PVCC Puma Press: March 2004

When the 15-day stand off at the Arizona State Prison Complex-Lewis in Buckeye, Arizona ended, a mix of emotions hung over its conclusion—the happiness for the successful negotiation efforts that led to the release of the last female correctional officer held hostage was bitter sweet and left many wondering what kind of person it takes to be correctional officer when there is so much risk involved.

The pay for Arizona correctional officers is moderate at best, ranging from $24,000 to $30,000, according to PVCC's director of College Safety, Scott Meek. The hours can be long and the job dangerous, entailing dirty work like searching inmates and their cells. It can be thankless.

So what kind of person does it take for this job?

It takes some one like Betty Leman, a female correctional officer at the Lewis complex and a college safety officer at PVCC.

"It's not for every one, but I love it," Leman says, who has been working at the Lewis state prison for seven months.

"I've always been interested in law enforcement," she says. Leman is also part of the military reserve.

One of the secrets to her success on the job, she says, is maintaining a tolerable work environment for herself and keeping respectable boundaries with the prisoners. "You have to have a certain type of relationship that doesn't cross the line," she says, far from a friend, but more like an acquaintance, she explains.

Most of her time is spent watching over the prisoners, Leman says, who compares her job to that of a babysitter. "The bottom line is treating them like they're children," she adds.

Much of her job involves walking the yard where prisoners congregate to recreate and to socialize. She also searches inmate's cells for drugs, weapons or other contraband. When a correctional officer discovers such items in a cell or if an inmate is behaving badly, the officer writes a ticket for the inmate, which leads to disciplinary action.

Disciplinary action includes taking away an inmates' television time, radio time or their cigarettes. Leman says that she does not like writing tickets but adds that sometimes they are necessary to re-enforce the rules. "I know it doesn't take much for me to make [the inmates'] life hell," she says.

The best part of the job for Leman is watching the inmates get released. "I always tell them, ‘Don't ever come back,'" she says. Leman hopes that the time inmates have spent at Lewis will be enough to keep them out of trouble in the future. The worst part of the job, however, is the smell for Leman. "The jail is clean," she says, "but [the prisoners] stink."

Although she cannot comment specifically on the details of the hostage situation, Leman believes the cause was a combination of many different factors.

"The training is inadequate and so is the staff," she says. She believes the relatively low annual pay, which reflects a high turnover rate, is also part of the problem. Since the standoff ended, Leman says she does not feel any less safe at the prison than she did before, but does she feel disappointment with the lack of discipline there, another one of the contributing factors, she feels.

Leman believes that the inmates who took the officers hostage were successful in one way as they were granted transfers to the prisons of their choice. In a way "they got what the wanted," Leman says.

For Leman, the standoff that considerably shook the entire correctional system of Arizona did not change her outlook on the job. It may seem hard for many who watched the standoff from their televisions to understand how Leman could love a job that presents such danger.

It may be even harder to understand how Leman's two-hour drive to and from work, the periodic 12-14 hour days and the job's rigorous tasks have not begun to wear on her; but Leman says she has no intention of changing careers any time soon.