Convicts Prefer Life on a Fire Line to Serving Time ‘Behind the Walls’

On a smoldering hillside in Sonoma County, two groups of firefighters were mopping up after the state’s latest blaze. But while those in yellow fire gear earn about $15 an hour, those in orange, every bit as professional, earn $1 an hour.

The two in orange are convicts, repaying their debts to society by cutting firebreaks on terrain too rugged for tractors. They endure scorching heat, the large insects that play in the ash and nip at skin after fires and, sometimes, the pink chemical retardant dumped from helicopters on trees and men alike.

“At the very least it gives them something to do, gives them work skills, a sense of pride and self-worth,” said Frank Powell of the California Department of Corrections, coordinator of activities at the 38 Conservation Camps that provide inmate firefighting crews for the state Department of Forestry.

Working alongside yellow-clad Forestry Department engine crews, the inmates perform most of the manual labor on the fire line using chain saws and pickaxes to clear brush, cut fire breaks and open trails for crews with hoses. After many of the engine crews have left, the inmates are still on the smoldering fire lines, preventing flare-ups.

Forestry officials say they could not get through the fire season without them--only six of the state’s 206 fire hand crews are professional--or the $35 million worth of labor they provided last year.

About 3,100 of the state’s 72,340 inmates serve in the camps, run by the Corrections and Forestry departments. Another 770 offenders under 25, wards of the California Youth Authority, also participate in the program.

Escapes Rare

Crews usually consist of 15 to 20 people. Adult crews are assigned a Department of Forestry captain and a Department of Corrections guard. Youth crews have a captain and a Youth Authority counselor. Officials say escapes are rare and usually are related to problems at home. Escapees may not serve in the camps.

The inmates assigned to fire duty must be minimum-security risks and in top physical condition. No arsonists, rapists or murderers need apply. Most are anxious to do their time in the camps to escape the violence of life “behind the wall.”

“In the camp they don’t have to look behind their backs,” said Rudolph Luna, a counselor at Ben Lomond, the only Youth Authority conservation camp exclusively for minors. Luna and two of the camp’s wards were taking a break Friday on a charred ridge outside Cloverdale, where fires blackened 1,800 acres last week.

“In an institution . . . you got to play the jail games,” said one of the youths, a 17-year-old self-described gang member from Compton. “In here I can say I’m out (of the gang). . . . Nothing to do but get in trouble in the institution.”

According to Luna, 90% of Ben Lomond’s 102 wards are gang members, but they are not allowed to display colors. Classes on gang awareness help keep scuffles and friction between rivals to a minimum.

Wards also receive counseling for drug and alcohol addiction. When there is no fire to fight, the day starts at 5:30 with marches, running and calisthenics, and ends at 9:30 p.m. after high-school equivalency classes.

When no fires need attention, crews in both the CYA and adult camps work on flood control projects, maintain parks, or perform such public services as chopping wood for senior citizens. When performing such non-emergency work, inmates earn about $1.45 a day, as opposed to the $1 an hour they get for fighting fires.

“It beats sitting behind the wall doing nothing,” said Kenneth Jermon of Oakland, serving a two-year sentence at Delta Camp for armed robbery, who echoed the sentiments of many crew members.

The Delta Camp crew was housed last week in a temporary base camp at a high school parking lot in Cloverdale. Although the camp was only a few hundred feet from a busy commercial street, the prisoners have made no attempts to wander off, and their lone unarmed guard seemed unconcerned.

Amiable Relationship

The guard’s amiable relationship with the crew was evident when he told them to smile for a group photograph. “We been up for three days. Forget it,” one protested. The guard laughed.

The guard, who asked that his name not be used, said he much preferred Delta Camp’s casual atmosphere to the constant vigilance of high-security facilities like the prison at Susanville, his previous assignment.

“It’s a night-and-day difference,” he said. One major difference, he said, is that the racial tension that plagues the prisons is far less pronounced among fire crews.

Many inmates hope to work as firefighters after being paroled, and the Department of Forestry hires 40 to 50 per year, mostly from youth camps, according to Hank Westin, the department’s chief of camps.

“This gives you something to feel good about,” said one member of a Pine Grove youth camp crew working in Calaveras County last month. “You learn teamwork and holding a job and trust and responsibility. A lot of us never experienced that on the street.”

Added crew member Erin Hiatt, 20, of Modesto, who is serving time for burglary: “If we can work 100 hours a week there should be no problem keeping a job for 40 hours.”