I'll Never Make Parole

About the Author

Sue Binder is a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) and a Licensed Addictions Counselor (LAC), who has served as a Mental Health Coordinator in the prison system. She is the author of Meltdown, a collection of short stories, Mr. Living History and Summer Harvest, both light romances, and Special Effects, a book of poetry, all published by Smashwords. In addition, her domestic violence manual Hands Off and its accompanying instructors’ guide has been published by American Correctional Association. She is also an award-wining poet with publications in several anthologies.

However, her pride and joy are her four children and five grandchildren and dog, Tuffy.

DEDICATION

While this book is intended to be humorous, it is with great respect and admiration, I dedicate it to the hard-working, conscientious staff of all of our prisons—to those who with personal risk keep our workplaces safe and secure. I am able to come home each evening due to your skill and vigilance. Thank you!!

INTRODUCTION

Hopefully, the reader will find this book humorous, somewhat amusing, and at times a bit truthful, albeit exaggerated. Yet, as an introduction, there are several facets of life in a correctional facility, that I wish to seriously acknowledge. First of all, please understand that I do not know exactly what goes on behind the scenes in that magical realm where corporate and influential decisions are made. I do not pretend to know. I can only relate to you, Dear Reader, what I have experienced from my biased perceptions.

Secondly, far be it for me to give the impression, that all is fun and games while working in a prison. Nothing could be further from the truth. Prison is a danger zone. Working day by day alongside inmates who have committed a variety of crimes, one must constantly be aware of one’s surrounding. That is to say, a person does not need to be paranoid, always looking over one's shoulder for the ax—or shank—to fall. However, one must be alert at all times, watching for behaviors, such as group gatherings, distances between yourself and the offenders and, yes, treating one’s intuition seriously.

A person can become complacent, especially if he/she works in a facility such as I did. That facility was fairly laid back, for lack of a better term. Some of the inmates, who had been previously incarcerated at more intense locations, would call our prison a boy scout camp. This does not mean that we didn't have our share of fights and disruptions. That goes with the territory when you are housing a group of folks who are used to disobeying the rules of society and who are focused primarily on getting their own wants met immediately—known as self-gratification.

We were used to walking the halls at the same time as inmates, counseling and meeting with them in classrooms and offices, alone, often without a radio, camera, or officer present. Dangerous? Of course. But the truth is, in all that time, I never had an inmate threaten me or strike me. A few attempted to intimidate me. Some got loud and had to be dismissed from my office. But even those were few and far between.

Yet, with this seemingly safe history, the truth remains that prison work is a dangerous enterprise. Many workers have been injured and killed in the line of duty. While one might feel reasonably safe during any given moment, that does not mean that a quick and unexpected event, could lead to tragedy—and has.

This is why my dedication is to those folks who daily work under these uncertain and dangerous environments. I have all the respect in the world for them.

So, Dear Reader, as you, hopefully, laugh, your way through this silly little book of mine, I hope that you realize the seriousness of prison work, but I also hope that you realize that in any position , career, or job, how important it is to smile. To laugh, both at the craziness of the systems we labor in, but also at ourselves. This is a great way to keep our sanity!!

Have fun reading!

Sue Binder

Lamar, CO.

Feb. 27, 2013

CHAPTER 1

ONCE UPON A TIME…

Isn’t that the way all fairy tales begin? Once upon a time, and then they take off on their flights of fancy, carrying the readers along on wild and preposterous adventures. Contrary to the usual fairy tales, with all respect to the Brothers Grimm, this particular Once Upon a Time is somewhat true.

Now that does sound as if I am fudging just a bit. Yep. I am. While the tales you find inside these pages are based upon my crazy and distorted experiences, they can hardly be construed as true. How so? Because from a kernel of an event, I have exaggerated, altered and otherwise added to and subtracted from the kernel of the event—all for literary purposes, of course.

Now some folks may read the saga and truly see themselves within the descriptions. I am here to assure you, dear reader, it is not you. Now a character may have a trait that fits you, but that character most probably has traits that fit ten others, as well. When I refer to a specific person, you can be sure that that person is a figment of my imagination, created from characteristics and traits of people I have known.

Some may be absolutely sure that a specific event described therein is true, and they may be partially correct. Certainly many of the events occurred, but, again, they have been greatly altered. The reason, of course, is to protect the guilty—and innocent. Keep in mind that this journey is one person’s perception, sitting in a small office with little input to distort or improve that perception.

So this is truly a Once Upon a Time version of events that could or might have taken place at some point in the history of my career in corrections.

Let us begin.

One Upon a Time in a Western town, far from the hustle and bustle of big-city traffic, there lived a woman who stumbled, screeching and fighting, into a position in a correctional facility. Also known as a penitentiary or prison, the facility presented a variety of surprises, problems, and situations for which she was totally unprepared.

However, being the trooper she was, she quickly acclimated. She brought with her a warped sense of humor, which fortunately kept her going, day after day for over ten years. Oh, from time to time, she thought about retiring—and honestly considered other less demanding jobs. These were the times when the pressure of dealing with the various and sundry rules overwhelmed her. Well, perhaps when politics and personalities took precedence.

Nevertheless, she persevered. This is her story, as she continues to struggle on that long and far-off road to retirement because, as the title indicates, she’ll probably never make parole.

CHAPTER 2

I’LL NEVER MAKE PAROLE!

Yes. It’s absolutely true. The title says it all. I’ll never make parole—nor a halfway house or receive a commutation or even get a pardon. Ten years have I slaved away, obediently following all the rules dictated by my superiors—no write-ups, no infractions. But all in vain. Still, I dream. After all, other mental health workers have come and gone. Surely, there is hope. And never is hope more solely needed than in this pit of despair known as the Indeterminate Correctional Center or ICC located on the outskirts and backwoods of my imagination.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the prison system, a brief explanation is provided. An indeterminate sentence is one with no ending. Oh, a person might be sentenced from Two Years to Life, but the only known factor is that he or she (in my case) will serve a minimum of two years. However, the time period is indeterminate based upon a number of factors. In my case, it is obvious I have NOT met the criteria. So my present goal is to determine exactly what requirements are missing, while not becoming institutionalized.

Oops! Another definition is needed here. An institutionalized person is one who has become so acclimated to the routine and culture of good ole ICC or any other rehabilitation center that they do not want to leave. They may even engage in activities that will prevent them leaving. Perhaps that’s what has happened. Deep down within my subconscious, somehow blended in among the ego, id, and super ego, exists a determination to remain exactly where I am—imprisoned for the rest of my life.

Surely not. Retirement is at hand. All that remains is for me to type my resignation, wait until my supervisor is at a staff meeting, place it atop the keyboard on her computer, take a handful of chocolates from her candy dish, and meekly return to my office, and shut the door. Nothing hard about that. A bit cowardly perhaps, but not hard.

Then why do I hesitate? Possibly its that mighty mortgage payment that would take my entire social security check. Or perhaps its the outstanding medical bills at the local hospital where, had I been investment wise, I would have purchased stock when the facility was only a modular. Or isn’t it simply that I am stuck in a time loop, fervently praying that Dr. Who will zoom by in the Tardis and rescue me?

But I am progressing. I have compiled a list of all the strategies so that, hopefully, in the near future, I will make parole. I have done my own self-evaluation, critically examining all of my characteristics and possible failings. Of course, I’m not a bit biased. After all, I have a clinically trained mind so that I am observant and mindful of the facts—as you will note from the following list:

• Team Player

Surrounded by those who strive for the weekly pay check and others whose primary aim is to enjoy the company coffee with the associated breaks, as well as sharing the most recent tidbits of local gossip, and lauding the latest finalists on Dancing with the Stars, the team scheme of working together often falls short. Typically, motivation to participate arises when demotions occur or the boss threatens to cut off the coffee supply.

• Integrity

This includes honesty, trustworthiness, and supporting your fellow workers. It means that your superiors should not, make that NEVER, lie to you, and if they do, make every effort to find a logical and believable reason for the next lie. Because I have a short memory and can never remember my first lie (was it really the truth?), I find I best avoid them, but then my failure to play the game means that the truth usually comes back to bite me. Like, yes, I really did tell the Quality Control Auditor about those missing tongue depressors.

• Dependability

Of course, one must be counted on to be on time each work day. No excuses, such as the roadblock in the construction zone or the blowing blizzard sweeping across the western plains. On time means on time. Straight up. Eight o’clock. Wait a minute. What about the assistant who wanders in an hour late and leaves an hour early. Oh, I forgot, you didn’t want your wife to know about her. It also means driving through rain and snow at midnight when you’re on call with no compensation. After all the company—and the department does have a budget and, as a faithful employee, I should not expect anything, except the good deed I am now doing.

• Loyalty

Not enough can be said about loyalty. Being loyal to your fellow employees, as well as the mother company, is vital for success. No bad mouthing. No expressing anger when half the staff is fired or programs are shut down. Chin up, labor on, and defend them to the death. When your company stock hits rock bottom, smile and increase your contribution.

• Performance

Accuracy and diligence is critical for success. Nose to the grindstone and double, triple edit any memos or reports for possible errors. After all, these documents may end up in court—or even worse, they may end up in a historic display at some place, say like the Smithsonian, 200 years hence. Visitors will ooh and aah over their meticulous punctuation and grammar. Fortunately, I have a grammar and spell-checker on my Dell.

After reviewing the above list, as incomplete as it is, I have to agree, perhaps the decision is correct. I should not be on parole, not yet, anyway. I still have great strides needed in my self improvement. But until I am finally molded into that model employee, I am doomed to remain at ICC, a smile pinned to my face, as I labor on, awaiting a reprieve.

CHAPTER 3

BUT I’M INNOCENT

I’ve been working in the prison system for over ten years, and it’s still a shock to me that so many of the inmates are innocent. Such a multitude of innocent men, people who are serving sentences from a few months to life—all convicted of charges that they never committed!

I’d always thought that a person was innocent until proven guilty and that everyone is entitled to an attorney, if they can’t afford one. Isn’t that the American way, the advantage of our