When I came to prison as a 37-year-old, I had already been working since high school. Back then, I would attend class during the day and work at a Roy Rogers fast food restaurant into the evening. After high school, I was a combat engineer building wood- and steel-frame platform bridges and conducting demolitions. As I rose in rank, I became a 10-ton dump trunk driver.
When I was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole, I knew the first thing I wanted to do in prison was get a job.
Working in the kitchen
In Pennsylvania state prisons, people often start in the kitchen — known inside as “a dietary worker.” The job is labor-intensive and pays only 19 to 23 cents an hour, so turnover is high. That’s why the kitchen is quick to hire new arrivals.
In 2001, at my first state prison, I was a dishwasher. I received used food trays deposited through a window. I had to be quick. If trays backed up, people would slam theirs through the slot, causing messes. It was one of the dirtiest jobs in the kitchen (but not as bad as washing pots). I eventually found a good rhythm: emptying a tray’s contents, then passing it along to my back-up worker who placed it in the dishwasher.
I worked in the kitchen for about 30 days — making 42 cents an hour — before I realized I needed to think long term. I could easily get food service jobs outside; what I wanted was a vocation.
Janitor and maintenance crew
Soon I enrolled in a 12-week custodial program where I learned about building maintenance, floor care and small repairs, and groundskeeping duties like lawn care and window washing. Once complete, I landed a job in the prison’s education building as a janitor, where I still made 42 cents an hour.
I cleaned various classrooms, emptying trash bins and wiping down blackboards. I worked in the evening, when the building was empty except for a guard posted there. I found peace. I especially liked waxing the long hallway floors, though I had to be careful not to slip because the slurry could get slippery. The state boots did not do well on slick surfaces.
I enjoyed the job. When I transferred to another prison, I joined their maintenance department, but worked outside. I cut grass with manual mowers and wacked weeds. In the winter months, I made sure walkways and paths were clear of snow and ice. I also changed light fixtures, replaced batteries in smoke detectors, and hauled trash to the mechanical dumpster. Eventually I started unloading trucks for the commissary.
Other prison jobs
There are a variety of jobs inside.
My current institution has two dog programs. Adam Meyers, a dog handler in one of the programs, was on the job for about a month when we spoke. Though actually, it’s a volunteer position with a 24/7 commitment.
“I am training this animal to be of service for another veteran,” Meyers said, adding that he was giving the dog “a purpose for a greater future, like he is doing for me.”
His paying job is a unit worker, or janitor. He sometimes brings the dog to his work shift while he takes care of the trash and earns 23 cents per hour (with small incremental increases every 60 to 90 days).
I also spoke with a guy I’ll call E.V. He works in a very prestigious job in the institution’s auto shop outside the fence, where he welds, fabricates and works on vehicles.
To earn outside clearance, you have to have a lower security level, maintain a clean conduct record, be program compliant and not be serving longer than 10 years. (While lifers and long-timers like me are technically eligible for outside clearance, it never happens in practice.) There are about 15 people who work outside the prison in a variety of jobs, including lawn mowing and painting.
E.V., who was a certified welder and mechanic before coming to prison, said he enjoys the job, which pays 32 cents an hour. It takes him out of prison and gives him a feeling of purpose, he said.
“I never imagined being able to work in this field here, so this is an opportunity to not waste my talents,” he said. “I love working on cars and fabricating, which I am now trusted to do because of having proved my knowledge and experience.”
Supporting mental health
As a life-sentenced individual, I help others navigate the maze of chaos and confusion that prison can sometimes be.
These days, I work as a certified peer support specialist, making 61 cents an hour for an eight-hour shift (though I’m always on call). The job takes me around the facility to visit people struggling with mental health. It’s a rewarding job, if a difficult one.
On a recent day, I consulted with a young man who felt he was not supposed to be here anymore. He would not comply with officer instructions and became argumentative and physically combative. We talked a bit, and he resolved to huddle in the corner of his cell; we could talk more the next day if he needed. Not every interaction ends with a positive resolution, but it’s important that people know they have peers they can turn to if and when they want.
It’s a rewarding role.
These are just some of the reasons why working during a prison term is one of the better things to get into. I find a sense of pride not having to burden my family by calling home for money they don’t necessarily have. I have already cost them far more than I should have.