TRANSFERRED!

 

Friday, September 8, 2023

I have been expecting it for weeks.

Lake C. I. has been transferring out those with life sentences and swapping for younger prisoners with shorter sentences.

The quality of the typical prison inmate has been careening downhill rapidly over the years, and these younger men are mostly drug-addicted gang members disinterested in changing their lifestyles. Prison is a badge of honor for many.

Wednesday night, September 6th, one of the orderlies working for The Man told me, "You're leaving in the morning, Norman."

Thanks. "They" don't want anyone to know when they are transferring in case Sylvester Stallone, Vin Diesel, and "The Rock" are plotting a jail break. Did I mention prison staff are probably the most paranoid people outside a mental hospital?

I don't have such connections. Knowing when I'm leaving simply gives me a chance to sort out my property and prepare for the next day. And do I have property! Five mesh canteen bags of papers and legal documents, a bag of books, one bag of personal laundry, and one bag of canteen items make up for a load that I could never carry without spine surgery. So what do I do? Coffee packs and Crystal Lights juice packs are highly sought after in prison, where at least half the men are broke and have no resources. I offered canteen items to younger men carrying small bags of personal property, to carry mine, and in seconds my problems were solved by coffee addicts.

The prison bus was packed like sardines with transferring prisoners and their property, some with far more than I had. At eleven a.m. The inside of the rickety old bus was already stifling hot, and it only got worse. It took an hour to get to the East Unit of Central Florida Reception Center (CFRC) in Orlando. We passed Orlando International Airport, and I saw two lemon-yellow Spirit Airlines taxiing.

At one p.m. we were parked in the hot sun outside the gate waiting for three other prison buses to unload and leave. It took HOURS! Hours in the sweltering heat, no air, no ventilation, no water. The bus drivers' compartment is the only part in the bus with air conditioning, so they didn't care.

Seven buses unloaded about 350 men this day. Our bus was number five of seven, and the last two suffered the same as we did. One bus came from Washington County, way north, and those poor souls endured several hours longer than we had.

I felt certain I had suffered heat exhaustion, and came close to heat stroke. Getting out of that bus I almost collapsed on the steep exit steps.

It took hours to finally get to our housing assignments. It was dark, and we didn't make it to the chowhall for supper until almost eight p.m. When we were finally released for chow two tall, gray sandhill cranes greeted us at our door, panhandling. This morning at 6:22 a.m., when we came out for breakfast, they were back outside the door. At least they can leave when they choose to.

 Quiet day Friday. Heavy thunderstorms came during lunch at two-thirty, and we were soaked. After broiling in the heat Thursday, I revelled in the cool, soaking rain.

Now it is 4:30 p.m. Friday, and all is quiet during count. An orderly told me I was listed to go to Okeechobee C.I., somewhere west of Fort Pierce, at least a four-hour drive one way for my wife, Libby. That won't work. Meanwhile, I will put my brain to work on my upcoming parole release plan, and hope to turn sour lemons to lemonade.

Prayers are always accepted.

Charlie