It was seven years ago as of yesterday when I was suddenly uprooted from Sullivan Correctional Facility to where I am now...
I had been at Sullivan for more than twenty-eight years. I had a handful of trusted jobs there, to include working as a program aide in the prison's Intermediate Care Program. This entailed being a friend and mentor, and even something of a peer counselor, to the 64 men who were housed in this specialized unit that was classified under Mental Health.
Here, every weekday morning and afternoon, I would walk across facility grounds from my cell block in the general population, to the cell block known an E-North ICP. I would socialize with these guys, motivate and befriend them, and help where needed to keep them stable and functioning in the challenging world of prison.
I worked as a caregiver in E-North for a number of years. For a while I was the only prisoner in Sullivan who was entrusted to be around these men since they could easily become "victim prone" due to their mental status, plus being under strong psychotropic medications.
Over time, I also worked as a caregiver for the sight impaired men who were deemed to be legally blind and needed help getting around the prison. At times, it could be physically taxing because some of these incarcerated individuals were also confined to wheelchairs, and therefore were in need of extra assistance.
While another trusted job was working as a clerk for the chaplain, which I did for several years. Then as a dish and pot washer in Sullivan's kitchen. It was grueling work, yet it was also a lot of fun because we had a good crew of guys who worked hard but also liked to clown around.
When it was time to leave, I had to pack my belongings and carry everything across facility grounds
to the loading dock, where a van awaited me with three correction officers who were assigned to get me to my next facility.
The hardest part was not being able to say goodbye to the many friends I made over the years. Some of them were from my church's fellowship group. We were truly a band of brothers. I knew, as well, that more than likely I would never see their faces again on this side of eternity. That hurt the most.
D.B.
Here, every weekday morning and afternoon, I would walk across facility grounds from my cell block in the general population, to the cell block known an E-North ICP. I would socialize with these guys, motivate and befriend them, and help where needed to keep them stable and functioning in the challenging world of prison.
I worked as a caregiver in E-North for a number of years. For a while I was the only prisoner in Sullivan who was entrusted to be around these men since they could easily become "victim prone" due to their mental status, plus being under strong psychotropic medications.
Over time, I also worked as a caregiver for the sight impaired men who were deemed to be legally blind and needed help getting around the prison. At times, it could be physically taxing because some of these incarcerated individuals were also confined to wheelchairs, and therefore were in need of extra assistance.
While another trusted job was working as a clerk for the chaplain, which I did for several years. Then as a dish and pot washer in Sullivan's kitchen. It was grueling work, yet it was also a lot of fun because we had a good crew of guys who worked hard but also liked to clown around.
When it was time to leave, I had to pack my belongings and carry everything across facility grounds
to the loading dock, where a van awaited me with three correction officers who were assigned to get me to my next facility.
The hardest part was not being able to say goodbye to the many friends I made over the years. Some of them were from my church's fellowship group. We were truly a band of brothers. I knew, as well, that more than likely I would never see their faces again on this side of eternity. That hurt the most.
D.B.
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