Escapee is sent back with lots of company

Oklahoma City - Late Tuesday night, Thomas E. Deering waited in a prison cell. His escape from the maximum-security Waupun Correctional Institution had taken him all the way to Los Angeles. Now, three months later, it was coming full circle.

Deering, 28, was in transit. He'd already flown on the plane full of prisoners known as "Con Air" from Los Angeles to Oklahoma City. He was scheduled to depart soon on a similar flight to Chicago. From there, a series of vans would shuttle him back to Wisconsin.

Federal officials say Deering didn't sleep on his metal-frame bed at the Oklahoma City prison. Instead, he kicked at the bed rails until a piece of sharpened metal ripped loose. He tore the sheets into strips. Then he went to work on the window, digging around it with the piece of sharpened metal so he could pop it out of the frame. He planned to climb the bedsheet-rope down eight floors to the ground, officials say.

On Wednesday, Con Air departed at 8:30 a.m., about half an hour late. Deering, of West Allis, was aboard. His latest escape attempt resulted in nothing but extra paperwork, which prison officials and the U.S. marshals operating the flight had to finish before the plane could take off.

Deering settled into seat 21A, two rows from the back, beside the window. He wore handcuffs, leg irons and a belly chain secured with a padlock. The handcuffs were reinforced with a "black box," which covered the keyhole.

Black boxes are an extra safeguard for high-risk inmates, said Deputy Marshal Michelle Lentz. They make it impossible to pick the lock on the handcuffs without first opening the padlock and removing the belly chain.

Black-box prisoners always get window seats on Con Air, since they would have to climb over two others in order to get up, Lentz said. They're always near the back, as far from the pilots as possible.

Of the 83 prisoners leaving Oklahoma City Wednesday morning, Deering and 14 others with histories of violence, attacking guards or escape got the black-box treatment. Deputy marshals with stun guns monitored their every move.

Deering's Oklahoma City escape attempt had been far less creative - and far less effective - than his first, from Waupun. Deering was sent to the maximum-security prison there to serve a 60-year sentence for burglary, kidnapping and sexual assault. He had spent nearly 19 months in custody when he executed his escape plan on Oct. 4.

Deering, who worked in the prison canteen, knew that the Coca-Cola delivery truck arrived every week with wooden pallets full of pop. The driver would unload them with a small forklift, then take away the stack of empty pallets from the week before.

During the first week of October, there was a backlog of empty pallets. Deering hollowed out the centers, creating a space large enough for his 6-foot, 185-pound frame. He lined the opening with cardboard to camouflage himself, then climbed inside, placing an intact pallet on top of the stack to cover his head. With the forklift, the driver loaded what looked like a stack of empty pallets into the back of his truck and drove away.

Once the truck left the prison, Deering used a hand cart to smash open the back door and jumped from the moving vehicle. A motorist, who later told police she didn't realize he was a prisoner, picked Deering up. It was the first escape from Waupun in 22 years.

Deering was free for nearly two months until he was arrested in California on Dec. 1, driving a stolen car from Illinois, officials said. When Los Angeles police pulled him over, Deering gave them a false name. Fingerprints confirmed his true identity, according to federal officials.

It had undoubtedly taken Deering days or weeks to make his way from Wisconsin to California. The return trip, courtesy of the Justice Prisoner and Alien Transportation System, took mere hours.

The system was created in 1995, when the air fleets of the U.S. Marshals Service and the Immigration and Naturalization Service merged, said Larry Yeo, supervisory deputy marshal. It transports more than 270,000 prisoners and illegal aliens every year. They include federal inmates being transferred from one prison to another, attending court hearings or traveling for psychological evaluations.

Local law enforcement agencies and the military contract with the marshals to transport prisoners such as Deering, who are picked up in other jurisdictions. The clientele includes everyone from hot-check writers to serial killers.

The program has its headquarters in Oklahoma City, with hubs in five other cities. Its fleet includes seven jets and several smaller planes. Most of them are either surplus from other government agencies or forfeited assets from criminals.

Regularly scheduled flights stop in 40 U.S. cities, as well as deporting aliens to places such as Guatemala and Trinidad. The scheduling details and lists of passengers are kept secret for security reasons.

Federal officials, ever fond of acronyms, call the system J-pats for short. Some of the marshals joke that it's "the original federal express." But most use the nickname given by the popular 1997 film starring Nicholas Cage and John Malkovich: Con Air.

Although the moniker stuck, the real thing is nothing like the movie. The deputy marshals refer to the plane as "a cellblock flying at 30,000 feet," but there are no cages. The firearms on board are locked in gun safes or in the cargo hold - not anywhere within reach of their wards. The prisoners aren't shackled to each other, nor are their chains secured to steel rings on the floor.

The Boeing 727 that delivered Deering from Oklahoma City to Chicago looks like a commercial airliner, except that there are no tray tables or armrests, and the blue upholstered seats don't recline. A few seats at the front and the middle of the plane are rear-facing, so the marshals can keep an eye on their prisoners.

At the headquarters in Oklahoma City, a prison called the Federal Transfer Center is connected to the plane with a Jetway, and the prisoners board through the rear door.

"Single file, guys, single file. Stay in line," Lentz warns as Deering and the others approach on Wednesday morning.

They have no coats, and some shiver in their khaki pants and white T-shirts. They have no books, radios or other diversions. Some carry inhalers or eyeglasses. Otherwise, they are empty-handed.

"Make sure your seat belt is fastened and keep it fastened. Do not stand up for any reason unless instructed to do so. If you're seated in an aisle, keep your arms, legs and other body parts out of the aisle. In the unlikely event of an emergency, follow all directions of the flight crew."

Ferguson doesn't demonstrate the function of the seat belts or the oxygen masks. Beer cannot be purchased for $3; wine cannot be purchased for $4. Ferguson does not thank the passengers for flying with Con Air, nor does he instruct them to sit back, relax and enjoy the flight.

Prisoners are allowed to use the restrooms - accompanied by a marshal - at designated times. Men must leave the door open. Women get a bit more privacy, with a marshal holding the door almost closed.

About 11 a.m., marshals distribute a snack of two crackers, a granola bar, an apple and a bottle of water.

Prisoners are quiet for the most part, and many sleep. The day's flight is uneventful, as most of them are.

"They usually don't give you too much static," said Deputy Marshal Theresa Huff. "Everyone knows the reputation of the plane. They know we don't play."

If prisoners become ornery, they are moved to the back of the plane, under close supervision of the marshals. As a last resort, they may be restrained with a cargo strap. The marshals would unlock their guns in the air only if there were a riot or a hostage situation, Lentz said.

When Con Air landed in Chicago about 1:15 p.m. Wednesday, a specialized ground crew was waiting. A series of prison buses, marshals service vans and squad cars had formed a semicircle around the plane. The first thing Deering would see when he came down the back steps was an officer in sunglasses, a shotgun on his shoulder. Three similar guards were posted near the wings and nose of the plane.

Chicago marked the third prisoner-trading stop of the day. For Deering and other prisoners bound for Illinois or Wisconsin, it was near the end of the line. They would get off the plane and complete their journeys via bus or van. In turn, Chicago-area prisoners being transferred would board Con Air. Most would spend a few days or weeks in Oklahoma City before flying to their ultimate destinations.

Several marshals and their crew exited the plane first to exchange paperwork, medical records and prisoners' property.

While Deering and the others waited to leave the plane, another group of prisoners got out of the vehicles one by one. After being searched, they lined up near the steps of the plane. After all were ready and waiting to board the plane, Deputy Marshal Alex Berrones of the Eastern District of Wisconsin climbed the steps and called out the names of four prisoners he would transport to Milwaukee.

After about 1,250 miles and nearly five hours in the air, Deering was the second prisoner off the plane in Chicago. He made his way down the stairs and presented himself to be searched. First, he showed a marshal his hands, palms up, fingers spread. He let the officer look in his mouth, then stood stock-still for a thorough pat-down, from his shoulders to the cuffs around his ankles.

The marshal pointed Deering in the direction of a dark blue conversion van. He shuffled toward the vehicle in leg irons. The van would take him to the federal courthouse in Milwaukee, where he would be fitted with a stun belt and moved to a state prison van for the trip to his new home, Columbia Correctional Institution in Portage.

As Deering stood on the tarmac in Chicago waiting for the final leg of his journey to begin, the recaptured prisoner turned his face toward the sky, eyes closed against the springlike sunshine. Then he took a few deep breaths, as if he knew he wouldn't soon have the chance again.

Prisoners wearing handcuffs and leg irons wait to board a Justice Prisoner and Alien Transportation System plane Tuesday in Detroit. Local law enforcement agencies and the military contract with U.S. marshals to transport prisoners who are picked up in other jurisdictions.

U.S. marshals watch over the prisoners during their flight to Midwest cities. The most dangerous prisoners are seated in the back of the plane, as far from the pilots as possible.

Prisoners wait in the Jetway at the Federal Transfer Center in Oklahoma City before boarding a flight. The transportation system is used to transfer inmates between prisons, to court hearings and to psychological evaluations.

U.S. Marshals Michelle Lentz (from left), Larry Johnson and Kenny Brown make sure paperwork is in order before bringing prisoners onto the plane. The marshals exchange paperwork, medical records and prisoners' property at the prisoner-trading stops.

PLEASE SUPPORT FREE REPUBLIC

Donate Here By Secure Server

Or mail checks to
FreeRepublic , LLC
PO BOX 9771
FRESNO, CA 93794
or you can use
PayPal at Jimrob@psnw.com

Become A Monthly Donor
STOP BY AND BUMP THE FUNDRAISER THREAD

Amazing. This creep was still trying to escape. Again.

He sounds like a good candidate for the super super max in Boscobel.

Deputy Marshal Theresa Huff.

Thanks to affirmative action...women guards in men's prisons...
They should be hiring ex pro-football types...not women for mens prisons...
as backgups against weight training prisoners they are useless....and imo get male guards
killed...just as they would in combat
Women in either endevor is not only stupid its dangerous...
IMO of course

Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.