Hotel Hell - Man Convicted of Uncle's Murder Reveals Horrors of Prison

In the middle of his murder trial this summer, Jason Gonzalez abruptly pleaded guilty to killing his uncle. He was sentenced to 45 years in prison but had already served six of them at the Will County jail, where he was unhappy with the temperature and complained in court papers that it was too cold.

On Sept. 15, Gonzalez arrived at the Northern Reception Center on the Stateville prison campus to start doing his time. He likes it there even less.

In a letter to Patch, Gonzalez, 29, told of the deprivation and desolation at the reception center.

“When I first entered the NRC my first thought was, this cell looks like a utility closet,” Gonzalez said. “The walls were bare and stained with layers of dirt, grime, and graffiti. The overhead light was an almost blinding, casino-bright white.”

“Green mold” caked the rusty toilet, Gonzalez said, and the place smelled like “zoo animals.”

He said he and the other inmates at the reception center are locked down 24 hours a day, allowed to shower only once a week, and are denied official forms, pens, soap and tissue paper.

“You must rely on correctional staff who are apathetic at best, and at worst openly hostile,” he said. “‘File a grievance,’ or ‘I don’t give a f---’ are the most common responses to queries or complaints.”

The Illinois Department of Corrections said 1,625 prisoners were locked up in the NRC as of July.

“Hotel Hell is the name the natives use, and a person’s stay here could range anywhere from two weeks to 18 months,” Gonzalez said.

“Sleep deprivation, depression, anxiety, and a lot of other mental maladies are common,” he said. “Recently, a riot almost ensued when the people on my wing were told they weren’t going to receive commissary, an opportunity offered only once per month. Commissary being the only source of hygiene products, envelopes, paper and (more often than not — unless you’re an amazing complainer) pens, people were understandably upset.”

The “commissary lady” finally came through to pass out order forms, he said, but sleeping inmates missed their chance and a “new riot almost began when she returned to collect the forms a few days later.”

The woman’s “response to calls of ‘You stupid bitch,’ and ‘F--- you you f---ing ho,’ was ‘How about none of y’all going to store. I don’t give no f---,’” Gonzalez said. “Commissary was delivered later in the day.”

Corrections spokeswoman Nicole Wilson said she could not comment on Gonzalez’s specific complaints but did note that “offenders who are housed at the NRC are allowed to shower, clean their cells, have their clothes washed, and visit medical staff for routine physical needs on a weekly basis.”

“Those who have been at the facility for at least 30 days, and who have money in their trust funds, are allowed to shop once a month,” Wilson said. “Finally, each cell house at the NRC is cleaned daily.”

Gonzalez shot his uncle Lance Goebel to death in September 2009. Goebel’s wife found her husband dead in their home outside New Lenox. Several days later, the police caught Gonzalez sleeping in his mother’s 1997 Saturn, which he reportedly borrowed from her shortly before the killing. Gonzalez was parked behind a bush on Larkin Avenue in Joliet, police said.

Gonzalez had lived with Goebel but his uncle kicked him out not long before the murder, police said. In between his departure from his uncle’s home and the killing, Gonzalez sent an email to an aunt living in Seattle and told her he was going to “get even” with Goebel, according to court papers.

Gonzalez acted as his own attorney at his murder trial. He says he has post-trial issues to present to the court but has not been given access to a law library since he arrived at the NRC. He said he his requests for medical and mental health care have also been ignored.

“And I’m not even close to the finish line,” he said. “My stay in Hotel Hell has just begun.”