Prison Was Not Designed For Eldercare

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First, some housekeeping.

I didn’t get assigned a class for the fall. I’m so bummed. The program director for the non-profit I teach with told me he didn’t have any space for a writing class at any of the prisons where they work.

Sigh.

There’s nothing I can do about this. I certainly have a freer fall. I do have a bunch of freelance journalism assignments, and I can certainly drum up some more. Also, I’ve been toying with this idea for a novel. I’ve got my main characters - the story is going to be told from two points of view, alternating chapters.

But the plot keeps getting away from me. I know the emotional arc that these two people will follow, and what they’ll learn about themselves and each other from the beginning to the end of the book. It’s the story I want to hang this relationship on that is not strong enough. I need much more action. I’m strong when it comes to writing about interior lives, but not so skilled in writing real page-turning fiction.

I’m perennially tired because I get caught up in the novels I read at night. I just need to know what happens next. And then I look at the clock and groan - I’ve done it again and stayed up far too late.

Anyway, as to this newsletter, always a work in progress, I’m going to weave in a few different things until I get back into a prison for more teaching and can write about the class.

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Today, I’m sharing a story written for the amazing Prison Journalism Project (PJP.) The PJP has launched a series on the graying of America’s prisons, noting that the number of incarcerated people 55 and older has climbed from 48,000 to 154,000 over the last two decades. According to the PJP, in 2019, this age cohort made up 63% of state prison deaths for the first time since figures were tracked, according to the most recent data available. 

Prisons, they note, are not designed to be elder care facilities.

Most of the men in my class have been young or middle aged. I hadn’t thought about this issue before. But I have seen old men elsewhere in the prison, some in wheel chairs; others just bent over with age.

Below is a piece written for PJP by a Eric Finley, who is currently incarcerated in Florida. It’s as illuminating as it is sad.

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Is Death by Incarceration the New Normal for Aging Prisoners?

Thousands of older people occupy bed space in maximum security prisons, even though the recidivism rate for people older than 65 is close to zero.

by Eric Finley January 10, 2023

After decades of mandatory sentencing laws and reductions in parole, the number of aging inmates in our prisons has increased dramatically. 

Overzealous courts have levied harsh sentences and filled blue steel bunks with what I consider to be reformed, and now harmless, old men.

In the mid- to late-1980s, the war on drugs began a trend of harsher sentencing laws. Recent increases in violent crime rates have contributed to more punitive sentencing, with little to no opportunities for rehabilitation available inside. Based on my tour of prisons in Florida, human warehousing appears to be the new normal.

I am currently housed in a maximum security prison in Florida, where 5 in 8 housing units are designated for inmates 55 and older.

When released to eat, we form a parade of wheelchairs, canes and other assistive devices. One man, who is a double amputee, leads another man who is blind. I see this every day.

A friend of mine once pushed me in my wheelchair while returning from our meal. He is 91 years old and calls me a kid; I recently turned 56. When I asked him when he would be released, he ignored my question. I don’t plan on asking again.

When I jokingly accused him of using me as a walker to get back and forth from the dining hall, he admitted it was partially true. 

I spoke recently with another man, who turned 81 last fall. He is paralyzed from the waist down. He and I both know he will die here. 

Other inmates change his diapers and bathe him. He has been in prison for decades now. How he got here seems irrelevant — the recidivism rate for people older than 65 is almost zero.

The man in the bunk next to me is 77 years old. He has been in prison for 13 years and needs to live another 12 before he can get released. “They store us like fruit in bad conditions and for too long,” he said.

During the years I’ve been inside, only one person I knew well has been released. At least eight men I knew well have died. One of them passed in the bunk right next to mine while I was asleep.

A very good friend of mine went to an outside hospital for a triple bypass surgery in the fall of 2021. He was 75 years old and had served almost 30 years. He told me many times he was afraid of dying before his release date.

He had no family left and needed a place to live after prison. Because we were both military veterans, I shared information with him about the facility for homeless vets where I will go after my release. He had tears in his eyes the night he received a letter that confirmed his acceptance into the program. He promised me a steak dinner and a fishing trip. 

Unfortunately, my friend died days before his release. He was unable to recover from the open-heart surgery. This honorably discharged U.S. Army veteran was a kind and wise old man who had just wanted to fish a few final times.

It would have been morally appropriate to have released him early. He could have received the level of care he deserved from a veteran’s hospital.

His fate is likely representative of many harmless old men in overcrowded prisons nationwide. 

I plan to cast a baited line in the water for my friend soon after I’m released.

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