THE PRISON ECONOMY

"Wow! Look at that," I explode to Officer Richardson. "Money! I almost forgot what it looks like." Officer Richardson was taking $5 out of his pocket as we rode the elevator to the basement kitchen where he would be buying a special meal prepared by one of the officers who runs the area. Her cuisine was known to be so superior that officers ponied up for the treat.

By now you've probably guessed that legal tender was not something an inmate saw often (or ever) in prison. And there's a good reason for that. There is no money in prison. But that doesn't mean there wasn't a robust throwback economy which operated more or less like an intricate barter system.

A LITTLE MUSIC BUSINESS FAMILY HISTORY

With the quarantine still a harsh reality, I spend my spare time doing all sorts of things I might not normally do to keep my mind occupied. Like just yesterday, I decided to Google my father's images. The old man produced and or arranged on 17 gold and platinum records and worked with not just pop stars the likes of Louis Armstrong, Andy Williams, Barbra Streisand, Met Torme, Robert Goulet, Patti Page, Marty Robbins, Aretha Franklin et al...but pimple rockers (at least at the time) Frankie Avalon, Bobbie Rydell, Bobby Vinton, Dion, and many more. The point is there were literally hundreds of image references to peruse.

LUCK OF THE DRAW

I'm not in the habit of re-reading my old Quora answers. In fact, I almost never do. But this morning, I clicked to answer  a question and found an answer I'd already written at the top. With nothing much else to do, I checked out my response and was somewhat amazed at how good it was. (I often don't like posts I've written after stepping away for a while and then reading them as if somebody else wrote them.) The question was "How are cells assigned in prison? How can you change cellmates?" Obviously, a good question deserving of a well thought-out answer.

WARDENS WARDENS EVERYWHERE - AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE

Being named warden of the infamous MCC federal prison in downtown Manhattan is not an appointment synonymous with job security. And probably not one that anybody would want to keep in the first place. It's a circus with way too many untamed animals and clowns who aren't funny.

To non ex-cons, it may come as a surprise to discover that we inmates actually had the privilege of meeting up and talking with our main captors, generally on mainline day when the heads of each department would briefly convene in the unit's central area for the purpose of allowing inmates to air their grievances. Presumably, that concession would effectively operate as a safety valve for prisoner tension.

EXPRESS YOURSELF

One of my wannabe book's less interesting chapters:

Orientation class for soon-to-be-surrendering defendants given by the Eastern District was a bad joke. While I’d done my research and figured I knew what I was in for, what harm could there be in attending the class? It turned out to be almost a total waste of time. Mostly, what we got was a boatload of misinformation.

The officer teaching the class was coincidentally my favorite pre trial officer. But he couldn’t answer any of my numerous questions. And worse, he claimed that there would be computers for word processing, and musical instruments to play. With the former, he was just dead wrong. And the latter? It took me fully 7 months to get near a guitar.

FORTY DOLLARS RICHER/LEMONS FROM LEMONADE

I repost this on top of the blog today because 3 months after publishing the plaintive cry, I STILL DON'T HAVE MY COMMISSARY MONEY FROM MCC! Read on to discover the details of how a federal prison employs one of its inmates for between 6 and 40 cents an hour - and then has the temerity to not give him his money - even after 5 months of numerous phone calls, emails and visits!

Back when I was selling ads for the Village Voice, the bane of my existence centered around complaints from my clients about botched ads. The culpability rested squarely in the lap of the idiots who worked at the Voice almost every time. But that didn't mean I didn't get blamed by the self-centered and spoiled hookers who'd been wronged.

While the slaves at the Voice definitely did have their issues when it came to accuracy and quality control, they couldn't hold a candle to the staff at MCC who worked at an institution which seemingly fucked up where and whenever possible.

MORE HARD KNOCKS

Today, I pick up a chapter from the middle of "Lifestyles of the Rich and Infamous: My Year At MCC Federal Prison." In this segment, I talk about raid #2 - this time at the hands of the State - and then offer all the blog posts I published on my escort website about the experience spending a week at the Tombs in New York City, all written shortly after my release. One note: "Miles" is the same NYPD detective who took down Eliot Spitzer - and a guy I met along the federal way. He appears in an earlier chapter of the book and thus, goes unexplained in this one. 

If there was one thing I could say about takedown number 2, it’s that I at least knew it was coming. Once again, the curtain call came at 9 AM on a summer morning. This time I was awake, sitting naked on the throne and reading John Meacham’s biography of Andrew Jackson. 

WHAT'S AN IMAC?

On July 5th, 2018, I was arrested by the State of New York and charged with promotion of prostitution. With my federal sentencing for tax fraud pending, this was of course, bad news. 

I had a federal status hearing scheduled for just a few weeks later and no doubt, the State would let the Fed know they'd arrested me - and for what reason. In theory, the State was working independently of the Fed. But you'd have a hard time convincing me that was really the case. 

CAN WE STALK?

By his own admission, my last celly at MCC was a stalker. According to him, he was beefing back and forth on either email or texting with a girl, and at one point threatened "I don't care if you call the police. I'm going to come over there and stick a gun up your ass." I didn't see him as the kind of person who would actually make good on that threat. But a female judge who had herself been stalked, saw it differently - to the tune of a 37 month sentence. Charley (not his real name) was upfront about his charge. He was man enough to divulge at least some of the truths behind his incarceration. 

HERE'S A GUN

My very first night on suicide watch at MCC federal prison in downtown New York. If you didn't want to kill yourself before you entered the BOP's most in-the-news prison, you just might after a month or two. I was the watcher - not the observed.

As an "inmate companion," it was my job to monitor a prisoner about whom I knew nothing - except his reg number and his name: Bahnasawy. He was young with curly hair and a beard. Nothing about him seemed amiss. I started the conversation. "You ok?" He nodded his head.

TRANNY TIME

I have actually written over 50,000 words and am nearing the end of my prison book. Now comes the hard part: Finding an agent and/or publisher who gives a shit about me and my opus. I hesitate to publish the entire book on this blog for obvious reasons. But in the interest of giving my very few readers (at least here on this platform) something new, I offer the following as relevant material to not just the book - but the old Psycho Roundup blog which in part, landed me in the hoosgaw. 

When I was in the escort business, people would more than occasionally ask me where the authorities housed transsexual hookers when they got busted for selling ass. I wasn’t entirely sure of the answer at the time. But I can now tell you where they go in the federal system, because one of the first inmates I met upon entering MCC was a she male.

MISTER 69

In many of the BOP's facilities, it's my understanding that inmate/officer interaction is cold and adversarial. But in recent years, cooler heads have prevailed and a "give respect get respect" policy has been implemented to cut down on the mutual enmity that naturally comes from officers bullying inmates. I'm happy to report that the new ethos was in full effect where I served my year. At MCC, there was barely an officer who didn't subscribe to give respect/get respect.

GREENER PASTURES

For years before I shipped out to prison, my apartment had a major roach problem which I simply could not rectify. And it wasn't because I didn't try. From the moment the Feds came to my door, I sweated whether I'd be able to sublet an infested apartment. As a subletter, I know I'd be grossed out taking over a joint with critters.

It turns out I had nothing to worry about. As the lowest-paying tenant in the building, the landlord stood in the way of me subletting legally in a vain attempt to "ease" me out. I even considered entertaining a buyout offer - what with the going price north of 50 k. But after a brief moment, I decided against that. Coming out of prison to nowhere would be a bad idea.

CURRENT EVENTS UPDATE

Apparently, my recently published article in the Daily Beast has come to the attention of at least one old high school friend who I haven't heard from in over 50 years and one inmate at MCC whose parents are educated, knew the name of his bunky, and told their son about what they'd read.

So because I'm not allowed to "associate" with convicted felons as per my probation conditions, I feel I can convey updates and current events here.

BRAVE NEW WORLD

At 9 AM on July 29th, 2013, someone knocked on my door. I rose to answer and found two IRS agents at the threshold. Minutes later at least 6 cops rolled in with a search warrant. The message was clear: We've seized most of your money. Go get a lawyer. You might be going to prison. 

For nearly five and a half years, I waited for the federal government to finally determine if it was really going to lock me up. Then on 10/31/18, I at long last sat before the judge the final time. The words "a year and a day"  flowed from his mouth with such ease that if you weren't listening attentively, you could almost miss what mattered in all the legal mumbo jumbo that surrounded it. 

BRAVE NEW WORLD 2

It comes as no shock to me that prisoners who've served several years in prison are amazed by the radical changes they see upon re-entering society. I didn't think I'd experience anywhere near those radical changes after my release but surprisingly, I was wrong.

The very night I got home, one of the first activities on my agenda was to hit the local Rite Aid and score some Natty's! Granted, prison had lots of brewed-up hooch - not to mention a shitload of deuce (k2) and chinita (suboxone). So I could have gotten high if I were so inclined. But personally, I was not of the mind to get loaded in the joint - only to be locked into a 50 square foot cell with a bunky I didn't like. I just didn't think that would be good for my sanity.

EATING IN THE JOINT

Several people have asked me "So what's the first thing you ate when you got out?" The truth is I don't remember. And that's because I simply didn't find prison food to be all that horrible that I craved good food and fantasized what I would first eat upon reentry to society. Also, I'm not really a "foodie" like that. Consider the fact that for the past few years, I've mostly dined on whatever's offered at soup kitchens or pantries where I volunteer.

BUNKY BLUES

I am currently addicted to quora.com, the 80th most visited site on the entire world wide web. The general idea is for someone to ask a question in a category - and for someone else to answer it. I have chosen this forum to reach the world on the subjects of imprisonment and the life inmates lead in confinement. In three weeks, I have garnered over 1.6 million views, a number exponentially more than I ever could with a blog like this. The following is an answer to the question "What is it like living with a celly in prison?" If you are at all curious to read my answer to 99 more questions like the aforementioned, click on the link: https://www.quora.com/profile/William-Mersey

LIFE AFTER PRISON

So, the inquiring mind might want to know...what's different about my life after prison as opposed to before? Not a whole lot, actually. Except for one thing!

For fully 5 and a half years before surrendering to prison, I had a storm cloud hanging over my life. And that was the question of whether I was actually going to get locked up or simply given probation. I can't tell you what a relief it is to be done with my incarceration. It's like a weight off my shoulders.

HEARD IT ON THE RADIO

Last night I woke up about 4 AM and realized I'd had enough sleep. It was time to get up and do something. Anything really. So I went to Rite Aid and bought some Bran flakes. I knew from the website it was on sale. Not that I needed them right then and there. It was just a destination. The streets were cold and empty. Just my style. I was free to do what I wanted to do. That was the whole point.

In prison, when you wake up at 4 AM and realize you're no longer tired, there's not a lot you can do. You can't leave your 50 square foot cell. And your bunky is asleep. So milling about is out of the question. Paulie (Manafort) used to turn on his reading light and read the bible. Me? I read over 100 books in prison. But late at night, that wasn't for me. I listened to the radio. That was my other escape. In my 311 days at MCC, I heard maybe a total of 15 new songs I knew I'd want to view and listen to on You Tube over and over again when I got out.