Prison Coach Role Prior to Self-Surrender to Prison | Chapter 6

This chapter shows how contact with a prison coach occurred before self-surrender and what actions followed.

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.

Chapter Summary

On 28 April 2008, I self-surrendered to Taft Federal Prison Camp. Thankfully, Judge Wilson gave me two months to surrender.

Before reporting, I did my best to prepare to go in. I leased my house, arranged for my mom to watch my dog, and reviewed what personal items I could bring to prison. I contacted Taft prison staff and was told only athletic shoes and toiletries were allowed.

I purchased running shoes, a watch, and apparel after setting a goal to lose weight. On the days before surrender, I spent time with Brad Fullmer, eating a log, including Tito’s Tacos and Baskin Robbins.

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TL;DR

• This chapter shows what actually happens in the days before self-surrender, including how preparation starts before you ever report to prison.
• It explains how isolation and avoidance can creep in after sentencing, and how outside help sometimes comes through people you didn’t expect.
• Readers see how a prison coach entered the picture through a family member, not a formal plan or paid arrangement.
• The chapter highlights the practical steps taken before surrender. Logistics, routines, and mindset. Not abstract advice.
• The core takeaway: early guidance and preparation can change how you walk into prison, even when you feel shut down and overwhelmed.

My Prison Coach

On 28 April 2008 Bureau of Prisons administrators instructed me to self-surrender to the Taft Federal Prison Camp. Self-surrendering was a courtesy and a privilege that the judge extended. Had he not found me cooperative and trustworthy, the judge could have ordered the federal marshals to take me into custody immediately upon sentencing.

As a prisoner, I later met men who were locked in federal detention centers long before they reported to prison. That experience, I learned from my conversations with others, brought an onslaught of stress. In federal lockup centers, prisoners of every classification served time together. More than eight out of ten prisoners in the lockup would not be eligible for camp placement, and many of the men had predatory tendencies. By giving me the option of self-surrendering to the prison camp where I would serve my sentence, the judge spared me the struggle of a federal detention center and allowed me the time to put my affairs in order before I began my journey through prison.

With the legal expenses, restitution payment, and lost income, my troubles with the law cost me well in excess of a million in hard dollars. Again, had I acted responsibly from the beginning, the consequences of my bad decisions would have been far less severe. Yet as a man who was about to serve a prison term, I had to let go of the past and prepare for the future as best I could.

Without a wife or children, I was free to lease my residence for the duration of my anticipated confinement. My mother agreed to care for my dog. I felt sure that I had made arrangements to preserve what remained of my financial assets while I paid my debt to society. I learned later that ancillary consequences accompanied my criminal activities. This news came too late for me to act decisively. I will explain those details below, according to the troubling order in which I received them.

Prior to self-surrendering, I called Taft prison to inquire what personal belongings administrators would allow me to bring. Hopes for my laptop, Blackberry, and cell phone were all dashed, as the officer with whom I spoke said I could only bring athletic shoes and toiletries. I later learned that the officer misled me, and I suspect he had motives for doing so.

Believing that I could carry in some gear, my friend Brad and I went to Nike Town. I was tipping the scales at 210, which bordered on obesity at 30 pounds above my ideal weight. Not knowing how my routine in prison would unfold, the one goal I set was to drop those excess pounds. I purchased a pair of Nike’s best running shoes, a runner’s watch and some apparel I intended to use regularly.

After leaving Nike Town, Brad and I drove over to Tito’s Tacos, a landmark in Los Angeles. “You better get it all in now,” Brad suggested. “Who knows what the food’s going to be like in prison?” We gorged ourselves on greasy, but delicious orders of tacos, enchiladas, burritos and other Mexican dishes. Despite our gluttonous blowout at Tito’s, we drove to Baskin Robbins and dropped $28 on various ice cream desserts. An observer would have thought that I was eating as if I had an imminent date with the electric chair.

When I drove over to my mother’s house on the morning that I would self-surrender, I felt as strong as possible considering the circumstances.

Part of the reason for my equanimity came with the cleansing of my conscience that accompanied my acceptance of responsibility and guilty plea. Still, I could not underestimate the value that came through a serendipitous relationship orchestrated through a combination of stubbornness on my part and love from my mother.

A few months prior to sentencing, judicial complications were resulting in unexpected delay after delay. Those stressful times challenged me and I struggled. I wanted the procedure to end. I had pleaded guilty, and I wanted the sentence imposed so I could embark upon the next phase. The system did not place a high degree of importance on my wants as a defendant.

In my frustration, I kind of curled up, like a turtle retracting into its shell. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to entertain questions to which I did not know the answers. I just wanted to vegetate, alone with my double cheeseburgers, my cigarettes, and my online chess games. I quit returning phone calls, and I froze out all of those who loved me.

My retreat drove my mother to the brink. She searched the Internet for solutions or assistance, Googling information on white-collar crime, prison, or any keyword that might lead to the information she craved. She was a frantic mother, crying out for help, and she found a friend in Walt.

Walt had been an executive at the corporation formerly known as WorldCom. In that capacity, he became involved in a fraud within a fraud that resulted in his criminal conviction. Walt served a couple of years in prison, and while inside, he made substantive efforts to redeem himself through contributions to society. Walt published Stolen Without a Gun and launched a speaking career to contribute content on the subject of ethics. Walt spoke to tens of thousands, describing the flawed values that led to his demise, his experiences, and offered suggestions on how an emphasis on ethics contributes to success.

Walt’s mission was not to serve as a prison consultant. Yet when my mother’s search led to Walt’s Web site, she explained her troubled state of mind, her worries over my fate and pleaded with him for guidance through an email. I was not talking with her about my case, so she looked for information wherever it was available.

Walt felt touched by my mother. He had been freed from prison for a few years, and to a large extent he had put that unpleasant portion of his life behind him. Although Walt had reached a level of success as an author and professional speaker on the international circuit, he was not immune to the pleas of a frantic mother’s call for help.

In an effort to ease my mother’s distress, he responded to the unsolicited email. My mother offered to pay Walt for his counsel, though Walt would not accept payment. He simply listened to her concern for my welfare, and then calmly, and confidently, walked her through every step of the process that I would endure. Walt assured my mother that I would emerge from the prison experience intact. The steady hand he provided during my mother’s time of need was invaluable.

I received message after message from my mother urging me to contact Walt. She wanted me to learn from him to understand more of what was coming. I resisted her advice, however, as I was trapped in that funk where only solitude could comfort me. I did appreciate the help Walt offered my mother. In gratitude, I sent an email to thank him for helping my mom, yet maintained that I preferred not to discuss my predicament with anyone.

As he did with my mother, Walt responded. He indicated that he understood my mother’s worry, as his parents had endured the same troubles. Essentially, Walt offered a glimpse of what was about to unfold for me. As a favor to my mom, he said he was available to talk should I ever feel the need.

In time, I did contact Walt. He had chosen to focus his career on public speaking though he also had a gift for individual consulting. Through many conversations, emails and one lengthy meeting, Walt empowered me to advance with confidence. He had made exceptional use of his prison time and inspired me to do the same. With Walt’s guidance, I set goals I could achieve and really began to embrace the reality that I could climb out from the pit into which my bad decisions had sunk me.

FAQ

Top Misconceptions

Misconception: Prison coaching begins after entering prison
Correction: Contact occurred before self-surrender.

Misconception: Prison coaches only work for payment
Correction: No payment was accepted in this chapter.

Misconception: Judges always require immediate custody
Correction: The judge allowed self-surrender.

Misconception: Preparation begins after reporting
Correction: Preparations occurred prior to surrender.

If You’re Facing a Federal Investigation or Prison…

• Where self-surrender is described as a court option
  
• How third-party contact occurred before incarceration
  
• Where communication stopped and resumed
  
• How outside information entered before reporting
  
• Where timing before surrender is detailed