Chapter X – Gulag Americana (con't).....

Sheridan FCI in Oregon looks like a modern college campus as you drive by on the highway. Compared with the other institutions that hosted me, it was as good as it gets in the Federal system, especially for a "medium-high" security facility. Unlike anyplace else I visited, the administration actually had a non-punitive mind-set. They allowed inmates to teach classes in Buddism and art. Nevertheless, that didn't detract from the grim realities of the Gulag. I was there less than a year, just long enough to have my bookie arrested by the FBI for bashing a guys head in, and a for a mini-war between the Cubans and Columbians to have us on lockdown for a week.
    I had a "bunkie" or "cellie" who always wore a heavy coat whenever we went to the chow hall. That was pretty much the only time he left the room. Being a "fish," I never thought much about it until one day I saw him stuffing magazines into his coat. I got it immediately; he was putting on his armor. He expected he might be attacked between the time he left the room and the time he got back. I guess that's when I really realized that I was in the Gulag. As humane as the surroundings were, death was just around the corner. MY death.....