‘Medium Custody to Maximum Security’

Plucked from my comfort zone for the second time in two years, the state of Idaho once again practiced its ruthless punching power.  Wrist-cuffed and ankle-shackled, the medium custody transporters drove me to my new home, I.M.S.I. – Idaho Maximum Security Institution.  No forewarning – no explanation.  I knew I’d done nothing to warrant the move – nevertheless, I was moved. 

I’m an ‘old school lifer’ who has survived over three decades in an ever changing institutional gambit.  Old school lifer meaning – my mindset is that of the traditional ‘convict code’ method of doing time with a life sentence. The ‘convict code’ is holding oneself and others accountable without the assistance of prison guard intervention. 

I later learned my transfer was not based on any infraction. Rather, I was moved because of my exceptional behavior and work ethic and had been vetted by a certain Lieutenant.   The Lieutenant found me a worthy bargaining chip for their modest worker program, and there were incentives in place to keep manageable inmates interested in staying in the high security environment.  The inmate labor population was pretty small compared to the approximate five hundred captives held in the Maximum Security Facility.

My first work assignment at I.M.S.I. was in the kitchen as a food tray server and emptier. We did the dishes after every meal, and for me, it was my five hour Jane Fonda workout – six days out of the week. Our hours began t 4:00 a.m. and ended when the job was complete, usually a six hour shift.  I would have never done it if it weren’t for the exercise, the money being a deterrent at thirty cents an hour.

I learned of ‘C’ Block, by way of our prison barber.  Tucked away in the North end of ‘Max’ is what they call the ‘Acute Mental Health Unit’.   The barber was also a ‘mentor’, and he expressed an interest in me working and living with him on that unit. I fell for his recruiting spiel and became one of his two enlistees.   There was a pilot program in place that the prison administration had designed for interested inmates to be hired as ‘mentors’ and trained to work with the mental health inmates.

I was interviewed by the Mental Health Ward Committee which was comprised of the warden, the unit case manager and a sergeant.  The meeting reminded me of an interview one undergoes in society. I was not at all nervous, nor did I expect not to be hired.  My intentions, faith, and willingness to serve and learn were genuine.  Although I had never aspired to work in such a volatile environment, there was something very intriguing about the mental health inmates I was about to encounter.  The challenge would be worth every second I spent with them. I was hired that same day and moved that evening.

The first thirty days of training was mostly cleaning detail. The extreme security was something I had never imagined. Cameras were scattered throughout the facility. There were so many radio strapped officers, staff members, and social workers to deal with, I felt like they may consider giving me one too!  I soon learned, I was ill-prepared for the duties, responsibilities, and experiences I would endure while working with ‘cops’ and serving these particular prisoners.  While every facet of the job was demanding, the adversities and challenges turned out to be a great honor and introduced me to who I managed to become.

While working in C Block, I met Melvin, a man in his early seventies.  He was a Vietnam vet who had done much of the last two decades there.  Daily, Melvin would excrete on the cement floor under the sink in his cell.  I chose to clean it up, as he refused to do so. In some strange way, it felt like it was a privilege as his condition unraveled.  He was highly unpredictable with a multitude of behavior swings – angry, shaky, intimidating, and at times somewhat evil, but we eventually saw eye to eye.

There were many mentally distraught prisoners there. The most intriguing man I encountered was Mohamed, an immigrant gaining political asylum from the middle-east.  When I arrived, no one could reason with him.  He was exceedingly disruptive in every way imaginable, and eventually he helped me find an inner-patience I never thought I had.  Mohamed was a highly strung ex-military soldier, driven to the edge of insanity, while also intelligent and manipulative.  He continually harassed guards and people he didn’t trust.

The stories Mohamed shared with me in his heavy middle-eastern accent were of some of the most shocking atrocities I could have imagined – war stories from Iraq and his family’s slaughter by Saddam Hussein.  Not only did I believe him, but I witnessed firsthand the cause and effect of human misery. He displayed constant irritation by ‘corrupt authority’, and spoke often about being mentally and physically tortured.  Fortunately, after many days of necessary communication, we became friends. 

Mentoring and serving the men on C Block brought my soul to a place of genuine conformity. From their experiences, I began to realize how fortunate I was to still have a sane mind after thirty years in prison.  I also felt the immense capacity for compassion in my soul for those who struggle deeply with emotional and mental difficulties. I began to feel  pure benevolence toward others for the first time in my life.

My experience in the Acute Mental Health Unit was the most rewarding and eye opening undertaking I’ve ever encountered. It gave me an opportunity to experience both hell and also my purpose on earth. Something very profound transformed inside of me, ending my search for a pearl of great price. 

ABOUT THE WRITER. Samuel Pacheco submitted this entry for the spring writing contest. The winner of the contest was chosen based on a point system from two judges, but each of the two judges was also given an opportunity to award a ‘Judge’s Choice’ writer, and Mr. Pacheco was one of those two writers. I hope we hear from him again in the future. He can be contacted at:

SAMUEL M. PACHECO
56645 E3-36A
Idaho St. Correctional Center
P.O. Box 70010
Boise, Idaho 83707