"You’ve heard how a dog can smell fear? That’s no myth. Now I can smell it, too.”

That little hard-time haiku was written by a prisoner, one of nearly two million currently behind bars in this country, and one of several hundred who answered Maxim’s call for convict correspondence. Each letter’s a gritty snapshot of life on the other side of the razor wire, a look at the eat-or-be-eaten landscape in which they live and die. Yeah, yeah, their letters will make you laugh, they’ll make you cry…but mostly they’ll make you glad you never got caught.

Warning: These ain’t for the squeamish.

They aren’t prettied up or made over. They come straight from the prisoners’ pens to the pages you hold in your hand. They tell of a reality you don’t get when Ted Koppel tiptoes into the joint with his cameramen and lighting guys and with a dozen armed guards standing just outside the frame.

And that reality may give you pause. While you shuffle off to your breakfast meeting, these guys are learning QUESTIONS forge lethal weapons from bed-springs and spare typewriter parts. They’re learning QUESTIONS fight, and intimidate, and survive.

Of course, the most frightening thing about our nation’s prisons is that there are 1,515 of them, about 30 in each state. Which means that all that’s separating your reality from theirs is a foot of concrete, a bit of barbed wire, and two minutes on the interstate. Think about that as you read the last letter.

Editor’s note: The prisoners’ names have been deleted from the following letters to protect the writers from possible retribution.

Rip-Off Van Winkle
“I’ve met just about all the criminals you can think of, but this one old man I know kinda sticks out from all the others. One time he asked me how I got to prison, and I told him that I come in a van. And this old man laughed and said, ‘I came to prison on a horse and buggy.’ Believe it or not, this old man was in prison for robbing a train. He killed a man during the robbery. He’s doing life in prison because West Virginia doesn’t have the death penalty. He turned 99 that year I was there.”
—Southwestern Regional Jail, Holden, West Virginia

Martha Stewart Flushing
“In prison, one learns quickly that his toilet (or ‘shitter’) has many uses. Besides the basic disposing of body wastes, we incarcerated have found that a toilet can be used to wash our clothes in. Don’t laugh. This is a very common practice, especially with older convicts. We believe in keeping our stainless steel toilets spotless, using a harsh cleaner called Bippie and scrubbing it with stolen kitchen S.O.S. pads or wire coils. We wipe it down after each body-waste disposal and it is cleaner than most free worlders’ pots and pans. I have even had cellies that would drink out of the toilet during the hot Texas summer days! Another use of our shitter is to put a chess board over the bowl and create a little ‘coffee table’ like piece of cell furniture.

“Those are just a few real life practical uses of the most important fixture in our six-by-10-foot cells.”
—William P. Clements Unit, Amarillo, Texas

Checking In
“There is a type of initiation in prison called ‘checking.’ It’s like this: A new guy comes to prison and as soon as he hits the wing he is jammed up. At first, it’s conversation and intimidation. If the guy tells them to go to hell, they backdoor him. A backdoor is where any number of guys line up and fight the new guy back to back with no rest for the new guy. The guy continues to fight until he can’t fight no more or until the others decide to stop. When the new guy breaks, he usually folds up and begs the guys to stop. Then he rides with whoever broke him. The guy who broke him is considered his man. And the one who broke is considered a kid, a ho’, and most likely will be a punk.”
—Charles T. Terrell Unit, Livingston, Texas

Thieves Like Us
“Anything and everything that turns up missing or otherwise unaccounted for in prison is automatically blamed on ‘those damn inmates.’ No matter how many times we’re patted down, strip searched, run through a metal detector, we still manage to whisk our stolen treasures to our cells (which are smaller than a Motel 6 bathroom and occupied by two people), never to be seen again. The following is an example of government property inmates have been accused of stealing.

* 1 car battery
* 1 chainsaw
* 4 car tires
* 18 lawn chairs (which I’ve never seen on a prison compound)
* 3 pallets of exotic cheeses (250 pounds each)
* 4,000 pounds of red snapper (the inmate population doesn’t eat food of this quality. Our fish fare is known as sewer trout)
* 7 Magnavox 40-inch TVs (new, in the box)
* A tractor-trailer full of wooden picnic tables and benches
* Tons of exercise equipment
* 1 industrial, conveyor-belt-operated, computerized, stainless steel dishwasher (which is the same size as a small car)
* 400 two-by-four-by-eight wood framing studs
* 1 Caterpillar bulldozer”
—Federal Correctional Institution, Texarkana, Texas

Sidewalk Café
“Not long ago I was afflicted with an abnormal condition where I would go into a coughing fit and then be unable to suck in any air. One day as I was coming out of the chow hall I experienced a particularly nasty fit that progressed from coughing to wheezing to puking my guts out all over the walkway. As I was on my knees gasping for air, I noticed inmates going into the chow hall inspecting my fresh spew for what was on today’s menu. Then one of my buddies who had just eaten stopped to look over my shoulder. Instead of offering assistance, he notices the large orange chunks splattered over the concrete. ‘Hey,’ he says, ‘I didn’t get any fuckin’ carrots on my tray!’”
—H.H. Coffield Unit, Tennessee Colony, Texas

Holy Mackerel!
“I’ve learned more about society and life than any book could have taught me. Take ‘Jack-Macking.’ Jack mackerel is canned fish that is the size of a Campbell’s Soup can. When placed in a sock and swung at someone’s head, it can be deadly. It was one of the first ‘defense techniques’ I learned upon entering prison.”
—O.L. Luther Unit, Navasota, Texas

Sporting Chance
“In prison they have a name for the guy that your wife or girlfriend runs off with when you’re here. It’s ‘Sportcoat.’ Well, it took my fiancée, the mother of my son, all of a month to find and move in with Sportcoat. They’re getting married this spring, poor bastard.”
—Camp Ojibway, Marenisco, Michigan

Con Games
“We keep ourselves entertained in here. You can make dice out of soap or aspirin. Just crunch it all up, get it wet, and let it dry into hard squares. We make our own cards out of milk cartons and cereal boxes.”
—Manuel A. Segovia Unit, Edinburg, Texas

Color Wars
“Prison is the breeding ground for racism and hate. When you step into prison, all the eyes of your race will be on you. There are ‘rules’ set down by your race that you must follow, or you’ll really be hurt. A couple of examples are: Don’t share food with anyone outside your race. Don’t ‘ride,’ or kick it tough, with anyone outside your race. Don’t speak up for anyone outside your race, unless they are paying you protection money. The lists go on…

“Here’s something I saw recently: A Hispanic guy from a big city grew up listening to rap and R&B. He still listened to Black music and didn’t care what the other people of his race told him. Well, one day, a group of Mexicans confronted him and told him if he didn’t stop ridin’ with the Blacks, he was going to get hurt. The guy replied, ‘I hang with Black folks in the world, and since I don’t plan to move to Mexico when I get out, you can stop trippin’ and like me for who I am or don’t like me at all.’

“Well, they didn’t like that. So they beat his ass and then raped him.”
—O.L. Luther Unit, Navasota, Texas

Honorable Discharge
“The Simple Art of ‘Fifi’ Making:
1. Materials: plastic bag, towel, lotion. 2. Fold towel in half, the long way, and place bag at one end. 3. Slowly roll towel around the bag, tucking the opening of the bag into the towel as you go. 4. When finished, Fifi should look like a little log. 5. Put lotion into plastic opening, lubricate generously and enjoy.”
—Washtenaw County Jail, Ann Arbor, Michigan

Cafeteria Plan
“Hooch (homemade wine) is a valuable item in here. Me and my peoples who work in the mess hall take a large coffee container (which holds about 20 gallons), fill it halfway with apples, squeeze about 100 oranges into it and add two large cans of sliced pears in syrup, two pounds of sugar, and one loaf of bread. In six days you got some potent stuff. One milk container (a pint) goes for one pack of cigarettes. Although the next day you got a banging headache and diarrhea, the high is as good as a couple of cold ones.”
—Rikers Island, East Elmhurst, New York

Prisoner7099287664@Jail.com
“People have such a bad misrepresentation about prison. It’s pitiful. I called an old friend of mine recently. She lived a sheltered life and couldn’t believe that her sweet, nice high school buddy was in prison.

‘Let me get your E-mail address,’ she said.

‘My what? What the fuck is that?’ I asked. She explained it to me and I thought, How the fuck am I supposed to have an E-mail address? ‘What, do you think I’ve got a computer in my cell?’ I asked her.

‘Oh, fine,’ she said, ‘Then let me just get your phone number so I can call you.’

‘Duh. My phone number? Sure, get a pen,’ I say.

‘Go ahead,’ she says.

‘1-800-idiot. Got it?’

‘Wait,’ she says, ‘are you playin’ with me?’

‘Olive,’ I say, ‘I don’t have a fucking phone, are you crazy? This is a prison. My cell is so small that I can stand up and touch both walls.’

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. Can I at least send you something?’ she said.

‘Yeah, send me a cake with a file in it!’ I told her. ‘Nah, you can’t send me anything.’”
—U.S. Penitentiary at Terre Haute, Indiana

I Shall Be Relieved
“The penitentiary is probably the only place where masturbation is so openly talked about and accepted by men, among men. It’s as common as going down to the chow hall for a portion of chicken-n-dumpster. Witnessing a man jackin’ his shotgun can happen anywhere: Showers, library, rec yard, school…everywhere. It’s understood when you ask your road dawg to ‘use’ his porno mag (not borrow or look at, but use) that you are just ‘taking care of your business.’”
—John M. Wynne Unit, Huntsville, Texas

Forgotten Men
“The friends and family who were always within arm’s reach seem to be light years away. Reality strikes: Life goes on without me! Backyard barbecues are still being held on Sundays. And more and more, people when they refer to me, they use the word remember. ‘Remember Feerio?’ Yeah, I ‘remember’ him! Come on, what the fuck—I’m not dead. I’m just among the living dead.”
—Clinton Correctional Facility, Dannemora, New York

Combat Ready
“As I’m walking down the corridor, the alarm goes off. This means shit is jumping off somewhere. Probably a gang fight, maybe the Latin Kings, Netas, Bloods, Crips, Five Percenters, or the Italians from Brooklyn or Queens. Gates start locking, lights start flashing, and ERU is marching in my direction down the hallway. ERU is the Emergency Response Unit that sits around all day until somebody, or a group of somebodies, start acting up. Then they march right into the problem with helmets, black jumpsuits, and billy clubs and ‘regulate’ the situation by literally breaking dudes down. I know that I had better lay on the ground with my arms and legs spread out; otherwise, they will help me assume that position. They march past me, as I kiss the floor, and head on to take care of their business.”
—Ogdensburg Correctional Facility, Ogdensburg, New York

As Seen on TV
“Rapes, murders, stabbing, head-bashing fights—you name it, the ‘Bay’ has it. I almost feel like I’m in one of those cheesy B movies you watch on Cinemax. You know, the ones where you want to scream at some poor sap who’s about to buy it because he’s so stupid he can’t see it coming. I feel like that sap…you never know what’s coming.”
—Green Bay Correctional Institute, Green Bay, Wisconsin

Last Word
“I make no excuses for my actions in the past. I killed a man, and I deserve what I receive in this life and the next. I make no excuses for the men in here, who choose to sit on their collective asses day after day, watching soap operas and Ricki Lake. I make no excuses for the prison system that warehouses us and subjects us to the unchecked authority of ill-trained idiots. Indeed, the public will get what they paid for.”
—Daniel Webster Wallace Unit, Colorado City, Texas