MONEY LAUNDERER by Kenneth Rijock
What is life like in a Federal Prison for inmates doing time for financial crime? Perhaps a snapshot of the daily routine I experienced will give you a feeling for the utter boredom of living a life where each month is mindlessly endured, day after day, and then triumphantly checked off on some tiny calendar kept somewhere, as the inmate tries to measure progress in what feels like an infinitely long stretch. Of course, I cannot hope to do more than give you the flavour of imprisonment, and more than watching a war movie will let you feel what it is like to really be on the receiving end of a rocket attack, but I trust that this will show you the futility of it all, of marking time in a place you don't want to be, with roommates you could do without, in an institutional system you profoundly dislike, as a defrocked professional in a sea of drug offenders.
The typical day, during the work-week generally followed a dreary pattern. Since I was in a minimum security camp, now closed, which served to supply work cadre for the surrounding Eglin Air Force Base, all able-bodied persons were expected to labor for the famed eleven cents per hour the United States Bureau of Prisons doles out. This is, of course, a slight income drop for those white-collar inmates who were taking down millions of dollars per year as fraudsters. Here goes:
- Wake-up comes early in a correctional facility, because part of punishment is adhering to a strict regimen of boring work performed on a schedule that I can only equate with that which our military still follows. We arose before dawn; being ex-military myself, I knew to get up before the crowd, whilst many were still sleeping, shave, dress and get over to the "mess hall," or dining hall, to avoid a long wait. the added benefit was that one actually had a bit of prized free time before the morning work detail.
- Eglin AFB actually sits on an estuary of the Gulf of Mexico, though it is called a bayou, due to the fact that it was passed back and forth between the European colonial powers before American independence. The dormitory I lived in looked much like those I lived in during my Army years; double-decked bunk beds, with very small desks and personal spaces between them with dividers, to give the illusion of privacy in a place where there was none.
- We wore what looked like out-of-style air force blue work clothes; since many federal facilities dressed their inmates in unmarked US Army Khaki uniforms, I assumed that the clothing issued to me was an older version of air force fatigues. The drab uniform bothered inmates used to more colourful and expensive garb,and some complained about it as demeaning, but they failed to understand the clothes were just part of the punishment.
- Any way, off to a work detail early in the morning after an institutional breakfast not really designed to enthrall you, just fill you up. The mess hall was commanded by a retired air force non-commissioned officer who knew his business, was a non-nonsense type, but a basically benevolent soul. Many inmates would seek to work in the kitchen, because it gave them a measure of separation from the ever-present prison guards, as well as the jobs were in the camp, relieving them of the commute to a work detail on the air force base.
- My first job was at the Education Centre, teaching mathematics to inmates who had not had time to acquire a high school diploma during their careers in crime. I found out, to my amazement, that one-quarter of the inmates did not have diplomas. So much for the television-inspired urban legends of brilliant criminal matching wits at every turn with law enforcement agents, and winning time and time again; One more illusion shattered. Many of these guys had left high school to traffic in narcotics and Bureau of Prisons regulations demanded that they further their education through a preparatory course designed to assist them in passing the high school equivalence exam.
- There was an inmate working there with me, very young, with a horrible attitude. I later found out that his girlfriend had bothered him for several months to get her a large amount of cocaine, and when he did so, he was immediately arrested. Apparently, she had been busted many months before for drugs, and the DEA had set her up to entrap him into criminal activity, because his father had a history of drug trafficking. the son was not involved, but when he did finally give in to her wishes, and obtain some drugs, he got the surprise of his life, the discovery that she was only in a relationship with him for the purpose of busting him. There are a lot of casualties in the war on drugs, and some are, by and large, bystanders caught up in the moment, and making bad decisions that really hurt later.
- One of our jobs at the education centre was processing new arrivals, to ascertain whether they required our test preparation services. The inmates were obligated to disclose their last civilian jobs. One small Colombian, just arrived from the medium-security prison in Tallahassee, listed " Chairman of the Board, City National Bank of Miami," I then remembered he was a major coffee grower and bank client who had defrauded the bank out of millions of dollars, collateralised by coffee plantations pledged to several lenders at the same time. His Miami lawyer, whom I had gone to law school with, and whose former wife was a Miss America, was also at Eglin. The Colombian was extremely bitter about his incarceration, having just spent a few years in the Federal Correctional Institution in Tallahassee, a depressing place where I would later be a guest. The Colombian, who was from an upper-class family in his country, felt he had absolutely no friends that he could trust. Much later, having served six years, and on parole, he would flee the United States to avoid relinquishing control of assets he owned in Central America. Last I head, he was living on his $50m estate in Colombia, thumbing his nose at the United States, but forever barred from returning under pain of arrest, and another term in prison, this time for bankruptcy fraud and escape.
I will continue with my typical work-day, together with profiles of the more interesting people I served time with, and what later became of them, in the next installment.
Next Week: More prison life and lore.
The facts and opinions stated in this article are those of the author and not those of World-Check. World-Check does not warrant the accuracy of any facts and opinions stated in this article, does not endorse them, and accepts no responsibility for them.
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