Pubdate: Sun, 30 Jul 2000
Source: Arkansas Democrat-Gazette (AR)
Copyright: 2000 Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, Inc.
Contact:  121 East Capitol Avenue, Little Rock, Arkansas, 72201
Website: http://www.ardemgaz.com/
Forum: http://www.ardemgaz.com/info/voices.html
Author: Todd Stone and Kenneth Heard

JAIL POPULATION BOOM

When Izard County Sheriff Joe Martz peers out of his office window, he's
hoping for clear skies.

Anytime clouds darken in this part of north-central Arkansas, Martz pays
extra attention.

At the county jail, a wet day can mean a flash flood.

The jail and sheriff's office are located in the basement of the Izard
County Courthouse in Melbourne. The two-story monolithic building is a relic
of days long past.

Gray concrete steps lead down to Martz's office, and when it rains, water
cascades down those steps and often flows into basement offices.

Jim Shankle, a trusty, recalls days when water would run into the jail
cells.

"We had to throw blankets down to keep water from coming all the way in,"
Shankle muses.

Many of Arkansas' county jails are getting old. A few are more than 50 years
old. Others are just too small. How small? Try Izard County -- it was built
to hold eight or nine prisoners, though it averages up to 15.

The Izard County jail is old, too -- the courthouse, built in the late
1930s, has housed the jail since the mid-1970s. Martz says the county needs
a newer, bigger one.

Izard County's antiquated jail epitomizes the struggles that many Arkansas
counties share.

No matter what the age or size, a majority of county jails share one have
one thing in common -- they're too full. On any given day, more than 90
percent of the 70 county jails can be at, or over, capacity, according to
the state Criminal Detention Facilities Review Committee.

Six county jails have fallen so far behind that they face closure because
they don't meet minimum standards, ranging from size to physical conditions.
And though new jails would help, authorities acknowledge that won't solve
the overcrowding.

"If a guy had a bigger place, he could still fill it with arrests," Martz
says.

AN ENDLESS CYCLE

A variety of factors contribute to the brimming jails. Some are holding too
many state inmates, awaiting transfer to the Arkansas prison system, itself
plagued with overcrowding. Others are overwhelmed by sheer volume:
Populations grow, but the jails do not. A growing number of drug-related
arrests have pervaded many of the rest.

As soon as one prisoner is released or moved to another jail, jailers say,
several others are there to take his place.

"There's no light at the end of the tunnel," says James Baker, executive
director of the Arkansas Association of Counties. "I wish there were."

As of July 20, 436 state prisoners were in county jails -- about 8 percent
to 10 percent of their total capacity. Not long ago, it was much worse, when
a record 1,118 state inmates were sitting in county lockups. To alleviate
the backlog, the state was forced to move 350 state prisoners to a facility
in Bowie County, Texas.

"Right now, No. 1 is the backup of state prisoners," Baker says, of the
challenges facing county jails.

Dina Tyler, a Department of Correction spokesman, doesn't offer any hope
that relief is coming soon, as the department scrambles to get more
facilities up and running. "The backup is still high," she says.

And backup problems are not unique to Arkansas. "There are other states
dealing with overcrowding," says Linda Bialas, assistant to the coordinator
at Criminal Detention Facilities Review Committees. "Other states are having
problems financially. We're not just by ourselves on this."

Authorities say the problem of overcrowding isn't new, but it's different
today because many county jails haven't changed in 20 years.

The ripple of effect is far-reaching: Inmates are released early; lower
bonds are set; warrants remain unserved.

Carroll County jail administrators know these effects all too well, as the
facility's 29 beds fall far short of what is needed. The jail, which has
been targeted for closure, held 30 prisoners as of Friday.

Carroll County Sheriff Chuck Medfordhas about 7,000 outstanding arrest
warrants that he can't serve because he has no room for more prisoners.
"This is what we're forced to turn back on the street," Medford says.

And the criminals know it.

Suspects openly scoff when arrested, police say, well aware that they won't
be incarcerated long.

"They tell us in no uncertain terms," Medford says. "We're just butting our
heads against the wall."

Because the Carroll County jail was too full, felony offenders have been
released on their own recognizance or sent home with an electronic
monitoring bracelet, Medford says. And once they're out, these former
inmates can stir up trouble.

"We popped one at home who was running a meth lab with his ankle bracelet
on," the sheriff says.

Like Medford, Sharp County Sheriff T.J. "Sonny" Powell thumbs through an
accordion folder full of outstanding warrants. "Hot checks, hot checks,
failure to appear in court, misdemeanor theft, hot checks," he says, reading
the offenses one by one.

Though the Sharp County jail meets state standards, demand is far greater
than its 29-inmate capacity, Powell says. "If we had a 100-bed facility, we
could fill it."

When Baxter County staged a one-day roundup of felony drug suspects last
fall, officials were forced to set low bonds so that suspects wouldn't end
up in the nearly full county jail.

"Most of them [bonds] were $1,500. Normally? $5,000," said Baxter County
Chief Deputy John Booker.

Most of the 94 suspected drug dealers and users bonded the same day or the
next morning. A good thing, since Baxter County's 33-bed jail was 80 percent
occupied when the roundup took place on Oct. 8, 1999.

"So far we haven't had a problem," Booker says. "But that could change."

TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

A narrow, dusty window at one end of the Izard County jail offers prisoner
Steve Tate the only view of the outside he's had for three weeks.

Tate grips the worn bars of his cell and gazes into the cell across from
him. The window is only about a foot wide and looks out onto a window well.

The sky seems far away.

"It's the only way I know if it's sunny or cloudy," he says. "It's the way I
can tell if it's day or night."

Because the jail is so small, there is no exercise yard. Movement outside of
the cells consists of a quick walk to a shower -- every other day.

Lynn Young has been awaiting transfer to state prison for felony burglary
charges since September. He says the overcrowded jail can become unbearable.

He was being held in a solitary confinement cell in early June, an 8-foot by
10-foot concrete cell. But Young wasn't there because he had broken
jailhouse rules -- it was just the only place jailers could put him. The
cell is cramped for one person, let alone several prisoners who are
sometimes forced to share.

"We have had four shoved in here before," Young said, peering through a
small slot in the blue steel door. "It tends to get on your nerves."

But comfort isn't the issue in these jails, authorities say. Cram a bunch of
inmates in a small space, and tension will rise. More fights break out,
leaving jailers and prisoners at risk.

"The biggest headache for any sheriff -- and I'll speak for all of us -- is
[running] a jail," Boone County Sheriff Danny Hickman says. "It's a
guaranteed lawsuit. It's a guaranteed ticket to federal court."

At the Lonoke County jail, authorities say it's tough keeping the peace when
17 prisoners are packed into a 12-man cell.

"The tension is high," says Bob Holloman, Lonoke County jail administrator.
"We've got people sleeping on floors. When they go to the bathroom, they
have to step over each other.

"It's a bad situation."

It's not any better at some of larger county jails. Just ask officials at
the Pulaski County jail -- the state's largest.

"I don't want to run the risk of overcrowding the jail," says Randy Morgan,
the jail's chief of detention. "If you stick 26 people in an 8-by-8 cell,
you are asking for a disaster."

In one of two cell blocks for female prisoners, the overcrowding is just as
bad. There were 80 women inmates -- 11 more than the unit was designed to
hold. Morgan says the number of women behind bars continues to rise.

"Women are committing more violent crimes, and courts are more prone to send
them through the process than they have in the past," Morgan says.

The Pulaski County jail refuses to take in more prisoners about once a week
because of overcrowding, the Pulaski County jailer says.

"There's no relief in sight."

COUNTY JAILS: 'A MIXED BAG'

David Underwood is coordinator of the Criminal Detention Facilities Review
Committees, part of the State Department of Finance and Administration. His
duties include training jail review committees in the state's 28 judicial
districts.

The committee members are local folks, appointed by the governor, and are
charged with inspecting the jails in their district at least once a year to
see that they comply with state standards.

Overall, county jail conditions in Arkansas represent "a mixed bag,"
Underwood says. "It goes from excellent to the pits," he says.

"The state, on the whole, is slowly improving."

More jails are being built, Underwood notes, and there is more awareness
among jail administrators and county leaders that their jails must meet
state standards.

Underwood says the most common problem in Arkansas' jails beyond a lack of
space is a lack of funding for operation and maintenance. The White County
jail -- where none of the cell doors lock and all of the cell lights are
broken -- is prime example of that, he says.

Employee turnover because of low pay is another common concern, Underwood
says.

The inspection committees have asked the attorney general to take action to
shut down the county jails in Miller, Lincoln, Carroll, Izard and Scott
counties. A lawsuit to close Columbia County's jail has been reopened.
Underwood says such actions, though necessary, are unusual.

"It doesn't happen often because the committees want to lead their counties
down the right path and encourage them toward solutions," he says, adding
that most counties follow their committee's advice and often fix problems on
the spot during an inspection.

But maintaining and building quality county jails costs money. These local
jails are funded with local taxes. Except for some grants for juvenile
facilities, Underwood says, counties receive no federal money to build,
operate and maintain jails.

That puts the pressure on county quorum courts to find the money, which
often means going to the people with a proposed tax increase.

HAT IN HAND

In Miller County, prisoners are kept in cells on the fourth and fifth floors
of the 62-year-old courthouse. There's no place to exercise, so jailers
began letting inmates mill about on the roof.

It seemed like a good idea, except the prisoners often enjoyed passing the
time shouting obscenities at the folks bustling by in downtown Texarkana.
Now, they can exercise only before 8 a.m. or after 5 p.m., when the
courthouse is closed and the scurrying of downtown subsides.

Protected as a landmark on the National Historical Registry, Miller County's
jail, like Izard County's, can't be expanded. And, like Carroll County, the
jail in Texarkana faces the threat of closure.

Bonnie Honsa, the jail administrator, says the jail averaged 131 prisoners a
day last year. It has a capacity of about 110. Recently, the number
decreased as several inmates were transferred to the state prison system.

"We may have a month or two of rest, but then it'll get back up again,"
Honsa says.

Miller County voters will decide on Aug. 8 whether they want to support a
half-cent sales tax to pay for a new $10 million jail. County leaders are
holding public meetings to drum up support for the tax plan.

For many rural, cash-strapped counties, building a new jail is a daunting
financial task and a tough sell. "They want the problem to go away," Booker
says. "But nobody wants to pay the taxes to build."

Carl McBee, the sheriff in Marion County, holds out no hope for public
financing to expand his county's 17-bed jail. "At this point I think people
would agree there is a need," McBee says. "They just don't want to pay for
it right now."

The jail averages between 12 and 14 prisoners a day. "And a good part of the
time, we're full," McBee says. "It results in cases being pled out that
probably wouldn't be or shouldn't be."

Fearing the proposal wouldn't fly, Baxter County Sheriff Joe Edmonds backed
off on asking local voters to approve a temporary sales tax increase to
build a new jail.

The veteran sheriff and former state drug director under Govs. Jim Guy
Tucker and Mike Huckabee knows that new taxes are never popular. But, he
asks, "When is there a good time?"

Medford can sympathize, having watched Carroll County voters reject two
proposals to build a new jail. But as the county faces the threat of its
jail being shut down by the state, residents on July 11 approved a tax that
will pay for the construction of a $5 million jail.

The key to convincing residents to foot the bill? Take your case directly to
the people, Medford says.

"I gave them a breakdown of how many misdemeanor and how many felony
offenders we had to release because we had no place to hold them," Medford
says. "We arrested a lot of them who should've been in jail but weren't, and
every time that happened, I made sure everybody knew about it."

THE LUCKY ONES

Randolph County Sheriff Rob Samons had wrestled with jail overcrowding for
eight years, as the sheriff's office used the overcrowded 17-bed jail in
Pocahontas. The constant overflow meant more time and money to transport and
incarcerate prisoners in other counties.

"It was costing us $25 a day per inmate to house them somewhere else,"
Samons said. "If you've got 12 or 14 inmates in someone else's jail, it adds
up."

But a new 34-bed county facility opened in November, and it remains barely
half full. Deputies now have time for patrolling, not shuttling prisoners to
and from jails.

"We're on the road a lot less now," Samons says. "When you house prisoners
in other jails, you have to send a deputy to pick them up to bring them to
court; you have to take them back after court; you have to take them to the
doctor when they get sick.

"And when you've got an inmate in a jail an hour away, that's a lot of
driving time. It was a real headache."

Though they are considered the exceptions, a handful of eastern Arkansas
counties are operating generally below capacity, having built new jails in
recent years.

Craighead County's 285-bed jail moved from downtown Jonesboro to the city's
northern outskirts. Poinsett, Mississippi and Crittenden counties also have
relatively new lockups.

In neighboring Lawrence County, the 35-year-old jail has plenty of room,
too, thanks to the addition of 16 beds in 1989, and another 10 beds in 1994
that brought its capacity up to 48. There were 27 inmates in jail Thursday,
and Sheriff Waymond Hutton says his Walnut Ridge facility has been a
blessing for jail administrators faced with overcrowding.

"We generally stay at the point where we can hold for other counties,"
Hutton says. "Sometimes on the weekend, we'll be full until a few of them
can bond out, then we'll have some room again. Most of the time, though, we
can and we do hold prisoners from other places."

NOT CRYING WOLF

Ten years ago, sheriffs began warning each other about a new drug called
methamphetamine. The relatively cheap, easy-to-make drug started popping up
in larger cities but soon filtered into rural areas.

Because the cooking of meth emits a strong smell of ether, manufacturers
often hid their labs in the secluded hills and valleys of rural Arkansas.
The drug could be made in the back of pickups. If someone came snooping
around, it was easy to drive away.

"At first people thought sheriffs were crying wolf over meth," says Chuck
Lange, director of the Arkansas Sheriffs' Association. "All of a sudden it
has become an epidemic."

Many rural counties of north Arkansas have seen a vast increase in the
number of meth-related arrests, contributing to the overflow at the jails.

"Anybody can find the [meth] recipe," Powell says. "It's absolutely unreal."

Powell's deputies busted 19 meth labs last year in the hilly woods of Sharp
County that make up the eastern foothills of the Ozarks. He estimates that
at any one time, at least 30 labs could be cooking the drug somewhere in the
county this year.

If it could happen here, it could happen anywhere, Powell says. "It's here
to stay."

Arkansas now carries the tag of being the No. 1 producer of meth in the
country. Overall, officials found 554 meth labs in Arkansas in 1999, up from
433 in 1998. Pulaski County led the state last year with 70 busted labs.

Fueled by meth, as many as 90 percent of the prisoners in county jails are
there for drug-related offenses, officials estimate. Changes in laws, which
favor more jail time, also create the need for more jail space, jailers say.

"Stiffer penalties for crimes, more crime," Baker says. "It's a different
society we're dealing with."

As the number of prisoners increases across the state, county officials
continue to scratch their heads over what to do. Should they build more
jails? Should they concentrate on rehabilitation? Should they push the state
to alter prison sentencing?

"If I had the answers, I'd be laying in the sun at a resort with all my
millions," Tyler says.

So what are the choices?

First, Bialas says, a county jail must meet state standards. Otherwise, it
could be shut down, and the county would have to pay another jail to hold
its prisoners -- an expensive proposition.

But building a bigger and better jail won't guarantee an end to
overcrowding, other sheriffs say.

In Faulkner County, for example, the jail is still full, despite the opening
of a more modern detention center in 1992. The county can handle more
prisoners now, but not nearly enough, says Sheriff Marty Montgomery.

"It has created a great imposition on the justice system," Montgomery says.
"We're putting prisoners on the street who should be in jail."

Improving jails helps in the battle against overcrowding, Powell says, but
battling the growing need for lockups is something different.

"I used to be a 'build more jails' person," he says. "But it's gotten past
the point anyone realized. I'm now at the point where you can't build enough
facilities. You've got to educate people at an early age to keep [them] from
going to jail in the first place."

Craighead County Sheriff Jack McCann agrees. He's seen the same people go
through the jail system over and over. It's a cycle that has come down
through generations. McCann, a law enforcement veteran of more than 20
years, now arrests the children of those whom he locked up years ago.

"Too many times, people who are making only minimum wage have to ask the
question, 'Should we starve to death or should we sell drugs?' What are they
going to do?" McCann says.

The sheriff got tired of waiting and started a job-training program to teach
selected prisoners to weld. When prisoners are released, the sheriff will
help them find jobs at $12 to $14 an hour.

"When they get out, they'll have something to look forward to," McCann says.

In the end, most agree that jail overcrowding won't be beaten via
construction projects. Though better facilities are needed across the state,
it's an problem that will require a series of solutions, Morgan says, not
just one.

"You can't build your way out of this. A lot of counties need bigger jails.
But we've got do other things," the Pulaski County's jail chief says. "We've
got to do drug prevention programs, vo-tech classes for skills, and build
jails.

"There's a lot of tough choices to be made."

Some information for this article was contributed by Lisa Turner of the
Democrat-Gazette and Julie Stewart, special to the Democrat-Gazette.
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