TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/030590/03051011.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 6.0 KB | 128 lines

                                                                                NATION, Page 18

The Sheriff Strikes Back


Instead of freeing dangerous prisoners to ease overcrowding, a
Massachusetts lawman seizes a National Guard armory

By ROBERT AJEMIAN


    It was an act that brought a flush of pride to beleaguered
lawmen across the country. In western Massachusetts, Michael
Ashe, for 15 years sheriff of Hampden County, decided to
challenge at last a prison system that had failed him. His
overcrowded county jail, built in 1887 to hold 279 prisoners,
bulged with 450. Frustrated judges in Springfield, Mass., were
forced to stay sentences for convicted criminals because there
was simply no place to lock them up. A new phrase cropped up
for the judicial impasse: convicted without correctional space.
Last month 30 offenders walked free from Springfield
courtrooms after being convicted of such serious crimes as drug
possession and assault.

    Last week Sheriff Ashe, an unassuming, gravel-voiced man
with a reputation for using common sense, decided to strike
back. If authorities were too immobilized to find more space
for inmates, Ashe would do so himself. The sheriff had a place
in mind: the huge Springfield Armory, six miles from the county
lockup. It was, after all, an institution that stood for public
peace.

    With a posse of 17 armed deputies huddled inside a prison
paddy wagon, Ashe pulled up at the front door of the armory.
While the deputies sealed the exits, Ashe strode inside to
claim the building from astonished National Guardsmen. "As of
this moment," he declared to the military commanders on duty,
"I'm seizing this building as a temporary correctional
facility. We want to coexist with you here." His authority, Ashe
explained, was the eminent power of a sheriff to maintain
peace and order, now to his mind dangerously threatened. Meekly
the military officers surrendered. One of them telephoned the
state attorney general. "The sheriff is here in force," he
reported.

    Swiftly, Ashe commandeered one corner of the armory's huge
drill hall. Jeeps and trucks were moved outside. Ten
double-deck steel beds were erected on the concrete floor. Two
television sets and a Ping-Pong table were set up. Guards were
stationed around the clock. The cafeteria would be used for
meals as well as receiving prison visitors. Now, his coup
complete, Ashe transferred 15 minimum-security prisoners from
Hampden jail. In one lightning raid, Ashe did something to
reverse the system's paralysis. Law-enforcement officials
cheered. Who knew what radical strategies might erupt
elsewhere?

    While Ashe's bold stroke promised only a temporary respite,
some equally aggressive national action is needed to cope with
the constantly increasing flow of new inmates. Since 1975, U.S.
prisons have witnessed their greatest population explosion
ever. Roughly 1 million offernders are incarcerated in jails
and penitentiaries. The boom is fueled by tough
mandatory-sentencing laws passed by 46 states and the Federal
Government. But with more offenders now going to prison,
facilities in 37 states are so overstuffed that judges have put
a lid on the numbers that can be housed in existing lockups.
Fourteen states have laws regulating which prisoners qualify
for early release to make room for new arrivals.

    The red brick Hampden jail is a microcosm of the nation's
correctional crisis. Constructed when Grover Cleveland was
President, it handles offenders with sentences of up to 30
months, many of them for violent crimes. For years
Massachusetts prisons have been among the most overcrowded in
the country, recently housing 15,000 inmates in space built for
10,000. New facilities lag far behind demand. In 1989 alone,
the number of Massachusetts inmates increased by 820. Simply to
stay even, the state would have to construct a new large
facility every year, an impossible objective. Since 1983
Massachusetts has committed $1 billion to new prison
construction.

    Furthermore, new jails stir vast public resentment.
"Everyone wants more prisons," says Ashe, "but always somewhere
else." Four years ago, Massachusetts sited a new prison near
the village of New Braintree (pop. 900). Townspeople rose up
vehemently against the plan, but Governor Michael Dukakis stuck
to his guns.

    In Hampden County distraught officials decided in 1988 to
adopt emergency release practices. Jailers like Michael Ashe
were not enthusiastic. Criminals' walking free so early, Ashe
believed, undermined prison management. "This is not the Vienna
Choir Boys," he often complained to judges. Highly regarded for
his frank and even manner, Ashe is a former social worker who
has instituted reforms such as drug programs and data reporting
at Hampden. Inside the prison, early release was mockingly
referred to as "unearned good time," as opposed to the
traditional time off earned for good behavior. Street criminals
figured that the odds had shifted their way. Prison authorities
strove to deny release for high-risk offenders, such as rapists
and drug traffickers. Says Ashe: "We tried to cope with a
distorted process."

    As the number of inmates continued to grow, Ashe and his
staff struggled to balance the flow of new arrivals and early
releases. But by the end of 1989, balancing the count had
become a daily terror. "A lot of mornings," says Ashe, "we'd
let one out and take one in."

    Finally, in the middle of February, the juggling act between
judges and jail collapsed. Having run out of prisoners who
qualified for early release, Ashe refused admission to a man
found guilty of gun theft. The angry district judge retaliated
by detaining two of Ashe's deputies. Though a space for the
prisoner later opened up in the county jail, Ashe told himself
he had to stand up. Whether state courts will uphold his coup
remains to be seen. But for the moment, Ashe had seized the
better option available: take over the armory, instead of
watching even more dangerous criminals go free.