Folsom Prison holds inmates, legends

Editor's note: Raheem Hosseini was part of an organized tour of Folsom Prison and this is his view of the inside of the prison.Just outside the security check-in at "old Folsom," a quartet of deer graze on the lush hillock between Larkin Hall and what looks like an old stone cottage.Folsom State Prison is like that — contradictions and paradoxes stuffed into a granite mass of high stone walls encircled by rolling green hills on three sides and pristine American River on the fourth.Built in the late 1870s by contractors and inmates, including hundreds of Chinese prisoners who labored in the rock quarries and prison laborers who built the first dam and canal on the American River, the prison has grown from its initial population of 44 inmates to more than 4,400 today.The prison's 40-foot walls are far more imposing once inside, and are capable of blocking out natural light in the afternoon. Legend says the granite walls extend 20 feet underground to discourage tunneling.While the prison is still the largest producer of license plates in the state, other vocational opportunities have been scaled back because of state budget cuts.Further into the prison, a metal staircase leads up a greasily lit stairwell into a steadily trafficked medical clinic. Many of the denizens here smile politely and excuse themselves as they move out of the way of staff and visitors walking by. A dozen more yards and one enters one of the main cell blocks, which holds upward of 600 inmates. During a Friday afternoon, denim-clad inmates are returning from work details or the yard. A wall of cells on the first tier houses all of its inmates, with many eyeing passersby and holding out small mirrors to see who's coming down the way.The cells are densely constructed affairs, with two grown men unable to navigate the limited negative space at the same time. On an older block, the cells all have heavy steal doors that must be manually closed and locked when an inmate returns from meals or recreation. Every door clangs with that irrevocably final-sounding boom.