CHAPTER 7

Classes / Self-Help Groups / Bible Studies / Counseling

4 P.M.

INSTEAD OF GOING to the yard, you might have decided to sit around your cell and mope. It would not be surprising if your cell mate comes back in, shirtless and sweaty, glares at you, and lies on his bunk with some old magazine, flipping furiously and grunting. You’re gonna force yourself out when the next Ten-Minute Move bell rings. There must be somewhere to go.

Until I developed a small crew I trusted, I hated downtime. Too much time to think. Exercise did fill the minutes, but after a while that wasn’t enough. My mind was searching for something to do, not just fret or boil. We’d have the four o’clock standing head count, and then I’d be staring at the walls, going stir-crazy.

I did discover one strategy that really worked for me, and that was to stop thinking about myself and focus on others. I started writing letters to people in my life, engaging with them about problems they were having with work or relationships. I found that talking through other people’s problems helped take my mind off my own. My friend Stacey and I exchanged letters almost once a week, sometimes more, and we got into many philosophical and spiritual discussions, making me think about the world on a deeper level. We talked a lot about our personal beliefs and life choices; I soon realized that as I was considering her issues and offering advice, I started to see my own life differently.

At one point, I began to spend time in the psychology department, which had its own library. I’d always enjoyed reading self-help and psychology-based books. The quiet area had a small room down the hall from the staff offices. The doctors grew comfortable seeing me in there; maybe they even thought I was crazy at first. I would settle in and read their books, or pop in a psychology-based VHS cassette, or listen to recordings of doctors who broke down human behavior, alcoholism, drug abuse, dysfunction within the family circle, and so on—basically all the stuff that prisoners are dealing with.

This led to short conversations with Dr. Andrea Boardman, a very kind, on-site psychologist, and another psychologist, Dr. Mark Chernizer. Dr. Chernizer and I would talk about our lives, or the conversation would drift toward my childhood, or my years just before prison. I admitted I hated the fact that I’d never been faithful to a woman, and that I knew, deep down, every hustler is seeking some sort of stability. Pimping women certainly hadn’t provided that for me. He helped me come to terms with several issues I would not have been able to understand on my own, and I’ll forever be grateful to him for that.

Most importantly, I started to see that maybe I could put my bored brain to good use and reach out to others, help them get a little more square with their lives. There were plenty of unhappy prisoners around me.

Eventually, I pitched the idea of putting together a twelve-week mentoring program to help new inmates who were having a problem adapting to prison and to provide them with coping mechanisms. I liked the idea that I’d be getting out of my cell while also doing something helpful.

The chief psychiatrist, Dr. Marcia Baruch, agreed, though she also wanted me to work with those who were suicidal. Fort Dix already had an inmate suicide watch team in place, so she partnered me with another inmate, John Christian; he was a fantastic guy, a Harvard graduate with a master’s degree in education. He also had an extensive background in drug and alcohol counseling and loved to meditate and teach meditation.

I worked with him and a team of inmates, taking four-hour shifts and watching inmates who were admittedly suicidal. They would be placed in a holding tank on the first floor in the hospital. With huge windows and no privacy, we’d watch them sleep, wake up, eat, use the bathroom, occasionally talk to us, pace the holding tank back and forth, and then fall back asleep.

One of the saddest cases was a guy from Hungary. He’d been living in poverty and unknowingly became a drug mule when promised money to deliver a suitcase to the United States. If he’d opened the suitcase, he would have known it was full of drugs, but he didn’t and was arrested when his plane landed in the United States. His command of the English language was severely lacking and he barely understood his charges from the time of arrest through the sentencing. Although he’d been in prison a few years, the realization set in that he had at least fourteen years to go, even though he’d been duped. He wanted to die. He simply stopped eating. He remained on suicide watch for two days, continuing to starve himself, before he was transferred to another facility, likely a hospital. I felt helpless and somewhat angry. He’d reached a point in his incarceration where he’d gone so deep inside himself, no soul inside the prison could touch his heart. I genuinely believed he did not know what he was getting into. I’m afraid he did end up killing himself once he left.

I discovered how good it felt to help others while also giving my brain something to do while I was trapped behind bars. I created an outline for a class to help habitual criminals “kick the habit.” The doctor tweaked it, and then I ran it past several inmates, including my best friend and former drug kingpin, Tommy Mickens. I called the program Criminals Anonymous and it was a hit. Tommy and I had a waiting list of four hundred men trying to get in. We put together two more classes called Criminal Lifestyles and Men’s Issues. It really helped the men understand so much about themselves, and Tommy and I actually began to form relationships with inmates we’d usually never associate with because of the institutionalized race divisions. Dr. Baruch helped us develop counseling skills to aid in our ability to facilitate the group. She was incredibly smart and I truly believe she wanted me to succeed when I left prison. She saw I had a desire to continue mentoring people once I was released. She even wrote a letter of recommendation for me. I’ve taken the chance she gave me and turned it into something real, here on the outside.

Having specific daily and weekly goals, as well as being disciplined, will give meaning to your day. Classes, self-help groups, counselors, and religion can help you attain that discipline and keep it going. You’ve got real people here who can help you, if you seek them out. The inmates who need to look the hardest, though, are the inmates who’ve come in with addictions.

My friend, you should start going through withdrawal before you’re dumped behind the wall, if you can. Because if you decide to go to the prison black market for cigarettes, you’re going to pay, one way or another. If you’re seeking drugs or alcohol, the cost is going to be exorbitant. And this is not the place to fall behind in payments. You’ve got to find the strength to kick the habit. Luckily, most prisons do have addiction management counselors or groups; I highly recommend you take full advantage of the programs that are in place. I’ve seen guys go in with a drinking habit and not make it out.

Your addiction might be why you’ve landed in jail in the first place. Or, as it is for many inmates, it may be your anger. Some inmates have mandatory sessions with anger management counselors as part of their sentence. Be honest with yourself: If you find yourself getting irrationally angry over things like the mail or the wrong kind of green beans, and you let that anger become rage … you have a problem. If you were arrested because you took a swing at a cop, you have a problem. If you have hit your spouse or your kids, you have a problem. If you can’t keep your cool when a convict flips you crap, you’re gonna have a problem. Join one of the anger management groups, where they will teach you tricks on how to de-escalate yourself and others.

Learning to meditate and/or pray is another way to manage your addictions, anger, or depression. Most institutions have contemplative programs for secular inmates interested in meditation, yoga, or focused thought. For those who are religious, or are seeking spiritual help, there are court rulings in place to protect your right to worship, unless it is obvious your goal is to create dysfunction on the premises. Christian, Muslim, and Buddhist practices remain the most common. Clergy members and services are available to all prisoners as a source of support if you wish to seek emotional and spiritual health.

Sometimes prisons will bring in creative writing instructors, and you can use this time to process your problems by writing them out. Even if there is not an official class for journaling or writing as a meditative tool, I highly recommend you do it on your own. But the prison will offer other classes and you should be taking advantage of the free education.

For instance, you can take classes to help you understand your own legal rights and where you’re at in the process. Of course, you can meet with your preapproved attorney at any time (usually within business hours), but that attorney is going to bill you or your family for every phone call and visit. Now is the perfect time to figure out what you can do to legally help yourself.

This isn’t always as black and white as it sounds, though. The Supreme Court established that prisoners have a fundamental right to access the courts, which also means access to the prison’s law library. Penitentiaries generally have the most equipped and updated law books and journals, better than the state systems. The inmates who work in the law library can be helpful; some have law degrees or are self-taught. They can provide you with the appropriate state and federal rules and regulations, and can help with certified mailing.

But you have to be careful to not let this consume you. Inmates who become obsessive activists are often targeted. Also, some officers have been known to block the mailing of lawsuits, or they can take away legal materials, deny access to the law library, stall, or refuse to give you legal material. Officers are well aware that a successful litigation can change the games being played behind prison walls or restrict some of the power some inmates wield recklessly. It’s not uncustomary to see officers take away legal possessions, put the inmate in the SHU or Hole on trumped-up charges, or even put them on an airplane to another prison to stifle their attempts for legal help. I’m not trying to scare you away from helping yourself legally, I’m just saying to do it prudently. And if you are forced to give it up, make sure you have not allowed it to be your only source of hope.

Prisons usually offer classes that teach skills to benefit a job on the outside. If you struggle with reading, this is the perfect time for you to get on top of that, even to work toward your GED. Everyone knows it’s challenging for an ex-con to get a decent job, so you might as well do what you can to make reentry easier. One suggestion is to start your own business. You can start by taking business classes while in jail, learning how to write business plans, deal with overhead, or start your own LCC. If you have access to online classes, or classes through the mail, you can focus on what you might want to do. Want to open a landscaping business? Take a botany class online. Want to start a bakery? Take a class in baking styles or designing a commercial kitchen.

Do something. Give your brain a job.

If you find the depression or the fear is out of your control, counselors are available.

By the time I was in FCI Fort Dix, too many men I knew had let the darkness take them over. Too many suicides. I started volunteering my time to facilitate various programs with the prison’s psychology department. I certainly learned a lot about inmate suicide. For instance, far more suicides occur in county jails than in state or federal prisons. Of the 918 jail deaths in 2010, 305 (33.2 percent) were attributed to suicide. Of the 3,232 prison deaths that year, 215 (6.7 percent) were suicides. The statistics are tracked by the Department of Justice, which also states that nearly half of the local jail suicides between 2000 and 2010 took place within seven to ten days of admission—and were highest among white, older male inmates. Yet fewer white males enter the prison system than black, Latino or other ethnicities. Frankly—and unfortunately—blacks and Latinos are often better equipped to handle the chaos and mayhem of the county jail. Many are from the surrounding neighborhoods or adjacent townships. The chances of low-, middle-, or upper-class whites having family or friends living close by, or in a county jail, or in a state or federal prison, are slim to none. These people don’t generally have comrades on the inside, nor do they have family stories to help them along.

Why is the rate higher at county jails than in the prisons? For a new inmate, the shock and awe of being incarcerated is overwhelming. The violence is real and unpredictable. And there are several plots unfolding throughout each holding tank, dorm room, or pod, putting you at risk. Also, there is no psychiatric evaluation for new inmates, not until they are moved to their permanent housing, so the person who may have a psychological problem prior to incarceration may see himself in a bleak situation right out of the gate, or he may be a danger to others. If individuals with obvious mental health issues who engage in criminal activity are taken to a county jail, they are thrown into solitary confinement. They are ignored like a five-year-old dishrag, which adds a heavy burden to their depression.

Prison is hard; that’s all there is to it. You’re now surrounded by drunks, drug addicts, drug dealers, pedophiles, rapists, and murderers, many who are anxious and angry and going through withdrawal. And, of course, you’re dealing with your own stuff, missing your family and your normal routine, your bed, your ability to eat and shower when you want, or to do so safely.

Yet … you are alive. You have a roof over your head. You have food. You have the time to learn, maybe grow, if you choose.

Obviously, not everyone takes advantage of the classes or the self-help groups, which may be one reason the recidivism rate is so high. You’re in for now, but once you’re free, do you want to return? Most convicts say no, but the truth is an estimated two-thirds (69 percent) of 405,000 prisoners released in thirty states were arrested for a new crime within three years of release, and three-quarters (77 percent) were arrested within five years, according to a recent Bureau of Justice report.

The prison experience contributes to recidivism, of course, thanks to the institutionalized violence and the state treating inmates inhumanely, like a widget in a factory. While at FCI Fairton, at least one-third of the inmates with whom I spent time within the SHU were rearrested within two to seven years.

Part of this is due to the mentally ill or the emotionally unstable being placed in a prison instead of a mental institution. When they’re released from the ruthless environment of prison, these people don’t understand how the outside differs from the inside, and cannot readjust to societal norms. On the inside, it’s fine, even encouraged, to throat punch someone who cuts in front of you in line. Waiting in line at a suburban McDonald’s … not so much.

The same holds true for the convicts who are in too long and become institutionalized. The outside is too different, particularly if you’ve been released from the isolation of disciplinary segregation. For every inmate released, addictions and gang affiliations and criminal tendencies are like minefields that need to be carefully traversed, all while you are under a microscope by your community and local law enforcement agencies, and you are most likely also dealing with the strain on your family.

You’re also under immediate pressure to find employment or risk violating the terms and conditions of parole, probation, or supervised release. This may seem relatively simple to some people, but how can a newly released inmate gain employment without ID? For example, if they live in New Jersey, they need six pieces of ID when they arrive at the motor vehicles department. A birth certificate (with a raised seal), pilot license, US college identification card (with transcript), social security card, mail with a home address (not prison), and a debit card are a few examples, yet a felon doesn’t have anything current except a birth certificate. In order to obtain these documents, time and money are needed to schedule appointments and to travel. Many don’t have the financial means to seek necessary counseling, travel in search of employment, find health care, or enroll in college classes. Most importantly, though, if they don’t have family willing to house them, they must find a homeless shelter or some other reportable address or they will be dragged back to prison. All felons on parole must have an address.

The wealthier inmates might not have some of these concerns, but reentry is hard no matter who you are. You will never be allowed to forget that part of your life, no matter how badly you will want to.

Unfortunately, some people can’t make the transition.

My friend Mike, the guy who had to defend himself in the broom closet, was finally released from prison but felt he could not return to his hometown or his family. He chose to reside with a woman he’d met while in prison. Soon, it became clear she was jealous and rebuked him when his fellow inmates, the only friends he had left, would call and want to discuss the outside world. He did manage to find a job, but within six months an argument turned ugly and police were called to their home. With the house surrounded by law enforcement, Mike decided to kill himself rather than return to prison.

Prison has power, even beyond its walls. But so do you. Inside and out.

I want to repeat what I said earlier: having specific goals and being disciplined will give meaning to your day. Inside and out.