Angelo Papa
April 29, 2014
Dangers high for foot traffic in Terrebonne
April 29, 2014
On the floor of a library without books, shelves, tables or chairs, a man huddles beneath a protective blanket-smock, tear-proof, tamper-proof and knot-proof. He sticks his head from the folds like a Christmas puppy and peers through the bars, and then hides again.
He was placed there after making what authorities at the Lafourche Parish jail determined was a credible suicide attempt, inside a solitary confinement area where suicides have occurred before. The library is the only place where an officer can keep continual watch while maintaining a safety perimeter.
The officers call it “extreme suicide watch.”
It is one example of a shell game played by officers multiple times per day at the antiquated facility, to keep themselves and their charges safe, stretching the physical plant’s features far beyond limits of intended use.
Voters will decide Saturday whether to shoulder the cost of a new parish lockup, the subject of debate for nearly a decade, and serious discussion for half that time.
Sheriff Craig Webre has proposed a 0.2 percent sales tax to build and operate a jail expected to cost around $30 million. Based on his own calculations and a report from consultants, Webre wants to see a 600-bed jail, or one that can expand to that size if future circumstances dictate the need. The devil is in details such as these; some people in Lafourche see the need for a larger facility, while others don’t want to commit to a project that big.
No matter the outcome of Saturday’s vote, deputies are aware that their working conditions won’t change any time soon.
“Even if they let us have a new jail, I know we’ll be working in this one for a while,” said Lt. Craig Denison, a shift supervisor. “I’m proud of what we do and I know everyone is doing the very best they can.”
During multiple discussions with officers as they distributed meals, weathered verbal abuse and acts of defiance, collected inmate grievances and made small but critical decisions, attitudes similar to Denison’s were as evident as the noise and odors wafting from the cell blocks they police.
It takes an outsider to notice the mélange of weak disinfectant and old food, human sweat and damp apparel in the narrow, closed-off hallways called catwalks that flank the dorms and cells.
The unpleasant smells and an understanding that routine tasks can become life-threatening crises are ever-present but nobody talks much about either.
“Never turn your back to the bars,” an officer warns a reporter observing her work, as the last gaggle of inmates bound for court appearances shuffles into a holding area under watchful eyes.
In 1970, when the current jail was still under construction, the population of Lafourche Parish was around 68,000, growing since then to nearly 98,000. Crack cocaine would not hit the streets for another 15 years. Lafourche Parish schools were, by court order, newly de-segregated. Louisiana’s constitution had yet to be re-written under Gov. Edwin Edwards, who would take office two years later. Some communities in Lafourche now linked by bridges were still traversed by pirogue. Lawsuits placing Louisiana jails and prisons under various forms of federal supervision, leading to correctional reform and new jail standards, had not yet been negotiated into consent decrees.
Remodeling has since taken place; additions such as video monitors and electronic tracking systems have been installed. But a walk through the catwalks in pre-dawn near-silence is like strolling into another era.
There is a lull in the jail’s rhythm during these earliest morning hours, when the moon still rules the sky.
Seated at his control panel desk, Lt. Brett Exnicious scans a computer log for information on a woman earlier arrested.
She was kept at the parish’s south Lafourche substation, he told the relative who called, and has since been released by a judge.
Above him are flickering monitors tied to cameras trained on various housing areas. But with electric lights out and no sunlight yet filtering through the catwalks’ small windows, seeing what goes on is, he acknowledges, difficult.
In another part of the jail, the kitchen clatters to life; two women, who are civilian employees, cook oatmeal and sausages that will, with slices of buttered toast, be breakfast not just for the inmates, but children at the nearby Head Start program.
The earliest meal distribution is at D-block, where Deputy Angie Campo is aided by a willing, red-suited trusty.
Inmates, one at a time, extend their hands through a slot in a solid metal door, displaying their identification wristbands if they have them, taking trays back into a dorm occupied by about 26 men.
One inmate, a new resident, expressed gratitude.
“That’s the first time one ever said thank you,” Campo said.
The routine is repeated at the other blocks as the morning progresses, but in most cases the meals are passed through a slot that widens out from bars; the inmates are thus visible.
The meal distribution is generally accomplished with one deputy and one trusty per cellblock. Other distributions, from towels to large coolers of water and tea, are made with teams of two officers per block. They do not enter the housing areas, but even with bars separating them from the block populations, safety dictates the buddy system, Lt. Denison notes.
“Officer safety is something we continually preach,” he explains. “It is one of the big reasons for that rule, going by twos. That is one way to mitigate being alone in an antiquated facility. It is costly on manpower and it takes away from operational efficiency. But we have to do everything with two officers.”
Towels were an issue last week when overflowing shower drains plagued one block. Plumbing issues are a constant problem at the jail; because of those and other malfunctions, inmates have labeled one block “the projects.”
A plumbing problem recently resulted in injury to an inmate and a deputy, and is cited as an example of how infrastructure issues compromise safety.
At around 4:45 p.m. March 23 – a Sunday – two deputies escorted inmate Jerry Cleveland Jr. to a cell other than his own because of a non-functioning toilet.
According to the report later filed, Cleveland struck another inmate as deputies opened the door of the cell where he was being relocated.
The head of the assaulted inmate hit the cell bars, and he was knocked unconscious. Cleveland attempted to strike the unconscious man again, but deputies intervened.
“A struggle ensued, and the two deputies and Cleveland all fell to the ground. During the fall, Deputy Steven Pitts struck his head on a toilet inside the cell,” said Sheriff’s Office spokesman Brennan Matherne. “Additional deputies arrived to assist and immediately restrained Cleveland … Deputy Pitts was treated for a severe laceration to the head requiring several stitches and staples.”
It was the second violent incident involving Cleveland in as many days; he had punched a deputy March 22 and attempted to strangle him while being escorted from a shower.
“All deputies understand the risks involved with their careers, but these attacks are a direct result of deficiencies in our jail facility,” Sheriff Webre later said. “The jail’s antiquated ‘block’ design does not allow constant oversight, and we continue to have serious plumbing issues throughout the facility. Whether it’s a veteran officer or someone fresh out of the training academy, our correctional officers face these types of problems every day, and it’s always unfortunate when incidents escalate to this level. These are clear examples of why it’s imperative that we provide the safer jail that is needed for Lafourche Parish.”
Deputy Pitts said a lack of sufficient lighting in the cells made the situation of dealing with high-risk inmates even more dangerous. Pitts, 44, has served as a law enforcement officer since 1999.
Cleveland, who is 17-years-old, was sentenced Monday to life in prison plus 104 years based on convictions of aggravated rape and armed robbery.
Problems between inmates – particularly those embroiled in the turf battles between residents of Thibodaux and Raceland – also make classification and housing decisions more complex.
Classification officers say those types of considerations make their job far more complicated. In addition to inmates who are frail of health or stature, whose safety demands special placement within a limited range of choices, those who might pose a threat because of personal squabbles with others complicate matters.
Two inmates being held on murder charges that don’t get along can’t be housed in the traditional maximum-security block together because of shared facilities. But putting those high-risk inmates in contact with the general population also poses risks.
Unforeseen problems – such as the toilet issue involving Cleveland – increase the risk factor.
Acts of defiance are taken seriously, and a breach of order puts officers on immediate guard.
“When the f— TV coming on?” one D-block inmate calls out during the breakfast distribution, sparking a chorus of profanities from other voices.
“Don’t cuss like that, it’s too early in the morning,” Campo responds. Officers learn to measure their response to various indignities. Sometimes reverting to humor quickly quells what might otherwise be an escalation of ill feelings, ill words and potential violence. Such demands, officers note, won’t result in any quicker action. Televisions, in most cases mounted above the catwalks and viewable through the bars, provide a means of behavior control, as do other privileges.
When services such as food or amenities are provided the inmates in the blocks appear generally cooperative. But roll call – checking inmates to make sure they are where they are supposed to be when they are called by name, becomes problematic because the jail’s layout isn’t synched with the technology.
The system is designed for dorm inmates to stand beside their bunks with identification wristbands displayed. But the placement of bunks to maximize capacity means officers have to order inmates to the bars for a once-over.
Angie Campo goes through the list outside of one dimly lit dorm, calling names and receiving acknowledgements. But three inmates refuse to answer.
When she returns to the control panel, Campo files a disciplinary report, which will be reviewed by supervisors; privileges from recreation time to visits can be restricted.
An appeals process is in place, and as dictated by best practices standards inmates also have ample access to grievance forms, which receive reviews from senior officers when submitted.
As Deputy Julie Winkler does roll call on one cellblock, the senselessness of non-cooperation evinces itself.
An inmate refuses to step forward to be identified. Winkler makes clear that if he doesn’t cooperate, he will be disciplined, drawing a litany of profanity to which she gives no response.
“I want a grievance form,” the inmate demands.
Winkler retrieves one and the inmate steps out of the shadows to retrieve it – allowing proper identification through his wristband.
“You had to come up here for the form,” Winkler said. “Why didn’t you just do that anyhow and avoid a write-up?”
The veteran officer shakes her head as she continues her rounds. Despite the verbal abuse and the fine balance of response it requires, she says she gets satisfaction from her job.
“I care,” she said. “When I can, I try to show them that I care. I am hoping the new jail passes, not just for me and my work but because this is my community, and I want to know that we are willing to do the right thing.”
Winkler and other deputies say they show basic respect to individual inmates as much as possible, unless their behavior dictates otherwise.
Last week, the officers displayed tolerance and humanity, choosing not meet a crisis with a crisis, when challenges occurred.
Despite the challenges, officers on this morning’s shift say, they understand their role as caretakers in addition to that of disciplinarian and keeper.
“These are all somebody’s sons and daughters,” Winkler says.
During various emergencies the jail’s officers have stepped up to their duties, often at risk to themselves.
Two teams of jail officers were commended last year for their efforts in life-threatening situations.
Towels in a laundry room dryer overheated one morning, filling the entire area with acrid smoke. Lt. Denison – then a sergeant – worked with Sgt. Toby Harrelson and Sgt. Roland Guillot to remove the immediate threat of the towels, but the intense smoke buildup required a full jail evacuation. Deputy Patricia Bonnette began the controlled release, which resulted in no incidents and no injuries.
In March 2013, an inmate lit a blanket on fire, once again requiring a full jail evacuation. “Thanks to the members of D-shift including Lt. Neil Ledet, Sgt. Toby Harrelson, and deputies Elizabeth Fonseca, Shane Guidry, Joann Denison, Kimberly Johnson and Tyler Hebert, the entire incident was handled without a single injury,” Webre said.
Last May, quick work by Exnicious and Sgt. John Foote, along with Assistant Warden Jessica Bordelon and Lt .Craig Melancon was credited with saving a suicidal inmate from death at his own hand.
Responding to loud banging from one of the cells the deputies found the inmate had hanged himself using a blanket tied to the bars.
As Foote lifted the inmate, Melancon untied the blanket from the bars while Exnicious untied it from the man’s neck.
“After laying the inmate on the ground, deputies detected a strong pulse, and as medical staff arrived to the area, the inmate began coughing and breathing again,” a commendation from Webre reads.
That trouble was communicated by loud banging was not unusual. Officers note that with no two-way communication between the cellblocks and the control room, banging or shouting by inmates is often the first indicator of danger. They also note that the jail layout, coupled with staffing related to it, makes for no guarantees of good outcomes in all cases.
The American Correctional Association, the American Bar Association and various watchdog or accrediting organizations place the ability of inmates to communicate in the event of emergencies high on the list of requirements for jails.
The Lafourche jail is not accredited by the ACA and would not meet the accreditation standards; such recognition is not required for jails, but litigation experts note that if a death or serious injury occurs, the shortfall does not aid in early settlement of cases, and could cost in terms of jury or judge awards.
Recommended square feet of space per inmate and other metrics that have long made up the substance of judicial authority to shut jails down belong to another world, administrators at Lafourche agree. It is not a question of whether their jail meets the standards; it is that the standards are not applicable at all that poses a problem.
While conditions of confinement are important from a humanitarian as well as legal view, the safety of officers and even visitors packs major liability potential, experts agree.
Ron McAndrew, a Florida-based jail and prison consultant who has testified in civil cases brought against local governments, notes that such standards exist to aid authorities in avoiding litigation. A domino effect of shortcomings such as those easily discernable at the Lafourche jail compound local liability, he notes.
“Wait until an officer gets murdered in an area where there is no sound, no sight, no video monitoring and no way to alert someone in a control room who can call in an emergency,” McAndrew asserts. “And then his wife finds out the circumstances under which he was working, that it is known to be dangerous for uniformed staff. She will sue the parish and she will own the jail.”
In McAndrew’s experience, sheriffs in general are the worst offenders when it comes to ignoring problems with their correctional operations.
“Sheriffs who run jails are dangerous people; they should not be allowed to run jails,” McAndrew says. “They want their patrol people equipped and taken care of, they beg from Peter to pay Paul, they give the hand-me-down, worn-out vehicles to corrections, worn-out uniforms, while everything new will go to those who are patrolling the roads. As a result, you wind up with a lawsuit that will provide an award you could have used to buy a new jail.”
That Webre has made construction of a new jail a priority, despite pushback from other governmental forces and a lack of support from the community at large, to McAndrew, compounds the tragedy of the Lafourche enigma.
“It seems like this is a sheriff who has a brain and who is concerned with those who are entrusted to work in the jail,” the prison expert said.
Webre’s popularity – he ran unopposed in his last election – is an indication to officers working in the belly of his corrections beast that public resistance to his plea for a new jail is not a reflection on them or the job they do.
“I don’t think the vote is an indication,” said Denison. “I think the public overwhelmingly approves of our job because of the last election the sheriff was in. I see it more as an issue of money.”
Nonetheless, he and other officers in it for the long haul are hoping that one day they will be able to work under conditions that offer a greater safety margin for them and their charges.
“I couldn’t picture myself doing anything else,” Denison explained. “It’s a calling, it’s my way of serving the public and the community.”
A Lafourche Parish Detention Center inmate peers between the bars of his cell. Lafourche’s jail is overcrowded and its design is antiquated, putting the onus on deputies to take special measures to maintain safe conditions for themselves and the ones they oversee. Lafourche voters will decide Saturday whether to levy a new sales tax to replace the facility.
