My stint in the Nebraska State Penitentiary

27. June 2009 by Bex.

We just finished watching a Netflix movie that I stupidly rented: An American Crime.  It’s about a very disturbed woman who took in two teens as borders and with the help of her own children and neighborhood kids, tortured and killed one of the teens.  True story, happened in Indiana in 1965.  I cried at the end because it was so f’d up and it reminded me of some shit I read while working at the Nebraska State Penitentiary.  That must have been one of the worst jobs I’ve ever had, way worse then telemarketing!

So what happens when you get a bachelor of arts degree in history?  Nothing.  Jack shit.  You can’t get a job with a BA in history.  I signed up with the State of Nebraska to take temporary jobs.  One of the jobs I obtained was working in the records office of the State Penitentiary.  Talk about an intimidating place to work.  I think I had diarrhea almost every day while I was there.  The Pen is located on the original land where it was built in the late 1800’s.  It used to be a self-sustaining farm, with barns, fields, cattle…the works.

It’s a whole other world.  I can’t really explain it fully but I will try.  When you walk into work everyday, you go through this little alcove that takes you down some stairs.  From there you walk through a hallway to the security desk.  Basically this hallway takes you underground, underneath the fence and into the penitentiary, or the “secure area.”  Once you get to the desk you have to show the security officers the inside of your lunch bag, your purse or anything else they ask to see.  If you have anything perceived as contraband, you have to leave it at the desk.  For instance, no butter knives from home.  No perfume.  No sharp objects (obviously.)  You also have to show your badge.  Then you get buzzed into the office.

The offices are all on the “safe” side.  There aren’t cells or inmates on that side.  Unless you consider the community corrections inmates they bus in everyday to clean the offices.  Because these people are hanging around, temps like me were never allowed to be left alone at any time.  I had to be escorted everywhere.  Permanent employees went through a rigorous self-defense class.  We also had to keep letter openers and scissors locked in our desks when not in use.  Every month a guard would come through and ask to see inside this drawer and if your shit wasn’t in there, you were in big trouble.

There were other offices on the “secure” side, like the warden’s office.  The cafeteria and vending machines were also over there, as well as the place where inmates were processed for transfer, parole, etc.  Any time I went on that side, I was escorted by a permanent employee.  You had to go through a door controlled by a guard in a booth.  Once inside, you would wait for the door behind you to close completely and then the guard would open the door in front of you to enter the secure side.  I went over there to eat my lunches a couple times and also to watch an inmate transfer.  I never ate the cafeteria food because the inmates cooked and served the food.  Shortly after I started, the State ruled it was ok for inmates with Hepatitis to work in the cafeteria.  Um, no thanks.

Every time an inmate moved around the facility or went to court, a piece of paper was generated.  It was my job to file all the paperwork into the inmate files.  I also processed FBI reports on inmates into a database.  Because I had access to all the files, and because I was bored and curious, I often read PSI’s and other information.  PSI’s are Pre-Sentence Investigations.  When a person was convicted, a PSI was done to help figure out the appropriate sentence and what kind of facility he/she should be housed in.  If they had a violent past, they were put in a medium or maximum facility.  If they were a first time offender or had a fairly good past, they were put into a minimum security environment.  I read some scary shit in those reports.  I saw autopsy photos.  I read about violent crimes, child molestation, rape, abuse, murder, you name it.  Some of that stuff has stuck with me.  Maybe that’s why I love scary monster/zombie/vampire/stupid movies.  They aren’t real.  I can get a thrill or a laugh or scared without feeling like the world is a horrible, evil place.

I’m not sure how any of the people who work there can stay there for very long.  I noticed that some of them were not much different then the inmates.  Some were wonderful, sincere people.  A lot of them were cynical, twisted, adulterous, f’d up people.  I heard about affairs between employees, between employees and inmates, etc.  One guy who managed the maximum security section joked about the guards needing shooting practice:  better toss a couple inmates over the fence so they can shoot at them from the towers.  Now, understand that there is a lot of stress in this profession and I think the sick jokes were what kept people going sometimes.  But I realized if I stayed there, I would become as jaded as everyone else.  I didn’t want that for myself.  I applied for and was granted admission to graduate school so I stuck it out until school started that fall.

One thing I did before I left was to go on a tour of the facility with the new hire guards.  I was the only female in the group.  It lasted three hours and I didn’t even see everything.  We went to the medical facility, through the cafeteria, to the minimum security section, medium and then maximum security.  We also saw where the inmates made license plates and where the wood shop was.  We saw the old cemetary and the old animal barns.  Let me tell you that walking through the yard with all the inmates around me was scary.  It’s one of the scariest things I’ve ever done.  They said some sick shit to me, offensive things.  And by the time I quit working there, the inmates knew my name.  Somehow, they know who you are.  They find out shit about you.  A year after I worked there, I had a collect call from an inmate that I refused.  Nice, huh?

Ever see the movie, Boys Don’t Cry?  A transgendered woman lives like a man and the crowd she hung out with found out.  Two assholes raped her and the sheriff didn’t do shit for her when she filed a report.  So the assholes murdered her and two of her friends.  Well the assholes were at the Pen during my time there and I heard all about all the women who sent John Lotter money and love letters.  And the homophobe of a sheriff?  He’d pretty much been demoted and came in one day for an inmate transfer.  He’s a POS lackey now.

I did mention to a guard once that I’d never seen ‘Ol Sparky.  He offered to show me and being the curious person I am, I agreed.  Turns out it is right behind the security desk, where you first walk in.  It’s pretty unremarkable but definitely something you don’t see everyday.

It’s actually in a room about the size of a closet.  I don’t think they still use it as a primary means of execution.  I used to be on the fence about the death penalty.  Then I worked at the Pen.  I support it now.

I guess looking back it was a positive experience for the most part.  I have a greater appreciation for law enforcement personnel and corrections people.  I guess it’s just not the job for me.  But it was a really interesting look at a portion of society I never knew about.

So that’s my story.  I spent time in the Nebraska State Penitentiary.

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