Prison Camp: Daily Life
A White-Collar Journal forum for criminal justice, lived experience, and the personal search for redemption
The following is another portrait 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. Bill and I were the oldest inmates in the camp, and there was more than age that we had in common.
THE OLD MEN
Bob and I were the oldest inmates in the camp, and both of us were in for financial malfeasance. Bob had a private investment company that was faltering, and he used the company’s funds for his personal use. The company’s principals discovered his misallocation of funds before he could complete the turnaround. He was arrested, plead guilty and was sentenced to twenty-four months. Then his wife left him, and his son, a lawyer in Boston, sided with his mother, and Bob entered prison abandoned. His sister and daughter still supported him and visited from time to time. He seemed to be managing it all, but I’m sure it was more than he let on. Everyone keeps their real feelings inside in prison. Steely is the pose to survive in prison.
There were many like Bob and me, all convincing ourselves that the misallocations were temporary, that no one would know, and that eventually all would be well. He didn’t edit his bio, like so many, including me. But he refused to believe that prison was the right decision for him.
“I could be helping that company now,” he insisted. “How does it serve the investors with the only guy who understands the company in jail?” he repeated often. Or some version of this.
Bob was always pitching the value of his release for the investors he had impacted. The company was still operating after his imprisonment. He believed that if he were released, he could navigate the company back to profitability and repay all the money his investors had lost.
“I did an analysis,” he said. “It makes no sense for the government to pay for the costs to imprison me when I could be out there repairing things. I could help them sell the company or some assets. I know I could make a difference.”
He even wrote a letter to the judge, saying this. But he never mailed it.
“Bob, no one gives a shit about your proposal,” I argued. “I know you don’t want to hear it. Everyone is angry at you. Same with me. They just want us to be punished. That’s the goal. It’s not what you want to hear. Me neither. But that’s the bottom line.”
“I know,” he persisted. “But it makes no sense.”
“It’s not about sense. And actually, it does make sense. People lost money because of us. They hate us. Makes a lot of sense.”
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
If you’re new to White-Collar Journal, you can read earlier chapters and essays on incarceration, justice, and reentry at whitecollarjournal.com.
Thank you for reading White-Collar Journal. Subscribing is free, and I hope you’ll continue with me as I explore stories of incarceration, justice, and redemption.
If this piece resonated with you, consider sharing it or leaving a comment. To support this work and help spread awareness about justice reform for white-collar defendants, subscribe to White-Collar Journal and stay connected. John DiMenna is a member of the White Collar Support Group.
To leave a comment, Substack may ask you to verify your email address (a one-time step to prevent spam). You don’t need to subscribe or create an account. Just check your inbox for a one-time link.