N.M. Prison Riot Left Legacy of Construction, Training

The plea came crackling over two-way radios in the pre-dawn hours of Feb. 2, 1980: “You all stop killing each other. There’s blood all over. . . . No more killing. No more hurting.”

It was merely a hint of the horror going on inside New Mexico’s only maximum security prison after inmates seized control. Some prisoners were systematically and brutally murdering others; officials later said they were settling personal grudges against informers.

When it was over, 33 inmates were dead--the worst prison riot in the United States since the 1971 Attica rebellion in New York that left 43 dead.

The rebellion exposed an inadequate and mismanaged prison system run by an insufficient number of poorly trained, underpaid and sometimes abusive guards in a facility overflowing with frustrated criminals.

In the decade since, the state has spent $127.5 million building prisons, and training for guards has been improved. Since 1980, the prison system has been operated under a federal court decree covering 13 broad areas of prison life.

The uprising began at 2 a.m. that Saturday 10 years ago when inmates beat and overpowered three unarmed guards. Within seconds, the convicts had smashed the newly installed and supposedly unbreakable tempered glass around the prison control room, gaining control of internal locks and communications.

Fifteen minutes later, Gov. Bruce King’s security men notified him that the lights were off at the penitentiary and that there was no response from 15 corrections officers inside.

King ordered the state police to take up positions outside the prison, where they were joined a few hours later by the National Guard.

For 36 hours, the inmates controlled the prison, which was built to house 850 prisoners but held more than 1,130. They burned most of the penitentiary buildings, destroyed records, terrorized their hostages and beat and raped other prisoners.

State medical examiner Dr. James Weston, whose office autopsied the dead, later said most of the bodies had been mutilated and some had “injuries suggesting torture.” One prisoner had been beheaded.

Reporters and others listening to the two-way radio conversations between inmates early in the siege heard prisoners talking about the carnage under way.

One inmate radioed: “There’s a whole lot of dead in A-1, about 15.” That prompted another to plead for no more violence in a general broadcast to the prison.

Clouds of thick black smoke billowed from several areas of the penitentiary as helpless officials outside identified the burning buildings: the administration offices, the gymnasium, the psychiatric ward.

“Get a fire truck in here,” a riot leader called Chopper One radioed just before dawn. “There are men suffocating to death. There’s fire, a lot of places on fire, in the chapel, in the gym.”

Early in the rebellion, the prisoners had released two injured guards, but Chopper One later told officials: “If you don’t start negotiating pretty soon, these (remaining) guards are going to get wasted.”

Corrections Secretary Felix Rodriguez and Deputy Warden Robert Montoya went inside to talk with inmates, but King said they had problems determining who was leading the rebellion.

“They will start talking to one inmate and another will run up and say he is in charge,” the governor said.

At first, he said, there were no specific demands.

“They said they were treated like kids and not like men,” King said.

The inmates did demand that there be no prosecution for any crimes committed during the riot, but state officials refused.

Later, the prisoners drew up a list of 11 demands, including better food, recreation, visiting conditions and educational opportunities, an end to overcrowding and assurances there would be no retaliation for the uprising.

About 80 inmates who had announced that they wanted no part of the rebellion moved to the prison ball field about 8 a.m. Saturday. Throughout the day, more inmates surrendered.

By Saturday night, Warden Jerry Griffin estimated that about 450 had turned themselves in. And although the prisoners were still in control, Griffin said the situation was stable.

The inmates continued releasing hostages one by one; by early Sunday morning, nine still were held. By midday Sunday, most of the fires had died down, about half the prisoners had surrendered and two more guards were freed.

Seven inmates had been confirmed dead and dozens were hospitalized, some for drug overdoses after rioters broke into the penitentiary’s pharmacy.

At 1:45 p.m. Sunday, about 100 guardsmen carrying M-16s and police officers carrying shotguns marched in, retaking control within minutes without firing a shot.

Within hours, the full horror began to be known.

Lt. Richard Montoya, who headed the state police Special Weapons and Tactics team that led the move to retake the prison, said, “There was blood all over, against the wall, smeared around.”

“Some of these guys’ faces are totally gone,” corrections officer Fred Herrera said. “There’s nothing to identify.”

The U.S. Supreme Court in January declined to consider New Mexico Atty. Gen. Hal Stratton’s challenge to the consent decree governing New Mexico’s prisons, which Stratton contended that the federal courts lack the jurisdiction to enforce.