A recent prison arrival, or newbie, is almost always expected to receive the most mail during the first few weeks of incarceration. Those newest arrivals aren't factored in when determining who ranks highest in the hierarchy of mail call popularity. It is understood that a person new to prison still has most of their contacts from home intact, and they are sure to receive a large amount of mail from their friends and family at the beginning of their sentences. It is the long-timer who receives a steady stream of incoming mail from “the outside” who is most impressive, and thus, the most popular at mail call. During mail call, inmates gather at the common area (otherwise known as the day room) in front of the duty officer's desk. The ladies who gather for that first call take note of everyone whose name was called, the number of times called, the type of mail received, the size and color of the envelope, and the number of postage stamps on the face of the package. If an inmate receiving mail did not present for mail call, a compound-wide inmate alert is sent to notify that person that she has received mail, the number of pieces received, the size of the envelope or package, the title of the book or magazine received, or whether the mail piece was a letter, a package, a subscription renewal notice, a postcard, jail mail, or hate mail.
Jail mail is any piece of mail in the form of case status updates, notifications from staff, progress review forms, etc. generated from the prison staff to be forwarded to an inmate. It serves a purpose not unlike intradepartmental mail in a corporation. Jail mail is almost always welcome by an inmate, especially if it details news of a release date, travel plans or a sentence reduction.
Hate mail, on the other hand, is the most despised of all. Hate mail usually comes from the mail room staff alerting the inmate that her mail has been blocked, denied, or returned to sender for various reasons outlined in the hate mail form. One of the most common reasons mail is withheld or denied is because it was deemed to be three-way mail.
Three-way mail is communication that is censored, monitored or banned. Usually it is attempted communication between inmates at different prison facilities that has not been cleared (or approved) by prison staff. This type of mail usually passes through a "bounce house" where a friend or family member accepts mail from one prison inmate, and then repackages it and forwards it to another inmate at a different prison facility. This type of communication is the most dangerous. Severe penalties are handed to prisoners caught bouncing three-way mail. It presents a serious security breach because of the ability of inmates to gather or send information about a certain facility, its’ daily practices and procedures, its’ staff or other inmates and where they are housed. However, the most common use of bounce houses for three-way mail is to facilitate the exchange of mail from inmates at different facilities for friendship, romance and long-distance relationships. Typically an inmate's husband, boyfriend, or "co-defendant" who is also incarcerated will send a photo of himself and his “home boys" to his female prison contact. The “home boys" are usually those guys who are looking for a prison pen-pal. Their names, inmate numbers, and bounce house addresses are discreetly included in the letter containing the photo. The receiver's job is then to locate interested female inmates to exchange correspondence with one or all of the home boys.
Entertaining oneself with pen pals is a favorite inmate pastime, whether they are prison pen pals or otherwise. While most state prison systems allow direct communication with non-inmate pen pals through regular channels of communication such as the U.S. Postal Service, email, telephone, or in-person visitation, all states ban most inmate to inmate correspondence. Some states ban pen pal solicitation correspondence between business entities and inmates in what is known as the Pen Pal Solicitation Rule.
While this rule prohibits inmates from soliciting pen pals, it does not prohibit correspondence with non-inmate pen pals. The rule bans inmates in certain states from placing advertisements soliciting pen pals. Inmates found to be violating this rule, either by direct placement of ads, or through the assistance of third parties, face disciplinary action. The rule was enacted at the state level to prevent inmates from using pen pal solicitation services to defraud others. The one exception to this rule is Christian Pen Pals. This pen pal service is the only one allowed to solicit in certain states where this ban is in place, ostensibly because it limits solicitation to direct one to one matching, versus soliciting blindly en masse. The U.S. Federal Bureau of Prisons does not adhere to this ruling and has no direct ban on communications with pen pals other than unauthorized inmate to inmate communication, and in-person visits which are subject to certain restrictions based on each individual facilities’ rules.
Some popular pen pal websites include Prison Pen Pals, Meet an Inmate, and Write a Prisoner.com. These services typically solicit pen pals for prisoners and non-prisoners alike, and the costs to subscribe range between twenty to forty dollars each per year.
In my experience, mail call evolved from my being the most popular girl in prison, to really wishing I had a pen pal, to finally getting one, and then becoming bored with him in less than a week's time.
The first go-round, when I was sentenced at the state level, my most ardent admirer would write to me religiously. He never failed to send to me at least one letter a day for months on end, along with large envelopes filled cards, love notes, poems, postage stamps, stationery, and news updates from home. And every quarter, as allowed, he would send me care packages with fresh contact lenses, clothes, shoes, intimate wear, and goodies to snack on. My commissary and telephone accounts were the constant recipients of his tokens of affection which afforded me to place up to twenty 15-minute phone calls to him each and every day, plus everything else a prison princess could ever want or need.
I truly was the envy of the compound when it came to male admiration. I felt so loved, protected and cherished until that one day when I went to make my usual phone call first thing in the morning, and there was no answer on the other end. Nor was there one at mid-day. Nor in the evening well past this particular physician's normal work hours. That was the first clue that something was amiss. When I then tried to call his momma, she declined my call. That was not only hurtful, but it also sent a very clear message that she no longer had the duty to make nice with me.
Finally the weekend visit didn't come as it usually did. This time there was an answer on the other end of the line. Only to inform me that his pet bunny had died that very morning, and funeral arrangements needed to be made. There would be no visit that day. I suggested putting the freakin bunny in the freezer until after his visit, but apparently the bunny was Muslim, and required a proper burial within 24 hours. The drive to see me was 7 1/2 hours each way, so the visit was a no-go.
I stopped calling after that. I allowed myself two entire days to cry and get him out of my system. After that, I took all that extra time and energy and concentrated it on myself instead. I had no urge or impulse to pick up the phone to call him or to write to him as I was used to. I did, however, pick up the long-ignored fan mail received from random men who had followed my case in the media. I read it, and tossed it out in contempt - not realizing just how lonely my journey would become along the way, in the background still loomed the love of my life who I still held out hope for.
The fan mail quickly dissolved into a trickle. By then, I was released from state prison looking fit and beautiful. I emerged an emotionally stronger woman, and no longer felt needy when it came to having a man in my life. But still I held out for the one who barely paid me any attention, ignored me most of the time, and never came to see me.
In the interim, between state and federal prison sentences, I did try in vain to find a suitable replacement for both of these men. Although one was no longer a viable contender, the other still held my heart. I had eight solid weeks to replace him, so I did what any other single woman in her forties would do - I speed dated on Match.com. I accepted dates from only the most qualified of men to even remotely come close to replacing what I once had. I dated every type of physician, surgeon and specialist known to modern American medicine. I made a slew of new friends, but I didn't find someone who would steal my heart.
I came to federal prison still single as ever. Then the fan mail started up once again. And I ignored it as only I would do. Finally I decided to accept a pen pal request for friendship from a gentleman in the United Kingdom. After the fifth day of exchanging emails, I became bored beyond belief with him and his mundane life. I gracefully bowed out of that correspondence. From that singular experience, I realized that sometimes lonely is okay, and that what we might think we want isn't always the answer to what we need. I am still pining for that lost love, but I am also leaving myself open to meeting someone new, reminding myself that there are millions of men in this world - there's bound to be one out there that is perfect for me.
