Hotel California

My roommate told me he'd be staying for a few days shy of four months. It's good to know where you stand with the person you're sharing a room with. I was just passing through. I'd checked in late the previous night. I'd be leaving that afternoon.

Our room was small, Spartan but clean. Two beds, a desk, a chair, some shelving, en suite bathroom. All the furniture - with the exception of the chair - was securely fixed to either the floor or the wall or both. The door was half glass. It had no lock on the inside.

"No phone, no pool, no pets..."

The Marin County Main Jail is a state-of-the-art detention facility. It was opened in November 1994. The structure is located largely underground, set into a hillside opposite Frank Lloyd Wright's Marin County Civic Center. It is a brooding presence.

The building is circular. A central administration facility is surrounded by a corridor. The corridor gives access to six bays or "Pods", A-F.

Pod B is triangular. Access is at the apex, through twin, electronically-controlled doors. The base of the triangle is a wall of windows. Beyond that is a small exercise area. The sky can be glimpsed through the tight wire netting roof. In front of the glazed wall is a console housing a battery of computers, switches, monitors, intercoms and other surveillance equipment.

Inmates are housed on two levels along the remaining two sides of the triangle. Forty "rooms" (the authorities coyly avoid the word "cell"), each housing two men. The cells themselves are 10' x 6'. The center of the triangle is a common area, carpeted in red, a dozen tables, red plastic seating. Two TV sets, one permanently tuned to a Spanish-speaking station.

There's a neutrality to the decor. The dominant color is blue-gray. Blue-gray walls, blue-gray stairs, blue-gray prison garb. "Trustees" and guards wear khaki. Light is permanently artificial, air permanently conditioned.

The regime is mind-numbingly boring. Breakfast is served at 6:30, lunch at 11:30, dinner at 4:30. A half-hour before mealtime, a guard announces "lockdown." With the exception of trustees, inmates repair to their cells. There's a whir, a click and the door is locked. We are counted, checked off.

Food is served by trustees. We are each issued a plastic tray, a "spork" and a cup. Lunch was soup and crackers, a smear of tuna between two slices of wonder bread, four small, misshapen cookies, an apple. The food was unappetizing but edible.

When everyone's done, it's "lockdown" again while the room is cleared up. We are counted once again. Half an hour later, another whir and a click, and the door to each cell can be pushed open. Midway between meals, there's another "lockdown". The rest of the time is one's own. There's a rudimentary "library". A copy of The California Penal Code, a Bible, some newspapers and a few battered paperbacks. There are two banks of 4 phones. You can call collect.

"6 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 7 - 8 - 9..."

At 4:30 that morning, I had been processed. Stripped, searched, showered. My clothes had been sealed in a heavy-duty plastic bag. I wore a prison-issue white T-shirt, striped boxers, V-neck blue-gray cotton overshirt, matching pants. No pockets. I had nothing to put in them. Blue canvas slip-on shoes. On my left wrist a plastic bracelet was secured. It bore my photograph, name and number - 133303.

I had been reduced to a cipher.

I was given my bag of clothes to carry and accompanied to Pod B. There I was issued another T-shirt, a pair of socks, a blanket, soap and towel, comb, toothbrush and toothpaste, a plastic cup. I was taken to Room 8.

At 9:30, I was interviewed by a Probation Officer. She betrayed little interest in the circumstances of my incarceration. She seemed more intent on filling out the mountain of paperwork I had generated. A half-hour after she left, I was called over by one of the guards. She had, apparently, "forgotten" to obtain the names of three personal references from me. I was allowed a stub of pencil and a scrap of paper to jot them down.

It was back to waiting.

At 1:30, eight of us were called out. We were searched, led into a vestibule. One door locked behind us. A guard spoke into a radio. The door in front of us clicked open. We were led into the corridor, hands behind our backs, keeping to the right wall, a deputy accompanying each group of eight. We proceeded around the Pods, picking up more inmates at each door. We walked - shuffled - at the pace of the slowest. Two of our number were limping - results of "resisting arrest". We were off to court.

Endless featureless corridors. Blue doors opened electronically before us. We waited in vestibules. Eventually, we reached the court building. We were locked in a cage. And counted again.

Out of the cage. Line up in the corridor, hands behind backs. We were told joshingly by a Deputy that Marin County Jail was the third toughest detention facility in the State of California.

"If ya can make it here, guys, you can make it anywhere. Pelican Bay *, Folsom, then us..."

[*Pelican Bay is a high security facility for hardened recidivists. It was recently the subject of an investigation which determined that guards had systematically beaten and tortured inmates.]

Down some stairs. Into another holding cell. Into court. This was a preliminary hearing. Charges were read, a determination on bail was made.

We reversed the process back to Pod B. Back to waiting.

Having been granted bail in my own recognizance, I asked a guard when I could expect to be released.

"Between 6:00 and 7:00 pm," he replied.
"Oh Geez...!"

I shuffled back toward the seat to which I had laid claim.

"You! Come back over here!"

I looked around.

"Yes! You!"

I shuffled back to the console.

"Sit down here."

I was lectured for five minutes on politeness and appropriateness of response. I was counseled that, when given information, I was to thank the guard.

I retired to my cell with a paperback. Wrapped myself in my blanket. And waited.

I was released at 6:40 that evening. It was dark. Rain was teeming down. A relative collected me.

I was free.

"Strike Three!"