Prison Journal #1 Tales from the SHU
- mainemoviepirate
- Jun 23
- 2 min read
Updated: Jun 24
6-23-21 Day 1: Arrived in the afternoon. Put 200 bucks on my “books”, said goodbye to Mom and I was off to Intake. They took my leg and I was sent to Quarantine for 14 days in the SHU (Special Housing Unit). I went in a wheelchair; a large guard who pushed me from Intake to the SHU was decent to me, but when we passed two pretty admin type girls, he said: “Kingpin,” and they both laughed. (Note: Oh, boy, at the time I was thinking: is this what my five-year experience was going to be like?) They said I should get my leg back at some point. Met my cellmate, E; he seems cool and was very informative about all things prison. He was on the back end of a 25-year sentence. Ouch. Rough day, saying goodbye to a world, but Day 1 was done. I just already miss my family, MyTrina, the puppies, PBird, and my old life.
Notes for Day 1:
Four years later, I look back at that first day with bittersweet melancholy. The night before, we stayed in a hotel near the prison in Ayer, Massachusetts, and I was in a deep, dark hole of despair. For the first time, I felt I should have tried harder to beat these charges. This journal, as you'll see in future entries, will delve into my thoughts on copyright law and my belief that the system is broken—theories I was still forming even as I entered prison.
The experience of reporting to prison at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, with my many pre-existing conditions, was surreal. It seemed the U.S. government was determined to incarcerate me. As the coming months will reveal, the Bureau of Prisons (BOP) struggled to handle the pandemic, though perhaps, being a once-in-a-lifetime (hopefully) event, they did their best. Still…
My artificial leg was immediately confiscated, deemed a potential weapon. While I understood their caution for an unknown inmate, even some guards expressed confusion that I, a medical inmate, was placed in the SHU—"The Hole," typically reserved for murderers, rapists, and other "problem kids." They debated briefly, but into the hole I went.
Perhaps the worst punishment of the SHU was the sheer lack of everything. As someone who had kept a journal since age 12, being given nothing was a stark reality. Thankfully, 'E' supplied me with a kindergarten-style pencil, and I began chronicling my days on the margins of the prison handbook. It worked. A writer writes… always.
Day One was down. Only 1550 more days to go. Or so I thought…..
