Posted on 10/18/2003 3:18:26 PM PDT by Willie Green
For education and discussion only. Not for commercial use.
SOUTH FORK FOREST CAMP (AP) - It's easy to see why Oregon convicts describe this Coast Range prison camp as a uniquely appealing place to pay their debt to society. Where else, they ask, do convicts get to feed trail mix and granola to visiting deer?
Nearly 200 inmates bunk here in cabin-like dormitories. There are no clanging steel bars, cramped cells or forbidding fences topped with razor wire. Surrounded by forested peaks, the camp's mountain air is richly scented by firs and cedars.
"If you can't do time at South Fork, you can't do time anywhere," said camp manager Gordon Dana, a state Forestry Department employee.
Despite a park-like setting, doing time at South Fork is no picnic. Prisoners wake up before dawn and put in 10-hour workdays. Tasks include planting trees, tending to a fish hatchery, blazing new hiking trails in the Tillamook State Forest and battling forest fires throughout the state.
"Lots of hard work, if you want it," said Duane King, 41, who is serving a 71/2-year sentence for robbery. "I like working. Keeps me in shape. I'm not getting any younger."
Run jointly by the state Corrections and Forestry departments, the work camp is a good deal for Oregon taxpayers. As officials tell it, inmate crews provide valuable services the state otherwise might not be able to afford. Estimated economic value of the program: up to $6 million per year.
Under Corrections Department rules, only minimum-security inmates with good conduct records and within three years of their scheduled release dates are eligible for the camp. Sex offenders have been barred since a deadly attack after an escape caused a public uproar in 1986. Corrections officials also exclude arsonists.
No study has been conducted to see whether South Fork inmates have a lower rate of recidivism - new crimes committed after being freed - than prisoners incarcerated elsewhere. But prisoners say the camp can be a productive learning experience.
"I kind of got a break by coming here, I got a chance to look at my life," Jesse O'Brien said. "I want to do things different."
Sent to prison for assault, the 20-year-old inmate described the forest camp as a healthy alternative to monotonous prison routines and negativity.
"It seems like there's more teamwork and brotherhood here," O'Brien said.
"It's better than being around a bunch of people who want to be criminals for the rest of their lives."
On a hot, sunny day, O'Brien was part of a 10-inmate work crew toiling amid thick timber and lush ferns. Clad in blue jeans and boots, the inmates wielded shovels and axes as they carved out a hiking trail in the woods.
Supervising the crew was Josh Windjue, a Forestry employee who took the job two months ago after he moved to Oregon from Wisconsin.
Forestry workers like Windjue receive Corrections Department training to help them deal with inmates.
"Criminal thinking patterns. Some of the games they might play. How to keep them motivated. All that good stuff," Windjue said.
Forestry crew bosses don't carry weapons. They carry two-way radios. Windjue described his first two months on the job as being free of hassles. "I haven't had any problems at all."
The work camp functions without much public attention. A notable exception to its quiet existence came when a South Fork escapee committed murder.
In 1986, Frederick Earl Simmons escaped from his tree-planting duties by stealing the crew's van.
Two days later, Simmons attacked a couple as they were cutting wood along a logging road about five miles south of Tillamook. He shot and killed Beverly Buchler, 29, and wounded her boyfriend, Charles Seeling Jr., 42. Simmons was armed with a rifle the next day when police arrested him.
Critics called for closing the camp. But then-Gov. Victor Atiyeh decided South Fork was too valuable to shut down. Instead of pulling the plug, the governor and state lawmakers ordered stepped-up security. Reforms included a ban on sex offenders.
South Fork is one of two minimum-security prisons with no fence around them. Mill Creek Correctional Facility in Salem is the other. This year, five Mill Creek inmates have escaped from its recreation yard or from outside work crews. No South Fork inmates have escaped during the first nine months of 2003.
To hear Dana tell it, the working relationship between staff and inmates is nothing like Hollywood-style depictions of chain gangs.
Corrections Lt. Mike Lange, who switched to South Fork after working at the maximum-security Nevada State Prison, said the camp's appeal provides inmates with a powerful incentive to follow the rules.
South Fork was founded more than 50 years ago as part of a massive state effort to repair the damage caused by historic forest fires.
In 1933, a fire that started in Gales Creek burned 240,000 acres of privately owned timberland that later was transferred to the state, where it became the Tillamook State Forest.
The Tillamook Burn became a destructive cycle. New forest fires broke out in 1939, 1945 and 1951, charring 94,000 acres in the Tillamook Forest. In 1951, state leaders authorized development of a corrections work camp to assist with reforestation efforts. Initially, 50 inmates from the state penitentiary in Salem moved into primitive cabins made with tar-paper walls. Over five decades, the camp shed many of its rustic features. Today, the cabins resemble military barracks, and the camp has modern amenities, including showers, TVs, a laundry facility and a boot-repair shop.
The original role of the camp - planting trees - has branched out, too. Prisoners involved in the fish-rearing program are responsible for caring for and feeding juvenile coho, steelhead and Chinook salmon. Since 1989, South Fork has hatched and released nearly 1.5 million fish.
In a typical year, inmate work crews plant 775,000 trees, build more than 21,000 feet of hiking trails and assist with suppression efforts on 25 to 30 forest fires.
Some inmates balk at the hard work or break rules to get transferred to other prisons.
Those who stick with the program earn daily points for completion of assigned tasks. Typically, financial compensation ranges from $1.88 per day to $3.29 per day.
"They're not here for the money," Dana said. "There's that pride in service, which is really the key motivator. It gets them away from that me-first mentality."
Still, some prisoners complain about low pay and lackluster food.
"Three days a week, they feed us slimy meat for lunch," O'Brien said.
Griping aside, hidden talents can surface at South Fork.
Tim Armstong, 25, said he hated working in the forest. There was too much wet weather and wilderness to suit him.
"I'm not used to the woods," the former Portland resident said.
Armstrong found his niche behind a sewing machine. He makes equipment used by the work crews, everything from fanny packs to orange vests. To his delight, he stays dry and warm inside his workshop.
"This job is probably the best thing I've done since I've been down," Armstrong said, referring to his six-year prison stint for robbery.
Inmate Mark Fleming said his pre-prison life was devoted to methamphetamine. He now defines his role as "lead man" on a work crew.
This summer, Fleming was among a group of inmates who spent weeks battling the B&B Complex wildfires.
"Guys here take a lot of pride in that," Fleming said. "We were outperforming the Hotshot crews."
Sex offenders should be buried head down in the desert. As per our prior discussions, this seems a functional use of trustees... does it displace the law abiding civilian workforce... perhaps not. Does it invade a civilian market... dunno.
Though offender labor can be inexpensive per hour, the cost of supervision can be quite high... for example, my boss doesn't carry a shotgun to make sure I come back from break.
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