Today is Saturday. Or is it Sunday? I’m not sure. These days it doesn’t seem to matter. I woke today at 6:00am, the way I do every day. I stayed in my bunk until 6:30, drifting somewhere between sleep and awake. As always, I hoped this was all a bad dream. The cold cement walls, lumpy mattress and constant hum of mechanical equipment snapped me back into my dismal reality. But now there is a fresh, new hell to my reality… I am now on COVID-19 lockdown.
It’s day 29 of the lockdown. I decided that I am going to walk you through a typical day caged in a prison cell during a lockdown at a Massachusetts State Prison.
Let me start by telling you a little about the prison where I am being held….
I’m currently confined in a medium security state prison with a population of about 600 inmates. When I first arrived at this facility there were twice as many inmates held here, but since then half of the cell blocks have been condemned. The entire compound is surrounded by a 30′ wall, topped with razor wire. In this prison there are both cell blocks and dormitories. The “dorms” hold about 80 men. The blocks, where I am held, hold up to 90 men, with 45, two-man cells. The blocks are 3 tiers high (I’m on the 2nd tier) with 15 cells on a tier; each tier also has 3 shower stalls. The tiers overlook and surround a small day room — what we call “the flats.” On the flats there are some tables where inmates can play cards or chess while out of their cells for recreation (“tier time”). Two guards sit at a control panel observing the inmates and electronically open and close the large, steel cell doors. Also on the flats is a bank of 7 phones, side by side, about 2 feet apart, and a microwave to heat food.
On April 27th, 24 days into the lockdown, all inmates were issued face masks to wear during the 30 minutes we are allowed out of our cells to shower and use the phone. We were advised, however, NOT to wear our masks while in the shower. Thanks.
The global pandemic began to touch our lives within the prison on March 12th. All nonessential personnel were prohibited from entering the facility, meaning all visits with family and friends were canceled until further notice. That was especially difficult for me. My visits are my physical connection to my loved ones. Without my visits the isolation of confinement becomes unbearable. In addition to visits, all educational, religious and other programs were also canceled.
On March 25th someone finally decided that we should have access to hand sanitizer, thus dispensers were installed in the cells blocks. Then, on March 26th all of the prison guards were issued N95 masks and ordered to wear them.
It was on April 4th, very early in the morning, before I woke, a notice from the Commissioner’s Office was inconspicuously slid under my cell door. The notice simply stated, “The Department has had a number of staff and inmates who have tested positive for COVID-19…. In an effort to slow the spread of the virus and deter infection, all DOC facilities will remain locked down….” It was further explained that we would be receiving food, mail and medication in our cells and we would be allowed 30 minutes out each day, 6 men at a time, to shower, use the phones, and clean our cells. So, for the last 29 days we have been locked in our cells for 23½ hours a day. No visits; no going outside; no sunlight; no fresh air; no exercise.
Men in prison handle the isolation of being confined to a cage for 23½ hours a day in different ways. My celly — the man I am forced to occupy a cell with — chooses to sleep 17 hours a day. For some, this is preferable. Time passes quickly, you live in a dream state, and you avoid reality. Over the years, however, I’ve noticed that people like him end up spiraling into a void of misery, despair and depression. I have learned that for me, maintaining some sort of routine and keeping my mind busy helps with the psychological drudgery of the extended, extreme isolation and to combat the constant threat of depression. It’s been my experience that the more structure a man incorporates into his day while in the depths of prolonged confinement; the easier it is for him to fight off the demons that try to take hold of his mind. So, I stay busy.
My two man prison cell is a cement box, about 7 feet by 11 feet — approximately the size of your bathroom. In the cell is a metal desk bolted to the wall, a metal bunk bed, 2 footlockers (1 for each inmate to hold cloths, books, toiletries, etc.), and a stainless steel sink and toilet. There is a barred window to let in some natural light and hooks on the wall to hang my coat and a towel. Inmates are allowed to purchase some appliances such as a typewriter, a small TV and fan, and a hot-pot to heat water. Once a week I can purchase commissary such as toiletries, instant coffee and snacks.
In my cell I have the bottom bunk. This makes things easier for me to move around the cell while my celly sleeps all day in the top bunk. There’s really only enough floor space for one person at a time to move about anyways. So I wake early every morning, watch the news and make a coffee while I wait for morning count. (I drink a lot of coffee.)
There are 4 standing counts a day: 7:15am, 11:15am, 4:45pm, and 9:45pm. All inmates are required to stand by their bunk to be counted by a guard.
After count, meals are delivered to our cells by the guards in Styrofoam trays. It’s usually cold cereal for breakfast (cornflakes or puffed rice); a warm lunch (beef stew over rice or a chicken pattie); and for dinner a cold sandwich (baloney, tuna, or pb & j). I’ve had worse.
Most of my day is spent reading. I read a lot of books; but, mostly I study my legal work. I read reports, records, studies, case law, and notes from my lawyers, etc. I read it, and then I read it again, re-read it, and read it some more.
I also try to exercise everyday which can be challenging in such a small space. I do pushups, dips off my locker, and body squats. Again, it helps to fight anxiety and depression.
Finally, to occupy my time I write letters to my family, watch some TV (I like the history, science, and nature shows on PBS), and wait for my 30 minutes out of the cell.
When I think about it, my day is actually very regimented. I wake up, watch news and have coffee. They do count, then breakfast. I write a letter, more coffee, I read, they do count again. Then lunch. I exercise, read some more, coffee, watch TV, it’s count time. Dinner, mail is delivered; I read some more, watch some more TV, have a snack, last count. I go to bed, I wake up, repeat.
Something no one thinks about is using the bathroom…. All I am going to say is, being forced to have to answer the call of nature, while locked in a confined space with another man, for both men, is extremely uncomfortable, humiliating, and dehumanizing. It is an indignity that we are forced to endure every day. We have no choice.
Of course, what I look forward to most during my day is my 30 minutes out to use the phone. It is my chance to check on my family, and connect with the people I love. It’s my lifeline. It comes at a different time each day, but I’m always ready when it does. When my cell door opens, I rush down the stairs and across the flats to the phones. Time is critical. It goes by very fast. I call home and check that everyone is safe. I get a quick story about my grandson. I reassure them that I am fine. We say good bye, I love you and I miss you. It’s over. I leave a few minutes to rush up the stairs to my cell to change and run to the showers. In and out. Time’s up. Lock in.
Sometimes if I need to call my lawyers, I don’t have time to call home. I am unfairly forced to choose between speaking with my family or accessing my attorneys. Some days I have to skip the shower just to get an extra few minutes of phone time.
We receive very little information from the warden or his staff. We learn more from the television then we do from administrators. There are rumors that some of the guards have tested positive. We have heard other rumors of inmates being medically quarantined. I have not been offered a test, nor have I heard of any inmates at this facility being tested.
I watch the news every day. It’s incredibly disheartening to see what people are going through on the outside. Every day I worry about my family and the people I love. Some of my family members are on the front lines and others are in the very high risk category. I feel helpless and guilty that I’m not with them. I also see the number of deaths that continue to devastate our state and our country, the thousands who are hospitalized, and those who struggle the help them. I hear about the people who are affected financially by this tragedy. I feel for all of the families who have been touched so profoundly by this horrible virus. We, the men locked away from our families, are not so isolated that we don’t feel the same frustration, heartache and worry that everyone else is feeling. We’re just doing it locked in a cell.
I am, however, optimistic about what tomorrow will bring. Better days are coming. My daughter will graduate nursing school next month and my niece is graduating from college. I’m incredibly proud of both of them. And, my legal team has weekly meetings and continues to work on my case. Right now it’s about just getting through today, and taking things one day at a time. I continue to remind myself every day that after today, I will be One Day Closer…