University of Virginia Library

INSIDE OUT

Prisoner Behind Bars: Dying, Day By Day

By PHILLIP ELLIOTT

(Phillip Elliott, No. 134730,
is a prisoner in London, Ohio
Penitentiary. Mr. Elliott is a 29
year-old commercial artist
convicted in 1970 of forging an
$81 check and given a 20 year
sentence. He had written to us
in an effort to find students to
correspond with him and help
alleviate the loneliness of his
life there. We offered him the
opportunity to write on his
personal observations on prison
life, and this is a contribution
on that subject.–Ed.)

In our contemporary "free"
society, there are in American
prisons and correctional
institutions more than 500,000
people to whom the concept of
"freedom" is a hollow
mockery. It is from one such
institution that I write this
article. We have been put away
by our peers for transgressions
against the open society. Many
of us are biding away years in
institutions designated as
penitentiaries, based upon an
archaic idea that time thus
spent will result in our
becoming "penitent." There is
little evidence that anything
like that takes place.

Sadly, two out of every
three of us will return to
prison. Most of us do not
emerge with a new strength
toward self-direction –toward
better goals– but with a
churning bitterness that it is
society which now owes us a
living. Attempts to collect on
that living result in the rate of
recidivism just mentioned.

I do not believe that most
ex-cons want to return to a life
of crime immediately upon
release. We want jobs
commensurate with our
pre-criminal abilities. We want
the love of a family, the
warmth of a woman. We want
to feel the smoothness of a
clean shirt, the privacy of a
bathroom, the pleasures of a
bedroom...in short, all of the
things that have been denied us
for so long.

We want them more
desperately than you can
imagine. But all too often we
find suspicion, fear, and scorn.
Worst of all, we find apathy.

We come from behind these
walls to find public distrust
and scorn. Soon, many of us
give up. We then go to those
who will not stare at us, or run
from us. We go to our most
recent friends, the ones we

knew in prison. And from
those meetings it is a one way
street back to the "joint."

I do not think that you can
release a man and say to him,
"We know where you have
been and we expect the worst
of you." I believe that you
must say, "We will keep a close
eye on you for a while for we
know that you have done
wrong before, but we will help
you to a full and productive
life if you truly want it."

I believe America's thinking
must change. I believe that we
must realize that a nation
which, allows half-a-million
souls to rot behind bars can
never call itself truly free. To
do so makes an obscenity of
the word. It is toward this
change of thinking by you out
there about us in here that I
will attempt to help you
understand prison life.

In order for me to more
easily convey to you an idea of
life behind the walls, I should
first dispel some of the old
wives-tales about prisons.
Guards do not beat and
physically misuse inmates. The
hole is not a ten foot by ten
foot hole in the ground. The
yard is not a place where
Edward G. Robinson and
James Cagney plot their
escapes. Homosexuality, while
certainly present, does not run
rampant throughout the prison
system. Young men are not
sexually molested. If they
were, the wrath of the other
prisoners would be swift. The
administration of this and
similar institutions do attempt
to makeover an inmates
thinking.

This is a "working"
institution. There are 3,000
acres of farmland immediately
surrounding the compound,
all of which are worked by
inmates. Dairy barns, silos, hog
lots, and milking barns dot the
area. Inside the compound
there are jobs in the kitchen,
hospital, offices, and garment
factory.

It is in this garment factory
that I work daily to repay my
debt to society. I work 8 hours
per day, 5 days per week. For
my work I am paid at the rate
of 8 cents per hour, or $20.00
per month – twelve dollars of
which I am permitted to spend
for cigarettes, soap, shaving
equipment, postage, etc. The
remaining eight dollars is put
into an account until I am
released. This is to get me by
for my first few weeks out in
society, or until I find a job. If
I spend three years here I will
have a "nest-egg" of $288.

I live in a dormitory with
120 other men. We share a
common bathroom,
shower-room, and wash room.
There are eight televisions in
the dorm provided by eight
inmates who can afford to have
them sent in. Radios are
numerous. Checkers, chess,
dominoes, and cards are
available. Beds are reminiscent
of these you may have seen in
World War II movies. The
mattresses are of the same
vintage. Recreational facilities
are really quite good. There are
organized basketball, football
and softball leagues. On the
yard there are horseshoes
weight-lifting equipment,
volleyball, and even a putt-putt
golf course. I must say that I
believe the recreation facilities
to be about as good as possible
considering the required
security measures.

If, by now you think that I
am painting a rosy picture of
prison life, I fear that I must
dispel that idea. Restrictions
on reading material are
ridiculous, to say the least. It is
my feeling that these and other
restrictions point up the
attempt by prison
administrators to "control" an
inmate's thinking, and to
escape public scorn. I, for
instance, am not allowed to
read The Wall Street Journal. If
I cannot read that stately
publication, can you imagine
the wrath I would risk should I
request the current issue of
Playboy or The Berkley Barb?
I am forced to "tune out" my
senses.

I wear prison garb; I march
to meals; I am put to bed each
night at 9:30 p.m. During
certain hours I cannot get off
of my bed. Should I do
something that the guards
deem wrong I have no right to
appeal, no trial. I simply must
be sent to the hole. In short,
my human rights ended the
day the judge passed sentence.

Rehabilitation in this and
many similar institutions is
regarded by the inmates as a
joke! Grade school (primary),
high school G.E.D., and
drafting school are the
educational opportunities
available to me here. I am a
high school graduate, and I am
a commercial artist.

There is a chapter of AA,
but I'm not an alcoholic. There
is a custodian school but I
don't aspire to be a janitor. Yet
I know that if I do not enroll
in one of these things I will
surely be deemed
un-rehabilitated by the parole
board.

In the end I must answer to
six men who hold my fate in
their hands. My sentence is 20
years, and I can be made to
serve all or any part of that. I
must eventually make parole, if
only by virtue of years served.
But beyond that I must serve
time out there until you all are
ready to wipe the slate clean.

I am a normal caring
sensitive human being who
once, three years ago, forged a
check for eighty-one dollars. A
tragic mistake, but it will be
much more of a tragedy if I am
one of the two who returns to
this God-forgotten place. I and
many like me may soon be in
your midst. Do not fear us, for
we need only your
understanding to be successful.