Letter #1: Notes From The Inside

Welcome back. Today's episode is something quite different, but extremely important. Anyone who listens to this show will know I am a dyslexic fuck. I generally try to avoid reading, lean on podcasts, audio books, and anything else that I can. But I really thought it was important that I read through the recent letters from Keone.

He's writing them from prison. The writing is incredible. It really makes you feel like you're there. And although it's painful to read, it's also great to hear from him.

I decided I'd force myself to read through these and record them. Don't worry. I have edited these down. About fifteen minutes of reading has probably taken two hours to get right. My hope is by reading these letters and posting them on the ungovernable feed, it will bring some more eyes and ears to them. Anyone who's boosting,

sending messages, sending SATs, A 100% of that will be passed through to make sure that this goes to Keone's wife and to Bill's wife. So please do give generously. It's a very important cause.

You can still also get some free samurai clothing, hats, hoodies, t shirts on ungovernablemisfits.com. So go and check that out. And again, a percentage of the profit goes to support this cause.

I really hope you enjoy these, and please consider sending him a book, magazine, letter, or at very least, some sats. I just wanna say a huge thank you to The Rage for posting these letters online along with all their other incredible content.

Make sure to check them out. Therage.co. Also, if you start listening to this, you're like, oh, this fucking annoying Brit. I don't wanna listen to this stupid voice. You can just go and read it. We'll put the link in the show notes.

Either way, read it, listen to it, but share it far and wide. Support him. Support Bill. Support their wives, and stay ungovernable. Hello, reader. I'm writing to you from FPC Morgantown in West Virginia.

I surrendered myself on December 19 to begin my sixty month, five year sentence. Surrendering yourself to prison is a fundamentally confusing and unnatural experience. On the one hand, you are grateful to have been given a little more time with your loved ones, and more time to prepare.

You thankfully get to avoid the dreaded diesel therapy. This is when the BOP sends you all across The United States by bus or plane, spending a few weeks in different prison settings, with murderers, rapists, child molesters and the like, before arriving to your final designated institution.

All the while, because you are unable to take classes, you are not earning the possible credits needed to reduce your sentence, and come in on your own terms. On the other hand, turning yourself in to be incarcerated tugs against every fundamentally primal instinct we have as human beings.

The absolutely surreal memory of driving myself to prison, my wife as my trusted passenger, riding together like we've done so many times before. We both enjoy a banal conversation about the weather that day.

Snow, rain, and hail all in one drive. To try to mask the fact that I'm on my way to give up my liberty, to say goodbye to our family, to begin a long period of incarceration, It is perverse.

At around 1PM on December 19, I pulled into the visitor's parking lot. I hugged and kissed my beautiful wife for the last time, and walked in the freezing wind and rain to my new home for the foreseeable future.

The officer who met me at the gate was a kindly person. He offered to let me stand in the gatehouse to avoid the blistering cold. He performed a breathalyzer and tried to make me feel at ease with some friendly and casual conversation.

A second officer eventually showed up. He searched me, counted the money I brought with me. Bringing cash in was a big mistake, I would soon learn, and eventually escorted me into the intake section of the facility.

On the way to the intake section, the guard stated matter of factly that it would take until after Christmas for my cash to appear on the books, meaning no phone calls and no shopping for over a week.

Ah, great. Overall, the intake process was quick and efficient. The corrections officers, COs, and support staff were all professional. Some were cordial. Some others were even friendly. I had worn in grey sweatpants and a plain grey sweatshirt, in the small chance that the intake COs would let me bring these items inside the prison.

Unfortunately, they did not. I was instructed to strip off the clothes until I was fully naked. The clothes were thrown into a plastic bag to be discarded or destroyed. After inspecting my cock, balls, and asshole, sorry, but it is what happened, The CO handed me an oversized pair of khaki pants,

brown shirt with suspicious bleach stains across the front, and a pair of cheap blue slip on shoes. After getting dressed in the uniform that would scream newbie to everyone who encountered me, I was instructed to meet several members of staff.

First on the carousel of rubber stamps was psychology. I mistook the psychologist for another inmate going through intake. A big man, mean looking, a long scraggly beard down to his chest.

If he told me he was on the last five years of a thirty year bid, I would have said, of course he is. Anyway, he was the psychologist I was instructed to meet. His concern was primarily my mental health, and if I was suicidal or not.

Like every other member of staff, he was respectful and professional. I was then instructed to meet the physician's assistant to be medically cleared. Besides a TB test and DNA collection, this was as average of a medical exam as one would find in a school nurse's office.

Once I was through the merry-go-round of clearances I needed to obtain before entering the general population, I was introduced to the first inmate I had encountered today. Shane is an orderly who helps introduce new inmates to their new home.

Average height, average build, probably early sixties, a very friendly Irish face, and rosy cheeks. Frankly, he is the perfect person for this role. Shane had collected a jacket, hat, and gloves for me. He was carrying a pillow and bedroll for me.

I was carrying a large plastic bag with two spare sets of intake uniform, two sheets, two towels, two washcloths, two boxes, two pairs of socks, a toilet paper roll, and a small plastic bag filled with basic toiletries.

It was explained to me that because I was ordered to surrender on a Friday, I would not get to laundry for a proper uniform until Monday. So I would stick out like a sore thumb until then.

Combined with the complications of depositing money into my account due to a Friday plus holiday surrender, it really felt like another farewell gift from judge Coate, who had got to turn the screw against me one final time.

Shane pointed out each building on the campus while I tried to keep up with him and retain all this information. I was to be housed in the Bates Unit. Apparently, this is good fortune because Alexander Unit is filled with rowdy reprobates and has no air conditioning.

I will be housed within the B Wing of Bates Unit, which is apparently where they put all the newcomers and younger guys. Older guys and more experienced inmates get assigned to a wing which is a little quieter.

As we passed every inmate, unmistakable in their khaki uniform and green jacket, Shane greeted them by name. They all returned the greeting earnestly. After what felt like 12 left turns, we arrived in the B Wing to Bunk 25.

I was introduced to my cellmate, a Selle, Mike, who I was told only arrived here a week ago from a camp in Lexington. Mike is easily two hundred and eighty to two hundred and ninety pounds, so he clearly had the bottom bunk.

I would take the top bunk. Trying to take in the sights, sounds, and smells, I noted that I may have been lucky to get Mike as a sellie. His cell was fairly tidy. He seemed mature and respectful.

I felt at ease with Mike, which is a good thing to feel when you're going to be living with someone in such close quarters. Once Shane dropped me off at Bunk 20 5, he was off. I was left standing like a deer in headlights.

Nearly immediately, Mike was handing me some cuppa noodles, chicken soups, and a water bottle. I didn't know if this was some sort of loan that would need to be paid back or what. But as I had literally nothing but the newbie uniform, I took the handout and made a note to repay him when possible.

Then from across the aisle, Dave introduced himself. On the outside, a former family doctor. On the inside, a jovial, older man, always cracking dry, sarcastic jokes, and handed me a can of Coke, some missus field chocolate chip cookies, some more cuppa noodles, and some other goodies.

This procession of introductions and offering of gifts continued for nearly half an hour. It became clear these weren't loans to be repaid, but acts of kindness by gentlemen who remembered what their first night in prison was like, and who presumably were helped by someone in a way they are now passing on to me.

Eventually, word had got around the camp. They called the gossip network, inmate.com, that a new guy arrived. Soon, I had visitors from other wings in the Bates unit. One gentleman had an entire collection of sweatshirts and sweatpants.

He sized me up and handed me a pair, as well as some short sleeves and long sleeve grey shirts. Finally, he looked at my feet, taking note of the cheap flat slip ons that they give you during intake.

Asked my shoe size. I told him twelve and a half. After some rummaging, he found a pair of sneakers, size eleven, and handed them to me. He explained that when someone leaves, either to go home or transfer to a new institution,

he collects the clothing they leave behind. He washes it, and then stores it to hand out to newbies with nothing. Otherwise, they'll be scooped up by less altruistic characters, and be sold in the underground economy.

Saying our goodbyes and expressing my sincere gratitude to be able to get out of the uncomfortable temporary uniform, and into something way more comfortable, I met another prisoner, Omar, a very friendly former pulmonary specialist, in his seventies, one of several practicing Muslims, and one of several highly skilled doctors.

He provided me with toiletries, a bag of instant coffee, a bag of creamer, pens, paper, and his wisdom on navigating the new environment. Very importantly, he offered to show me the ropes at dinner time, which would be called momentarily.

While we waited to be called for dinner time, Omar introduced me to several of his friends, mostly doctors and highly educated scientists. Once dinner was called, we made the ten minute walk from Bates Unit to the chow hall.

They were serving lasagna, which was surprisingly good and offered in a generous portion size. It was served with a side of iceberg lettuce and boiled spinach. The lettuce was fine, with the bright orange coloured and expired French dressing that was offered in a small packet.

The boiled spinach needed salt and was quite difficult to eat. It seemed like I'd just sat down to eat when they called over the intercom that dinner was now closed. I will need to eat much quicker than I'm used to.

When I returned to my bunk, I met another neighbor, Hassan, a young Muslim, well groomed, fit, tidy, and friendly. He introduced himself, gifted me a white cotton t shirt and a pair of grey gym shorts.

I hung around on my bunk, not really knowing what to do. I knew there would be a final count, where we'd need to stand up silently by our beds and be counted by guards at 9PM, which would then be lights out until the morning.

I frankly was very tired and wished I could go to sleep right then. But I forced myself to stay awake until after the 9PM count occurred. Thankfully, they turned the lights off right after the count.

After brushing my teeth, I climbed into the bunk bed, ready to call it a night. No one else was on that schedule, however, and the housing unit was wide awake, loud and buzzing with activity.

I'd have to get used to the noise. Eventually, I fell asleep. I slept fairly well, but woke up early around 02:30AM, thanking God that Omar had gifted me the coffee. I enjoyed a hot cup when I woke up, and throughout the morning.

Over the next several days, I would meet new people, learn new tactics for surviving this very alien environment, and make several new friends along the way. While not all comfortable, it is manageable.

While I rather be at home with my wife and family, there are far worse places I could have ended up. I am thankful that all the prisoners here are respectful and downright friendly. I'm thankful that the staff and COs seem to be respectful, provided you don't give them a reason not to be.

This letter recounts the first day on the inside, December 19. As I write this, it is December 24, Christmas Eve. Tomorrow will be the seventh day I have spent in FPC Morgantown. I will be having my first visitor, my wife.

I'm beyond excited to see her. I will continue writing the story as it happens and as I am able. Kione Rodriguez. You can write to Kione at Kione Rodriguez

11404511100026507. Mailing guidelines. Please note, you can only send letters

no more than three pages long. No packages or other items are allowed. Books, magazines, and newspapers must be sent directly from the publisher or an online retailer like Amazon. All letters must include a full return address and send a name to be delivered.