How Federal Prison Camp Jobs Get Assigned

Note: The chapter below is reproduced exactly as I wrote it inside Taft Prison Camp in 2008. The summaries, FAQs, and modern context appear after the chapter for clarity.

You will see how a first work assignment at Taft Camp gets handed out, who runs the kitchen detail, and what the job pays.

What This Chapter Covers About Federal Prison Camp Jobs

I self-surrendered to Taft Federal Prison Camp in April 2008. About 500 people were confined inside the boundaries. Counselor Micks assigned my first job.

My diploma from Montclair Prep, my degree from USC, and my professional licenses carried no weight. She assigned me to the kitchen. I washed pots and pans in the dish room.

At Taft, counselors assign new inmates to the food service department. Those jobs include cook, baker, cleaning tables, serving meals from behind the buffet counter, or the dish room. Jim, the inmate clerk, assigned the specific detail for each man.

Pay ran from $10 to $100 a month. Jim had been incarcerated longer than 12 years. He kept the payroll, the work schedules, and the paperwork for the fire, safety, and maintenance departments.

This chapter follows that first shift. The vinyl apron, the community rubber boots, the rice-and-chicken pans, and the inmate in the dish room who told me his name was Road Runner, Beep Beep.

Road Runner. Beep Beep

After that first game, I began spending a lot of time at Taft Camp with Michael. Approximately 500 people were confined inside the boundaries, though I noticed there was kind of a buddy system to serving time. Each prisoner had a few others with whom he became close. They usually came together because of similar interests and proximity. Those who lived in the same housing unit could socialize, eat, and exercise together. Friendships eased the pain that came with separation from home.

Counselor Micks assigned my first job in the camp. She was not particularly interested with academic pedigree. Neither the diploma from Montclair Prep, the degree from USC, nor the professional licenses I had earned carried much weight in prison; lack of a GED does not disqualify anyone from a prison job. I had been hoping for one of the laid back jobs that would afford me time to read and focus on fitness. Instead, my counselor assigned me to work in the kitchen. An inmate “supervisor” issued me a vinyl apron and assigned me to the dish room, where I was instructed to wash pots and pans.

Inmate work details were part of the prison experience. Officially, rules stated that no single inmate would have power or authority over another inmate. In practical terms, however, a prison protocol existed.

Those prisoners with more seniority stood a little higher in the unofficial hierarchy. Understanding that reality could make life a little easier inside.

At Taft Camp, counselors typically assigned new inmates to work in the food service department. Those job assignments could mean working as a cook or a baker. Similarly, a kitchen job assignment could mean cleaning tables, serving the meals from behind a buffet counter, or working in the dish room. Jim, the inmate clerk, assigned specific job detail for each inmate.

Officially, Jim did not have authority over any other prisoner. As the clerk, however, he made life much easier for the staff members who presided over the kitchen operations. Jim had been incarcerated for longer than 12 years. He was an old-style convict, with hair that was thinning to near baldness on top, but long and in a ponytail in back. Understanding every aspect of the food services department, Jim kept all the paperwork in order. He prepared the inmate payroll, filed the paperwork for the fire, safety, and maintenance departments. He organized work schedules and relieved staff members of having to worry about whether everything was in compliance.

Why would Jim devote so much energy to his prison job? Pay scales were nominal, with inmates earning anywhere from between $10 to $100 per month. My experience, observations, and lessons that I learned from listening to others convinced me that Jim performed his job with gusto for another reason.

Serving time in prison could rob a man of his identity, and his dignity as well. Through meaningful work, however, an individual could displace that sense of sameness and empower himself. A prisoner who had served as much time as Jim could find work therapeutic. Work helped relieve the thought of all that was missing from home. Rather than focusing on a release date that might stretch months or years, or even decades into the future, the long-term prisoner could focus on the tasks at hand through work. For Jim, that meant ensuring the food services department at Taft Camp ran smoothly.

In Viktor Frankl’s wonderful book, Man’s Search for Meaning, I learned a little something about coping with difficult situations. Viktor Frankl had been a prisoner in Hitler’s concentration camps, and he suffered unfathomable losses. He watched Nazi officers summarily execute his immediate family and Frankl never knew whether the Nazis would extinguish his own life. Despite the traumatic conditions, Frankl said that he learned something about people’s mettle while serving time in the concentration camps. Namely, people could adjust to anything by embracing activities that brought meaning to one’s life.

Although Jim was an inmate like any other, he had created a little niche for himself. In his position, he had an office, a desk, and a typewriter.

Since he controlled the job assignments within the kitchen, the inmates might try to ingratiate themselves or influence his decisions with commissary items. Bringing Jim an ice cream might ease the way to a preferred job assignment.

I knew nothing about the protocols of prison when I self-surrendered. By the time I was assigned to the food services department, things were different. My friend, Michael, had already told me a great deal about the options available. Those conversations helped guide some decisions that could have turned out badly.

After Jim assigned my vinyl apron, I slid off my sneakers to exchange them for a pair of rubber boots that were community property. The fellow who had finished his shift in the dish room handed the boots to me as he was putting his sneakers back on. I grabbed the boots with some trepidation, unsure of the sanitary implications. I relied on Michael’s advice about prison. He told me that I should brace myself for some discomfort, as there were bound to be rules and customs that I was not going to like while I served my sentence. “Trojan up,” he would tell me. As I was grabbing the boots, I told myself the same thing.

With my pants tucked into my rubber boots, and the vinyl apron hanging around my neck and down past my knees, I walked into the dish room. I saw a fellow with long hair, tattoos, a goatee, and perhaps three teeth in his mouth. He was another inmate, and I presumed that he was in charge. The man’s appearance suggested that he was not quite stable. He was tall, well over six feet. With the apron, he looked as if he could have been a stand in for some horror movie; all he needed was a chainsaw or an ax.

“I’m Justin,” I introduced myself. “I’ve been assigned to the dish room.”

The man looked at me, as if he were not quite sure whether I was predator or prey.

“What’s your name?” I hoped to ease the tension. Trojan up, I reminded myself.

“Road Runner. Beep Beep.”

I laughed, unsure what the man meant. “What was your name?”

“Road Runner. Beep Beep.”

“That’s what you’d like me to call you?”

“Beep Beep.”

“Is it Road Runner? Or Road Runner, Beep Beep?”

“Road Runner, Beep Beep.”

I shook my head as if in acknowledgment, then set to work by burying my hands in the warm sudsy water. The meal had been a rice dish with chunks of chicken baked inside. We had a lot of stainless steel pans to wash.

I was getting the hang of it. Then, without provocation or forewarning, Road Runner, Beep Beep let out a scream.

“Five minutes,” he shouted.

I didn’t know what had happened. His holler caught me by surprise, as if a canon had just set off an explosion. I nearly jumped out of my boots. Yet, Road Runner, Beep Beep kept feeding his pans into the dishwasher. I looked at him as if for an explanation, though he seemed oblivious to my concern. After I realized that I was working in an environment of questionable stability, I simply went back to work. I knew that I had at least another hour’s worth ahead. The next time Road Runner, Beep Beep let out another holler about five minutes for no reason, I felt good about my mastery in ignoring him.

After the shift, I returned to Jim’s office so that I could exchange my high rubber boots for my sneakers. I pulled off my vinyl apron and hung it on the rack. Jim was deep in a philosophical conversation with another convict. The man was in his early 30s, yet he went by the name of Dopey. Like Road Runner, Beep Beep, Dopey didn’t have much in the way of teeth.

He was quite firm in his opinions as he was expressing them to Jim.

“Look,” Jim said to Dopey in a tone of conciliation, “I’m not saying this whole thing hasn’t been blown out of proportion by the Jews. But the Holocaust did happen. I just question to what extent.”

Let it go, I told myself. I was in prison. There were going to be uncomfortable encounters. People were going to make comments with which I would not agree. Racial and ethnic tensions might exist. The best strategy for powering through would sometimes require that I keep my mouth shut and move on. With my sneakers laced, I nodded to Jim and Dopey and walked back to D dorm.

TOP MISCONCEPTIONS

Misconception: Education and professional licenses help you get a better job in a federal prison camp.

At Taft, the diploma from Montclair Prep, the USC degree, and the professional licenses carried no weight in job assignments. The chapter also states that lack of a GED does not disqualify anyone from a prison job.

Misconception: Prison staff make every job assignment.

Counselor Micks made the initial assignment to the kitchen. Within the food service department, Jim, an inmate clerk, assigned the specific detail.

Misconception: No prisoner has authority over another prisoner.

Officially, the rules stated that no single inmate had power or authority over another. In practical terms, a protocol existed, and prisoners with more seniority stood higher in the unofficial hierarchy.

Misconception: Prison jobs pay nothing.

Inmates earned between $10 and $100 per month.

Misconception: A new arrival can pick a laid-back job.

Justin had hoped for a job with time to read and focus on fitness. He was assigned to the dish room to wash pots and pans.

READER PERSPECTIVE

If You’re Facing a Federal Investigation or Prison…

• Where the two-step assignment process is specified: a counselor assigns the department, then the inmate clerk assigns the specific detail.
• How the unofficial hierarchy is described alongside the official rule that no inmate has authority over another.
• Where the pay figures are stated: $10 to $100 per month.
• How commissary items, such as ice cream, are described as a way to influence a job assignment.
• Where academic credentials are described as carrying no weight in job assignments.
• How the food service roles are listed: cook, baker, cleaning tables, serving from the buffet counter, and the dish room.
• How a first dish room shift is laid out, from the vinyl apron and community rubber boots to the stainless steel pans.

FAQs