Self-surrendering to Federal Prison – Part 1

Well, after weeks of pensive waiting, the day finally came and I self-surrendered to Lewisburg Federal Prison Camp on Thursday.

The weeks between my sentencing, back in May, and up through July 22 were filled with many great get-togethers with friends and family. Kristin and I were even able to escape on our own for a few days. Also, who knew there was so much to do to prepare for prison? Physical. Dentist. Got your shots? Power of attorney. Shut down your cell phone. Change the air filters in the house–oops, didn’t get to that one. The list seemed endless.

But, as the final 48 hours approached, there was no escaping the ticking clock.

My Dad drove in from Michigan a few days prior to my surrender so that we could visit one last time and he could then drop me off at the camp on his way back. So, we said our teary goodbyes early Thursday morning. I jumped in the car with my Dad and set out on the roughly three hour drive to Pennsylvania. There is never enough time with your children. I missed them the minute I drove out of the driveway early that morning.

After a few hours of driving, and a quick stop for breakfast at Perkins, we arrived in rural Pennsylvania — farms, stands of trees and beautiful rolling hills. Someone pays to live here. After leaving the main road, we wound down a country lane with small houses and farms and then in the distance the prison appears. It’s ominous–a big compound with 30-foot high walls and guard towers. It’s literally the place that first had the nickname the “big house.”

We approached the gate and there was a typical intercom box. I pressed the buzzer and a serious voice answered back through the scratchy speaker, “Yes, can I help you?”

“Um, I’m here to self-surrender? Bryson. B-R-Y-S-O-N.” The box answered back, “Hold on.”

“Oh, ya, you’re at the camp. Follow the road down the hill to those buildings off to the right.”

So we continued on toward a small complex of non-discript brick buildings about a 1/4 mile from the main prison. Basically, the camp is made up of three low-rise brick buildings, in what looks like a farm commune, that were clearly designed by the same architects that design elementary schools–red brick, cinder block construction, and linoleum floors. There were a few other small out buildings scattered about.

My dad and I parked and walked into the main lobby where we were greeted by a security officer. After he checked my ID and my paperwork, I thanked my Dad for driving me and we gave each other that manly kind of hug that said both “It’s all good” and “I love you” at the same time. Then I disappeared behind the door and tried to not look back.

My mind flashed back 29 years to a hot and sticky day in July of 1986 when I found myself in a remarkably similar situation on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay at the US Naval Academy. Induction Day or “I-Day” as we called it.

“Plebe, where the hell are you going?”

“I don’t know sir!”

“You don’t know! Is that an authorized answer to a question?!?”

“No, sir. I’ll find out, sir.”

“Why don’t you think about it while you’re braced up against that bulkhead.”

It went on like that for about 10 months. Almost 30 years later I can still smell the canvas uniforms we wore and feel the sweat dripping down my forehead. Some things you never forget.

As the door to prison slammed shut behind me I was shuttered back to the present.

I was escorted to a small office where I was finger printed and my photo was taken for my new ID card. I filled out some paperwork acknowledging that my mail might be read and my phone calls might be listened to. The guy that spends time listening to my phone calls should get raise. Afterward the paperwork, and quick check to make sure I wasn’t hiding contraband in my mouth, I was given some random khaki pants and a shirt — again oddly familiar. Finally, he gave me a yellow stick with a number scrawled on it.

Then a quick trip to medical across the hall for the typical screening questions. Have you been to Nigeria in the last six months? (No, actually I’ve been confined to the State of Connecticut.) Do you have cancer? (God, I hope not.)

Then, off to gear issue. I was given a large duffle bag and filled it with bedding, shoes, underwear, and some basic toiletries.

“Ok, there you go.” Said the correctional officer.

“Thank you. Um, where do I go next?”

“That’s it. You’re done.” He answered.

And with that I was now fully admitted as a prisoner to Lewisburg probably less than 30 minutes after I walked in the front door. And, I had no idea where to go or what to do next.

Fortunately, there was another inmate who was checking in just in front of me. He indicated that this was not his first rodeo and he knew where to go, so I followed him out the back door of the admin building.

As I walked into the open air, the camp was laid out before me. To the right were two small dorm buildings that looked like small office buildings from the 1980s. To the left was an ultimate Frisbee field with a bunch of guys in the middle of a game. In the distance, near the duck pond, was the bocce ball court. It appeared there were a handful of older guys there talking and enjoying a game of bocce ball and tossing some bread to the ducks. Further out was the softball field and the track. Just beyond the track the neighboring farmer was cutting hay from his field with the mountains in the background. It was actually quite beautiful. But, beneath the beautiful patina, I knew that only a few feet of grass separated the back side of the track from that farmer’s field– and I couldn’t go there. The sign that said “Out of Bounds” would be a less than gentle reminder.

But, I still had no idea where the hell to go next?

To be continued…

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