Prison Camp: New Years Day
A White-Collar Journal forum for criminal justice, lived experience, and the personal search for redemption
These journal entries were written one year apart, both on New Year’s Day, while I was incarcerated. They haven’t been revised for content—only lightly edited for clarity.
I’m posting them together because prison doesn’t mark time the way the outside world does.
Sometimes the only way to feel the passage of a year is to look backward.
New Year’s Day
January 1, 2019
Not a great day. Not that I expected one. It was simply worse than average, by prison standards.
My glasses broke. I was scheduled to have the day off, but the kitchen was short-handed. I didn’t mind—anything to fill the time. Still, it was a madhouse. On holidays they serve one large meal in a single sitting, which means chaos: men standing shoulder to shoulder, trays balanced in their hands, waiting for seats to open. I ended up eating after everyone else had been served and had about five minutes to finish. The food was actually good. But eating that fast left me uncomfortably full, unable to finish, and vaguely sick.
I did manage to get a walk in beforehand. It had rained overnight, but the temperature had warmed and the sky was clearing. As I walked, the sun rose slowly behind the trees that ring the compound. Gray clouds pulled back to reveal patches of blue, streaked with red, the sun just peeking through the horizon. For a moment, it felt almost peaceful.
I spoke with Lynn afterward. She wasn’t in a good place and wanted to go over our bills—probably not the best idea for New Year’s Day. It didn’t go smoothly, and we spent the entire call buried in numbers. I could tell she felt bad about it. I should have suggested we do it another day. I thought that if we got through everything, she’d feel better. We didn’t finish, and I think it only left her more stressed and more distant.
The library was open, which should have been a relief. Instead, three Spanish inmates came in and talked nonstop. They spoke loudly and exclusively in Spanish, which somehow made it even more distracting.
Some days are worse than others. Today was one of them.
Some New Year’s.
New Year’s Day
January 1, 2020
This is my second New Year’s Day in prison.
I reread my entry from last year. It recorded a miserable day—for both Lynn and me. This year wasn’t much better on my end: five hours working in the kitchen. The difference was that I expected it. I was prepared.
Lynn’s day, thankfully, was better. She spent New Year’s Eve with friends and today had lunch with a performer from Palm Beach, which went well. We spoke late, and she was in a noticeably better frame of mind. Still, she had been dealing with some difficult conversations with Meredith, our daughter, who seems unsettled—having recently quit her job and searching for a new direction.
I received only one email today, from my friend Bill Fox. No one else. It’s a sad but unavoidable truth that as time passes, inmates become increasingly forgotten.
I’m also trying—without much success—to prepare myself for disappointment regarding my appeal. The signs aren’t encouraging: delayed responses from everyone involved—the attorneys, the court, the government. We still owe $32,000 to our current attorney, who has been distant and disengaged. My problem is that I’m terrible at managing expectations. My DNA seems programmed for unrealistic hope and denial—a family trait few of us have escaped. Even as I write this, I’m more hopeful than the facts justify, given everything I know and everything that has happened so far.
To counter that tendency, I plan to write goals for 2020 tomorrow—assuming I’ll still be here for at least the next two years.
When asked how he survived prison, Nelson Mandela once said that he didn’t survive prison—he planned in prison.
I haven’t figured out my plan yet.
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.
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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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.
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