THE POWDER BLUE NEGLIGEE:
Memoirs Of A Probation Officer
BY
KURT NIEMANN
COPYRIGHT 2008
By Carl Johnoff
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1-4392-0200-1
ISBN-13: 9781439202005
The material in this book is based upon actual events; however, the Author has altered them in order to create scenes that did not actually take place as written. Therefore, the events and characters in this book being fictitious, any resemblance to actual events or to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The Author is a retired Probation Officer. He served his home State in that
capacity for 32 years. His Academic background includes a Bachelor of Arts
Degree in Sociology and a Master of Science Degree in Criminal Justice. He
served in the United States Marine Corps during the years 1955 through
1962. He holds Mixed Martial Arts Black Belts and is a Seventh Level
Master.
During a prior marriage, the author was blessed with two wonderful sons.
Now, thanks to his current marriage, he has three beautiful stepdaughters as
well.
The Author’s other main interests include aviation (he is a Certified
Commercial Pilot), Black Powder shooting and visiting Antique stores.
WHY DID I WRITE THIS BOOK?
Actually, I began writing this book for my children and grandchildren.
Very early in my career as a Probation Officer I had the opportunity to
interview a very old man who had served in the U.S. Army during the
1890’s. While this former “Buffalo Soldier,” as the Southwestern Indians
named the African-American troops, related a number of his experiences I
came to realize that Military Generals and Industry Captains do not have an
exclusive lock on interesting lives. In fact, I like to think my grandkids will
want to say, “Hey, let me tell you about the time granddad watched a 400
pound woman try to shoplift a television set----.”
As I progressed through the writing of this book, I came to believe that I
could be instrumental in educating citizens in some aspects of the Criminal
Justice System not generally explored by television reporters or politicians
seeking re-election.
In this book I will give readers a brief tour of the world of Criminal Justice,
as seen through the eyes of this career Probation Officer. We will explore
the Probation Officer’s place and duties in the Criminal Justice System. We
will find that not all the facts in any given case may be found in written
reports or court testimony. We will see that in the world of Criminal Justice,
there are few black and white situations. And we will come to realize how
inane and counterproductive statements such as “Lock ‘em up and throw
away the key” can be.
While I hope this work will educate, I also hope it will be entertaining. The
experiences of Officers in the Criminal Justice System can be, and at times
are: tragic, humorous, boring and heart pounding. You will discover that I
have been exposed to adventures both challenging and gratifying. I promise
you that not all criminals are bloodthirsty monsters, and not all officers,
attorneys and judges are exemplary citizens. My colleagues and I behaved
neither like television’s Sergeant Friday nor like the comic buffoons you saw
in “The Pink Panther;” at least not always.
All this notwithstanding, I am mindful of years past in the academic world
when I on occasion paid fifty dollars or more for a required book which was
clearly a waste of ink and paper. I have done my best to avoid being guilty
of this sort of literary travesty. I hope you will find this book an easy and
entertaining read.
Finally, I hope this book will motivate you to learn more about how our
Criminal Justice System works---and sometimes works in ways not to our
liking, and why. The Criminal Justice System can appear to be complex,
confusing and unsympathetic to victims. The system is basically foreign to
most citizens, and generally is not a primary subject at the dinner table or at
the workplace; that is, unless the citizen has been made a victim of a
criminal act. However, the ordinary citizen can have a positive impact on
the Criminal Justice System. I hope this book will encourage you to
discover the strengths and weaknesses within your Criminal Justice System
-and to work toward improving the system. You will find that you do have
the power to make a difference.
For
Shirley, Eric, Alex, Deborah, Carrie and Patti.
Special thanks to Chuck and Jane Holcombe for their help in making this adventure readable.
WHAT DOES A PROBATION OFFICER DO?
The word “probation” originates from the Latin, “probo,” meaning, “prove,”
or “test,” so that a person who is “On Probation” has been convicted of a
criminal offense, and, rather than being locked up, the person has been given
an opportunity by the Court to “prove” that he or she intends to be a model
citizen from that time on.
Well, then, what are the mechanics of “sentencing?”
Simply put, when a person is convicted (found guilty) in a Criminal Court
for having committed a criminal offense, that person is subject to penalties.
The penalties can include, but not be limited to, incarceration (“lockup”),
and/or a monetary penalty (fine).
If a person is found guilty of a Misdemeanor Offense (that is, a “lesser
offense”), and is ordered by the Court to be incarcerated, he or she may be
sentenced to serve time in a jail, which is a facility usually run by a County,
or, as in the State of Louisiana, a “Parrish.” In most jurisdictions, the
maximum time a person convicted of a Misdemeanor will serve in jail is one
year.
If a person is determined by the Court to be guilty of a Felony Offence (a
“greater offense”), and is ordered by the Court to be incarcerated (“locked
up”), he or she will be sent to a prison, which is a secure facility, usually
operated by a State Department of Corrections. A person who is incarcerated
in a prison can expect to serve no less then one year, and, for some offenses,
possibly for his or her entire life, inside those walls.
If a person is convicted of a criminal offense, and the sentencing Judge decides to “suspend” any part of the sentence, that person can be placed on some type of Probation, usually for a set period of time. If the person on Probation violates the Terms Of Probation, the Judge can revoke Probation, and it’s “Hello, walls!”
A Probation Officer supervises people who are on Probation. The
Probation Officer is literally “The Eyes And The Ears” of the sentencing
Judge. The Probation Officer supervises the offender and makes certain that
the offender follows the rules of probation. These rules often include: Don’t
break the Law. Stay in school (this most often applies in Juvenile or Family
Courts) and/or keep a job. Don’t leave town without court permission. No
Alcohol. No drugs. Pay Child support; et cetera.
Convicted offenders who are on Parole are people who have been
convicted of a Felony Offense, have been incarcerated in a State or Federal
Prison for a period of time, and have been released from prison, prior to full
completion of the time sentence. These offenders are supervised by a Parole
Officer. When someone is placed on Parole, there are behavior rules, or
Terms Of Parole, similar to the behavior rules for someone who is placed on
Probation.
In most cases, Probation Officers are employed by the States’ Criminal and
Juvenile Courts. Probation Officers are considered to be “Officers Of The
Court.” Parole Officers are employed by the States’ Departments Of
Corrections.
Probation Officers typically perform other vital functions for the Criminal
and the Juvenile Courts. One of the most common functions is: Pre-
Sentence Investigations and Reports. Commonly, when an offender has
been convicted, a Sentencing Hearing will be set on a date, often thirty to
ninety days following Conviction. During the interim period, a Probation
Officer is assigned to investigate the offender’s personal, social and legal
history. Those interviewed may include the offender, friends, neighbors,
educators, employers, Police Officers and the victim or the
victim’s survivors.
The investigating P.O. then creates a Pre-Sentence Report To The
Court. The Sentencing Judge uses the information contained in this Report
as an aid in determining the appropriate sentence for the convicted offender.
As you can see, a Probation Officer’s position is incredibly powerful, and it
is of supreme importance that the Courts carefully scrutinize applicants for
that
office. Through their daily contacts with the families, schools,
employers, social service agencies and victims, P.O.’s can
greatly enhance,
or can utterly destroy, the credibility of a community’s Criminal Justice
System.
A final note on this subject: for various political and economic reasons, some Probation Departments at the Trial Court (usually called “Superior Court”) level are funded, therefore operated, through joint County-state
arrangements. Some others may be allocated out to counties, but operated at
State level only. Some Adult and Juvenile Probation Departments are entities totally separate from each other. Some Juvenile and Adult Probation Departments are merged, and their Probation Officers often handle adults and juveniles on the same caseload. This can be particularly interesting when adults and juveniles in the same family are on Probation.
In some cities and towns, the “Lower Courts,” that is, the local County and City level Magistrate and J.P. Courts, employ Probation Officers, who serve only at that level. Finally, in some cities, Police Departments employ their own Probation Officers.
There appears to exist conventional wisdom that Probation Officers are
primarily desk bound pencil pushers and bean counters. Indeed, such duties
do exist as some, but, thankfully, very few, job assignments in probation
departments. I was cursed with this kind of assignment only once, and very
briefly. I, at the same time, was never seen wearing a suit. I will admit to
wearing a tie and a sports coat, both occasionally matching the rest of my
attire, when I went to court, because coat and tie was required for the
officers of the court when in court.
Prior to my final assignment with the department’s Detention Division, my
duties were primarily on the streets and within my assigned neighborhoods.
While on duty my primary mode of transportation was my privately owned
motorcycle. My clothing on the streets included slacks, a casual shirt, lace-
up boots and, absolutely, a helmet.
Have I made all this clear? Well, if it’s not quite clear, please stay with me anyway. We’re going to have a good time!
THE POWER BLUE NEGLIGEE:
ADVENTURES OF A PROBATION OFFICER
CONTENTS:
INTRODUCTIONS:
Why did I write this book?
What does a Probation Officer do?
Chapter 1: THE ROOKIE YEARS
Introduction
How I became a Probation Officer
The Powder Blue Negligee
The Rubber Stamp
Baby Ducks
Happy New Year!
The Sick In
Lets Go Out For Lunch
Gimme My Girl Friend
Larry
Houdini
Painter
F.Y.V.M.
Curley
“Curly” I = Rookie Cop
“Curly” II = How We Learn
Chapter 2: PROJECTS AND BARRIOS
Introduction
The Wall
Bat Lady
On City Retirement
Drugs of Choice
“Cat Daddy” and “Bat Man”
Strollin’
Hit Girl
Everyone Has A Story
The Innocents
Los Mojados
Ms. Pac-Man
Cuffing The Cop
Shallah
That Didn’t Hurt!
Tattooed But Not Screwed
Curly III
Curly IV
Curly V
Chapter 3: INKYS: THOSE “STATUS OFFENDERS”
Introduction
What Is An “Inky?”
The Drama Triangle
Take My Kid-Please!
They Stick Around
The Professional Parents
Alcoholics
Emancipation
Chapter 4: SOME HIGHLIGHTS FROM THE FIELD
Introduction
Zack
Subpoena To Sitka
Mint Tea
I Steal, You Steal
Office Capers
Debbie
A Shot Hits Home
Speaking of Saints---
Definitely Not Jackie Chan
Not Frank Buck, Either
Curly VI
Curly VII
Curly VIII
Chapter 5: JAILS AND DETENTION
Introduction
Inside
Some Major Differences
Why Does Anyone Want to Work There?
Roaches And Crickets
Bite Me
Where’d He Go? Where’d He Go?
Not All Gloom And Doom
Warriors In Detention
Head Up And Locked Up
I’ve Got A Secret
A Quote To Ponder
Another Quote
A Private Prison Story
Chapter 6: “HOMES” AWAY FROM HOME
Introduction
What Kinds Of “Homes?”
Gimme Back My Kid!
The Naturalist
The “Hair Dance”
Preventing Crisis Is Expensive
Whipping Them Into Shape
Boot Camps
Chapter 7: THE ACADEMY
Introduction
The Players
The Pouters
The Paramedic
High Steppin’
Ram, The MiG Pilot
Back To The Rez
Spiderman
State Certification
Have Academy, Will Travel
The Suicide Room
Awards And Rewards
Chapter 8: Retirement
Introduction
Grasshopper, Time For You To Go!
Final Rants And Raves
Chapter I: THE ROOKIE YEARS
Introduction:
I enjoy life most when I am given challenges demanding immediate
decisions. I also perform best with minimal supervision. For these and other
reasons, I felt at home right away when I became a probation officer.
However I entered into this career not through design, but by happenstance!
This chapter will relate how I came to be a Probation Officer. I will relate
some early on-the-job experiences remaining with me, nearly forty years
later, as very vivid memories. I will also introduce a colleague in law
enforcement who became a partner and a lifelong friend.
HOW I BECAME A PROBATION OFFICER
The opportunity of being a P.O. came to me through being at the right place,
at the right time.
While in the process of completing a Bachelors Degree, I
had secured a part-time position with an agency contracted to the County to
provide services to juveniles residing in low-income sections of the city.
The Agency Director was a dynamic man, who took an active interest in his
staff. As the Fates would have it, he and I connected right away; I was
fascinated by his “war stories” from his former career: he was a retired Chief
Probation Officer.
One afternoon “The Chief” called me into his office. There in his office I
met his secretary’s husband, who was a the time the County Assistant Chief
Probation Officer, later to be Chief of the County Probation Department for
twenty years into the future.
“The Chief” said, “Meet Kurt. He ought to be a P.O.”
Mr. Assistant Chief said: “Kurt, come talk with me sometime.”
Had that invitation been offered only one year earlier, I would have, at that
meeting, essentially experienced the entire hiring process for a P.O., prior
to 1968. The only further requirement would have been an affirmation of
my hire by the Presiding Judge. That’s right: until 1968, in my State, this
was all that was required to fill this incredibly powerful position within the
Criminal Justice System. All else you needed was a clean legal record and a
Friendly Nod of the Head from the Presiding Judge.
However, by 1968, the era of Judicial appointments of P.O.’s was brought to
a halt by the State Legislature: now required was: a Bachelor’s Degree,
preferably in a field related to the requirements of performing a P.O.’s job,
successful completion of a written examination and also two interviews.
Came 1969 and, having completed my B.A., I successfully met these
aforementioned employment requirements, and was therefore duly appointed
to enter into what was to become my thirty-two year career.
The term “Rookie” does not necessarily, by itself, humble a Rookie. I
have known few rookie Probation Officers, myself included, who did not
truly believe, deep down in their heart-of-hearts, that they had come into the
job with all “the answers.” This phenomenon arises partly through pride of
attaining this new, Exalted Status, and partly through the effect of four years
of exposure to the Ivory Tower of education in a University. For all my
education and life experience, in 1969 I found I was not yet really endowed
with a full understanding of “criminal thought process,” “dysfunctional
family dynamics” or “how works the Courts and Corrections Systems.”
I am certain that my lack of criminal savvy would have come as a surprise to
my childhood teachers and counselors, some of whom, I have discovered in
recent years, had believed that I’d died either in prison or by a Police
Officer’s firearm. By my age 17 I was a school dropout, and, by virtue of
my mother’s ability to work faster then a Juvenile Court Judge, I was
introduced into the event-filled life of a United States Marine, commencing
in sunny San Diego, California.
Eight years later, after having been provided the opportunity to help keep the
world safe from Communism, I re-entered civilian life, armed with some
college education, and with a license to fly airplanes. However, old
reputations die hard, and many of the folks who had “known me when” were
unprepared to recognize the shiny and wonderful “New Me”.
I married a young lady who liked Marines. We moved to Cordova City,
Where I attended the State University (Sociology Major) and, ultimately,
became a Probation Officer; one of the very Species that had been scowling
and shouting at me, only a little over ten years earlier.
One the morning of my first day as a Probation Officer, I was presented with
an office and a Field Caseload. Shortly after lunch I was introduced to my
Supervisor. The Supervisor spent the next several days reviewing with me
my one-hundred-plus Field Probation Cases, and my twenty-plus Pre-
Sentence Investigation cases, all pending Sentencing Hearings. He told me
that for the next thirty days I was to present to him, first thing each morning,
my day’s work plan and any pre-sentence reports I may have written.
I was told that the easiest way to meet the people on my Caseload was to
“Cite them in:” send a letter to each Probationer, directing them to appear at
my office at an appointed date and time. It was during these meetings that
this neophyte P.O. discovered that, contrary to conventional wisdom,
offenders are neither “Black” nor “White,” in terms of race, economic
lifestyles or social backgrounds. For the most part, I sensed no hostility nor
reserve from my “clients;” rather, many Probationers went out of their way
to help the Rookie to understand how the Justice System worked with them
and what they hoped the outcome of the Probation experience would be. I
also discovered that with a Juvenile case, the parents usually saw themselves
as being on Probation as well.
The Pre-Sentence Investigation cases were another species entirely. In order
to investigate legal, social and personal back grounds of individuals, and to
interview victims, I needed to be face-to-face with the people, and on their
turf, not mine. This meant that my old ’63 Bug was to become familiar with
a lot of Cordova City pavement, and through my travels I came to possess a
file cabinet full of contacts in the word of business, education, social
services and street informants, so that in the future a few telephone calls
would save me many hours and many miles of travel time.
My Supervisor’s 30-day theory was accurate: by the end of that time I at
least had a fair grasp on what I was supposed to do. But it would still be a
long time before I really knew how best to meet my responsibilities.
THE POWDER BLUE NEGLIGEE
As was typical of Juvenile Delinquents’ Probation files during the Sixties,
Ross Billings’ file was several inches thick. Ross had been cited by the
Police and referred to the Juvenile Court not less than twenty-six times.
This lad had been placed on Probation/continued on Probation five
times over a three-year period. He had been a guest of our Detention
Facility twelve times. This time, the Police informed me, he had
dropped sugar down the school principal’s gas tank.
When I met Ross at the Detention Facility entrance, he expressed a certain
amount of disdain toward the school staff and also toward the Police, who
clearly could not take a joke.
A few hours’ study through the Probation File of the rehabilitation efforts
directed toward Ross showed that he had enjoyed the therapeutic efforts of a
number of child and family psychologists and counselors. He had been
transferred over several years to literally every Junior High School and High
School in the school District. He’d been on a Psychotropic Drug Regimen,
courtesy of prescriptions written by the family Psychiatrist over the past two
years. Unhappily, he did not appear to be particularly appreciative of
everyone’s efforts to improve his future.
Finding all this to be a bit overwhelming to my Rookie mind, I consulted my
Supervisor. I handed the file to him. He saw the name, “ Ross Billings,”
and scowled. His observation: “I strongly suggest that you recommend (to
the Sentencing Judge) that this kid be sent to the State Department of
Juvenile Corrections.”
In those days, that would have meant a commitment to a particular Juvenile
Corrections Facility which several years later was transformed into a
minimum-security Adult Prison. This facility had a mean, some would say
brutal, reputation of being a Spartan and corporal punishment-oriented
correction facility. Located on the site of an actual Nineteenth Century
“Indian Wars” U.S. Army fort, it was placed in an area where the terrain was
flat and even the cactus had difficulty surviving. Inmates of this prison
rarely referred to the Warden of the prison of some thirty years by name,
but only as “That Bastard.” Juveniles in trouble with the law, myself
included in the Fifties, would generally come to tears and resort to pleading
when threatened with incarceration into this place. Juvenile Parolees from
that Prison where generally given wide berth by all but the toughest thugs.
So it came to pass that I informed Mr. And Mrs. Billings that I would
be asking the sentencing judge to order commitment to this State facility for
young Ross Billings. The parents were, understandingly, quite upset.
Mr. And Mrs. Billings were employed as professional fashion models. Both
looked like “Bay Watch” stars. Neither, according to my file, had finished
High School. Their general lack of understanding of their son’s behavior and
of the Juvenile Justice System reflected folks whose universe basically
revolved around themselves. They were Masters of The Excuse. They
correctly identified me as a newcomer to the game, so they directed every
effort toward blaming the schools, the counselors, the courts, and, of course,
the cops and P.O.’s for their son’s misguided behavior. They were the first
of thousands who would say to me: “I know my child, and my child would
never….”
While they complained, I thought of my own three encounters with young
Ross during the weeks preceding his most current arrest and detention:
twice I’d gone in the morning to his home, literally dragged him out of bed,
then sent him off to school. On a Saturday I’d personally escorted him to a
barber shop for a haircut so the school principal would allow him back in. I
was developing a genuine sympathy for social workers.
I carried Mr. And Mrs. Billings complaints to my Supervisor the next
morning. His reply: “Commitment to the State.” And, of course, he was
right.
Sentencing for young Ross Billings was set for a Friday morning. During
Monday afternoon of that week I received a telephone call from Mrs.
Billings. She sounded very emotional and tearful; she wanted me to meet
with her and her husband the following morning in a last ditch effort to
explore options other than to the State for their son. I agreed to meet with
them at their home, at 7:30 A.M.
On Tuesday morning, I drove to their home and parked along the curb: this
is a practice I’d picked up from some of the Department veterans: Parking
in a residence driveway makes one’s car vulnerable to being blocked and
trapped. I exited my “63 VW Bug and proceeded along the sidewalk to the
front door…the door opened. Mrs. Billings was standing there.
She was, as usual, incredibly beautiful. She was wearing a very
skimpy, very filmy, powder blue negligee. She smiled and said:
“come on in!”
Yes, I was married; yes, I was nearly 30 years old; and yes, my senses were
screaming: “Setup! Setup!” I said: “I‘m sorry, I must have arrived too
early. I’ll go out and grab a cup of coffee and be back in a half hour.”
Mrs. Billings smile dropped. She closed the front door as I entered my “63
Bug. I closed the driver’s side door, started the engine, and ….
Mr. Billing’s car raced past me and onto his driveway.
Mr. Billings jumped out of his car and raced up to, then through, the front
door of his house, shouting: “Take your hands off my wife, you Son…”
As I drove toward the nearest pay telephone, I came to fully understand what
the Billings’ had planned. At Ross Billing’s Sentencing Hearing his parents
would have said: “Judge, instead of helping our child, this lecherous
Probation Officer was making unwanted sexual advances on the child’s
mother!” Ross Billings would then be freed, and the Probation Officer
would be fired.
I immediately called my Supervisor. He chuckled and told me to return to
the Department right away and write a report of this incident for the Judge.
On Friday morning we all appeared in the Courtroom of the Presiding Judge.
His Honor heard Counsels’ arguments and promptly dispatched young Ross
Billings to State Department of Corrections.
Twenty-five years later I was to be given charge of the Juvenile Detention
Officers Academy. I never failed to spin this tale to each new Class of
Rookies. The Uninitiated have no idea as to how devious- and seductive-
offenders and their families can be.
THE RUBBER STAMP
Every legal document is important. Every legal document will have an impact to some measure on someone’s life.
I have developed an opinion that some legal work, particularly clerical work, becomes so routine that it can easily be forgotten that people’s lives are impacted every time we open and close a file drawer. And when one’s “In” basket is stacked with what appears to be job security for the next two years, the mind can become numb. The goal becomes one of making the “In” stack smaller. We gather the papers; we disperse the papers.
One such routine function during the early years was to summarily release
from probation those juveniles who had been “successful,” e.g., appeared, at least, to have followed all the rules for one year, or who had, in any event, achieved the twenty-first birthday.
Although a Rookie, even I could not believe the abysmal state of my new Caseload. There were persons on Juvenile Probation who were well over twenty-one years of age and not yet released. In fact, I discovered one such fellow had been convicted as an Adult and was residing in a Prison. Some offenders had not been checked up on for months. Other offenders swore they had not seen their P.O. for months, although the contact log in the file was current. “Report and Reviews,” always to be read and signed by a Judge, were not current. A few Misdemeanant offenders had been on Probation for several years, not further offended, and still not released from Probation.
What I did not understand at the time was that the numbers weight of these Caseloads was often so overwhelming that the assigned Officers could hardly do more than the absolute minimal Court-required casework, then “Wave a Magic Wand” over the rest. Officer turnover was rampant: except for the veteran Officers, it seemed that there was a nearly complete rookie turnover every six months or less. Most, I believe, resigned over frustration.
Some were frustrated because of the size of the workload. Some left because
they themselves where incapable of functioning without intensive supervision. Some left because they could not handle the emotional impact that is inevitable when directly affecting others’ lives in the Criminal Justice System. Consequently, some Caseloads were left unsupervised for six months and longer.
In short, during the early 1970’s, the Probation Department simply did not have sufficient resources to hire, fully train and adequately compensate its Probation Officers. Additionally, there needed to be a significant increase in hiring and training new Probation Officers in order to to bring the size of the Caseloads down to a manageable number. When, in the mid-1970’s, a new Chief Probation Officer was installed (the same Assistant Chief I’d met a few years earlier), the Department and its resources took a dramatic change for the better.
When I told my Supervisor of the shape of my Caseload, he suggested that I write out a sort of “blanket” Court Order, wherein I would recommend a
release from Probation for a long list of people. He did mention that upon
the release of those people from Probation, there would be an equal number of new cases assigned to me to replace them.
I carefully wrote out the Order, with my recommendation for release, of those long overdue for release. Having now actually written out this document, I was somewhat taken aback by the length of the list of names.
I carried the completed document to the chambers of the appropriate Judge. The man was seated behind his desk, conferring with his clerk. Both looked up at me and smiled. The Judge asked, “Yes?”
“Uh, Your Honor, I have a list of people on this Document, who, per my Supervisor, need to be released from Probation.”
“Give me the Document.”
I handed the document to His Honor. He looked at it and for a short time, then, scowling, looked up at me and asked:
“So, your Supervisor sent you?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And these people need to be released?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And your Supervisor approves?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“So where the hell is your Supervisor’s signature on this Document?”
Omigod. I had forgotten to go to the Supervisor for his review and signature! I know I visibly slumped.
His Honor, now the King of Scowls, shouted:
“Don’t you ever again bring ANYTHING to me without your Supervisor’s, signature.” What do you think I am-YOUR RUBBER STAMP??!! Now get out of here and go see your Supervisor!”
I literally double-timed out of his chambers and hurried forthwith to my Supervisor’s office. When I entered, he informed that he had already received a call from the Judge. He perused my release document, signed it, and sent me back to see His Honor.
I knocked on His Honor’s door. A voice growled, “Come in.” I entered.
“Well, are you here for me to RUBBER STAMP another one of your documents?”
“Uh, no, Your Honor, I’m back from my Supervisor’s office with his signature on the release form.”
His Honor snatched the document form my hand, glanced at it, set it aside, and said:
“Get Out.”
I was only too happy to leave. Lesson learned!!
Several days later, the Judge’s clerk told me that His Honor and my
Supervisor had enjoyed long and hearty laughter over how they had taught the Rookie proper protocol.
Footnote: This Judge was a much-admired man from a local family of Physicians and Attorneys, which had settled here generations ago. Shortly
after this incident I discovered that, like myself, he was an avid history buff. He and I soon became good friends.
BABY DUCKS
Budget and staffing woes notwithstanding, the Probation Department in the early ‘70’s did make an honest attempt to bring training to the Officers. A number of psychologists and at least two psychiatrists visited on occasion to provide classes in issues around family dysfunction and intervention, schizophrenia, alcoholism, and so forth; mostly, very excellent classes. However, during one training class the instructor, a family therapist, was emphasizing that Officers need to realize that we must be objective and open-minded when judging human behavior. She wanted us to realize that issues around “sick” and “normal” behavior must be addressed cautiously; that we must not “jump to conclusions.”
“For example,” she said, “when I was a little girl I once gathered up some baby ducks, then I buried them up to their necks, and then I ran a lawn mower over them. Now, who can say that was sick?”
No one said a word. My God, this woman was working with children!
HAPPY NEW YEAR
Johnny Moore was a tall, muscular, seventeen-year old Black kid whose wide, toothy grin seemed to never go away. The son of a sharecropping family south of Cordova City, Johnny had barely graduated from the eighth grade. A Psychological evaluated his intelligence as “dull-normal”. He was an affable, easy-going young man. He loved to joke around and always addressed me, even in Court, as “Nee Mann.”
Johnny loved cars. He never owned a car, nor did he possess a driver’s license. Nevertheless, on a number of occasions Police Officers would discover him behind the wheel of someone’s car. Of course, it was always without “someone’s” knowledge or consent.
It was never shown that Johnny ever actually stole a car. He would “obtain”
them usually from car thieves who either tired of the car or believed the car
was too “hot” to continue to drive. Johnny didn’t seem to mind about the car’s history, he just wanted to drive.
Johnny was on Probation, and on my Probation Caseload.
During the autumn of 1970, Johnny began to disappear from home and farm for several days at a time. His mother would call me each time and after several such disappearances and reappearances I finally confronted Johnny at his home. When I inquired as to his whereabouts and activities while gone he gave me his usual side grin and said:
“Shit, Nee Mann, ain’t no need for you to get mad, I din’t do no dope or nothing.”
Okay, no problem, he was just “out somewhere” with “friends.” His mother and I were worried, but Johnny saw “no problem.”
How many hundreds of times have I heard a parent or a counselor say to
one of my probationers, “Well, if Billy jumped off a bridge would you jump too?” In fact, in the cases of large numbers of my probationers, they would actually jump, too. Johnny Moore was absolutely one of those kids.
It came to pass that during early December 1970, a very intoxicated Johnny Moore was arrested and detained. The following morning, a very sick and tearful Johnny sat in the holding cell and told me he could not remember where he had been, that he had been with “just a bunch a Indians with cases of beer.” It did come to pass that the highway patrol found him lying, passed out, in the middle of a highway, at 2 A.M.
Johnny had a long history with the Juvenile Justice System and it was clear at his arraignment hearing that the system had come to the end of the line with him. The Court ordered that he remain a resident in our Detention Facility. His sentencing was set for mid-January, 1971. I had no doubt as to
what the Judge expected me to recommend: commitment to the State Department of Corrections. Johnny and his parents appeared to accept the young man’s likely fate at sentencing as inevitable.
When, each morning through the month of December 1970 I visited Johnny, he was in good spirits. He seemed to have no grasp as to what his likely living conditions were to be from January, 1971, and probably up to his twenty-first birthday. He had his “three hot’s and a cot,” and he was happy.
New Year’s Eve, 1970 was one of those holidays when I should have gone out, partied, and spent overnight at a friend’s house. However, I did not. For reasons I do not recall, I read, drank a few tumblers of scotch on the rocks and went to bed. Then, shortly after Midnight at 1 A.M., January 1st 1971, I was wide-awake, dressed, and driving in my ‘63 Bug to the Juvenile Detention Facility.
I had been awakened by my telephone, which was, I knew right away, heralding Bad News (have you ever received Good News from a middle-of-
the-night call?). The familiar voice of my first Supervisor, now the Department’s new Assistant Chief, cheerily bade me a good morning, then told me:
“You have to come down to Juvenile Detention!”
I replied, “well, Happy New Year to you, too,”
“No kidding, Kurt, Johnny Moore is your kid, right?”
“Yes, so…?”
“He’s one of the ringleaders in a riot down there. The inmates have both cellblocks barricaded. They’ve started some fires. You have to go down there and talk to Johnny.”
Would a veteran Juvenile Probation Officer reply to the Assistant Chief, “oh hell yes, I’ll be right down there and jump right into the middle of a Detention riot at 1 A.M.?” Gimme a break! However, I was no veteran P.O.; I was a Rookie who, only a short time earlier, had been a Marine, following orders without question in the field. So, “Semper Fi,” I went to the Juvenile Detention Facility.
At 1:30 A.M., I drove into the Detention Facility parking lot. It appeared to also be the official parking lot for the Sheriff’s Office, the Cordova City Police and the State Troopers. I exited my Bug, walked past a platoon of Officers wearing riot gear and greeted the man who had awakened me and asked me to join the party.
The Assistant Chief said: “Okay, Kurt, here’s the deal: The inmates have calmed down a little, but all the cellblock lights are out and there’s some stuff on fire. The cellblocks are barricaded. We need you to go in there and bring Johnny Moore out.”
I replied “See you in a little bit,” and entered the Detention Facility through the steel main doors. Just like that. Not a thought in my mind. Not a brain in my head.
The Detention Facility had been built during the Great Depression. It was square in shape and, like the 19th century forts you see in Indian war movies, the center was an open area (it was called “the patio”). Cellblock one was
Located along the East wall. Cellblock two was along the South wall. The mess area and Nurses’ office were together (conveniently?) on the West wall, and the North wall contained administrative offices and the holding cell. On the roof, all the way around the Facility, was a six-foot chain link fence topped with barbed wire.
I walked from the North side, across “The Patio”, toward the entrance to the cellblock, which on the outside made up the East wall. I could see a few small fires and there was a stench that would make a Rhino gag. There, at the doorway, barricaded by mattresses, stood Johnny Moore, a huge grin on his face. Johnny shouted:
“Hey, Nee Mann, Happy New Year!”
At this time, all the other inmates were silent. They were watching me. I imagined they were thinking, ”What kind of idiot would come in here without a gun and a cop escort?
The cellblock appeared as though it had been bombed. All the beds were overturned, the plumbing ripped out, everything electrical torn out of the ceiling and off the walls.