature or discussion about Scripture. Typically, I will ignore them or tell them I do not care for the illusive spiritualism they offer. However, yesterday, I noticed an old white man who looked like the Star Wars character Obi-Wan Kenobi. I was just about finished eating a turkey-soy burger and was bored. The old man with the appearance of actor Alec Guinness seemed to be an interesting person to engage. Since I was a child, I have been a Star Wars fan. Maybe he could entertain me with stories or the powers of "The Force."

From outside my cell bars, the man asked me how I was doing. I told him I was the living dead. He spoke with an odd accent and I was not certain if he understood what I said. He also seemed to give me an expression of puzzlement and so I said, "zombie" and illustrated by holding out my hands with a blank look. Often I am told I appear expressionless or stoic and I exaggerated my performance for maximum effect. Apparently, I did not need to do so and the man told me he knew what I meant. He seemed to want to know why I felt this way, as if my captivity in a maximum security prison was not enough. I told him I had been incarcerated 20 years and will most likely die in prison. It was a miserable and meaningless existence.

Having spoken to other religious people before who proselytize in penitentiaries, I should have known his response. It was the same dumb and rehearsed response they give time and time again. I expected more from Obi-Wan Kenobi and was disappointed he could not deliver some better morsel of wisdom. People on the outside have little to no perspective of what it is like to live behind these walls. Those who are religious zealots are blinded by their faith or hypocrites. I wonder if the tables were turned how much comfort they would take in their message. The answer I received was: "Although you are physically captive, your mind is free".

I told the man my mind and body were one. There is no spirit which transcends the flesh and if there was, I would have killed myself long ago. I am trapped here to suffer and die. All my ambitions, hopes, and dreams fade away with my physical being. It was a miserable and meaningless existence. He replied that I could be free and yet still miserable. This was of course a possibility, but it was an absurd consolation and I could not imagine my life being so wretched if I were not condemned to die in the Illinois Dept. of Corrections. Contrarily, I often daydream about what my life would have been like had I not been arrested at the age of 18. I asked the man how old he was and if he had a good or fulfilling 74 years of  life. I also asked about his accomplishments over the years and if he had a wife, children, and grandchildren.

Old men tend to like to talk about their past and my inquiries gave him an opportunity to do so. I know this not only from other elderly people, but myself as well. I may not be an old man in my 70s, however, I tend to think of my life as over. There is nothing currently which brings me joy nor do I have any future to look forward to. There is only the distant past. Usually, I will just reminisce in my thoughts about my childhood or teen years before I was arrested. At times, I will share a story with my cellmate when he is not too preoccupied with watching television. Other prisoners who have also been incarcerated decades will also enjoy telling a story from long ago. They will usually speak of prison which I care little to listen to. The old man outside my cell bars, however, had stories of a free man and he put down his black leather bound Bible on those bars to tell me a few of them.

He was born in the Ukraine in 1939 not long before the outbreak of World War II. Operation Barbarossa, the invasion of the Soviet Union happened in 1941 when he was a small child and he remembers none of it. Through his parents he was told how they had hoped the Germans would be successful and liberate them from the Russians. Even after it became apparent the Wehrmacht sought to conquer rather than free, they still favored German rule over their current masters. The Soviet Union was the most cruel, oppressive and tyrannical state. The man told me of the barbarity of communism largely hidden behind the iron curtain when Russia was allowed to take over East Europe after Germany was crushed. He and his family witnessed the mass ethnic cleansing, state murders, and gulags of the Soviet regime. Often the U.S. liberal media is fixated on villainizing Nazi Germany and they ignore the atrocities of Stalin and communism. However, the man I spoke with had no such misconceptions. He had a fervent hatred of the USSR and told me how his family was eventually able to escape its grip.

Fortunately for my father's grandparents, they immigrated to the United States before the war and tyranny of communism I told the man. I explained to him I knew a great deal about history and my family's ancestry. A young woman I used to write even searched the Internet to learn the Modrowski line could be traced all the way to the early 1700's Prussia. Other distant relatives of mine did not immigrate, however, and lived under the yoke of Soviet rule. I also was aware of the hardship, oppression, and strife in Eastern Europe and not just through books or news. I tended to believe the Ukrainian was attempting to illustrate to me how life could be miserable for those outside prison.

Yet despite how my direct descendants and I had escaped communism, I grew up in an America which was becoming the police state it had so fiercely once fought and distinguished itself from. Ironically, as the Soviet Union imploded, the prison industrial complex was being built in the U.S. There are more people incarcerated in the U.S. than any other country in the world. There may be more wrongfully convicted people here as well, and I was one of them.

I tend to believe the prison visitor still sought to minimize how my life was not so relatively terrible or to show he could empathize with me by telling me two of his wives had died and his third was in the hospital currently with heart troubles. However, the fact he had been able to have three wives only emphasized how much opportunity and a long rich life he had. It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. The longest relationship I ever had was a courtship through the mail while in prison. I have been incarcerated since my teens and although I was fortunate to date a lot of girls, I never had a chance to marry. I have no children either, let alone the many grandchildren the person preaching spiritualism had.

During our conversation, I learned he was a chemist and he traveled frequently in his retirement. I know chemists make a good wage and mentioned how it must be nice to travel the world. He downplayed his salary and said he was no longer as motivated as he once was to vacation or do many other things and he began to tell me about an old Polish prisoner who no longer cares to leave the prison. He was content to live behind bars until he died. The man he spoke of I knew as well. He was in a different cell house at one time with me. I recall how when he was first placed in the cell he had some urgent problem and a guard came to me to help translate. I do not speak Polish, however, and only know how to say hello and a few other words.

The Polish man was in his mid-70s and was never going to live long enough to see his outdate. From his former cellmate, I was told he was once a taxi cab driver in Chicago and was convicted of murdering one of his passengers he had gotten in a dispute with. He had many health problems and I am surprised he is still alive. Several years ago, I would occasionally sit at the same table in the chow hall with him. His hands were so arthritic that he had difficulty eating and would regularly spill food on the front of his shirt. In sign language, I tried to tell him the objective was to get the food into his mouth. He would break out in a hearty laugh. I learned he had a pacemaker when he batted away a guard who was trying to wand him with a metal detector. He had troubles walking to and from the chow hall and occasionally would grab onto the cyclone fence to catch his breath. Once he had to use the toilet when returning from chow but the movement correctional officer refused to give him permission to leave the line. After cursing at him in Polish, he walked past the guard ignoring him. The guard went to grab him but a cell house guard saw him and told the other guard to just let him go. The old Polish man was regularly breaking minor rules. The last I heard, staff had gotten mad at him for stuffing his clothes with so much food when leaving the chow hall, but he continued to do so because he could not eat fast. As a punishment, guards strip searched him to confiscate all his food. The old Polish man threw his shit stained underwear in one of their faces. The Ukrainian did not know why the last time he spoke with him he was in Segregation, but I did.

I agreed with my visitor that I may similarly not care anymore one day. Sometimes, I will point or gesture toward a man named Pete and tell my cellmate that in 30 years he may be my future. Pete is another old Caucasian man who will never get out of the prison. He is near 70 and is a tall, thin and gaunt figure with gray hair. He has an odd gait and walks around stiff but with an irregular limp. Pete is also going senile and can be just as slow mentally as physically. I refer to Pete as the cartoon character Bullwinkle because of their similar goofy voices. I may be like Bullwinkle in the future but hopefully I am not as dull witted or have that silly voice.

Recently I spoke to a cell house worker named Spooncake. He told me his lawyer had sent him a bill drafted by the Illinois legislature to comply with the U.S. Supreme Court's ruling prohibiting LWOP for juvenile offenders. States across the country are crafting devious statutes to get around the judicial order such as eliminating natural life but replacing it with a term of years no human could possibly serve. In Illinois, I am told their idea is to make life parolable but only after 15 years. If parole is denied, the juvenile offender will get a second chance after serving another 15 years. If he or she is denied parole twice, they will spend the rest of their lives in prison. I told Spooncake I thought the bill was preposterous because there is no cap and the state can just simply decide never to release any of them. I also was curious what the bill had planned for those who had already served over 15 years. He said he would bring me a copy to look at. Spooncake was a lookout for a double homicide when he was 14 years old and has been incarcerated almost as long as me.

In my discussions with the Ukrainian man, he had seemed to insinuate he had turned to the Bible for moral direction and thought it may help prisoners turn away from crime. I was not for certain and thus asked him directly why he was at Stateville. I explained to him nearly everyone at this prison had natural life without a chance of parole or an equivalent sentence, and regardless if he changed someone's belief system, it would not matter. They were not going to get any second chances. Usually, Christian missionaries will quickly answer that they are here to save souls as if the flesh and spirit that resides within were separable. Another answer is that even a condemned man in this life can be redeemed in the next. Fortunately, the elderly man did not give me such stupid answers. Possibly, he was wise enough to discern I would never believe in such supernatural abstractions or he did not quite believe in them himself. He simply told me because he lived in Venezuela for a decade before migrating to the U.S., he could speak Spanish. The chaplaincy had a need for people who could discuss Scripture to the large and growing population of Mexican inmates.

I appreciated that this elderly man was more practical and down to Earth than most other religious volunteers who did rounds in the prison. He did not seek confessions or prayer. He also did not want to read verses of the Bible to me nor did he profess scripture as the answer to everything. Not long ago I watched the movie "The Outlaw Josey Wales" which was played by Clint Eastwood. A man in the film continued to preach about the wonders of his elixir. He claimed it could virtually cure any illness or problem. Eventually, Josey Wales had enough of his yapping and spit a wad of chewing tobacco on his suit. He said, "How good is it with stains?" This is often the sentiment I have with Bible thumpers and those trying to sell me their faith. If these people really cared, they would offer their practical assistance and not prayers, Scripture, or salvation for the spirit. My salvation was in this world and in the flesh. For me it meant freedom from imprisonment.

Apparently, the Star Wars impersonator lost track of time and was concerned when I told him it was 2:00. He was supposed to check out of the cell house before the hour. Quickly he said farewell and left without trying to give me any religious literature or a prayer. I did not even get a "and the Force be with you." However, I felt more for the man for not doing so. Even if he was not Obi-Wan Kenobi, he was an interesting man to meet and I do not feel like I squandered a half hour talking to him. My cellmate seemed surprised I bothered to engage him in conversation. It was unusual for me but I sought a break from the monotony which can regularly accompany life in prison.

Visit on the First Day of Spring -- March 20, 2013

This morning, I was uncertain if the penitentiary would be on lockdown. Yesterday, there was restrictive movement while the tactical team searched another cell house. The reason for the search was unknown to me and I furthermore did not know if it would be expanded to other units. I was expecting a visit, but it may be cancelled. The administration often prohibits or limits visits during lockdowns. Last week my father had told me of his plans to come and he may be joined by my mother and sister. My father's physical health has been deteriorating rapidly and I do not see him as often as I once did. I was looking forward to visiting with him and was pleased to learn SORT had completed their search. The prison was back to normal operations.

Early in the morning, an announcement was made over the cell house loudspeaker for assignments to get ready for work details. This was soon followed by a law library standby and the list of men who were permitted to go. A guard went down the gallery asking prisoners if they wanted to get a haircut at the barbershop school. I turned my head gesturing no. All too often I have received bad haircuts by the inexperienced students and prefer to cut my hair myself. Regardless, I had a lot to do this morning before my visit arrived.

I began my exercise regimen at 8 a.m. at the front of the cell near the bars. My cellmate was sleeping behind me on his top bunk. It was cramped living with another person in such a confined space, but I try to be as considerate as possible. To cover the noise I made, I turned my fan on high and placed it on a nearby table. The first half hour I did strength exercises using my own body weight or my property box for resistance. As details and other prisoners were let out of their cells, the noise level went up considerably and this is when I did my more noisy and vigorous cardiovascular workout. Despite how loud the cell house had become, for the last part of my exercises I took off my shoes. My socks were quieter and even the stomping I did on the concrete floor could not be heard over the yelling and commotion in the building.

While I exercised, I often faced out toward the bars and out the cell house windows. The windows were large but they were opaque and covered in years of grime. Although they are not clear, I could see prisoners lining up on the concrete walk to go to the library, assignments, and elsewhere. Beyond them were some barren prison grounds extending to the wall. In the 1980's, Stateville had a large grounds crew that kept this land lavishly decorated with flowers and decorative plants. The only thing which remains now is a few short fir trees. Their needles were brown and they looked dead. Possibly they may green when the temperatures rise, but for now they look lifeless.

It was the first day of spring despite the winter weather which continued. On the morning news, I watched while eating breakfast, were reports of snowstorms in the U.S. Even the Chicagoland area was supposed to have snow later in the day. Earlier in the week, I heard of people suggesting Punxatawny Phil, a celebrity groundhog, should be killed and eaten. The groundhog predicted winter was over with on February 2nd. I do not think anyone takes the groundhog's purported prediction seriously, but the yearly ritual was clearly a focus of absurdity by news media this year.

After bathing out of my sink, I dressed and began to read financial newspapers and reports. The stock market continued its upward trajectory on a wave of unprecedented Federal Reserve stimulus and low interest rates. Corporate reports for the first quarter were complete and I was attempting to discern how long the run on stocks would continue. Chow lines were run out of the cell house but I did not stir. The prison was serving yet another disgusting meal and with my expectation of a visit, I could eat my lunch then. Many prisoners will gorge on vending machine food while on visits. The food, however, in the machines is usually not much better, in my opinion. There were plenty of snacks and high fat unhealthy food. I was rather finicky about what I ate and stayed away from such junk. Sometimes, I will refrain from eating anything on my visit and will wait until I get back to my cell. My property box has commissary food. If I were lazy, I would just eat a tuna or sardine sandwich.

My father was rather punctual and thus as I read I was already dressed and ready to leave whenever my name was called over the loudspeaker. Rather than announce my visit, however, a guard yelled up to my cell from the lower floor. A lieutenant also stepped out of the office which is almost directly below and asked if I was ready to leave. I nodded yes, so as to not disturb my cellmate and it was apparent I was waiting when he saw me dressed in prison blues. The lieutenant yelled to the guard he should have already known I would be ready to leave. I regularly receive visits and almost always at the same time and day of the week.

Not long thereafter the guard came upstairs and unlocked the sliding cell barred door. As soon as it was opened my cellmate got up as if he was waiting for me to leave. My cellmate was eager to enjoy some cell time to himself and I do not blame him. I do not leave the confines of the cage we share often, and am somewhat of a hermit. It is annoying and uncomfortable always being in close proximity with another person and not having any privacy. Even with a person you get along with, there is a need to have space. I should make more of an effort to do this, but I disdain prison life and am a recluse.

It was chilly outside of the cell house. The temperature was in the low 30s and there was a slight wind. Gray skies that matched the monolith prison building reminded me of a huge mausoleum. It was nearly a 100 foot high and over a city block long. About a thousand prisoners, most without a chance to ever be freed, were contained within. I walked through a corridor of high cyclone fencing topped with razor wire besides the main prison building. An escorting guard walked with me until we reached another building and what is known as Gate 5. Gate 5 was the first of five gates leading to the free world.

Both of the visiting rooms at the prison are now being used and there was a line of Stateville as well as NRC inmates waiting to be strip searched. Inmates from the Northern Receiving Center (NRC) have grown in number and they now far exceed those who reside beyond the wall. There are nearly 2,500 NRC inmates and many are bussed to Pontiac or are left in the Cook County Jail due to the overflow. NRC inmates formerly only waited a couple of weeks to be processed and sent to penitentiaries, but now are sometimes held there for half a year. There is no space in the IDOC for more prisoners and bunks are being set up in the basements and gymnasiums of minimum and medium security prisons. I appreciate that the prison administration has opened the other visiting room to accommodate the prisoners from NRC, but there was still only one strip search room and at the time I arrived only one guard conducting the searches.

I was waiting in line for over a half hour and during this time a guard at gate 2 informed me my visitors were waiting. I assumed as much but for some reason I have yet been able to discern, I must be strip searched going in for a visit. Eventually, the guard working the strip search room let me and another prisoner in. The room is a little larger than a prison cell and it has a few chairs lined up for inmates to place their clothes on. It also has a small table and chair in the corner for a guard to sit on. A fat guard was conducting the searches and it was apparent he did not want to work there. Many guards disdain looking at naked men all day and going through their clothing. Some prisoners are not hygienic and have dirty underwear or bad body odor. Ironically, this time it was the guard who smelled foul after passing gas. He turned on a ventilation fan but it like many things at Stateville did not work. Rather than pardoning himself, he attempted to blame me. I was amused by his childish deflection of blame and when I went to leave, I told him I was going to allow him to savor his flatulence by closing the door behind me.

I had a special side room visit in one of the legal rooms due to my father's disabilities. My father is very old and has a number of medical problems. He can barely hear and even with a hearing aid he is virtually deaf when in the crowded general population visiting room. Furthermore, he has severe arthritis and most problematic is a disintegrating spine. A couple of neck surgeries have left him even worse off than before and when I saw him he was wearing a large neck brace. It was sad to see the once robust father I knew as a teen before my arrest had become a crippled old man. I gave him a hug but did not pat him too hard on the back thinking I may break something.

The legal rooms are off the main hallway between gates 2 and 3. They are about 10 by 18 feet and have a large pressboard table in the center with plastic chairs on both sides. A barred window which can be opened is on the far wall, but due to the cold it was closed and an old radiator emitting heat and steam was underneath it. The legal rooms are better to visit in because of the noise and crowds in the visiting rooms which can bother me immensely. It is like a zoo and almost unbearable. The table and chairs are also an improvement to the miniature foot-high tables and uncomfortable steel stools. It is unfortunate I cannot have all my visits in these isolated rooms.

I spent about half of my 2 hour visit talking to or listening to my parents discuss a home my father had found to his liking in South Carolina. From what he described, the rustic home in the countryside with several acres of land seemed appealing. However, both my mother and I were skeptical if he was up to the challenge. Many of the things he sought to do or would like to do are now beyond his physical capabilities. How would he maintain such a large estate or be as active outdoors as he wanted? Furthermore, I knew although my father was nonsocial like myself, my mother was not and most of her family was here in Illinois. I knew the social support my mother had was good for her and she would be unhappy elsewhere. If I were free, I could assist my parents in their old age, but from prison I was impotent. I even could not come to a conclusion about what was best for them having been beyond the wall for so long. How well do I know them or the world outside of prison?

During my visit, I saw a lieutenant I know outside in the hallway and waved for him to come in. I wanted to introduce him to my parents. He came into the room and chatted for a little while. Possibly, it was odd I think now in retrospect. I have spent so many years in prison, I have come to know and be acquainted with my captors almost as much as my family. Gang members and many convicts would probably look at me with disdain for consorting with the "enemy" let alone introducing them to my parents like a friend. Prisoners are housed and treated like animals if not sometimes worse. We live in cages in the most deplorable and oppressive conditions. The conditions in the maximum security prisons of Illinois cannot be found in nearly the entire Western world. However, for the most part of my incarceration, I have much less animosity towards those who work in the prison system than those who are responsible for me being here.

While I was talking to my father, my mother went downstairs into the visiting room to see if there was any food I would like in the vending machines. She returned with some chicken wings, an egg roll, and a blueberry bagel. The vending machines are always filled with barbecue chicken wings and they are popular among many prisoners at Stateville. However, it was very rare that there would be an egg roll or bagel. I had not eaten an egg roll in decades and it is something I cannot ever recall being served in prison. Recently, bagels were donated to the prison but there were purportedly not enough of them to be served to the entire prison population. Only guards and kitchen workers had access to them. Some prisoners on special diets were given them for breakfast once or twice. I was able to get one of those diet trays but the bagel was plain and not as good as the one I ate on my visit. My mother asked if I wanted it heated in one of the microwave ovens, but this was not necessary. I have become accustomed to eating cold food. My parents often think they can make me happy with some food as if this will make up for all the injustice and misery I have endured. It is nice they care, but it is an insignificant trifle.

What is important to me is the progression of my appeal. It has still yet to be filed and much of the investigative work I want goes undone. My attorney has procrastinated working on my case and has persuaded my parents seeking new evidence is not worth the money or will not strengthen my issues. I tend to believe she wants to focus on a few things believing less is more. However, I have heard that before and it did not work out so well. More is more, and the greater my evidence of innocence is, the better. Why should I not present everything I can before the court? I asked my mother for about the tenth time for the address or phone number of a private investigator. It is apparent to me my parents want to maintain in control despite their declining mental and physical faculties. It is incredibly frustrating to be dependent on others and I assume this is a common feeling amongst prisoners who are fighting their conviction in a very adverse criminal justice system.

On the return from my visit, I took a nap. Visits regularly can leave me exhausted. Despite not having to deal with the packed visiting room, it was greatly taxing. Seeing my parents in such poor health and being unable to do anything for them was upsetting. It was upsetting also they are not willing to help me with my appeal. Do they wish to die before their son can be exonerated? Have they given up hope? Would they rather buy me overpriced vending machine food than pay the fees for diligent counsel and outreach? I am slowly dying in prison and they are almost in the grave. The sands in the hour glass are almost gone. As I write this post I can see the snow falling in the night. Today was supposed to be the first day of spring and yet it seems like a long dark winter remains before me.

A New Phone System -- March 16, 2013

Last week, a new phone system was installed at the penitentiary. Securus is basically the same as the prior company which processed inmates' collect calls, but it gives men the ability to set up their own accounts. It is also purportedly cheaper, although I have not as yet been able to verify the cost. The most visible change has been the new smaller handsets which are now in the cell houses for prisoners to use. Inmates were only given a week's notice of the switch in telephone services and many people were initially confused or angry. There is a perception every institutional change is made to the detriment of prisoners. I was not greatly concerned about the new phone system because I have become accustomed to being at the mercy of my captors and the phone was a small issue compared to other injustices or oppressions. If the new system was more expensive or problematic, I would simply cease to use it. I had previously boycotted using the phone for a decade and have few people to call anymore after being incarcerated 20 years. Since Securus has been installed, I have had a couple of minor difficulties placing calls and learned of one new restriction. However, there is generally not much of a difference and I completed my first phone call earlier today.

In late February, a memo was posted on the prison's cable network. I did not notice it until my cellmate brought it to my attention. Channel 17 is typically a blank blue screen and therefore I had deleted it. The fewer channels I have, the quicker I can discern what is on television or turn to a specific station. Remote controls are not allowed in prison and the cheap plastic channel buttons on my TV are close to breaking. Therefore I only programmed the 15 channels I watch most frequently and channel 17 is not one of them.

The memorandum to prisoners found on channel 17 was very vague and left most people confused. It basically said a new phone system was going to be used, but was very short on details. What little description and instructions given were also not articulated well. Immediately, my cellmate began to speculate what it meant and he was not happy. Other prisoners who I overheard talking about the memo also advanced their interpretations. Over the years, changes in the IDOC have predominantly been made to increase control and make inmates' lives more miserable. It was no surprise the majority of prisoners thought negatively of the new phone service. Although the memo said the change was meant to "modernize" the current system, the word was not well received and apparently brought with it the same connotations I associate with the U.S. president's use of "forward" during his reelection campaign. The company's name "Securus" which was obviously associated with the word security did not help with prisoners' perceptions.

Personally, I did not draw any conclusions from the memorandum. A customer service phone number was given and I wrote this down. In a letter to my parents, I told them to call and find out more information. Prisoners were unable to call themselves despite it being a free 800 number. All phone numbers must gain approval before being called. A call will not even go through unless the number has been approved and processed into the system. Prisoners must fill out a form which includes not only the phone number, but the name of the person, their address, age, race, and relationship. At Stateville, it can take a few weeks to have a new phone number added.

The current phone system was already highly controlled and monitored. When I read the memo, I was not certain how the prison administration could make it more secure. Inmates not only had to submit phone numbers and various information about the owner for approval, but they were given a three digit PIN to add to their institutional number when placing calls. Prisoner Identification Numbers were used by Internal Affairs to identify inmates. All calls were recorded and kept forever in a data base which security personnel could review at any time. The data base is organized by caller, time, date and various other ways to efficiently assist those using it. A prisoner told me they even have a special recording system which is used when certain key words are said. I know N.S.A. has such a filter to monitor calls and texts going in and out of the U.S., however, I tend to believe IDOC does not nor has a use for it.

The current phone system also is able to cut off the phone privileges of prisoners. Inmates who are punished with segregation may not only have very limited access to the phone but their access cut off altogether. Incarcerated men are prohibited from allowing others to use their PIN and can be held responsible for its misuse by others. I have never heard of anyone ever getting punished for putting another inmate on the line to talk with someone they had called, but I have heard of disciplinary action taken for making 3-way calls for another person.

The PIN system was put in place in the late 1990s. Prisoners despised having to submit a list of numbers to be approved and the lack of anonymity. Before, prisoners could call anyone they wanted and as many people as they wanted without restriction. Phone calls were always monitored, but they were not recorded in connection with a specific person. They also did not automatically disconnect after a half hour and therefore force a person to place yet another collect call with its large acceptance fee if they wanted to talk longer. Inmates at the prison I was at previously came together and vowed to boycott the new phone system. However, after a period of time, inmates caved in and began to use the phone when it became apparent the administration did not care. Despite this, I continued to refuse to use the new system and a decade passed before I did.

When a person is arrested, they typically have a number of friends and family to talk with. However, when sentenced to indefinite incarceration and years pass by, there are fewer and fewer people who you want to talk with or who want to talk to you. I have never been a social person and the boycott was not a major sacrifice for me. In fact, it was good to put people outside the wall behind me. My future was in prison and I had little faith in my appeals despite how unjust my conviction was. There is a lot of anguish trying to keep relationships intact from inside a prison and I have seen many men greatly upset that these crumble away with time. Prisoners are powerless to keep even bonds with their wives or children from dissolving.

What finally made me use the phone again was that I had been writing a woman for a couple of years. She was in an Indiana prison for a D.U.I. conviction. I had gotten her address from a penpal list another prisoner had and was going to throw out. He was furious that he paid money for a list of women who were incarcerated like him. I thought contrarily that it was great because I did not have to worry about them having sex with other men and they would be similarly situated. However, I wrote Krista pretending to be a free man. As our relationship progressed, I became increasingly bothered that eventually my fantasy would be shattered when she was released. In fact, I was sad I could not pick her up from the gates of the prison. I owed her an explanation and thus collected all the most terrible newspaper clippings I could find about my arrest and conviction and sent them to her. I thought she would never want to have anything to do with me again but oddly she told me her feelings had not changed. I knew the relationship was not going to work out but I promised I would call. Possibly, she thought it would be harder for me to say goodbye over the phone or maybe she just wanted to know what my voice sounded like. Regardless, that was the first time I used the phone in about 10 years and the last time I ever had any communication with Krista.

On March 7th, the new phone system was installed at Stateville. A guard announced over the loudspeaker the phones would probably be inoperable for the day. Since the memo was posted on the TV, a few inmates had gotten ahold of a written description of the changes. They were not passed out, but apparently posted at some job assignment areas. My cellmate had been given a copy which I read. The written memorandum was more detailed and from it I got the impression there was little distinction between the new and the old systems. Apparently, Securus allowed prisoners to prepay their accounts and this way those they called would not be charged. This was appealing to me because I recall a time a woman regularly wanted me to call her and it bothered me immensely that she had to pay for my collect calls. I sent her $100 through my trust fund account, although she was reluctant to accept it. Securus is also different in that it seems to allow people who accept the collect calls to be billed by their phone company or theirs. I am not certain to this day whether Securus just passes their bill to the called party's telephone company or if there is a different rate. Securus says they charge $4.10 a call. It does not mention local or long distance rates and I got the impression it did not matter. The $4.10 charge is also the same flat fee whether you speak one minute or the full half hour. This is a better price than the other phone service which had varying rates for weekends and weekdays, day or night, as well as for the time you spent connected. A local call on the cheapest time and day of the week formerly cost $4 for one minute graduating to $5.25 for 30 minutes, plus several kinds of taxes.

After I made the call to Krista, I did not use the phone again for a long time. It was odd talking into the plastic receiver and I had little to say or people to say anything to. Eventually though, I met another woman who wanted to talk to me and considering she lived in Europe she was not able to visit often. This relationship, however, was doomed like all the others. I was in prison for the rest of my life. How many women are willing to be faithful to a man in prison? How long until they lose interest or the division causes too much grief? Now, I will only call my parents or sister occasionally. Once in a great while I will call a relative or my attorney.

Last Saturday, I called home and was concerned when no one answered. I called several times during the day and usually my parents will pick up. Due to their ages and health problems, I wondered if one was in the hospital or worse, the morgue. I had not spoken to or seen anyone in my family for a few weeks and did not know what to make of the unaccepted calls. The phone service's recorded message said the calls went through but no buttons were pressed suggesting an answering machine or voice mail. It was not until this week that I learned my parents intentionally did not pick up because the new phone system identifies the call as coming from an 800 number. Apparently, this means a telemarketer or salesman is calling and they do not bother answering the phone. Eventually, they checked their answering machine messages and heard the recording from Securus and knew it had been me calling, but by then it was too late.

When I made my first call, the phone system records your name to repeat it to the person who answers the phone. I was misinformed by another prisoner that for each call the service will ask for your name. To prevent inmates from saying quick messages and not their names, however, I was only asked once. Now, whoever I call will just hear "Paul," and not my full name as before. No one in my family knows anyone in prison but me, but if I were to call my lawyer or someone else in the future, they may not know who I am. Thus, I asked my counselor if the new phone system's recording could be reset so I could say my complete name. She did not know nor did she care to find out. Apparently, I will have to contact Securus myself.

When I returned from my visit on Wednesday, a prisoner whose bars I went to while waiting to be locked in my cell told me to look at the new phones. I do not know if the IDOC, the inmate trust fund, or the new phone service provided them but inside the cell houses there are now black handset telephones. They do not have any unique features from the previous phones, but they are much more convenient to move and use than the large desk top phones. Often those phones would be broken by inmates dropping them. The handset phones can be passed through the cell bars easier and although they are also made of cheap thin plastic, they seem to be less prone to damage.

The main problem with these phones is that the cords are regularly shorting out. Long cords connect the phone to a few outlets in the ceiling of the gallery. A phone is regularly moved back and forth on the long gallery of cells. The wires become tangled, stepped on, ripped out, and twisted. Considering how many cords are broken and need to be replaced, it may have been worth the extra expense to provide the cell houses with cordless phones. This would certainly have been modernizing the phone system. I do not know how many people in 2013 still use phones with cords. It seems everyone but my parents use cell phones.

One of the extra security abilities of the new phone system is it immediately disconnects people who use the 3-way calling feature. Even if the person the prisoner calls switches over to another call momentarily, the call will be abruptly ended. Security personnel were probably interested in such a new phone service to control calls. Now there is no possibility an inmate can call someone who is not on their approved list, even with the assistance of the person they called. I do not have to ask to know that a lot of men are unhappy about this. It was nice for inmates to be able to connect with others without having to call them collect or go through the process of approval. I do not know if Securus has the capacity or permits calls to other countries, but the last one did not. In order to speak to someone in Europe I had to use 3-way or call forwarding. A large proportion of inmates in Illinois prisons are Mexican and have family or friends in Mexico. Apparently they will not be speaking to them any more.

Earlier today, I called home again and this time got through. I spoke to both my mother and father. They seemed pleased to hear from me and I made two 30-minute calls. I was informed they were going to visit me next week so long as their health holds up. I do not know how many more years they will be alive and it is nice to have the ability to keep in touch. Unfortunately, I cannot do this from beyond these prison walls.

Anthony's Birthday -- March 6, 2013

My cellmate did not work the midnight shift in the kitchen and was awake early Tuesday morning. He did not attend his job assignment because he was expecting a visitor. Furthermore, it was his birthday and I suspect he sought to make his day as pleasant as possible. For him this seemed to be watching extra television, being lazy, and indulging his appetite. I could also sense he was looking forward to seeing his sister. Anthony did not receive many visits and this was a special event for him. Otherwise, his day was much the same as any other in a maximum security penitentiary. For some prisoners, birthdays are a reason to celebrate and they go out of their way to make it enjoyable or unique. However, for men like Anthony and me, it was mainly only a reminder of a slow death in prison.

When I awoke, I could hear my cellmate sniffling and blowing his nose on occasion as he watched TV from his bunk. For the last few weeks, he has been sick with a cold or possibly a weak strain of the flu. Trapped in his close proximity during this time, I have blamed him for passing his germs along to me. Not long after he became ill, I began to have intermittent symptoms. Many men here have been sick and it is difficult to avoid contagion with 300 inmates stacked on top of each other in the cell house and a total population over 1,800. Germs can be spread quickly and I was surprised not to succumb earlier. When I began to make myself a hot cup of coffee to go with my breakfast, I asked "Sniffles" if he wanted some, or tea in the alternative.

Usually, my cellmate is asleep when I awake and I appreciate the time to myself. I do not like engaging in excessive conversation, particularly in the morning. Fortunately, my cellmate was absorbed in one television program or another with his face almost pressed against the TV screen like he wanted to meld with the surface. I can understand wanting to escape, if only mentally, the confines of prison but television has little allure for me. As I often do, I urinated with my back to him and from the side of the toilet so he would not have to break his Vulcan mind meld with the TV. However, later, he would jump down off his bunk to give me some privacy.

Tuesday morning, prisoners on the first and second galleries had gym and I prepared myself to leave. Typically, I do not go out for "recreation" periods. It is annoying for me to be around all the people and there is little for me to do. However, gym offered me a chance to use the machine weights or the few which were not broken. I could also run circles around the perimeter or flights of steps while dodging basketballs or various groupings of inmates. Another reason to leave the cell was to give my cellmate some time to himself. Because I rarely go out, Anthony is nearly always trapped in the cell with me except when he goes to work. Confined to a bathroom-sized room with another person becomes uncomfortable even if that person happens to be someone you get along with. Before I left to the gym, I told my cellmate the cell was his and be free to use my radio or do anything he likes. I even told him he could sit on my bunk so long as he was dressed. He responded by saying the first thing he intended to do was get naked and roll around on my bed sheets.

The gym was crowded and noisy as I anticipated. Prisoners rushed in to claim tables, telephones, and a full court basketball game. I waited around the guard's desk to get one of the pins to use the machine weights. There are only 5 pins and prisoners had to turn in their ID card to be given one. This was done mainly to prevent them from being lost but also as a security precaution. An inmate if he spent the effort could eventually sharpen the thick L-shaped iron pin into a weapon. A Mexican waiting for a pin was not able to get one and I told him not to worry. There were only 4 machines that worked anyways and he could work out with me or someone else if he wanted.

I made an extra potent cup of coffee earlier to prevent any cold symptoms from possibly slowing me down in the gym. The caffeine along with exercising made me more aggressive and assertive than normal. When I noticed Big John sitting on the seat for the broken leg press machine I went around his back and pretended to put him in a choke hold. Another prisoner joked he may pass out. I was just playing with Big John. He was one of the few prisoners in the cell house I speak to and get along with.

While doing some bow pulls on the lat machine, I listened to an obnoxious gym worker ramble about various complaints. He told me how the machine weights were intentionally neglected and never repaired. Many of them only needed new cables or other easy repairs. People outside the prison and charitable organizations have even offered to buy the prison new equipment but the generous offers have been refused. I was already aware of this and asked the worker why I have yet been able to watch the DVD "Skyfall." James Bond was one of my mentors and I have not seen the newest film. I was informed the LTS department (Leisure Time Services) was no longer renting new releases because they cost three times more than old films. Odd that the administration or LTS supervisor was concerned about money when it came from the Inmate Trust Fund and not any funding from the IDOC. I then heard about how the supervisor regularly steals or misappropriates funds and is rarely doing his job.

As I continued to work out, the gym worker continued to talk and on occasion do a set of exercises himself. His next subject was the 2014 gubernatorial election. Because I am interested in politics I tried paying attention to him despite how I was skeptical of some of the things he said. He began by saying how Governor Pat Quinn was not going to be able to win reelection. Many other politicians including from his own party wanted his job. With his public approval levels so low and an impending corruption investigation, it was his opinion the governor was doomed. I never heard of any investigation into his office and voiced my skepticism. However, he claimed to see something reported on TV about Quinn allotting funds to a Chicago neighborhood before the last election. I had seen or heard nothing and doubted if appropriating funds was even improper let alone illegal. The inmate worker had foolish daydreams of the Lieutenant Governor Sheila Simon taking over. I told him that was preposterous and while he did a set of shoulder presses, I told him I should kick him in the head. It may have knocked some sense into him.

When the gym period was over, the gates of the building were opened and prisoners slowly filed out. On the concrete walk, a guard yelled at men to line up in two columns. For order and security reasons, prisoners are always deuced up during movement. The herd of inmates took their time assembling. In maximum-security penitentiaries of Illinois, men have little time out of their cells and they were rarely in a rush to be locked up again. I looked up and around myself to look at the wretched place in which I live. I noticed the two sections of sheet metal roofing that tore off during a storm over a year ago were still missing and probably would never be repaired. Apparently, I looked as if I was disconnected with my environment because I was not talking like most everyone else, and a man said, "Earth to Paul." I ignored his comment and asked rhetorically how so many people could become accustomed to living like this. He said with such foolish optimism, "We are only here temporarily. Things will change and we will go home." I had to bring him back to reality. "Most everyone in this line will die in prison and their lives are meaningless." There was the old power plant nearby with its high smokestack and I went on to say, "We may as well be gassed and cremated." I think it was not me who was off in outer space.

In the chow hall, prisoners were served some processed gritty meatballs which were made out of various scrap meat and soy. Recently I read about a scandal in Europe where horse meat had been found in a food manufacturer's product and I thought how I would prefer horse meat than what was usually served here at Stateville. I did not eat anything on my tray and gave away my pudding to Steve who I had sat next to. Steve asked me where my cellmate was, and I told him he was expecting a visit. The man stuffing his face with chocolate pudding expressed surprise whereupon I told him it was my cellmate's birthday. Apparently, Steve thought alot of birthdays, despite how we were aging men in prison, and he was mad at himself for forgetting. He commented how he would send something up to Anthony. I assumed it would be a gift or treat of some sort. While walking to the cell house from the chow hall, I remembered that Steve had written in big letters on a calendar he got me from the chaplain his birthday and how he expects a honey bun on his special day.

In front of my cell bars, I saw my cellmate sitting on his bunk in boxer shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt with his television still on. The day before, I had told him how a snow storm was being reported on the news to hit Chicago in the late afternoon and it may arrive sooner in the SW suburbs. Considering he watches much more TV than me, I am sure he was already aware of this. I was rather inferring to him that his sister may not drive in to visit him if the weather was bad. Thick heavy snow was already coming down in Crest Hill and outside the cell I brushed off the flakes which had accumulated on my jacket before they melted on my jacket. If my cellmate's sister had not already arrived, it was apparent she was not coming.

Although my cellmate did not say so, I knew he was disappointed not to have received a visit today. Anthony likes to eat, so I proposed making some beef burritos after I bathed. This seemed to brighten his mood so I got all the ingredients together on the counter to prepare quickly after I finished. Afterall, I was hungry as well not having eaten lunch and working out in the gym for a few hours. While Anthony was at the bars and I was washing up, an inmate worker brought us two deliveries from the ground floor. The first was for me and was a heavy metal tape I had been asking Big John to let me borrow for a month. Apparently, putting him in a choke hold had refreshed his memory. The second item was for Anthony and came from Steve. It was a Christmas card remade into a birthday card. Steve crossed out the word "Christmas" and replaced it with "Birthday," leaving the angel and other holiday decor in tact. My cellmate was not impressed by the gesture and crushed the card and tossed it on the gallery as garbage. I told him he could listen to my new "Godsmack" cassette tape if he wanted to.

Last month, my cellmate had told me in jest that he had better get a birthday present from me. I replied I already was working on it and knew just what to give him: a share of stock in the second largest natural gas fracking company in North America. I told him I had considered getting him a share of Exxon Mobile but it was currently priced at $90 and that was over my birthday present cost cap. The present would be a joke because of our opposing strong views on the subject. I thought shale rock fracking was great and would revolutionize America with abundant new cheap energy. In the past, I have even given him corporate reports of energy companies that are using the new technology and wrote on them "Frack the World!" This comment was a play on words to ridicule his concerns that fracking was bad for the environment. He greatly disliked the new technology for environmental reasons. I never was able to get him the stock, however, because nearly all companies have ceased issuing paper shares. What was the point of a gift I would have to have electronically transferred into an account he could never see? In lieu of the share of Chesapeake Energy, I simply made him some delicious fat burritos he devored happily, albeit while sick with a cold.

When I sat down to eat the two burritos I had made for myself, I noticed I had missed the Rush Limbaugh show. As an alternative I turned on my TV to find some news or entertainment while I ate. On Headline News, the Jodi Arias murder trial was being televised. Jodi Arias was a woman who had stabbed and then shot her boyfriend multiple times while he was in the shower but was claiming self defense. She had been on the witness stand nearly two weeks attempting to convince a jury she was the victim of sexual abuse and she was in fear for her life when she killed Alexander. All reason, evidence, and her multiple conflicting statements made me think her testimony was ludicrous. I was greatly interested to hear what questions the jury would have for her. Unlike Illinois and most other states, juries in Arizona can ask questions after witnesses testify including the defendant. I wish my co-defendant's absurd testimony could have been questioned by his jury. Possibly then they would not have been so easily duped.

The Placement Officer has continued to diligently do her job and has recently given a number of inmates work details. One of those men was Wally, and he now has a job at the prison store. Wally stopped by the cell after his assignment to talk about the computer system's failure to work, but how my cellmate and I should be able to shop the next day. For almost a week, staff has had problems accessing inmate's trust fund accounts and processing orders. Before he left to lock up in his cell, he told my cellmate he added a package of Kotex to his order.

Both my cellmate and I took a late afternoon nap. I did not wake up until about 5 p.m. when a cell house worker was at my bars with dinner trays. Only breakfast was served to prisoners at Stateville in their cells unless the prison was on lockdown. I looked out the cell house windows and could see nothing but snow. Apparently, meteorologists' predictions were correct. In fact, the SW suburbs may get a foot of snow. I assumed administrators put the prison on lockdown due to the lack of visibility or staff. Many guards who live in Chicago probably had challenges getting to work or simply did not want to come in now that they had a good excuse.

For dinner, fried chicken was served, a favorite amongst inmates here. I ate it while watching the world news. The news not only reported about the snow storm crossing the upper Midwest U.S., but the death of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez, the high rate of mentally ill in county jails, and the Dow Jones Industrial Average reaching a record high of 14,253. With the Federal Reserve printing $85 billion a month, I was not altogether surprised with the stock market doing well. There was little investors could do with their money with interest rates so low and the common person easily gets caught up in bull market rallies despite the increasing risk of a large correction. I also was not amazed by the number of people with mental conditions in jails. Being a prisoner for two decades I have noticed how many nut cases are in the DOC. I thought the numbers were inflated and I was curious what met the criteria for mental illness, but it is obvious America has radically reduced mental health facilities while radically increasing penitentiaries. As for Chavez, I was glad the socialist demagogue who ranted hatred toward the U.S. and allied himself with America's enemies was finally dead.

When my cellmate awoke, I gave him one of the little prison cakes which were served with our dinner trays. I told him I did not have any candles, but if he wanted, I could put some hair grease in the middle and light it on fire. He seemed mildly amused but asked why trays were brought to the cell hose and I explained to him the snow. Then I told him if he wanted me to try and give him a haircut, he needed to get up and wash his hair before 7 because at 8:00 I was watching "Dual Survivor." For a week, my cellmate has spoken to me about giving him a haircut because he was expecting to have his prison mugshot updated soon. Apparently, he trusted me more than the inmates who cut hair at the barber school.

I turned on the bright fluorescent cell light and had Anthony sit on a property box to cut his hair. I did not have any scissors and had to rely on beard trimmers. My cellmate basically wanted the sides and back of his hair very short, but the top long enough so he could comb it to the side. It was not complicated, but other than cutting my own hair, I had no experience. I thought I had done a decent job when finished, although my cellmate was disappointed I did not square the cut and had tapered it. I found the idea of cutting another man's hair disagreeable and only did so for Anthony as a favor on his birthday. He was sick as well making me not even want to be in his vicinity let alone close enough to be cutting his hair. If there ever is a next time, he may get a Mohawk.

The Discovery channel was not coming in and thus I was unable to watch Dual Survivor. Instead I turned to a station playing a rerun of the medical show "House".  My cellmate sat on the counter waiting for a detail shower to rinse all the hair off his body. An obnoxious prisoner came to the cell bars to brag about the 3 children he fathered while in prison. The fact the mothers were crack addicts did not bother him in the least. Often I have brooded about my misfortune never to have a family of my own. However, I would want to be present to be a father and husband. The idea of just having sex with a drug addict slut or as is known in prison speak "a hood rat," and her being the mother of my children was abhorrent. I do not care if I have a natural life sentence and die in prison celibate.

Before my cellmate went to work, I asked him if this was his best birthday ever. It was a sarcastic and rhetorical question. Birthdays are always miserable days commemorating not life but death. For prisoners who are condemned to die in prison there is nothing to celebrate. They are not closer to any out date only their demise. Furthermore, they are not growing any more in strength or virility but aging. Both my cellmate and I are middle aged men wasting away in prison. All our best years are behind us and the future is progressively grim. I asked my cellmate when was the last birthday he actually enjoyed. He said in his mid-20s. For me it was my 18th or more than likely my 17th. After my arrest, birthdays were meaningless and then only a source of sadness. The best birthday present I could imagine for Anthony is if the government reinstated his death sentence.

No Hot Water -- February 28, 2013

On Monday, I was surprised when one of the plumbers came to my cell to fix the sink. Sinks are a low priority for the maintenance staff who work at the penitentiary. For over two months, I have complained about the low water pressure and broken timer on the hot water button. Last week, the hot water ceased to work altogether and nothing but cold water dribbled out of the faucet. Another component within the sink must have broken because the cold water ran nonstop and could not be turned off. Having only cold water in the cell has been an inconvenience for my cellmate and me, but mostly for myself. My cellmate rarely bathes, washes clothes or washes anything while in the cell. Because he works in the kitchen, he is allowed a daily shower and if he needs to scrub any of his clothes, he will do it in the shower room.

Nearly every morning, I will wash the floor and wipe off the table and counter before I exercise. With only cold water, I quickly noticed how difficult it was to get a lather with bar soap. The water was very cold from continuously running and despite how much I scrubbed the cloth together, there were no suds. After working out I had the luxury of bathing with this frigid water. A few times, I took the time to boil some water and dump it into the sink which I had prevented from draining with a piece of cardboard. The couple of mugs of hot water though only made my bath water warmer briefly as cold water continued to mix with it. Furthermore, I had to let this water drain to use clean water to rinse off. The time and effort to boil water was not worth it particularly when my body temperature was high if I quickly washed up.

Typically, I will clean the steel sink and toilet combination after bathing. Bathing in the cell always leaves the fixture a mess with soap and water all over it. Plus, I will sometimes need to wash the shorts I wore while exercising and I use the toilet to do so. The average person who has never been to a maximum security prison in Illinois probably would think I was crazy washing clothes out of my toilet, but this is commonly done by convicts behind the wall. It is the most efficient way to clean and rinse clothes without access to a washing machine or an ample supply of running water. However, without any hot water this is not the case. Boiling numerous cups or bowls of water to fill the toilet to scrub, disinfect, and then repeat the process to wash clothes would take hours of time. I had no intention of doing this and had to wait until bags of clothes were picked up. Clothes are washed in the laundry building once a week.

My neighbor works in the laundry building and I spoke to him about helping me out until my sink was repaired. He told me that they have been washing inmates clothes for over a month with cold water ever since some type of electrical coil which leads into the building broke. No wonder my clothes have been returning dingy, I said. I asked him why it hasn't been repaired. He said his supervisor was already skimping on laundry detergent and bleach to cut costs. A new hot water coil will be very expensive to replace and apparently no one has appropriated the money. I thought about how absurd and unsanitary it was to send inmates clothes back to them dirty. Many inmates have communicable diseases or bugs. I hoped the dryer was hot enough to kill any bed bugs, lice, or germs.

The plumbing for prisoners cells is behind the back wall in the quarter units. When the plumber came to fix my sink he banged on some pipes to get my attention from the corridors which run down the center of the building. I was at the front of the cell by the bars and my cellmate was at the sink getting a cup of water. I told him to answer the plumber, but he refused and wanted me to do so. Therefore I switched places with him and knelt down to yell into a vent in the back wall. The plumber wanted to know what the problems were and I told him. He fixed the cold water button but said he could do nothing about the low water pressure or timer. A timer is a device that keeps the water flowing after the button is pushed. Without it, pressure must be continually maintained. I asked him why he could not replace the timer and was informed they had run out of the part a long time ago. Many sinks in the penitentiary had broken timers and they could not be repaired. I asked if my neighbors timers were in order and if he could not just remove theirs. The plumber and my cellmate laughed, but of course he could not do this.

Not having a timer on the hot water button has been annoying me since I moved into this cell. Have you ever tried washing your hands with only one hand? My cellmate and I have devised various ways to keep the hot water flowing, but they are inconvenient and do not work all that well. The simplest thing to do is wedge a plastic bottle between the button and the edge of the sink basin. However, the bottle then blocks access into part of the sink. It also will slip out of place if not secured just right or if accidentally bumped. When I moved into the cell, Anthony had a shoe lace lassoed tautly to the button and a peg on the wall. The lasso was on precariously and it could slip off or not be pulled tight enough to keep the button in. The best solution is to place a cap over the button which is just the exact circumference of the outer ring, but again this can fail. Because the hot water pressure is so low, it will turn off all by itself requiring the cap to be taken off and put back on perfectly.

I tend to believe the plumber was lying when he claimed the pressure could not be adjusted any higher. An attempt is being made to reduce the amount of hot water being used in the cell houses. The boiler is not being used to its full capacity apparently to save money. Many prisoners complain about the luke warm to cold water during the day in the shower room and in their cells. In the middle of night, the water temperature will be hot, but as more inmates awake and use the hot water, temperatures will lower dramatically. Periodically, plumbers will adjust the thermostat on the boiler, but it is never raised to adequate levels. The boiler is capable of adjusting temperatures automatically to meet with demand, however, purportedly this is not working and a new regulator is needed. Inmates believe this is a ruse to save money and the low water pressure is to diminish the use of hot water and fluctuations of temperature.

Hot water is not just desired by inmates to bathe with but also to make food and drinks. A pack of Ramen noodles, instant rice, refried beans, or other commissary foods cannot be made without 100 degree or hotter water. Furthermore, nearly all prisoners are coffee drinkers and no one wants a cup of tepid coffee. Inmates will regularly turn to various means to heat water when tap water is cold. My cellmate regularly places a bottle of water on top of the incandescent light bulb in his lamp to make hot water for coffee, tea or an occasional noodle. Other prisoners will go "caveman" and burn milk cartons to heat a bottle of water or packages of food. Some will even fry food off the metal table or lower bunk in their cells. Personally, I prefer using electricity. An assortment of immersion heaters are used by inmates at Stateville. Most of them are improvised devices although some men have stingers.

During the week, I was speaking with my neighbor Leprechaun again about the dribble of luke warm water which commonly comes forth from my sink. He has this dream administrators will allow us to buy hot pots off the commissary. Hot pots are sold at medium and minimum security prisons but convicts in maximum security are not trusted to have them. Security personnel are worried they may toss boiling water onto guards. It is a rather dumb logic because prisoners with or without the hot pots or stingers which also used to be sold will devise ways to heat water. Men convicted of murder(s) or other serious felonies and will never be freed are not going to live out the rest of their lives drinking cold coffee and eating raw Ramen noodles. Leprechaun suggested the prison commissary could sell hot pots which were only capable of heating water to a certain temperature. However, I knew this would not satisfy security personnel and they would be concerned inmates would alter the thermostats so they could make hotter water or use it as a frier.

The prison was taken off lockdown on Monday as I expected. The Stateville SORT along with Internal Affairs was searching for shanks or materials that could be turned into shanks. Apparently after scrutinizing the common areas of the quarter units and ransacking most of the cells in B House, they were satisfied. Since the beginning of the week, I have left my cell to go on a visit, attend yard and several meals. The menu has not been so terrible and real chicken has been served a few times, and on Wednesday evening we had lasagna although it was made with turkey-soy. While in line or in the chow hall I inquired if other inmates had water dribbling out of their sinks. Most of them said they had the same problem, but a few had water pressure which was just fine. I have been incarcerated nearly 20 years and knew the pressure for every sink could be adjusted. Water can be turned up so high it flew past the sink basin and into the toilet or beyond. Apparently, plumbers were conspiring to keep the water pressure low. I miss the time when inmate workers did most of the plumbing work in the penitentiary. The sinks as well as the toilets, showers and laundry machines were always in proper working order.

To improvise for the dribble of water, my cellmate cut off a piece of a cable wire. He then removed the wire and plastic inside so all that was left was a two inch rubber tube. We regularly put this tube into the faucet to get water to lift up. Otherwise, it will dribble down the faucet and into the sink basin. Trying to wash your hands or anything else is incredibly difficult. When I moved into this cell, I asked Anthony how he got a drink and asked if he put his lips around the faucet and sucked the water out. No, he had this little tube which he kept to use when he wanted to increase water pressure. The tube not only lifts the water up but constricts it to create more force. It is very useful, although it still does not produce more water and washing takes much longer.

On a couple of occasions this week I spoke with a lieutenant I regularly debate politics with. I told him I predict there will be no deal to evade the sequester. Sequester is an automatic series of cuts to government spending Congress and the president agreed to if Democrats and Republicans were not able to pass a bill to slow the growing national debt which is now close to exceeding $16.5 trillion. I do not believe the cuts are the best way to shrink deficits, but the 2.4% reduction is a drop in the bucket when compared to a $3.55 trillion annual budget. In fact, I related to the lieutenant I agreed with Kentucky Senator Rand Paul the spending cuts should be much greater. Barack Obama's scare tactics were overblown and used solely to coerce Republicans into more reckless spending and taxes. The lieutenant said I would change my mind when the sequester begins to effect me. I have natural life without any possibility of parole, however, and spending cuts are not likely to minutely affect the general anguish, oppression, and austerity I already feel and have felt for all my adult life. Furthermore, the dysfunction of state government and this prison in particular is the cause of incompetent fiscal management, not the federal government.

Stateville is nearly 100 years old and the penitentiary is probably the most debilitated facility in the State of Illinois. Prisons are allotted large sums of money every year to cover their general expenses including proper maintenance. However, this funding is regularly squandered, misappropriated or even stolen. The culture of corruption, graft, neglect, or ineptitude has existed since the prison opened in the 1920's. Initially, it was mafia, then gangs, but now it is mainly staff who milk the system. Budget cuts are frequently cited for the poor conditions at the prison. However, I know very well that Stateville can be maintained, funded, and run much better and more efficiently. There is particularly no reason why inmates cannot have hot water.

UPDATE:  March 27
I have been informed the hot water coil in the laundry building was finally repaired. Furthermore, the laundry supervisor is allowing prison workers to use more laundry soap and bleach, at least for now. My sink, however, continues to dribble out water and accessing hot water in the cell house can still be a problem.