To Keep Order In Jail, You Must Stay On Guard

By MIKE WELLS The Tampa Tribune

Published: May 6, 2007

TAMPA - As Milton Fassett scans Orient Road Jail's gymnasium-size booking room from behind square eyeglasses, his eyes and mouth become a series of narrow lines.

It's just after 7 a.m., and already it's a busy day.

The 54-year-old Hillsborough County detention deputy stands next to a vestibule where newly arrested defendants are dropped off.

He is the first person most inmates see. They might be drunk, screaming obscenities or covered in their own filth.

Fassett will use dozens of latex gloves and a lot of hand disinfectant.

He works all the overtime he wants, and he says he could use some help.

On any given day, the county's two jails and its work-release center exceed the system's operating capacity of 3,771 inmates.

Their supervision falls to 780 deputies - including Clifton Williams, a five-year veteran who was handed a 20-day suspension last week for using excessive force on an inmate and lying about it on his report.

Staff turnover, promotions and upcoming jail expansions have left officials to fill 120 certified detention deputy vacancies. If those jobs are not filled in the next few years, the existing staff will be stretched thinner and could face greater risks.

More help, though, means taxpayers providing it.

About every seven minutes, a new inmate is booked into Orient Road Jail - about 205 people a day. Since it opened in 1991, bookings have risen 69 percent and show no sign of decline.

Traditionally, the sheriff's office has spent more to police the streets than to manage inmates, but the agency has been adjusting its resources.

Detention services' fiscal 2007 budget request of $134 million was 10.5 percent more than what was spent in 2006 and accounts for nearly 40 percent of the sheriff's budget.

Defendants have been placed on house arrest to free bed space. The sheriff's office has shortened the time convicted inmates await transfer to state prisons. Still, anticipation of more growth prompted the agency to break ground this year on a $50.4 million expansion project at Falkenburg Road Jail to increase the system's capacity to 5,000 beds.

Safety In Numbers

Sneering and spewing profanities, the man in the drunk tank at Orient Road Jail stands in defiance after being told to sit.

It's strike three.

Moments ago, he ignored Fassett's order to remove his cap as he was brought into the booking area, then shrugged off deputies trying to pat him down.

"I told you to do something," Fassett says, grasping the man behind the neck. "You need to do it."

Now the man's red face is up against a cell wall, his hands are cuffed behind him and four detention deputies keep a tight grip on his shoulders and legs as Fassett searches his pockets.

A crowd of inmates in line to use the phones looks on.

"You want to make an example of me?" the man yells. "Fine, make me an example!"

The situation ends when the man lies down on the bench to sleep off his attitude.

Fassett says deputies stationed throughout the booking area had picked up on the temperature change almost as soon as it began and instinctively swept in to assist him.

If fewer deputies had been working, as there are on some days, one violent inmate could put several people in jeopardy.

Recruitment Down

Chief jail administrator Col. David Parrish is concerned when he talks of a diminishing pool of recruits. The agency's current class of cadets has just 21.

"Part of it is the job market in Florida," he says. "When you're down to a 3 or 4 percent unemployment rate, you don't have much to look at."

Twenty-five years ago, these jobs were not the career-level positions they've become. Jail deputies worked in dungeonlike facilities and made considerably less money than the road deputies.

Such dismal conditions resulted in a 22.4 percent annual turnover rate, Parrish says.

That turnover rate has fallen to about 11 percent, an improvement Parrish attributes to better working conditions, salary increases and changes in the way inmates are supervised in general population housing.

A national turnover rate for detention deputies is unclear, but a 2002 survey by the Corrections and Law Enforcement Family Support program found an average turnover rate of 18.35 percent for 57 correctional agencies that responded.

Some turnover can be attributed to bad deputies. Since 2001, 45 Hillsborough detention deputies were fired or quit under negative circumstances, according to records provided by the internal affairs unit. That's five more than the number of patrol deputies who left under similar scrutiny in the same period.

"It's going to continue to happen," Parrish says. "People will have financial problems, they will have home problems, and they'll encounter temptations here they've never faced before."

'Groundhog Day'

Deputy Mike Lichtenberg raises a microphone to his mouth.

"All right, gentlemen, let's bring the noise level down," he tells the 60 men seated at tables in a housing pod at Falkenburg Road Jail.

The orange-suited inmates bring their chatter to a low murmur, and Lichtenberg sits back at his desk.

From his vantage point, he can see all corners of the room, and he watches closely to interpret body language.

"If you see their heads all turn the same way, you know something is going on," he says.

Most defendants who can't afford bail end up in general population housing. Four more inmates will join this pod today, bringing it to its capacity of 64.

Lichtenberg, a 50-year-old Coast Guard veteran who has worked at Falkenburg Road Jail for seven years, gets up every 30 minutes or so and walks around, looking under beds and checking the bathroom showers.

He spots an orange shirt reflecting in a bathroom mirror and walks in to see what's happening.

Two inmates were simply chatting, he finds, but it might have been something else.

He returns to his desk and, when the voices rise again, repeats his order over the microphone to quiet down.

"It's 'Groundhog Day,' every day," he says.

Repetitive By Design

The routine seems to be the point of the jail's direct supervision policy.

One deputy remains with the dormitory of defendants for a 12-hour shift. While inmates might require medical, legal or personal visits to be arranged, the detention deputy's goal is to ensure that nothing out of the ordinary happens.

The deputy fields questions, supervises meals and watches for illicit behavior.

Parrish included the direct supervision concept in the design of Orient Road Jail. Some in the corrections industry said it couldn't be safe to have one unarmed deputy among so many inmates.

The concept originated in jails in Contra Costa County, Calif., and has proved successful for several agencies, says Tim Ryan, director of Miami-Dade County's Corrections and Rehabilitation Department.

Miami-Dade introduced the concept in 1991 and expanded it to three of its six jails that house 7,000 inmates.

"It did a couple of things," Ryan says. "You can build your jails for less money, and the officers engage their jobs differently than in the past. It reduced the risk issues, and it reduced the antagonism between officers and inmates."

Parrish tweaked the concept when it became necessary to build Falkenburg. Instead of individual cells in the pods, inmates would sleep on beds in one large open room.

Solitary Work

An angry voice bellows through a food tray slot in a steel door demanding medicine and complaining that the psychiatric nurse is late.

"She was supposed to be here at 8:30 this morning, and now it's 10:30. I need my [expletive] pills!"

Deputy Brian Bass walks to the man's isolation cell to complete a wellness check that he repeats every 15 minutes in Falkenburg Road Jail's confinement housing unit 3 Bravo.

The inmate has been separated for psychiatric reasons and has spent most of the morning yelling and pressing a call button in his cell to demand attention.

Confinement cells make up about 10 percent of housing. Many of the defendants placed in them are not allowed to interact with other inmates because of the nature of their charges.

They might spend months or years awaiting trial, getting only one hour a day outside of their cells to shower and exercise. Some are reportedly gang kingpins, others are accused of child rape and several are mentally disturbed.

It takes an unwaveringly calm disposition to work around inmates who sometimes throw feces, urine or plastic food trays, but Bass does not have to face them alone.

Deputy Jeff Buka watches him from the pod's door, and Deputy Tom Keeting mans the unit's computer control panel.

The three deputies interact like a family, and their awareness of one another keeps them safe, Buka says, noting that some of the inmates are staring back at him through small windows in their cell doors.

"It sounds funny," Keeting says, "but we'll tell each other where we're going no matter where it is - even if it's just to use the bathroom."

Their jobs have a lot of downtime with chaotic bursts in between.

Injuries are rare but certainly real, the three say. Several years ago, a deputy walked into a confinement cell and was attacked by an inmate who had never shown aggression.

The inmate shattered the deputy's jaw with one swing and continued to beat him until other deputies rushed in.

When Parrish talks about the kind of person it takes to become a successful detention deputy, his description resembles an amateur sociologist.

Those who try to understand the nuances of an inmate's culture and background are going to have an easier time getting their cooperation than someone who refuses to learn something new.

"We're not looking for size and strength," he says, "but for good interpersonal skills. That's critical to direct supervision. You're a supervisor, not a sitter."

Reporter Mike Wells can be reached at (813) 657-4534 or mwells@tampatrib.com.

DETENTION BREAKDOWN

Because of turnover, promotions and upcoming jail expansions, Hillsborough County has 120 detention deputy vacancies.

WHAT IT TAKES

Cadets complete a state-mandated, 15-week correctional officer academy and pass a certification exam. Hillsborough County recruits then attend a four-week modular academy with the sheriff's instructors and are assigned to an eight-week field training program with experienced deputies. Other requirements:

•U.S citizen

•Age 21 or older

•High school or GED diploma

•Current driver's license, good driving history

•No illegal drug use within three years

•No felony convictions

•No misdemeanor convictions involving perjury, false statement or domestic violence

•No dishonorable discharge from military

•No use of tobacco within past six months

To learn more, visit the sheriff's office Web site at www.hcso.tampa.fl.us.

Source: Hillsborough County Sheriff's Office

SALARIES

Detention deputies in the nearby counties earn starting pay equal to that of law enforcement deputies. Hillsborough has not made this change. Base starting pay:

HILLSBOROUGH: $36,931

PINELLAS: $40,082

PASCO: $37,980

POLK: $35,470