Prison Term

7 0 Y P R I S O N T E R M P E T E R B R O O K S When you drive north on Route 1, the prison begins to loom on your right as you approach Rahway. Originally (it opened in 1901) known as Rahway State Prison, because local notables objected to being identified with a prison it became East Jersey State Prison. EJSP has served in films, no doubt because it screams prison as you approach: a central dome (perhaps in imitation of Jeremey Bentham ’s ‘‘panopticon’’?) with radiating spokes, it is massive and somber. It was there I was headed to teach a course called ‘‘Clues, Evidence, Detection: Law Stories,’’ which combined readings in law and literature, on 31 January. As I got near, EJSP came at me out of the twilight murk like an admonition. After I parked my car – I had obtained clearance for that with the Department of Corrections – and started to approach the entrance gate on foot, the razor wire took over the visual field: rolls of it, piled up inside and atop the chain-link fence that marks the perimeter. The entrance itself gives the impression of a late and cheap addition, a small cinderblock waiting room, like something at a modest bus stop, to the right, and to the left a glass booth with the o≈cer on duty. You give him your driver’s license and your car keys and receive in exchange a visitor’s I.D. that clips to your 7 1 R clothing. Surrendering your driver’s license is your last act in the divestment of all the customary supports of your identity outside prison: in the car you left wallet, cell phone, house keys, and anything else that might be lodged in your pockets. The image from long-ago reading that would come to my mind each time I went through this ritual of divestment was Faulkner’s ‘‘The Bear,’’ where Ike McCaslin has to leave behind gun and watch and compass and all the accoutrements of civilization for his trip into the wilderness. I had earlier spent a long Friday morning at the orientation required by the Department of Corrections. There we learned the rules of entry: all papers and books in a clear plastic tote, no pens, only pencils, no navy blue shirts or sweaters (to avoid confusion with the wardens), no beige clothing (to avoid confusion with the inmates). I had with me the DOC ‘‘Rules for Entry’’: The following guidelines must be followed, regardless of gender : ***no beige, tan, khaki, or navy/french blue*** * no open-toed shoes * no underwire bra * No transparent or fishnet clothing * No clothing that exposes undergarments or a portion of the body considered private I abridge, also, the following list: The following items are not authorized to enter the Visit Program visiting areas: *spiral notebooks *Cell phones beepers laptops flashdrives, etc. *Credit cards, bank access cards, etc. *Condoms, cosmetics, candy and open packs of cigarettes *Money (cash or coin) *Photographs Especially, no communications were to be brought to or taken from the student-inmates. The two o≈cers leading the orienta- 7 2 B R O O K S Y tion – one stood at the back of the room and repeated everything said by the other at the podium – were mainly concerned that no kind of relationship be formed between us and our students. No touching allowed. Only last names to be used. Absolutely no notes, addresses, phone numbers to be exchanged. The o≈cers lugged a heavy metal box from under a table, opened it, and began to display weapons confiscated, they said, from inmates: a knife made of a Plexiglas shard, another from a ballpoint pen with a duct-tape handle, something that looked like a garrote fabricated from a piece of razor wire. We were, they said, in constant danger. Inmates were all eager to exploit any sympathy they might elicit, and any weakness we might show. They were at heart all manipulative children who understood nothing about the outside world. At the end of the session, police whistles were distributed, with instructions to remove their lanyards...