"My Winter Survival" by Juan Hernandez
I was 17 years old and had just been given a sentence of 45 years to begin in a maximum-security prison.
Upon arriving at Joliet Correctional Center, I went through the processing procedure and was led to a cell where I slept most of the day. The next day I was moved to a different cell for an unknown reason, and while carrying my mattress around an inmate asked if I wanted a cigarette. I didn’t smoke but accepted it and placed the cigarette behind my ear. As I was going inside my new cell an officer told me to remove the cigarette from my ear and I ignored him. When I passed him, the officer grabbed my shoulder and I pulled away from him. When I did, he pulled out his mace can and sprayed me. It was the first time I’d ever been sprayed. I was immediately placed in hand cuffs and taken away to another part of the prison--solitary.
I was unable to see clearly from the mace in my eyes, but I felt the cuffs being removed from my wrists. I heard a door slam shut behind me. I was in a 6x9 cell with three concrete walls and a steel door, with a small window that was kept closed with a steel plate. I stayed in that cell for about two months, never receiving any mail or talking to anyone except the inmates who passed our food trays out. The officer lied in his report about the incident saying that I had acted in a physical manner towards him. I was punished with six months of solitary confinement.
One morning I was woken up abruptly and told to cuff up. I was given a jumpsuit to wear and shackled from my wrists to my ankles. I walked outside of the unit for the first time in two months and felt fresh air hit my face. I took a deep breath and noticed how cold it was. I was surprised to see snow on the ground.
I was led to a bus and driven to Stateville Correctional Center, one of the most vicious maximum-security prisons in the state. Unbeknownst to me at the time this would be my home for the next 12 years.
Upon arriving at Stateville I was walked to my unit. It seemed to take forever. I was freezing. All I had on was a shirt, boxers, socks, flip-flops, and a jumpsuit. The officer escorting me had a jacket, winter hat, and gloves on. He had the audacity to tell me to walk faster because he was cold, but I was still shackled up by my ankles and could feel the cold steel cutting my ankles with every step I took.
After what seemed like a long trail through the heavy snow and strong chilling wind, we finally made it to the segregation unit also known as I-House. When I first laid eyes upon it I noticed the entire structure was made of concrete and had long, but thin, vertical windows. The building looked just as cold as the weather outside.
I was led into the segregation unit by the escorting officer, who asked a commanding officer which cell I should be placed in. I was assigned a cell and he took me to it. The layout of the gallery was different than that of Joliet C.C. I walked down the gallery which had cells on each side and there were long fluorescent lights in the middle. As I was stopped at my assigned cell, I heard one of the inmates warn me, “Don’t go in that cell, it’s condemned! The window won’t shut!” The escort officer opened the door and a gush of wind made us both turn our heads away. I looked at the officer and said, “I’m not going in there, it’s freezing.” The officer said it would only be for a few minutes until they found another cell. I believed him and walked into what felt like a freezer. My shackles were removed and the door closed behind me. I immediately went to the window and tried to close it but the knob wouldn’t work. I sat on the thin mattress with its plastic covering ripped open and enveloped myself in the state blanket, waiting for the officer to come tell me I’d be moving to a cell with a working window. The moment arrived three months later when my time in solitary ended.
That first night was brutal. I can still recall mornings waking up to snow on my floor that had come in through the window. The winter air was so cold that I could see every breath I took and the gusts of wind were so strong that it would continuously rattle the steel door day and night. I was wrapped in two sheets and a blanket but I was still shaking uncontrollably from the cold, so I ripped the plastic cover from the mattress so I could sleep between the cotton/polymer mix that was inside. That kept me alive at night during the cold winter.
As the days passed and the realization of me not getting moved to a different cell became a reality, I was given advice from others on the gallery about how to stay warm. One piece of advice was saving milk cartons from every meal so I could light them on fire in the corner of my cell in order to heat up the room. I learned how to make a fire by stuffing tissue paper inside a milk carton, then putting it on a burning hot light bulb. The heat would set the milk carton on fire, then I’d take it off the bulb and use it to light another stack of cartons. Everyone on the gallery would also save up their cartons and send them to me. I did this almost every day to stay warm. The wall was completely charred from my continuous fires. Most officers knew what I was doing but as long as they didn’t catch me doing it, they didn’t care.
That’s how I lived through--no--I survived that harsh winter in solitary confinement. It gave me the mental strength to push forward through any situation I faced in the future. Can you imagine what that must have felt like? You are ripped away from your home, your family, your friends, and told that the remainder of your life will be spent behind bars surviving unimaginable scenarios. And survive I have, for 22 years now, and it was my first winter in a maximum-security prison that showed me the resilience to make it through anything life may bring my way.
Juan Hernandez is an incarcerated writer and artist born and raised in Chicago.
