It was a gorgeous morning, cold but dazzling with autumn light. Driving out U.S. 2, I tried to imagine not ever being able to drive through the countryside again.

With some dread, I was bound Thursday for the Washington State Reformatory, one of four units at the Monroe Correctional Complex. A day after Gary Ridgway pleaded guilty to the murders of 48 women in a deal sparing him the death penalty, I went looking for what life in prison really means.

Tell me about a lifer’s life, I asked Veltry Johnson, the state Department of Corrections spokesman. I had called him after the Green River killer’s historic appearance in a King County courtroom Wednesday.

"Nothing beats seeing it for yourself," Johnson said.

So true. Thanks to a hastily arranged tour of the reformatory with correctional unit supervisor Dave Bustanoby and public information officer Jane McKenzie, I did see. I do have some inkling.

A lifer’s life? It didn’t appear to be a fate worse than death. But don’t believe talk-radio loudmouths who equate prisons with country clubs.

Yes, there are televisions, and places to lift weights and play basketball. There’s health care. There are decent meals — grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch and meatloaf for dinner on Thursday. Yes, there’s a chapel, a library and a separate law library. There is schooling available. Employment, too, from prison work in laundry or food service to higher-paying jobs through business partnerships.

Freedom? No. Privacy? No. A guarantee of safety? No.

"Ninety-nine percent of the time, they are being observed, by eyes or a camera," Bustanoby said as we began our walk.

"We’ll start at receiving. They first come in on a bus," said Bustanoby, leading me through a maze of monitored doors, all in need of unlocking. "That’s part of life here, having to wait for doors to open," he said. Doors open and slam electronically, and loudly.

Bustanoby said all male felons go first from county jails to the Washington Corrections Center in Shelton, where they are classified depending on criminal history before being sent to Monroe, the Washington State Penitentiary at Walla Walla, the Clallam Bay Corrections Center or other facilities.

Ridgway is expected to go first to Walla Walla, a maximum-security facility. The Monroe Reformatory is medium-security, but still a close-custody facility housing many imprisoned for life. "With the three-strikes law, we have a lot," Bustanoby said.

"They arrive every Monday," he said, calling inmates fresh off the bus "the chain." They come in orange jumpsuits, tethered together with ankle and waist restraints.

Walled and rimmed with razor wire, the place they step off the bus is like no driveway I’d ever seen. Immediately, they have a thorough strip search, then a health assessment.

Next stop is the clothing room, where they get prison basics. Inmates can wear their own clothes, but no dark colors, logos, hoods or cargo pockets. Each man may bring two boxes of possessions, with strict limits on what those items might be.

Living quarters are stark and cramped. The Washington State Reformatory building is more than 90 years old. The four living units in its two cell houses — with up to 200 inmates in each unit — have four tiers, not unlike those in an old Alcatraz movie.

"This is a prisony prison," Bustanoby said.

"If you go to Twin Rivers, it’s more like a college campus with fences," added McKenzie.

Prisony prison is an apt description. Inmates can go to the library, the day room or the yard, at certain hours for limited amounts of time. But eventually that cell door slams.

Mine was cell No. 20, a couple of levels up the stairs. And you bet, it’s chilling when the door slams. With arms outstretched, I could almost touch the walls on both sides. It’s meant for two men, and contains metal bunk beds, a metal toilet and sink, and a tiny desk.

Life in there? A whole life? Unthinkable.

There’s a camera outside, and every half-hour a guard walks by for a tier check. Thorough searches occur regularly. Walking to the empty cell, we passed men I didn’t dare look at, most lying on their bunks. Some had TV sets, clear-plastic ones for sale in the prison store for $400, the only kind allowed in cells.

Viewing selections in the common TV room are made by an inmate committee. "It’s one of the fighting points," Bustanoby said.

Cellmates’ hygiene habits and dining area seating also stir up trouble, he said.

"New guys don’t dare sit in somebody else’s seat. Or a sex offender will be warned never to sit at a table again," Bustanoby said. "People will come to me and say they haven’t eaten in a couple of days."

Trouble lands an inmate in the segregation unit for up to 20 days. The unit is also used for protective custody. Those being disciplined are locked in small cells behind metal doors 23 hours a day, released only for a shower or a half-hour in the yard. Meals are slipped through a slot.

"When the tray goes in, it’s not unusual for it to come flying back out," Bustanoby said.

A lifer’s life can be purposeful, with work, worship, education and family visits. Getting there is a process, Bustanoby said.

"At first they come in, they think they have nothing to lose. It takes a while to settle in, to realize ‘This is my home for the rest of my life.’ "

For Ridgway, prison awaits. For the rest of his life.

I was out by noon.

Columnist Julie Muhlstein: 425-339-3460 or

muhlsteinjulie@heraldnet.com.