Prison Camp: Daily Life
A White-Collar Journal forum for criminal justice, lived experience, and the personal search for redemption
The following is another profile from my prison memoir, A Muddled Brotherhood, a collection of portraits of the men with whom I served my sentence in a federal prison camp. I call him the Walker because I can’t remember his name.
THE WALKER
He was an old man, a long termer who served in several federal prisons before arriving in our camp. He arrived with a checkered reputation: some said he was a lifetime criminal, stole from his mother-in-law and others said he was a Vietnam vet and an honorable medal winner. He evoked neither. Quiet and unassuming, he was a slight man with thin spindly hair pacing the halls at all hours of the day with a set of rosary beads in hand. He’d offer fruit to new arrivals pretending they were a gift but over time he’d request a favor or something from the commissary in return. Other inmates chastised him, openly cursed him. But he never responded, he just kept walking the hallway from the dorm down to the kitchen and back over and over again. Occasionally a corrections officer would scold him and he’d go out to the track carrying the same set of rosary beads and continue with a frenetic pace, as if holding back a desire to run.
He was deferential to me, offering “Good Mornings” passing in the hall. I asked him about the fruit for the new arrivals and he got very upset. He said he never asked for anything from anyone. Than he showed me his locker. It was empty of any food or snacks or anything from the commissary. Only his clothes and a broken radio. I never did come to a decision about him. He was still walking the halls when I was released. He was the last inmate I saw when I walked out the door.
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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