Week Five, Episode 9

     Previously, I talked about what it felt like having a roommate from Hell.

If rule number one in prison is to never let anyone disrespect you, then rule

number 2 is never let another inmate dictate your schedule.  Inmates attempt

it a lot.  Today I was annoyed several times.  The first time was when I went

to take a shower this morning, and because the showers are attached to the

same area as the toilets, one of the women blew it up while I was showering.

    "Courtesy flush!"  I yelled.

   Many of the new women that came directly from home and never been locked

up is clueless as to what a courtesy flush is.  Its something you learn in prison.

It is when you sit on the toilet to defecate and constantly flush it as you use it.

It causes the smell to go down the drain, instead of sit there and linger. 

   "I am not finished yet!"  The newbie said.

   "Ms., Please! What the heck did you eat!  Please flush the toilet!"  I complained.

She did, once.  The bathroom smelled like a bottomless sewer, and the foulness

turned my stomach.  Women coming in have not been on the same prison diet

as me, and it is no telling what was causing the extremely pungent smell.

   "Its a bathroom, Hello!" She screamed back, annoyed. 

   No she didn't have the nerve and audacity to get an attitude!  She was trying to

kill me with toxic fumes.  She should have another felony charge for that!

    So that is how my morning began. 

    To try to restart my day, I went to the track and walked got my five miles in.

The sky was cloudy and it looked like it was going to pour rain over Danbury any

moment, but it held off until I finished walking. 

    I need to move on, but let me just continue my rant about this toilet thing

for a moment.  At home, we all have the toilet in the same room with the shower.

It is standard all over the country.  What is not standard is a stranger, coming

in and blowing the place up.  I do not understand how people get institutionalized.

I am annoyed at least once a day in here, and miss home constantly.

   Today, rule number 2 kicked in.  I usually get up on Sunday, shower, put on my

sweats, and then begin my day.  Today was no different.  My bunkie usually cleans

on Sunday, so I make a point to stay out of her way.  She was up before me to do

her hair.  She retrieved the cleaning supplies at lunch time.  Each time I came to

the room, I disappeared to give her time to clean.  At 3:22pm I went to the room

to do my hair and start preparing for work.  She jumped up off the bed, and started

pulling the bins from up under the bed, and pulling stuff out of the room.

    "I am sorry bunkie.  I am about to clean."  She said.

    "Go ahead.  I am about to sit on the bed and do my hair out of your way."  I answered.

That's exactly what I did.  I put my curtain up, and commenced to curling my hair

for the work week.  I even put my headphones on to block her and everyone else out.

   This happens often.  I don't know if this occurs in a men's prison, but women do it

repeatedly.  Each time its done to me, it makes me feel like they are attempting to

dictate my day.  I was expected to go back out of the room, after being gone all

day.  Not!  Prison life is about living with lots of strangers, and some of them are

on some other stuff. 

         Back to Arn-2- what I liked most about living in maximum security was that

most of the officers were afraid, and therefore there was not all of the rules that

existed in general population.  In general population, if you were caught with out your

identification you received a shot/ticket.  If you were not properly dressed and your

bed was not made up, you received a shot/ticket.  The rules were petty, and

strictly enforced.  I noticed quickly that Arn-2 had no rules most of the time.

   If you didn't feel like getting up for work, you simply slept in.  Nobody was in

full uniform.  The common attire was house slippers and a doo rag or head rag wrapped

around your head.  If you didn't make your bed, or come out of your room, that was

your prerogative.  The unspoken rule was to leave max inmates alone if they left

staff alone, and they did most of the time.  A few of the seasoned officers that

were not afraid to work in max informed new officers to relax and not upset the

mood.  Arn 2 inmates stuck together, and turned up quick.  If an officer wanted

to enforce the rules and ask about beds being made and uniforms not being worn,

they were called every curse word ever spoken, and some I'd never heard before,

and then talked about bad. 

    "Your breast is bigger than mines, shut up!"  Dino or someone else would yell

to a male officer with breasts. 

     Usually at least one person ended up going to the SHU when one of the new

officers surfaced.  That would be the only way to keep the crowd from being

rowdy and calling the officer names. 

    There came a time when there was a staff change.  We got a new unit

manager.  His name was Mr. Eleby.  He was a Michael Jordan look alike.  I don't

know if he shaved his head on purpose to look more like Jordan, but that didn't

help.  Same height.  Same complexion.  Same physique. 

      His mission was to change Arn 2 inmates for the better, and to classify

inmates into there right status who should not have been in max.  He reminded

me of the Morgan Freeman character that was sent to the terrible high school

in the inner city to try to change things.  Mr. Eleby had a plan. 

Rhonda Turpin

April 27, 2014

fb/rhondaturpin

worldbookspublishing@gmail.com

Week Five, Episode 9

     Previously, I talked about what it felt like having a roommate from Hell.

If rule number one in prison is to never let anyone disrespect you, then rule

number 2 is never let another inmate dictate your schedule.  Inmates attempt

it a lot.  Today I was annoyed several times.  The first time was when I went

to take a shower this morning, and because the showers are attached to the

same area as the toilets, one of the women blew it up while I was showering.

    "Courtesy flush!"  I yelled.

   Many of the new women that came directly from home and never been locked

up is clueless as to what a courtesy flush is.  Its something you learn in prison.

It is when you sit on the toilet to defecate and constantly flush it as you use it.

It causes the smell to go down the drain, instead of sit there and linger. 

   "I am not finished yet!"  The newbie said.

   "Ms., Please! What the heck did you eat!  Please flush the toilet!"  I complained.

She did, once.  The bathroom smelled like a bottomless sewer, and the foulness

turned my stomach.  Women coming in have not been on the same prison diet

as me, and it is no telling what was causing the extremely pungent smell.

   "Its a bathroom, Hello!" She screamed back, annoyed. 

   No she didn't have the nerve and audacity to get an attitude!  She was trying to

kill me with toxic fumes.  She should have another felony charge for that!

    So that is how my morning began. 

    To try to restart my day, I went to the track and walked got my five miles in.

The sky was cloudy and it looked like it was going to pour rain over Danbury any

moment, but it held off until I finished walking. 

    I need to move on, but let me just continue my rant about this toilet thing

for a moment.  At home, we all have the toilet in the same room with the shower.

It is standard all over the country.  What is not standard is a stranger, coming

in and blowing the place up.  I do not understand how people get institutionalized.

I am annoyed at least once a day in here, and miss home constantly.

   Today, rule number 2 kicked in.  I usually get up on Sunday, shower, put on my

sweats, and then begin my day.  Today was no different.  My bunkie usually cleans

on Sunday, so I make a point to stay out of her way.  She was up before me to do

her hair.  She retrieved the cleaning supplies at lunch time.  Each time I came to

the room, I disappeared to give her time to clean.  At 3:22pm I went to the room

to do my hair and start preparing for work.  She jumped up off the bed, and started

pulling the bins from up under the bed, and pulling stuff out of the room.

    "I am sorry bunkie.  I am about to clean."  She said.

    "Go ahead.  I am about to sit on the bed and do my hair out of your way."  I answered.

That's exactly what I did.  I put my curtain up, and commenced to curling my hair

for the work week.  I even put my headphones on to block her and everyone else out.

   This happens often.  I don't know if this occurs in a men's prison, but women do it

repeatedly.  Each time its done to me, it makes me feel like they are attempting to

dictate my day.  I was expected to go back out of the room, after being gone all

day.  Not!  Prison life is about living with lots of strangers, and some of them are

on some other stuff. 

         Back to Arn-2- what I liked most about living in maximum security was that

most of the officers were afraid, and therefore there was not all of the rules that

existed in general population.  In general population, if you were caught with out your

identification you received a shot/ticket.  If you were not properly dressed and your

bed was not made up, you received a shot/ticket.  The rules were petty, and

strictly enforced.  I noticed quickly that Arn-2 had no rules most of the time.

   If you didn't feel like getting up for work, you simply slept in.  Nobody was in

full uniform.  The common attire was house slippers and a doo rag or head rag wrapped

around your head.  If you didn't make your bed, or come out of your room, that was

your prerogative.  The unspoken rule was to leave max inmates alone if they left

staff alone, and they did most of the time.  A few of the seasoned officers that

were not afraid to work in max informed new officers to relax and not upset the

mood.  Arn 2 inmates stuck together, and turned up quick.  If an officer wanted

to enforce the rules and ask about beds being made and uniforms not being worn,

they were called every curse word ever spoken, and some I'd never heard before,

and then talked about bad. 

    "Your breast is bigger than mines, shut up!"  Dino or someone else would yell

to a male officer with breasts. 

     Usually at least one person ended up going to the SHU when one of the new

officers surfaced.  That would be the only way to keep the crowd from being

rowdy and calling the officer names. 

    There came a time when there was a staff change.  We got a new unit

manager.  His name was Mr. Eleby.  He was a Michael Jordan look alike.  I don't

know if he shaved his head on purpose to look more like Jordan, but that didn't

help.  Same height.  Same complexion.  Same physique. 

      His mission was to change Arn 2 inmates for the better, and to classify

inmates into there right status who should not have been in max.  He reminded

me of the Morgan Freeman character that was sent to the terrible high school

in the inner city to try to change things.  Mr. Eleby had a plan. 

Rhonda Turpin

April 27, 2014

fb/rhondaturpin

worldbookspublishing@gmail.com

FACTS, COMMENTARY, RECAP

FACTS, COMMENTARY, RECAP

        When I got up this morning, I closed my eyes and drank my apple Cider

vinegar mixed with honey drink.  It is the highlight of my month, and it works.

Exercise is working to keep me looking right also.  Prison life has the same old

hum-drum routine everyday.  It is very annoying, and it can be depressing if

you let it, but I refuse to think that route.

     This week #President Obama,_ and #Eric Holder,_ has decided to pump up

the clemency process.  For people outside of prison, this announcement does not

have a lot of significance.  For inmates serving time for drug crimes, this is

exciting. 

Today they published the rules.  I have served 10 years, and I will be attempting

to apply.  Men from all over the country are now filling up Danbury FCI and its

an interesting week.

Rhonda Turpin

author, publisher, prisoner

April 24, 2014

worldbookspublishing@gmail.com

The Lost Earrings

     I watch the #Steve Harvey,_  Show everyday at 3:00pm.  In prison you need a

good laugh and it doesn't hurt that not only is he always dressed well, but he is

also my homie, from Cleveland Ohio, and a high school classmate of my children's

father.  There is no one here from Cleveland or Ohio.  All the women here are

from the New Zealand area, New York or New Jersey. 

       Steven Harvey quoted #Joel Olsten,_ , stating that 25% of the people around

you will hate you for no reason- they don't even know why; 25% of others can

learn to like you; 25% are neutral and don't care about you either way; and 25%

will love you.  At the Camp that rings true.  It is people that constantly plot

and wait on my demise for no reason.  Their hate is genuine.  Because I have

built successful businesses a few times and lost them by self-defeating behaviors

at home, I have experienced constant haters.  The more successful you become,

the number of haters increase ten-fold.  Prison is no different than the streets.

  When serving time, everyone should have a relative that they can count on

that is available anytime to answer the phone and take care of business.  What

type of business does an inmate have?  It could be taxes, or banking from the

previous life, or child support orders, unpaid traffic tickets, and even creditors

are just a few of the nuisances that do not cease just because you are in prison.

Even when you die, certain people never stop being worrisome. 

    I have had a few people in my lifetime be there for me, and I will call them

angels, because that is what they are.  My daughter Cleo, aka Tee, because

her middle name is Tawana and since a baby we call her Tee- has been my angel

since I first began doing this.  I am not proud to say that I have been serving

prison sentences more months than I care to reveal.  Tee is always there for

me and loves me unconditionally.   My other angel was my paternal aunt, named

Naomi.  She was my father's oldest sister.  We also shared the same birthday.

Naomi retired years ago from the federal system as a secretary for Judge.

He later passed, but she always kept his memory alive. 

both of these ladies love me unconditionally, and is definitely in the 25% of the

world that genuinely loves and supports my efforts. 

     Naomi was always by the telephone.  Her life consisted of church events,

calling the sick and shut in, and hosting prayer circles from people all over the

country.  She called herself a Psalmist.  What I loved about Auntie Naomi

is she was always ready for whatever, and loved me unconditionally. 

     I had a serious problem with one of my bunkies while living in Arn-2.

I tried to work it out before calling Auntie Naomi, because once she became

involved, it was no dropping it.  She followed things through each time.

     I had mentioned in a previous episode that I was moved in with a lady

named May.  She was not from Cleveland, and I don't remember where she was

from, but it wasn't Columbus either. 

     My first few nights living with her was normal.  She was not a talker, but neither

was I.  I preferred it that way.  My cell was my sanctuary.   I enjoy being by myself,

and when in my room I am usually able to put up a make shift curtain and do me.

Because prison rooms have bunk beds like we are still four years old instead of

grown women, I was able to tuck a sheet under the top bunk mattress, and let it

hang down as a curtain over part of my bed.  The rule was guards must be able to

see at least half of your body at all times.  If a guard walked by, they would see

the bottom half of my body.  Behind my curtain I would journal, read, write or

edit chapters, or simply stare at the wall.  If depended on what kind of mood I

was in at the time.

     This particular day, I was behind my curtain.

     "Bunkie, have you seen my earrings?"  May asked.

     "No, where did you have them?"  I asked nonchalantly.

I did not appreciate anyone asking me anything when I was behind my curtain.

In my imaginary world, I was in my bedroom with my door shut and locked.  Because

in prison you do not have your own room, I did not appreciate anyone invading my

personal space or time with myself.

    "I had them sitting on the table, next to the TV that we both use."  May said with

an attitude.

     WHY THE HELL WAS SHE TELLING ME ABOUT HER EARRINGS, AND WHO CARED?

I thought.  It was annoying.

     She would not let me rest.  Finally, I stood up so that I could look at her sitting

on top of her bunk.

     "Bunkie, I haven't seen any earrings.  I have my own as you can see, and a back

up pair.  I hope you find them."  I said, as I left the small room.  She had really

gotten on my nerves.

    When I sat outside my door at the table in the rec room, Essie came and sat

next to me. 

    "What's wrong Auntie?"  She asked.

    "May is tripping about her earrings.  She is really getting on my nerves."  I said.

    "Be careful with her Auntie.  She is here for cutting someone's throat with the

metal lid from a can while they were sleeping.  She is something else."  Essie said.

    WHAT IN THE WORLD?  I thought. 

    Surely, Mrs. Turley knew this too. 

    When I walked back in my room at count time, Ms. May was sitting on her bunk,

holding the lid off of the kool-aid container.  WHAT THE HELL? 

   "Oh, heck no! What are you doing May?"  I said loudly. 

   I was not about to play NO games with this woman.  Also, I had to go to sleep in the

room with this woman. 

   "I want my earrings, and I know you took them."  She said, looking crazy as ever

by the eyes. 

   "Listen, I didn't take your earrings.  You are welcome to have a pair of mines. 

Earrings are nothing, and I don't want the tension in this room." I proffered.

   "I knew you took them! What other reason would you offer me a pair!  I want my

earrings.! She screamed. 

   I do not believe in calling officers to fight my battles.  This was one time I thought

about it, and quickly dismissed that idea.  I refused to go to sleep, and so did she.

We were locked in the room together.  I periodically got up to pretend to go to the

toilet just to see exactly what she was doing on that top bunk.  She wasn't sleep

either.  It appeared as if she was waiting for me to go to sleep, and she had this

stupid smirk on her face. 

    We both stayed up all night.  The moment that the officer popped open the doors

from their control desk, I walked briskly toward the phone.  I couldn't dial Auntie

Naomi's number fast enough.

   "Auntie Nay, they have me in the room with this psychopath.  It is bad enough they

have me in a max unit."  I said.

   I explained to Auntie Nay about her crime, and exactly how she was acting about

a pair of earrings. 

   "Oh no.  We have to get you out of there.  Go and talk to the unit, and then call me

right back."  Naomi said.

   I did exactly that.  The unit told me that they would not be doing any bed or room

changes, and that I was stuck.

   I politely called Auntie Naomi back. 

   "Don't worry.  I have already contacted news channel 10 in your area.  They are

calling the warden as we speak.  After you hung up, my spirit told me to get busy.

You can't stay in there with that woman."  She said sternly.

    "Thank you Auntie Nay."  I said tensely.

    "You call me back before bedtime, and I am going to make some other calls."

Naomi said before hanging up.

   She did.  She called the Warden of the prison, Channel 10 news station again,

the Director of the Bureau of Prisons, and the local police department of the city

with a formal complaint, to put it on record in case anything happened to me.

She was thorough. 

   Within the hour, I was being summoned to the unit. 

   "Who do you think you are?  Your aunt is calling everybody.  We are going to move

you immediately, but you don't run nothing here."  The unit staff said. 

   They were angry, and so was I.

   "This is your new bed assignment.  Your Aunt has also called the TV station.

Call her right now and tell her to call the dogs off."  They ordered.

   I did.

   "Auntie Nay, I am about to move right now, and then I will call you back."  I said.

   When I walked in the room, May jumped down off the bed.

   "I found my earrings!  I had stuck them inside my pillow case and did not remember."

She said. 

   I said nothing, and began to pack my stuff to move to the other side of the building

near the laundry room.

   "What are you doing?  Are you moving?" She said.

   I did not answer her.  I kept on packing up my stuff.

   "I am going to see the unit.  It was just a misunderstanding.  I like you as my room-

mate, and I don't want to loose you."  Her crazy butt said, as she ran out of the room to

try to stop me from moving.

   Let me tell you something.  The Lord himself could not talk me into staying in the

room with that crazy girl.  It was too much.  By the time she came back, I was packed

up and gone, thanks to Essie and her helpers.

     May had the nerve to try to speak to me later on.  I kept it polite and stayed as

far away from her as I could.  I thought about what could have happened to me if she

had not found her misplaced earrings?  Prisons all over the country have people with

mental health issues.  When they began to cut mental health budgets throughout the

United States, where do you think a lot of the patients went?  They were sent to

state and federal prisons all over the United States.  The problem is you can not always

tell who has genuine mental health issues until you have a conversation with the

person.  I have spoken with many, and it is not funny at all.  It is dangerous, because

they are mentally unbalanced.  Of course this is not an isolated prison thing.  Citizens

on the streets are mixed in with society with severe mental health problems.  Every

time we see the news where someone has gone postal, we understand this. 

    I did not come to prison to make friends.  You are lucky if you are able to meet

one person that you can talk to in order to make your time easier.  Regardless to how

this looks, this is not a college campus, and serving time in prison is hard. 

#Rhonda Turpin,_

author, publisher, prisoner

April 21, 2014-Easter(so what)

fb/rhondaturpin

worldbookspublishing@gmail.com

DOES YOUR MONEY SUPPORT ME?

     The taxpayers dole out $36,000 a year, per inmate for the BOP to own me.  My

cost is higher than the average inmate, and there is an additional $5900 minimum

to pay for my medical care.  A hardworking citizen MUST pay federal FICA taxes, or

go to jail.  I am aging in here- I am a grandmother of six, therefore my medical

needs may increase.

    All the heavily processed and preserved foods over the last ten years has given

me high blood pressure.  Since last year, I have been on medication for it.  I have

also been issued cholesterol medication.  I do not take it because the side effects

are ten times greater than the benefit of the medication.  The side effects include:

My eye constantly jumping, so that I cannot read or write in peace; sore bones and

joints that feel like "flu like" symptoms, and restricts any physical activity; problems

with dryness of my eyes; stomach aches; racing heart; itchiness, and much more.

My motto is if the benefits of the meds are less than the benefits of not taking it,

why would I poison my body like that?  Believe it or not, I am in very good health.

I walk five miles a day. I do an extensive weight routine with 3 or 5 pounds to stay

toned.  I do yoga, and a little Pilates when I feel like it.  I ran up and down the steep

hill at the back of the Camp, and then up and down the 67 stairs a few times yesterday

because the weather was nice.  I will be able to chase my grandchildren, and hang

out with them when I get home.

        Who exactly pays for my keep?  Who paid this year?  Was it the single Mom,

like my daughter, who is struggling because she barely makes minimum wage?  Was

it the waitress that is mostly living off tips?  Maybe it was an autoworker, because

they make a little bit more money?

   Lets examine how prison costs adds up quickly to 80 billion a year.  I was convicted

with 9 others.  The loss amount for society is $300,000.  The cost for my incarceration,

along with medical costs total to date is $419,000. 

       The cost to house my co-defendants is $900,000. (K.D, $180,000, Judy-$252,000;

Tony-$216,000; Dunbar-$18,000; Jay-$36,000; Khalid-$108,000; and Taylor-$90,000)

That easily equates to 1.5 million for housing.  If you add attorneys, court room staff,

transport, Supervised Release,  and all other costs, my case easily cost taxpayers roughly

$2.5 million for all ten of us.   This is just the stats for one case, and one single

indictment.   Many are indicted yearly and sent to prison.       

     The facts today is about our United States Constitution.  Many of you do not know

that the Constitution was the document that followed President Abe Lincoln's

Emancipation Proclamation.  Many citizens that owned plantations were distraught

about losing their slaves.  Slavery was big business, and America as a nation was

built on the backs of African slaves who now are the ancestors of African-Americans,

and definitely the fore thoughts and foundation of how this prison system came to

be. 

      For those of you who do not know your Constitution, how the document continued

slavery to this day is the wording created in Amendment 13.  The Amendments, or

Bill of Rights was supposed to protect individuals from government power in all areas.

The writers pulled a whammy with Article 13.  It states that "anyone convicted of a

crime has no rights".  That means the system can work you like a slave for free, or

choose to pay you twelve cents, and do not have to pay the minimum wage.  It also

means that you have lost all rights to your children and your family.  You are property

of the state/feds, in the most literal sense.  How our forefathers kept slavery alive

was using the Black Codes which is the FBOP codes with a simple name switch in the

document to manage inmates.  The other issue with the Constitution is Article II

and Article III.  With Article II, United States Attorneys have life time appointments

and are considered the most powerful agency in the country, and have the strongest

union.  If a U.S. Attorney targets you, your chances are impossible of keeping your

life in tack.  The next slavery issue inside the constitution is lifetime appointments

for Article III/federal judges.  They have no agency that monitors them, and even

if they are racist, and using their own agendas on the bench, nothing will happen

to them.  Federal Judges have been convicted of riding with prostitutes and buying

crack, using crack, and many other outrageous acts while on the bench.  At most,

they might receive a scale back on cases.  I actually read a letter

that stated the 'the judge's use of crack did not affect his sentencing decision.'

      An associate was trying to get her case reviewed when she found out that her

judge was in the newspaper and under investigation after being caught buying and

smoking crack at the same time that he was on the bench with her case.

      Article II and Article III of the United States Constitution is the slavery trump

card.  Those two articles stacked the deck against African-Americans and other

people of color.  Those two articles represent capitalism, and is not a part of the

democratic process. 

    State judges are a part of the democratic process, and they are placed on a

ballot, and you vote for them.  If they break the law, they are usually removed, if

the public sees fit.  There is no removing a federal judge or a U.S. Attorney/

Assistant attorney.  There is no accountability to the public.  That is a major

problem with this system.  People can complain all day long, and also attempt to

put laws into place by contacting their Senators and having them advocate, but

the problem is that the foundation of the federal prison system is based on concepts

of slavery.  The writers of the Constitution knew this, and also understood that

they had to stack the deck in order to keep America unequal and one-sided as

far as the rights and treatment.  Originally, it was our

boys and men that suffered most.  Today, women are sentenced at an alarming

rate.  There is a steady increase in the number of women coming to prison.

Even more hostile, is the age of the new prison population.  They are "granny

dumping", or sending older women to prison for small petty crimes at an 800%

increase.  Why?  I had to think about it.  As I sat in the dining room this morning

eating an orange, I looked around me, and everyone at the surrounding tables

were over 65 years of age.  The lady sitting across from me had a cane. 

     I read recently where Eric Holder stated that this system "was broken" and

has failed.  It all depends on who you ask.  If you ask people who support

mass-incarceration, and want harsher sentences,

 they would answer that this system is doing great.

 It is costing the taxpayers over 80 billion dollars a year, that is money

in their pockets.  even the blog that I am writing costs 5 cents a minute.

    The prison system is part of Wall street/the stock market.  The pharmaceutical

companies benefit millions also.  Many of the Senators that are fighting against

abolishing mandatory minimums are connected financially to the pharmacy

corporations, or other entities where they directly make money off of prisoner's

blight.  As a nation, we need to check out these politicians, and publish their

beliefs.  This is an election year.  Who is for this peculiar institution, and if

so, why?  That's the question that needs to be asked before a citizen places

a vote.

      I have wrote about a small group of inmates to entertain.  The women of

Arn-2 are not the norm.  Like many countries, if you take away the non-violent

offenders, and the white collar offenders and place them back into the tax

base and on house arrest to pay large fines, you would only have the need for

one major prison in the country.  That prison would house the violent, and

criminally insane.  One single prison is enough, not 1000's.  Prison is big business. 

  We have a few million dollars worth of inmates sitting at Danbury, as I write

this blog. Looking at real numbers, and using an actual case as an example,

gives the reader a true glimpse of how profitable mass incarceration in

America is.

Rhonda Turpin

author, publisher, prisoner

http://felonista.blogspot.in/

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