Former Inmate Finds Career as Docent to the Newly Imprisoned

David P. Novak never dreamed things would turn out this way, that a simple daily journal he kept while in federal prison for insurance fraud would become the key to rebuilding his life.

Three years after his release, the 38-year-old Vancouver, Wash., man is making six figures sharing his knowledge of prison life with others across the country who are about to enter that unfamiliar, frightening world.

Novak acts as a sort of “Big Buddy” to freshman felons, mostly of the white-collar variety. None has a clue of what to expect, be it a bribe-taking politician, inside stock trader, money launderer or doctor ripping off Medicaid programs. And each is completely terrified.

He fills them in on the lingo (terms such as “zoo-zoos” for sweets bought from the commissary); coaches them on inmate etiquette (rule No. 1: “Don’t rat”); provides practical advice (such as arriving with $20 in change for the vending machines).

Novak himself can’t quite believe that he has managed to parlay his prison experience into a business that now produces a “very comfortable living.”

Through his business, Davrie Communications, Novak offers personal consulting services for the prison-bound for a fee of $75 an hour. He also sells a self-published book titled “Down Time: A Guide to Federal Incarceration” and other materials, such as a monthly newsletter.

The business, launched in 1997 with his wife, Currie, focuses on minimum- and low-security federal prisons that house nonviolent, mostly white-collar offenders. It has become so successful that Novak says he has to be selective about which clients he agrees to take on.

“This is such a personal business,” he says. “People trust me with their fears. It’s a huge responsibility.”

A Web site Novak set up includes testimonials from satisfied customers, such as this: “You are performing a valued and critical service. . . . Please keep on keeping on. --Dr. Michael R., West Palm Beach, Fla., Medicare Fraud/Money Laundering.”

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Gregory Nicolaysen, a prominent Los Angeles attorney, agrees Novak performs a valuable service.

Most defense lawyers concentrate on presenting the best case possible for their clients, Nicolaysen says, but they are ill-prepared to answer questions about what to expect behind prison walls in the event a client is convicted.

Thomas B. Carr, a Washington, D.C., defense lawyer, says he was so impressed after hearing Novak speak at a professional seminar in 1998 that he has brought him in to advise several clients.

Carr, an expert in post-conviction law, said the people he represents are often those who have held high-level executive positions and who are accustomed to being in charge.

“They suddenly realize they are about to lose control over some or all aspects of their lives, and they’re terrified,” Carr says. “Certainty is what they need. Uncertainty and the unknown frighten them. They’re terrified of not knowing what’s going to happen to them. David tells them what’s going to happen.”

One of the tools Novak uses to do that is his book, which Carr said he distributes to any client who finds himself on the way to prison.

The 139-page book, with an additional 51 pages of appendixes, is updated annually. It covers everything from dealing with family and friends before reporting to prison to a detailed account of day-to-day life as “part of the Bureau of Prison inventory.”

To help the soon-to-be-incarcerated adjust to the cramped conditions they will face in prison, for example, Novak offers this suggestion: “Before heading off to prison, tape a 6-by-7 [foot] area on the floor of any room in your home--then stay in that area over a weekend. Remember that in this area you have a bunk bed, lockers, hanging clothes and a small desk. You will begin to appreciate the tightness of the quarters in prison.”

In a chapter on initial custody, Novak warns: “The first several hours of incarceration are the most difficult for most inmates. With no experience to draw upon, each new noise, smell, command and situation is very intimidating.”

For Novak, that memorable day came Jan. 27, 1996, when he entered a minimum-security prison at Eglin Air Force Base in Fort Walton Beach, Fla. He had been sentenced to a one-year term after pleading guilty to mail fraud and falsely reporting a plane crash.

At the time, he was a young man who, in own his words, was “in over his head” trying to run a flying club outside Seattle. The business was a boyhood dream for the high school graduate, who had grown up in a military family and had worked as a manager in both aerospace and telecommunications.

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Novak says his first day in prison was a shock: “One day I was at home, and the next I was in the middle of my worst nightmare. I was overwhelmed, sick to my stomach and on the verge of tears.”

Along with emotional insights, Novak also provides practical advice, such as: Don’t ever cut into a line; don’t reach across somebody’s tray of food in the chow line; don’t ask a fellow inmate personal questions; don’t whine; don’t touch things that don’t belong to you; be tolerant; mind your own business.

Novak keeps up-to-date on changes in staffing, programs and policies at federal prisons in part through correspondence with his ever-expanding network of incarcerated clients. “Probably one of the most unique services I offer is that generally I can make sure there is a small welcoming committee to greet someone who is going in.”

Novak’s guidance extends from the first day inside prison through what he describes as “the longest night of imprisonment--the last one.”

Novak says he finds working with the soon-to-be-imprisoned and their families personally fulfilling.

“I’ve worked with quite a few lobbyists and politicians,” he says, although he politely declines to name any of them. “The most interesting ones tend to be the high-end financial people involved in financial crimes. I also do a lot of work with doctors accused of Medicare and Medicaid fraud. Those get really interesting.”

He knows from conversations with his clients that his advice has helped ease their painful passage through the prison system. He gets few complaints, he says. “I’ve never had anybody ask for their money back.”