The feds have prisons all over the country and you can be sent to any of them, but they all ways try to send you to one close to home, which is how I ended up at the medium security federal prison known as FCI McKean. McKean is in the north central part of Pennsylvania near the town of Bradford. The prison looked more like a modern college campus than prison; however the double fence topped with razor wire gave it away. Modern American prisons haven't practiced anything resembling rehabilitation, but the Warden at McKean did the best he could, so it wasn't a bad place. Federal prisoners throughout the system called it "McKean the Dream."

I arrived in McKean's general population late, so was only there a few hours before 10:00 pm lockdown. Like the other two guys I came with, I was given a bunk in the open common area. McKean has the standard modern prison design of a large open common area enclosed by two levels of cells. The design affects is a large open feel for the inmates and clear view of each cell by a single correctional officer. The clever design was somewhat negated by overcrowding in that they had set up a dorm area in one area of the large common room. It was in the top bunk of one of these open area beds that I spent the night.

The next morning I woke more than a little confused. When I opened my eyes the first thing I saw was the high ceiling, giving me the feeling I'd slept in an auditorium. The next thing I noticed was an attractive woman a few feet above me and ten feet away. She seemed to be watching me sleep. When I focused I realized she was standing on the second floor walk way. At first I thought I was seeing a female correctional officer, even the Ohio State prisons had those, but soon realized she wasn't a CO. This woman was wearing tight short-shorts and a halter top. She had large breast and it was obvious she didn't wear a bra. Confused by what I was seeing, and uncomfortable with her stare I crawled out of bed, dressed and went to another area of the large common room.

Seeing this woman dressed like that bothered me. It was clear she was an inmate because no staff member would ever dress like that inside the prison. I'd heard all kinds of things about "Club Fed," even that they had co-ed prisons (which they don't) but I hadn't considered that I would end up in one. I didn't have a problem being around women, but I was troubled about my wife's reaction to my being in a co-ed prison. It wasn't until later that night that I learned that "Brenda" wasn't a woman, but a male transgender with a convincing female look. This doesn't sound shocking today, but for me it was a great shock.

Like all federal prisons of that day, McKean had a factory that inmates could work in if they wanted. I applied for and got a job in the factory almost immediately. McKean's factory made wood products, mostly office furniture. They had two complex German made CNC machines that used a computer to move an eight foot square table to cut out large items like desk tops. One of those machines had been broken for nearly a year, but the other ran twenty-four hours a day. Because of my programming background they wanted to train me on the CNC computer. The computer on the broken machine worked fine so they began training me on it my first night of work.

I was so drawn to the working machine that I couldn't focus on the program training. I'd never seen a computer controlled machine before and I was instantly drawn to the concept. Thirty minutes into my training I couldn't stand the thought that this machine didn't work, so I stopped my trainer and asked about what was broke. I'd worked on so many computers that I was confident with anything, but as the guy explained, this computer worked just fine. The problem was the machine didn't respond to its commands. My trainer was the broken machine's main operator so was able to explain the exact circumstances behind when it stopped working. When he finished I smiled and asked for a screw driver.

The problem was that the computer didn't communicate with the rest of the machine. I didn't know machines but I knew a lot about communications. When I got the computer open I located the modem and opened it. As I suspected wires ten and eleven were wired pin to pin. This modem didn't communicate across the phone lines so it was what was known as a "null-modem." The difference in a regular and null modem is that pins ten and eleven had to be crossed on a null modem. When I explained this to the inmate operator he went and got the staff supervisor and I explained it again. They had brought in experts that couldn't fix the machine so were now waiting on a factor tech from Germany who was due in sixty days, so he doubted a new inmate worker could figure out the problem less than an hour on the job. I was confident when I showed him the two wires that needed reversed so he went and got the soldering iron I would need to do the job. It took the iron a minute to get hot and me half that time to de-solder and reverse the two wires.

It was such a simple solution for me that I wasn't at all surprised that the machine worked immediately, but everyone there was so excited you would have thought I built the thing. The supervisor took me to the maintenance office and said, "You'll work here." My job was to fix all the machines in the large factory. It was ironic that the simple job of fixing the miss-wired null-mode was the only thing there I already knew how to do. Everything else I had to learn. Two years later I was an expert at repairing factory machines. I did everything from rebuilding hydraulic pumps to repairing tiny traces on computer boards. The work was a challenge, and surprisingly rewarding. They paid me ninety cents an hour, but I loved it.

Mary visited as often as she could with the children. She was great at making sure our children weren't bitter towards me for not being home. And of course she took it all in stride. It would have been easier on me had my wife hated me for leaving her to fend for herself and putting her and our family in such a horrible position, but that isn't Mary's way. I still don't know how she did it. Or I should say, how she does it, because she still does.

There are many interesting stories from this time, but I don't want my story to be about prison so I will focus on a few of the most noteworthy events. As I said, McKean was a different type of prison, which was evident by two very different events hosted on the prison yard. The first was a Willy Nelson concert for the entire inmate population. One of the inmates there was a country music industry insider who knew Willy Nelson well, so he, the warden, and Willy Nelson arranged the concert for a time when the country music legend's tour put them close.

Through the fences we watched three tour buses park outside, then watched as things were moved from one bus to the other two. After ten minutes of this, one bus pulled forward and was searched before being allowed to drive into the prison. We later learned that the band moved all their guns and drugs to the two buses remaining outside the prison. After all I've heard about Willy Nelson's use of marijuana this isn't surprising. The bus drove all the way on to the yard and Willy Nelson exited with his band and performers. Not everyone in that crowd was a country music fan, but they all knew who Willy Nelson was and everyone loved the performance. We also appreciated that such a big star would give us his time. Inmates feel like we are forgotten by society, but on that day Willy Nelson showed us that we were not forgotten. I've been a Willy Nelson fan ever since.

The other event was very different, but had a great impact on me. On the same yard Willy Nelson performed and the same yard we used every day, the prison hosted a "Special Olympics" for challenged children. I was picked to be one of the inmate organizers so was very active before the event and on that day. I don't recall the number of children and their parents that were on the yard that day, but I believe it was more than 200. There were a few of the kid's dads there, but most of the parents present were moms. With thirty inmates openly interacting with so many special needs children and their mothers on the wide expanse of the yard you would think there would be problems. I thought there would be problems. But our warden had more confidence in his charges than I did and the inmates earned that trust.

The day was incredible. Truly amazing. Take out the fact that I was an inmate in a federal prison involved in what should be considered a historic event and that day would still be a day I would always remember. I'd never been exposed to children like these so I had no idea what to expect. But what I never expected was how deeply these children would touch me. A large percentage of these children were raised without their dads, so it is not surprising they would respond well to male inmates (Brenda wasn't invited), but it wasn't something I was prepared for. I was one of the few inmate organizers, meaning I wore a red t-shirt and had to do organizational type things, so I needed to move around to numerous events. Yet one kid in particular was attached to me. His mom apologized and explained that there is no man in his life, so he needed the male interaction. This tore me up on two levels. The most immediate one being my empathy for this child so I gave him my full attention and was determined that on this day at least he'd have a good male role model. I did the same for all the children I came in contact with on that special day, but in the back of my mind was the hard reality that my own children were suffering the same lack of male role model as these children.

On that wonderful day every inmate involved shed tears, as did the staff and all the parents. What made that day so special was that everyone there needed the interaction. They checked all of our records to ensure no one had any history of child abuse or violence against women, and then selected inmates that were parents who had managed to retain their family. Meaning, most women divorce their husbands when they go to prison. The Warden decided to choose this way figuring we were the most obvious family men of the group. He figured if our wives stuck with us then they judged us as not being a danger to children. For this reason we all had children that we missed and we all longed for this type of interaction with our own children. To the men, each of us understood that our children were suffering the same loss of a dad that these children were, so all of us poured ourselves into these kids. Put all these elements together and these children received our full attention. There is little doubt that their mothers did this every day, but it was rare that a man ever did. The results were so obvious that by the end of the day everyone was worried about what would happen when the event ended and the children had to leave.

All the kids fought to stay. The boy I was attached to begged his mom to let him do a sleep over. When it was clear to him that wasn't possible he insisted I come home with them. His mom embarrassed me when she said, "I'd love to bring him home, but I don't think his wife would like that so much." I laughed and said, "You have no idea." It was painful for everyone, but for me the real pain came after they were all gone and I was back in my cell. It was only then that I allowed myself to fully equate what I'd experienced on that day with my own children.

The event was a great success with no problems outside of how difficult it was for everyone to part. Yet it wasn't repeated the next year. This is unfortunate as there was so much was accomplished on that day. But a riot happened not to long after that and no one felt it would be wise to bring the kids back in. I didn't agree with this because I knew that no one there would harm a child or his parent, but I understood the logic of not taking that chance. Still, we were all disappointed that we wouldn't host the Special Olympics again.

Things were different after the riot. A lot of guys were gone, shipped to maximum security federal prisons as punishment. They took things, like pool tables and other perks. The once wide expanse of grass between the housing units was marred by high security fences. The open campus look forever gone. The interaction between guards and inmates changed too. It was no longer friendly. The guards were still polite and professional, but it was no longer how they really felt. The hostility was understandable, but it changed the place. McKean was no longer the dream.

About a year later, when I had six months left on my sentence, I was approved for a half-way house in Pittsburgh. A date was set for my release. When I walked out the door of the prison Mary stood there waiting for me. Just like she had done the previous time.