A visit to the prison in Bowling Green MO 02/09/24
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Remember my friend in jail[1]? When he first got in, I submitted an
application to visit him. But things were complicated, the application
got stuck somewhere, somehow, and neither of us heard anything more.
Then it turned out he could only have one visitor on his roster while
in that prison, and I wasn't the first choice (his wife came first, go
figure), so I was told to hold off.
He eventually got transferred to another prison, where he'd (I guess)
serve his full time. And finally, we figured the visiting thing out. I
re-submitted an application, which was approved after some time. In
reality, his case worker tells him when an application is approved,
and he has to tell the applicant. The whole thing was a little messy
feeling, but it's done.
About a week ago, I finally got to visit him, along with my wife who
is also his friend, after almost 7 months.
During the application process, they do a decent job scaring you about
the rules surrounding visits. They talk about your clothing, what you
can bring into the building (even the waiting room), what you can
store in the lockers provided, how you'll be processed, what you can
and can't do when visiting, limits on physical touch, what you can
say, etc. I've never visited anyone in prison, so it was all new.
I imagined driving up to a gate with an armed guard and controlled
access. After flashing my ID, they'd ask me to pop my trunk, which
they'd search. With one more suspicious glance just for good measure,
they'd reluctantly agree to let me enter. I'd park, stow everything
except my license (nothing else can come in the building), and walk
in. They'd scan me, metal-detect me, pat me down, and finally escort
me in.
Reality wasn't nearly so dramatic. There was no gate, just a sign
telling me to turn right. The parking lot was a lonely, wind-whipped
blacktop of the most banal type. "SECURE ALL VALUABLES AND LOCK YOUR
DOORS" signs were a little out-of-the-ordinary, but even those you
sometimes see at malls and airports. On one side was employee
parking, visitor parking on the other. There was a tired old flag in
front of a building that only looked reasonably maintained when
viewed from a distance.
We were told to get there at 9am, and that visits were first-come,
first-serve. We got there at 8:55, stowed our things (really, you're
not allowed to bring in anything but your ID), and went to the door.
It was locked, and we were the first ones. A sign indicated that
visits started at 9:30am. Other visitors started to trickle in and
form a line. We learned that the waiting room generally opened at 9am.
One lady insisted that she'd never, ever been there when it wasn't
open at 9am. Another lady insisted that she'd never, ever been there
when it was open on time at 9am.
A lot of people were carrying homemade food in containers. Large
amounts of it, in point of fact. They have what are called "food
visits", and we thought we'd missed some boat--but later learned that
depending on a prisoners status, they may get more than the one
allotted food visit per month. We hadn't missed any opportunity,
showing up empty-handed (well, ID only).
It was cold, and we passed the time bantering with the other visitors.
I had plenty of opportunity to note the beat up metal door, the
peeling paint on the hand rails, and the general overworked state of
the place. We were let in around 9:25am or so. I'll never understand
why people complain about such things when the answers are so obvious,
but someone did make a comment, and the guard started on what must
have been a rehearsed series of statements about being understaffed.
He sounded beleaguered, and I'm sure he felt it. I tried to smile and
nod sympathetically, but he didn't see.
Inside, the building was somewhat dilapidated. A series of lockers
lined the wall to the left, the metal kind I might have seen at a
skating rink when I was a kid. Except they didn't have those cool
cylindrical plastic keys that only come out when you put in a quarter.
Some plastic chairs were lined up in rows in the center of the room,
and the far right wall had two change machines and a bank of pay
phones. Maybe they were visit phones, and just looked like old pay
phones? I didn't check on them.
The far wall had a reception desk, with the entrance behind it and to
the right. There was narrow hall off the right wall, with a bathroom.
The metal detector and x-ray machines were next to the reception desk,
not really barring the path to the visiting entrance, but nearby.
There was one of those scanners they have at the airports now, I can't
recall their name, sitting unused behind the less modern gear.
We approached the desk, second in line. Someone else had somehow
positioned themselves before us, and we didn't care at all. My
friend's last name is a little long and unique, and I didn't have his
Dept. of Corrections number, so I spelled it out for the young woman
when we got our turn. She typed fast for a prison guard (you see, in
my mind, a prison guard would type slowly, like a DMV worker).
Seriously, like programmer fast. I threw in his first name for good
measure, and she said in a quiet voice, "I know, we all love him."
That was really reassuring.
We asked a few questions, said a few nice things in commiseration with
the understaffing issue, and got a locker key. You see, we both had
jackets on, and nothing with pockets or hoods is allowed in. We stowed
them, and went to get some change.
I forgot to tell you: you're allowed to bring in your ID, and a
plastic bag full of change for the vending machines. Visits are 4
hours long, and no food is provided for the prisoners. If you want to
eat, or want them to eat, you can buy food inside. We had about $20 of
quarters that we brought, and traded a bit of cash for some Susan B
Anthonies, just in case.
We sat next to a young woman who was visiting her fiance. He had been
in for 7 years, not sure how long he had left or what he did. My wife
went to the bathroom, and the young woman started using far more
colorful language to complain about the prison system. I don't know
why she thought I'd be more receptive to that brand of communication,
but I listened and laughed with her. It's the scruffy beard, maybe.
Anyway, I don't really mind any sort of honest communication.
Our friend's name was called over a speaker, but it was garbled and
the woman at the desk was busy. My wife insisted she heard it, and I
told her to just wait until we were called. She was right, of course,
as usual, but we didn't find that out until his name was called again
in a few minutes. In the meantime, a woman somehow didn't understand
that she had to be informed by the prisoner when she was approved to
visit. She had driven 4 hours to visit, and the woman at the desk was
now having to explain why she couldn't enter. Neither one of them was
happy.
Also while we were waiting, a male guard came out to run all the foot
items through the x-ray machine (yum!). I kid you not, one person
brought a large plastic tub filled with food items. There's supposed
to be a limit, but we learned that they don't bother enforcing it. He
had a feast in there. Good for him.
So, our friend's name was called again, and this time my wife got up
and spoke to the desk lady, who hadn't heard it again (they really
were quite understaffed.) She told us to go ahead... but no one was
working the metal detector, etc. Anyway, we walked over there
ourselves as she busily typed away, processing new arrivals still. My
wife made it through, but I beeped. No one cared. I took off my belt
and walked through again in silence. I gathered the plastic bin with
my ID, locker key, and belt, and looked around for the guards that
were surely going to jump out any moment. No one came, so I asked the
lady at the desk if she wanted to look in the bin that I was grabbing
stuff out of, stuff that I had passed by the side of the metal
detector (hey, anything could be in there!). She said sure, and
looked, then opened the doors for us.
Understaffed, overworked, and insecure. That's not a complaint, just
an observation.
The insecure continued--again, not complaining. The entrance is a
small room with four doors, all with reinforced glass throughout, the
kind with metal wires between the panes. Once you're in, they close
the door you entered from. There's a big sign that says "HAVE ID
READY", but no one asked for ID. Well fine. There's a little table
that says "MAKE SURE TO GET YOUR HAND STAMPED", but no one was there
to stamp our hand. The door to the visiting room slid open without any
ceremony, and we walked in.
Aside from the non-contact visit booths lining the left wall, the room
looked mostly like an elementary school cafeteria. Well, those booths
and the acoustic foam panels all over the place. Maybe an elementary
cafeteria turned sound studio. The center of the room was small tables
with rounded edges, about knee-height off the floor and surrounded by
smooth plastic single-piece chairs. Prisoners were led in and seated
to wait for their visitors. The folks who cut in front of us in line
were seated with our friend's cell mate at the back of the room near
the vending machines, our friend in front of them, and one or two
other waiting inmates around the room.
You're allowed a brief hug at the beginning and end of your visit. My
wife and I hugged our friend for a good long while, as long as we
figured the security guards around the perimeter would tolerate. I
hugged him hard, because he's a physical touch person and I know it
means a lot to him (it always has). Then we sat around the table.
Apart from that hug at the beginning and end, our friend wasn't
allowed to get up from the table, period. We could move around the
room as needed, but he had to sit there. The table really was right at
knee-level, and it was impossible to sit at it comfortably. You had to
sort of position yourself at a corner and straddle the thing in the
most absurd way. The prisoners weren't supposed to lean or put their
feet up, but the guards didn't seem to care about any of that.
Everyone just made themselves as comfortable as possible.
We got a lot of updates from our friend about what things had been
like. Unaccountably (unless you believe in prayer, as I do) his
situation was incredibly favorable. After some time in protective
custody (which they call "in the hole"; a small room with a thin
mattress, no tablet or other items, food on a tray in the room, and if
you ever come out you have to wear shackles the whole time) he was
moved from general population into a specific wing of the prison. In
this wing, you can only stay if you have zero bad behavior--one
infraction, and they move you out. So, everyone around him there was
incentivised to behave well.
Then, a short while later, he got a job, which mean more time out of
his cell and area. His cellmate had changed from the one we had heard
about, and he was getting along great with the new one. Some art
supplies we had sent him money for had finally arrived. We knew all
this though, through emails.
What we hadn't heard yet was that he had a new job. In the whole
prison (this one, at least), there is a single inmate who is able to
move between all the different areas of the prison. This inmate has
the job of delivering files for the prison workers, when those files
need to move between areas. That worker is a sort of errand-runner,
and they get more pay than some other jobs. The guy with the job
currently is named Charlie, and he's an older fellow who has been an
inmate for years. Charlie wanted an assistant, and he chose our
friend.
He had wanted to work in the library, but this job was even better. He
gets to know all the guards, move around more freely, and get good
exposure to the people who will eventually be interviewed when he
wants parole. It's a job that normally wouldn't be given to a new guy.
I call it a blessing, you can call it whatever you want.
A fun thing happened to him recently as well: you're only allowed a
certain number of books in your cell, so once you're at your limit (I
think it's 6), you have to get rid of books if you want to buy new
ones. Well, while he was at the library, right after he got his new
job, the librarian asked him if he wanted to be a judge in a prison
book contest. He'd get copies of 4 books by award winning authors,
which he'd get to keep and which didn't count against his allowance.
He'd read all four and vote, and when the national winner was chosen,
he'd get to attend a book signing in the prison, when the winning
author went on tour. He said yes, of course.
About an hour in, we were informed that if the room got too busy,
they'd have to reduce visits to 2 hours instead of 4, so we took some
time to buy our friend lunch. He had an jalapeno Angus burger, some
jalapeno Cheetos, and an orange Mountain Dew. Super healthy, of
course. I had a chicken-friend-steak burger, and my wife refused such
nonsense and settled on a bottled water and some mixed nuts.
One of the machines rejected a coin I put it, and as I reached into
the coin return I encountered a small pile of quarter and dollar
coins. Apparently, it was rejecting a lot, including coins it was
couting. I finished my transaction, then took the remaining coins and
handed them to a guard, telling him that someone had forgotten them
and might come looking for them (I later saw him with some Cheetos,
but I'm not judging). I didn't suggest the machine was broken, as I
didn't want them to slap an out-of-order sign on it and ruin everyones
terrible lunch prospects.
There were microwaves to heat the food. While getting this all ready
for him (he couldn't get up, remember), I noticed that the floor was
outlined in thick floor tape and marked with zones where the inmates
weren't allowed to walk (presumably when entering and exiting). I will
also tell you that on the wall where the microwaves lived there was a
photo area with various pull-down backdrops, as well as a bookshelf
and table full of board and card games.
The sandwich wasn't horrible, considering it came from a prison
vending machine. Next time, I think I'll try what he had.
Things were getting pretty loud by the middle of our visit, which
explained all the acoustic tiling plastered about. The tables were all
full. Some people were incredibly loud, so much so that to hear our
friend we had to cup around our ears. Quality conversation became
difficult, so I went for a deck of cards so we could learn two games
he had learned in prison: Spite and Malice, and another appropriately
bleak game that I can't recall. There were no regular cards left, so I
came back with Phase 10.
As he explained Spite and Malice (he was quite excited about it), I
realized that it sounded just like Skip-Bo, which was on the table. I
went and grabbed it (he had never played), and we compared the games.
We ended up playing Skip-Bo, which apparently is much the same. I
think there was just a tinge of disappointment for him, to learn that
his prison game was just like a popular kids game, but maybe I
imagined that.
He described the prison economy to us a little. Apparently the modern
currency isn't based around cigarettes, but around ramen noodles.
Everything trades in that culinary treasure. If you want an extra
blanket, you pay in noodles. Since you can only buy stuff one a week
(including more noodles to trade with), you can borrow noodles as
needed--with interest. Our friend never charges interest, but don't
tell anyone, as he doesn't want to offend Charlie, who is a Bank, and
who does charge interest.
Except that there are no banks, because that is against the rules. I
asked if they played any gambling games with noodles, but learned that
they only gamble with tootsie rolls--noodles are too big, too easy to
get caught with. Gambling games are against the rules. They never,
ever gamble, of course.
A few times, our friend shouts some comment at a passing guard (you
have to shout at this point). He's on really good terms with them, and
they really do seem to enjoy him. I'm sure he makes their life easy. I
failed to mention that my friend was an ASL interpreter before prison
(though he'll likely never be one again because of his plea deal,
which is heartbreaking to him). He's been able to help interpret in
prison, which the guards appreciate. I only heard of one inmate who
needed it, but one is enough to make the understaffed guards life
miserable I'm sure, trying to figure out how to meet that need.
We learned a few signs. I live in Fulton MO, which has a state School
for the Deaf, and so there are a lot of deaf people in my daily life.
I have a friend who is teaching my wife and me, but learning has been
slow, as she's had health challenges. I'm also using lifeprint.com,
but learning has been slow because I haven't been as dedicated as I
could be...
Our friend let us know that he now believes that he might be able to
get out in as little as two years. I told him that by then, I'd like
to be conversational in ASL, so we can have some fun that way.
Four hours is a long time to visit, especially in a loud and crowded
room. We were the last ones in there as the second hand slowly rolled
toward the top of the final minute. We stood up and hugged, and
started out. Several inmates were standing around by the exit door,
but I guess with the security it didn't much matter. In and out with
no hoopla beyond the timed sliding of the doors. The waiting room was
quite and empty, and we were able to properly thank the guard there
before gathering our jackets from the locker and heading out.
[1]
gopher://zaibatsu.circumlunar.space:70/0/~tfurrows/phlog/2023-07-23_jail.txt
