The Big House Read online

  Yet as the final plans were being set, the caseworker confided to me that because he couldn’t locate where the victim’s body had been taken after the shooting, he was having difficulty finding when and where the funeral was to take place. We investigated further and discovered there hadn’t been a shooting at all that day, not even a grocery-store robbery. Something was wrong.

  I had the inmate brought to a private room and confronted him. His grief, tears, and emotional distress dissolved. The slain sister was alive and well. He had made up the whole story. I grilled him on his motives, and surprisingly, he was happy to confess the truth. He told me he was bored and wanted something to do. He had enjoyed his acting role and the compassion the staff offered him. He liked controlling us and secretly laughed at the work we went through trying to set up a visit to a funeral that didn’t exist. He wanted to have some fun for a couple of days at our expense. Now he was basking in the glory of making us jump through hoops and felt no remorse for his actions.

  For me and my staff, the whole event was disheartening, the inmate’s motives demented. And yet-inside institutional walls, behind the rolls of razor ribbon, the cons and cunning, the lies and deceptions, and the never-ending games inmates play-it was all part of a normal workday.

  The Most Secure Prison on Earth

  At the dawn of the 1970s, American prisons were hellish institutions and prisoners were ready for revolt.

  Conditions were deplorable and inmates’ rights neglected. It all erupted on September 13, 1971, at New York’s Attica prison when an insurrection broke out. Inmates took control of the prison’s D Yard and held staff members hostage for four long days. Finally, Governor Nelson A. Rockefeller decided enough was enough. He ordered in a military assault, sending a helicopter to drop tear gas on the prisoners. Then, one thousand state troopers stormed the yard, firing indiscriminately on the unarmed prisoners. In the end, thirty-nine lay dead, nine of them hostages.

  The Attica revolt awakened the United States to prison issues long simmering on the edge of open violence. The country was soon torn between inmates’ rights and a call for a tough hand to regain order.

  The mood in Minnesota’s state prison at Stillwater was similarly dangerous. In 1953, a major riot started in Stillwater prison protesting conditions and rules. The riot became so vociferous that residents in the nearby town of Bayport reportedly could hear the inmates shouting. In 1960, prisoners revolted again and had to be forced back into their cells at bayonet point by 150 guards. Later that year, another uprising was quelled with tear gas.

  A dramatic escape attempt was foiled in 1970. Three Stillwater officers were taken hostage by inmates, who dressed in their uniforms and attempted to walk out the gates. At the same time, other inmates tried to cut through bars but were halted when the warden fired a shotgun blast into their cellblock. Later that year, another uprising was stopped by officers using shotguns and tear gas. In 1971, a deranged inmate stabbed the warden several times. Disturbances recurred during 1972, 1973, 1974, and 1975, prompting the Minnesota State Legislature to investigate conditions at the state prison.

  In 1976, Frank W. Wood was made warden at Stillwater. He decided it was time for staff to retake control of the prison and run it in a safe, secure, and most importantly, humane manner. Wood began unannounced cellblock searches, confiscating a growing pile of weapons and contraband from the inmates. In the end, officers hauled several truckloads of contraband out of Stillwater.

  Wood started as a prison officer in the late 1950s at Stillwater and worked his way through the ranks to eventually head the Minnesota Jail Inspection and Enforcement Unit. From this post, he was appointed Stillwater warden, and he immediately began his campaign of turning a troubled facility into one of the nation’s best prisons. It was Wood’s vision that laid the foundation for the Minnesota Correctional Facility-Oak Park Heights supermax prison that opened under his command in 1982.

  Inmates incarcerated at Oak Park Heights have dangerous histories and are classified as high risk. In addition to housing Minnesota’s most dangerous offenders, Oak Park Heights also holds maximum-custody inmates from other states and the Federal Bureau of Prisons. For more than twenty years, Oak Park Heights has had the largest contract in the nation to house federal prisoners, bringing more than $50 million dollars of income to Minnesota in the past two decades. Offenders transferred here by the Federal Bureau of Prisons didn’t just write bad checks or steal cars. Rather, they are individuals with long violent histories who have usually spent years in supermax isolation.

  On a cloudless day, sunlight sparkles off the massive walls of razor ribbon and double layers of sensor-controlled cyclone fencing surrounding the Oak Park Heights prison’s 160 acres.

  Several of the living units are built into the hillside with roofs at ground level. An eight-acre plot cut out of the middle of the adjoining walls makes up the secure recreation yard.

  The secure recreation yard—a desolate place in wintertime.

  A sweat lodge built by Native American inmates within the secure recreation yard.

  You can best view the Oak Park Heights facility from the air. Flying above the St. Croix River Valley, you look down on the rolling prairie grasslands leading up to the wide swathe the river cuts into the hillsides. Nestled into these hills is Oak Park Heights prison, constructed largely below ground in an earth-sheltered facility.

  Entering the prison from the main road to the west, you may initially think you’ve taken a wrong turn to the administration building of a school or headquarters of a corporation. Even within the front lobby there are no indicators you have entered a supermax correctional facility.

  Only after you pass through the secure perimeter and travel downward four levels below ground do you realize you’re in a place where the most dangerous humans on earth live. The first clues come at four separate security doors that have to be opened by an officer in the Master Control Center. The security clearance, hum of electronic sliding doors, and loud bang of door locks opening and closing let you know you are entering the strange world of prison. An instructor in our education unit once told me that to reach his classroom, a correctional officer had to open eight separate doors. No wonder I often stand by doors at home waiting for someone to open them for me.

  There are two sets of corridors within the prison: one for staff alone and one shared between staff and inmates. The shared corridor surrounds the facility. The tiled floor is spotless, buffed to a magnificent shine. The walls are gray-painted concrete. As you walk the giant circle around the prison, the path seems endless. The walk can be long, quiet, and lonely.

  An inmate’s cell measures seven by ten feet. Just a few footsteps will take you from wall to wall, corner to corner.

  This is the limit of an inmate’s freedom.

  Each cell has one rectangular window. This window is tall and thin, and designed to be too narrow to escape through—should an inmate first be able to break the reinforced glass and squeeze around the steel-reinforced cement mullions.

  A cell is a room with a view, but the window looks out into the prison’s enclosed central yard tucked inside the walls, solidifying the concept that breaking out of a cell would be breaking deeper into the prison.

  The marked area is the sole space within their cell that inmates are allowed to affix pictures or posters.

  The toilet is in a corner. It’s made of steel so it cannot be broken. It also lacks a seat—which could be broken off and used as a weapon.

  An officer monitors the prison’s sensors, video cameras, and audio surveillance from the main control center.

  The cellblocks are rarely peaceful. During the day, there is the sound of banging doors and clicking locks. Even in the dark, the noise often continues. Sometimes yelling, screaming, and swearing echo down the halls throughout the night.

  View of a two-story cellblock, with cell doors at right.

  Cleanliness is a high priority at Oak Park Heights. The prison today is as clean and well kept as t
he day it opened. That physical appearance sets the tone for everything else within, establishing an internal pride among the staff that is contagious to all of the prison’s operations and expectations.

  I’ve had the opportunity to visit numerous prisons across the country, many of which were poorly run. The quality of the prison operation was always in direct correlation to the cleanliness inside and outside the facility. Some years ago, I visited a prison in Missouri that was filthy throughout and obviously dreadfully managed. The staff looked and acted unprofessional and seemed to have only tenuous control over the inmates. Cellblocks and cells were unkempt, and a prevailing attitude of hostility existed in most areas. I couldn’t wait to get outside and breathe free air. It was not a safe institution and, in my opinion, a scary place to live in, work in, or even visit. On another occasion I toured a relatively new institution in Nevada. It was an unpleasant experience in a poorly managed facility. In the Segregation Unit, I found garbage had been stacked up outside cells, then thrown and strewn about the unit. The floors were filthy, the walls and railings going up to the upper tier of cells marred and scratched. Everywhere the mood was volatile. Inmates were banging on their doors, threatening guards. The prison had taken on the character of its appearance.

  That the appearance of a prison tells something about its character is usually true for well run, safe institutions too. They are generally clean and organized. There is no excuse for anything short of absolute cleanliness, polish, and professionalism. It is critical. Oak Park Heights set the model and has managed it to perfection.

  Over the years, I have heard complaints from the public that the prison is too comfortable and clean for inmates. People ask, Why do killers, rapists, robbers, and sex offenders get to live in such a pleasant, well-groomed surrounding? It doesn’t seem right, they imply. Without even getting into the treatment of inmates, I wonder if the public actually expected the state to construct a $31.8-million prison and then let it fall into ruin.

  More importantly, the cleanliness at Oak Parks Heights reflects the prison’s philosophy. It all starts with how people are treated. Minnesota’s corrections philosophy begins with the understanding that an offender’s punishment is being in prison; it’s not the responsibility of prison staff to continue the punishment beyond incarceration. This concept forms the foundation of the operating principles, creating a positive environment from the beginning.

  A number of corrections officials from other states and many foreign countries have visited and toured Oak Park Heights since it opened in 1982. The impressive physical plant, unique earth-sheltered complex, and high-tech security are attractions, but most of the attention is focused on the incentive-based programming. Allowing high-risk inmates out of their cells for most of the day is not the norm for operating prisons.

  Most maximum-security and supermax prisons isolate all offenders in their cells twenty-three hours a day. The prison’s mission then demands little, if any, programming. The daily hour when inmates are out of confinement is usually spent in an enclosed and secure area, isolated again from human contact. Interaction with staff or other inmates is rare.

  Offenders classified to this custody level are determined to be too dangerous to be out of their cells for any length of time, and therefore, total control and solitary confinement is believed to be the sole solution. This may be true for certain offenders, but not for an entire prison population. Even for the few who have shown they must be securely confined, incentives must be in place to reward positive behavior.

  During the past decade, entire supermax isolation prisons have been built across the United States housing hundreds–and in some states, thousands–of inmates. The “supermax” label identifies facilities housing the worst of the worst in total and complete isolation.

  This philosophy cares little for an inmate’s eventual release back into the community. After long-term confinement and the loss of hope for offenders controlled under these conditions, mental deterioration is almost assured. The supermax total-isolation concept maintains security to the highest degree, but is it the humane way to treat people? And most importantly, does it provide the rehabilitation necessary for the majority of offenders who will someday be released to the community? Would you want someone living for months or years in these conditions to be released someday to live next door to you? Would you want to stand in line next to them in a grocery store or sit next to them in a movie theater?

  I know I wouldn’t.

  Of course to have any credibility, there has to be a track record to support Oak Park Heights’s unique corrections philosophy. To review a prison’s history, there are six identifiable aspects of daily life that can be evaluated: the number of homicides that have taken place in the prison, number of escapes, use of drugs, presence of weapons, active role of gangs, and, finally, is it safe to walk through any area of the prison with inmates present?

  Oak Park Heights’s grades are unmatched.

  In more than twenty years of operation, there has never been a homicide at Oak Park Heights.

  In more than twenty years of operation, there has never been an escape.

  Drugs are generally prevalent in prisons, but at Oak Park Heights they are infrequent at best. It takes committed staff to control their use through regular searches and proper security procedures. Urinalysis testing is done regularly, and there have been periods where testing has gone for as long as two years without drugs being present. This is unheard of in most prisons.

  Homemade weapons, so common in most prisons, are rarely found at Oak Park Heights and not likely to be used in combative occurrences among the inmates. Most of the disagreements involve yelling and occasionally punches. Since weapons must be prevented from being made or confiscated immediately, strong policies and procedures requiring routine and surprise searches of inmates and their living, working, education, and recreation areas are essential. Oak Park Heights staff have practiced and performed their mission to perfection. Although weapons do appear from time to time–as with the football-game stabbing–it is the exception rather than the rule.

  Numerous local gang members as well as established gang leaders reside in the prison. Yet on a daily basis, gang activity is not a major issue. Organized efforts by leaders to use their power and intimidation is rigorously controlled.

  The last question, which is directly connected to the other aspects of a well-run prison, is whether it is safe to walk around the prison. The climate at Oak Park Heights is generally comfortable and friendly. Workers, administrators, community organizations, professional groups, college classes, and the general public have toured and walked through virtually every area of the prison without discomfort or alarm. Although the potential for disruption always exists, Oak Park Heights is one of the safest prisons ever built.

  This environment wasn’t created by luck or accident. It began in 1982 with the prison’s opening under the leadership of Warden Frank Wood. He established the underlying philosophy of how this prison was going to operate–and not just for those who worked and lived at the facility, but for those in the community who would someday face the offenders when they were released.

  Wood was the best prison administrator and warden I have known. He could have become the successful CEO of any corporation or, without even knowing the intricate details of the game of football, been a winning coach. He would analyze and study any situation, prepare for any event, leave no detail unattended, and find a way to win. I know I wouldn’t have bet against him. He operated a prison that way, and it has paid the state dividends for years.

  Recognizing Minnesota would need such a prison in its future, Wood spent years conceiving this unique facility. He was integral in every aspect of the planning, organization, and design. Yet his most significant contributions came in overseeing the operational aspects of the prison. As he stated, “Prisons do not run safely by accident, they run safely by design.” Oak Park Heights became world famous for its design. The philosophy, foundation, and preparation
for that blueprint was put in place and then carefully executed and monitored by Wood. In 1992, he was promoted to Deputy Commissioner of Institutions and put his imprint on all Minnesota prisons. This imprint remains and is a model throughout the nation and world.

  Through the years, Oak Park Heights has provided an opportunity for inmates to change the behavior that got them there. Wood’s articulated goal was to create an environment conducive to rehabilitation for those offenders who are inclined to want to make a change in their lives. This fundamental concept underlies incentive-based programming, where bad behavior brings consequences and good behavior brings rewards. For all inmates, Oak Park Heights offers a fresh start, an opportunity to live a different way predicated on their behavior.

  Yet it is important not to confuse dignity, respect, programming, and decency with weakness and loss of control. Inmates do not control anything inside the walls. Everything is structured in accordance with strict policy and procedure. This harmonizes in creating a safe, secure, and humane environment for inmates and staff.