From the Penthouse to the Big House

"Throw the bums in jail!" That's the prevailing response to corporate scandal. David Novak knows what the bums can expect once they get there. After pleading guilty to mail fraud and falsely reporting a plane crash, the onetime flight-school operator spent nearly all of 1997 at Eglin Federal Prison Camp, a minimum-security facility near Pensacola, Florida. Because of its location and its nickname, Club Fed, first-time offenders routinely request Eglin as their prison of choice. Fashion maven Aldo Gucci did time there. So did Watergate conspirator E. Howard Hunt and former Maryland governor Marvin Mandel. Disgraced shoe designer Steve Madden was scheduled to arrive in August. Since his release, Novak has turned his prison sentence into a second career. He is the author of Downtime: A Guide to Federal Incarceration and (we kid you not) has become a $125-an-hour consultant to corporate felons, setting them straight about what to expect on the inside.

Did Eglin live up to its nickname? When you arrive, you see this wide-open space devoted to recreation -- soccer and softball fields -- and as a visitor you probably think, "This is great. It is like being at a country club." There are old oak trees with Spanish moss. Aesthetically, it's gorgeous.

Just how minimal was minimum security? There was no barbed wire, fences, or guard towers. When you visit an inmate there, you can almost maintain the illusion that it isn't a prison.

So what kept inmates from escaping? There was a yellow line painted around the border of the compound, and you were supposed to stay behind it. Of course, if you wanted, you could simply leave. It's called a "walk away." Several people did it while I was there.

Did you ever think about walking away? Sure I did. In fact, you'd almost prefer to be behind a fence. But if you escape, you will get caught. I don't know of anyone who didn't. And then you have to serve an additional 18 months or more in a higher-security facility.

When were you most afraid? The first day. A guard escorted me to my cubicle and was like, "Here's your bunk. Bye." I was scared to death to touch anything. As I was standing there holding my bedroll, a guy walked in and said, "My name's Jim. Since the commissary is closed, I'll lend you some toiletries." He gave me a new toothbrush and soap, and I thought, "Oh God, he wants me to be his girlfriend." But he was just being kind. Jimmy had been in prison for 10 years on drug charges. He's still there.

How were the living arrangements? Each dorm had 32 cubicles, and each cubicle contained a narrow bunk bed, a folding chair, and a cramped writing desk. The newer roommate was given the least favorite place, which was usually the top bunk in the cubicle closest to the bathroom -- what inmates called "waterfront property." You were also guaranteed to have the worst pillow and mattress, because when someone left, everyone else in the dorm swapped [their bedding] if they thought it was better. The bed was about half the size of a normal twin bed. I'm six-one, and when I laid down, an inch of each shoulder extended over the mattress and my head or my feet hit the rail. I've slept on better things while camping. The first few days, you don't sleep. You're too scared. Then you recognize that this is survivable, and you relax.

What was the hardest adjustment? The noise. It was so loud in the chow hall that it was hard to carry on a conversation. Prison is basically a crowded, cramped place. I can't recall a single period of time when I didn't hear someone yelling, talking, snoring, or flushing the toilet. There's never any silence.

What kind of work did you do? I worked in the bakery, so I was awakened by a guard at 3 AM to report to work by 3:30. We made mostly hot-dog and hamburger buns and occasionally fun stuff like birthday cakes. There were seven guys on my crew. All white-collar. Pretty high net worth. Everybody was a Republican. I was the only person without an advanced degree.

Do the white-collar criminals get along with the other inmates? Prison is just like anywhere else. The drug dealers ate together; the white-collar types ate together. The drug dealers gravitated to the basketball or softball teams, while the white-collar criminals attended Toastmasters meetings. It wasn't uncommon for color lines to be crossed, but it was uncommon for socioeconomic lines to be crossed.

Did you make any friends? There was a group of us who ate together on a regular basis: a large drug smuggler who now sells mega-yachts, a Colombian money launderer, a telemarketing guy from Florida, and a dentist. But I don't think you make friends. You make acquaintances.