Changing
of the guards

By William Kenny
Times Staff Writer

Do law-abiding people actually care about what happens behind prison walls or about the people to whom it happens? A lot of corrections professionals and inmate rights advocates suggest not.
But regardless of whether their perception of a prevailing "lock them up and throw away the key" public mentality is more cynicism or reality, some individuals cannot escape what happens inside Philadelphia’s jails.
For the 1,700 men and women who work as prison guards, it’s all part of the job — the overcrowding, the conflict, the anxiety and the stress. Every day, they punch the time clock knowing that they’ll be spending the next eight hours, in many cases twice that, locked in cages with accused and convicted felons who, statistically speaking, have a very good chance of breaking the law again.
And like any other job, some assignments are better than others.
Correctional officer Yolanda Jones considers herself one of the lucky ones. A 10-year veteran of the prison system, Jones, 36, has spent the last five years in the juvenile unit. Instead of dealing with the seasoned adult crooks, many of whom have spent decades of their lives in and out of jail, Jones and her partners take care of the youngsters.
Prison officials, as part of an effort to publicize their ongoing campaign to recruit new potential officers, recently allowed a reporter to spend a day with Jones and her colleagues on the cellblock.
To the detriment of sensationalism, but perhaps of benefit to the well-being of all involved, it was an uneventful day. And efforts to get the nitty-gritty on just how hectic things can get on the inside were pre-empted by prison officials, who insisted that the officers not discuss specific so-called "war stories," along with other hot-button issues like system-wide overcrowding.
That particular problem is the subject of a pending civil rights lawsuit by current or former inmates against the city. The prison system is currently responsible for about 9,400 inmates, an all-time high, although 600 or more are housed outside city prisons in other counties or privately operated facilities. The city pays those outside agencies to take the overflow.
Overcrowding is not an issue within the juvenile population, however. All of the city’s young male prisoners are housed in the Philadelphia Industrial Correctional Center, PICC for short, on State Road in the Northeast.
Though there never seemed to be a shortage of responsibilities for Jones and her partner that day, Officer Will Starkey, the relatively sedate climate of the unit offered a poignant departure from the conventional prison ethos portrayed in fiction and documentaries.
"These young people, they really keep you going. They really act their age in here," Jones said. "But I enjoy working with them rather than adult inmates. Most of them have never been locked up before, so you can really teach them, mold them. You’re like their parents."
Last Thursday, the juvenile unit was home to 57 boys as old as 17. Though the youngest on the block was 14, kids as young as 13 are legally allowed.
The block is designed to hold about 80 prisoners and is isolated from other sections of PICC, so juveniles never have to cross paths with adult inmates once they step inside its gates.
Unlike adult prisons in which accused and convicted offenders are separated based on the severity of crimes in their cases, the juvenile block gets all kinds. Generally, though, only those with more serious offenses stay for any length of time. Non-violent offenders often make bail thanks to parents.
"Most of the ones who make the news are with us now," Jones said.
Youths occupying the unit last week included several of the teens who allegedly assaulted an unarmed man on a dare in a Center City subway corridor in March, leading to an asthma attack that claimed the man’s life. Also on hand is the 17-year-old who allegedly shot a Philadelphia Housing Authority police officer in Germantown in February. The officer survived.
"The assaults, the murders, the robberies are the hot thing with them," said Jones, who spends up to 16 hours a day among them.
Her steady shift is from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m., which is prime time in prison terms, but she routinely volunteers for double shifts. As a single woman without children of her own, she has plenty of free time to pad her paycheck. And due to the burgeoning systemwide inmate population, there’s ample overtime available.
Upon her arrival for the morning shift, Jones walks cell to cell calling to each inmate and making sure nothing odd has occurred during the previous night. Assaults and suicides are always a concern.
"I turn on their lights. The inmates know to move a foot or something so I know they’re alive," Jones said.
A short time later, inmates line up outside their cells for "body check." Officers check their faces, torsos and hands for cuts and bruises.
No talking is allowed, nor is any loitering outside other inmates’ cells. Jones makes sure that their beds are made and that they have their shirts tucked in. She’s a bit of a stickler.
"I intimidate them," said Jones.
That’s despite her standing just 5 feet 1 inch tall.
"When I say, ‘Be quiet,’ the whole unit is quiet. They respect," she said. "And I’ll tell you where the respect comes from. I’m an officer and I do everything I’m supposed to do. I give them everything the book says they’re supposed to have."
She believes it’s important to run a tight ship because you never know when visitors might show up. Last week, for example, representatives from companies hoping to provide contract services to the prison system were given the grand tour.
"We want to show the outside (world) that (inmates) are still living well," Jones said. "And that we’re doing what we’re supposed to do to keep this establishment running."
The rest of the day is like a never-ending juggling act for Jones and her partners. They have to make sure everyone gets their allotted meal periods and recreation times. Inmates routinely visit with their families, attorneys and counselors. Some have health issues that require medical attention or medications.
During the school year, inmates take mandatory classes. Some sessions are conducted in the unit. Others take place elsewhere in the building. Inmates can also attend religious services on certain nights and weekends if they choose.
Keeping a certain handful of inmates from any contact with the general population is the key to keeping the peace, Jones said.
General population prisoners wear two-piece blue uniforms. The ones classified in punitive custody or protective custody, collectively known as administrative segregation, wear orange jumpers.
Inmates who fight too much can be placed on punitive custody. Those whose parents may be concerned for the child’s safety in the unit can be placed in protective custody. Usually, Jones said, 13-year-old inmates end up in protective custody because they tend to be smaller and easily picked on by the older ones.
The oranges have their own wing of the unit separated from the rest of the cells by a set of iron bars. Whenever the blues are out of their cells, the oranges stay put and vice versa. Even the oranges must get at least one hour outside their cells every day.
All things considered, the job is admittedly a piece of cake for Jones. The Philly native previously worked 10 years in a clerical job for the FBI in Washington. Looking to get out of the office environment, she took both the police department and prison system tests and passed both.
She says she was forced out of the Police Academy when her roommate at the time ran afoul of the law, although Jones claims her living arrangement with the woman was one of pure convenience and not necessarily friendship.
Nonetheless, she took the advice offered her by some older cousins, who also happened to be correctional officers, and entered the Prison Academy.
"I didn’t wake up in the morning and say, ‘I want to be a correctional officer,’" Jones explained. "I said, ‘I’m willing to try it out.’
"What I do say is this the easiest job God blessed me with since I’ve been working." ••
For information about prison system recruiting, call 215-685-8914 or e-mail recruiters@prisons.phila.gov
Reporter William Kenny can be reached at 215-354-3031 or bkenny@phillynews.com