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American prisoners are an independent lot—or that’s what most of them want you to believe. But there comes a time when even the hardest among them need help. Moreover, sometimes these tough guys are the first to reach out to those in need.

Take Bill and Nate. They arrived after dinner on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. Those of us living in the housing unit at the top of the hill watched them trudge up the sidewalk carrying their bulky sleeping mats and blankets and little else. What few personal items they possessed would be stored until the prison staff returned after the four-day holiday. Until then, the only clothing the new guys had was what they were wearing—and that didn’t include a coat.

Their new home, cell No. 9, stood vacant, occupied only by a large puddle of water. The puddle was a remnant from a plumbing leak that had been repaired earlier in the day. However, water continued to drain out of the plumbing chase for another two days.

On the bright side, the cell’s single large window faced east, so it let in the warmly golden morning sun.

Unfortunately, the portion of the window that could be opened—a narrow rectangle about four feet wide and five inches high—wouldn’t close. The overnight low: 27° F.

Realizing that there would be no help from the prison staff until Monday or later, several prisoners on the pod pitched in to wedge cardboard in the window and provide a few of life’s necessities: toiletries, towels, toilet paper, a bulb for the cell’s single light fixture, and, most importantly, a bag of instant coffee.

Although the “state” was helpless in this situation, the pod’s residents were not. They abandoned their independent natures temporarily and formed an interdependent network to help Bill and Nate get settled. Then on Monday everyone became fiercely independent again.

Note: Names and cell numbers have been changed.