The other men in his unit didn’t care who he was outside any more than he cared who they were. Each man was cordial and respectful, yet not overly communicative. That was until evenings: most of the men thrived on television time. From 4:30 PM until midnight, the television was on. Never being much of a television watcher, the incessant noise—every night—wore on him as much as the stupid counts.
Sleeping wasn’t the only activity that was communal. Showering, too, was done by unit. As the first week progressed, it seemed that each hour was worse than the one before. As his old life slipped further and further away, the therapy seemed like a good idea.
Besides his thrice a week counseling sessions, Tony, like every other inmate, was required to hold a job. Not only was he responsible for cleaning his part of the dormitory, he had an actual job. Every day after breakfast, Anthony Rawlings, Number 01657-3452, reported to the warehouse, where he unpacked supplies from delivery trucks. That bit of manual labor earned him $0.17 an hour. Hadn’t this place heard of minimum wage?
The money he earned, plus money he had sent to him, allowed him to purchase non-issued supplies. That was everything from headphones and an MP3 player to drown out the incessant television, to shampoo and additional clothing. Though Tony could have unlimited money sent to his account, there was a $320.00 per month spending limit. He almost choked when he read that. Hell, he’d spent more than that on a haircut.
In an effort to avoid the dormitory, Tony signed up for educational services. He’d always appreciated education, but as a man with an MBA, he wasn’t interested in a GED. The subject he chose to study was horticulture. It reminded him of Claire. As he learned to care for the plants on Yankton’s grounds, he’d remember her chatter about the flowers and plants on the estate. Just being outdoors, with his hands in the soil, made him feel closer to her. While learning about or tending to some plant, Tony would think about Claire and hope that she was doing well enough to be doing the same. He knew how much she loved the outdoors and believed that if she were outside, it would give her strength.
The schedule included time to exercise, and, during the allotted time, a quarter-mile track was frequented by the inmates. While many used the track as a time to talk with a little more privacy, Tony’s playlist kept him occupied. Purchasing music was one of his bigger expenses. To occupy his mind, he had the Wall Street Journal, as well as other business publications delivered, and he was allowed a minimum amount of Internet time. The Internet as well as phone calls were monitored, but they were a connection to the outside world. As days turned to weeks and weeks to months, the routine became easier to handle.
Tony recalled Claire’s description of prison, saying that it was very routine. He could add lonely, boring, and other adjectives, but routine was accurate. In the first few months of incarceration, Tony learned that not only could he make rules, he could follow them. He didn’t like it, but each message from Courtney about Nichol, from Roach about Claire, from Patricia about Rawlings Industries, or Brent about his sentence gave him the substance and stamina to continue.
The best and worst days of the week were weekends and holidays. Those were the days when visitors could visit Yankton. Upon his arrival to the prison camp, Tony was required to compile a list of friends and family who could visit. The list was then verified and approved by the prison. Tony knew that there were people on his list who would probably never visit, but he added them anyway. His list included Brent (although as his attorney he had additional license to visit), Courtney, Tim, Patricia, Roach, Claire, Nichol, John, and Emily.
He doubted that John and Emily would ever bring Nichol to see him, but he wanted the option available to them if they decided to come. Tony wasn’t sure about Claire, but believed that she would get better. When she did, he prayed she’d come to see him. He even fantasized about her visiting, especially on days he had no visitors. When the weather was warm, there was outside seating for visits. Seeing the other inmates with their spouses and children was probably the worse punishment Tony endured.
Utilizing the Rawlings’ jets, people could get to Tony in less than an hour. There was a small municipal airport not far from the prison. Driving would have been over five hours, and flying commercially meant another hour’s drive from Sioux City, the closest international airport.
By law, inmates were allowed four hours a month of visitation. However, it was the belief of the prison that visitors were good for the inmates’ morale. Therefore, contingent upon available space—every visitor and inmate were required to have a chair—visits were granted. They had to be planned ahead and approved. Brent and Courtney visited every three weeks, like clockwork. Roach came at least once a month, and Tim or Patricia alternated their visits. It was without a doubt the highlight to Tony’s week.
Besides visiting, Courtney was the best about sending letters. They were usually just little notes about nothing. When one would arrive it was impossible to keep the smile from Tony’s face.
Occasionally, something would occur that the visits didn’t happen. Those were dark, colorless days.
Autumn came a little earlier in South Dakota than it did in Iowa. By early September the days as well as the nights had begun to chill. In Tony’s horticulture class he learned about hardy, weather-resistant flowers. After Labor Day, they removed the summer’s flowers and planted mums. He’d seen them before but never paid them any attention. Throughout the prison’s campus yellow, orange, and deep red mums added color.