By Angela Brandt
The Montana Standard
DEER LODGE — Greg Frazer is a correctional officer at Montana State Prison, but sometimes it feels like he’s the one doing time.
The prison is woefully understaffed and has at least 50 openings. Guards have been working mandatory overtime shifts for more than five months, the longest stretch in the staff’s memory. Some posts that require three officers at a time are now staffed by only two.
The 300 guards left oversee 1,450 inmates inside the prison’s three main complexes. Said one guard: “It’s not safe.”
And correctional officers have little hope the situation will improve soon. Low pay, dangerous conditions and a sometimes long commute to the 68-acre compound make it difficult to attract new guards, especially when most can make more money at county jails or in the oil and gas fields.
“There are very dangerous and unsafe things we have to do,” Warden Leroy Kirkegard said.
“They’re tired. This is not a good place to be tired. It gets unsafe.”
Doing time
The prison houses some of the state’s most dangerous criminals inside its maximum security unit, where tattooed and shirtless men pace back and forth in their cells under an overwhelming stench of urine. Inmates in cuffs, belly chains and leg restraints shuffle the halls, escorted by two guards required to maintain “hands-on” contact at all times. In other parts of the prison, elderly men slump in wheelchairs. Baby-faced teens shoot nervous glances.
It’s here on a day earlier this month that Frazer strolled the complex in the middle of back-to-back 16-hour shifts. He started at the prison nine years ago, when it was suffering another serious staffing shortage.
“We’re all here to do time, essentially,” Frazer said. “It definitely takes its toll.”
The pay then was about $10.25 an hour. It’s risen to $13.15 for new guards, but the prison still offers the lowest pay rates for correctional officers in the region. A recent survey of similar jobs found nearly 100 positions with higher wages, said Cynthia Davenport, the prison’s human resources manager.
The prison has tried open houses to tout the job’s state employee benefits and 20-year retirement plan with hopes that if potential applicants can see the grounds and chat with officers, their perception might change. The last one yielded just one applicant, who didn’t stay.
“We continue to look at other means of getting this message out,” Davenport said, adding word of mouth and newspaper ads have been the most fruitful.
Long shifts at undesirable hours and working weekends are massive turnoffs for many applicants. Officers who leave often cite lack of available training due to the shortage as one of their reasons.
For others, like Frazer, it’s a job worth hanging onto.
“It’s a good chance to make an honest living,” he said. “It makes for a pretty decent job. I like it.”
‘A critical juncture’
Kirkegard took over as warden about two and a half years ago when the prison was short 27 correctional officers. In July, he sent a memo to staff saying the prison was at “a critical juncture.” He listed several temporary changes the agency planned to make and others it was considering, but the prison declined to release it citing safety issues.
“Some of these solutions will not be popular with staff, but as the warden of the Montana State Prison, I have to make these adjustments to protect our staff and ensure we continue to operate an effective and safe facility,” Kirkegard wrote.
Kirkegard now meets with the guards’ union officials once a week. He said the latest recommendation to bring in non-union workers for some of the shifts was shot down by union members.
MEA-MFT President Eric Feaver told reporters last month the changes are subject to negotiations and he would rather not bargain in the press, but he added that prison work is difficult and the starting pay of $13.15 an hour “does not reflect the rigor of the working conditions.”
Meanwhile, the prison has cut visitation hours and time for recreation and religious services, moves that riled many of the inmates.
Correctional officers and prisoners alike are clearly wary. The inmates have 24 hours, seven days a week, to figure out how to manipulate the situation and try to take advantage, the warden points out. The average stay for inmates is 24.7 months.
“Thankfully nothing has happened,” said Frazer, the correctional officer. “We’re doing our best to make sure it doesn’t.”
Working with inmates
Amie Daniels is a case worker tasked with helping 165 inmates rehabilitate and reintegrate. All but about 5 percent of the prison’s current population will end up back in the community.
The same day Frazer was working back-to-back shifts, she was dealing with an inmate who’d tattooed his face, a violation of prison rules, and was being written up for an alleged assault.
Daniels, who previously worked with children and sometimes likens them to the inmates, also has to discipline convicts when they act out.
Some are disrespectful, but most are pleasant with her as she walks the grounds. Daniels and the majority of the other dozen case workers also fill in as security sergeants when needed, which she says is often these days.
Hopes are dashed. But, it’s the inmates who come through that keep the staff going.
“A lot of people just view them as inmates. You’re helping people,” she said. “If you can make a difference in one inmate’s life where they don’t re-offend, that’s potential victims that aren’t happening.
No easy solutions
Besides the staffing shortage, prison guards are grappling with an inmate population increasingly suffering from mental illness or who have ties to violent gangs, said Mike Batista, director of the Montana Department of Corrections, the agency that oversees the prison.
“The challenges are greater – we recognize that,” Batista said.
Couple those problems with the prison’s remote location, about 3.5 miles from Deer Lodge, a town of only 3,000 people to draw potential workers. Prison staff commute from as far as Missoula and Kalispell. Officials estimate about a third live in the Deer Lodge valley, a third in Anaconda and a third in Butte.
“It’s tough on them, Batista said. “It can present dangerous situations on the highway.”
During every session of the Montana Legislature, Kirkegard invites lawmakers to visit the prison. He doesn’t get many takers.
“I allow anyone in the public to tour and see,” he added. “The public doesn’t understand and quite frankly doesn’t appreciate what my staff does.”
Rep. Steve Gibson, R-East Helena, is a former juvenile corrections officer and was chairman of the Judicial Branch, Law Enforcement and Justice Joint Appropriations subcommittee last session.
“The salary is an issue,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll be dealing with that.”
But wages, he said, are just part of the equation.
“I know it’s a tough deal,” he said. “I don’t think there are any easy answers.”
Taking a cue from what has been done in the eastern part of the state near the Bakken oil fields, Gibson suggested either offering employee housing or an allowance for such.
In the meantime, prison officials have considered reaching out to retired corrections workers to see if they’ll take on part-time shifts. Kirkegard has asked his managers to re-assign employees and re-evaluate operations. And workers like Frazer and Daniels keep working extra shifts, hoping their bosses, the unions and the politicians can figure something out.
“The staff that is here still, they just keep going,” said Daniels, the case worker. “We do have a lot of great officers who want to be here.”
By the numbers
353, Number of correctional officer spots
50, Number of officer positions vacant — about 14 percent
1,450, Average number of inmates
$13.15, Starting wage for a corrections officer
653, Total prison staff