Quote from satchel:
You are a great writer, at least write more on your blog or maybe a new book.
Thanks.
Thank you. Getting my stuff out of there on my last day is a story in and of itself. So, you have to go to the mail room and get a property form, which is vetted inside and out. But in order to ship stuff out, you have to buy a box from the commissary.
Well, the commissary was always out of boxes. You go to the commissary once per week. They were out of boxes seven (7) weeks in a row, so nothing could be shipped out. Well, finally my cellie comes back one week and got a box. So, he ships his stuff out from the mail room. The very next day, a guy gets killed in front of our unit, and we are looking out the door at the scene from inside, all captured on videotape.
A week later, we have mail call around 4:30 pm. My cellie gets all of his Food Network magazines back because the mailing labels were still on the magazines. Everything else he shipped out was lost forever because they had torn his box apart after it had been sealed, thinking that he might have included incriminating evidence regarding the killing.
So, here I have this shit in my locker, about fifty pounds of research accumulated over five years. No way was I shipping it out now. Unfortunately, I had to dump a whole year's worth because it included football (gambling) stats, which is verboten, and I got a visit from SIS because another inmate befriended me and wanted help with his picks (yet another rat). Mind you, this material had survived hundreds of shakedowns because the guards were more interested in shanks, booze, and drugs. And the inmates were interested in what you hauled back from commissary, e.g., new sneakers or headphones. Nobody gave a shit about the paper, unless it was a betting ticket.
My last day, thank the Lord, was June 11th. I stuffed everything into my commissary bag and hoped for the best. Stripped out for the last time, and then it came time to transfer everything into a canvas duffle bag. What did they do? Easy, it was too much shit to go through, and so I staggered out of there intact to greet my family, 2025 days since I walked in that door.
Thank you for the kind words.
Mark