Prison Camp: Daily Life
A White-Collar Journal forum for criminal justice, lived experience, and the personal search for redemption
THE GUARDS
The guards were a sorry lot. The pay was paltry, though the benefits, vacations, sick days, and pensions were probably generous. I included them here because they were, in some ways, as incarcerated as the inmates. Some were cruel, some aloof, and some were decent, but none were friends. Correction Officer was their official designation. Inmates called them COs or cops, or more often just obscenities.
THE COUNSELOR
Mr. Larkin, the Camp Counselor, was in his mid-forties, with a huge gut and a constant Cheshire-cat grin. He often dressed out of uniform in favor of Boston team outerwear. His low-key persona communicated a continual disinterest in almost everything other than leaving on time and inmates’ restitution payments—court-mandated fines—about which he was inflexible.
His office was a mess: half-filled file boxes on the floor, his desk cluttered, bookcases filled with tchotchkes in random order, crooked photos on the wall—a dog, a stained award certificate of some kind, a Bruins hockey player—empty fast-food cartons, and his phone always hanging off the corner of his desk.
When you arrived at his office, you were required to wait outside until he waved you in. He seemed to enjoy ignoring you for ten minutes or so while he addressed something on his desk. He always communicated that you were interrupting him or that it was not a good time to engage him.
He had a terrible memory, often forgetting what he had told you in prior meetings or conversations. I never saw him angry or laughing, never demonstrative about anything. At most, the grin would get a bit wider if something pleased him. When you asked him for or about anything, he would respond with a long pause and blank stare so that you had no clue about his reaction.
On one occasion, I was concerned that I might be sent to the Shoe (solitary) because of another inmate’s behavior. When I asked for his help, he told me he couldn’t intervene. He just stated, very matter-of-factly, “If they lock you up, they lock you up. They probably won’t. But I can’t do anything about it.”
A long pause followed. The grin returned, and I left his office. Fortunately, the matter was dropped, and I was never disciplined.
He seemed always to be either about to go on vacation or just returning from one. COs had many free days, comprised of vacation, sick days, personal days and whatever days. Mr. Larkin, it seemed, took advantage of every free day possible.
He had a special relationship with my friend Steve because of their common interest in dogs and Steve’s reputation as a trainer. Other than Steve, I never saw him relate to another inmate in a personal way. Maybe he would have called his way professional. It’s just that nothing about him evoked professional anything.
He was a fanatical sports fan of all the Boston teams. He alternated his outerwear among the Red Sox, Patriots, Bruins and Celtics. Only on Wednesdays, when senior staff came for lunch, or on special inspection days would he be in uniform.
On the day of my release, he had to sign some papers for me. There were no words or recognition of anything. He merely handed the release form back to me without a word. The same Cheshire cat grin I witnessed on the day of my arrival. In some ways, he was more impactful than the nasty COs. Something more personal about his bored, disconnected vibe that left you feeling even more exiled and ashamed than the COs’ who harassed us.
Up Next on White Collar Journal:
Wednesday (Justice Notes): Criminal Justice Reform
Thursday (Notes from Exisle): Log/Verse: Daily, fragmented reflections
Sunday (Prison Camp): More Stories from prison
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