PRISON PANDEMIC UPDATE # 4

 Dateline: Friday, April 24, 2020 8:57 a.m. Tomoka C. I.

We've had a line of thunderstorms, hard rain, and tornado warnings for Daytona Beach and much of Central Florida since late last night. Life goes on. We're waiting for the nurses to come through with their infrared thermometer guns to shoot our forehead temperatures. No one speaks it, but I can feel the tension, the men making nervous jokes, worried that they will register a fever and go into isolation. I can't help but think of the correlation between the nurse aiming the ''gun'' at each man's forehead, at point-blank range, and the image of mass execution. What is left unsaid is the realization that if COVID-19 gets loose and out of control in the prison system, mass deaths could ensue. Many pray that will not happen.

I'm proud of my fellow prisoners' behavior since this statewide quarantine went into effect. So far most everyone remains calm, unlike at prisons in other states and countries that have seen violence. I attribute this calm to the responsible leadership of Florida Department of Corrections Secretary Mark Inch, whose unprecedented communications to prisoners statewide, via posted memos and the JPay tablets, have kept prisoners and families informed and encouraged. Offering free phone calls and emails have enabled prisoners to remain in touch with their loved ones. The ''not knowing'' is often the worst part. Just hearing a loved one's voice can boost one's spirits.

In Secretary Inch's most recent communique, he asked, ''What do you need from me? If I could give you anything within my authority as Secretary, what would you ask for?'' His point revolved around finding meaning and purpose in one's life, whoever or wherever you are.

In 42 years of continuous imprisonment, I have dedicated my life to helping others and becoming a better person. It has been a hard road, surviving this wrongful imprisonment, and at 70 years old, it doesn't get any easier. I have been blessed with the love and support of a wonderful wife and family, of old and new friends who've encouraged me, and the strong hope and faith that God has a plan for my life. Knowing that I am a political prisoner, held far beyond my time when many hundreds of others with life sentences have been living their lives in freedom for years, might depress the average prisoner, but it makes me only work harder.

In many of the dozens of different classes I've taught to literally thousands of prisoners over four decades, one assignment I've emphasized over and over again mirrors Secretary Inch's question: ''If someone walked into this room and told you, you have two minutes to convince me to sign your release papers and let you go home, what would you say?''

It is a very difficult question, one that dumbfounds many prisoners.

As for myself, in answer to Secretary Inch's similar question, I would ask for freedom, to be returned to my wife Libby and my remaining family, to answer the fervent prayers of my 90-year old mother, who has vowed to stay alive until she sees her eldest son released from prison.

And the fact is, that is an attainable goal, a recommendation by the FDC Secretary to the parole commission for a new, fair, impartial parole hearing, granting my well-deserved release. You have the authority, Secretary Inch.

Back to Tomoka and the pandemic.

The numbers are increasing. Wednesday: 47 prisoners tested positive for the coronavirus at Tomoka C. I. Thursday: 82 Today--this morning: 88 inmates positive, along with 12 staff. I reported our first fatality a few days ago: it was not virus-related, however. I asked a nurse, was it the virus? She said no, ''inmate-on-inmate violence.'' Terrible, to die in prison.

Please keep our nation and our world in your prayers. This virus plays no favorites, heeds no barriers or fences. I will continue to report from prison as long as I can.

Charlie

PRISON PANDEMIC UPDATE # 3

Dateline: Thursday, April 23, 2020--Tomoka C. I.--Daytona Beach, FL

I wanted to tell you about the other dorm, ''F-1," that was transferred Saturday. F-1 is a ''faith-based'' program dorm, the inmates signing up for a one-year program. I have much to say about the watered-down faith-based program, some other time. They get a lot of privileges other inmates/prisoners don't have. Some sincerely want to improve themselves, while others are schemers, looking for angles.

The theory behind the Saturday transfer order was that the only dorms without virus symptoms, K-2 and F-1, should be transferred to another prison, separated, so they wouldn't be exposed to infection. They would then keep all the symptomatic prisoners here, isolated. When Mr. Strauss' positive tests came back, that killed the transfer for K-2. We were all theoretically exposed--quarantine.

F-1 inmates had no choice. No positives. They took their meager pillow cases, crowded onto the prison bus, packed together like sardines, got shipped to Columbia C.I. No telling how long they will be gone. They've already filled their dorm with sick inmates.

When we evacuated Tomoka for the September, 2019, hurricane scare, to Columbia, we carried the same near-empty pillowcases, shampoo, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, a change of clothes. Luckily, after two days we went to the canteen there and bought coffee, shower slides, soups, etc. We were gone for a week, but these men could be stranded for a month or more.

This morning, the same two nurses came around for our temperature checks, decked out in their ''PPE,'' face shields, etc.

I told the nurse taking my temperature, ''Thank you both for your dedication and professionalism. I appreciate you risking your own health to keep us safe, and my wife is grateful, too.''

The nurse lit up, smiling behind her mask. ''Why, thank YOU. You're very welcome. We don't get much thanks, but the opposite, people blame us for all this.''

"It's not your fault, you're just doing a difficult job.''

"I'm glad somebody appreciates that,'' she said, moving on to the next person, three feet away.

I'm glad I said that, a brief conversation that made the three of us feel better.

About the food--after all the complaints about the repeated servings of dry peanut butter sandwiches, the food has improved. We've been getting hot meals at supper, some sort of meat patty, rice, carrots, and corn bread. Tuesday breakfast consisted of coffee cake, oatmeal, and diced pineapple, while they served two turkey bologna and cheese sandwiches, a sandwich bag of lettuce, and a green orange for lunch. This morning we got a hot meal, a spoonful of scrambled eggs, grits, coffee cake, and a banana. Lunch consisted of two bologna and cheese sandwiches, sliced cucumbers, and an apple, a huge improvement over the dry peanut butter.

No one knows when this will end. Suspended family visits spread the suffering to our loved ones. We have plenty of soap for hand washing, wear our prison-made cloth masks, and clean frequently. We got to make a canteen run, five scans only, but still haven't gotten outside for recreation.

I will write more tomorrow. All the best, and take all precautions.

Charlie

PRISON PANDEMIC UPDATE # 2: Antisocial Distancing

Dateline: Wednesday, April 22, 2020--Tomoka C. I.--Daytona Beach, FL

Seventy prisoners crowded into an ''open dorm'' housing area have no way to practice social distancing. Two nurses still come through twice a day taking temperatures. Our dorm has remained stable, until this past Saturday.

Two dorms, including this one, remained asymptomatic. Then after lunch Saturday the guards came in and ordered everyone to pack, transferring, put your shampoo and soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, one underclothing change, one uniform, in a pillowcase. No canteen, no Bibles, no pens, paper or stamps, no books, no other personal property besides our tablets.. All other property stored until we return from a distant North Florida prison. Because those two dorms were free of the coronavirus, we were being shipped out. Turns out the other prison didn't want us. Too bad.

Before we got on the transport bus, a prisoner ''fell out,'' unconscious. The nurses took him to medical, then called to cancel the transfer, said we were now under medical quarantine. Turned out that an elderly prisoner in our dorm had tested positive, and the results fortuitously came back before we boarded the bus. We returned to our dorm, dodging the transfer bullet.

The second dorm tagged for transfer wasn't so lucky. They packed into another bus, their pillowcases thin, and sent to another prison in the north. Although asymptomatic, the other prison immediately invoked a 14-day quarantine, confining them to another ''open dorm,'' with none of their authorized personal property. They are isolated with virtually nothing. More family complaints are ensuing, for what good it will do.

I mentioned a few days ago that we were getting bag lunches of mostly peanut butter sandwiches three times a day. It seems that was a statewide practice, and prisoners' families and friends protested to other officials, claiming that all that dry peanut butter created widespread constipation.

The complaints worked. For several days, peanut butter was off the menu, replaced by turkey bologna and cheese sandwiches, and hot evening meals of mystery meat patties, rice and carrots. Today, at lunch, the disparaged peanut butter sandwiches returned.

Monday, Tomoka's first fatality was recorded. No info on who it was or cause of death. Latest TV news reported 18 prisoners and 4 staff here had tested positive. Other prisons have positive tests, too. So far, the prisoners here have been cooperative and calm, grateful for the professionalism of the security staff and medical personnel, risking their own health to help us.

We watch the TV news, make phone calls and send emails to our loved ones. Not much reading material available since they closed the library and education. I get a very thin ''USA Today'' newspaper weekdays, which is eagerly awaited by some of my fellow prisoners. Libby has sent me books from a bookstore, which are much appreciated. This evening Libby and I are scheduled for a ''video visitation'' on the Jpay kiosk. Wish us luck.

I am well, and my family is well, thank God. Hopefully this pandemic with run its course soon, and we will return to some semblance of normalcy.

All the best...

Charlie

PRISON PANDEMIC UPDATE

Dateline: Friday, April 17, 2020, 11:39 a.m.

Two nurses decked out in personal protective gear are proceeding down the rows of bunks checking the temperatures of the 68 prisoners in my housing unit. So far, no one in this dorm has registered a high temperature or other symptoms of COVID-19, but that's not true elsewhere in Tomoka C. I.

Latest word is that now 10 men are in isolation after testing positive. Three prison employees, including the female kitchen manager, also tested positive. It appears that most of those infected inmates were kitchen workers.

Everyone is now locked down, confined to our housing units 24/7, no canteen, no rec, except for the dozen or so men who were drafted to work in the laundry, washing and re-washing clothing and linens now seven days a week. Cabin fever is setting in for some, but so far most everyone has stayed calm, realizing the authorities are doing the best they can, operating in uncharted territory. They've been handing out ''bag lunches'' with peanut butter sandwiches three times a day. Ugh! There is some squawking about that. Last night, they surprised us with an actual hot meal: mystery meat patty, sandwich bread, boiled pasta, lettuce, and a cookie. Better.

The TV is on, and there are a few men who stare at 1960's and '70's sitcoms most of the day, but that's not for me. The news is steady coronavirus, or the president droning on for hours about how beautiful the pandemic response is, as they juxtapose drone videos of coffins being stacked in mass graves in New York. Some of us are readers, and swap books, but the selection dwindles rapidly. I'm getting desperate--that romance novel my neighbor is reading is tempting. A few telephone home several times a day, while others, myself included, settle for less expensive emails sent via WiFi from our Jpay tablets, like this one.

Four men are playing a raucous game of Spades, which may devolve into Smackdown, yelling at each other, disturbing the TV watchers. Close quarters. Forget about social distancing--double bunks are spaced three feet apart.

Uh oh! An elderly inmate just fell out as the nurse was taking his temperature. If you must have a medical emergency, having it while being attended by two nurses is optimum. Now there are five nurses and a medical orderly with a gurney. One nurse must be senior--she took over the blood pressure equipment and is using a stethoscope. More guards showed up than medical personnel.

The old man is sitting up now. They're taking him to medical, I suppose, for observation. Cancel that--he refused treatment, said he was all right, will lie down on his bunk.

Everyone cleared out, except the two nurses conducting temp checks. Mine was 97.9 F.

I must hurry---they open the tablet charger in a few minutes, and this tablet is getting low.

You are in my prayers. Don't worry about me. I've survived worse. God bless you. Let everyone know.

Charlie