From Jail To Prison, I Made A Difference By Doing My Job.

From pretrial detention to the maximum-security prisons I've been making a difference in the world for nearly twenty-five years.

I chose to take early retirement after twenty-three years working in corrections as an officer. Putting on a badge meant something to me, then it didn't anymore. I could tell many stores, some sounding like tall tales even though I lived them. I would never have imagined seeing the things I have seen, nor doing the things I have done. But, every so often, there would be that moment that meant more to the world. I loved my last job because of this, and it’s the part of my current job that excites me the most. Ultimately, at my last job, it was my downfall. Like Harvey Dent said in the Dark Night, you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the bad guy. I didn't want to be the bad guy, and dying a hero meant not being around for my family.

I remember one night, it was just after three in the morning. We were alerted to an inmate's medical request, and things were about to become complicated. After seeing a lot in my life already, there were just certain things that I knew. I don't know how I know some of them, because I'm not educated in much and certainly lacked in the experiences to explain. But, I always followed my gut, and it seldom leads me astray.

"Control, send us an ambulance and paramedics," I ordered via the radio.

I looked to my second, my most trusted guy at the time, and asked him to get a car ready. I was sending this girl to the hospital. My gut said it would be a while. As it turned out, I was right. I'm often reminded of this story, as I run into her and her family. I've probably met them all by now. I'm talking about the ones that I haven't met in a professional capacity. When you live in a small town and you do a job like the one I did, you're bound to face the results of your decisions and the people those decisions affected. In this case, to them, I'll always be the guy that, "saved my daughters' life."

I've saved many lives, even though I spent more time working in jail than on the streets. Over time I've come to know these people as more than just an arrest. They are fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, and lifelong friends of our neighbors, and even ourselves. I've met the wives of men at the end of their ropes. They tell tales about how I went out of my way to talk them down and convince them that they had a reason to get home. The families of those that were sick and needy have hugged me for keeping their loved ones safe from harm.

I said that I left this job. I couldn't see the mission any longer. When the people that run the show care less about people and their lives than they do numbers it became an untenable situation. Yet, I was too young to stay retired, so what did I do?

People might say, "They're in jail and they don't deserve anything." Those magic boxes on the wall are the way they call home. They're as much for the mothers that miss their sons, hoping they learn their lessons and do better as they are for the men and women that need them. They mean as much to them, those six lifelines between a hundred guys, as seeing your spouse, taking your kids in your arms, or living your life does to you.

I realize how important the job really is when I show up to do a simple job and it's like Christmas has come. That lifeline is as much a part of their punishment as it is their salvation. Only hearing from their loved ones when they can get on the phone serves as a reminder of the sins they committed that are keeping them from home. After twenty-three years as a Deputy Sheriff, serving from a different perspective than I do today, I can honestly say that prison is not friendly, inviting, or welcoming place. But, when I show up, fixing a phone, both inmates and staff greet me with a smile.

The phones keep the peace when they're working. Staff all know that they are a blessing and a curse. When inmates fight because the phones are out of order, it places people in danger over what is usually an easy fix. It places staff, just doing their job, in the worst danger of all. They're just there to handle problems, still adversaries in many prisoners' eyes.

So, as it turns out, twenty-three years in corrections was just a start. Whether it's the lives I have saved back then or the days I now help keep inmates connected to their loved ones, I've somehow always made a difference to the people in the world. I've stood toe to toe with the hardest, meanest, and most dangerous that people can imagine. After nearly twenty-five years in and around corrections, I've made a difference in the world by making sure everybody that could go, went home, and now I do the same by making sure that while they wait they can still call...mom?