Chapter 14
Inside Looking Out As I sat in the back seat of the Ford Crown Victoria my hands were growing numb behind my back. The cuffs were too tight and had cut off my circulation as I could feel my heartbeat throbbing in my fingers. "Can you loosen these cuffs just a bit?" I asked. "Stop your whining, we're almost there". came the reply from the U.S. Marshal behind the wheel.
I looked
out the window and saw the Miami Metro Zoo entrance on S.W. 252 Street, and less than two minutes later we were at the gates of the Miami Metro Correctional Center, affectionately known as "MCC'" by it's some 800 residents and as "the country club" by it's veterans roaming free again on the streets.
There was no mistaking the place as a prison from the outside by it's twelve foot high double perimeter chain-link fences topped with neverending spirals of razor wire.
But what most caught my attention
was just how close I had lived to this place and never even knew it was here. Indeed my condo at the Kenlands was only about three miles away.
I was hustled out of the car by the two Marshals who ushered me inside as I hobbled along in both leg and handcuffs, both of which I thought were extreme overkill for anyone but the most violent people on Earth. Soon I was between a double-door entrance and a closed circuit TV announce our arrival.
I was duly delivered to the intake staff at MCC complete with
paperwork and the Marshals were gone in less than five minutes after removing my shackles and placing me in a small holding cell. 299
A huge black man appeared in front of me and barked "Get naked!" "What?" I asked in disbelief. "Are you stupid or just hard of hearing?" he retorted. This was not going well and fear entered the room. I was still in shock of the mere fact that after years of schooling, hard work, and volunteer work, I was headed to prison, and this "Get Naked" thing just pushed the envelope to the extreme for me. "Why do you want me naked?" was all I could say.
Just then a woman wearing rubber gloves
walked into view in front of the cell that was walled off on three sides. "All 300
new prisoners are stripped searched for drugs and weapons" she said matter-of-factly.
Although I had neither, her explanation made sense to
me and decided I would get naked as soon as she left the area.
The
problem is, she just stood there chewing her gum with her arms crossed. "I haven't got all day" she remarked.
I was hoping King Kong would
return but he didn't so I slowly started stripping my clothes off in front of a strange woman in her 30s. I got all the way down to my undershorts and thought that would be sufficient. "The skiwies have to go too" she remarked, with a grin that suggested she enjoyed the embarrassment she was causing me. When I hesitated she looked at me and said "Look mister, I see dozens of swinging dicks and assholes everyday, so unless you've got something real special in those drawers, I promise I won't be too impressed". Not really comfortable with the situation, but not wanting to create a problem my first day in prison, I dropped by undershorts to the floor. "Your mamma must have been feeding you vitamins kiddo" was her response.
She then ran me through a two minute drill that had me running my fingers through my hair, looking in my mouth, between my toes, and then asked me to turn around, bend over, and spread the cheeks of my butt to her. I never felt so humiliated in my life and let her know it. "Is this your first time to prison?" she asked "Yes ma'am".
"Well you better get used to this
because you'll go through this same routine every time you get a visit, leave the compound, or go to court. Now hurry up and spread those cheeks for me so we can get this over with." I complied reluctantly with a frown.
Apparently some veteran prisoners going back to prison pack
their rectums with balloons full of drugs to be smuggled inside and sold for hefty profits. The fact that I had zero history of drug use didn't seem to 301
make any difference to anyone. In prison, it seemed, everyone was treated equally like cattle whether you robbed a bank, raped someone, or was convicted of bribery.
This i s the front entrance to MCC Miami which is now called FCI Miami
After the search I was given an allowance of clothing to last a week which is to say, two pairs of boxer shorts, two tee shirts, two pairs of socks, a pair of blue sneakers and an flaming orange jump suit. For someone who changed socks and underwear on a daily basis, the idea of having to make all this last a week was pretty repulsive to me. The woman must have been reading my mind and offered some relief "There's a washer and dryer in every unit".
Within the next hour, I was photographed and fingerprinted and told to wait for a nurse. Two hours later the nurse appeared to screen me for a number of diseases ranging from Hepatitis, to TB and HIV. She took a small blood and urine sample. "You'll be held in E unit until all your test results come back.
If there are no problems, you'll be released into 302
general population." I knew I was healthy, and didn't like the fact that I would have to be held in a unit that was generally a quarantine unit where God knows what diseases where floating through the air.
Indeed, when I
arrived to E unit, I met not one but two guys who admitted they lived permanently in E unit because they had TB! There were about eighty men housed in E unit - two per cell and a large common area in the center occupied by ten or so stainless steel tables and benches for feeding and card-playing. So the days went very slow in E unit and I avoided contact with most everyone and used the rest rooms with great caution, being sure not to have skin contact with any common surface.
The constant sneezing,
coughing, and spitting of flem in this unit kept me in my cell most of the day. I don't suffer from a germ phobia, but this unit would make any health care professional cringe especially since no disinfecting was done at all in the unit.
The only cleaning was a sweeping and mopping of the floor twice a
day. I managed to locate a can of clorox cleanser and used it to scrub the dickens out of the sink and toilet in my cell, the only one I'd use from then on.
But fortunately after about ten days, my name was called and I was told to gather
my clothing because I was being released to general
population. I was elated. As I approached the door, the guard simply said, find your way to B unit and report into the unit guard there. They know you're coming. When he opened the door, I was amazed by what I saw and for a brief moment, felt like Dorothy must have felt when she awoke in the land of Oz.
Before my eyes, I saw nothing that looked like a
prison. There was a big circular lake surrounded by a walkway with what looked like very modern townhomes placed about fifty yards back from the lake. I didn't see any bars nor guards. What I did see was dozens of 303
prisoners in their orange suits strolling about the compound chatting. Some were sitting at benches playing chess or backgammon.
The
landscaping was incredible with palms and other tropical trees swaying in the breeze. In the distance I could ee some prisoners
playing soccer
on a regulation size field, and others lifting weights in an area well stocked with exercise equipment.
I had to look real hard to see the perimeter fences I saw when I first arrived to MCC Miami. I Iooked for the guard towers that you always see in the movies but found none. groomed park
or
day
camp.
This place looked
The
peaceful
occasionally interrupted with a brief announcement
like a well
environment
was
on a p.a. system
that certain prisoners should report to the visiting room, or a certain guard to call some extension.
My brain was having a hard time
believing what my eyes were seeing but in short order, many of my previous fears and anxiety began to evaporate. is deceiving
and quite disarming
Indeed, this facility
to any new arrivals. The lake and
benches made it almost look like a retreat or sanctuary. But the all male strollers dressed in orange brings one back to reality right quick.
After asking for directions from a prisoner, I found my way to B unit, and the unit guard asked me my name.
When I told him, he pulled
my jail card looked at my picture and asked me if I had any problems with blacks
or Hispanics?
"Not particularly
- why?"
I responded.
"Because we've got a full house here and I need to place you in a cell with either a black guy or a Latino, which do you prefer?" one doesn't smoke." was my choice.
"Whichever
I was placed in a cell with a guy
named R u i Martinez from Brazil, who at the time was not in the 304
cell.
I immediately n o t i c e d that this new cell was kept spotlessly
clean and the top bunk was empty. gets the top bunk.
In prison, the new guy always
I found the empty locker and unpacked. This 6 by
9 foot box would b e home for the
next eleven
months.
After
unpacking I went back to the guard in ignorance and asked "What am I supposed
to do now"?
He looked at me like I was either dumb or
crazy and replied, "It's Saturday man, do whatever you want. Just be sure you're back here in your cell by 4:00pm for count".
That gave
me just about two hours to kill so I decided I would explore the prison grounds and hope I didn't stroll into some restricted area.
The prison compound was about ten acres by my estimate with about three of that being wooded areas of pines and scrub.
Aside from the
five housing units there were some other large buildings which I soon discovered
included
administration
a
large
cafeteria,
public
building, security office, a visitor's
works
building,
building that was
bout 2,500 square feet, and education building, and something called a "segregation" building.
I was quickly chased away from the last one
by a guard who told me that building was off-limits.
I apologized a nd
explained
and wanted
it
was
my
first
day
and
there
no
problems.
I then discovered
there were six tennis courts and four handball
courts hidden behind C & D units. I walked by a few basketball courts and a baseball
field, which
were all in full use.
I was genuinely
impressed by the recreational facilities and decided that I would make use of the "weight shack"
the
area
where
all
the
barbells
and 305
exercise equipment
was
kept.
a
guard monitoring
the
activity.
a
radio, handcuffs, and pepper spray.
was in any danger here. behaved. mostly drug
Every
recreational
They
had
only
with
armed
But it didn't appear anyone
The prisoners were all tranquil and well-
This after all, was a federal prison and its occupants were
white- collar criminals - fraudsters, smugglers and
prosecuted criminals
were
facility
dealers.
embezzlers,
Violent
by the state which consequently
crimes
and lots of
were
mostly
inherited the violent
in their prisons. There were exceptions to be sure, but
those few were kept under scrutiny and often kept in a special unit I was told.
As
I
walked
compound to
where
prisoners
I
around the was
drawn
most
of
the
were
mingling
which was in front of the education
building.
I
glanced inside through one of the windows
and saw
rows and rows of bookcases and
small
classrooms
maybe twenty
chairs
Prisoners get 3-4 hours free time to read or pla y cards
of per class area.
The building was open and
prisoners were coming and going so I went inside to investigate.
I
was delighted to find a small library and was told by another prisoner that current reading material would have to be gotten from the mobile library that visited the prison once a County.
When
week,
compliments
of
Dade
I picked up a few magazines and saw dates that 306
were five years
old,
I knew what
he meant.
It was then that
discovered what would become my home away from home.
I
It was a
small library inside the library and when I walked into browse, it was by far the quietest spot at MCC. I was told it was The law books
wasn't
what
three IBM selectric typewriters.
caught
few to the bar association let me have a trial.
my attention,
I knew that I would
of letters trying to right the wrong
the
law library. but rather the
be writing
of my conviction
a lot
and maybe a
about Judge Hastings and his refusal to
Yes, these typewriters would come in handy so I
made sure to check the hours of availability for the law library before I left to continue my little expedition.
It was now 3:45pm and I noticed everyone was headed back to their units so I decided it would be prudent to do the same.
As I left the
education building, I spotted another building behind it that I didn't see before. Over a hundred prisoners were coming out of its door, so I had to ask about the building and one of its occupants told me it was "Unicor" which meant nothing to me. So I pried a little further and was told it was a prison factory where prisoners working for 30 cents an hour were making sheets and pillow cases for the U.S. military, veteran's hospitals, and other government agencies like FEMA and The Peace Corps.
Upon
hearing about UNICOR, I had to laugh to myself a bit. For just a few days earlier I was watching a news clip of President Reagan lambasting the Chinese government for
unfair trade policies claiming that China was
using cheap prison labor to manufacture goods at prices other countries couldn't compete with. Well at 30 cents an hour, I didn't see much difference between Chinese and American prison labor.
But these guys
here at MCC didn't seem to mind working the ten hour shifts. Most of the 307
UNICOR prisoners were from Latin America and enjoyed the extra spending money they were able to earn behind sewing machines.
Back at B unit I found my new cell and met Ruy Martinez, a jovial guy who wasted no time in taking me under his wing with a few tips to stay out of trouble and make time pass quicker. Ruy, it seemed was convicted as the master-mind behind the great Eastern Airlines drug ring that had been importing tons of cocaine from South American secreted the
structural
panels
of
inside
Eastern Airline jets. Apparently they were
successfully running this operation for ten years when someone slipped and got caught.
Nothing epitomizes the "weakest-link" theory more
than a drug ring. It only takes one careless or negligent person in the organization to bring everyone tumbling down.
Ruy was facing 25
years in prison but he wasn't sentenced yet. He showed me pictures of his family while we waited to be counted in our cells.
Twice a day the
prison staff would count all the prisoners to ensure nobody decided to leave. I didn't know it yet, but before I left MCC, I would get to watch two escape attempts, and watch a friend get caught in a third.
Counts
normally take about 30 minutes to complete as two or three teams of counters make their rounds and compare their tallies.
When they don't
match, Ruy told me counts could take as long as two hours.
After the count, Ruy told me that our unit would be released for dinner in a matter of minutes and all I needed to bring was an appetite, which by now I already had. Sure enough the guard hollered "Chow time!" and our unit emptied in an orderly fashion and I walked with Ruy to the cafeteria I had seen earlier.
The food was served in a buffet line,
and
I was
again,
I had to admit
impressed
with
not only the 308
selection
of decent food,
Prisoners themselves
but the cleanliness
of
the operation.
prepared and served the food, and it seemed
all the older Italian mobsters ran the kitchen. My first meal behind bars was roast beef, mashed potatoes, peas & carrots, a salad and some garlic bread. coffee.
To drink I had my choice of milk, tea, water, or
I had not eaten in over ten hours and I was famished.
well and again, couldn't get over the quality of this prison food.
I ate It was
about now I guess that I started convincing my se lf that eleven months here at MCC Miami might not be so difficult to handle after all.
Ruy
told me how lucky I was to have guidelines of 11-13 months and how most of the guys here would give
their
testicles
right
arms
and
to trade places with
me since they were facing ten years or more behind bars.
My plan for the next 11 months was to work out every day to keep my body in shape, avoid and all argument, and learn enough about law to overturn my conviction
The first case I would read abou t was
Strickland Vs. Washington the precedent case on “Ineffective Assistance of Counsel”. Over the next few months I would review over 300 cases, sometimes as many as 10 a day.
As it turned out, MCC Miami was not a real prison per se, but rather an intake facility, a processing center where prisoners pending trials, or awaiting
sentencing
temporary warehouse
were awaiting their day in court. of sorts.
It was a
Once sentenced they'd be shipped 309
out to a real prison to serve their time in harsher surroundings. State prisons were much worse, filth, and dangerously violent. Here at MCC Miiam there were no bars. Just heavy steel doors that locked us into our two man cells every night. Two man cells were relatively safe – you could not be attacked or gang raped like in other prisons where dormitory type house was the trend like you see below here.
If something happened to you in a two man cell your cellmate would be held accountable legally and charged with new crimes if you are injured. It was this false sense of security that would almost cost me my life. One does not expect to get raped or attacked in a federal prison where most of the prisoners are either drug smugglers or white collar criminals. So it easy to
310
be caught off guard here, and other minimum or even medium security facilities
As I said, most people do not serve sentences here at MCC Miami. But there were exceptions area and who
like myself - people who lived in the Miami
had very low guidelines
of less than 24 months.
Prisoners facing such little time could in fact serve their entire time at MCC Miami and these were first offenders like myself. In all there, must have been about two dozen of us that fell into this category. General Noriega would be another such exception. Yeah, Ruy and some others kept telling me how "lucky" I was.
But knowing I was innocent
of the crime I was convicted and now jailed for, I couldn't buy into the "Lucky" theory, no matter how hard I tried. Below is MCC Miami…
311
The following day I was assigned to a work detail in the kitchen and was told to report to Joe Kuhn the supervisor.
Joe was a decent,
down-to-earth guy who treated me and all the others with respect and dignity.
Never once did he ask me why I was in prison, and frankly, I
didn't think he cared.
He asked me if I'd rather work in the bakery,
wash pots and pans, or work on the serving line. I asked him what the difference w a s .
He pointed out that I'd have to be up at 5:00am to
work in the bakery but I could come in at 9:00am to do the pots and pans and leave whenever I finished. The serving line he told me paid only $19 a month and I'd get $38 if I did the pots and pans. I chose the pots and pans detail and Joe spent about 30 minutes showing me where all the cleaning fluids and scrub brushes were and where to put the clean pans when I was done with them.
It was a menial job, but it was in an air-
conditioned kitchen and I only had four hours of work a day, which gave me four more free hours than most everyone else.
But the hot chemical-
laden water was playing havoc with the skin on my hands which turned a weird shade of
hot pink from chemical burns.
Joe saw them and the
next day he brought be a think pair of rubber gloves and a jar of aloevera gel. Like I said, he was a real decent guy.
With those four extra hours every day, I started hanging out in the education building reading old magazines and preparing the drafts of the letters I needed to write to the Chief Judge, my congressman, and the American and Florida Bar Associations.
While spending this time in the
“ education” building, I made a strange and sad discovery. I had always assumed that when people were sent off to prison for their crimes, they would get counseling and some sort of rehabilitation or therapy to help them see the light so to speak.
But in reality, there was no such rehab 312
program in place and the only education going on in
the
education
building was teaching all the Latin American prisoners how to speak English. This made absolutely no sense to me especially considering that all these Latinos would be deported upon the completion of their sentences!
So some $300,000 a month in U.S. tax dollars were being
spent to teach foreigners how to speak English, knowing full well they could never become U.S. residents with American
citizens
who
were
jailed
their
convictions.
received
nothing
resembled counseling, job training, nor any classes.
All the that
even
I was floored by
this absence of rehab and soon realized that U.S. prisons were only warehousing
inmates even though the federal government was paying
MCC Miami $280 a day to house, feed, and provide rehabilitative services. By my calculations, this was a lot of money (about $200,000 per day) and I have no idea where all this money was going to. (Today’s costs are roughly $350 per day per prisoner) At MCC Miami, I learned that some private company was earning $79 a day per inmate for “educational servic es” yet I never saw any class being held. What I did see was a latin civilian male in his 30s handing out a pack of cigarettes to anyone who would sign an “attendance” sheet every day.
Someone was making a killng off of this
scheme but I could never find out the company name.
With no rehab, counseling, nor therapy, prisoners at MCC Miami just brewed anger and resentment at their predicaments and instead of looking for a way to better themselves for a new life upon their release, they used their prison stay as a means and opportunity to network with other criminals and share tips of their trade, especially those busted for drugs. Their hatred for the system that busted them and separated them from their families just grew by the day and many developed what I call the 313
"catch-up syndrome" which can be summarized as follows;
A drug
smuggler sentenced to fifteen years will upon his release revert back to smuggling with a vengeance in even bigger volumes to make up for all the lost time and income missed during their confinement period.
Their
prevalent attitude seemed to be "Us versus Them" and I soon concluded that America's federal prisons were doing nothing to stop crime - just postpone it for a few years. If only they did offer some job skill training and rehab to the prisoners, maybe half of them would abandon their lives of crime. It must serve some political purpose to keep our prisons full and far be it from me to guess what that may be. But I'd still like to know what they do with all those federal dollars though since there was no way that I was actually costing my keepers $280 every day.
Being exposed to so many criminals was a genuine learning experience for me.
The biggest thing I learned was that our government's "war on
drugs" was being fought on the wrong front. To the smugglers, they were just businessmen trying to satisfy a huge demand for consumer drugs. Instead of trying so hard to eradicate the shifting supply chain of drugs, perhaps more progress would be realized if we could reduce the demand for drugs on our streets. If the demand for drugs could be eliminated, the supply would dry up. I also learned that those involved in the drug trade all seemed to have inside help on a
major scale,
and the
dealers were even politically connected (i.e. Jorge Morales).
major
Many of
these guys had contingency plans in place and even expected a prison stay or two.
Take Renee Benitez for example. Once the head of the Cali cocaine cartel who
shot
a DEA agent who
dared to
hunt
him down
in 314
Colombia, Renee's prison stint was just a minor inconvenience as he continued to do business from behind bars using his attorney (Steve Finta) to deliver instructions by proxy for him. Renee would occasionally brag that "this was a very good month for us" and once mentioned to me that he was making about $30,000 a day.
So for those that believe that
prison is a definite deterrent to reoffend, I suggest they spend a few days talking with Benitez and dozens of others just like him. I would later learn from Rene that his partners in the free world was a corrupt FBI agent who used his lawyer as the messenger. Before I left MCC Miami, I would be introduced to the head of their criminal enterprise, and learn the shocking truth about the real drug problem in America.
Every call must be “collect”. Every word is recorded even to lawyers
My initial days in prison was mostly as an observer. Every aspect of prison life was fascinating to me. I met people who would die behind prison bars, and while some of them earned their way into prison, I was beginning to have serious doubts about others. I was shocked at just how many former government employees I was running into and not high-level corrupt officials, but rather lower level employees who either reported that sort of corruption, or leaked “irregularities:” to Congress or the news media. 315
Other federal prisons for women are also scattered around America and this photo show s a typical two per cell very similar to the one I shared with Ruy Martinez and later Rene Benitez, and then George Morales – when I was not in solitary confinement.
General Manuel Noriega of Panama would share some of the very same prison cells a s I did at MCC Miami less than 10 years after I left. I never dreamed I would meet hi s family nor accept hi s collect call s from pri son. In 1994-1996. Some of hi s former be st friends were also my friends, and our mutual enemies as it would turn out.
316
I guess what I really want to say about the prison system is that if they put all that money to work in social rehab programs, counseling and therapy, the system would make a positive impact on at least half of the prison population, and we'd all see a genuine drop in crime on the streets. I realize I wasn't sent to prison to analyze the system, but with all that time on my hands, I couldn't help myself. Sure, the food was great, the cells were clean, but the opportunity to change lives for the better was grossly neglected and lost.
Although I met some really nice prison staff members who treated me like a real human being (like Joe Kuhn, Oscar Solars, Mr. Browning, etc). too many of the staff have an authority complex that compels them to act in mean, cruel and provocative ways.
Although I talk about this in greater
detail in other chapters, let me suffice it to say now that many prison staff members actually think its part of their job description to antagonize prisoners in any way that can make their lives even more miserable.
For
example, I've seen guards assign prisoners to clean a latrine and rather than give them the proper brushes and mops that are readily available, they'll hand them a couple of toothbrushes. They weren't being punished for misconduct mind you, they were simply being antagonized, and when one of
the prisoners
balked,
he
was
promptly
sent
to
solitary
confinement for two weeks. These sort of attacks on their dignity are too common in prison and only serve to polarize that "Us versus Them" mentality.
If one were to evaluate prisons only by visual inspection, they would walk away just as impressed as I was 'during my first week at MCC Miami. But the quality of prison life is determined by the quality of its staff and 317
how that staff interacts with prisoners on a daily basis. Prisoners that are
passive
and
let themselves
be
subjected
to humiliations and
verbal/physical abuse without objection will certainly have a different opinion than I, but my father did not raise me to be abused by others, and whenever
I had the
strength,
I stood
my ground for what I
believed to be right, ethical, moral, and humane. It would cost me dearly, but I would never be ashamed of myself nor my conduct behind bars. Any resistance to the prison system, no matter how polite, formal, passive, or even correct is not tolerated --it is punished.
Therefore as
time would pass, I would endure two punishments - the sentence Judge Hastings ordered, and the extra 27 months decided
to
impose
upon
humane and civil I rights.
the
prison
system
me for what I thought was demanding I wo u ld la te r le a rn fro m a g ua rd
t ha t i t w a s p la nne d f ro m m y a r ri va l t ha t I c o uld no t be re le a se d unti l a fte r the 1 9 88 e lec tio ns , I ha d no c lue tha t
in
t hi s
fairly
tra nq ui l
p ri so n
camp,
s o me
s tra ng e rs wo uld try to rap e , d rug , a nd ki ll me . No r did I
t hi nk
f a c i li t y. a he a d
I
co uld
p o s si b ly
Ind e e d ,
lo oks
for
me
was
he ll
wi tne ss
ca n on
be
m ur d e rs de ce i vi ng .
E a rth.
in
such
Wha t
A cco rdi ng
to
a
lay my
s e nt e nc i ng g ui de l i ne s I w a s su ppo s ed t o b e r e le a sed w i t h in 11 - 1 3 m on t hs . I n re a l i t y I w o u ld be de t a i n ed i l l e g a l l y fo r 38 m on t hs .
Yes,
prison w a s
d e f i n i t e l y a learning experience
for me – in
fact, a life-changing one for which I am now actually grateful in a strange way.
I learned m or e about human behavi or
and frailties in the38
months of my confinement, than I did in all the remaining years of my 318
life. I also learned things about my government th at at times made me ashamed to be an American.
Overall, I now realize that without that
prison stay, I might still be just as naive, ignorant, and gullible as too many
of
my fellow Americans
suffering my mother and I endured,
remain
today.
Despite
all the
prison was enlightening for me.
Eventually I learned more about life and people in prison than I did at university. But the calm before any storm can be so cruelly assuring that I was not prepared for the coming test of my sanity.
© Copyright 1995-2014 By Bruce A. Gorcyca – All Rights Reserved
319
