Sold Short In America. Richard A. Altomare
old subway station with a black and white vinyl tile floor.
After each departure from my solitary cell, I am strip-searched upon my return. No writing materials are permitted, but I was able with a piece of snuck-in legal paper, to make a rudimentary set of Scrabble letters to play on my twelve inch steel desk that is bolted on the wall of my cell. My Scrabble set joined along with my self-made deck of cards as my own form of self-created entertainment. Sometimes I get unusual meals; today it was a piece of cauliflower, one whole pepper, two packets of jelly and three packets of mayonnaise. That is really all there was!
On my fourth day of isolation, for society's own good, I received some generic medicines which my earlier physical check–in required. Most inmates get drugs in prison.
Breakfast has been the same every day. It consists of 1 half-pint of milk, 1 cereal packet and 1 tangerine. The cardboard milk carton must become my glass for the day. Tepid sink water is all that we get every day. One white plastic teaspoon/fork will be with me for my entire time. The nights are very cold, so one must sleep in the standard prison issue orange inmate outfit, but fortunately, I am told that, in a few days; I will meet my counselor and be able to get toiletries and commissary privileges. Unfortunately, the toilets began to overrun in neighboring cells so the complaining noises and odors add to my initial civil incarceration punishment. I did today leave my light on all night to hopefully keep away my night visitors of mice and rats.
I received a mystery book which had the last six chapters ripped out, but I read it anyway. Twenty-four hours in total isolation is a very long time. The book had a note from a previous reader. It said, "I ripped out the ending - fuck you. In here, none of us have an ending." How prophetic that statement was to become.
On day six, one of the inmates gave me some opened toothpaste and a small finger sized used toothbrush. No counselor. No Lieutenant. No Warden. Forget about me, I listened to inmates pounding on the doors because some have been waiting three weeks and have received no phone calls, no visitor forms, and no contact with the outside world and, unlike me, no legal visits.
As I write this initial report on this sixth day, still catching up because I just snuck in refills and paper, I remain in isolation. I look out my narrow door and see 8 other rooms or cells and hear these inmates at night. This diary is not only about the mice, rats or ranting of the inmates; it is about the minimizing the underbelly of our society and creating an expose' about this prison system and the invalid causes of my incarceration.
Guards have a very difficult job dealing with gang members, rapists, murderers, hardened criminals and now one sixty year old grandfather who dared to not have the ability to pay an appealed and ridiculous fine imposed by a Judge. How dare one question the wisdom of a man who is part of this unsympathetic, unresponsive and unprofessional system of supposed justice? This facility is right in the center of New York City. Always remember that as you read the stories and descriptions that follow.
If a society is measured by the way it handles its prisoners. Boy, did I see a lot this first week. It is not a recommended spa but if one wants to lose weight, find religion or learn to enjoy handcuffs - reservations can be arranged by incurring the unchecked wrath of a politically appointed lifetime Judge, whose poor decisions will ultimately be exposed in an objective Courtroom and the more important court of public opinion.
It is now May 10th and my eighth day of incarceration and in addition to my still being here, it amazes me more that a counselor has not appeared. More than that, NOTHING can be done, no calls, no supplies, no visitation forms UNLESS this counselor gives them to you. Men are begging to call home at night and the Corrections Officers simply say, "Talk to your counselor". It is a continued emotionally abusive game, or a sadly stated organizational ploy.
When an inmate psychologically snaps, and snap they do; they scream gutturally, pound and kick the door and make the longest and most unnerving sounds. Then the guards let them make a telephone call even without a form. What then is the expected behavior of an unbalanced inmate to call or get their requests? You guessed it! Act irrationally and get attention. On the outside of each steel door is a muted mouthpiece speaker, which forces an inmate to scream to be heard. Normal voice volume levels elicit no responses. Polite questions posed to guards are ignored unless the inmate irrationally performs like the zoo animal the guards are accustomed to conditioning. The guards tell me that some inmates throw feces and urine at them. Today I do not wonder why. In the days to follow, I will wonder why that is all they do.
Chapter 2 – Settling In
All I have requested during my first eight days is for a book to read. Neither any counselor nor any education employee has aided me in receiving one. Today from another inmate, I received the "History of Salt". That book is not a page turner or best seller, believe me!
At night the guards play and party. I can hear them. My only fear is in a fire or evacuation or medical emergency I would be trapped due to their inability to put down their pizzas, donuts and Chinese food. They could not possibly hear us during their loud and uproarious clubhouse shenanigans when no one is watching them. They appear to be more closely supervised during the daytime.
I would be remiss if I did not try to describe the daily food distribution in the Special Housing Unit [SHU], which may or may not be different from the food received by the general population inmates.
Breakfast: Contains one packet of cereal, one half-pint of milk, and six or seven chunks of a sugary fruit or a tangerine.
Lunch: Consists of boiled potatoes, oatmeal and a slice or two of some sort of inedible and foul smelling bologna. It is not the texture or taste of any bologna that I have ever known. It could be hardened to become shoe leather if I wasn't so afraid of the mice or rats getting to it during the night. Sometimes there are two slices of bread and a boiled egg.
Dinner: Pretty much the same as lunch but rice is often the replacement for the potato, oatmeal and bread. Cold oatmeal is often the side dish.
Obviously, prison food should not be reviewed by Zagat, but we could do very much better. Pride and self-respect improves anyone's self-image. By destroying an inmate's self-image what long term rehabilitated help then is within this penal system, which costs taxpayers sixty billion dollars annually?
It has now been almost ten days that I have been in the "hole" and the men who came in with me are still waiting to make a phone call, see a counselor or get a toothbrush or toothpaste. However without the proper form or Counselor's visit, we sit and wait. Nothing can be purchased if you cannot communicate with the outside world to wire funds, speak with family members or have the peace of mind that is essential in isolation to get through the long and dark twenty-four hour days and nights.
Many hardened correction officers, who unfortunately have to deal with this bureaucratic bullying, cease to see the inmates as fellow citizens. That same thought process that enables soldiers to kill when humanity is stripped from your thought process exists within this corporate mind set.
Today I had a one hour and thirty-five minute prison shower, which deserves some clarification. I wish to help you visualize this three times per week shower ritual. After cuffing an individual and moving him to a shower cell, he is then “caged in" a small grey metal shower and locked in. Cuffs are then removed through a similar slot like the one we have in our cell door. One then undresses and normally lays his clothes on the floor of the shower due to the filthy condition of the floor and growing bacteria. Since this day I was the eighth or ninth to shower, I "stepped up" on the wet orange suits, underwear, socks and towels to shower and shave. If you are issued a razor, they attach a metal magnet which reminds the guard who is releasing you to get back the disposable razor. Today, they forgot to attach the reminder for me. I told them. “Boy, do I belong here.”
After my shower with one very small cold water spray, I dried and stepped out into the l' X 2' outside caged area with only a towel on. The thin orange prison towel is a large washcloth with minimal absorption capability.
Unfortunately the changing of the guards occurred when I stepped out of the shower and despite my fearfully polite reminder, I watched four or five of the officers rush to go home and the night guards began sitting about to discuss sports, what