Journal writer goes on rare prison tour

While I've never made a point of watching a lot of TV shows or movies that portray prison life, I've seen enough of them over the years to have formed a fairly vivid idea of what prison is like.

And like just about everything else on TV and in the movies, it doesn't quite compare.

I managed to wrangle an invitation for a rare tour of the Marquette Branch Prison on Monday evening. I was joined by more than a hundred other area residents, many of them relatives of employees there.

The tour was held in conjunction with the prison's 120th anniversary this year. It was the first tour of this kind in a decade, though several staffers thought it might only be five years till the next one - on birthday No. 125.

Warden Gerald Hofbauer hosted my small group of about nine or 10 people - let me make it clear that while I don't remember exactly how many were in our group, the staff made sure to take a count when we first entered the restricted area and again when we returned to the prison parking lot.

The final count included a check for the invisible ink mark placed on the back of our hands before we entered. The ultraviolet scan for the mark at the end was a bit unnerving - for a fleeting second I had to hope this was a foolproof method to prove I deserved to regain my freedom.

The facility itself is both imposing and impressive, and that's the part that TV and movie portrayals seem to get right. You don't have to dress up the look of being surrounded by 15- or 20-foot-high chain link fences as you walk outside into the middle of the maximum-security yard, with rolls of razor wire glinting in the late-day sun on top of every inch of the fence, even the gates.

But just from listening to and talking with staff members, the prison began to seem in some ways like many other government institutions -a place where people just want to do their jobs.

Yes, serious jobs. Very serious jobs and probably, quite often, very difficult and stressful jobs. But jobs nonetheless.

The prison is a major employer in the Upper Peninsula's most populated area, and this is only one of nine prisons and camps in the U.P. I can understand why people are up in arms about the upcoming closure of a handful of facilities around the state, including several in our region.

One of the slides shown in a PowerPoint presentation as an introduction to the tour mentioned that the prison's payroll of $1.4 million paid out every two weeks. When this slide came up, a member of our tour group added that this is money that stays in the local community.

I know several people who are corrections officers or other staff members at the prison, and while I've heard a couple of stray stories here and there, until now it was impossible for me to put a "look" to what they talked about.

Understandably, but still with some frustration as a newspaper reporter who's used to getting access where others often don't, prison administrators here and Department of Corrections officials in Lansing have been reluctant to allow much in the way of photo-taking for this story.

Nobody in charge is interested in illustrating the intricacies of security, as inmates do see the newspaper - though interestingly enough, not our online edition - have a lot of time on their hands, and I suppose in some cases, a strong urge to get out or at least cause a little trouble.

On that note, one of the more eye-opening facts I learned came during an offhand conversation as we were walking along that chain-link, razor-wired fence.

The prison holds male prisoners at the state's lowest - Level I - and highest - Level V - security levels. I incorrectly assumed that these Level V guys would automatically include people convicted of the most heinous of crimes, the kind that make headlines in our newspaper just about every day.

In actuality, nobody begins their prison term at Level V; instead, they have to "earn" it based on their conduct while in prison.

Administrative assistant Sarah Schroeder told me there's a common saying, "You can go from Level I to Level V in two seconds," meaning all it takes is one egregious offense, like an escape attempt or assault on someone, to land in maximum security.

My understanding is that those serving long terms or having committed certain crimes don't start out at Level I, probably somewhere in the middle at another state prison or camp that has medium security.

Within each level, prisoners' conduct determines if they gain or lose privileges, and at Level V, there's a whole separate Administrative Segregation unit for the hardest-core problem prisoners, something akin to being in "solitary."

On Monday's tour, we learned about the prison's Emergency Response Team, which can handle any number of emergencies, but especially if there's a disturbance by prisoners or an escape.

Warden Hofbauer showed us his office, including a gallery of the prison's wardens and plaques remembering just two regular staffers and one contracted staffer that have died in the line of duty at the prison.

Then it was on past the metal detector to the visitors area. Minimum-security prisoners can have actual contact in a closely watched area with visitors, while those at Level V can only do so through plexiglass. Each maximum-security prisoner would be placed in what resembles one of those TV game-show "soundproof booths" with a steel-grated gate shut behind them.

We saw the infirmary, the only place we actually saw any prisoners, and they were locked in rooms with large windows. Prisoners were locked down during the tour from what I understand, and it is understandable - otherwise, how could you insure security for more than a hundred visitors?

We saw the Level V cafeteria, a stark-looking room with benches attached to the tables on tile floors. Above, probably 15 feet off the floor, was a guard post with several squared-off holes - places to point the barrel of a gun out of, it was explained.

A gathering place like this can be one of the most volatile spots in maximum security, staffers explained, even with military-like rules that included everyone filing in line and no one being allowed to get off their bench once they were seated.

We came the closest to seeing Level V prisoners when we entered one of the cell blocks to see an empty cell that was just inside the door. We could hear prisoners and see a guard keeping an eye on two or three levels of cells that were nearby but out of visual range.

The cell actually came close to the TV/movie depictions I've seen. Yet it makes you shake your head to think someone is spending most of their time for years, even decades, in there. White or near-white painted walls, an overhead light harshly illuminating the cell, a twin bed that covered nearly half the floor space, a toilet and sink, all fronted by the famous steel bars like on TV.

And cramped. While I didn't think to do it at the time, I figured later that I could probably stretch my arms out to my sides and just about touch both sides of the cell, and probably span the the depth of the cell by laying on the floor and reaching my arms above my head.

What could you compare it to? How about a decent-sized toilet booth in a public restroom?

I mentioned earlier the high, razor-wire topped fences within the yard. But not the "dog cages" that were lined up about a dozen in a row for administrative segregation prisoners. We were told those prisoners have to be led out in chains and shackles which aren't removed until they are in these cages.