It’s Wednesday, November 12th, and I’ve been in jail for 200 days.  Reaching this “milestone” is significant to me.   Prisoners circle specific dates on their calendar to mark meaningful events.  200 days was my first milestone and I laughed, or perhaps it was a cry, when I circled today’s date.  When I looked at a calendar back in April, 2008, I thought this day would never arrive and it’s still hard for me to believe I’ve made it this far.

It’s easy to lose track of time in prison.  Is 200 days a long time?  It’s barely one box of Q-tips and not even a full baseball season.  It must be a matter of perspective.  Upon my arrival, 200 days seemed like an eternity; a made up date in the future that would not arrive.  But arrive it did and in hindsight, the time has passed more quickly than I ever could have imagined.

My prison experience has moved at a steady pace because I continue to stay focused on the big picture.  This picture centers around recapturing a life that once had real meaning and purpose.  Prior to self-surrendering, I gave no indication that I was ready to embrace my future.  I was wracked with anxiety for several years and the two months between my sentencing and reporting to Taft were the toughest I’d ever known.  In a span of two months, I turned over my home to a new family, gave up my little cocker spaniel, suspended my productive real estate career and lost my freedom.  Needless to say, recalibrating my life was the last item on my list.

Everything changed when I reported to prison.  I quickly settled in and felt as if the worst was behind me.  I’d hit rock bottom and was finally ready, after many years, to ascend.  It was time to live again and I would not use my surroundings as an excuse.  I’d done that for too long.  I accepted that federal prison was where I would turn my life around and I was eager to begin.

Prison has afforded me the opportunity to cleanse my mind and body.  I had been miserable for a long time and needed a time out.  Some take a time out by going to Hawaii for a week or two. My destination was Taft Correctional Institution.  At Taft I have all day to focus on my future, my health and well being. I am determined to depart from prison a better man than when I arrived.  The break from the hustle of everyday life and the business world isn’t so terrible.  The stress of having to earn a significant income to support my lavish lifestyle has been suspended.  I know that the pressures of daily life will return the second I leave prison.  I can already sense that.  I feel that I will be better prepared for the ups and downs of life, in part because of how well I responded to my first 200 days in jail.  I hope that the remaining 188 days are as productive.

In just one month I’ve learned quite a bit about blogging.  First and foremost, I must continue to be 100% transparent and totally open.  This is not always easy. Blogging, particularly on a daily basis, provides the author little time to change or reconsider previous statements and opinions.  I have found this to be good and also a little scary.  It provides the reader with new content every day without much editing or revision.  My initial thoughts tend to be my best and with strict time restraints I’m rarely tempted to edit my work.  Done well, the reader should get an accurate description of my thoughts at that very moment, as I write about prison life.

The reason blogging can be scary is because one has no way of knowing how the message will be received  because the writer is not afforded the same opportunity as an author writing a novel. That person has months or even years to edit and revise his or her work.  I spent some time today reviewing my blog and I have mixed feelings.  One day I’m describing prison being too easy and in the next blog I’m longing for my freedom.  It’s quite obvious that my adjustment to confinement is continuing to develop.  I’m convinced that my blogs, at least for the near future, will continue to show this erratic pattern ranging from happiness to loneliness and everything in between.

I’ve made my prison experience an open book that anyone who has access to a computer can read.  And I still wonder why I’m doing this.  Will my daily postings about my prison experience help those who are confronting criminal charges? Am I providing readers with a correct glimpse into the unknown world of confinement?  Am I empowering those who anticipate a struggle with the criminal justice system? I sincerely hope that the answer is yes to all those questions.

My father is 67 years old today. I’ve tried calling him several times to wish him happy birthday but couldn’t reach him.  I then learned that the phones would be down until Wednesday.  My family is prepared for these minor setbacks that come with my confinement.

I’ve been in prison for nearly seven months and during that time I’ve tried to calibrate my life and map out a long list of goals I hope to achieve during and after incarceration.  One particular goal is to be a better son.  Prior to my imprisonment, I rarely took the time to see my father.  There was no excuse for me not arranging to have quality time with him.  It was not his fault as he asked to see me nearly every day but I would make  excuses that I was too busy with work, etc.  I will conduct myself differently upon my release.

My father is wonderful.  His love and support has never wavered and his guidance has lifted my spirit on days when I wanted to crawl under a rock.  At the end of each phone call he never fails to tell me he is proud of me … and that gives me strength.

Prison offers opportunity for introspection.  During the time I’ve been here I have  learned to appreciate all that I took for granted.  I took my father for granted and will never do that again.  Prison may take a year out of my life but this time away is a reminder of how much I need my family. This discovery was not something I anticipated but I certainly appreciate it now.  Although I was finally able to speak to my dad to wish him happy birthday and tell him how much I love him, it was the first time in my life I had not seen him on his special day.

Since arriving at Taft, I’ve become fascinated with the criminal justice system.  As a matter of fact, just about every person on this compound fascinates me. This is ironic because prior to self-surrendering I had no desire to learn about such a system even though I had been in it for three years.

The incredibly high rate of recidivism interests and saddens me.  Seven out of ten prisoners return to confinement upon release.  70% of the felons around me, some friends, will violate parole or commit another crime and return to prison  I’m convinced that this statistic proves that our prison system is failing the American taxpayers and the inmates they pay to feed and shelter.  

American taxpayers spend more than 60 billion dollars a year to fund our ineffective prison system.  Now that I have experienced the system firsthand, I know that we need change.  I would like to see changes that would encourage inmates to work toward reconciling with society.  There are very few who manage to grow in positive ways through the adversity of the system.  It requires extraordinary effort to overcome the challenges of confinement.  However, with proper training, improvements can certainly be made to improve recidivism rates.

Preparing prisoners for release is the last thing the institution cares about.  The security of the institution is the primary focus.  Administrators are held accountable only if someone escapes or if the institution runs over budget.  The administrators are not measured by how many inmates they help for re-entry.  It’s a sorry state that America’s prison system has never been held accountable by the taxpayers but this is exactly the way the administration wants it.

One specific goal of my blog is to open people’s eyes to our correctional system.  The Department of Justice predicts that 6.6% of American residents will find themselves in a state or federal prison during their life time. Prison affects millions of families and prison does not discriminate.  I never imagined I would be in a federal prison, but here I am.  Our system needs to improve so offenders, myself included, can succeed upon release.  This is a goal I will fight for long after I am released.

As an undergraduate student at the University of Southern California, I studied psychology.  More than a decade has passed since I graduated in 1997.  Since then, I built a career in financial services which provided me with plenty of opportunities to learn business and economics.  However, until I was sentenced to federal prison, I didn’t have much cause to contemplate about what I’d learned about psychological theories.

We are forced to adjust in prison.  These communities deprive us of what many Americans consider the basic necessities of life. One of the worst aspects of confinement is the forced separation from women.  I am not a monk by nature and this forced celibacy is causing me to go blind.

Freud’s theory about sublimation is that humans have natural primal urges of sexuality. When repressed, those sexual urges must express themselves in alternate ways.  From what I remember, the intelligent being channels repressed sexual energy through creative endeavors such as painting, music or writing.

I sublimate my lack of sexuality through writing, but my daily postings are an ersatz substitute for a woman’s companionship. Of course I miss the sex, but more than that, I miss being around a beautiful woman.  I hear too much vulgar, coarse talk in this community of felons. The longer I spend here, the more I realize how much I long for freedom. I look forward to sitting across the table from a woman.  I want to inhale her scent, appreciate her figure and enjoy the sound of her voice.

Six months have passed since I entered prison camp and I expect to be here about 6 more.  I’ll continue writing daily blogs; however, I’ve definitely concluded that Freud’s theory of sublimation is woefully inadequate. There is no substituting a man’s need for a woman.

I’ve been playing close attention to the economic crisis that plagues our country. These are difficult times for millions of Americans.  As I watched the early morning news today, I saw that the latest employment report revealed that employers shed more than 240,000 jobs in October.  Since the beginning of 2008, over 1.8 million jobs have vanished.

Watching the news from inside a federal prison is troubling. On the one hand, as a prisoner I know that administrators will provide me with food, clothing and shelter.  Prisons are somewhat communistic in this twisted way.  Nevertheless, I struggle with the news that tens of millions of families are about to begin the holiday season without any resources.

Further, I’ve had to watch the deteriorating value of my own assets.  Since my imprisonment the stock market has taken a horrible tumble. Prior to self-surrendering, I made necessary arrangements with my financial advisor, which included giving him total discretion over my portfolio. We strategically purchased many stocks, including General Electric, Goldman Sachs and the now bankrupt Lehman Bros.  Our strategy was to sell these stocks into any rally. Therefore, upon arriving at Taft, I wasn’t worried when I saw these positions fluctuating anywhere between 20, 30 and 50%.  I presumed we’d already sold them, along with a host of my other positions. Unfortunately, I found out many months into my confinement that Merrill Lynch had frozen my assets due to my felony conviction.  They did not send me a letter explaining their position.  I only found out when my good friend and advisor took the day off to come and visit me. I was shocked, disappointed and disturbed. We now know the damage to the equity market had already begun.  Lehman Bros. went bankrupt and Goldman Sachs and General Electric were nearly cut in half.  My portfolio remains frozen to this day as I attempt to work within stringent prison rules to try and facilitate a transfer to another brokerage firm. 

My real estate holdings have also taken a hit. I entered prison with confidence and felt I was well positioned to weather the storm. Instead, I received demands for cash calls in order to keep current with debt-to-equity ratios on my investments.  I’ve watched my vacancy rates rise and equity drop to lower levels.

These set backs obviously complicate the prison experience.  I wish that I had known more about the impotence that prison brings. I have not been able to monitor the status of any affairs in real time, much less act as necessary to lessen the bleeding.  Had I known about the limitations that come with confinement, I would have taken more precautions to hedge against the downslide.

Ironically, as I watch the financial meltdown, I think more about others than my own problems because I know that this crisis will result in legal problems for tens of thousands who do not think of themselves as criminals. Many will commit crimes such as bankruptcy fraud, mortgage fraud and securities fraud without even understanding the implications.

I hope to help others avoid the struggles that have become part of my life because I am convinced that many more will feel the pain.

It’s 1:30 in the morning on November 6th.  Thirty minutes ago all four dorms were awakened by the over powering noise of the fire alarms which are approximately 15 feet or so above each bunk.  Without question, the noise easily eclipses 15 fire trucks and is impressive.  Just on the off chance the alarm would not wake us up (and one would have to be either dead or five miles away), several correctional officers started yelling and screaming and hitting our bunks telling us all to go outside immediately.  It was obvious to everyone that a fire drill done at this hour was to teach us a lesson.  I doubt if it will work.

Obviously, few inmates were pleased about having to stand outside in 45 degree temperatures at this time of night  Sleep is essential in prison as it provides a much needed respite from the prison atmosphere.  Some inmates sleep 16-20 hours a day.  Their logic is simple.  They claim they are not in prison while they’re sleeping. Regardless of the reason, I was annoyed at having to get out of bed at this hour and go outside and stand in the cold.

There have been several fire drills since I arrived in April.  This,  however, was the first one to take place in the middle of the night.  Apparently a correctional officer was upset because several inmates were late in returning to their assigned cube for the 10 P.M. count and were also noisy and disrespectful.  Because of their behavior, the entire compound (500 plus inmates) had to pay the price.  Occasionally, I am still taken back by the lack of deference and the surfeit of defiance that some inmates show towards correctional officers.  One simple explanation is that some inmates forget this is a prison.  Yes, it’s a camp but the word ‘prison’ precedes ‘camp’. Expectations for all of us is quite low.  Simply follow the rules is a difficult concept for some. I never forget that my freedom and rights were temporarily suspended when I choose to break the law.

Nights such as this make me grateful I only have 6 months or so remaining. The only positive news to come from this fire drill is that my Thursday blog is now complete and I will have it in the mail by the 2 A.M. mail pick up.  Now, back to sleep.

I’ve never had a history of substance abuse.  My conviction relates to my career as a securities broker and has no relationship to drugs whatsoever.  Nevertheless, during my seventh month in Taft Prison Camp, I was paged to report to the Control Center. Since I had never been paged to the Center before, I had no idea what to expect.  In fact, I was busy writing in one of the quiet rooms since 5:30 in the morning, so I didn’t even hear the page at 7:00 A.M.  Fortunately, other inmates told me that I had been called.

I walked from my housing unit toward the Control Center with a little anxiety running through me.  I had no idea why I was being paged but I sensed that the experience was not going to be pleasant.  When I showed up at the glass-enclosed office, I presented my prison identification to the officer and said that I was responding to the page.

“I called you four times” the officer said. “What were you doing, hiding?”

I explained that I was in one of the quiet rooms and didn’t hear my name over the loudspeaker.  He told me I had been selected to provide a urine sample.  I felt humiliated.

Later, I learned that policy requires camp administrators to provide random urine tests to approximately 10% of the camp population each month. and I was among those selected on that day.  When an inmate is called for this test, he has a time allotment of  two hours to provide the sample.  If he fails to provide the urine sample within the two hour time allotment, policy requires staff to issue a disciplinary infraction of the highest severity.  That infraction brings an automatic sanction of at least 60 days in segregation, a loss of good time, and a transfer to a higher security prison.  That’s why anyone who is called for a urine test in prison should immediately set his stop watch and keep a close eye on the seconds ticking away.  Some guards allow the prisoner to drink water; others do not.  Either way, the prisoner best watch the time cosely, and do whatever is necesary to squeeze out a vial of pee within the 2-hour period allotment.

Although I was a bit disturbed to have been called for the test in the first plae, I was glad the guard called me when he did.  It just so happened that I was ready to use the bathroom at that moment.  God forbid that I had urinated before the page.  Once the guard notifiees an inmate of a urine test, the clock starts ticking.

Providing a sample was not going to be a problem.  I was escorted into a bathroom where I was required to wash my hands with water. Ironically, I was prohibited from using soap.  Once he saw me rinse my hands he handed me a small tube and instructed me to fill it up.  I performed like a stallion.  He took the tube, then commenced to filling out the paperwork.  After all was signed and sealed, he sent my urine off to the lab.

I shouldn’t have any worries about the test results as I’m not a drug abuser.  Nevertheless, I am a prisoner.  Somehow, despite my not using drugs, I have some anxieties about mistakes in the lab, or some other complication.  This is the life I’ve been getting used to, though I do look forward to my return to normalcy.

It’s Tuesday, the 4th, at 4:45 A.M.   This is a wonderful time of day because 95% of the inmates are sleeping. I enjoy gathering my thoughts in peace and preparing for the day ahead.

Today our Nation will elect our next President.  Recently I shared my thoughts on why I  hope Obama wins.  I admire and respect McCain but it’s apparent it’s time for change. I plan to watch the election with two of my closest friends here, Michael Santos and David Muniz.  We’ve had a huge meal prepared in anticipation of this potentially historic day.  We’re going to share a pizza, two huge burritos and an even larger chicken enchalada.  I’ve worked extra hard on the track today to prepare for the couple thousand calories I intend to consume.

With the food in place, our next task was making sure there would be proper election coverage. The large television room features three large televisions and I really enjoy them. I’m considering employing a similar strategy in my living room once I return home.  Negotiations were tough, but at the end of the day all 3 TVs will cover the election.  No football today! It was an 11th hour deal and I think both sides are happy.  I must admit that I’ve spent less time negotiating business deals.  With Michael and David by my side, I intend to enjoy countless hours of political coverage.

Michael and David are in prison for non-violent drug offenses.  Michael is 22 years into a 25 year sentence and David is 3 years into an 11 year sentence. It’s a bit ironic that two of my closest friends here are drug offenders.  I read somewhere that people tend to associate with people with whom they have the most in common.  My upbringing pretty much confirms this theory.  Most of my friends were white and middle to upper class. I only have one friend at Taft who fits that description. Prison camp is one of few environments where such a dichotomy can exist.  There are no social norms here. Maybe in higher society prisons, but not at Taft. 

Mike and David went out of their way to ease my transition to prison.  They provided many of the things I lacked upon entering the compound. Within hours I had food, toiletries and clothes.  David even woke me up my first night at 3 A.M. to give me a better mattress.  Another inmate had recently left and David wanted to make sure I was comfortable. I’d only known them for 12 hours and they went out of their way to help.  As we were exchanging mattresses, I wondered when I had last gone out of my way for someone and I realized it had been a while. These men are honest and admirable; they never lie and tell it ilke it is. Their approach is refreshing and it mirrors the way I want to live my life.  This is not a bet I would have made 6 months ago when my confiinement began.

At mail call today, which is typically at 3:00 P.M., I received a letter from a friend I played baseball with in college.  We hadn’t spoken much since graduating together in 1997.  We promised to stay in touch despite going in different directions.  I went directly into the world of finance while he went to business school. Well, you know how the story goes.  The first year or two we spoke a hundred times and by year three all communication had ended.

Without going into detail, my friend applauded my efforts in attempting to rebuild my life from this ordeal.  For a brief moment I wondered how he knew about the ordeal” when I quickly remembered that I elected to write about my life from prison camp and post it on the internet.  It’s a little scary to write about delicate topics.  Personally, let alone publicly, it’s not a simple task to discuss my family, crime, friends, beliefs, etc.  I’ve often laid in my bunk and asked myself, “Who the hell cares about my prison experience?” The world appears to be crashing and I’m writing about how many phone minutes I receive each month.  Once I settle down, I remind myself that this blog can and should help others prepare for their journey through the criminal justice system.  I’ve been through far too much to not do something because others may question me or disagree.  I derive great satisfaction in helping others prepare for the “battle of a life time” (as one of my attorneys so aptly phrased it).  Anyone who encounters the system should understand that life doesn’t end with indictment, conviction and ultimate sentence.  I failed miserably while preparing for prison.  I had no one to guide me and, in retrospect, I would have paid thousands of dollars to know what I know now.

Attorneys are somewhat helpful, but they’re not felons.  My criminal attorneys went above and beyond in representing me, but they certainly couldn’t tell me what I needed to know  What will my life be like today, tomorrow and next year due to a felony conviction?  I will help answer these questions as I move forward with my daily postings.  I’m convinced now more than ever that my efforts will do more good than harm.