Prison Camp: The Guards Who Stay
A White-Collar Journal forum for criminal justice, lived experience, and the personal search for redemption
The following is an excerpt from my manuscript, Portraits from Prison, a collection of inmates and guards with whom I served. These are two more guards who left an imprint.
Inmates troll the guards: “They never get to leave.”
CICERO
Cicero, the kitchen CO, was about fifty-five, heavyset, bearded, and carried an overall sloppy appearance. It was rumored he was recently estranged from his wife and living in his car—a dated, beat-up Honda sedan. His primary responsibility was supervising the morning kitchen shift.
He was wildly inconsistent. One minute he’d castigate inmates for tiny infractions; the next he’d be cooking eggs for the kitchen staff.
But there was something about him that suggested more potential than most COs. I’m not sure why—maybe it was his name. I couldn’t escape the historic weight of it. I never had a problem with him. I went out of my way to avoid missteps, always showing up on time and completing my shift exactly as prescribed by the handbook.
On Christmas Day, he showed up wearing a Santa Claus hat, wished everyone a Merry Christmas, and allowed late arrivals to be served. Until then, late arrivals were summarily turned away. It confirmed my suspicion that there was a little more to him than we thought.
For a period, he was assigned night duty, manning the guard station for the entire dorm and presiding over the ten-o’clock count. He did it for several weeks without incident. Then one night he called out an inmate for talking during count. The inmate challenged him and wouldn’t back down until Cicero threatened him with a stint in the Shoe.
After that, Cicero changed.
He seemed to take it personally. He insisted every inmate carry ID at all times—something rarely enforced—and he began closing meal service before everyone could be served. He became a regular grump, a hard-ass, for the remainder of my time there.
The scars all showed up at once.
When he signed me out for release, his face was tight with anger. He barely scribbled his name on the form. I still think about him. There’s just a lot to that name: Cicero.
THE MARINE
Silva, the PM kitchen CO, was Black, in his early forties, a former Marine, and always dressed in an impeccably pressed uniform. He was the most professional guard at the camp.
He was no-nonsense, but never personal about it. Cut-and-dry, but fair. You never felt he was out to get anyone. Of all the guards, he was the most respected.
He made everyone toe the line—shirts tucked in, no food leaving the kitchen, no lingering over meals. He often conducted the four-o’clock count, and his was by far the most efficient. Just before entering the dorm he’d holler, “Counting,” in a loud, sergeant-like voice, then move through faster than any other guard. So fast it didn’t seem possible he was actually counting everyone.
An inmate named Lumi once told me Silva just counted the empty bunks. I don’t know if that was true. I doubt Silva would have shared his technique with an inmate. But it made sense.
When he signed me out for release, he shook my hand—the only CO who did.
“Good luck, DiMenna,” he said.
He didn’t smile. I don’t think I ever saw him smile. But it was as close to one as I ever got.
After months of supervision, I looked inward. From my journal:
THE PRISONER
I am in prison.
I am a prisoner.
I am a criminal.
I am an inmate.
Do I know who
I am
anymore.
The skinny man in
the mirror;
The uniform of
greens.
Numbers on my shirt:
255080014.
Whatever happened to
me.
I used to know
him;
Or maybe I
didn’t.
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
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.
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The contrast between these two guards really captures how institutional pressures shape people diferently. Cicero's transformation after getting challenged shows how one incident can harden someone who mightve had more nuance, while Silva mantained professionalism without getting personal. That inmates joke about guards never leaving is darker than it sounds because it suggests the institution traps everyone in different ways. The poem at the end makes that connection explicit.