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...