Hard Times: Part Six
My return to Charlotte C.I. was like walking into a warm summer's day after being out in a deep freeze. I really, really hated the last year of my job. I had made a huge mistake leaving Charlotte in the first place, and paid quite a penance in the process. I do admit, though, that I learned a great deal about the real world by actually working in it. In prison, you are isolated from all things external, and your progress as a person suffers as a result. The move to the female prison at Broward had also shown me how fortunate I was to be back among men; supervising women is a tough job, in some ways even tougher than street probation work. All in all, I had acquired a skill set that would benefit me as a Senior Classification Officer.
My return was met by my former comrades with a great deal of celebration and joy. This was my second family, and I had missed them dearly. My supervisor (the former mental health unit officer from previous posts) put me straight to work as both the Close Management officer and his personal "do boy". Close Management is the highest level of confinement outside of death row. You arrive in that status by doing bad things while incarcerated; murder, rape, escape, assaults, and general mayhem are common reasons. At that time, there were multiple prisons in the state with Close Management units; probably between 15-25 units in all. Our unit housed 168 close management inmates in one of three levels. Which level you were assigned to at any given moment, and how long you remained on those levels, depended on a wide variety of factors. Suffice it to say that Close Management I was basically lock-down in nature while Close Management III was a transition status back to general population.
The "do boy" aspect of my job could be described like this; I did whatever my boss told me to do. I basically acted in his name, and handled tasks he either didn't have time for, or that he didn't want to do. I am making it like he took advantage of me, but not really; we worked as a team. He was great with people; me, not so much. However, I was great with organization and computers, and between the two of us we made a very effective "super officer". Working as a team, we did run a very smooth classification department, and for about one year everything was great; until....
Greg Osterback is one inmate that I will name by name. His is a name that will live in infamy with the Florida DOC, and not because he killed the governor or blew up the capitol. He is the worst kind of inmate; a writ-writer. "Writ-writer" is slang for an inmate that files excessive and frivolous grievances and lawsuits. No one likes them, not even most inmates. They make life unnecessarily stressful on staff who, in turn, take it out that frustration on inmates. To put it in real world terms imagine you received a call from one of those annoying telephone solicitors, and could never hang up; that, in short, describes a writ-writer to a T.
Osterback filed a lawsuit against the Department for violation of his civil rights; not all that uncommon in prison, but this particular lawsuit was very unique. He claimed that Close Management was torture because the inmates were basically locked away from the outside world. A Close Management dorm had no windows; well, they did have windows, but they were covered by big pieces of steel that only allowed the barest amount of light inside the cell. Some inmates remained on Close Management for many, many years (I had one inmate who had been on the highest level of Close Management for more than 15 years). Osterback asserted that by cutting off the outside world the Department was committing cruel and unusual punishment through sensory deprivation. The court ruled in Osterback's favor, and Close Management would never be the same.
Over the course of the next year the Department consolidated all of the individual Close Management units into three prisons: Florida State Prison, Santa Rosa C.I., and Charlotte C.I.. These three prisons were no longer going to house many general population inmates; instead, they would be considered "Supermax" prisons. In short, "Supermax" prisons are primarily lock-down facilities. Movement is highly controlled, and the prison grounds are divided by numerous fences and checkpoints. Supermax is a prison within a prison.
During our conversion to a Close Management facility Charlotte had to undergo major changes to each of the general population dorms. In prisons, you don't hire out a contractor to do the work; inmates are used instead. You would be surprised how many inmates have specialized skills such as welding, plumbing, carpentry, etc. Each major prison in the state pretty much functions as a small city, and is expected to be self-sufficient. The Department put Charlotte under a timetable crunch due to the need to comply with the court's Osterback decision, and, in turn, this crunch put extreme pressure on the Warden and Assistant Warden of Operations to get it done. This whole situation reminds me of the scene in Star Wars: Return of the Jedi when Darth Vader is sent to the second Death Star to encourage the commander to finish work on schedule...or else.
I didn't realize just how much pressure the higher authorities were under until one fateful day. I was sitting in on a Disciplinary Report court hearing for another officer. I was on the team with a Lieutenant I knew and respected, and when an inmate was brought before us for an assault against staff I didn't even think twice that we would do anything other than throw the book at him, and send him to Close Management. When the Lieutenant told me that he needed this inmate to help work on the Close Management conversion, and we needed to give him probation I was in shock. Against my better judgement I agreed.
The next Thursday morning began like any other for me. I drove to work half asleep, and pulled into the prison's entrance road. What I saw was very different than anything I had seen before. Sheriff cars were everywhere. TV News vans and camera crews roamed the parking lot. Correctional officers were outside with shotguns and assault rifles. There was obviously something very wrong. I got out of my car, and started walking up the long sidewalk that led to the main facility, and I saw my Supervisor standing there waiting for me.
I said, "What's going on?"
"An Officer was murdered last night."
I regret that the first thing that passed through mind was "I hope one of mine didn't do it", but that's what happened. CYA is a very hard habit to break.
"Who was it?", I asked.
"A female Officer, Darla Lathrem."
My Supervisor then told me what he knew at that time. Five inmates were working in A-Dorm during the night. Three of these inmates overpowered the one officer assigned to supervise them, and had killed her. They then tried to escape over the fences. The inmates were caught immediately as the first of them came down over the outer fence. My supervisor had to attend a meeting, and told me to head to my office and await instructions.
I proceeded into the facility, which was obviously on total lock-down, and headed for my office. A pall of sorrow hung over the whole department. Many of the staff were in tears, and everyone was dumbfounded on how such a thing could possibly happen. Many wondered why the officer who had caught the inmates attempting to escape had not simply blown them away. No one would have asked any questions, and they deserved it. Sorrow quickly turned to anger, and finally a simmering, silent rage. It was at this time I discovered that the apparent ringleader of the murder/escape attempt was the very same inmate the Lieutenant and I had given probation for the assault on staff. My God, what had I done?
Then, I received a call from my supervisor who had just came out of a meeting with the senior staff and the Secretary of the Department. Our Warden was put on leave, and his Assistant, a good old boy from North Florida, would now be in charge. He told me to immediately write up a Close Management referral on all three inmates, and fast track the mental health and medical evaluations which were required. I got no argument from either department, and everyone was willing to do what was necessary. Then, the three inmates were transferred from Charlotte to Florida State Prison for their own safety. All three were put on Maximum Management, which is the highest level of confinement in the State (even higher than Death Row).
As the day went on the details of what happened started to emerge. The work crew consisted of five inmates and one officer. The ring leader took a sledge hammer to the officer, and destroyed her to an almost unrecognizable state. Then, the three shoved her bloodied corpse into a mop closet. The other two inmates were not part of the plot, and were assaulted, too; one of them died as a result of the attack. The three conspirators took the officer's keys, and exited the rear of the dorm. They used a ladder to scale the inner fence, but only one of them, the ringleader, made it over the second fence. By this time, the fence patrol officer had been alerted to a disturbance on the fence, and secured the three inmates without a struggle.
The drive home for me was quite surreal. I had never experienced violence firsthand like that before, and a wave of emotion hit me. I did something I never did, and headed to a local restaurant/bar, and had more than one vodka martinis. On the television, the local news reported on the grisly murders at Charlotte C.I.. Some of the customers sitting with me began laughing about it saying things like, "Why do they allow women in there in the first place?", and other stupid, drunken remarks. I calmly finished my drink, stood up, and said that I worked there, and had been there that day. That part of the bar table that heard me shut up in a hurry. I left the bar before I did something I would regret.
That night was horrible. I had some more to drink, and I remember crying a great deal. I couldn't forgive myself for making such a stupid decision to let this murderer out of a confinement that would have prevented him from committing such a terrible deed. Blood was on my hands. I could care less whether or lived or died, let alone if I lost my job. I had committed a terrible sin, and deserved the worse. This opinion of myself stayed with me for a long time.
Obviously, in hindsight, I know that I didn't commit a murder; the inmate did. I didn't make a plan to escape with two others; he did. And I certainly didn't make the decision to have a lone female officer supervise five hardcore convicts (most of which were serving life sentences) by herself at night when those inmates would have access to lethal weapons. Yes, I made a mistake by not speaking up to that Lieutenant, but I was not a murderer, and I didn't kill anyone. That guilt belonged elsewhere. Still, it is a blot on my soul that never really leaves; I should have been stronger.
In the end, the Warden was "retired", and a whole bunch of changes occurred in Security; most notably, the arrival of many North Florida officers who would show us South Florida fools how to properly run a prison. Many recriminations were handed down from on high, and scapegoats were put out to pasture. A huge memorial service was held for Officer Lathrem, and a memorial was established for her at the prison so we would never forget; not that any of us who had been there would.
And so began the final stage of prison career; the Senior Officer in charge of Close Management at a Supermax facility. It would be a fitting ending, and a chance for redemption. I hoped and prayed I was up to the challenge.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Post Eleven
Hard Times: Part Five
Aileen Wuornos was a rare commodity; a female serial killer who was caught alive. Wuornos was a prostitute who had murdered seven of her clients. She was convicted of six of those crimes, and was sentenced to death. Florida has two death rows; one for men and one for women. The male death row is located at Union Correctional Institution located in Raiford, Florida (the actual death chamber is at Florida State Prison in Starke which is right next to Union C.I.). The female death row is housed at Broward Correctional Institution in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. At the time I was there I believe there were a total of three female inmates on death row.
Wuornos was one of the first inmates I met at Broward. Death Row is located pretty close to the entrance which surprised me. I had been in confinement units before, and they were always creepy, but going on a death row for the first time is an experience which you really can't prepare yourself. I have no grand tale to tell here: I was escorted by the female Senior Classification Officer assigned to death row along with the female Sergeant assigned to the unit. We walked up to Wuornos cell, and I looked at her. She was a big, rugged woman dressed in death row orange. I remember locking eyes with her for a brief moment, and she said, "Who's this?"
" He's a new Classification Officer.", the senior officer said.
"Not mine, I hope"
"No, he's going to be working in Reception/Orientation"
"Good".
I should have responded with something, or a question, but quite frankly I just went blank. I had been intimidated before, but never like this. I violated the first rule; never show fear. I don't know how to describe it, but there was an evil aura that surrounded this person. I had no desire to be around her any longer than I had to. I wanted to get out of death row as fast as possible. After we walked down the long hallway, we walked back past Wuornos' cell.
She said, "Why are you here?"
We walked past her without stopping, and I just looked at her. I guess you could say I chickened out, but at the time I just wanted to leave. Banter with Florida's only female serial killer would have been quite fascinating in hindsight, but it's an idea that sounds better in theory than reality. I would never get another chance; for the rest of my time at Broward she was in and out of county jail at court, and access to death row was strictly monitored. Even a Classification Officer just can't walk in without a good reason.
Wuornos, though, had posed a good question, "Why was I here?"
Good question.
After leaving the street as a probation officer I was quite happy to be returning "home". I really did miss working behind the fence, and was looking forward to a new challenge. It would definitely prove to be a challenge. I decided to remain living in Stuart, and commute to Fort Lauderdale. It's about two hours to the prison from my condo, and I had to leave every day at 5:00am. I didn't return home until well after 7:00pm. At first I decided to take I-95, but that lasted a grand total of one day. If there is one place in this state that is more dangerous than prison it's I-95 in South Florida. Crazy drivers, congestion, and bad weather do not make for a stressless commute. Once, I was caught in a massive rain storm on the Sawgrass Expressway, and I felt as if the world was going to end. I ran the toll booth because I didn't have the proper change, and people were honking at me. I never received a ticket so I guess that's more common than not.
I decided instead to take the back way. US 27 ran down the western side of Broward county, originating around Lake Okeechobee. The trip added about a half hour to my commute, but I just couldn't do the I-95 torture. Even so, I still had some crazy commutes. It was about 5:30am, and I was approaching Pahokee on my way to US 27. Someone had apparently decided to torch a building because part of the town was on fire. I had to take a long detour that almost took me to West Palm Beach. Another time, I had just turned on to US 27 when an armadillo ran into the wheel of my car causing the tire to explode. Part of my wheel was missing. On the way home, large, brilliant lightning storms would dance over Lake Okeechobee like they were playing some kind of mad symphony. And this was just the commute.
I was assigned to Reception/Orientation. Broward is a multiservicee prison. Not only is it the death row facility for women it also serves as the entry point for all new inmates from the county jails in South Florida. In order to be housed in a prison you had to receive a sentence of at least a year and a day. Anything less than that and you were doing your time in county. I would say a good 30 to 40% of our female inmates were serving sentences of two years or less. Why? Most females are serving time for crimes related to drug use and theft. Since most crack users don't have much money they needed to steal it. That was by far the most common story.
I was trained by a seasoned officer who was nearing retirement. He was a good, smart guy who really didn't want to work very hard anymore. Still, I learned a great deal about how the system works simply by working at the front end of the prison experience. I had to review court documents and sentence structure, and make sure all the ducks were in a row. Inmate's criminal histories had to be checked and verified. Inmate interviews had to be conducted to determine where they would best be housed throughout the state. Tests for education, mental health, and medical had to be coordinated and performed. It was a busy job, and I enjoyed it.
Inmates who were new to the system were housed in a seperate dorm from the other inmates. They wore a hideous looking blue "dress" that distinguished them from the rest of the population. The Sergeant in charge of this dorm was quite a peach. She had no use for me from the minute I arrived. In her opinion, men didn't belong in a female prison. I can't say she was wrong, but I did my best to make our relationship work. One thing you learn in a hurry was to have a good working relationship with your line officers. They have the worst job in the prison, and you must earn their respect.
Once most of them learned I had worked at Charlotte things started to improve. Like inmates, your reputation proceeds you. I was able to do quite a bit of good in my orientation class as I told the newbies how best to get good ratings in order to get gain time (days that are shaved off your sentence). I explained the reality of their situation, and was helped by inmates who were one their 2nd, 3rd, etc. incarcerations. One day, I was conducting class when I noticed a woman who looked familiar to me. I realized later that she was a dental hygene assistant who worked at my former dentist office in Fort Myers. She was convicted of stealing drugs from the dentist's office. It's a small world.
Another strange experience was when I had an inmate convicted for multiple robberies, but she didn't commit any of them herself. Apparently, she was some kind of female Charlie Manson-type cult leader who had manipulated her followers into stealing for her. She even tried her philosophical crap on me; that was quite entertaining. The worst woman I ever met was a lady who had been convicted of multiple counts of child abuse. While on crack, she had picked up her baby, and sat him on a hot stove. No remorse whatsoever.
While in the confinement unit for disciplinary report court I had the pleasure of seeing one of the wierdest cell extractions ever. A truly wacked out inmate had barricaded herself in the cell, stripped down buck naked, and was screaming at everyone to bring it on. They cleared us out of the unit before the extraction, but my, oh, my what a day that was.
Which brings me to the most important thing a man learns very quickly working with female inmates; you make damn sure you are never alone with them. Anytime I conducted a class, doors stayed open, and a female officer was present at all times. Many of the male correctional officers were under investigation for allegations of sexual abuse, and I would be damned if I let that happen to me. I never had any problems in my six months at the prison, but I consider myself lucky. Eventually, an allegation would have been leveled; it was the nature of the beast.
While I consider my time at Broward quite a learning experience it was definitely not a place I wanted to stay for the long term. The staff was below par compared to Charlotte; race played a huge role here. For whatever reason, spanish, black, and white officers just did not mix well. You would think that working together would have been a no-brainer. Not here. I generally got along with the other classification officers, but again, it was just not a tight-knit bunch. I was used to working together as a team, and there was just too much "I" for my liking.
One day, I got a call from Charlotte; it was the call I had been waiting for. I was headed back to Charlotte as a Senior Classification Officer. Note only was I getting promoted, I was finally going to get some sleep.
Hallelujah!
Aileen Wuornos was a rare commodity; a female serial killer who was caught alive. Wuornos was a prostitute who had murdered seven of her clients. She was convicted of six of those crimes, and was sentenced to death. Florida has two death rows; one for men and one for women. The male death row is located at Union Correctional Institution located in Raiford, Florida (the actual death chamber is at Florida State Prison in Starke which is right next to Union C.I.). The female death row is housed at Broward Correctional Institution in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. At the time I was there I believe there were a total of three female inmates on death row.
Wuornos was one of the first inmates I met at Broward. Death Row is located pretty close to the entrance which surprised me. I had been in confinement units before, and they were always creepy, but going on a death row for the first time is an experience which you really can't prepare yourself. I have no grand tale to tell here: I was escorted by the female Senior Classification Officer assigned to death row along with the female Sergeant assigned to the unit. We walked up to Wuornos cell, and I looked at her. She was a big, rugged woman dressed in death row orange. I remember locking eyes with her for a brief moment, and she said, "Who's this?"
" He's a new Classification Officer.", the senior officer said.
"Not mine, I hope"
"No, he's going to be working in Reception/Orientation"
"Good".
I should have responded with something, or a question, but quite frankly I just went blank. I had been intimidated before, but never like this. I violated the first rule; never show fear. I don't know how to describe it, but there was an evil aura that surrounded this person. I had no desire to be around her any longer than I had to. I wanted to get out of death row as fast as possible. After we walked down the long hallway, we walked back past Wuornos' cell.
She said, "Why are you here?"
We walked past her without stopping, and I just looked at her. I guess you could say I chickened out, but at the time I just wanted to leave. Banter with Florida's only female serial killer would have been quite fascinating in hindsight, but it's an idea that sounds better in theory than reality. I would never get another chance; for the rest of my time at Broward she was in and out of county jail at court, and access to death row was strictly monitored. Even a Classification Officer just can't walk in without a good reason.
Wuornos, though, had posed a good question, "Why was I here?"
Good question.
After leaving the street as a probation officer I was quite happy to be returning "home". I really did miss working behind the fence, and was looking forward to a new challenge. It would definitely prove to be a challenge. I decided to remain living in Stuart, and commute to Fort Lauderdale. It's about two hours to the prison from my condo, and I had to leave every day at 5:00am. I didn't return home until well after 7:00pm. At first I decided to take I-95, but that lasted a grand total of one day. If there is one place in this state that is more dangerous than prison it's I-95 in South Florida. Crazy drivers, congestion, and bad weather do not make for a stressless commute. Once, I was caught in a massive rain storm on the Sawgrass Expressway, and I felt as if the world was going to end. I ran the toll booth because I didn't have the proper change, and people were honking at me. I never received a ticket so I guess that's more common than not.
I decided instead to take the back way. US 27 ran down the western side of Broward county, originating around Lake Okeechobee. The trip added about a half hour to my commute, but I just couldn't do the I-95 torture. Even so, I still had some crazy commutes. It was about 5:30am, and I was approaching Pahokee on my way to US 27. Someone had apparently decided to torch a building because part of the town was on fire. I had to take a long detour that almost took me to West Palm Beach. Another time, I had just turned on to US 27 when an armadillo ran into the wheel of my car causing the tire to explode. Part of my wheel was missing. On the way home, large, brilliant lightning storms would dance over Lake Okeechobee like they were playing some kind of mad symphony. And this was just the commute.
I was assigned to Reception/Orientation. Broward is a multiservicee prison. Not only is it the death row facility for women it also serves as the entry point for all new inmates from the county jails in South Florida. In order to be housed in a prison you had to receive a sentence of at least a year and a day. Anything less than that and you were doing your time in county. I would say a good 30 to 40% of our female inmates were serving sentences of two years or less. Why? Most females are serving time for crimes related to drug use and theft. Since most crack users don't have much money they needed to steal it. That was by far the most common story.
I was trained by a seasoned officer who was nearing retirement. He was a good, smart guy who really didn't want to work very hard anymore. Still, I learned a great deal about how the system works simply by working at the front end of the prison experience. I had to review court documents and sentence structure, and make sure all the ducks were in a row. Inmate's criminal histories had to be checked and verified. Inmate interviews had to be conducted to determine where they would best be housed throughout the state. Tests for education, mental health, and medical had to be coordinated and performed. It was a busy job, and I enjoyed it.
Inmates who were new to the system were housed in a seperate dorm from the other inmates. They wore a hideous looking blue "dress" that distinguished them from the rest of the population. The Sergeant in charge of this dorm was quite a peach. She had no use for me from the minute I arrived. In her opinion, men didn't belong in a female prison. I can't say she was wrong, but I did my best to make our relationship work. One thing you learn in a hurry was to have a good working relationship with your line officers. They have the worst job in the prison, and you must earn their respect.
Once most of them learned I had worked at Charlotte things started to improve. Like inmates, your reputation proceeds you. I was able to do quite a bit of good in my orientation class as I told the newbies how best to get good ratings in order to get gain time (days that are shaved off your sentence). I explained the reality of their situation, and was helped by inmates who were one their 2nd, 3rd, etc. incarcerations. One day, I was conducting class when I noticed a woman who looked familiar to me. I realized later that she was a dental hygene assistant who worked at my former dentist office in Fort Myers. She was convicted of stealing drugs from the dentist's office. It's a small world.
Another strange experience was when I had an inmate convicted for multiple robberies, but she didn't commit any of them herself. Apparently, she was some kind of female Charlie Manson-type cult leader who had manipulated her followers into stealing for her. She even tried her philosophical crap on me; that was quite entertaining. The worst woman I ever met was a lady who had been convicted of multiple counts of child abuse. While on crack, she had picked up her baby, and sat him on a hot stove. No remorse whatsoever.
While in the confinement unit for disciplinary report court I had the pleasure of seeing one of the wierdest cell extractions ever. A truly wacked out inmate had barricaded herself in the cell, stripped down buck naked, and was screaming at everyone to bring it on. They cleared us out of the unit before the extraction, but my, oh, my what a day that was.
Which brings me to the most important thing a man learns very quickly working with female inmates; you make damn sure you are never alone with them. Anytime I conducted a class, doors stayed open, and a female officer was present at all times. Many of the male correctional officers were under investigation for allegations of sexual abuse, and I would be damned if I let that happen to me. I never had any problems in my six months at the prison, but I consider myself lucky. Eventually, an allegation would have been leveled; it was the nature of the beast.
While I consider my time at Broward quite a learning experience it was definitely not a place I wanted to stay for the long term. The staff was below par compared to Charlotte; race played a huge role here. For whatever reason, spanish, black, and white officers just did not mix well. You would think that working together would have been a no-brainer. Not here. I generally got along with the other classification officers, but again, it was just not a tight-knit bunch. I was used to working together as a team, and there was just too much "I" for my liking.
One day, I got a call from Charlotte; it was the call I had been waiting for. I was headed back to Charlotte as a Senior Classification Officer. Note only was I getting promoted, I was finally going to get some sleep.
Hallelujah!
Monday, December 6, 2010
Post Ten
Hard Times: Part Four
My first couple of years working at Charlotte C.I. were relatively uneventful. I simply tried to get used to dealing with my caseload. In all, it took around one year to really feel comfortable and confident handling a caseload that ranged anywhere from 200-300 inmates at any given time. Charlotte C.I. was classified as a maximum security general population prison with two special units. The first (discussed previously) was the mental health unit. The second was Close Management. Close Management was a lock-down unit housing those inmates who could not function in general population due to behavior or security issues. Both of these units were assigned to experienced classification officers, and I didn't qualify for that honor.
I really got close to a couple of officers during this time period; my future boss and an old, raggedy guy that used to be a warden, but had fallen from grace. Basically, he liked to gamble and drink too much, and he had ticked off the wrong people in Tallahassee once too often. Of all the staff I ever met this guy was the most interesting. He had been in corrections twice as long as I had been alive, and had truly seen it all. His stories and experience were truly without peer; I probably learned more from this man about what real prison work was like than any other person.
He had cut his teeth at the old Florida State Prison-East Unit located in Starke, Florida. This is prison country; more prisons exist in this area (called the Iron Triangle) than any other place in the state. Everyone has family members who work at a prison, or in some cases, entire families work at a prison together. Back in 1960's, Florida prisons were truly scary places. FSP was right out of Lord of the Flies. According to this man, in order to keep inmates quiet in the confinement units officers would shoot shotguns down the wing. Rumor had it an unmarked inmate graveyard existed somewhere on the prison grounds for deaths that were "accidental". My favorite story was what a correctional officer at FSP received as a Christmas bonus; a slab of beef off of a steer from the prison's farm (back then, prisons had to grow their own food). Amazing stuff.
Sometime during my first month on the job I made a really serious mistake that could have ended my career. I was in the general population confinement unit (at that time, X-Dorm) releasing some of my inmates from disciplinary confinement. I accidentally signed out an inmate that was protective management as well as serving disciplinary confinement time. He had been received from a different prison, and there was nothing in his paperwork in the confinement unit that indicated that fact. His status on the computer also didn't reflect PM status. It did, however, show up in his inmate jacket. I failed to do the necessary due diligence, and released this inmate to general population. Why was this action so bad?
Protective management is a status an inmate can "claim" that says he is in fear for his life from another inmate. When an inmate does this he is placed in a confinement unit under "PM" status. A security investigation is done to determine whether or not there are real protective management issues, or if the inmate is simply lying (one guess as to which one happens the most often). Nevertheless, if an inmate is released in error to the compound, like I did, and gets assaulted, then guess who is going to get the blame (and the ax)?
Thankfully, nothing happened, and I was able to get the inmate placed back in PM confinement within an hour, but it was quite a scare. After this incident I started to develop all kinds of spreadsheets and databases so that it would never happen again (being somewhat OCD, I actually enjoyed this). I learned very quickly that you could never have too much information. Information is power, and in prison knowing more about inmates than they do about themselves is a necessary survival skill.
However, after a year into my prison experience I was thrown a curve ball outside of my control. The State of Florida, in an effort to save money, decided to de-certify classification officers. No longer would you need to be a certified law enforcement officer; instead, a couple years experience or an undergraduate degree would be sufficient. I was not happy with this decision at all. I had worked very hard for that certification, and I didn't want to give it up. I weighed my options, and reluctantly decided to go on the street as a probation officer.
I got a job offer immediately in Stuart, Florida, where I had family. A couple months later I had moved from Fort Myers to Stuart, and started on one of the darkest journeys of my life. The whole experience began with a bad omen. The moving company I used demanded cash when I arrived at my grandmother's house. I didn't have the cash so I frantically ran around town buying and then returning items to get cash (the ATM only could give me part of the money I needed). Fun.
I hated the job almost from the very beginning. Stuart's probation office always seemed to have positions available, and I quickly found out why. I'm not sure why, but most of the officer's just didn't seem to give a damn about helping each other out. And that attitude was just among those officers that were already working there; newbies were regarded as a temporary annoyance. In their eyes I was a certified probation officer, and was sufficiently ready to handle a caseload. Total B.S., but by the letter of the law they were correct. So, after a week of "training" I was thrown to the wolves.
Being a street probation officer is pure and utter chaos. I hated it immediately, and regretted my rash decision to move from the prisons to the street. The two just didn't mix. The skills you develop to survive in a prison environment are almost useless on the street. In general, your are at the mercy of your offenders. You never know where they are. You never know if they will show up for a meeting. You never know if they will pay their restitution, and worst of all, you never know when (not if, in most cases) they will re-offend. It's just madness.
What really was bad about the job was that my area of responsibility covered (approximately) a 20 mile circle. Let's say I have 100 offenders, and I have to make a home visit once a month with each of them. Well, that can get a little stressful, especially if you figure that you have dozens of other responsibilities (court appearances, office visits, jail visits, file audits, restitution reviews, victim notifications, and officer of the day duties just to name a few). Oh, and you have to do all of these things in a 40 hour work week (no overtime allowed; this is the State of Florida; not New York City). And if something blows up on your caseload outside of your control (like one of your offenders molesting a little girl, or killing someone) guess who gets blamed?
It didn't take me long to realize I had made a huge mistake. One day, I received a call from my former boss at Charlotte. He asked me how I liked my new job. After a half hour venting session he said that he would do whatever he could to get me back. In order for that to happen, though, I had to go back into the prison system as there were no openings at Charlotte. I started looking on the Internet, and found two open Classification Officer positions. One was at Everglades C.I. located in Miami. Everglades was one of the state's largest prisons with over 1,700 inmates. It also had the reputation as one of the most corrupt facilities; rumor had it that the correctional officers were actively recruited by the inmates (a huge amount of Florida's inmates come from Broward and Dade counties). Thanks, but no thanks.
The second option seemed even worse. Broward C.I. is Florida's women's death row/mental health/reception facility. Now, I'm not being sexist, but when women go the criminal route, and end up behind the fence, it is not a good thing at all. Women do not take to prison as well as men, in my experience. I don't know why, but that 's just the way I saw it. At the time, though, working with women behind bars was much more appealing than staying on the street. I put in my papers to go to Broward C.I.
So ended the six month experiment of street probation work. It was an unmitigated disaster in every sense, and I truly wish I could take back the decision to leave Charlotte C.I.. This decision (and one other to be discussed later) were the only real regrets I had in eight years of correctional work. I have nothing but respect for street probation officers; they do a job I cannot do, nor would ever do again. I guess I am not built for it, as they say.
So, I was on my way to meet my first serial killer and a hive full of angry women. Until next time...
My first couple of years working at Charlotte C.I. were relatively uneventful. I simply tried to get used to dealing with my caseload. In all, it took around one year to really feel comfortable and confident handling a caseload that ranged anywhere from 200-300 inmates at any given time. Charlotte C.I. was classified as a maximum security general population prison with two special units. The first (discussed previously) was the mental health unit. The second was Close Management. Close Management was a lock-down unit housing those inmates who could not function in general population due to behavior or security issues. Both of these units were assigned to experienced classification officers, and I didn't qualify for that honor.
I really got close to a couple of officers during this time period; my future boss and an old, raggedy guy that used to be a warden, but had fallen from grace. Basically, he liked to gamble and drink too much, and he had ticked off the wrong people in Tallahassee once too often. Of all the staff I ever met this guy was the most interesting. He had been in corrections twice as long as I had been alive, and had truly seen it all. His stories and experience were truly without peer; I probably learned more from this man about what real prison work was like than any other person.
He had cut his teeth at the old Florida State Prison-East Unit located in Starke, Florida. This is prison country; more prisons exist in this area (called the Iron Triangle) than any other place in the state. Everyone has family members who work at a prison, or in some cases, entire families work at a prison together. Back in 1960's, Florida prisons were truly scary places. FSP was right out of Lord of the Flies. According to this man, in order to keep inmates quiet in the confinement units officers would shoot shotguns down the wing. Rumor had it an unmarked inmate graveyard existed somewhere on the prison grounds for deaths that were "accidental". My favorite story was what a correctional officer at FSP received as a Christmas bonus; a slab of beef off of a steer from the prison's farm (back then, prisons had to grow their own food). Amazing stuff.
Sometime during my first month on the job I made a really serious mistake that could have ended my career. I was in the general population confinement unit (at that time, X-Dorm) releasing some of my inmates from disciplinary confinement. I accidentally signed out an inmate that was protective management as well as serving disciplinary confinement time. He had been received from a different prison, and there was nothing in his paperwork in the confinement unit that indicated that fact. His status on the computer also didn't reflect PM status. It did, however, show up in his inmate jacket. I failed to do the necessary due diligence, and released this inmate to general population. Why was this action so bad?
Protective management is a status an inmate can "claim" that says he is in fear for his life from another inmate. When an inmate does this he is placed in a confinement unit under "PM" status. A security investigation is done to determine whether or not there are real protective management issues, or if the inmate is simply lying (one guess as to which one happens the most often). Nevertheless, if an inmate is released in error to the compound, like I did, and gets assaulted, then guess who is going to get the blame (and the ax)?
Thankfully, nothing happened, and I was able to get the inmate placed back in PM confinement within an hour, but it was quite a scare. After this incident I started to develop all kinds of spreadsheets and databases so that it would never happen again (being somewhat OCD, I actually enjoyed this). I learned very quickly that you could never have too much information. Information is power, and in prison knowing more about inmates than they do about themselves is a necessary survival skill.
However, after a year into my prison experience I was thrown a curve ball outside of my control. The State of Florida, in an effort to save money, decided to de-certify classification officers. No longer would you need to be a certified law enforcement officer; instead, a couple years experience or an undergraduate degree would be sufficient. I was not happy with this decision at all. I had worked very hard for that certification, and I didn't want to give it up. I weighed my options, and reluctantly decided to go on the street as a probation officer.
I got a job offer immediately in Stuart, Florida, where I had family. A couple months later I had moved from Fort Myers to Stuart, and started on one of the darkest journeys of my life. The whole experience began with a bad omen. The moving company I used demanded cash when I arrived at my grandmother's house. I didn't have the cash so I frantically ran around town buying and then returning items to get cash (the ATM only could give me part of the money I needed). Fun.
I hated the job almost from the very beginning. Stuart's probation office always seemed to have positions available, and I quickly found out why. I'm not sure why, but most of the officer's just didn't seem to give a damn about helping each other out. And that attitude was just among those officers that were already working there; newbies were regarded as a temporary annoyance. In their eyes I was a certified probation officer, and was sufficiently ready to handle a caseload. Total B.S., but by the letter of the law they were correct. So, after a week of "training" I was thrown to the wolves.
Being a street probation officer is pure and utter chaos. I hated it immediately, and regretted my rash decision to move from the prisons to the street. The two just didn't mix. The skills you develop to survive in a prison environment are almost useless on the street. In general, your are at the mercy of your offenders. You never know where they are. You never know if they will show up for a meeting. You never know if they will pay their restitution, and worst of all, you never know when (not if, in most cases) they will re-offend. It's just madness.
What really was bad about the job was that my area of responsibility covered (approximately) a 20 mile circle. Let's say I have 100 offenders, and I have to make a home visit once a month with each of them. Well, that can get a little stressful, especially if you figure that you have dozens of other responsibilities (court appearances, office visits, jail visits, file audits, restitution reviews, victim notifications, and officer of the day duties just to name a few). Oh, and you have to do all of these things in a 40 hour work week (no overtime allowed; this is the State of Florida; not New York City). And if something blows up on your caseload outside of your control (like one of your offenders molesting a little girl, or killing someone) guess who gets blamed?
It didn't take me long to realize I had made a huge mistake. One day, I received a call from my former boss at Charlotte. He asked me how I liked my new job. After a half hour venting session he said that he would do whatever he could to get me back. In order for that to happen, though, I had to go back into the prison system as there were no openings at Charlotte. I started looking on the Internet, and found two open Classification Officer positions. One was at Everglades C.I. located in Miami. Everglades was one of the state's largest prisons with over 1,700 inmates. It also had the reputation as one of the most corrupt facilities; rumor had it that the correctional officers were actively recruited by the inmates (a huge amount of Florida's inmates come from Broward and Dade counties). Thanks, but no thanks.
The second option seemed even worse. Broward C.I. is Florida's women's death row/mental health/reception facility. Now, I'm not being sexist, but when women go the criminal route, and end up behind the fence, it is not a good thing at all. Women do not take to prison as well as men, in my experience. I don't know why, but that 's just the way I saw it. At the time, though, working with women behind bars was much more appealing than staying on the street. I put in my papers to go to Broward C.I.
So ended the six month experiment of street probation work. It was an unmitigated disaster in every sense, and I truly wish I could take back the decision to leave Charlotte C.I.. This decision (and one other to be discussed later) were the only real regrets I had in eight years of correctional work. I have nothing but respect for street probation officers; they do a job I cannot do, nor would ever do again. I guess I am not built for it, as they say.
So, I was on my way to meet my first serial killer and a hive full of angry women. Until next time...
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