The Big Chill

It was done raining and the sun in the narrow window of my cell made the world look warm. But I was cold. It was always cold at the prison in Mason, Tennessee, which serves as a holding facility for prisoners waiting to go to trial or to another prison or, for some immigrants detained there, to deportation proceedings.

Life Inside Perspectives from those who work and live in the criminal justice system. Related Stories

I was assigned to O block, a housing unit with two tiers of cells rising above a common area of a few metal tables with attached stools. There was a small microwave on a table at the bottom of the staircase that led to the top tier. Open shower stalls were along one wall of the area and a TV was mounted high on the wall opposite them.

I spent my time at Mason wrapped in a blanket. Most everyone stayed covered in their own blankets, which weren’t much heftier than a sheet but were the only means of staying warm allowed a prisoner. Reading, playing games, eating, watching TV—all done hunched in blankets. Guards wore coats; prisoners wore blankets. Guards were warm;