146. Earning Freedom (14.2) by Michael Santos Prison Professors

Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term, by Michael Santos
Chapter 14.1
Arriving at the Taft Federal Camp and settling in
Months 233-266       
 
Early on the morning of June 21, I learn that I’m no longer designated to FCC Lompoc. Two guards from the Taft Correctional Institution arrive.  They lock six of us in chains, and then they load us into a white van. We’re on our way to the Central Valley of California, leaving Lompoc behind for good.
Lompoc Camp was already a memory after 65 days locked in SHU, but I’m a little sad when the van exits the main gate and turns left toward the highway. I’ll miss running long distances in the shade of Lompoc’s majestic eucalyptus trees, enjoying the fragrances of the pines mixed with breezes from the nearby Pacific Ocean. I’ll miss my friend Lee and the nearly private space I enjoyed in the powerhouse office.
The two-lane road climbs east through low mountains, drops into the San Joaquin Valley, and it finally whips through high desert.  It’s a landscape of blowing dust, sagebrush, and unsightly steel pumps sucking oil from the arid soil. I lean involuntarily as the van turns right onto the long entry road leading to the prison, bouncing over yellow speed bumps.
At the parking lot of the double-fenced, low-security prison, manicured lawns and palm trees welcome us. Blooming gardens create the illusion of a lush oasis in this desert.
After the requisite intake processing, three of us designated to minimum-security take our bedrolls and board the white van, unrestrained, for a short ride to Taft Camp’s low, gray, concrete administration building. Located behind the low-security prison, the modern, single-story design features tinted windows and round pillars supporting an extended roof shading spacious walkways. The building looks more like the headquarters for a software engineering firm than a prison. Taft Camp appears to be well maintained.
In the administration building, the round schoolhouse clock in the glass-enclosed guard’s station reads just past five. I cross the tile floor and push open the glass door to the camp’s compound. After more than two months in Lompoc’s SHU I revel in this less-stressful environment.
Wide, clean, concrete walkways cut across pristine lawns in the center of the camp compound. Decorative, knee-high light posts illuminate the walks leading to the glass-enclosed chow hall and across the lawn to the two-storied housing unit with its horizontal rows of tall, unbarred, wide windows of tinted glass. In the distance, an oval track surrounds softball and soccer fields. Men in khakis, white t-shirts, and sneakers visit outside the housing units. They appear friendly, smiling and nodding as I climb the stairs to A4D, my assigned housing unit.
The air conditioning feels good, cooling me as I step inside the high-ceilinged dorm, one of four identical housing units. Six telephones hang across from each other on the two walls immediately inside the foyer, and I don’t see any guards.
Unlike the open dormitories at Lompoc, two and three-man cubicles divide the housing unit, creating a grid that provides a semblance of privacy for the 140 men in my unit. The bathroom facilities are much larger than Lompoc’s.  They include 16 shower areas with doors and plenty of toilet stalls, urinals, and sinks. The unit reserves a room for four microwaves and an ice machine, rooms with six televisions and game tables, and a small study room that overlooks the lawns.
In cubicle 36, a three-man room, I meet my two roommates. “I’m Rick,” one man offers, extending his hand.
Dan, a slender, blond man in his early 50s, introduces himself as well.
I set my bedroll on the top rack.
“Let me show you how to make up your bed,” Dan offers. “It can be a little tricky to keep your sheets in place. What you want to do is….”
“Thanks for the tip,” I raise my hand to stop his instruction. “I’d like to say I’m