By Tony Casson

Thanks to the research of my sister Kathy, I was able to read quite a bit about the Federal B.O.P. in general, and Oakdale in particular, before I ever walked through the front door.

The orientation book for Oakdale is available online and is chock full of information on how the prison can help you become a better person while you are inside and prepare you fro your life when you get out.

After reading all of the material, one is left with the impression that the healthcare is going to be great and that eye care and dental is provided at no cost. Great! I need new glasses, haven’t been to the dentist in forever, and I really could use a complete physical—I’m 56 and there have to be a few things in need of repair, right?

I also read that education opportunities exist, and this excites me! I’m an old dog, but I bet I can still learn some new tricks!

Furthermore, it is expected that each inmate—with the exception of those who are medically exempt or in a GED or vocational program—will “find a job”.

All in all, when you look these info books over, the place doesn’t sound so bad—for prison, of course.

Perception, it seems, is always slightly different from reality and the well-intentioned programs developed by highly paid bureaucrats sitting around massive, expensive, neatly polished conference tables, surrounded by pots of steaming, freshly brewed coffee, delicious pastries and fresh squeezed juices, with large staffs of well-meaning, but naïve junior bureaucrats are as far removed from life’s realities as that conference table is removed from the swamps of southwest Loozeeanna!

How are the programs not working?

Let’s look at medical—the “entrance exam” as it were.

New arrivals are “called out” to the hospital a few days after being placed in general population for a “physical exam”, which the official handbook calls “complete”.

I arrive at the appointed time, along with about 30 other people. We are called in about six at a time into a hallway that contains a few chairs and a couple of balance scales. We are told to weigh ourselves and remember the number. One of the two physician’s assistants (PAs) then calls us to the end of the hallway and drags out one chair, a blood pressure machine on a rolling stand, a pad of post-its, and a pencil. He looks at me and says, “You look like an accountant”, and hands me the post-its and pencil, shows me how to strap the blood pressure “cuff” on an arm, push the button, and write down the numbers, including the pulse. He takes the first person in the examination room and tells me to do the rest of the people in the hallway.

I do as instructed, including asking each person what his weight was, and put it all together on a the paper and hand it to each person, saving myself for last.

When it was my turn to be called in, I was ready for my “exam”. I really hadn’t had a complete physical in 30 years or so.

Well, I was instructed to sit in a chair next to a desk and gave him the information on my paper (my BP was really quite good, by the way) and proceeded to answer a list of questions similar to what one might answer on new patient paperwork. Then…that was it!

That was the Federal Government version of a “complete” physical.

Let me think—did we not just pass a government healthcare bill?

Hmmm………………………..

By Tony Casson

(Note from Anthony: My dad asked me to put this one up before the pile of posts still on my desk. I should also say that my dad finally uses some of his real writing ability…we’re good at emotional stuff haha)

Climbing out of the funk that was Father’s Day has proven more difficult than I would—or could—have imagined.

Perhaps it was the pervading sense of personal failure that I felt in relation to my own two children. I do love my children very much, and I pray for their forgiveness, understanding, and love every day.

But it’s more than my own personal feelings. I look around me, and I realize that most of the faces I am looking at are not just the faces of felons, but many, many of them are the faces of fathers as well, and while I am convinced—as I have said—that there is some degree of darkness in everyone’s soul, I am equally convinced that there is also some degree of light.

The light of goodness and love, compassion and concern, happiness and joy.

I look at those in my own “circle”, if you will: Michael, Allen, Pete, Aaron, Stan, John, Frank—the rest. All are people I speak with daily, people I have come to like, and to know a little. Individuals who, for all of their faults, are also FATHERS. Each has a child or children—a son, or sons, a daughter, or daughters, or some mixture. Children whom they love and they miss. Children whom they shed tears for, if not with their eyes, then surely with their hearts.

And I look at all of the others as well! Hispanics, blacks, whites—many who share a common thread beyond incarceration that transcends all other differences—type of charge, length of sentence, race, creed, religion, socio-economic status—regardless of the differences we have, we are all fathers who have disappointed our children through our behavior, and have deprived them of our presence on OUR day as a result.

Prison life is about posturing. It’s about being tough—being stronger, meaner, more threatening and more dangerous than anyone else.

Words like caring and compassion are not spoken here.

However, it is impossible to believe other then, on a day children honor their fathers, there are a lot of hearts that are hurting, even if owners can’t quite find the words—or the courage to SPEAK the words—to express that pain.

A day that used to be filled with a tremendous amount of pride and happiness suddenly has become a day I will dread, each time it arrives, for as long as I am here.

To those children out there who may harbor anger, or hurt, towards their father for depriving them of this day, I pray for your pain.

However, if it is any consolation to you, at least you can probably find someone to give you a hug. In prison, that simply isn’t going to happen.

We are, each one, alone in a crowded room.

By Tony Casson

Only in America would the constitution require us to take better care of our prisoners than our children.

I am fed three meals a day, and while I would rather go to Wild About Harry’s in Dallas (Texas) for a chili dog (JUMBO) and some frozen custard, no one in federal custody—and there are nearly 300,000 members—is going to starve. We also have clothing provided, and a bed to sleep in which is more than can be said for hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of America’s poor.

Within the Bureau of Prisons are different security levels. None of what I’m going to talk about is “top secret”, it just isn’t known, because let’s face it, the only people concerned with prisons are those who have to go to one, right? Well, a lot can be learned browsing the B.O.P. websites and other inmate-related sites.

There are some very bad, very evil individuals incarcerated throughout this country on both state and federal levels—this is true. There are some very high security, very bad prisons where the unspeakable happens because the individuals in them don’t care—they have nothing to lose, so violence against another inmate and/or correctional officer means nothing.

I am no expert on the different levels, nor do I intend to ever become professionally experienced with the topic. I hope to just do my own time and salvage what remains of the rest of my life. Oakdale is classified as a low security institution and individuals are placed in a certain level initially based on a ‘point’ system, which the B.O.P. website discusses. Points are accumulated based on age, criminal history, violence history, and other factors. The lower your points, the lower your security institution. My points are probably low enough to qualify for camp status, but sex offenders do not qualify for camp due to our public safety factor. Drug dealers, bank robbers and the like can work their way down to camp. No public safety factor there. In addition, at the end of your sentence, an inmate can qualify for up to 12 months in a halfway house, unless they are a sex offender, and then the maximum HH is 30 days.

Oakdale is divided into 3 parts: The FCI, the FDC (Federal Detention Center), and the Camp. Together they make up the entire FCC (Federal Correctional Complex).

Several high profile inmates have come through the FCI or Camp, including some who still remain. I am told that several Enron (or former Enron) executives came through. The former WorldCom executive is serving part of his 24 ½-year sentence at FCI. The former governor of Louisiana also served time at the Camp, I’m told.

All in all, there are approximately 2 ½ million people incarcerated in America.

The prison business is BIG business, and over time I’ll explain that further. Some or what I have read and heard is pretty amazing. This is not all about keeping society safe, or rehabilitation, or doing anything that actually benefits society.

But a lot of it IS about big business and keeping more people incarcerated for longer periods of time and the many public, and private, individuals who benefit financially from theses incarcerations.

For many of the people incarcerated, there are many more effective methods of punishment that are not only less costly to the public, but actually could benefit society as a whole.

In the meantime, drop me a line and say hello!

By Tony Casson

Once the pecking order is clear and everyone knows his place, life isn’t so bad–for prison, of course.

I must say that Oakdale is very clean and in very good repair. The staff seems to do their jobs and no one seems abusive.

I’ve found that, like most situations in life, prison life can be worse than it actually is if you allow yourself to dwell strictly on the negatives.

As time passes (and I have little of that ahead of me), I will talk about the different types of facilities within the prison system and the different philosophies and approaches to incarceration and rehabilitation as perceived by myself and my fellow inmates and acquaintances.

I believe I am fortunate in being placed where I was placed and meeting the people I have met. We share ideas and thoughts on a wide range of subjects that should provide fodder for this blog for as long as this story lasts, and for as long as anyone cares to share these times with me. Continue reading “New Acquaintances and Dynamite Dreams” →

By Tony Casson

The following morning (April 7), I got up and went out to get my laundry issued. I returned my elastic-waist pants and canvas shoes; I was issued 3 khaki shirts, 3 khaki pants, 3 pairs of tan boxers, 3 pairs of white socks, and a very uncomfortable pair of steel-toe work boots—oh yes, and a lovely adjustable nylon belt with a plastic clasp. The pants were sans zipper, buttons only, and made right here in Oakdale, but we’ll get to that later. Continue reading ““D.W.B’s and S.O’s” part IV” →

By Tony Casson

My cellie walked through the door and introduced himself. He is a big guy, but not in a threatening way. He has heavy jowls and a large, soft upper body; he’s white and tattoo-free. He presents himself in a friendly manner, and we talk briefly about my 5 days in the SHU; I told him how happy I was that they had books available and mentioned that I was looking forward to going to commissary on Wednesday (this was Tuesday) so I could get some reading glasses.

He seemed rather friendly and even got a pair of glasses out and said I could “buy” them for $5 worth of commissary purchases if they worked for me. He even gave me a choice of a few books to read. I picked up a Sandra Brown—“Witness”—and thanked him.

He was pretty chatty, and it was apparent he had something on his mind. I gathered that, IN THEORY, your charge is YOUR business, but I also knew that sex offender charges were not popular ANYWHERE, in or out of prison. Continue reading ““D.W.B’s and S.O’s” Part III” →