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!