About a decade ago, a prison guard stopped by my bunk for a random contraband search. I presented my prison ID, and she scribbled down my bunk and ID number in a notebook. Then I opened my locker for her.

“Why do you have so many apples?” she asked, then instructed me to count them all out. 

In the locker, I had 16 Golden Delicious apples. I had traded single-serve peanut butter packets for the fruit. 

Outside of the dining hall, apples were considered contraband. To my surprise, the officer didn’t confiscate the apples. But she did take a few other items I shouldn’t have had in my possession: extra toothbrushes, a Pilot G-2 click pen, a smattering of paperclips and binder clips, and a bowl lid that was not sold at the canteen. All those items were thrown in the trash. 

The simple description for contraband in prison is anything that a person is not supposed to have. But, in practice, the definition is more complex. Trading or bartering is prohibited, so any items used or acquired in that manner become contraband. Modifying or using something that prisoners are permitted to possess in a way that is contrary to its intended use renders the item contraband as well. 

Here’s an example: Occasionally I purchase a resealable 4-ounce bag of coffee from the canteen. When I am finished with the coffee, I rinse out the bag and store single-serve condiments in it. But once I reuse the bag, it is considered contraband. The condiments stored in it probably are contraband, too.

Apples aren’t really that important to me. They’re easily replaceable, often served at breakfast, or for a small fee I can trade for them. The bowl lid and pen were harder to replace, but not too painful to lose. I am fortunate I haven’t lost any contraband I hold dear, but I am often concerned I might. I wear two medallions on a steel chain around my neck — St. Michael and the Virgin Mary. I am permitted only one. I’m not sure how I would respond to the confiscation of either.

My concerns prompted me to ask others about contraband. I wondered: What contraband would you miss if seized? Or what disheartened you the most when it was seized? 

William Sutherin said he would be most dismayed if his window bag was confiscated. Window bags are large plastic garbage bags that residents attach to the windows in their cells to capture and direct airflow toward their bunks to cool down.

“When you’re in a two-man cell and it’s July or August and it’s 105 degrees with no air movement, that’s a very important piece,” he said.

James Kuenn thought for a moment about the question and said that if I had asked him six years ago, his answer would have been very different. 

“Calculator and rulers,” he said. “Everything I needed to do my college school work.” 

Robbie Jackson had glasses confiscated that were gifted to him by his grandmother and mother. He followed the proper procedures to have them sent into his prison. But when he was transferred to a different prison, the intake officer who processed his personal property said the glasses weren’t on his approved property list. They did not care that a previous prison had approved them.

“I didn’t have the chance to send them home,” Jackson said.

Willie James has been incarcerated longer than I have been alive — a little over 45 years. He said having photos seized is heartbreaking. We’re only allowed to have 50 photographs, according to state prison rules. If, during a search, an officer determines you have too many photos, they will often ask you to send some home.

But in James’ case? 

“I couldn’t send them home because there’s nowhere to send them,” he said. 

There was a time when Florida’s prison system allowed people to have photos taken with their incarcerated friends. He lost many such photos from contraband seizures.

“When you lose those photos and those people pass, you’ve lost them forever,” he said. “All you have is what’s in your head. I can never get them back, and that hurts the most.”