Byline: Richard H. Stewart; 1983-12-30; The Boston Globe; pages 33
In the semidarkness of the cell block, I was startled by the occasional eruption of sparks from the granite floor outside my cell. After a moment, I realized the inmates on the two tiers above me were flipping cigarettes out their cell doors. They were landing on the floor in the Flats. The Flats, as the first level is known, was everybody's wastebasket and ashtray. And my cell, No. 6, was in the middle of the row.