Post Twelve

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.