The prison service economy is John Kiriakou’s account of the trade that ran alongside the food economy at FCI Loretto: “there was plenty of room for entrepreneurs.”[1]
The trades
One man made a decent living reselling other prisoners’ used shoes — old pairs no longer worn, or shoes offloaded by men about to be released — taking a commission on each sale; Kiriakou bought two pairs from him. Others ran convenience stores out of their lockers, selling sodas, sweets and crisps at a standard thirty per cent markup, the same margin as the commissary itself.[1]
There were a dozen bookmakers at Loretto — a good friend of his the most successful of them — and some prisoners made thousands of dollars a month from gambling, the wise ones sending it home to build a nest egg for release. Others repaired radios, did unofficial and unlicensed chiropractic work, or sold underwear, socks and t-shirts stolen from the laundry.[2]
The currency
The unit of account was the book of postage stamps, which sold at the commissary for $8.20 and traded inside at a flat seven dollars. Kiriakou explains the preference in practical terms: unlike seven bags of mackerel stacked one on another, a book of stamps is small, easy to hide and easy to spend.[3]
He is explicit about what the most enterprising prisoners sold for that currency, including sexual services with a published price list, and records one man selling his “turnkey business” and its dozen clients for sixty-five books of stamps.[3][4]
His own position
Kiriakou did not participate. Prison work paid him $1.08 a month, which he banked, relying on family and friends for anything he needed — though he adds that had he needed capitalism in prison, it was there.[4]
The same economy explains what was on the plate. Kitchen workers stole chicken, beef and pork to order for customers whose families then transferred $100 to $150 a month into the cook’s commissary account — which for everyone else meant “chickenless chicken pot pie”, hot dogs instead of roast beef and sloppy joes instead of pork loin, almost none of it human-grade food.[5]