The Prison Program Writing Project: Inaugural Submissions
Each month, PSJ will choose a writing theme and ask our members in prison to submit short written pieces. The best of these submissions will be posted on our website. We aim to engage our prisoner members at a deeper level in our work and to educate our broader community about the lives of Oregon prisoners.
For our inaugural submissions, we asked prisoners to write about a typical "day in the life." Most of the letters mentioned similar things: doors slamming shut, bad food, stale air, and the monotony of prison routine. But the prisoners also write about the pride that comes with having a job and the joy of receiving mail. The way they experience their lives behind bars is both informative and deeply poignant.
Please enjoy these submissions. Contact Erika or call 503-335-8449 with any questions.
A Day in the Life: Coffee Creek Correctional Facility
3 a.m.
Three to four doors slam open, echoing throughout the approximately 7,000 square foot unit. You wonder what woke you, then you hear talking and realize several people are on their way to have their urine tested for elicit or illegal drugs. Supposedly this is a random test.
Lying in bed, you try to get back to sleep. There are only a couple more hours of semi-quiet time before the place comes to life. In your 8 x 12-foot cell the gastrointestinal odors of you and your cell mate mingle with the methane from the p-trap-less drains outside your cell door, permeating the air and assaulting your olfactory senses.
Despite the corrections officer (CO) whistling at this un-godly hour and the urine-analysis victims slamming doors, you manage to doze off.
5:30 a.m.
Before the completion of a REM cycle, all 54 cell doors on the unit slam open and close, one at a time.
Have you ever been next to a railroad track when a freight train went by? That’s how 54 cell doors sound during a line movement. This is the beginning of a day in which every hour, three times an hour, until 10 p.m. this veritable freight train will rock your world and pound you psyche. If you are lucky, the noise won’t set off your post traumatic stress disorder or cause permanent hearing loss.
You dress in the same ol’ blue jeans, blue t-shirts, and sweatshirt you have three sets of and have worn every day for weeks. Or is it months? Years?
You use the toilet located three feet from your cellie’s head, or yours if you are on the bottom bunk. Grab your instant coffee, and inmate I.D.; a required part of your uniform to be worn at all times, except in the shower or when your sleeping. Wait for your remotely operated door to open again, accompanied by 53 other doors all contributing to the din.
Stumble out to the day room to wait for a breakfast of brown, brown, and more brown food, consisting of starch and carbohydrates.
6:15ish a.m.
Off to work.
10 a.m.
Break.
11:05
Count. You’re required to be “sitting upright on your bunk with your light on” while a CO walks by each cell, counting each inmate to reassure the powers that be that you’re still in DOC custody.
Lunch.
More work.
Exercise.
Shower.
4:30 p.m.
Count.
Dinner.
Socialize in the day room or hermitage in your cell.
0 p.m.
Day room closes. You’re locked down until 5:30 a.m. the next day.
Sleep if you can.
Repeat.
The necessity of brevity has curtailed further detail in regards to the sights, smells, sounds, and activities in this inmate’s daily life. Days are all the same, save minor changes in an individual’s schedule. Looking back over the years, it’s been one long, smelly, noisy, frustrating day.
You, if you are a free person, are lucky and should be thankful every moment you can choose to walk out your door.
A Day in the Life: Oregon State Penitentiary
I am a 38-year-old prisoner inside one of Oregon’s super maximum lock-down facilities called Intensive Management Unit. There are only two of these places in the state of Oregon—SRCI Ontario, and Oregon State Penitentiary (OSP). These living facilities are reserved for Oregon’s worst of the worst. I was just having a really bad hair day and someone else was having one like that, too, and we collided.
A typical day such as this day, June 10, 2010, runs pretty smoothly. We live in single cells about half the size of your bathroom. We eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner inside out bathrooms aka: living quarters. We get one hour out of out cells at a time designated by how many prisoners sign up for recreation and showers for he day. Lights are turned on at 5 a.m. and go off at 10 p.m., but a nightlight stays on around the clock.
Prisoners have a 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. rule out of respect for the next person’s mental state of mind because it can get pretty loud in here if everyone decides to talk at once. We get a radio once we prove that we will be good for two months. We get to order headphones once a year during X-mas time. That’s when all the fines are lifted. I owe about $400 for institutional misconduct reports supposedly.
Two officers come around to get you for recreation once it’s your turn to go. They have this tether like a dog’s leash connected to handcuffs that they place behind your back and lead you to the recreation cage and to the shower.
This place is not for the weak minded. If you can’t handle being alone and sitting in one place for hours at a time, you would not last here.
I would not wish this type of living conditions on my worst enemies. It seriously deprives you of the land of the living. I will not cry over spilled milk, but this environment is truly barbaric. You get program packets like anger management, personal responsibilities and what not, but nothing can seriously replace human contact.
We have controlled air, you smell everyone else’s gas that’s in your area. It’s not pleasant at times. You hear everyone’s conversations. Sometime I put one finger in my ear and my other ear on my pillow and read out loud to block out the noise. Once back in general population I will respect that.
I will have to learn to adjust to moving around other prisoners. I’ve been locked in super max since February 23, 2009. I wish this nightmare was over like yesterday. Intensive Management Unit is a dysfunctional society inside a prison. You’ve got to become dysfunctional in order to mentally survive. I feel for the prisoners forced to parole to the community from this dysfunctional environment. They will need to see a mental health specialist to deprogram.
Thank you for following this missive. Take care!
