My final journey to Federal prison actually began about three days beforehand.  I was living in Dallas, but had been assigned to the facility in Allenwood, Pennsylvania.  I am told it isn’t all that unusual for the Bureau of Prisons to designate you to a location far from home, but in this case I wasn’t complaining at all.  In fact, it had been my specific request (through my lawyer) that I be placed somewhere in the northeast region, in order to be closer to Staten Island where my father and stepmother lived.  The way I figured things, with my 46 month sentence, the odds of my father still being alive by the time I was released seemed remote at best.  And it sounded rather selfish (and unworkable) to expect him to travel across the country to Texas every time he hoped to visit me.  By serving my time as close to his home as possible, I’d hopefully be able to see him a half-a-dozen times before it was too late to see him at all.

Dad had been in poor health for years.  At first it was just his diabetes, which alone was bad enough, requiring multiple daily insulin injections.  But later he added Parkinson’s Disease to his list of ailments, which made walking quite difficult for him.  There had also been a stroke or two, and some sort of disorder which caused poor flow of fluid into his spinal column.  It had been clear to everyone, including himself, that his physical condition would only worsen as time went on.  So to have the chance to see my father before surrendering to authorities, and hopefully a few times while incarcerated, was to me a very lucky break.

When I was sentenced, I had been advised by my lawyer that I would have about two weeks to report to prison, during which time the BOP would designate my initial facility.  If I wasn’t going to be assigned to Allenwood or to Fort Dix (in New Jersey), my hope was that I would be sent to Seagoville, which is a facility just east of Dallas.  At least that way I’d be close enough for regular visits from Heather. 

I was uncertain about how wise that would be though.  First of all, I didn’t have any way of knowing just what kind of conditions I would be living in, or what the visits would be like – except I already knew there were no conjugal visits in Federal prison.  So I was worried that if Heather saw a dirty, unsafe, threatening environment, she’d have too much cause to worry about my safety.  As long as I was far away, I could try and paint a positive, peaceful picture of prison life, and she’d have to real option but to accept it.  Besides, deep down I didn’t want to take up any of Heather’s personal time while I was locked up.  If I was somehow lucky enough for the relationship to survive all the time apart, I was going to be eternally grateful; but I thought it was unfair for me to be so close by where she would feel obligated to visit, which would in a way distract her from potentially starting a new relationship with someone else. 

Heather, in her typical strong-willed fashion, was not even remotely concerned that she would break our relationship off.  It took quite a bit of effort and explanation on my part to convince her that we shouldn’t get married before I left.  The way I looked at it, the marriage wouldn’t serve any purpose: if she decided not to wait, we’d have to get a divorce, while if she chose to wait for my return, we could always get married later.  I’m not sure how much of her insistence was intended to convince me of the depth of her feelings, but such evidence wasn’t necessary.  Still, without discussing it with me first, she went ahead and got my name tattooed on her back one afternoon.  I laughed and pointed out the tattoo wouldn’t prevent her from dumping me.  She wouldn’t even need to limit her next relationship to a man with the same name, as she could just pretend Douglas was the name of a dog or cat who had passed away!  Deep down, I never really doubted we’d still be together…even if I didn’t believe I deserved all the love and happiness and pleasure Heather brought into my world.

As two weeks came and went, I hadn’t heard from my lawyer and became rather concerned.  After all, if they wanted me to report somewhere, it was a little difficult for me to do that without being told where!  In the back of my mind I could see myself falling through the cracks, never being notified but meanwhile listed as missing, until a random traffic stop resulted in me being incarcerated as an escapee, with years added to my sentence and my time to be served in a maximum-security facility for troublemakers like me.

Eventually my lawyer returned my nervous phone calls to let me know that he’d spoken to the Federal Marshalls and they’d said it would be another week or two.  While on one hand I was happy to enjoy some extra freedom, on the other the situation sucked, because I had already made plans to leave my job.  Plus, the sooner I got to prison, the sooner I could be done with my sentence!  Still, at least this way I was able to spend my birthday as a free man.  Heather made sure it was a VERY memorable experience, and between that night and the night prior to my sentencing I was left with plenty of fantasies to keep me warm at night…for a while, anyway.

So after spending an extra 10 days or so counting the hours, like someone on death row waiting for the inevitable footsteps down the corridor, I got the phone call.  I had been assigned to Allenwood, and I was supposed to report there on November 6th.  That gave me about a week to get my act together and make travel arrangements.

(watch for Part Two in the coming days)