Gilligan’s Island

This is Gilligan’s Island – Not the literal place where the 70’s TV show was based on, however, but it contains a lot of similar, mundane, and depressing things as the TV show portrayed. To start with, there’s nearly nothing here. “Here” is Hyde Correctional Institution in Swan Quarter, NC, which is a prison facility that houses 700 plus minimum-security prisoners. It’s located about 10 miles from the Atlantic Ocean, and is surrounded by truncated Cypress trees, swamps, soybean, and corn fields as far as the eye can see. Most days, one will be lucky to spot a vehicle’s glare as it passes on the road, miles above the prison. Most days, too, one will be lucky to summon enough joy to overcome the despair this place causes for the average prisoner. This is just the way this place lays on an individual. There’s really nothinghere. 

I arrived here about a month ago. I came in on the “goose” with eleven other guys, shackled, handcuffed, and endured a 6-hour bus ride. 

Since coming here, I’ve been housed in a dormitory with 60 other prisoners, even though it is meant to hold only 42.

There’s hardly any programs or jobs here for prisoners. No work release, no community-based programs, no vocational or academic education programs. 

Here, there’s only idle minds and enough “K-2” (synthetic marijuana) and hooch to debilitate and make even the strongest “sane” person question their resolve to come out of this joint unscathed. This is simply the reality of this hellish place.

To highlight and underscore a day’s worth of events, I would like to offer you a narrative of one of my recent days.

2:30am – I was awoken when another prisoner was crawling between the aisle of my bunk looking for a piece of “K-2” he had allegedly dropped. 

5:15am – Another guy in the dormitory was standing near another guy’s bunk, holding onto the bed’s frame, head hung downward, with drool spooling from his lips.

5:40am – I go and eat breakfast, which consists of French toast, half a bowl of imitation rice crispies, a milk, and some type of watered-down apple juice.

6:15 am – 8:00am – I read a few short stories written by J.D.Salinger. A few guys are watching music videos. A few more below me are making wicks and smoking sticks (K-2).

8:15am – I go outside, exercise and talk to a few guys in the wright area.

9:30am – I take my shower, shave, fix a coffee, eat a banana and some peanuts.

9:45am – The guys below me are smoking again, talking about baby’s mama and slinging dope, stuff like this.

10am – I go back outside to the yard. I sit on some steps and look out over the cornfields, think about home, loved ones, freedom, somewhere else.

11am – 12pm – Go to lunch, listen to NPR’s “I-A” and “Embody” on 90.5 FM’s local affiliate.

1pm – 3pm – A code-blue (medical emergency) is called in the dormitory across from where I’m housed. Another prisoner has become disabled by the K-2 experience. He’s being wheeled out on a stretcher. This would be the first of two of these events, one within minutes of the other one. 

4pm – 5pm – Dinner is served in the “Chow Hall”. We have a chicken patty, gravy, rice, and peas and carrots. A few slices of bread are provided with a glass of watered-down tea. 

6pm – 8pm – I watch the news. Crime is on the rise. Guys over to the left of me are smoking a stick, drinking some hooch, getting loose. Soon a fight breaks out in the bathroom. A few guys break it up. Gang related. I sit on my bunk and watch it all play out. Crazy stuff.

8pm – 11pm – Guys talk about prison life, baby mamas, drugs, and money. Sometime after 11pm I fall asleep.

Tomorrow will be much the same as today. Here on Gilligan’s Island. This is survival of the fittest. This is where guys come to improve their lives. Helluvah future, eh? One day at a time.