MONEY LAUNDERER by Kenneth Rijock
I was returned to the Federal Prison Camp at Eglin Air Force Base, in northwest Florida, where I had begun my incarceration, because it was my permanent assignment. With less than six months to go before my release, things were looking up, although my future was cloudy. I had no law license, wife had divorced me, and I knew that I would certainly be shunned in Miami by the professionals and bankers who had worked with, or against, me for twenty years, but the prospect of freedom seemed to push all those concerns to the back of my mind. Fortunately, one of the lawyers who had represented me offered me a paralegal assistant job, so I did have some sort of "release plan," as the Bureau of Prisons called it. Beyond that, I had no clue what the future would bring.
- Not wishing to be sent again out on the Air Base early each morning, as work cadre, I requested that the US Marshal's Service recognise that I had made some enemies by being available to testify, and that I should not be exposed by leaving the prison camp to work under limited supervision. I didn't believe that I was in danger, but it was prudent to reduce the risk that someone might be looking for me.
- Thus, a word was passed to the prison to the effect that I should not be allowed out of the camp, for reasons of my personal security. I was then detailed to in-camp landscaping chores, which involves maintenance of the facility's grounds, and is a low-level work detail. This assignment meant that I was not to be one of the camp's many commuters to the base, and I had additional free time with which to ponder my future, whatever that was to be. Spring was coming, and my journey through the federal prison system was shortly to end.
- Several of the inmates asked me whether I had successfully obtained a sentence reduction, and there was the usual jealousy, as most of the people there were not to be released that year. Many had five-year minimum mandatory sentences, or more, to serve. Though the "residents" of Eglin FPC were placed there because they had either originally testified against others, or had minor criminal roles, the misguided macho attitude, to refuse to assist the US Government, was the mind-set of the day. It is strange how people who hold the key to their own release can be too stubborn to use it to open that door. Perhaps that anti-social stubbornness was what got them in trouble in the first place.
- I didn't get a furlough, the all-day, and even overnight, releases promised to all well-behaved federal inmates during their last two years in custody. This is a tool used by corrections to keep prisoners in line; they know that if they do not follow prison regulations, this carrot will be denied them. Since I was in county jails for many months, there was insufficient time to process a furlough. Somehow, I wasn't surprised, nor unhappy, that they were not about to give me any privileges. If you do not expect anything, you are not sad when it fails to arrive. Though it would have been nice to see even a few hours of freedom, I had seen as much of North Florida as I wanted to see. It also might have have been difficult to return to prison once out the door for a few hours. That is why I declined the usual one-week R & R when I served in the Army in Vietnam & Cambodia during the war. Why take a week off when you have to go back?
- The corrections counselor asked me if I wanted to be released two months early, to stay at a half-way house in Miami's inner city area. I knew that the facility, where you were required to return to each night, after work, was in a bad part of tow, and it had no security. There were a number of bullet holes on the outside of the structure, as evidence of the quality of life in the neighborhood. Not a place for me; I therefore refused that so-called privilege, for I wanted to be released from prison without any conditions. Inmates call it "going to the door," meaning unconditional release.
- I kept marking off the days to my release, for I was so much looking forward to spending time with my little son, my only child at that time, who was then five years old. I was fortunate that he was a small child, and had escaped the shame and peer problems that often occurred when a parent went to jail, leaving them without a major part of their support system.
- It was a lot like the final days in the military, for one door was closing, one that you were glad to pass through, en route to hopefully something better. Difficult life experiences do confer a certain amount of wisdom, though at a high cost. They do separate us from those more fortunate, who do not have to endure tough times, and they do mold us for what awaits us down the road.
Next week: release day arrives, and my world changes once again.
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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