Part 1

After 13 hours of lockdown from 5:45pm, Thursday evening, to about 7:20am on Friday morning, the door of my dingy, well used cell was opened. The cell was nothing special. Two metal shelfs extending out from the wall with a thin plastic mattress and no pillow. I was given two paper thin blankets, two well worn sheets and a pillow case. For what I thought? There was a metal desktop bolted into the wall that had seen its best days and the steel sink-toilet apparatus common to prison cells. The cream tan colored walls had gray paint splattered here and there, while toothpaste, which prisoners used as glue to affix pictures/photos on the walls, along with stains of various colors and chipped paint from the former inhabitants. Everything was dull colors from the stainless shell toilet/sink to the blankets, to the gray painted metal.

Two gray plastic chairs sat in the room, two 6x6 by 2 ft. brown wall lockers, and a small gray ledge and four gray hooks, which were bolted to the wall. In fact, everything was bolted down except the two plastic chairs and clear plastic mattress. A heavy steel door with a three foot, five inch window slot with locks that had seen better days, a 6x6 by 5 inches wide window, which looked onto another housing unit, a light attached to the ceiling with an on and off switch (a bonus), and a vent that blew out cold air completed the cell. In fact, the cell was like a freezer. Weird because the unit was hot.

I had some awful spaghetti the night before and breakfast was equally dreadful. I forced down to hard biscuits and drank two small milk cartoons. It would be the beginning of a long and boring day. I would get a tablet, which would be the highlight of the day, and a bag of prison issued laundry, which included three khaki pants and shirts, three white boxers, socks and t-shirts, three towels and washcloths, two more sheets, another pillow case (for what), three mesh laundry bags, a gray sweatshirt, a velcro belt and an outer jacket. Only the jacket and t-shirts, socks and boxers were new. Everything else was very dingy and well worn. Not like in the feds where they issue you everything new.

I guess Nebraska didn’t have the budget to afford new clothes for new arrivals or a budget for decent food, because they gave you a carb heavy diet of processed foods seemingly all out of a can. I ate just enough to keep me going and able to do a workout everyday. Friday I just did some walking and stretching. I knew movement was paramount to staying healthy in a place that didn’t really care about your health. But in reality, I thought, “this is the worst they can do to me.” And compared to my monstrous 25 years federal sentence, my 18-30 month Nebraska sentence was relatively light, even though it was for basically the same crimes. What a difference 35 years makes in regards to drug policy.

Part 2

The unit was tight. Really small. Only two TVs and two showers. Three phones on the wall and a smattering of stainless steel tables bolted to the floors. Two tiers and it seemed like every other cell only has one occupant. My cellie was a Nebraska guy from up north. Decent dude. Typical cornhusker. Serving three years for a felon in possession of a gun charge. The unit was 3/4 black, with one Indian, a couple Spanish, and about five white guys. It seemed they kept us locked down upwards of 16-17 hours a day. But it was a reception and evaluation facility. I was told by other prisoners I could expect to be here 6-8 weeks before I was classified and sent to a prison yard or work release program. With my short sentence, most said I would go to a community based work release program or OCC in Omaha, which was a low to medium prison. I was told that the Nebraska system had maybe 10-15 prisoners spread over five prisons, which has yards of varying security levels all on the same property separated by barbwire and surrounded by perimeter fences.

1A and 1B being maximum and high security, 2A and 2B being high to medium, 3A and 3B being medium to low, and 4A to 4B being low to minimum security levels. With my 18-30 months sentence guys were telling me I would likely be classified 3A to 3B, just because I had an extensive record, eight felonies in total and had previously served 21 years in the feds. I kept to myself on the unit. Talked to my collie, a Mexican paisa who had done fed time, another older white guy who worked as a porter, and a younger Italian kid. All from Nebraska. I didn’t tell anyone I was a filmmaker or wrote books. Just let them know I was a weed guy into transport. I was still appealing my case and wasn’t here to make friends. Just do my time as quickly as possible, get out and go home to my wife and career.

The Nebraska system seemed a little more restrictive than the feds and it took a long time to process stuff. I got the tablet, but still no money on my account. I had transferred in with a check and was waiting for the money to be put onto my account. I got a commissary list and made some wish lists, but commissary was only one day a week so who knows if my money would be credited in time. The tablet had stuff to do on it if you had money. You could purchase music, movies and send messages and make calls. All your prison correspondence and requests were done on the tablet. It was a GTL, Getting Out Program. similar to the tablet I had in Seward County, but with more restrictions on contacts. I put my wife as my only contact and was waiting for it to be approved so I could call her. I knew she was worried about me as the last time I had spoken to her was Thursday morning.

I stayed busy, pacing around the unit mostly, watched SportsCenter, some basketball games and got the hang of doing time at RTC1. It would definitely be easier when money was credited to my account and I could message, make calls, listen to music and watch movies. Prison was mostly boring and my first weekend in RTC1 was long and arduous, but I would be ok. I was a short timer. I just had to stay out of the way and keep my head down.

Another problem I encountered was getting my blood pressure medication. Seward County hadn’t brought it with me and the nurses here told me I wouldn’t get any medication until Monday, January 12. They brought me out on Friday to check my blood pressure, which was a little high and told me they would bring me out of the unit on the weekend to check, but for whatever reason they didn’t. Guess my life doesn’t really matter to them. I just have to practice neutrality, grace and humility so my blood pressure stays low. Calm and serene. I did push ups, air squats, stretched and put on my prison mask so on one would fuck with me. I was an expert at that and expected no problems. Life is what you make it, even on the inside.

I was happy when they told me to pack out or roll it up as they say in prison. That means roll up your bed roll and other hygiene stuff, plus prison issue clothes they give you when you arrive. I packed all the stuff in this little clear plastic tote they gave me - two orange Seward County jail shirts and pants, three boxers, three t-shirts, three pairs of socks, one towel, one wash cloth, and a bed roll with two blankets and a bed cover that fits over the thin plastic mattress like a sock. Everything was tattered and old, more akin to rags than clothes. I waited at the door, got escorted to R and D, signed some paperwork and waited to be transported to a prison I thought, but what turned out to be another county jail type facility.

Surprisingly, I was transported by the Seward County Sheriff’s office in a cop car. I thought it would be a prison transport bus that’s how they do it in the feds, unless you’re flying, then it’s US Marshalls. It was just me, dressed back in the clothes I wore in court, with my court paperwork, passport, and a bond deposit check I would have to send my attorneys for services rendered. The drive from Seward to Lincoln was about 30 minutes through the flat Nebraska landscape. I peppered the sheriff driving me with questions. He had formerly worked at the prison as a caseworker. I was curious as to what I was walking into and what my options might be, and how long I would have to serve on the 18-30 month sentence.

He was a nice guy and answered the best he could. He worked in the courthouse and did jail transport to the prisons. It was a bleak and rainy day. The trip was quick, but when we got to the prison there was an emergency count and lockdown. We had to sit at the gate for almost 2 1/2 hours in the cop car. The sheriff was ex-military and grew up in Northwestern Nebraska, a big guy. He played high school football. He talked of partying with alcohol, a gung ho type that had worked in corrections after the military and finally as a sheriff. He wasn’t anti-marijuana at all and although he didn’t sympathize with my predicament he wasn’t opposed to it. I was bored and the conversation was entertaining. We listened to 90’s alternative as we waited. Finally, the lockdown and emergency count cleared and we were ushered into the gates of the prison compound. I was led into the R and D, unshackled and my prison journey began.

Crazy though I wasn’t even strip searched. They had this body cavity x-ray machine I had to step in and out of to make sure I wasn’t hiding anything. In the feds they used to strip you naked, check you out all over, make you bend over, spread your butt checks and cough. With the new technology those days were long gone. I filled out some paperwork to be admitted and sent my court clothes home and was escorted into a shower room, given lice shampoo, and issued brown pants, a white t-shirt, boxers, socks and black velcro tied shoes with a clear sole. My new prison number, 221532 was written on the back of my black shoes in white ink. Welcome to Nebraska Department of Corrections.

Part 3

The prison was brick and gray. A cluster of square stone buildings with fences and barbwire surrounding and separating them. A dark, dismal place with short gray gun towers placed intermittently along the perimeter fence. My new home for the foreseeable future, for how long I wasn’t sure yet, but surely no longer than 18 months. All I had to do was program, work, exercise, eat healthy, keep my head down and stay out of the way. I knew how to do time if I knew anything at all. There is an old prison saying, “Do the time, don’t let the time do you.” I had made it through 21 years in the feds - 12 in medium security yards or gladiator schools as they were called and 9 in the lows, which were a cakewalk after the decade plus in the gladiator schools - and I didn’t anticipate any problems in the Nebraska DOC, wherever they put me.

The staff at RTC 1 were kind of funny, they looked at me and said, “Just passing through, Seward County, I-80,” and kind of shook their heads. They knew the game and were well aware that Seward County was a law enforcement cesspool that snatched people off the highways like pirates. Never going for the big tractor trailer busts, just looking for the low hanging fruit so they could pull them over illegally and search them in the hopes of coming up on some assets forfeiture busts like they did with me. The correction officers knew the score.

I was booked in and interviewed to see if I had any enemies or gang affiliations and if I could go into a general population. The sergeant interviewing me knew about Seward County too, seems all the correction officers looked at them with disdain. He even commented how locking me up for marijuana was a waste of taxpayers money. Nebraska had even voted in medical marijuana in October 2024, but due to the governor appointing two anti-marijuana protocol/pharmaceutical guys to run the program they were purposely dragging their feet. I was fingerprinted, photographed, saw the nurse, given some hygiene stuff and a bed roll and sent to my unit. Pod 9, Cell 16.

And like I said before it was more a county jail than a prison. I got recreation right when I got there, but then it was lockdown, lockdown, lockdown. At least I did 75 pull-ups at rec, but no phone, no tablet, no nothing. The food sucked and I was trapped in a unit. Locked down in my cell. Less access to phone and TV then I had at Seward County, pros and cons to every prison or jail. But at least, I was in the system. My good time started. Let the clock tick. They called lockdown for the night at 5:45 pm. Fucking crazy.

Day 1

Three days ago I was sentenced by Judge Stecker in Seward County District Court Court to 18-30 months for transporting marijuana on I-80, sitting in the Seward County Detention Center I was ready to get on with it and start my journey into the Nebraska Department of Correctional Services. I had already served 21 years in deferral prison for an LSD/marijuana conspiracy from 1993-2015 and this would be my first time going back to prison since my January 2015 release from the Feds. I wasn’t looking forward to it, all prisons, jails and criminal justice systems suck in my opinion, bordering on barbaric and inhumane, but it was fine to face the music. And even though my legal team requested probation, which Judge Stecker denied (for a non-violent marijuana offense) 18-30 months was a decent outcome, considering I could have gotten more, the statuette was 0-20 years. And 10 years ago I probably would have gotten upwards of 5-10 years easy. 18-30 months for me was a skip in the park so to speak.

I was anxious to leave Seward County Detention Center. It was a boring county jail with horrible food and nothing to do besides workout, watch TV, read and sleep. The days were long and I paced the unit like a tiger, trying to stay busy and keep my mind occupied. I had done three weeks there before waiting to get bonded out when I was arrested in October 2024. It was agonizing in a purely boring kind of way, but I survived. I was ready to move on. I thought any jail or prison in Nebraska has to be better than here, but I found out maybe I was wrong. There are pros and cons to every jail or prison. I did fed time so maybe I was a little spoiled. Prisoners always say the feds are the best and now I see why. But doing time is doing time. It’s all about that clock ticking so you can resume your life in the real world. And there’s a big difference between jails and prisons. Let me break it down for you.

When I left Seward County I thought it was was going to a prison, but I didn’t. I went to RTC 1, what they call a Reception and Treatment Center. Basically, it was another county jail, where I would spend 6-8 weeks I was told to get classified and evaluated before I moved onto a real prison with a yard, programs, movement and stuff to do. Jails are basically like holding facilities for people when they first get arrested and start going through the court proceedings. Prisoners are locked in a pod or unit.

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For example, Seward County Detention Centers has maybe 10 units, some with four cells, some with six cells. Two men per cell. You unlock from the cell around 7am, eat breakfast, lock back in at 8am for count, then you can hang in the day room, which has a TV and two phones all day until the 2pm lockdown count. Lunch is served around noon and dinner at 5pm in the dayroom. You don’t really leave the unit, unless you are going to court, seeing your lawyer, going to rec, or going to medical. It’s very static. Everything is brought to you. You are locked down a lot. Another count at 8pm and then lockdown for the night at 10pm. And then start the process over again in the morning, day in and out. Very monotonous, very boring. Sometimes you just want to scream. I found RTC 1 in Nebraska Department of Correctional Services to be much of the same, very different from a real prison yard, which I will get into more as this journey develops.

The thing is Clifton Powell is not referring to my book bc my book makes no such reference. It’s crazy the people write or print stuff like this with no verification of the facts. I admit I like my book being mentioned but it would be better if it wasn’t like this bc there is no references in my book about Wayne Perry being gay. Crazy.

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