On March 1, 1988, I stood before Caddo Parish Sheriff Don Hathaway with my right hand held high and swore to uphold the laws of the state and parish. I left the courthouse and went to my assignment at Caddo Detention Center in Springridge, 8 miles from my house. Caddo Detention Center, or CDC, was the parish lock-up housing over 500 inmates.
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I got my paycheck early due to the long holiday weekend. I folded it in half and tucked it in the right pocket of my uniform shirt. I was working West Max, the maximum security part of the jail located on the west side of the compound. West Max housed over 80 inmates with a high bond for serious crimes or a history of repeated offenses. Like all jails, CDC had a laundry list of rules, and deputies were expected to enforce them. One of those rules was inmates could not wear hats or anything on their heads when they came out of their cells. I never considered whether any of the rules made sense, I just believed my effectiveness as a law enforcement officer depended on my ability to enforce them, and I would be effective or die.
Inmate recreation was a special time of day for prisoners. Twice every day and three times during the summer, the inmates were allowed to get out of their cells so they could exercise, play games like cards or basketball, or they could simply enjoy being out of the confines of their cells for awhile. Afternoon rec started at 1 pm and lasted for two hours.
I opened cell doors in the cage in West Max that morning, letting inmates out of their cells for recreation. Two other deputies were outside in the Rec Yard known as the bullpen. The bullpen was a rectangular area of concrete surrounded by high fences and topped off with four rolls of razor wire to discourage climbing. The razor wire was extremely effective, for I know of only two inmates who braved it during my three years at CDC, and they ended up cut and bloody.
When I opened the doors of the cells that day, the West Max inmates were neatly dressed in red jumpsuits. They filed out of their cells, eager to get outside to the bullpen. I wasn’t a person to them. They considered me a part of the institution like the walls, wire, steel, and concrete. They didn’t know I was there unless my presence could benefit them in some way. As long as I did not interfere with their entertainment, recreation, meals, or animal impulses, all was well.
An inmate filed past me, tying a blue bandana on his head. The bandana was contraband and wearing it was a double offense. It was my duty to inform him and the reason I drew a paycheck.
“Marcus Turner (not his real name) do not put that bandana on your head. You know it’s against the rules.”
Marcus didn’t look up. He tied the bandana on his head as if I never spoke to him. I was in the cage and unable to stop him, and there was no need to overreact. Maybe he would change his mind and remove the bandana before I went outside. It’s always best to give people the benefit of the doubt.
I finished letting inmates out of their cells. I checked all four tier doors, made sure they were locked, and made everyone standing around go outside. With everything secure behind me I walked into the sunshine of the bullpen on an unusually warm and pleasant day. It didn’t take me long to spot Marcus. He was doing pushups near the north fence with a blue bandana on his head. I took my time so the pushups would wear him down. Deputy Kevin Dunn was standing on the far side of the bullpen fence. Kevin was a Floater that day which meant he did not have an assigned post. Floaters escorted inmates on the compound, relieved deputies, and did whatever the sergeants told them to do. Floaters were automatically assigned to the Response Team. The Response Team responded to all calls of emergency which included fires, fights, and deputies needing back-up. Before I confronted Marcus Taylor, I let my co-workers, including Kevin, know what I was about to do.
It was rumored that Marcus Turner was a Vietnam vet which was something every deputy respected. He was muscular and tattooed in a day when only cons and soldiers wore ink. On his back in a grand curve of large Old English letters he had his last name “T-U-R-N-E-R” spelled out. He was hateful and known for fighting with deputies.
When I reached Marcus, there was a hush throughout the bullpen. It was a bad sign I should have heeded. All eyes were on me.
“Marcus…I told you not to put that bandana on your head. It’s time for you to go back to your cell. Rec’s all over for you my man.”
Marcus expressed his distain with two words consisting of a verb and the pronoun ‘you’ in a common phrase heard often behind cell doors. I ordered him to his cell, but he refused. His words were a spark in a tinder box. Inmates surrounded me. Marcus was directly in front of me while Geoffrey Palmer (not his real name) closed in on my left. Geoff was short but powerfully built. His upper lip snarled like a dog revealing a mouth full of white teeth and one gold one in the middle. He was inches away from me. I told him to step back. There were two deputies with me, but they were by the back fence watching.
With Geoffrey Palmer on my left, and Marcus Turner in front of me, the other inmates made a large circle around us. It was incredibly intimidating. Geoffrey and Marcus refused to move, so I took a full step back to create distance, but when I did, Palmer followed. I took another step back, and he followed. Before he had time to think, I dropped low, grabbed his knees, and plunged forward. With a big upper body, Palmer upended easily. I took him to the ground, quick and hard. As he fell, he ripped the pocket off of my uniform shirt, and my paycheck fell to the pavement. I pinned Palmer’s arms to the ground and sat on his chest, and then a weight crashed down on my back. Instinctively, I brought my left hand up to my throat as an arm circled my neck. It was Marcus Turner putting me in a choke hold. His beard bristled the back of my head.
I was on top of one prisoner and had another on my back. Palmer squirmed beneath me while Turner squeezed my neck with everything he had. The only thing that kept me conscious was my hand between his arm and my throat.
I knew techniques for getting out of choke holds, but I couldn’t let Palmer go. I held my own with Turner until more weight dropped on my back causing me to put my hands on the concrete in a modified push up position. The pressure on my neck lessened until Marcus’ arm dropped away. It was Kevin Dunn who saw what was happening and put Marcus Turner in a neck restraint and rendered him unconscious.
The rest of the Response Team arrived and cleaned up the mess around me while I remained on top of Geoffrey Palmer. When the dust settled, a sergeant told me to get off Palmer. After 9 months experience, I considered Palmer to be under arrest, and I wasn’t going to let him up without handcuffs. I told the sergeant so, but he ordered me to get up. The moment I did, Geoffrey stood up and squared off with me. We were back in the same position we were in earlier until Deputy Bubba Richardson saw what was going on and stepped between us. I reached down to pick up my paycheck, but it was gone. The check had my home address on it.
A week later, there was a disturbance in West Max. I was on the respond team that day and responded. The disturbance was resolved quickly, but on my way out, I passed Marcus Turner’s cell. Turner spoke when I passed, but I couldn’t hear what he said. I approached his cell.
“You got something to say?”
“I know where you live. You’re a dead man.” He turned his back and said nothing more. My paycheck had found its way to the felon, and he knew exactly where I lived.
Marcus Turner had a network outside cell walls. Over the next week, his friends in the free world found out where my wife and Bubba Richardson’s girlfriend worked. I didn’t tell Colleen for fear of alarming her. For the next months, I slept lightly. I hid guns throughout the house, didn’t leave home unarmed, and I saw Colleen off to work every day.
Every inmate involved in the disturbance in West Max was punished for violating jail rules. Marcus Turner and Geoffrey Palmer were charged with battery on a police officer, found guilty, and sentenced to six extra months in jail. But it wasn’t over.
In early 1988, Sergeant Jim Reed worked day shift with weekends off as the classification officer. That summer, Jim left the Sheriff’s Office and went to work for the Post Office. Things didn’t work out, so he returned to the Sheriff’s Office, but he was no longer a sergeant. To humble him further, he was assigned to my shift at CDC. He was fifteen years older than the rest of us, a former sergeant, and a stranger to the deputies supervising inmates. While the rest of us were known by our first names, everyone called him Mr. Reed.
When I returned to work in West Max in December of 1988, Mr. Reed and I worked there together along with another deputy. The day started with a headcount and then recreation. That morning I assumed my usual role of letting inmates out of their cells and making them go outside to the bullpen.
I finished letting the inmates out on the upstairs’ tier and then went downstairs to let the rest of the inmates out. Things went quickly on the lower south tier, but when I went to the lower north tier things slowed down. It took a few minutes and some strong words to usher a couple of inmates out. One inmate was rather slow and confused about what he was supposed to be doing. Perhaps it was his first full day behind bars. I walked him down the tier to make sure he went outside. When I got to the end of the tier, I turned and shut the bar door and pulled it to make sure it was locked. When I turned back, around Geoffrey Palmer and another inmate were directly in front of me, waiting.
The inmate who had been loitering on the tier was nowhere to be found. I was blocked in. I had metal bars behind me and on my right side, a brick wall on my left and my two friends were directly in front of me. If I turned my back and tried to unlock the door to escape, I was sure to be ambushed. I knew what was at stake, but I followed my use of force policy. “You guys need to head on outside right now.” It was a clear and unambiguous command, yet I had no expectation that they would obey it.
I dropped my right foot back, lowered my center of gravity and tightly gripped the giant jail keys in my right fist. My plan was simple: the first one to move toward me was getting my booted foot in his groin. The second one would receive a handful of keys in the throat. Both inmates had their hands in fists at their hips. I couldn’t see Geoffrey’s right hand. I stared at the middle of their chests and waited, but a deep voice interrupted. “No one is supposed to be on the tier…get outside now!” It was Mr. Reed.
Geoffrey and the other inmate looked at me, looked at each other, dropped their heads and walked out to the bullpen. Mr. Reed suspected something was wrong and came inside to check on me at the perfect moment. His presence was enough to change the odds and cause Geoffrey to recognize their intentions had been thwarted. Both Mr. Reed and I knew what was at stake.
The next morning in shift meeting, we found out evening shift searched Geoffrey’s cell and found a shank made from a large piece of wire. That shank was for me. I knew it. Mr. Reed it.
Jim Reed retired as a Lieutenant but died two years later in September, 2011. I will always be grateful to him. In his final act of generosity, he donated his body to science for medical research.
