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2008
Tennessee:
August 20, 2008 The City Paper
Bedeviled this year by negative publicity on several fronts, Corrections
Corp. of America late last week launched a public relations push to counter what
it says are biased reports. The Nashville-based company has been under the
microscope since its general counsel, Gus Puryear, was nominated for the federal
judgeship of the Tennessee Middle district in February. At the same time,
activists have stepped up their work against the company, seeking the company’s
contracts and other papers under public-record laws. CCA’s response includes an
advertising campaign pointing people to a new Web site that promises an
“unfiltered, full, 360-degree view of CCA.” The company has bought advertising
on NashvillePost.com and the Web site of its sister publication, The City Paper.
The company also published an open letter in The City Paper’s Monday print
edition. The campaign, designed by local firm MMA Creative, accuses "a local
daily paper" of ideological bias that CCA spokeswoman Louise Grant says has
produced a media smear campaign. “It’s completely baffling,” Grant said. “We
definitely think there’s a bias that’s been there for years and years.” Grant
said the company was particularly stung by a recent Tennessean article that drew
renewed attention to the unanswered questions surrounding the death of CCA
inmate Estelle Richardson. “There was no new news in it," she said. "It was a
very editorialized article." The article reiterated the details leading to
Richardson’s death, featuring the comments of fellow inmate and friend Sharron
Peterman, who called for the cold case to be solved. The Web site, called The
CCA 360, responded by dissecting the article line by line, linking to evidence
Grant says the company believes has been withheld from public consumption. She
says accusations leveled against four prison guards were dropped because medical
experts hired by both the prosecution and the defense found that Richardson
sustained her injuries before the accused guards were in contact with her. The
site also claims The Tennessean printed allegations against CCA without
publishing the company’s accompanying denials. Grant also said that the paper
ignored the medical evidence and focused only on the negative side of the story.
“We have achieved excellence on American Correctional Association audits and our
customers hold us in high regard,” Grant said. “That wasn’t a fair and balanced
viewpoint.” Grant also said Tennessean editors have told CCA representatives
that they oppose private correctional facilities from an editorial standpoint.
Tennessean Editor Mark Silverman would only say that the paper stands by its
article. But Alex Friedmann, a prison reform activist and associate editor of
Prison Legal News, dispute the Web site’s claim to a 360-degree view of the
issue. “They’re a corporation — their only responsibility is to their
shareholders,” he said. “They’re interested in this incident because it causes
problems with their stock price and shareholder confidence.” Shares of CCA
(Ticker: CXW) are down about 6 percent in 2008 and are up almost 10 percent from
a year ago. The Standard & Poor’s 500 Index has dropped more than 11 percent
since last summer. Friedmann believes that, for the Web site to be considered
balanced, it should have included a sheriff’s report excoriating CCA practices
as well as an initial autopsy that conflicts with those conducted by the
examiners during the trial. Friedmann’s credibility is also questioned on the
Web site, which points to his lack of academic expertise and refers to him as a
“former inmate.” Friedmann says everyone has an agenda and freely admits to his
own. “Obviously, I have a bias. I have been an inmate at a CCA prison,” he said.
“But CCA, they’re a private, for-profit organization. They have a $1.45 billion
bias.”
August 13, 2008 Tennessean
Alex Friedmann doesn't think people can see past his conviction, so he's the
first one to bring it up. He spent 10 years in a cell — six of them at a
Corrections Corporation of America prison in Tennessee — for armed robbery and
attempted murder. "I was absolutely not cut out for a life of crime," Friedmann,
39, says. "And I was quite incompetent at it. I deserved the punishment. But
punishment, technically, ends at some point. Society says it doesn't, and that
lasts for the rest of your life. It follows you around like a legacy." Now,
years removed from prison, Friedmann is engaged in an ardent struggle against
Nashville-based CCA, the nation's largest for-profit prison company. He is a
self-described underdog, battling the multibillion-dollar corporation that has
drawn nationwide criticism for its treatment of prisoners. He didn't like the
way he was treated while he was incarcerated, and he has questioned whether CCA
gave prompt medical attention to a friend who died while in CCA custody many
years ago. CCA, in turn, paints him as a less-than-credible advocate for prison
reform and a pawn of unions that oppose privatized prisons like those run by CCA,
which has 17,000 employees nationwide and holds more than 75,000 inmates. "He is
a former inmate convicted of armed robbery at Green Hills," said Louise Grant, a
spokeswoman for CCA. "The fact that he shot at a father and a son is lost. He
now works for a union-funded company.'' Still, Friedmann says prison reform is
what defines his life. "I admire people who devote their lives to causes — to
saving whales, the environment, child abuse," he said. "This cause gives meaning
to my life." He's a CCA shareholder -- In that role, Friedmann has
single-handedly taken CCA to task over the years — even at the shareholder
meetings. Friedmann owns one share of CCA stock, giving him the right to attend
and ask questions at the meetings. "What I'm saying is that CCA is for-profit
and it colors their decision," he said. "It's their business model." He is
seeking access to CCA records. He won that access, albeit briefly, when a judge
said that because the for-profit prison operates similar to a government entity,
it should make its records open to the public, but CCA is appealing the judge's
ruling. Friedmann is vice president of Private Corrections Institute, which is
against the privatization of correctional institutions and is supported by
unions. He says he does not collect a paycheck in his role with Private
Corrections Institute. The company has paid for his travel and he has been
reimbursed for expenses. He also is associate editor of Prison Legal News,
working 60 hours a week reading and editing dozens of stories for the monthly
publication, which looks at the nation's penal system. Then he leaves his desk
to hand out fliers asking for more information regarding the death of a CCA
inmate. He went to Congress to testify against the federal judgeship nomination
of Gus Puryear, CCA's general counsel, a battle he is even keener about. He
double-checked every answer Puryear gave to the Senate Judicial Committee. He
investigated the general counsel's commission meetings and memberships in a
country club, and he challenged a contradictory statement regarding the death of
an inmate. He started a Web site, againstpuryear.com. His was 'a harsh crime' --
Friedmann considers himself a private person despite the public battles he has
waged against CCA. During a lunch interview, he does not want to talk in any
depth about his family, his personal life or religious affiliations. He is
succinct. His father's family was Jewish, his mother a Southern Baptist.
Friedmann was born outside of Boston and left for Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, with
his parents as a 1-year-old only child. His father worked for Aramco, the
Arabian American Oil Co. "I did not have to share my toys," he said jokingly as
he eats a salad and waits for his pizza to cool down. They lived in a compound
with people from around the world. Years later, with extended family in
Tennessee, Friedmann returned to the U.S. as a teen. It was the 1980s and he was
not accustomed to American society, he said. Caught in a downward spiral of
greed, stupidity and his personal struggle to assimilate back to American life
after being raised in Dhahran, the 18-year-old Friedmann armed himself with a
gun and robbed a Green Hills store. During the robbery he got into a gunfight
with the store owner, who shot Friedmann in his left hand. "It was a harsh
introduction to the system, but I committed a harsh crime," he said. Friedmann
says he was able to get probation but still fouled up. His probation was revoked
and he had to serve 10 years after he was busted for shoplifting. In prison he
read a number of books, including the classics and a couple that sparked his
interest in activism: Alexander Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago and One Day
in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, a story based on a character who served 10 years
in prison in Stalin's gulag. He began writing and learning how to do research.
He admired the in-depth investigative pieces produced by reporters. Today, he
worries it's not done enough. He has no social life, he says. His downtime
consists of zipping around in his restored 1982 Corvette and working on computer
systems. But he sees himself as a reporter and an activist.
National:
August 14, 2008 AP
Had this been like most nominations for federal judgeships, the chief lawyer
with Corrections Corporation of America might have been packing up his office
and heading for the courthouse by now. But a determined opponent — a former
prisoner at a Corrections Corporation of America facility in Clifton, Tenn. —
has worked tirelessly to see that would not happen. And he may have succeeded.
More than a year after President Bush nominated Gustavus A. Puryear IV to become
a U.S. district judge in Nashville, the 40-year-old's appointment appears to be
in serious trouble, thanks in no small part to Alex Friedmann, a convicted armed
robber turned inmate advocate. Friedmann, 39, contends Puryear is unqualified
because he lacks experience in federal courts — he's been involved in only two
federal trials — and might have a potential conflict of interest in hearing
cases that involve CCA. On his Web site, http://www.againstpuryear.org,
Friedmann also has detailed Puryear's ties to powerful Republicans like Dick
Cheney, whom he helped prep for a 2000 debate, and portrayed Puryear as someone
who got the nomination because of his connections rather than his
qualifications. The Senate Judiciary Committee held a hearing on Puryear's
nomination in February but has yet to vote on whether to send his name to the
full Senate. Erica Chabot, the press secretary for committee Chairman Patrick
Leahy, said Puryear is one of only three people who have been nominated for
district judgeships since January 2007 and have had hearings before the
committee but have not had their nominations voted on. Leahy, D-Vt., has said
the panel will not consider any more nominees this session without the consent
of leaders from both parties. "I understand they have put Puryear in the
'controversial' category," said Brian Fitzpatrick, who once worked for
Republican Sen. John Cornyn of Texas defending Bush's Supreme Court nominees and
is now an assistant law professor at Vanderbilt University. "It's very rare for
a district court nominee to become controversial. Usually they just fly
through." The Senate typically defers heavily to the senators from the nominee's
home state, and Republican Sens. Lamar Alexander and Bob Corker of Tennessee
solidly support Puryear. But the opposition has been unusually committed.
Multiple organizations, including the left-leaning Alliance for Justice and the
National Lawyer's Guild, have challenged Puryear's nomination, all of them using
research that originated with Friedmann, occasionally quoting it verbatim.
Friedmann says he learned of the nomination because he keeps track of
Nashville-based CCA, which manages 66 facilities around the country. He looked
through dockets and court cases, contacted former co-workers and made Freedom of
Information Act requests. To get the word out, he relied on the nonprofit
Private Corrections Institute, for which he serves as vice president, and a
group he formed called Tennesseans Against Puryear. Puryear did not return calls
from The Associated Press for this story. White House spokesman Blair Jones said
the White House suggests that nominees not speak to the media, prior to
confirmation, out of respect for the deliberative process of the Senate. "Groups
can attack a nominee, but you'll never see (the nominee) respond to anything
except at hearings," said Puryear's friend Ed Haden, an attorney in Birmingham,
Ala. Haden said the obstacles to Puryear's nomination are political, and don't
mean he is not qualified for the job. "As far as his qualifications go, he was
at the top of his class in law school, he clerked on the U.S. Court of Appeals,
he has legislative experience in the U.S. Senate, he manages litigation for a
big Fortune 500 company, and the ABA (American Bar Association) rated him as
qualified," Haden said. "Gus realizes this is a lame duck year in politics," he
added. "It's true for all nominees — whether you're in the deal or not is beyond
your control." Puryear's nomination remains active until Congress adjourns, and
he could still be confirmed. The most likely scenario for that would be a deal
struck between senators. "At the end of the session, it's, 'Who wants a bridge
in Vermont?'" said Haden, who has worked with two U.S. senators on judicial
nominations. Meanwhile, Friedmann is continuing his opposition campaign in the
hopes of making a last-minute deal less likely. "I'm glad the Judiciary
Committee is taking a closer look at Mr. Puryear as a candidate because the
issues we raised are legitimate issues," he said. "But," he added, "I'm
definitely not claiming victory."
Tennessee
July 30, 2008 Tennessean
Nashville-based Corrections Corporation of America must follow public
records law and open its files for viewing, a Chancery Court judge ruled
Tuesday, a decision that could lead to more transparency in a historically
hidden industry. Alex Friedmann, an ex-offender and vice president of advocacy
group Private Corrections Institute, had filed suit after CCA denied his request
for records about prison operations and lawsuits they were part of. CCA, which
operates the Metro Davidson County Detention Facility and six other detention
facilities across Tennessee, maintained the company did not have to comply with
public records requests because it is private. Access to prison records could
accomplish two main goals, said Michele Deitch, an expert on private prison
issues and adjunct professor at the University of Texas at Austin: shedding
light on the operation of the private facilities and showing taxpayers how much
money is spent on settlements with those who claim mistreatment. "When the
private sector says, 'We can do this cheaper and better,' people don't think
about what happens if things go wrong," Deitch said. "Who pays for that? In
fact, it does come back to the taxpayers and the government. We need that
information for a fuller picture of the true cost of these prisons." CCA plans
to appeal the ruling, according to attorney Joe Welborn, who represented the
company. Public-private line blurs - It's too soon to say whether there will be
national implications to the decision, said Gene Policinski, vice president and
executive director of the First Amendment Center. But as more governmental
functions are turned over to private industry, he said, the issue of what
documents remain public can get muddied. "These issues will be litigated more
and more," Policinski said. "Where does public responsibility and public
visibility end, and a private institution's own records begin, when performing
public functions and accepting public money?" Chancellor Claudia Bonnyman ruled
that CCA was a "functional equivalent" to a governmental entity, because the
operations of jails and prisons are essential governmental functions, and most
of their revenues are taxpayer-funded. She ordered the company to make all of
its records available, except those sealed by a court order. Andrew Clarke,
attorney for Friedmann, said he kept his arguments simple because he felt the
facts supported his client's assertion that CCA performs a governmental
function. "Sometimes it just is what it is," Clarke said. 'A layer of secrecy'
The chancellor has not yet ruled on whether to award attorney's fees to
Friedmann. CCA spokesman Steve Owen said the company is reserving comment until
a final order has been issued. CCA has been hammered in recent months by
allegations of underplaying serious incidents in its jails and misrepresenting
the circumstances of in-custody deaths. Much of the heat came after CCA's
general counsel, Gus Puryear, was nominated to a federal judgeship. The
company's treatment of mentally ill inmates locally also was questioned after it
was reported that an inmate hadn't left his cell or showered for nine months.
Friedmann's organization recently offered reward money for anyone who could shed
light on the death of Estelle Richardson, who died in the Metro jail in 2004.
CCA officials said that, because of a malfunction, there was no tape of the
incident that led to Richardson's fatal injuries. Friedmann served six years in
a CCA-run facility before his release in 1999. "This important ruling strips
away a layer of secrecy that CCA has misused to conceal embarrassing and
negative information from the public," Friedmann said.
July 9, 2008 News Channel 5
Medical records are supposed to be private. But one watchdog group said they
found 50 pages of sensitive patient information out in the open in a trash bin
outside a methadone clinic. State and federal investigators are now trying to
figure out what happened. The information ended up in the hands of the Private
Corrections Institute, a watchdog group that plans to turn the documents over to
authorities. But it could have been much worse if they ended up in the wrong
hands. As far as privacy goes few places require it as much as the Middle
Tennessee Treatment Center, a methadone clinic that helps patients with
substance abuse problems. "As we understand it, a group of records was found in
a Dumpster near the clinic," said Bruce Emery, who leads the Division of Alcohol
and Drug Abuse Services for the Tennessee Department of Mental Health and
Developmental. Some documents containing the private information of more than 40
clients ended up a large unlocked trash bin. The documents contained telephone
and Social Security numbers as well as accounts of medicine use and drug
history. State and federal agencies launched investigations to find out how the
information got into the open. "I was as upset as any of us would be that such
personal, private information would be compromised like that," Emery said. "We
will absolutely get to the bottom of this," he said. "We take it as seriously as
any client does. This is an important issue for us." "This is information that
is very personal and private," said Vanderbilt University professor Josh Perry.
He said cases such as this are especially important when dealing with substance
abuse patients, who often worry their private information will be exposed and
used against them. "I think whenever you're dealing with a vulnerable
population, individuals who are seeking treatment in a methadone clinic, they
are particularly vulnerable, I think, to discrimination," he said. Perry said
that information mishaps can lead to trust issues between the medical community
and the larger population. "Having strict regulations and policies regarding
sensitive health information is important factor to promote that sense of public
trust," he said. State officials said patient information is supposed to be kept
on site for five to 10 years before documents are shredded and disposed. Debbie
Crowley, the center's chief operating officer, said the center is doing
everything it can to prevent future mistakes. She said her staff takes client
privacy very seriously. It is unclear how the documents were disposed the way
they were. State officials said their investigation will likely be completed
sometime next week. They said those responsible could face penalties and fines.
July 9, 2008 Tennessean
Nashville's methadone clinic is being accused of throwing away patient
records without shredding them, jeopardizing clients' privacy and putting them
at risk for identity theft. Alex Friedmann, an ex-offender and vice president of
Private Corrections Institute, a watchdog group that opposes prison
privatization, says he has obtained roughly 50 pages of patients' information
that came from Middle Tennessee Treatment Center's unlocked Dumpster. These
documents include private information such as the names, Social Security
numbers, addresses and phone numbers of patients who receive methadone, a
synthetic opiate medication that eliminates the severe withdrawal symptoms of
heroin. "This is incredibly improper. These are confidential records," Friedmann
said. "There is a stigma attached to people undergoing methadone treatment. If
this information got in the wrong hands, it could jeopardize people's jobs and
their standing in the community." Debbie Crowley, the center's chief operating
officer, said patient information is never thrown in the garbage without being
shredded. She said she suspected that the documents were somehow taken from the
center and promised that a full investigation would be conducted. "Maintaining
the confidentiality of our clients is paramount," Crowley said. "This is not how
we do business." Friedmann said the records were taken from the Dumpster on June
28 but wouldn't say who brought them to him. Crowley did not learn about the
unshredded documents until Tuesday. She said she planned to contact the patients
who are identified in the records to inform them of the situation. "As far as
I'm concerned, these documents were obtained illegally," Crowley said. Friedmann
fears that the clinic's actions could place patients at risk of having their
identities stolen. Forty-three patient names and seven of their Social Security
numbers can be found in the tossed records, which include notes from counseling
sessions that contain details of patients' personal lives. State will look into
clinic Friedmann — who served 10 years in prisons and jail after being convicted
of assault with intent to commit murder, armed robbery and attempted aggravated
robbery — said his only plans for the records are to turn them over to
regulatory agencies. Jill Hudson, a Tennessee Department of Mental Health and
Developmental Disabilities spokeswoman, said the state is looking into the
allegations. She said methadone clinics are required to hold on to patient
records for 10 years and they must be destroyed before they are thrown away.
Clinics that violate these practices face fines ranging from $500 to $5,000,
Hudson said. Also, a complaint against the methadone clinic has been filed with
the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services' Office for Civil Rights, which
enforces patient privacy laws. The civil rights office can't discuss complaints
that are under investigation. But in general, once a complaint is filed the
agency investigates, and if the complaint is founded, the agency will work with
the provider to correct the problems. If the problems continue, the agency has
the option to levy fines. Friedmann said it's especially egregious that the
clinic failed to protect patient privacy because there is no other methadone
clinic in this area. "Where else are they going to go?" Friedmann asked. "There
is no other game in town." The building that houses the Middle Tennessee
Treatment Center is co-owned by Gus Puryear IV, the Corrections Corporation of
America's general counsel and a federal judicial nominee. Puryear has been
accused by a former CCA employee of overseeing a practice that produced
misleading reports about safety incidents at the company's prisons. The Private
Corrections Institute has been an outspoken critic of Puryear's nomination.
National
June 26, 2008 Nashville Scene
Regarding the Scene’s cover story on CCA, “Locked and Loaded” (June 19),
when it comes to prisons—particularly private prisons—the devil’s in the
details. While the article was informative and wide-ranging, it missed some
important details, including these: It wasn’t clear that there was a cover up of
the assault on inmate James Ingram at CCA’s Hardeman County facility. The
assault by Warden Turner occurred on May 17, 2007, but the Tennessee Department
of Correction wasn’t notified until July 19—two months later. Nor were they notified
by CCA; they learned about the incident from Ingram’s attorney. CCA staff had
tried to hide the incident from state officials. CCA employees apparently have
problems following the law. From February 2003 to April 2008, at least 55 CCA
employees at three prisons in Tennessee (Hardeman County, Whiteville and South
Central) were charged with criminal offenses—or an average of one a month. That
doesn’t include arrests of CCA staff members at the company’s 62 other
facilities. Gerald Townsend, the inmate at the CCA-Metro facility who was beaten
to death by his cellmate in January, was the brother of Judy Townsend—who,
ironically, was present at the same CCA-run facility in July 2004 when Estelle
Richardson was found “unresponsive” in her segregation cell and later died. Four
CCA guards were indicted in connection with her death, but the charges were
later dropped. A $35,000 reward has been offered for information related to
Estelle’s murder: See whokilledestelle.org. Alex Friedmann Vice President,
Private Corrections Institute (and former CCA prisoner)
June 17, 2008 AlterNet
Gustavus "Gus" Puryear, head legal honcho for the nation's largest private
prison company, Corrections Corporation of America (CCA), isn't the kind of guy
who's accustomed to sitting in the hot seat, much less showing visible signs of
discomfort. The kind of discomfort, say, that Puryear might have felt when he
heard that up to $35,000 in cash reward money had been announced for information
leading to the conviction of Estelle Richardson's murderer(s). Ten thousand
dollars will go to anyone who can recover "missing" cell extraction video
footage from within the CCA-operated Nashville prison where Estelle was found
dead in her solitary confinement cell. The cash reward announcement came a
couple of weeks after AlterNet ran the two-part investigative feature I wrote
about the Estelle Richardson, and what any of the events surrounding her life
and death has to do with Puryear's bid for federal judgeship. This money's quite
real, and the offer is quite legitimate, although the actual donor has chosen to
remain anonymous. Check it out for yourself at WhoKilledEstelle.org. The
grassroots organizing front has picked up steam, as well, especially after Amy
Goodman took interest in the story and brought me on Democracy Now! to discuss
some of the particulars. Many readers and viewers have followed up by going to
AgainstPuryear.org, run by a man named Alex Friedmann. [T]he judicial nomination
of CCA general counsel Gus Puryear is largely in the toilet," Friedmann wrote to
me in a recent e-mail, referring to an article from The Tennessean. Wow. When
President Bush nominated him to a lifetime federal judicial appointment last
year, it seemed to most people paying attention that he'd be confirmed without
much fanfare or fuss. Puryear had always been a staunch GOP loyalist, but he
wasn't the kind to rock the boat with public, proclamations about controversial
issues. Instead, he proved himself to be the behind-the-scenes guy; the kind of
guy, for example, who got a kick out of prepping Dick Cheney for the 2000 and
2004 vice-presidential debates. By the time he was nominated for the U.S.
District Court judgeship. Puryear also proved himself to be a relentlessly
corporate litigator whose loyalty to CCA's bottom line had been (and still is)
handsomely rewarded. If it weren't for the fact that CCA brought in a corporate
commando in 2001 by the name of John Ferguson (and that Ferguson decided to
bring Puryear in to create a new, formidable legal fortress), CCA's
scandal-ridden, stock-price-tanking, shareholder-suing mess would have surely
have brought the entire company crashing to the ground. (Yes, CCA scandals are
now more prevalent than ever, but so are the number people cycling in and out of
prison. Where federal and state governments have run out of options, CCA and
other prison privatizers have made in their business to make themselves
indispensable.) With a net worth of $13 million (and climbing), the 39-yr-old
Puryear didn't just show up with an old-money pedigree and a seemingly
skeleton-free closet; he was able to turn it up a few notches as a quick-witted,
nattily-attired, blue-eyed whippersnapper eager to play his part to freshen up a
stale party image. And what better way to do so than to slip on a nice, roomy
judge's robe and decide on the fate of people's lives? He was riding in the
slipstream of the most reprehensible driver of the American prison machine,
Sure, he hit a few small speed bumps along the way, and Estelle Richardson was
one of those. I'm grateful that Friedmann wasn't willing to let her memory fade
away. "But the fight isn't over yet," he cautions. "Puryear can still be
confirmed anytime from now until January 2009. Since his nomination is presently
on the ropes, it's time for a knock-out blow. If you or your organization
haven't already done so, now is the time to contact the Senate Judiciary
Committee and object to Puryear's pending nomination. I'll second that.
www.againstpuryear.org. Estelle, I hope that you can rest in peace.
June 13, 2008 Tennessean
A year ago today, Gustavus "Gus" Puryear IV was nominated for a federal
judgeship in Nashville and appeared headed to an easy confirmation. Now
Puryear's confirmation seems unlikely. In addition to questions raised about his
qualifications and actions as general counsel for Corrections Corporation of
America, Puryear's fate is now caught in intense election-year battles between
Republicans and Democrats in the Senate over lifetime judicial appointments.
Senate Democrats are looking to approve as few of Republican President Bush's
appointments as they can before his term expires, hoping Democratic Sen. Barack
Obama of Illinois wins the presidency. Republicans did the same during the final
months of the Democratic Clinton administration. Sen. Joe Biden, D-Del., a
longtime member of the Senate Judiciary Committee, which vets nominees, said at
a committee hearing Thursday that this practice is simply the "fact of the
matter." "It is legitimate," Biden said. "These are lifetime appointments."
Judiciary Committee Chairman Pat Leahy, D-Vt., said at the end of the hearing,
which included approval of three judicial nominees, that no more judges would be
confirmed unless there is agreement among him and ranking committee Republican
Arlen Specter of Pennsylvania and the Democratic and Republican leaders of the
Senate. Even Tennessee's two Republican senators, who signed off on Puryear's
nomination, acknowledge his confirmation is in trouble. "Gus Puryear is a
qualified nominee who deserves an up-or-down vote in the Senate, and we're
continuing to pursue every option to that end," Sen. Bob Corker said in a
written statement. "The current atmosphere in the Senate makes his confirmation
more difficult — not impossible, just increasingly more difficult as we approach
the fall elections." Sen. Lamar Alexander said he was still hopeful. "But the
Democrats have slowed confirmation of President Bush's nominees to a ridiculous
extent," Alexander said in a recent interview. CCA spokesman Steve Owen,
responding to a request for Puryear to comment, said the company has "no way of
knowing what the outcome of the confirmation process will be. We continue to
believe that Mr. Puryear would make an excellent federal judge. He has served
the company admirably and with great integrity as general counsel." The
Judiciary Committee held a hearing on Puryear's nomination in February but has
not scheduled a vote on whether to send his name to the full Senate for a vote.
Reasons cited by opponents as to why Puryear should not be confirmed include: a
lack of trial and judicial experience, his role as chief lawyer for the
country's largest private prison company, and the company's handling of the 2004
death of Estelle Richardson while she was in the Metro Detention Facility in
Nashville. Among those opposing Puryear's confirmation are: The Alliance for
Justice, an umbrella group of national civil rights and other organizations,
Private Corrections Institute Inc., which opposes prison privatization and the
American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees.
May 3, 2008 Tennessean
Several recent editorials, including an April 13 opinion piece by former
Sen. Bill Frist, have expressed support for the federal judicial nomination of
Gustavus A. Puryear IV, general counsel for Corrections Corp. of America (CCA).
Mr. Frist decried political bickering over Mr. Puryear's nomination, and,
indeed, it would be laudable if politics played no part in judicial selections.
But as former Sen. Frist knows from his own partisan positions on judicial
nominees, the process is rife with politics. In addition to having worked for
Mr. Frist, Mr. Puryear was employed by Sen. Fred Thompson during an
investigation into Democrat campaign finances. He also served as a debate
adviser to Vice President Dick Cheney, and has been described as a "Republican
heavyweight." According to a 2004 report, 96 percent of the campaign
contributions made by CCA, Mr. Puryear's employer, went to Republican
candidates. So how is Mr. Puryear's nomination not political in nature? In fact,
political payback is a reasonable explanation for why Mr. Puryear is now a
judicial nominee. It certainly wasn't his trial or courtroom experience. By his
own admission, Mr. Puryear has been personally involved in only four or five
federal cases and has taken only two cases to trial over his entire legal
career. He has never handled a federal appeal, and he has not personally
litigated a case in the past decade. An April 28 article in the National Law
Journal described Mr. Puryear's nomination as one of only two that have "vocal
opposition." Where is that opposition coming from? Not from just one group, but
from the National Lawyers Guild, the National Organization for Women, the
National Council of Women's Organizations, AFSCME (one of the nation's largest
labor unions, which represents public employees), the Alliance for Justice and
other civil rights organizations. These varied groups would not take positions
against Mr. Puryear's nomination if they did not have serious concerns as to
whether he should serve on the federal bench. On the flip side, Mr. Puryear's
supporters note that he received a "qualified" rating by the American Bar
Association. However, during this Congressional term the ABA has rated 75
percent of judicial nominees as "well qualified"; thus, Mr. Puryear ranks in the
bottom 25 percent. Further, almost all of Mr. Puryear's supporters have
financial or business ties to his employer, CCA, either through stock ownership
or client relationships. A CCA spokesperson has criticized opposition to Mr.
Puryear's nomination as being part of a larger campaign against for-profit
prisons. While his employment with CCA is one of many factors, the bottom line
is that Mr. Puryear lacks the experience and qualifications necessary to serve
as a federal judge, whether he works for CCA or any other company. In terms of
politics, Mr. Puryear would be unqualified whether he was a Democrat or a
Republican, or whether he was nominated by President Bush or former President
Clinton. For more information about Mr. Puryear's contested judicial nomination,
please visit www.againstpuryear.org. Alex Friedmann is vice president of the
Private Corrections Institute, a nonprofit group that opposes prison
privatization. He is also a former prisoner who served six years at a CCA-run
facility in Tennessee before being released in 1999.
Hawai'i:
March 31, 2008 Honolulu Advertiser
State lawmakers today will consider ordering an audit of two Corrections
Corporation of America facilities in the wake of national media accounts
alleging that the huge private prison company misrepresented statistical data to
make it appear that CCA facilities had fewer violent acts and other problems
than was actually the case. Hawai'i pays CCA more than $50 million a year to
house more than 2,000 men and women convicts in CCA prisons in Arizona and
Kentucky. Senate Bill 2342 calls for the State Auditor to conduct performance
audits of two of the three Mainland prisons that house Hawai'i inmates,
including reviews of the food, medical, drug treatment, vocational and other
services provided to Hawai'i inmates. The audit also would scrutinize the way
the state Department of Public Safety oversees the private prisons and enforces
the terms of the state's contracts with CCA. According to the bill, "there has
never been an audit of the private Mainland prisons that Hawai'i has contracted
with to house the state's inmates, despite the fact that deaths and serious
injuries have occurred at several of the contract prisons on the Mainland."
Clayton Frank, director of the state Department of Public Safety, testified
against the proposed audits in Senate hearings last month, calling the audits
"unnecessary and repetitive" because his department already conducts quarterly
audits to make sure CCA is complying with its contracts with the state. Frank
also suggested his department was being singled out, arguing that if lawmakers
want performance audits to provide more accountability and transparency to the
public, "then it should apply to all state contracts and not be limited to just
the Department of Public Safety." Critics of the Mainland prison contracts
contend the audits are needed because the private prisons are for-profit
ventures designed to keep costs as low as possible. During the decade that
Hawai'i has housed inmates on the Mainland, the state itself has criticized
private prison operators when the companies failed to provide Hawai'i inmates
with programs that were required under the contract. Now, supporters of the
audit bill say an independent review is necessary to scrutinize what is one of
the state's largest ongoing contracts of any kind with a private vendor. "Are we
getting what we pay for? We'd like to know," testified Jeanne Y. Ohta, executive
director of the Drug Policy Forum of Hawai'i. The audit would cover the
1,896-bed Saguaro Correctional Center in Eloy, Ariz., which houses only male
prisoners from Hawai'i, and the 656-bed Otter Creek Correctional Center in
Wheelwright, Ky., which holds about 175 Hawai'i women inmates. The House Finance
Committee hearing on the bill today comes in the wake of Mainland media reports
citing a former CCA manager who said he was required to produce misleading
reports about incidents in CCA prisons. The company operates about 65 prisons
with about 75,000 inmates. Time magazine interviewed former CCA senior quality
assurance manager Ronald T. Jones, who said CCA General Counsel Gus Puryear IV
ordered staff to classify sometimes violent incidents such as inmate
disturbances, escapes and sexual assaults as if they were less serious events to
make the company performance appear to be better than it was. Jones said more
detailed reports about the prison incidents were prepared for internal CCA use,
and were not released to clients. CCA denied the allegations, which Time
published as Puryear is being considered for a post as a federal judge. The
Private Corrections Institute Inc., an organization opposed to private prisons,
wrote to Hawai'i prison officials urging them to investigate CCA's reporting
procedures in the wake of the Time report. Alex Friedmann, vice president of the
institute, said most state monitors who are overseeing CCA prisons "largely rely
on information and data provided by CCA; further, the accuracy of incident
reports is entirely dependent on whether those incidents are documented by the
company's employees." Hawai'i Public Safety officials did not respond to
requests for comment on the allegations in the Time article.
Tennessee
March 26, 2008 Tennessean
Add women’s rights groups to the list opposing the federal judicial
nomination of Gus Puryear IV, the embattled general counsel for the Corrections
Corporation of America. Puryear’s membership to Nashville’s Belle Meade County
Club is under fire by the women’s rights organization who say women are unable
to vote or hold office at the private golf club. National Organization of Women,
the National Council for Women’s Organizations and the Women’s Equal rights
Legal Defense and Education Fund have sent a letter to the Senate Judiciary
Committee. Puryear’s nomination ignited a debate whether the general counsel of
CCA, the for-profit prison giant, is suited for the bench in light of
allegations that he encouraged misleading incident reports. Private Corrections
Institute, an advocacy group that opposes prison privatization, has been an
outspoken critic of Puryear's nomination. The Alliance for Justice and the
National Lawyers Guild are among the opposition. There’s also a website,
www.againstpuryear.org, is part of the opposition campaign. The hearings were
held last month and the committee has not voted on his nomination. President
Bush nominated Puryear last June to serve as a federal judge for the Middle
District of Tennessee.
March 20, 2008 Nashville Scene
The Scene’s article on Gus Puryear’s federal judicial nomination covered
many of the bases but missed one important detail (“Elephant in the Room,” March
6). If people want to learn more about this inexperienced, less-than-qualified,
conflicted and controversial Bush-nominated judicial candidate—and perhaps want
to do something about it—they should visit the website againstpuryear.org.
Otherwise the Scene did a great job. The issues related to the death of Estelle
Richardson, Mr. Puryear’s lack of experience and conflicts of interest, his
membership in the overwhelmingly white Belle Meade Country Club, which does not
afford voting rights to women members, and Mr. Puryear’s employment with CCA
(the nation’s largest for-profit prison firm) go far beyond partisan politics.
Mr. Puryear would be unqualified whether he was a Democrat or a Republican,
whether Bush or Clinton nominated him. He’s not qualified and not the right man
for the job, which transcends politics (or at least should). For those who know
Mr. Puryear, they may not know he is a man of contradictions. Contradictions
between what he says and does and between the whole and entire truth. That isn’t
a quality we want or need in a federal judge. The residents of Middle Tennessee
deserve better, but they won’t get it unless they make their voices heard. ALEX
FRIEDMANN VICE PRESIDENT, PRIVATE CORRECTIONS INSTITUTE
March 14, 2008
Nashville Scene
Once thought to be a sure thing, Gus Puryear's nomination to the federal
bench is now in serious trouble. A devastating story published on Time
magazine's website yesterday alleged that the young attorney whitewashed company
reports in his role as corporate counsel for Corrections Corporation of America
(CCA). The story revolves around Ronald T. Jones, a former CCA prison manager
described as a loyal Republican like the judicial nominee himself. Jones claims
Puryear oversaw a reporting system in which the company basically lied to its
public-sector clients, minimizing outbreaks of prison disturbances in the jails
it operates. In theory at least, CCA is supposed to provide thorough and
objective reports to the government agencies who have outsourced the management
of its jails to the private company. But Jones says his ex-boss Puryear masked
or omitted details that could result in litigation, fines or bad press. That
aside, he behaved admirably. “When Puryear felt there was highly sensitive or
potentially damaging information to CCA, I would then be directed to remove that
information from an audit report,” Jones told Time.com. Today, The Tennessean
published a well-reported front-page story that included additional details,
including how in 2005 a CCA official once had the temerity to issue a memo with
potentially damaging information about a prison incident. That led to a change
in company policy—in which any reports to be made public had to be cleared by
the office of the general counsel. The Private Corrections Institute, which has
led the charge against Puryear, issued a press release calling on the Senate
Judiciary Committee to summon the nominee back to Washington for yet another
hearing. The group may well get its wish. It's been a dismal week for Puryear—right
as he tries to explain his membership in the historically discriminatory Belle
Meade Country Club, he now will likely have to defend himself against serious
charges of turning CCA’s cold, hard facts into creative fiction. It's still
possible for Puryear to survive this latest onslaught of bad press and go on to
become a good judge. But considering how much trouble he's had so far convincing
people he's up for the job, couldn't the Bush administration have just plucked
someone else? There are plenty of intelligent Republican attorneys in Nashville.
How many of them have Puryear's baggage?
March 14, 2008
Tennessean
A former Corrections Corporation of America manager is accusing the
company's general counsel and federal judicial nominee Gus Puryear IV of
overseeing a practice that produced misleading reports about safety incidents at
its prisons. Ronald T. Jones, who until last year worked as a senior manager in
quality assurance at the Nashville-based prison operator, said that Puryear
directed him and other staff to classify incidents such as escapes, unnatural
deaths and disturbances as less serious to make its performance look better in
reports to government agency clients. Reports prepared for internal use,
meanwhile, included more details about the specific incidents, Jones said.
Private Corrections Institute, an advocacy group that opposes prison
privatization and has been an outspoken critic of Puryear's nomination, Thursday
urged the Senate Judiciary Committee to hold another round of hearings at which
Jones could testify and Puryear be asked more questions about his actions.
"Alternatively, we support the position of not bringing Mr. Puryear's judicial
nomination forward for a committee vote," said Alex Friedmann, a former inmate
at a CCA prison and the group's vice president. At a Feb. 12 hearing before the
Judiciary Committee, Puryear faced tough questions on the 2004 death of a woman
at the Metro Detention Facility, possible conflict of interest with cases
involving CCA and its executives that are often filed in Middle Tennessee
District, where he would serve, and his membership in the exclusive Belle Meade
Country Club. In response, Puryear said that he would recuse himself for at
least five years from all cases involving CCA and its executives: said there
were disagreements among medical experts about what happened in the death of
Estelle Richardson at the detention facility; and promised to resign from Belle
Meade if he found its membership policies violated the code of judicial ethics.
Committee staff said any action on Puryear's nomination is unlikely until April
at the earliest. The committee has no more business meetings this week and
Congress is on Easter break for the next two weeks. The Judiciary Committee
usually does not hold additional hearings with the nominee and other witnesses.
Instead, the senators rely on written responses to questions and the transcript
of the original hearing when discussing and voting on a nominee. Puryear
couldn't be reached last night for comment. CCA denies allegations -- Louise
Grant, a CCA spokeswoman, called Jones' allegations inaccurate and added that it
paints a false picture of CCA's quality assurance process and of Puryear's role.
"We question the motives of this former employee, who was not in a leadership
position in quality assurance and resigned in lieu of termination," Grant added.
"If our interest was in under-reporting or not finding quality issues, we simply
would not have created this (quality assurance) department or its programs in
the first place." Jones denies that he faced termination at CCA. He now lives in
Detroit and said he left CCA to pursue a legal career. He said in his job he was
responsible for tracking information on events such as unusual deaths,
disturbances and audit findings and that the misleading practices began in early
2005, when the quality assurance department was put under Puryear as general
counsel. A CCA staff member in 2005 provided a report containing potentially
damaging information about an incident at a prison to a government client
without corporate approval, Jones said. That incident, according to Jones, led
to a new policy in which any reports that could be made public needed to be
cleared by the office of the general counsel. "Mr. Puryear then directed me, and
other quality assurance department staff who process audit report finding, to
create two reports for distribution of audit findings," Jones wrote in a
statement sent to the Senate Judiciary Committee. "I would prepare one report
with all of the audit findings and auditor comments in it for "internal purposes
only" and a separate more generic report that contained only general information
about audit results as a whole." In a separate interview with The Tennessean,
Jones added that the more information that could potentially damage the company
if it was released publicly, the more that its operations and financial status
could be affected. In the corrections industry, the number of incidents such as
prison escapes, riots, and sexual assaults are among variables often used to
determine bonuses for employees from wardens to chief executives, industry
observers said. If a prison contract provides for a bonus, such incidents also
would be taken into account by a client government agency in determining the
award. CCA is required to file reports with the state on incidents such as
inmate-on-inmate assaults or inmate-on-staff assaults, disturbances and a daily
census of inmates at its prisons that house state inmates, said Dorinda Carter,
a spokeswoman for the Tennessee Department of Corrections. The department has
onsite contract monitors and other designated employees at the prisons that
report daily on incidents and another division that conducts annual audits of
the CCA prisons, she said. "We feel pretty sure that we're finding out about
incidents as they happen," Carter said. She added that CCA is required to follow
the same policies as the 13 prisons run by the state and that officials are
confident in their monitoring of the company.
March 7, 2008 Tennessean
Long list of problems exists in use of CCA By ALEX FRIEDMANN Corrections
Corporation of America, the nation's largest for-profit prison firm, has a
history in Tennessee that dates back to 1983. It hasn't always been a proud
history, though. Last May, the warden of CCA's Hardeman County facility
assaulted an inmate who was in restraints. The warden resigned, was prosecuted
and pled guilty. The prison's internal affairs officer was charged with an
unrelated assault. On July 30, 2007, a riot occurred at CCA's South Central
Correctional Center in Wayne County. The company's tactical officers responded;
however, there was a delay when they tried to enter the housing units because no
one had the gate keys. On Jan. 14, 2008, an inmate at the CCA-run Metro-Davidson
County Detention Facility was beaten to death by his cellmate. Also, a prisoner
escaped from CCA's Metro jail. CCA initially didn't know he had absconded on
Feb. 16. Those are just the latest in a long line of assaults, escapes, inmate
and employee deaths, and riots at CCA facilities in Tennessee. Most people don't
care because they don't have a private prison in their backyard. That will soon
change for residents of Trousdale County, where CCA plans to build a 2,040-bed
detention center. Type of jobs an issue -- Proponents cite the estimated
350 jobs the prison will bring. But what kind of jobs? According to internal CCA
documents, as recently as October 2007, guards at the Hardeman County prison
were paid a starting wage of $9.41 an hour; after two years, they were earning
less than $10.25. An administrative clerk at the prison was hired at $7.67 per
hour. CCA's supporters also point to taxes and fees the company will pay. Those
payments are partially offset by other costs, such as $6 million in water and
sewage upgrades that Trousdale County will make in preparation for the prison.
In at least two cases, in Ohio and Texas, CCA was sued over tax breaks and
failure to pay taxes owed. In another case, CCA sued the state of New Mexico in
an attempt to recover $2.5 million in tax payments. A 2003 report titled, "Big
Prisons, Small Towns," found that incarceration is a poor form of economic
development. Once a city becomes a "prison town" other industries are less
likely to move in, making the community dependent on the facility for income —
and in the case of a private prison, at the mercy of the company that owns it.
Last month, CCA threatened to remove inmates from one of the company's prisons
in Colorado if the state didn't increase its payments. After a for-profit
facility is filled, the contracting government agencies can be held captive to
rate increases or other demands, as they have nowhere else to put their
prisoners. The residents of Trousdale County may be stuck with a private prison
despite the objections of concerned community members whose repeated requests
for a public hearing were denied. Those who favor the CCA facility will deserve
exactly what they get.
National
March 5, 2008 Tennessean
The accuracy of testimony by Gustavus "Gus'' Puryear IV at his confirmation
hearing to be a federal judge is being questioned by four Democratic members of
the Senate Judiciary Committee. Puryear is general counsel of Nashville-based
private prison giant Corrections Corporation of America and was nominated by
Republican President Bush. After the February hearing, he provided written
answers to additional questions about the company's handling of the death of an
inmate at a company-run facility in Nashville, potential conflicts of interest
he would face as a judge and his membership in the Belle Meade Country Club. The
sometimes-pointed questions and Puryear's responses again raise the stakes in
his confirmation. Once thought to be routine, Puryear's nomination is being
fought by a coalition of civil rights, labor and other groups spearheaded by the
Private Corrections Institute, which opposes prison privatization. Puryear's
responses were released Thursday. Inmate death testimony -- Judiciary Committee
Chairman Sen. Patrick Leahy of Vermont, along with Sens. Ted Kennedy of
Massachusetts, Dianne Feinstein of California and Russ Feingold of Wisconsin
questioned the testimony Puryear gave last month about the 2004 death of Estelle
Richardson. Richardson died at the Metro Detention Facility after she was
forcibly removed from her solitary confinement cell by four guards. She had a
fractured skull, broken ribs and liver damage. The state's medical examiner
ruled the death a homicide and the four guards were charged, but the indictments
eventually were dropped. Later, a civil suit brought by Richardson's family was
settled out of court when experts representing the family and the CCA concluded
the skull fracture occurred before she was extracted from her cell. At his Feb.
12 hearing, Puryear testified it was not clear how Richardson received her head
injuries and that they could have been self-inflicted. He said CPR done in an
attempt to revive Richardson could have caused her broken ribs and liver damage.
All four senators questioned that testimony, citing a letter sent to the
committee from Dr. Bruce Levy, Tennessee's chief medical examiner, who conducted
the autopsy on Richardson. He reiterated that the death was a homicide caused by
blunt force trauma that was not self-inflicted. Levy called "misleading at
best'' Puryear's comment about CPR causing injuries. Puryear responded by citing
a letter to the committee from David Smith, attorney for the Richardson family,
who wrote that the "the circumstances and causes of Ms. Richardson's tragic
death were complex and debated ... our own experts attributed the death to a
seizure.'' "There were also issues on whether CPR may have caused the liver and
rib injuries,'' Smith wrote. Puryear said the company's expert, Dr. William
McCormick, former deputy chief medical examiner for Tennessee, wrote that the
rib and liver injuries were "almost certainly'' caused by CPR and cited medical
research to back his claim. Promises made -- Puryear expanded on a promise made
during testimony that he would recuse himself for at least five years from CCA
cases and would also not take on personal cases involving company executives. He
said at the hearing he also would sell all of his CCA stock. Puryear also wrote
that he would resign from the Belle Meade Country Club if he discovered that the
club's membership practices violated the judicial code of conduct. Kennedy wrote
that the club did not allow blacks to join until 1994 and does not give women
the right to vote on club business. Puryear said there are no women who are
"resident members,'' the class allowed to vote, but that he knows of no policy
that restricts women from being recommended for that category. "I am not aware
... that any woman has been proposed or has sought to be proposed as a 'resident
member,' " he said. Judiciary Committee spokesman Erica Chabot said the
committee would likely not deal with the nomination until April at the earliest
because members may want to ask follow-up questions and Congress is out of
session the last two weeks of March. The full Senate must confirm the nomination
once it is out of committee.
February 21, 2008 AP
A private prison company executive nominated to become a federal judge has run
into a determined opponent — a former inmate. President Bush in June nominated
Gustavus A. Puryear IV, chief lawyer with Corrections Corporation of America, to
become a U.S. district judge in Nashville. That led Alex Friedmann, who spent
six years at the company's prison in Clifton, Tenn., to investigate Puryear's
qualifications. He looked up every case where Puryear was listed on the docket
as counsel. The prisoner-turned-inmate advocate found only five instances where
Puryear was the attorney of record. By his count and Puryear's, the judicial
nominee has been involved in only two federal court trials during his career.
That's just one more case than Friedmann himself has handled in federal court.
Convinced that the well-connected Puryear was unqualified to be a federal judge
and might face a conflict of interest overseeing litigation involving his former
employer, Friedmann began a public relations campaign against the nomination
that led all the way to the Senate. He formed the group Tennesseans Against
Puryear and enlisted the help of the liberal Washington-based Alliance for
Justice and the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees,
both of which sent letters opposing the appointment. Puryear, a 1993 graduate of
the University of North Carolina law school, didn't respond to several phone and
e-mail requests left at his home and office for an interview with The Associated
Press. At a Feb. 12 hearing of the Judiciary Committee, Sen. Diane Feinstein, D-Calif.,
questioned Puryear about several issues originally raised by Friedmann and the
nonprofit Private Corrections Institute, a group opposing private prisons that
Friedmann helps run. Puryear told the Senate committee he already was selling
off his stock in the company, according to reports in The Tennessean newspaper.
He owned CCA shares valued at just under $1.3 million as of Feb. 1, according to
Lionshares.com, an online database of stock ownership. He also pledged to recuse
himself from cases involving CCA even after he no longer holds a financial
interest. The committee also questioned Puryear about whether the volume of
lawsuits against Nashville-based CCA — the nation's largest for-profit private
prison company — would burden other judges who would have to hear the cases when
Puryear recused himself. Puryear said it would not be a significant burden.
Friedmann's campaign against Puryear continues. He plans to send a letter to the
Committee on the Judiciary pointing out what he contends are inaccuracies in
Puryear's answers. The two men have never met. Although Friedmann learned of the
nomination because he keeps tabs on CCA, he insists his crusade is based on
Puryear's lack of qualification and not because he's a CCA executive. Friedmann
sued CCA and several employees in 1996 while incarcerated for six years for
armed robbery. Serving as his own lawyer, Friedmann eventually won a $6,000
judgment against a former prison unit manager for a civil rights violation.
Puryear's legal resume includes significant political work — serving as counsel
to former Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist and junior counsel during the U.S.
Senate Governmental Affairs Committee investigation of campaign finance abuse
led by former Sen. Fred Thompson. He also was a debate adviser for Dick Cheney
in 2000. Stefanie Lindquist, an associate professor of political science and law
at Vanderbilt University, said courtroom experience is good but not essential
for federal judge nominees. She sees more significance in the American Bar
Association rating of Puryear as "qualified," instead of "well qualified" to be
a judge. "A 'qualified' rating is relatively weak. That's going to hurt him,"
Lindquist said. Lindquist said Friedmann's efforts are unusual for even
temporarily disrupting what should be a routine confirmation. There are about
180 Bush nominations pending as the administration and Democratic-controlled
Senate tangle over some sharply contested nominees. Of the Puryear nomination,
Lindquist said: "If there are other, more controversial nominees, this might
slide through as a compromise."
February 20, 2008 Mother Jones
In October 2000, Dick Cheney faced off for a debate with Connecticut Sen. Joseph
Lieberman. The 60-year-old Cheney appeared comfortable discussing the ins and
outs of policy and made good-natured jokes about Lieberman's singing abilities,
or lack thereof. Cheney's smooth performance reflected his many years in public
service. But the aspiring vice president also had a strong debate-preparation
team made up of longtime friends and GOP loyalists. Among them was Gustavus
Adolphus Puryear IV, a legislative director for Tennessee senator Bill Frist,
who was on contract with the Bush/Cheney campaign. Puryear apparently did such a
good job prepping Cheney that he was called in again in 2004 to help him gear up
for his debate with Democratic vice-presidential candidate John Edwards.
Puryear's efforts on behalf of the Bush administration paid off last June when
the president nominated him to be a federal trial court judge for the Middle
District of Tennessee. Puryear certainly isn't the first judicial nominee
selected primarily for his political service, but still, his resume is
remarkably thin on the practice of law, a basic prerequisite even for the
best-connected political hacks. Puryear got his start in politics in the
mid-1990s working as counsel to the Senate Committee on Governmental Affairs,
then chaired by Fred Thompson, as it investigated the Clinton fundraising
scandals. From there he went to work for Frist. Beyond a brief stint in private
practice for a corporate law firm when he was fresh out of law school, Puryear
has spent more time inside an executive suite than a courtroom. And it's that
corporate work that makes him an especially questionable candidate for the
federal bench. Puryear was in Washington last week for his confirmation hearing
before the Senate Judiciary Committee, where Senators Arlen Specter (D.-Pa,) and
Dianne Feinstein (D.-Ca.) both put his resume under a microscope, noting his
conspicuous lack of trial experience. At one point Specter asked him point
blank, "How many cases have you actually tried?" To which Puryear answered: Two.
Indeed, according to his written questionnaire for the committee, of the two
cases he has tried in the entirety of his legal career, he was lead counsel on
one of them. The last time he litigated a case in federal court was more than a
decade ago. Puryear has spent the bulk of his legal career at the
Tennessee-based Corrections Corporation of America, the nation's largest private
prison company. As its general counsel since 2001, Puryear has made millions of
dollars working for a company that profits from the country's incarceration
boom, particularly through his recent sale of more than $3 million worth of the
company's stock. (His financial disclosure form shows a net worth of more than
$13 million.) His employer creates enormous conflicts for Puryear as a potential
federal judge, as the CCA gets sued all the time, often in the very district
where he hopes to preside as judge. Since 2000, roughly 260 cases have been
filed in that court against the CCA, its officers, and subsidiaries. In
addition, Puryear's current job involves overseeing the CCA's defense against
inmate litigation, a prison staple that he has publicly dismissed as a nuisance,
even though such litigation has led to significant verdicts and settlements
against the company. For instance, in 2000, a South Carolina jury hit the CCA
with a $3 million verdict for abusing juveniles. Other successful suits have
alleged that the company's employees abused inmates and provided negligent
medical care. Yet in a quote he no doubt now regrets, in 2004 Puryear said that,
"Litigation is an outlet for inmates. It's something they can do in their spare
time." Inmate lawsuits typically account for more than 10 percent of the docket
in Tennessee's Middle District, meaning that Puryear will see his share of them
if he gets confirmed. During his confirmation hearing last week, Puryear told
the committee that he would recuse himself from any cases involving the CCA—at
least, he said, for some time after he's divested all of his stock in the
company. He dismissed concerns about his conflict of interest by noting that the
CCA cases make up a small part of the court's workload and that his recusals
would not create problems for the other judges. But his promises to recuse still
don't get to the heart of a fundamental conflict: To the CCA, inmates are a
revenue stream warehoused at the cheapest price. This not exactly the view of
the criminal justice system you want from a judge if you are a defendant. A
trial court judge in Tennessee's Middle District can expect to handle more than
60 criminal cases a year. Every person Puryear sends to prison is a potential
money-maker for his former employer, which contracts with the federal government
to manage 15 detention facilities, and also holds federal prisoners in other CCA
institutions that house state and local prisoners when the need arises,
according to Steve Owen, the company's director of marketing and communications.
The number of inmates coming from Tennessee may be relatively small, but still,
it seems fair to ask whether Puryear's conflict of interest runs so deep that he
might have to recuse himself from criminal cases entirely. Thus far, Puryear has
largely escaped media scrutiny, as the activist groups that monitor the federal
courts tend to focus mostly on appellate courts and the occasional Supreme Court
battle rather than on trial court nominees. Puryear's CV also doesn't signal
fights on many of the hot-button social issues that usually set off a
confirmation battle. He doesn't sound—or look—like Robert Bork. He's young,
patrician, a model member of the exclusive Belle Meade Country Club, and
director of the Antiques & Garden Show of Nashville. But for his deep voice he
could be Niles on "Frasier." Nonetheless, Puryear might be in for an unexpected
fight, due in part to his decision to publicly dis jailhouse lawyers. Alex
Friedmann was one of those jailhouse lawyers. He spent six years inside one of
the CCA's prisons in Tennessee for attempted murder and armed robbery. Friedmann
actually sued the CCA while incarcerated for retaliating against him for his
comments to a reporter for The Nation. Representing himself, he took another
case all the way to a jury trial, where he mostly lost, though he won a default
judgment against a former unit manager. He also appealed a different case
against the state, over censorship, that went all the way to the Sixth Circuit
court of appeals where he won. "In that regard, I'm more qualified than [Puryear]
is," he observes, noting that Puryear isn't even admitted to practice in the
Sixth Circuit. Now out of prison nine years, Friedmann is an editor for Prison
Legal News, which is how he first learned about Puryear's nomination. After
doing a little checking on him, Friedmann ran across Puryear's quote about
inmate litigation, which didn't sit too well with him, and he set out to torpedo
Puryear's nomination. As a former CCA inmate and a board member of a Florida
nonprofit group that opposes prison privatization, Friedmann readily admits that
he's not a disinterested party in the nomination battle. Nonetheless, his
political instincts are sound. He is cobbling together a coalition to oppose
Puryear's nomination, including the American Federal State and Municipal
Employees Union, which opposes private prisons for their anti-labor positions.
Friedmann's currently at work trying to enlist the real powerhouse of liberal
judicial activists to join the coalition: women's groups. Friedmann has compiled
stats from the federal court docket on the CCA's lawsuit history in order to
highlight the potential conflicts of interest Puryear might face, and he picked
apart Puryear's resume and his responses to the Senate Judiciary Committee's
questions last week. For instance, when pressed on his view of criminal
defendants and prison inmates, Puryear pointed to his service as a commissioner
on the National Prison Rape Elimination Commission. Skeptical, Friedmann checked
out Puryear's attendance record with the commission. He says the commission held
eight public hearings between 2005 and 2007—and Puryear missed at least four of
them. "If the gentleman does have a genuine concern about inmates, why did he
miss half the meetings?" he asks. Friedmann is also raising significant
questions about Puryear's response to questions about the death of a female
inmate at the CCA's facility in Nashville. The medical examiner ruled that
34-year-old Estelle Richardson was beaten to death while in the company's
custody. She suffered a skull fracture, broken ribs, and liver damage.
Prosecutors indicted four CCA guards in 2005, but later dropped the charges
after being unable to determine the time of death. So far, no one has been held
responsible for Richardson's death, although the CCA settled a private lawsuit
filed by her family. When Sen. Feinstein asked Puryear about the case, Puryear
disputed the medical examiner's findings and claimed that Richardson's death
might not have been a homicide at all. He suggested that the broken ribs and
liver injury may have been caused by CPR. It's "common" for people to suffer
such injuries from CPR, Puryear said, to which a dumbfounded Feinstein
exclaimed, "Common?" Apparently not satisfied with Puryear's answers, Feinstein
asked him to provide the committee with further written information about the
case. Meanwhile, after the hearing, Friedmann called the Tennessee medical
examiner who worked the case, who he says reaffirmed the original finding that
Robinson's death was a homicide and that there was nothing to suggest her
injuries were caused by resuscitation efforts. Friedmann also spoke with the
lawyers who represented Richardson's family and he says that they told him that
the CCA never raised CPR injuries as a defense in the litigation. Puryear's
comments to the committee, says Freidmann, are "not supported by the medical
record," which makes him skeptical about Puryear's judgment as a lawyer—and his
credibility. Friedmann seems to recognize that prison inmates are not the stuff
of judicial confirmation fights, so he has also homed in on another issue that
might provide more traction, not to mention the interest of powerful women's
groups: Puryear's country club. The tony Belle Meade Country Club in Nashville
is so exclusive that you have to be a member just to access its website. It
didn’t admit a single black member until 1994, a racist history so potent that
even Puryear's mentor, former Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist, quit the club
in 1993 when he first ran for office. While Belle Meade admits women, Friedmann
has heard that it still won't give "lady members" voting rights. (Troy
Cunningham, the controller of the club for the past 17 years, wouldn’t respond
to questions about women's voting rights, saying that "all questions flow
through the members," meaning that someone will have to put the question to
Puryear himself.) But if Friedmann can stir up controversy over Puryear's
country club membership, he might actually have a shot at scuttling his
nomination.
Oklahoma
February 19, 2008 Muskogee Phoenix
Warner County, Oklahoma CCA February 19, 2008 Muskogee Phoenix Numerous
university studies from Washington State and Ohio State, Iowa State, Kentucky
and Kentucky State, and from the Sentencing Project think tank conclude
otherwise. Studies include Susan E. Blankenship and Ernest J. Yanarella, “Prison
Recruitment as a Policy Tool of Local Economic Development: A Critical
Evaluation;” Ryan Scott King, Marc Mauer and Tracy Huling, “An Analysis of the
Economics of Prison Siting in Rural Communities;” Terry L. Besser and Margaret
M. Hanson, “The Development of Last Resort: The Impact of New State Prisons on
Small Town Economies” (www.privateci.org/private_pics/Prison%20Impact%20Report.doc).
For-profits pay shameful wages and have staggering employee turnover, 52 percent
annually at last admission. Last month a Texas for-profit prison manager told me
they pay new guards $7 an hour. (In 2006, the Corrections Corporation of America
CEO made $22.5 million.) Due to contractual difficulties, private prisons at
Hinton and Sayre were closed from months to years with massive layoffs, leaving
hosting communities reeling. An annual California survey indicates for-profits
have 30 times the escape rate of public prisons. Tulsa World files recount 19
escapes and mistaken releases between 2000 and 2005, when local facilities were
finally taken back from for-profit operators. A 1998 Hinton escape caused
Oklahoma’s DOC to fine Cornell Corrections $304,000. In 2007, Hinton escapees
kidnapped a 71-year-old local woman hostage, taking a second elderly woman
hostage 50 miles away in Oklahoma City, apparently before the fleeing convicts
were even missed. They were captured in Tulsa. Riots in CCA Oklahoma prisons in
2003, 2004 and 2005 included murder. CCA had massive riots in other states
during the four months following the 2003 Watonga riot. Hardin, Mont., officials
are seeking relief after hosting a $27 million speculative prison development
without prospects of it ever holding a single prisoner. Bonds payments are
rapidly coming due. Corporate music men may sing sweet songs, but Warner really
needs to turn a deaf ear upon them. Frank Smith, national field organizer,
Private Corrections Institute www.privateci.org Bluff City, Kan.
2007
Florida
December 16, 2007 Star-Banner
Thoughts of suicide began to form in James Johnson's mind. He felt nauseous. He
couldn't sleep. He was confused. "Please give me my Paxil," he begged the jail's
corrections officers. Johnson, 50, had been booked into the Marion County Jail
in March on a charge of driving with a suspended driver's license. It wasn't his
first time. This time, though, he was charged as a habitual offender and held
without bail. He admits he was at fault. What he didn't understand then - or now
- is why the jail's medical staff refused to give him the legally prescribed
medications he had taken for years for his clinical depression, including the
anti-depressant Paxil, an anti-psychotic called Seroquel and the sedative
Trazodone. "The psych nurse came to me and said, 'You're not going to get this
medication,'" Johnson said in a recent interview. "I said I'd get violently
ill." And so he did. He began throwing up. He grew increasingly agitated. Nurses
wrote in his medical records, day after day, that he was asking for his
medication; that Johnson was "doubled over in anguish evidenced by facial
expressions"; that he was making suicidal statements. His father, James Johnson
Sr, called the jail to share his fears that his son was "very suicidal." He was
taken in and out of a suicide prevention cell. At one point, he sat on the floor
and began to pray with his cellmates. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still
waters. Johnson's son, Jordan, said an off-duty corrections officer called and
pleaded with him to do something. "She was in tears and she said I need to get
my dad out and get him a lawyer. She said they were torturing him," Jordan
recalled. As Johnson's pleas for help went unanswered, he became more desperate.
By the seventh day, he was wailing and flinging himself headlong into the
concrete walls hoping to either lose consciousness or alert the guards to the
depth of his agony. "He started going crazy in front of my eyes," said Kyle
Morrill, one of his cellmates. "I woke up in the middle of the night and he was
running from one side of the cell and banging his head on the other side."
Johnson's frightened cellmates begged officers to do something - anything - to
relieve his suffering. But nothing changed. So when officers opened Johnson's
cell on the 10th day after his arrest, he bolted up a nearby stairway and leapt
off the balcony, crashing onto the hard floor 14 feet below and shattering his
right leg. That jump earned him a trip to the hospital, where a psychiatrist put
him back on an anti-depressant and painkillers and sent him back to jail.
Johnson eventually was released after 90 days on the same combination of
medication he was on before he was incarcerated: an anti-depressant, an
anti-psychotic and a sedative. His son said Johnson looked like a zombie the day
he walked out of the jail. And Johnson says for the first time he's dealing with
a new manifestation of his illness - paranoia. A SICK HEALTH SYSTEM? Johnson's
harrowing story isn't unique to the Marion County Jail, or for that matter, to
many jails across the country. Correctional health care is complex, costly and
politicized. And many times it is outsourced to large private companies. Critics
say the profit motive that drives these companies leads them to cut corners on
inmate care to save money and keep their investors happy. Prison Health
Services, Inc., a Brentwood, Tennessee-based private company, has been providing
medical care at the Marion County Jail for the past two years. As one of the
largest providers of correctional health care in the nation, PHS is a frequent
target of complaints about the quality of the care it provides. Just last week
the company was sued by a Volusia County family accusing PHS of failing to
provide suitable medical cSince PHS has been at the Marion County Jail, many
inmates and their families say injuries often go untreated, serious medical
conditions go undiagnosed and inmates are routinely denied necessary
medications, even with a legal prescription. During a seven-month inquiry, the
Star-Banner spoke to nearly a dozen inmates, reviewed hundreds of pages of
medical records and invited medical experts not affiliated with the jail to
review the policies and procedures of PHS. The newspaper found: * PHS is often
reluctant to prescribe medication to mentally ill inmates. Some, like Johnson,
arrive with legally prescribed medications, but are taken off of them. PHS
officials say that's a part of "evaluation and observation during a period of
abstinence from illicit drugs and alcohol." Some medical and legal critics call
the practice irresponsible or even unethical, and say it's more about saving
money on prescription medications than about performing a sound medical
evaluation. PHS says the allegations aren't true, and that like all health care
providers, including public and private hospital systems, it works to improve
efficiencies and manage costs to be good stewards of taxpayer dollars. *
Twenty-five inmates have died while in the jail's custody in the past five
years, including six who took their own lives. By comparison, Orange, Palm Beach
and Pinellas counties, all of which have populations at least three times that
of Marion County, have similar jail death figures. During the period from 2000
through 2005, the Orange County Jail reported 21 deaths, Palm Beach reported 25
deaths, and Pinellas reported 28 deaths, while Marion had 20 deaths in that same
period, according the federal Bureau of Justice Statistics. Meanwhile,
Miami-Dade County reported 89 deaths, and Broward reported 49 deaths. Sheriff Ed
Dean attributes the deaths here to the graying of the jail population and the
fact that many people who come to jail have life-threatening illnesses. "Any
death in jail is one too many," he said. "What we need to do is do anything
possible to extend life, but only the giver of life knows when their time
comes." No formal link has been shown between the deaths in Marion County and
the care provided by PHS. Herman Tucker's death, however, is one that his family
blames on the lack of appropriate treatment provided by PHS. Tucker was arrested
at a local mental health facility in 2002 for attacking a doctor. At the Marion
County Jail, he received a cocktail of drugs to subdue him, but no treatment.
Deputies shocked Tucker with a Taser, pepper-sprayed him and bound him to a
chair. Thirty-six days after his arrest, they found him unresponsive on the
floor of his jail cell, his esophagus filled with half-chewed food. He was
pronounced dead a short while later. The cause of death was asphyxiation. His
family is now suing PHS, jail staff and Sheriff Ed Dean for what it says is
criminalization of mental illness. * Many of the jail's medical staff and guards
are skeptical of inmates' medical complaints, because some inmates fake symptoms
for a variety of reasons. As a result, though, legitimate health complaints
sometimes are overlooked or ignored. Anita Lesner, who was jailed in April 2007
for fraud charges, began showing symptoms of a debilitating neurological disease
and lost her ability to walk. Jail staffers called her a faker and put her in
suicide prevention when she wouldn't stop crying. Shortly after her release, she
was diagnosed with Guillain-Barre syndrome, a severe nerve disorder. * PHS has
been the subject of numerous lawsuits. Private Corrections Institute, a
Florida-based nonprofit devoted to highlighting the pitfalls of privatization of
correctional institutions, keeps rap sheets on companies like PHS, documenting
allegations and lawsuits from around the nation, ranging from Alabama to Florida
to Maryland. And the attorney general waged an unsuccessful campaign to keep PHS
from working in New York State. * No state health agency oversees the medical
operation of jails, mainly due to budget cuts. Although there are a variety of
accreditations and standards that spell out minimum requirements for medical
operations, critics say most of them are just paperwork and policy standards,
not performance audits for care. The sheriff says he knew of the PHS checkered
track record when he agreed to a contract with the company two years ago and
said he added two extra layers of oversight: an independent contract monitor,
and a medical doctor to go over PHS operations regularly. PILLS AND PROFITS The
sheriff decided not to renew that contract earlier this year because he could
only offer a 2.6 percent increase in the health care budget for next year and
PHS was seeking a 6 percent increase. Dean insists the decision to part ways
with PHS was a strictly financial one and that inmate care was not an issue. And
both Dean and PHS insist that ailing inmates receive adequate care and dismiss
allegations of poor medical treatment. PHS officials, however, would not agree
to be interviewed for this story. The company would only respond to questions
submitted in writing. Dean said in a recent interview that PHS provided
community standards of care, and he had in place several layers of oversight.
"Perfect health care does not exist," Dean said. "With 16,000 inmates going
through MCJ [each year], you'll have issue where someone missed a diagnosis."
Neither PHS nor the sheriff would answer questions about individual inmates'
medical care. For example, why would an inmate like James Johnson with a
medically diagnosed mental illness be denied prescribed medication? Critics say
the answer is as simple as dollars and cents. "The biggest problem is that often
the profit motive gets in the way of providing medical care," said Randall Berg
Jr., executive director of Florida Justice Institute in Miami. Berg's experience
with PHS began more than two decades ago, when the company was one of the first
private correctional medical providers to come to Florida. "My first experience
dealt with [PHS's] refusal to provide medication to an indigent inmate ... since
then I've sued them a number of times for failing to provide needed care," Berg
said. Johnson's attorney, David Kerce of Daytona Beach, is also suing PHS,
alleging the company failed to administer psychotropic medication. Kerce
represented eight inmates in Volusia County in a class-action lawsuit, alleging
they, too, were denied their psychotropic medication. A federal judge dismissed
the case without prejudice, meaning it could be refiled, but Kerce doubts the
families involved could afford to hire an expert or a doctor to examine their
cases individually. He said he will pursue Johnson's case because Johnson
suffered a physical injury. "Pulling patients off medication is not acceptable
and Hager has a history of it," Kerce said of Dr. David Hager, a psychiatrist
who serves the Marion County Jail and also the Volusia County Branch Jail. "From
my understanding, it's just not safe. You've got to step them down." Johnson,
for instance, was told by the jail's medical staff that he had to go through a
"30-day wash" period and that's why he was taken off of his medication. PHS says
the term is not accurate. And there is no documentation of it in Johnson's
records. Two independent psychiatrists, one of whom reviewed Johnson's records,
said cutting patients off of their psychotropic medications is not common
practice. "Most commonly, antidepressants are discontinued in a step-wise
fashion so as to avoid 'withdrawal' symptoms, such as increased anxiety,
depression, etc.," wrote Dr. Louis W. Solomon, assistant clinical professor of
psychiatry at the University of Florida in an e-mail. He did not review
Johnson's records. He added that a psychiatric examination is used to determine
whether medications should be changed. Johnson never received such an
examination at the time he was booked and taken off of his medication. Dr.
Hager, who agreed to respond to the Star-Banner's questions via e-mail, wrote:
"The '30-day washout period' has become an overused and misunderstood
catchphrase. It refers to the process of evaluation and observation during a
period of abstinence from illicit drugs and alcohol. It is not a rigid 30 days.
It may be more or less depending on each patient's situation and does not apply
to every patient referred to the mental health team. The determination to apply
a washout period is fully dependent upon gathering reliable information and
observations, including our ability to obtain outside medical and pharmacy
records." Hager referred to the American Psychiatric Association's Practice
Guidelines and Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 4th.
Edition, or DSM-IV, which requires that patients be clean of drug addiction so
that the provider can make accurate diagnoses of major psychiatric syndromes
such as schizophrenia, major depression or bipolar disorder. Johnson's records
do not show that he was using illicit drugs. Dr. Don Sherry, a psychiatrist who
practices here, said he doesn't suddenly cut off his patients' medication. He
said even if Johnson had been taking illicit drugs, he could have been kept on
his psychotropic medication. "This is [Hager's] standard of practice, and it's
fine, as long as he doesn't hurt people," Sherry said. "[As a doctor] you have
authority, but you also have the responsibility ... this jail psychiatrist is
hurting people by doing things his way." NO SIMPLE CURE Even critics of PHS and
other private correctional services say there is no simple solution to the
problem of providing adequate medical care to inmates. Sherry has a motto:
"Cheap ain't good; good ain't cheap." "When you start putting profit motive
ahead of medical care, medical care becomes bad," he said. But with tight
budgets, counties don't have many good options for jail health care. "You've got
people who haven't taken care of themselves and have to be taken care of, and
you just can't let them die. And they're a burden for the taxpayer," said Ken
Kopczynski of Private Corrections Institute, a Florida-based nonprofit
organization that opposes the for-profit private corrections industry. "The
county commission looks and sees it getting expensive, so they go to private
groups, because their price is lower. But not only do they have to look at care,
but also profit for shareholders. And that's no way to operate the jail." While
health care is an inmate's legal right, most people in jails and prisons are
poor, lack education, have high rates of mental illness and chronic illness and
are frequently substance abusers or addicts. Many are uninsured and have not
seen a doctor or dentist for years. "Rarely you find someone who has one
illness. Providing service to these individuals is complex and costly, because
they haven't received quality health care. And it's expensive, outside and
inside the prison," said Dr. Melvin Delgado, author of the 2006 book Health and
Healthcare in Prison. In addition, prescribing medication to inmates is not a
quick process, because inmates are not allowed to use the medication they bring
in to the jail. "[Jail staff] don't know what the medication is. They didn't
hand it to the person, so its puts them in a Catch-22. They should have the
doctor to say 'yes, they are psychotic and need XYZ,'" said Kopczynski.
Meanwhile, many people have little sympathy for those behind bars. "Inmates
don't have a very large advocacy group, or lobbying group. Nobody is clamoring
at the sheriff's door to provide better care to inmates," said Paul Sheehan,
chief operating officer of Community-Oriented Correctional Health Services, a
nonprofit group whose mission is to help correctional facilities use local
resources for providing medical care. The U.S. adult correctional population -
incarcerated or on some form of community control - reached 7.2 million,
increasing by 159,500 this year, the Justice Department's Bureau of Justice
Statistics announced earlier this month. About 3.2 percent of the U.S. adult
population, or 1 in every 31 adults, was in prison or jail or on probation or
parole at the end of 2006. Another report by the Justice Department shows the
inmate population in jails increased by 306 percent, from 184,000 in 1980 to
748,000 in 2005. The spike in the number of people behind bars is largely a
result of sentencing and correctional policy changes over the past 30 years
involving tougher sentences for a variety of crimes, and particularly for
drug-related offenses. COSTLY, COMPLICATED ... AND NECESSARY While privatized
correctional health care might control costs in the short run, cases such as
Johnson's show that in the long run, it potentially can pose a higher cost to
taxpayers and the community, inmate advocates say. Even if inmates who sue over
alleged poor care lose their case, the county still must pay to defend against
those lawsuits. And sick inmates who go untreated in jail can endanger public
health when they're released back into the community. Taxpayers also share the
burden if those inmates land in a publicly-funded hospital. Medical care at
jails is costly and complicated, "but it's necessary and required," said Alex
Friedmann, associate editor of Prison Legal News, an independent monthly
magazine that provides a review and analysis of prisoner rights, court rulings
and news about prison issues. "Once you remove a person's freedom, you're
required to provide that medical care for them. "People in jail are people,
they're neighbors, brothers, daughters. Ninety-five percent of them get out,"
Friedmann said. "When people think of jail, they think of rapists and murderers,
but that's not representative of the jail population." With the pending
departure of PHS, Sheriff Dean is about to launch a community-collaborative
nonprofit group, called Ocala Community Care, that will take over medical care
at the jail. "I concluded that the future of inmate health care needed a
change," he said. "We needed to embrace the community and figure out how $5
million of taxpayers money could be better utilized for delivery of care to
inmates." His initiative is uncommon and it remains to be seen if it will help
people like James Johnson. Editor's note: Since his release, James Johnson has
been living in motels, trying to hold down a job. He told the Star-Banner he
didn't want his picture printed, because he was afraid he would lose his job.
But he said he wanted people to hear his story.
Florida
December 11, 2007 News-Press
A company that runs three prisons for the state has agreed to pay more than $1.5
million — about 42 cents on the disputed dollar — to settle a long-running
controversy over staffing levels and equipment purchases. Department of
Management Services Secretary Linda South said she was satisfied that the
settlement with Corrections Corp. of America avoids a costly court fight that
might not net the state all of the $3.6 million the agency sought. But a
lobbyist for the Police Benevolent Association, which has long been critical of
privately run prisons, said the state let the prison company off too lightly.
CCA spokesman Steven Owen in Nashville said the company was glad to get the case
settled. "I certainly would have preferred to have captured all those things we
knew the state was entitled to, from our perspective," said South. "But CCA had
its own perspective and this is the agreement we came to. The fact is, you weigh
the cost of litigation against the risk of success in these things." A 2005
audit report by the DMS inspector general, conducted shortly after the old
Corrections Privatization Commission was abolished and DMS took over contract
admission, said the state overpaid nearly $13 million to two companies — CCA and
GEO Group of Boca Raton — that have contracts for private prisons across
Florida. Auditors alleged that the state paid for non-existent employees and
that companies overfilled for maintenance and operations expenses. GEO agreed to
pay $402,501 late last year and to cover half of the legal fees to defend
against challenges by local governments that disputed the tax-exempt status of
corporate-run prison facilities. The agreement with CCA provides for the company
to pay the state $660,000 for maintenance work that was not performed, $430,000
for service and program payments that were already under contract, $207,722 for
failing to deduct staff vacancies from billings to the state and $138,803 in
legal fees. There was also another $120,000 to reimburse the state for waivers
of staffing levels in nursing and teaching positions in the prisons, which were
allowed by the Corrections Privatization Commission but not permitted by DMS.
"They were given informal waiver for staffing of nursing and teachers," said
South. "This goes back to the old CPC. It was not formalized or memorialized in
contract and we disagreed with it, so they had to return money paid for staffing
in those two areas." CCA operates prisons under state contract in Gadsden
County, Bay County and Lake City. Ken Kopczynski is a long-time lobbyist for the
PBA, which represents officers in state-run prisons, and he has followed
privatization issues closely in the Legislature for many years. He said DMS let
GEO off too lightly last year and didn't do much better with CCA. "It's nice
that DMS got better than 10 cents on the dollar this time but almost half is
better then nothing," said Kopczynski. "It's a shame that CCA and GEO are so
entrenched with state government that they can get away with this." He recalled
that the DMS audit in 2005 showed $12.7 million in overpayments to prison
companies. "If you or I had gone to the bank and the teller gave us $12.7
million by mistake, you would expect to pay all of this back," he said. "Now, if
you're a well connected private prison company and the state overpays you $12.7
million, you only have to pay back less then $2 million total between CCA and
GEO — not a bad return for your investment in lobbyists, no?" Owen, CCA's
director of marketing and communication, said it was "a good faith settlement"
for both sides. "We're glad to get the matter resolved," said Owen. "We look
forward to a continued successful partnership with DMS."
Canada
November 26, 2007 The McGill Daily
At Macdonald campus’s Centennial Centre cafeteria, students can purchase a
classic two-egg breakfast all day for just $4.20, taxes included. Though the
cafeteria is a relatively small operation, it is run by Sodexho Inc., a massive
multinational food services company that also operates private, for-profit
prisons and detention centres. Sodexho’s presence at McGill is minimal compared
to that of well-known food-service giant Chartwells, but with revenues exceeding
$17.6-billion in 2005-2006, Sodexho is one of the largest food-provision
companies in the world. Last year, “Correctional Services” accounted for two per
cent of its total revenue. In an interview with Vancouver-based Stark Raven
radio last month, Alex Friedmann, Associate Editor of the magazine Prison Legal
News, explained that the nature of for-profit detention centres facilitates
poor-quality meals and services for inmates. “[Companies’ that run private
prisons] sole interest is to bolster their bottom line and to make profit for
their shareholders,” Friedmann said. “If you have to do that by cutting corners,
or by reducing benefits and wages paid to your staff…or by skimping on food
portions or quality, then that’s what you do.” Sodexho has faced student
boycotts since 2000, and recent reports reveal overcrowding and hunger strikes
at its Harmondsworth Immigration Removal Centre in London, England. Friedmann
said that professional corrections officials, like guards and wardens,
understand the importance of food in prisons and the consequences it has on
prison life, but that food-service companies like Sodexho – which make huge
profits from corrections facilities – are not interested in the public good.
“Their interest is not in the welfare or benefit of the public, the prisoners,
or even their employees, really,” he said. Incidentally, the 2006 Corporate
Responsibility Report from Sodexho’s U.K. and Ireland faction stated that just
54 per cent of its employees actually enjoy going to work. Similar reports from
the last two years are filled with idyllic pictures, quotes from various
executives championing Sodexho’s efforts toward sustainability and a greater
diversity of employees, including affirmative actions plans. In April of 2005,
however, Sodexho paid out an $80-million settlement after thousands of its
African-American employees sued the company on charges of racial discrimination,
citing the company’s utter lack of African Americans in high-ranking management
positions. Boycott Sodexho -- Two years ago, students at Laval University
started a “Boycott Sodexho” campaign in protest of the school’s decision to
award a large food contract to the company instead of accepting the student
union’s offer. Boycott Sodexho is still active, although according to member
Fadi Maalouf, it now focuses on encouraging students to frequent the 14
student-run coffee shops as opposed to one of the eight larger Sodexho-run
cafeterias. Maalouf explained that students were against the multinational
corporation for reasons ranging from its high prices for mediocre food to its
involvement in the U.S. military. “When the campaign was on campus, we were just
giving information about Sodexho’s involvement in the [Iraq] warzone, and that
was frustrating for students to learn,” Maalouf said. “They make millions of
dollars and they cannot offer a good service to students?” In 2000-2002,
students from 60 campuses across the United States and Canada formed the “Not
With Our Money” campaign. They succeeded in prompting Sodexho to divest its
eight per cent stock holdings from Correctional Corporations of America, which
runs private prisons in the U.S. But Sodexho still owns private for-profit
prisons, primarily in the U.K. – recent announcements on its web site boasts 20
and 25-year contracts to run prisons in Chile and Scotland, respectively – and
it provides food and ancillary services for prisons around the world, including
more than 450 in the United States alone, according to Friedmann. Prison
atmosphere -- Rebecca Godderis, a PhD student at the University of Calgary who
interviewed 16 prisoners as part of her research on food in prisons, echoed
Friedmann’s comment about the significance of food, which can calm or excite
inmates. She explained that food has a large impact on a prison’s atmosphere.
“Food is a constant reminder of the lack of control that these prisoners have
over their lives,” Godderis said, adding that one participant told her simply,
“If the guys are well-fed, they’re more manageable.” Godderis did not comment
about any specific corporations who run private prisons, but she maintained that
because prisoners have very little recourse to take on mechanisms that control
them, the general public should be concerned about what goes on inside the
institutions. “[Prisoners] are very marginalized, very controlled, and that
means we should be more attentive to them,” Godderis said. Representatives from
Sodexho Inc. declined to comment for this piece.
Tennessee
November 11, 2007 Tennessean
They are some of the most powerful people in the state, but you rarely hear
about them. They make decisions that address hot-button topics ranging from
abortion and political corruption to religious freedom and the death penalty.
They can put you in prison or they can vindicate your civil rights. Who am I
talking about? Federal judges. The legal decisions rendered by U.S. district
court judges seldom make the news unless they deal with issues of public
importance, such as Judge Aleta Trauger's ruling last month that suspended
executions in Tennessee. Federal judges, who are appointed for life, wield an
enormous amount of power. Thus, it stands to reason that only highly qualified
candidates would be nominated for federal judicial positions. Considering the
nomination of Gustavus A. Puryear IV for the district court in Middle Tennessee,
however, that apparently isn't the case. You've probably never heard of Mr.
Puryear, but you may know his employer, Corrections Corporation of America — the
nation's largest private-prison company. Mr. Puryear serves as CCA's general
counsel. He received a salary of $237,308 plus $602,957 in other compensation
last year, and since November 2006 has cashed in $2.64 million in CCA stock.
This presumably means he would have a conflict of interest should he preside
over cases involving CCA ... and more than 400 federal cases naming CCA or CCA
employees have been filed in Middle Tennessee. While Mr. Puryear may be wealthy
in terms of cash and stock, whether he is equally rich in legal experience is
debatable. He spent just three years at a Nashville law firm. He has been named
as counsel in 130 federal cases in Tennessee, mostly after hiring on with CCA in
2001. However, 85 of those cases were dismissed by the court, with no action
taken by Mr. Puryear. In 39 of the cases, other attorneys handled the actual
litigation. Mr. Puryear sent a letter to the court in one case and was actively
involved in five others — most recently in 1998. According to court records,
only one case in which he was personally involved went to trial, and he has
never litigated a case on his own. So what makes Mr. Puryear qualified for
appointment as a federal judge? He has strong political connections. He worked
under former Sens. Bill Frist and Fred Thompson, and served as an adviser to
Dick Cheney during the 2000 debates. He has donated more than $13,000 to
Republican candidates since 2001 — including to Sens. Lamar Alexander and Bob
Corker, who have endorsed his nomination. But lifetime federal judicial
appointments should not be based on political payback; only the most experienced
and qualified candidates should be appointed to the federal bench. Sadly, this
does not seem to be the case in regard to Mr. Puryear's nomination, which
ill-serves all Middle Tennessee residents. Last week, the Alliance for Justice
submitted a formal letter to the Senate Committee on the Judiciary, opposing Mr.
Puryear's nomination. For more information on Mr. Puryear's judicial nomination,
please visit: www.privateci.org/puryear2.htm. By ALEX FRIEDMANN
Tennessee
November 8, 2007 The Tennessean
On Oct. 31, John Ferguson, CEO of Corrections Corp. of America, wrote that his
private prison company saves the state money despite charging higher rates than
those paid to county jails that house state prisoners. Most studies that have
been conducted on private prison costs have found uncertain or minimal savings —
including a study by the Tennessee Legislative Fiscal Review Committee that
compared expenses at two state prisons, and the CCA-run South Central
Correctional Center. Regardless, I don’t doubt Ferguson’s statement that CCA has
lower per-diem rates than state prisons. But he didn’t explain why, so I will.
CCA doesn’t operate any maximum-security prisons in Tennessee, does not house
death-row prisoners and doesn’t operate women’s facilities. All of those prison
populations have much higher incarceration costs that CCA doesn’t have to pay.
The state must also cover all medical costs for prisoners. CCA’s medical
expenses are capped at a certain amount ($5,000 the last time I checked); after
that, the state has to pick up the tab. Further, CCA has cherry-picked prisoners
at South Central, such as transferring prisoners who are HIV-positive — and more
expensive to house — to state facilities. So, yes, CCA might have lower per-diem
costs than state prisons, but only if you compare public apples with
privately-managed oranges. Alex Friedmann, Antioch 37013
Texas
October 31, 2007 The Daily Texan
Texas will continue to house immigrants in prison-like facilities despite
ongoing opposition and warnings of possible legal ramifications. A panel of four
Williamson County commissioners and the county judge voted 5-0 Tuesday to keep
the operation agreement between the Corrections Corporation of America and
Williamson County. The corporation owns and operates the T. Don Hutto Family
Residential Facility in Taylor, Texas, about 40 miles north of Austin. "It has
been a good day, a really good day," said Evelyn Hernandez, a Hutto facility
administrator. "The efforts of our staff and what the commissioners witnessed in
the facility was proved today." As part of Tuesday's decision, U.S. Immigration
and Customs Enforcement will be required to communicate directly with the
corporation on matters relating to the Hutto facility. The facility houses
"other-than-Mexican" immigrants and their children as they await the outcome of
their immigration hearings. These immigrants were picked up crossing the border
or in residential and factory raids. Immigration and Customs Enforcement pays
the corporation $2.8 million a month, about $5,471 per prisoner. Williamson
County receives $1 per prisoner per day from Immigration Customs and
Enforcement. The facility is full with 512 prisoners. Hernandez touted the
efforts of her employees during her address to the commission. She said the
staff does everything it can to keep the children occupied and to distract them
from thinking about their cases, which are handled by Immigration and Customs
Enforcement. "We're preparing for Halloween right now, and the kids have made
beautiful piñatas for the haunted house," Hernandez said. "You can see the
dedication from the people working here." Hernandez said she is so impressed by
the commitment the employees have to the residents that she wishes she could
bring her 4-year-old daughter to Hutto every day for day care. Eight activists
appeared before the commission demanding Hutto be closed down because they said
it is inhumane to detain children - especially children who have not broken the
law - and because imprisoning asylum seekers violates their liberties. Scott
Medlock, an attorney for the Texas Civil Rights Project, warned the commission
of the legal issues and liability the facility creates. "The fundamental problem
is that it is hard to run a prison without incurring liability that violates
prisoner's civil rights and provides poor health care," he said. "The county
doesn't seem to be taking my arguments seriously though." Medlock said he
understood the decision to require the corporation to pay $5,000 a month for the
county monitor to come out and inspect the Hutto facility and report back to
Williamson County officials. He said he does not think $5,000 is enough money to
pay for serious monitoring, plus the salary will be paid by the Correction
Corporation of America. A corporation employee had inappropriate contact with a
Hutto resident in May, which is not in compliance with Immigration and Customs
Enforcement detention standards, according to a contracting officer for the
agency. As a result, Williamson County was required to provide a plan correcting
the center's deficiencies. Inmates in the corporation prisons have filed five
different sexual assault and harassment claims against the corporation since
2006, according to the Private Corrections Institute, a group which seeks to
provide information on and inform the public of problems with privatization of
correctional institutions. A poster at the back of the courtroom displayed
letters in both English and Spanish from former residents decorated with
pictures of smiling corporation employees and detained children. One letter
written in English thanked the corporation, saying "Thank you but you shouldn't
have." "The resident is the best for family," "I love you" and "I had a great
time," said other letters. Asma Salam, an active philanthropist from Dallas,
held up a sign in the courtroom demanding the Hutto facility be closed. She
traveled from Dallas to Taylor twice since Sunday to participate in a 24-mile
walk from the Hutto facility to the Williamson County Commissioner's Court. "I
am a proud Muslim-American and America is the most lovable, and most proud
country in the world," she said to the commissioners. "Do not let [Immigration
and Customs Enforcement] destroy this image of our beautiful country. Please
wake up and shut Hutto down." Salam did not agree with the decision made but
said her two trips to Taylor, the walk from the facility and her demonstrations,
were not a waste of time. "I will not be silent and I will not be discouraged,"
Salam said. "This is my message: I will do anything to protect rights and
freedom."
Idaho
September 12, 2007 Boise Weekly
There's little to no distinction in the world of private prisons, a place where
capitalism meets public service. It's an industry based on keeping people locked
up, and doing it as efficiently as possible. It's also an industry that
generates lots of controversy. While some argue that privately owned and
operated prisons allow government agencies to deal with increasingly overcrowded
prison systems and dwindling budgets, others say that introducing the element of
profit into the management of incarcerated people leads to corruption,
mismanagement and mistreatment of prisoners. "You shouldn't introduce a profit
margin and a profit motive into a prison," said Christie Donner, executive
director of the Colorado Criminal Justice Reform Coalition. "The industry as a
whole shouldn't exist." But it's an industry that may be expanding into Idaho if
some state leaders get their way. Gov. C.L. "Butch" Otter has asked lawmakers to
begin drafting legislation that would allow privately owned and operated prisons
to go to work in Idaho. There are currently no private facilities in the state,
although the Idaho Correctional Center in Kuna is managed by the Correction
Corporation of America of Tennessee. CCA is the largest private prison business
in the country, ranking just behind the federal prison system. The company owns
41 prisons nationwide, and manages another 24 facilities in 19 states and
Washington, D.C., for a combined total of roughly 75,000 beds. To pave the way
for their Idaho entry, a work group made up of lawmakers, Idaho Department of
Corrections officials and industry representatives are in the early stages of
drafting legislation that will be introduced in the next legislative session.
"[It would] set the stage for a private firm to come into the state of Idaho and
create a facility that the firm would own and operate," said Brent Reinke,
director of the Idaho Department of Corrections. "Truly, Gov. Otter is very
insistent in this area and has been very, very outspoken and there's no doubt at
all the way he wants to proceed," Reinke said. "We have a critical need right
now to do something immediately to address the [prison] population crisis that
we're seeing," said Jon Hanian, Otter's press secretary. "When you're talking
about a private prison vs. a state-run one, building one, you're talking about
up to four years on the state-run side vs. 18 to 24 months. The private side is
going to be a more immediate impact." Hanian said Otter's priority was to get
prisoners now housed in out-of-state facilities back in the state. Until Idaho
has more room, Hanian said, "our hands are tied on that." Otter has vowed that
any agreement reached with a private company would include stipulations that the
state has a first right of refusal on any beds, and could bump any out-of-state
inmates if the space is needed. It's not so cut and dried for opponents of the
industry, though. "The bottom line for the private prison industry is to make a
profit," said Ken Kopczynski, executive director of the Private Corrections
Institute, a Florida-based group that opposes the private prison industry. "They
give you a snow job about rules and training. They have to provide a profit, and
they actually turn quite a profit for quite a few years. "They do a very good
P.R. job," he said. A key part of that public relations campaign is to make
inroads with politicians in states targeted by the industry as likely locations
for expansion. Opponents of private prisons are full of stories of corrupt
officials and lobbyists serving as advisers for the state, including a college
professor in Florida who served as a state adviser on the private prison
industry while that industry funded his professional research. There's also
Manny Aragon, former president of the New Mexico Senate, who was indicted by a
jury in April for an alleged kickback scheme. "There's going to be more of it
when it's [in Idaho]," said Kopczynski. "They're not stupid. Most of these folks
[private corrections company leaders] come out of government anyways." The
industry has already made its first foray into the wallets of Idaho politicians.
According to campaign finance reports filed with the state, both CCA and GEO
Group, the two largest private prison operators, donated $5,000 to Otter's 2006
campaign for governor. But Hanian said there is no impropriety in Otter's
interest in private prisons. "There is no quid pro quo when it comes to any
campaign contribution the governor has received and the establishment of state
policy. None," Hanian said. "He bases every decision solely on its merits."
Reinke said he doesn't feel there's any undue influence within the state
government. "It's very important that we have the system in place so that it is
competitive, and everything is done in the light of day. That's a challenge
we're faced with," he said. The Texas Connection -- Idaho has already had
experience with the industry. Some 750 of Idaho's roughly 7,300 inmates are
housed in private prisons in Texas and Oklahoma, and plans call for another 240
to be moved by the end of the year, according to Reinke. Another 500 are being
housed in county facilities. "Our needs are very significant," Reinke said.
Idaho's prison population has been growing by roughly 6.5 percent annually, and
Reinke estimates it will take an additional 2,000 to 3,000 beds to meet the
state's short-term needs. "What I'm concerned with right now is bed capacity,"
Reinke said. "This is not a new need." If the prison population continues to
increase at the same rate, Reinke said the state will need several new
facilities within the next 10 years. "We need to do what we can to meet the need
of Idahoans within the state of Idaho," he said. "The longer we wait on this,
the longer the inmates are going to be out of state." Currently, Idaho has eight
prisons, four community work centers and 22 probation and parole district
satellite offices. The state corrections agency employs roughly 1,500 people.
While moving inmates to out-of-state facilities with extra room seems to offer
some relief for Idaho prison managers, the practice hasn't been without its
problems. Idaho's troubles with private prisons began when they shipped 302
prisoners to a private prison in Minnesota in October 2005. After space ran out
at the Minnesota prison in August 2006, the Idaho inmates were sent to two
facilities in Texas, one of which was the Dickens County Correctional Facility
in Spur, Texas, a private prison owned by GEO Group. In March, according to news
reports, Idaho inmate Scot Noble Payne committed suicide. In letters to family,
he placed the blame for his depression on the unsanitary conditions at the
prison and the poor treatment by staff. While Idaho officials plan to move the
56 inmates remaining at the Dickens County facility by the end of the year, they
will be transferred to another Texas facility owned by the same company. It's
just the latest of the state's problems stemming from housing prisoners out of
state—a list that includes riots and escapes at a private prison in Louisiana in
1997. Those who oppose private prisons say these sort of problems are indicative
of the industry as a whole. "Why does your governor think having a private
prison in Idaho is going to be any different than the mess they had in Texas?"
Kopczynski said. Among his and Donner's chief concerns is the hiring of
untrained correctional officers, who they say are paid wages below that of their
public sector counterparts. This, coupled with poor training, leads to prisoner
abuses, poor conditions, high employee turnover and an unwillingness to respond
in the face of a dangerous situation, they believe. "The problems we have had in
Colorado are around some of the tactics of private prisons use to make money:
smaller staff, fewer programs, lower pay," said Donner. "If you want a riot,
that's a great strategy." "There's no institutional knowledge," said Kopczynski.
"You don't know your elbow from a hole in the ground when it comes to
correctional work." Industry representatives vehemently disagree. "That's
completely baseless," said Steven Owen, director of marketing for CCA. "It's
absolutely, categorically false." Owen argues that all employees of CCA meet the
training standards of the American Correctional Association, the largest
correctional trade association in the world, and because of contractual
agreements with the states they serve, must have as much training as
correctional officers in public facilities. When it comes to wages, Owen said
it's a philosophical difference. "Generally, in a state correctional system,
it's a one-size-fits-all starting salary for a correctional officer," he said. "CCA
prices salary and wages by the facility. We compete with the labor pool in the
area around the facility. "Critics like to focus in on wages," Owen said. "We
are competitive in the locations where we operate." He added that wages for
mid-management positions are typically much higher than in the public sector. A
2003 report published by Corporate Research Project of Good Jobs First and
Prison Privatization Report International—both corporate watchdog groups—stated
that CCA has managed to stem the tide of negative publicity. But the report
didn't have a favorable overview of the company. "CCA has built a reputation
marred by numerous instances of scandal, mismanagement, alleged mistreatment of
prisoners and its own employees, attempted manipulation of public policy and a
proliferation of questionable research. Its record is a clear example of how the
pursuit of profit stands in the way of carrying out a core public function such
as corrections. CCA has succeeded in staying in business for two decades, but it
has not succeeded in demonstrating that prison privatization makes sense," the
report reads. From CCA's perspective though, the advantages are clear and
numerous. "We try to operate as well as, or better than, our public
counterparts," Owen said. "We don't have some of the bureaucracy that can
sometimes get in the way of government processes." It's the company's size that
Owen said gives it an advantage, not only with purchasing power for goods, but
with the ability to get a new facility up and running quickly. "It takes three
to five years for the state to have to go through the legislativ |
