Fumo's attorneys relied on the Justice Advocacy Group, led by Joel Sickler in Alexandria, Va. Efforts to interview Sickler for this article were unsuccessful, as were efforts to contact Fumo defense attorney Dennis Cogan.
Fumo's lawyers contend the 525-mile trip from Philadelphia to Ashland would be hard on his fiancee and grown children. According to the Bureau of Prisons Web site, the prison doesn't have a residential treatment program, which Fumo said he needed to kick addictions to alcohol and Xanax, an antianxiety medicine.
At sentencing, his lawyers asked the judge to recommend that he go to the prison in Lewisburg, Pa., about 60 miles north of Harrisburg. The court obliged, but the Bureau of Prisons decided otherwise.
With time off for good behavior and for enrollment in a treatment program, Fumo could be free in three years.
New inmates go through a check-in procedure that evaluates them medically, assigns them to a housing unit, and gives them a job, said Linda Thomas, a Bureau of Prisons spokeswoman.
Larry Levine, founder of Wall Street Prison Consultants, said it's not that simple. And he should know, having served 10 years for possessing counterfeit securities and drug conspiracy.
The Bureau of Prisons has already assigned Fumo a prison number, 62033-066. But it's unclear if he has been billeted to Ashland's low-security prison or to the even less-restrictive adjacent camp. A camp assignment would mean Fumo would sleep in a dormitory, not a cell. But it wouldn't mean his life would be easy.
On the outside, people like Fumo were titans. On the inside, "they're nobody," Levine said. Young, often less-educated corrections officers hold the power.
On arrival, Levine said, Fumo will be escorted to what's known as R&D, Receiving and Discharge. He'll be told to strip, then to show the soles of his feet and the backs of his ears so prison staffers can check for contraband.
"They're going to make him bend over and cough, make sure he's not hiding a machine gun up there," Levine said.
He'll be issued a temporary prison jumpsuit, then sent to the medical team. He'll get a physical - important because Fumo's doctors say he's in poor health. He's suffered a serious heart attack and battles coronary-artery disease, diabetes, and kidney disease. He's had heart surgery and four back operations.
His medical treatment will influence his daily routine.
Next, Fumo will face questions from a psychologist: Does he want to hurt himself or anyone else? And if he did, would he say so? Is he part of an organization that wants to overthrow the U.S. government? Does he belong to a gang?
He'll be given a housing assignment, a hygiene kit, and his bedding. Within a day or so, he'll be issued standard clothing: Three pairs of khaki pants, five khaki shirts, five T-shirts, underwear, socks, a belt, and a pair of boots.
"If you're lucky," Levine said, "you'll get new underwear. If you're lucky, you'll get old boots - they're broken in."
Lights out is generally 10:30 p.m. At least twice during the night, corrections officers will come through with flashlights to count the inmates.
The lights blink on about 6 a.m., provoking a rush for sinks and toilets. Construction of prisons hasn't kept pace with an inmate population that has surged from 136,000 in the late 1990s to 207,000 today. More than half are serving time for drug offenses.
The crowding means inmates spend a lot of time waiting in line for privileges such as telephones, use of which is limited to five hours a month.
In the mornings, Fumo will work at his job - anything from food service to landscaping - and in the afternoons he'll be allowed to visit the library, take classes, or watch TV. The next day will be a repeat, and the day after that the same.
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