FEATURED AUTHOR
TOM MARTIN

It's not in every job that one can regularly see grown men terrified, witness displays of heroism, and confiscate weapons--including a folding-stock Mini-14 and butcher knives--from felons at 2:30 in the morning. And how many jobs routinely entail discussing a "blood on the floor" situation, rapping with killers, or calmly dealing with someone dropping to the floor and going into dramatic convulsions? In my line of work, I've witnessed the best and the worst traits of human beings, sometimes displayed by the same person on the same day. I've experienced a level of insanity that made me wonder whether demonic possession exists. I've been threatened with ass whoopings, death, and even vague curses or spells. But I like to study people who tend toward the dark side, and in my job I have the opportunity to do so regularly.
I work in corrections.

In 1993 I was a former soldier--an officer in the 10th Mountain Division (LI)--underemployed and back home in Washington state. Like many others, I'd joined the exodus from the army after Desert Storm, when it became clear that since I hadn't served in that conflict, my career was over. At least the time I spent in the U.S. Marines after graduating high school, at the University of Washington in Seattle, and in the U.S. Army as an officer kept me out of trouble and prevented me from becoming the hoodlum that the vice principal figured I was back in high school.

After getting out of the army, I worked briefly for a Fortune 500 corporation, parting ways with it on my terms after I was instructed to lie about how a worker got hurt and refused to comply, instead documenting the event for the Department of Labor and Industries. After that I began selling equipment and helping out in a family business, but these career choices didn't fill my schedule or wallet well enough. Discouraged with the outside world and feeling quirky, I put in for something I felt I couldn't be less suited for: work at McNeil Island Correction Center. Hell, I hated uniforms, wasn't interested in what other people hid in their property, didn't like giving orders, didn't want to be an authority figure, and was too easygoing by nature. But on a wild whim, I submitted an application for a position as a correctional officer, joking that since I would probably wind up in prison one way or another, it would be a bit better to do so as staff. I was still on a lark, going through tests and interviews, when I was actually hired!

When I first started, an older officer would grin at me, giving me a nudge and wink as we walked off our shift. "Fooled 'em again," he'd joke, conveying a feeing many shared: we didn't belong there, but we'd been accepted, and there we were. I started recording what happened on the job from day one, because I knew I was experiencing things that people would find intriguing. My book, Behind Prison Walls, is one result of this habit.

Now, nearly 10 years later, I'm a seasoned correctional sergeant at a small, pre-release facility in Washington state that many consider to be a choice location. We don't wear uniforms, have a more . . . uh . . . rehabilitative environment, and are afforded opportunities not found elsewhere for custody staff. I'm also an instructor for new staff on offender manipulation and report writing, and I'm a published author, who writes about (and continues to learn about) a field that is truly fascinating.

Turns out, even though I didn't know anything about corrections, the folks doing the hiring did. They didn't want someone who was hung up on having authority, and they didn't want someone who power-tripped or lacked communication skills. Many people don't make it in corrections. Some of the traits that are ordinarily considered good, such as friendliness, openness, and personal warmth, will get you clipped in my field. I've come to believe that to be a good corrections officer and survive in prison you need just a bit of . . . well, distance and callousness that the average person doesn't have. At the same time, you need a certain amount of empathy, but not sympathy, to communicate with inmates. It also takes some amount of courage to work in a prison. Shown at left is my crude drawing of two shanks I confiscated at different times, each meant for a hit on someone. The top one was made of steel, roughly shaped. It was intended for a "jumping-in" hit on a rapist by a group of skinheads and was left with filthy mops, both for concealment and for a septic effect. The other shank was made of hard plastic stock. The inmates whittled down one end until it could be inserted in a pencil sharpener, and then they taped the handle. This one was intended for an officer who was coming down hard and correcting the behavior of an offender.

When I joined the field of corrections, I didn’t know what my superiors wanted, but I figured it out quickly. They wanted someone who could be an asshole when he had to be. They wanted someone who could exercise judgment when applying discipline and enforce policy fairly. They wanted someone who would rather de-escalate a situation with communication than thump an inmate into submission. Ideally, they wanted an individual who would be so compelled by the field that he would make a career of it, and who would stay on his toes because he was interested.

They got me.

Q&A

Paladin: You've served in different types of facilities and in what you described as different levels of custody. How do you describe the levels of danger for staff and inmates the higher one goes in the system (i.e., from minimum to maximum security)?
Martin: There are dangers to each level. I served in a medium-security unit initially. I figure it was my riskier period because there were some real bad offenders who were able to come out of their rooms and move about the units, and they were adjusting to the freedoms and responsibilities they picked up. I tried to avoid minimum security because the offenders have many more freedoms, policy enforcement is at a different level, and the focus for officers is different. Complacency is a problem in minimum security because you don't have all that many blood-on-the-floor, ass-pucker moments to keep you on your toes. Complacency can get you hurt in a heartbeat. With closed custody, and in segregation, it's very different. The offenders on average are more violent or, more accurately, are in a more violent phase of their incarceration. But they have less freedom and better security. Bottom line is, any level of custody can be dangerous. I know one officer who got stabbed repeatedly in two incidents in different-level facilities. He said it felt the same.

Paladin: Is there any relationship between the length of a prisoner's sentence and how dangerous he is?
Martin: There is not a direct correlation, and that is one thing that surprised me initially. I'd have an inmate who killed and raped a child, and he'd have less time than someone who did some heavy meth trafficking. Another guy who fired on a crowd, killing someone, got less time than a guy who was a habitual offender in the past. A guy who does a "git back," or revenge killing, of someone who molested his children might have more time than another killer just because a message was being sent by the system in his sentencing. Who has done what is not as important as who is capable of doing what. Some of the long-term offenders don't give a crap about the consequences of their behavior, but many want to get more privileges or keep the ones they have, so the system of incentives that is in place can work well. If an inmate "programs," or plays the game, he gets more benefits. I thank God for "Three Strikes." It has to have an effect. I've overheard violent offenders say, "F--- this state; they put in the damn Three Strikes law. I'm leaving when I get out."

Paladin: What is your position on capital punishment? Have you ever worked on death row?
Martin: Fools say the death penalty has no deterrent effect. It has one tremendous one: never in the history of corrections has an executed criminal gone out and committed another murder. Keeping them locked up forever is no insurance. Texas freed a serial killer first from death row and then from a life sentence, and he added seven innocent women to his total after he was released. I am obviously for the death penalty. I've not had the solemn duty of working death row, as I've never worked in an institution that did executions. People who have that duty are well-trained professionals who have my respect.

Paladin: Describe the differences between a state and a federal facility.
Martin: From what I've been told, the populations are different because of the differences in the focus of the facilities and the crimes of the offenders. You’ll have a wide range of all types of offenders in both, but in general there are fewer sex offenders and more major drug traffickers and serious-weapons-charge types in the federal system. Possession at certain levels will bring federal charges, and because of that, I've been told (but I am unable to confirm) that the drug dealers in federal prisons tend to be very sophisticated and have reached higher levels in their organizations than the ones we see in the state systems, which stands to reason. I distinctly remember three offenders I've dealt with (a bank robber, a drug smuggler, and one I'll not discuss) who came from or had been in the federal system as being intelligent, devious, and disciplined. The average federal inmate might not be any brighter, but there is supposedly a higher percentage of really intelligent, sophisticated criminals in that system. I've been told that to assume "inmates are inmates" is dangerous for corrections officers who are transitioning either between state facilities or between the state and federal systems. Oh, one last thing: When McNeil Island was federal, there was a golf course for the inmates there! (Just a nine-hole; they were, after all, felons.) Washington State Department of Corrections doesn’t play that; the golf course is long, long gone.

Paladin: In your experience, are prisons becoming overcrowded with nonviolent drug offenders?
Martin: I marvel at the term "nonviolent drug offenders." I figure that the majority are "nonviolent so far" or just haven’t been caught. If a junkie breaks into a home to find something to steal and sell and a 76-year-old woman stands in his way, I believe that criminal is capable of dropping that "non" in a second. Stone Cold, a gangbanger I knew, was considered to be a nonviolent drug offender because he didn’t resist when he was arrested selling crack in the vicinity of Seattle (having this time left his gat in the crib). Word was he capped people in a crack house but it couldn’t be proven. (Yes, the info was passed along.) His doing time was saving lives. When it comes to someone who was caught moving Tylenol 3 or growing pot for personal use, maybe that’s a different story, but they’re still criminals, and criminals belong in prison.

Paladin: In the book you describe how the informal discipline enforced by the old "convict code" is dying out along with the old-time cons. What, if anything, is filling that void?
Martin: Shameless immaturity. These offenders aren’t cagey enough to learn to play the game because they don’t have to. They’ve been told by the outside that they’re victims and the system is wrong. Their complaints, even if totally bogus, must be addressed, so they whine and complain at a higher level. In the past, you just had to make eye contact with some offenders and they’d stop doing something. Now it’s more likely they’ll continue doing it, waiting to be corrected, and then argue with you, file a complaint, and be smug knowing that they’ve created work for you. Many inmates have been told that they are due "respect." This is from the little bit of crap they learned in schools. “I demand my respect and human dignity,” some inmate who raped a 13-year-old girl will say. They don’t understand, like, or accept the fact that respect is something they have to earn. We’d respond to that with "no, you don’t, you gotta earn it." But back in the day, they’d say, "Respect and dignity my ass, you child rapist." Or maybe they’d just thump him.

Paladin: Are there any movies or television shows that come close to portraying a real prison atmosphere?
Martin: None that I’ve seen carry all the way through. Most are comical. "Oz" was recommended to me as being good, so I watched several episodes. The games and tricks were well depicted, but wouldn’t any facility with that number of killings and assaults be shut down? What are they paying that terrible staff? Who’d work there? Could I really put two offenders who hate each other in a small glass room and lock the door? I’d sell tickets! Oh yeah, they’d just talk! In Dead Man Walking, Susan Sarandon was excellent as someone who'd been duped, and Sean Penn's portrayal of a manipulative violent offender was great. The "Billy the Kid" character in the Green Mile was fantastic in portraying the games inmates might play in segregation. At one time we had a group of offenders who were much like the Sisters (a group of predatory rapists) in that movie. We shut them down before they got anyone . . . we hope. One of my motivations to write Behind Prison Walls was unrealistic portrayals of what goes on in prison.

Paladin: We all have preconceptions about prison life. What surprised you most?
Martin: How clean and modern a correctional facility can be. My first impression of McNeil Island was how slick things appeared on the surface. I had images of scratch calendars on stone or concrete walls in mind before I walked in. I walked in through remotely controlled gates and doors, across highly polished floors with officers and inmates appearing to know what they were doing. I later got doses of reality when I didn’t have a clue as to what was going on and I saw our procedural hiccups, but the notion that things could be and should be slick and modern in corrections remains. One thing I learned quickly about offenders was that they aren’t thrown in a cell and allowed to stagnate. It might take a while for them to get their assignments, but they are required to get education, work, and participate in programs. I was also surprised to learn that inmates don’t normally remain at one facility for their entire stay and that they generally are moved around--if not between different facilities then within a single facility. There’s an odd paradox of oppression and yet no direct menace in a modern prison-- not the first time you enter, but after a while. It’s a grim, serious place, and I always want to remember that.

Paladin: You refer to yourself as a "seasoned" correctional sergeant. What have your years in the correctional system taught you about the nature of prisoners?
Martin: Some of the most fascinating things I've learned about inmates came not from their mouths but from what I've confiscated or heard other staff talk about with regard to searches. I shared some of this in my book, and I’ll share some here as well. Among other things, you can learn a lot about their ability to produce tools with minimal resources and their survival techniques in general. One of the more sinister tools I’ve learned about is the shank--a form of knife that is almost always used for penetration wounds. A shank can be made from almost anything, from toothbrushes to razor blades to whatever your imagination can conjure up and more. Among the handiest and nastiest forms of shank are those made from broom handles. The photo above (right) depicts a remnant of a pool cue or other wooden item that was confiscated at a correctional facility. Supposedly, it is not a weapon and was accidentally produced from an incidental breaking of the wood. In my career I've found three such weapons and unintentionally made one when I broke another cue to dispose of it. The photos show how shanks can be produced from such mundane items as the lid of a can of sardines. The example shown can easily penetrate cardboard, apples, meat, and so on. Believe it or not, lids ranging up to #10 (around the size of a coffee can) are readily available in prison. Another prison survival skill is improvised cooking. Inmates generally have access to hot water pots and even microwaves. The "Tylenol Tommy stove" pictured below shows how an inmate can boil water using medical capsules, a clip, a section of hanger, and again, a small tin. It takes a good number of horded medications or lots of toilet paper to heat a can of water, but they will get the job done. A rag soaked in medicinal alcohol, also available in many cases, works as well.

You can learn about inmate survival techniques, as well as other things you didn't even want to know about inmates, in my book.

BEHIND PRISON WALLS