#minimum security

Minimum Security Florida DOC Inmates

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“At 12:15, the emergency siren sounded, signaling inmates to lock up immediately. However, the guards, instead of ushering the inmates back to their cells, simply left the complex, apparently to aid in controlling the situation in Central Complex. The Michigan Correctional Officers’ Union later claimed that management had given them the "unusual" order to abandon their posts; a DOC official stated that they had asked to leave their posts and were given permission.

In any event, the Northside inmates found themselves suddenly in control of their complex, having done nothing to take it. Since Northside was sealed off from the Central Complex, there were in effect two riots going on at the same time, each requiring its own response by prison authorities. 

Many inmates reported that their first reaction was confusion:

It was chaotic. I seen police [i.e., guards] (laughter) running out. No one assaulted or threatened the guards as they left. People were grabbing weapons—knives, pipes, everything. So I picked me up a club because I didn't know what they [the other inmates] were thinking. Don't nobody. Everybody was paranoid; people milling around.

Inmates armed themselves mainly for self-protection rather than for aggression against guards or other inmates. As in the Central Complex, the next thing was to loot the stores and kitchen. "Everyone took part in it," said one inmate, "because it wasn't really a riot"—that is, an organized action—"it was more of a looting spree. It wasn't never a riot because they had chances to get hostages, and hold them, and hurt them, but they didn't." Inmates grilled steaks and divided up cases of cigarettes.

Two modular units were set on fire; one was a regular housing unit and the other was being prepared for use as an office. Inmates also vandalized the school building, including the audio-visual equipment in it, and looted the inmate store. There were a few fights, but little racial antagonism.

Reporters and camera crews collected along the double chain-link fence separating the Northside yard from the main highway. Some inmates shouted out to the reporters, urging them to write that the "guards had started it" and that black and white inmates had not attacked each other. 

Others chanted, "Give us back our good time," and denounced L. Brooks Patterson.”

- Bert Useem and Peter Kimball, States of Siege: U.S. Prison Riots, 1971-1986. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991. p. 137.

“Prison sans barreaux,” Le Soleil. October 8, 1960. Perspectives Magazine, Vol. 2, No. 41. Pages 18-21. ---    Au Camp de pré-libération de Valleyfield, on fait confiance aux détenus et la porte reste ouverte --- Textes et photos d’Alain Stanké --- QUAND, en février 1959, les citoyens de Valleyfield ont appris que le ministère de la Justice allait ouvrir une “succursale" du pénitencier de Saint- Vincent-de-Paul dans leur ville, ils ont manifesté fort peu d’enthousiasme. Dans une industrie voisine de l’emplacement prévu, les femmes des employés ont prétendu que travailler dans les parages d'une prison — et sur ­tout d'une prison dont les portes resteraient ou ­vertes — était risqué, sinon dangereux. Voilà pourtant un an et demi qu’existe le Camp de pré-libération et il n’est pas encore survenu d’incidents fâcheux à cause d’un seul détenu! Cette “prison sans barreaux" était la première institution du genre au Canada. Devant le succès de l'expérience de Valleyfield, le ministère a organisé un autre camp du même genre à William’s Head, en Colombie britannique, et les autorités laissent entendre que d’autres camps analogues seront bientôt inaugurés à travers le pays. Autour de celui de Valleyfield. il y a une clô­ture, qui ne sert cependant qu’à éloigner les visi­teurs importuns, assure M. Michel LeCorre, l’instigateur de la création du camp. Aucun garde ne la surveille. D’ailleurs, les gardes ne sont jamais armés dans l’enceinte du camp; les détenus n’ose­ raient pas violer le code d’honneur qu’ils ont accepté de respecter. Dès l’arrivée d’un nouveau pensionnaire, le directeur, M. René Lalonde, lui fait toujours re ­marquer que “au-dessus et au-dessous de la clôture, il y a du fil de fer barbelé. Si vous projetez de vous évader, empruntez donc de préférence la porte principale, qui est toujours ouverte. Ne ris ­ quez pas inutilement de déchirer vos vête­ments ...” A Valleyfield, la règle repose sur la confiance mutuelle. "Voilà le secret de notre succès,” note le major Grégoire Surprenant, assistant-directeur du pénitencier de Saint-Vincent-de-Paul. “On peut dire que plus de 95 p.c. de nos détenus ont bon coeur. Ils feraient l'impossible pour rendre service, à condition qu’on le leur demande. Malheureuse ­ment, personne dans leur vie ne leur avait jamais rien demandé . . .” "Dans notre camp, nous faisons confiance aux détenus. Une confiance entière. La chose est d’autant plus possible qu’ils sont peu nombreux: il n’y en a jamais plus de 100, que surveillent 50 gardes. C'est dans un climat de responsabilité et d'initiative per sonnelle que ces hommes préparent leur retour dans la société. Des 258 prisonniers sortis de ce camp, seulement 12 p.c. ont récidivé.” Il n'y a pas de cachot à Valleyfield et on n'y impose pas de sanction. Les détenus savent qu'une seule preuve d'indiscipline leur vaudra automatiquement l'unique châtiment: le retour au “pen” de Saint-Vincent-de-Paul. Ils sont d'ailleurs si fiers de la confiance qu'on met en eux qu'ils font tout leur possible pour prouver qu'ils la méritent. 

Depuis l'ouverture du camp, on n'a enregistré qu'une seule évasion. Capturé deux heures plus tard, le fuyard a sup­plié les autorités qu'on le ramène à Saint-Vincent-de-Paul. “Si je retournais auprès de mes compagnons de Valleyfield, ils me tueraient!" a-t-il expliqué. 

Cet homme avait trahi la confiante qu'on avait mise en lui. Il savait que ses compagnons de détention ne lui pardon ­neraient pas son geste. Son témoignage prouve bien l'existence d'une sorte d'entente tacite chez.les détenus. Les pensionnaires de Valleyfield sont choisis d'après la nature de leur infraction et de leur bonne conduite au péniten­cier. “Encore faut-il, ajoute le major Surprenant, que cette bonne conduite n'ait pas pour seul motif le désir d'être libérés au plus tôt afin de récidiver.”

Les détenus coupables de violences ou de tentatives d’évasion sont au ­ tomatiquement éliminés de la liste des candidats. Le prisonnier n’est d'ailleurs jugé digne du transfert que si l'aumônier, le médecin, le psychiatre, le psychologue, l’instituteur, le responsable des loisirs et les gardes ont remarqué chez lui une volonté sincère de se réhabiliter.

En général, au pénitencier, le détenu passe près de 17 heures par jour dans sa cellule, où il dort et prend ses repas. A sa libération, il trouve souvent difficile de se réadapter à un régime de vie normal. Il risque de ne plus pouvoir fournir une pleine journée de travail. Valleyfield sera donc pour lui une étape intermédiaire entre le bagne et la liberté. A Valleyfield, on prend ses repas en commun, on dort en commun dans un immense dortoir et on passe ses soirées en commun à des activités qui développent chez le prisonnier l'esprit d’initiative. Les autorités s’efforcent sur tout de le réhabituer au rythme de vie qu'il devra suivre, une fois libéré. 

Dès son arrivée au camp, il perd son numéro matricule. Il redevient un “homme”, que ses compagnons et les gardes n'appellent plus que par son nom propre. On l’occupe à des travaux divers: cueillette des légumes, préparation des repas, entretien des bâti ­ ments, réparation de boîtes postales pour le compte du ministère des Postes, fabrication de lits pour les prisons, rembourrage, couture ou réparation d’autos. Il n’y a jamais deux spécialistes d’un même métier, de sorte que les détenus sont forcés de manifester une plus grande initiative personnelle. Aux repas, on mange autant qu’on le désire, mais tous sont avertis que, s'ils s'empiffrent, la table sera moins bien garnie le len­ demain. 

Quand ils reçoivent des visiteurs (une fois par mois), les prisonniers ne se rendent pas dans une salle commune et parlent sans la surveillance d'un garde Ils se promènent, bras dessus bras dessous, avec leur femme dans le jardin du camp ou bavardent sur une banquette, à l’ombre d'un arbre.

Ici, pas de murs froids, pas d’odeur de renfermé. Par les fenêtres du dortoir, on entend chanter les oiseaux et, près de son lit. le détenu a une berceuse à sa disposition. Sur les murs, les plus habiles ont dessiné des animaux ou des paysages. Sur les tables de chevet, presque ou pas de photos de pin-up. Elles ont fait place aux portraits de la famille, de l’épouse, du bébé qui doit avoir tellement changé depuis . . .

Ici, pas de regards atones; pas d'hommes hagards, le visage rongé de haine; pas de mise débraillée. Les pensionnaires sont en bonne santé, souriants et sympathiques. Quand on les questionne sur leurs délits, ils ne répondent pas comme ceux du "pen”, qui vous ré pliquent, chaque fois; ‘‘Moi, c’est une erreur judiciaire ... ”

SYMPATHIQUE, ce Yvon P ......... devenu pâtissier du camp et qui sera libéré dans six mois. “ Moi, c'est idiot, dit-il, un peu gêné. Vous savez, les 25 autos américaines volées à Trois-Rivières? ... Eh bien, c’était moi." Et, le sourire aux lèvres, comme s'il se moquait un peu de lui-même, le jeune homme ajoute: “Mais c’est bel et bien fini, ces folies-là!” 

Sympathique aussi, ce “Lucky" L. . . . qui, malgré son prénom, n'a guère été chan ceux dans le passé. Il doit purger deux ans de  prison pour extorsion de fonds. Un gaillard costaud, une vraie armoire à glace! Pendant que les autres s'attablent, il relit la dernière lettre qu'il a reçue de sa femme. Aujourd'hui, il n'a pas faim et pour cause ... Il s’en va demain! Il a passé neuf mois à Valleyfield. C'est un homme nouveau. 

Lucky a fait un premier séjour derrière les barreaux, en 1946. pour avoir tué un matelot. “ Cetait plus ou moins de ma faute, avoue-t-il. Une sorte d'accident ... Je revenais de la guerre, on a bu et un gars m'a traité de "pigeon". Je lui ai flanqué un coup de poing et il est allé se fendre la tête sur le trottoir. A quatre heures du matin, la police  est venue me réveiller pour me dire qu’il était mort. On m'a libéré provisoirement, sous caution, mais, “pas fin", je n’ai pas comparu à mon procès et j'ai été automatiquement condamné à deux ans de prison.” 

— Y pensez-vous parfois à ce gars sur le trottoir? — Tu parles! Depuis, je suis l'homme le plus paisible du monde. Sympathique encore et attachant, ce détenu de 74 ans qui se plaint de maux d'estomac qu’on n'arrive pas à guérir, semble-t-il. “Ça se comprend, d'expliquer le major Surprenant. Il doit être libéré bientôt et la perspective du retour à la vie normale lui fait peur.” 

Notre vieux détenu a le trac. II fait partie de ceux qui ne veulent plus quitter la prison parce qu ’ ils se sentent trop vieux et trop seuls pour affronter de nouveau la vie incertaine d'un monde où il n'y a plus d'horaire et plus de gardes.   Photo captions: 1)  Voici rentrée principale du Camp de pré-libération de Valleyfield. La porte de l’immeuble de droite reste toujours ouverte, de même que ia grille d'entrée. L’homme au dehors est un pensionnaire qui rentre sans trop se faire prier.

2) Deux prisonniers réparent le fer d’une pioche, dans un atelier du camp, avec le même zèle qu’auraient des ouvriers libres.

3) M. Michel LeCorre a été l'instigateur et le premier directeur du nouveau camp.

4) Avec ses gravures et ses photos aux murs, le dortoir (à gauche) rappelle plutôt un collège qu'une prison. Les fenêtres ont des carreaux mais pas de barreaux! Si celles du réfectoire (à droite) sont si élevées, ce n’est pas pour décourager les évasions  mais pour mieux éclairer la salle.

“For Human Reclamation,” Victoria Daily Times. June 20, 1951. Editorial. --- Some measure of faith and a large measure of hope are contained in British Columbia’s latest plan to encourage the rehabilitation of a few young offenders committed to the Oakalla Prison Farm.

Under the scheme conceived by the province’s minister of lands and forests, E. T. Kenney, 11 boys or young men would be released to work for the forestry department, building fie protection roads and trails, and doing similar work. They would be paid a small wage and would be under the supervision of a counsellor. If they proved their worth and demonstrated their ability in reassume an honorable  place in society, they could, it is believe, be absorbed into forest industries.

The hope of the originators of the plan is that outdoor living and association with men who work in the woods will have a constructive influence on the young men under sentence. If it did nothing else, the plan would give them a favourable environment, furnish for them an opportunity to develop physically, and give them a chance to use their energies in a way which should not only be useful to society but which should help them to recapture their own self-respect.

The number that can be absorbed into such activity at the present time seems pitifully small. Yet if the scheme works, if those who participate in it justify the faith the authors have shown in them, it might be extended in years to come. It is not, of course, a full answer to the problem of reclamation. It does, however, present an optimistic and earnest approach to the question of correction, as opposed to punishment, in the operation of our penal institutions.

“Canada's forests are offering inmates of federal penitentiaries an opportunity to step out of their institutional environment. Trees for them point toward living again in a free society, and a job; their manpower contribution is plugging a gaping hole in a labor market crying for experienced help — they are woodcutters. 

The art of clearing a forest, felling trees and reforestration is being kept alive by men often publicly considered "nogooders." They come from five correctional camps and work-parties across Canada; in New Brunswick, Ontario, Saskatchewan, Alberta, and British Columbia. 

In the backwoods of New Brunswick the forest has become home to inmates on temporary parole. Since March of this year they've been running a mechanized pulpwood cutting operation and are paid the local union rate. It's their knowhow that's bolstering a dying trade. 

Dungarvon Forestry Camp, located 34 miles northwest of Newcastle, and 14 miles from its neighboring town of Blackville, is a CPS-run institution where inmates train as skilled woodsmen. The program, jointly funded by CPS and Canada Manpower, sponsored by the Moncton Jaycees, also creates employment for inmates during and after incarceration. 

Before learning how to fell a tree, handle a chainsaw and skidder, the inmate-woodcutters are given classroom instruction by a certified forestry technician in safety, first aid, and machine maintenance. 

Dungarvon acting director, Paul Swan said, "We call them employees, for they are fully employed. They're paid the local union rate, out of which room and board, unemployment insurance and workman's compensation are paid. They are also encouraged to send money to their families." 

At full capacity, the camp has 20 inmates — 15 employed in the woods, two cooks, a handyman, a mechanic, and a clerk. Eight CPS staff supervise. 

It's an early morning call for the woodcutters. Up at 5:30 the men don't have to be called twice; the air is already filled with an enticing breakfast aroma. Two inmate cooks set the day's pace. Starting at 4:30 they prepare a typical lumberjack breakfast of beans, eggs, fried meats, homefried potatos and pots of hot coffee. A heavy meal for a heavy day's work is their motto. 

It's usually a 15 minute drive to the worksite, where in all weathers, mud and dust, pestered by blackflies and mosquitoes in the summer, and snow, sleet, and frost in the winter, they cut trees and clear underbrush. 

Its a toughened group of woodsmen who return to the camp at the end of the day. Lingering over a meal is their recompense for a long day in the forest, before hitting the sack. An angler's dream, is the Dungarvon River, that runs close by their camp. Spring and early summer finds many a woodcutter landing a fine salmon or trout. 

Hazen Smith, former director of occupational and social development, CPS, now on the National Parole Board, visited the camp during its first month of operation. "Those men are terrifically motivated because they are making good money. You don't see that kind of interest and motivation inside institutions!" 

Dungarvon has won the approval of the Solicitor General. He referred to the camp as, "What rehabilitation is all about — training an inmate, restoring his faith in values, the value of his contribution to society, and preparing him to meet the responsibilities of society." 

A similar operation is underway at Nova Scotia's Springhill Institution, but with a difference. Scott Maritimes Pulp Limited offered a two-phase forest harvesting technician's course, with classroom instruction and on-the-job training. As for any other work outside a federal penal institution, inmates must qualify for parole before applying. During a 10 to 12 week training course at Springhill a Scott Maritimes instructor takes the trainees through a do and don't session. They graduate to a Scott woodlot, cutting pulpwood under the watchful eye of the instructor. 

Phase two of the program takes place at a company halfway house at Apple River, 60 miles from Springhill. While continuing the course as on-the-job training the men are paid at local union rates. Room and board and insurances are deducted. After successfully completing both training phases the men receive a forestry technician's certificate. 

In the western reaches of Canada where lush British Columbia forests provide a major industry, other correctional institutions and temporary work camps are involved in forestry work. Two are active now. Plans for three others are underway. Agassiz Correctional Camp and Ferndale Institution, located in the B. C. interior, have men constantly working in the forests. 

Norman Baker, director of forest camps, Regional Headquarters in Vancouver, described the forest camps as semi-permanent trailer units. "British Columbia is a garden of trees and lumbering is our major industry. So by comparing the woods to a vegetable garden, inmates weed the forest of brush and prune the trees." 

Agassiz Correctional Camp has used inmates as woodcutters for 14 years, and Ferndale Institution since 1973. And men from William Head on Vancouver Island have also been involved in many bush-clearing operations. 

For 69 inmates from B. C.'s correctional institutions, 1974 has been a chance to win parole and earn a regular wage. Working out of three temporary forestry camps, at Toba Inlet, Wakeman Sound, and at the head of Stave Lake, they earned $3.99 hourly grooming the forests. They paid room and board plus insurance. 

There were no weekends on the town for these inmate woodsmen. Isolated in the bush, they worked four weeks straight — returned to the institution for a week's breather, and started again. According to Norman Baker, CPS correctional forest projects are unusual; as in New Brunswick, the B. C. men are supervised only by a foreman, with no security staff. 

Mentally, the work gives a man a chance to assume responsibility and help support his family. It is also an opportunity to prove himself. How he fits into and copes with the program, Baker adds, will work in that man's favor when his parole consideration date comes due. "Physically, he gets a lot of exercise, and the community benefits." 

From the lavish growth of British Columbia's forests to the inland flat prairies of central Canada, and outward to the eastern coastline forests of New Brunswick, trees offer inmates an insight into a steady job and life back in the outside community. 

At Grierson Centre in Edmonton, 16 Indian residents are learning bush-clearing skills and chainsaw use while employed clearing the boundary lines of Elk Island National Park. They do similar work for Strathcona County and are paid the provincial minimum wage.

Program operations are credited to a LEAP grant, but getting the project underway was the work of the Neegan Society, a group of local people belonging to native organizations. The Centre's director, Doug Clark, says the program has proved successful. Recidivism has been literally chopped to 37 per cent. 

It hasn't been all smooth sailing though. Clark says he's been having trouble recruiting enough Indians to take on the job. "I don't know the reason, but if we don't get enough people participating, we'll lose the LEAP grant." 

Determined to keep the project going, Clark says he hopes to recruit Indians from provincial jails. "It's a good program. It would be a real shame to let it fall through." 

Farther east in Ontario, two other correctional camps have inmates working in forests. Beaver Creek Correctional Camp supplies the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources with two crews of 15 men. They prune trees, clear brush and do other clean-up jobs; but they are not paid. Trained to answer a forest fire emergency, they have become experts at spotting outbreaks. 

Similarly at Landry Crossing, 11 inmates are employed at the Dominion Experimental Station, Chalk River. For a variety of jobs, clearing, planting trees, and sawmill work, they are paid $1.50 daily.

Not all projects provide monetary rewards. Many offer only training. Inmates from William Head institution benefited from a massive land-clearing job at Camp Barnard, 29 miles west of Victoria. Their contribution to the second British Columbia and Yukon Provincial Boy Scout Jamboree saved hundreds of dollars for the organization. 

According to Norman Baker, the program is a success. "There's an abundance of work to be done. But where has to be agreed on by CRS, forestry departments, and community groups." He acclaims it as a sound job-training project. By 1975 his long-range plans for British Columbia will extend even further — four more semi-permanent camps will be working. Not only do inmates benefit as trained woodsmen and camp cooks — but CPS staff and forestry officers learn how to manage a camp. "It's a real learning endeavor," says enthused Norm Baker. 

In an age when industry can utilize every scrap of wood, demands on Canadian forests are soaring. HelPing to care for the rich forest harvest are men removed from freedom. The trees they care for repay Canada in world markets. - Information Services, Ottawa, “Opportunity Grows on Trees.” Discussion, Vol. 2, no. 4, dec. 1974.

Top to bottom: 1) Dungarvon Forestry Camp.

2)  An inmate checks a chainsaw before starting work in the bush. Grierson Centre inmates clear the boundary lines of Elk Island National Park.

3) A woodsman's lot isn't easy. Seas of mud after summer showers and spring thaws tum bush roads into a quagmire. lnmate-woodcutters from Grierson Centre, Edmonton, had to give a mighty heave-ho to a camp truck, as they rescued it from a mud bath. They were on route to Elk Island National Park to clear boundary lines from overgrown bush.

4) There's a lot of paper work for Paul Swan who runs Dungarvon Forestry Camp. Woodsmen at the camp live in modern-day mobile traiter units — not Paul Bunyan style log cabins.