Funding, Politics Keep New Lockup in Limbo : Law enforcement: Orange County facilities exceed state-rated capacity, but action for a new site is far away.

Every night, the Orange County system of justice buckles anew.

Harried deputies in the main jail complex face wave after wave of new arrests, anxiously trying to squeeze hundreds of prisoners into the nation’s tenth largest jail system. Often there is not a single open bed.

The deputies check computer printouts, inmate records and hastily handwritten jail population counts. Based on that pile of information, they shuffle some prisoners between jails and release dozens of others into the community. And all the while the clock ticks: They have 24 hours to get an inmate a cell with a bed or they risk being found in contempt of a federal court order.

Meting out a crude form of jailhouse clemency as they go, these deputies are forced to act because the Orange County Board of Supervisors has not.

Hamstrung over where to put a new jail and how to pay for it, the supervisors have taken some small steps to ease overcrowding, but they have fallen short of providing the new jail space needed to lock up the ever-growing number of prisoners in one of California’s fastest-growing urban counties.

The result has been doubling up prisoners in most jail cells, erecting tents at a South County jail and building barracks in one in the city of Orange. And still, overcrowding forces the deputies to release thousands of petty criminals every year, often without ever seeing the inside of a jail.

The need for action has been underscored this month by Sheriff Brad Gates and county judges, who have scuffled over the sheriff’s right to release prisoners early. The American Civil Liberties Union also is seeking a court order limiting overcrowding at all county-run jails. And reports of the problem have prompted a federal judge to order a monitor to inspect conditions in the county jail system and report back to him.

“Damn right, it’s frustrating,” said Supervisor Thomas F. Riley, who has spent 16 years on the board wrestling with the dilemma. “It’s a conservative county, and they want law enforcement. But paying for it gets harder and harder.”

Without a major new jail or jails, however, the current ones have grown increasingly jammed. There are five county facilities, and all regularly exceed their state-rated capacity. On Sunday, Nov. 11, for instance:

Central Men’s Jail in Santa Ana, with a rated capacity of 1,219 inmates, held 1,391.

Central Women’s Jail, also in Santa Ana, rated to hold 265 prisoners, actually held 267.

Theo Lacy Branch Jail in the city of Orange, a medium- and minimum-security facility rated at 622, held 808 inmates.

James A. Musick Branch Jail near El Toro, a minimum-security jail that should hold 713 prisoners, actually held 1,220, hundreds of whom slept in military-style tents.

he Intake-Release Center in Santa Ana, rated to hold 384 inmates, had locked up 760.

“We have overcrowding, serious overcrowding, at our jails,” said Gates, who runs the jail system. “No one can even pretend to deny that.”

No one does. But solving the problem has proved elusive and has dogged the county since the mid-1970s, when the stage was set for the current problems.

In those days, prisoners were routinely packed into the Central Men’s Jail, then known as Santa Ana Men’s Jail. Inmates often slept in halls, bathrooms, showers, anywhere that deputies could find room for them.

The American Civil Liberties Union brought suit in 1975, arguing that conditions at the jail were intolerable and constituted “cruel and unusual” punishment.

“The purpose of the ACLU in this case is and always has been to see that prisoners are treated like human beings,” Richard P. Herman, the lawyer who argued the case on behalf of inmates, said recently. “Our purpose is not to release prisoners, it’s to protect them.”

U.S. District Judge William P. Gray agreed that jail conditions violated the inmates’ rights. Among other things, the judge ordered a cap on the population at the men’s jail, saying that no more than 1,296 prisoners could be incarcerated there at any one time on the third and fourth floors there.

The county says that in the 12 years since that ruling, it has never violated the cap. But it has absorbed more prisoners at its other jails, both by expanding the facilities marginally and by packing them to the point that they are now the subject of a new round of legal action.

Earlier this month, the ACLU filed a motion asking Gray to extend his original order and this time put a limit on the number of inmates held in housing cells at all five jails, not just Central Men’s.

For Supervisor Don R. Roth, the board chairman, the prospect of more time in court and sweeping caps on the system is just fuel for the inferno.

“What do you want us to do?” an exasperated Roth asked in an interview last week. “We can’t do anything until we have a revenue stream, and there isn’t one. You want to put this on the ballot, go ahead. I have no problem with putting it on the ballot. Let’s make it a 2-cent sales tax, so it will really pay for jails, and see if people vote for it.”

During the decade since the original court ruling, the supervisors have made some progress toward relieving overcrowding. The Intake-Release Center was built, for instance, and Roth successfully championed an expansion of Theo Lacy Branch Jail despite the political risk of supporting new cells in his own district. After years of legal delays, the county broke ground on the expansion this fall.

Still, the progress has only nibbled at the margins of the problem, and the board has run aground over the biggest dilemma: Where to put a major new facility.

Judge Gray himself has expressed frustration at the stalemate.

“I have been trying to balance between, on the one hand, my judicial obligations to curtail jail overcrowding, and, on the other hand, my desire to be patient to the extent that corrective action is vigorously being pursued,” Gray wrote to jail consultant Lawrence Grossman, the monitor who has been inspecting county jails for the past month. “I am troubled by the sheriff’s comment that ‘I have exhausted every viable alternative at my disposal to provide the means for a solution.’ ”

To deal with the overcrowding, most experts believe that the government needs to build several medium-size jails or one big one. Since any neighborhood that gets a jail will surely object, debate has focused on building just one new facility and minimizing the political fallout.

Gypsum Canyon, a site owned by the Irvine Co. just east of Anaheim, is the leading contender. Three supervisors voted for that site on June 15, 1987; two, Roth and Supervisor Gaddi H. Vasquez, opposed it then and still do today.

That makes the canyon the choice of the majority, but in this case that’s not enough. Unlike most board decisions, which require a majority vote, it takes four supervisors to acquire land through condemnation--so without one more vote, the majority cannot proceed unless the Irvine Co. drops its objections and agrees to sell. Vasquez, whose district includes the canyon area, and Roth, who represents nearby Anaheim, say they have no intention of switching sides.

As long as the minority supervisors and the company stick to their positions, Gypsum Canyon cannot be obtained. And unless one of the other supervisors backs down--a move they are unlikely to make since it would open their own districts to consideration for the new jail--planning can’t go ahead for a different site.

In short, it takes one more vote to go forward or one more vote to change course. And neither vote is there.

That’s the political logjam, and it shows no sign of clearing.

Even if it did, that wouldn’t end the problem. Because if the supervisors magically cleared their disagreement about the location tomorrow, they still could not pay to build a jail or to operate it. Land costs at Gypsum Canyon, which the Irvine Co. has slated for a housing development, range as high as $1 billion; operating the jail could come to $135 million a year.

The entire Sheriff’s Department budget currently stands at $142 million, so the Gypsum Canyon jail would effectively double the price of county law enforcement without putting one more officer on the street. Other services--mental health, medical care for poor people, environmental protection--all would suffer enormous cutbacks if the county builds in Gypsum Canyon.

Unless, that is, county voters were prepared to tax themselves big for a new jail. All indications are, however, that they are not.

When voters here approved a half-cent transportation sales tax earlier this month, it marked the first time in more than 30 years that such a tax hike had received the backing of conservative Orange County voters.

Most political observers would be stunned to see the county quickly turn around and approve another one, especially for such an unpopular notion as jail construction. Polls seem to support that skepticism.

Last summer, a countywide poll asked residents if they would support a half-cent tax for a new jail, and 37% said yes; 50% said no. And most estimates suggest that a half-cent tax would hardly dent the problem. One to 2 cents on the dollar is more likely what would be needed to build and finance a huge new facility such as Gypsum Canyon.

“Do you think that’s going to pass?” Roth asked. “I won’t fight it, but I’ll be darned surprised if it does.”

Convinced that Gypsum Canyon is beyond the county’s budget, Roth has instead proposed building a jail in the desert of Riverside County, where land values are cheaper. Riverside would likely get the chance to house some of its own prisoners in such a facility.

“Orange County is people-rich,” Roth said. “Riverside County is land-rich. They’ve got land to use, and it’s cheap.”

The idea has appeal, but it faces problems, too. Transporting prisoners to and from court would be expensive, since the jail would be more than 100 miles from Orange County courts in Santa Ana. Heating and air-conditioning costs would be astronomical.

And Judge Gray has indicated to Grossman that he has reservations of a different sort.

In an Aug. 17 letter to County Administrative Officer Ernie Schneider, Grossman noted that he had spoken with the judge about the desert jail proposal: “He appeared troubled by the concept and its effect on inmate rights,” Grossman wrote. “His comment was that he would never tell the county where to construct a jail, but he might tell us where not to site a jail.”

A county administrative office study of the remote jail dismissed it out of hand, but Roth and other officials questioned some of that study’s assumptions. At Roth’s direction, county staffers have gone back to work on the concept.

Their report was supposed to be completed last month, but, like many aspects of the county’s jail quest, it’s late. Supervisors now are expecting it in early December.

The debate over where to place a new jail has featured little input from Sheriff Gates, though he has kept up a quiet drumbeat on the need for more space somewhere. His annual jail reports include regular and unambiguous requests for more cells--the 1989 report for instance stated simply and in capital letters: “I NEED BEDS NOW!”

At the same time, Gates has been unwilling to publicly attack the supervisors, who control his budget. That reticence has fueled his critics, including some local judges.

In the past several weeks, Central Municipal Judge Richard W. Stanford has threatened to bring contempt charges against the sheriff for his early releases of prisoners, some of whom are charged with violent crimes. Contempt charges would not end overcrowding, but the judge wants to pressure Gates into turning up the pressure on the supervisors.

“All he’s doing by releasing people is protecting the board from criticism,” Stanford said. “He should either go out and get the space and bill the county for it or he should violate the cap and make the supervisors pay the fine. . . . He can’t keep insulating them by breaking the law.”

Of all the comments that irritate Gates, none rankles more than the suggestion that he has not done enough to push for more jails.

“I’m surprised that anybody would ask that question,” the sheriff said in an interview Monday. “I don’t know where these people have been if they don’t think that we’ve been putting pressure in a constructive, professional way. . . . I haven’t found that standing up and screaming and yelling is the most effective way to get things done.”

While Gates presses his case and the supervisors debate their options, the arrests go on. And the problem builds.

Inside the jails, every four hours bring it back to a boiling point. Reports on the status of the jail system come back at those intervals, and because the system is almost always overloaded, often the only way to find an open bed is to let another inmate go.

Some of that happens naturally, as prisoners complete their sentences. But deputies have to force the matter on the rest, releasing inmates early. The result is a massive, hour-by-hour shuffle that tests the patience of deputies and inmates alike.

“The real stress is that you have people who have to sit up on that first floor waiting to get a bed,” said Sgt. Jim Estep, a deputy who works in the Intake-Release Center, where inmates--many of them drunk, drugged and difficult--are first brought in.

“They’re eating sack lunches and sitting on cement benches,” Estep said. “You’re talking about people who can’t even get along in the outside world with their own families or friends and you throw them together with 150 others for up to 23 hours. It’s a lot of pressure.”

While noting that overcrowding has tested Orange County’s jails, state officials have mostly high marks for the way the deputies deal with that pressure.

“They do pretty well,” said Neil Zinn, field representative for the state Board of Corrections. “I inspect a lot of jails in the state, and theirs are good ones. But that’s not to say that overcrowding isn’t a problem. It is, and it’s a substantial one for them.”

At Central Men’s Jail, even inmates say conditions are far better than they used to be. But they fear new outbreaks of violence if crowding throughout the system is not relieved.

“It used to be a nightmare here, and it could be again,” said Thomas F. Maniscalco, a lawyer charged with three counts of first-degree murder in a 1980 Westminster triple slaying. Maniscalco, whose murder trial ended in a hung jury, has spent more than six years in the County Jail, making him one of its most familiar faces.

“I’ve watched a lot of change here, but there’s still a lot to do,” Maniscalco added in one of several telephone interviews from jail. “All they have to do is let this continue, and the violence will come back up again.”

Complaints from inmates are nothing new, of course, but there are some signs that they are building. In a legal action filed against the sheriff and the county in June, ACLU lawyers accused officials of operating facilities that deprive inmates of a variety of rights.

In particular, the suit cites “overcrowding, inadequate staff and inadequate procedures” as well as “failing to provide mental health care, a decent, clean jail, a safe jail.”

Separate actions filed in October charge that inmates are denied access to lawbooks and are short-shrifted on their mealtime. The ACLU has also asked Judge Gray to force the sheriff to place prisoners in their beds within eight hours of their arrival in most cases.

That would sharply cut the time that deputies currently have to perform the frantic shuffle that consumes them nightly, and sheriff’s officials say they simply don’t know how they would do it more quickly.

But for inmates, it would also strike at the heart of a backlog that can subject them to more than 20 grueling hours on cement benches, waiting for a bed.

“People were throwing up on the floor,” said Santa Ana resident Cheryl Weaver, who spent about 10 hours in the jail on Halloween, charged with several counts of theft. “There were heroin addicts, prostitutes, people being treated for bruises to the face. It took forever. I hope I never see anything like it again.”

Going To Jail As county jails have filled, the time it takes to book an inmate into the system has grown. A federal court order gives deputies 24 hours to complete the process or face a contempt charge. Here is a look at how long it can take on a sample evening. Entering the County Jail System: 1. 11 p.m.--Prisoner enters jail system through the Intake-Release Center. If drunk or under the influence, he is taken to sobriety testing. 2. 11:30 p.m.--Nurse talks to prisoner to determine his medical history. Barring problems, interview should take no more than 10 minutes. 3. 11:45 p.m.--Prisoner moves to a holding cell. All holding cells mix accused criminals, so he could find himself next to petty thieves or multiple murderers. 4. 12:15 a.m.--For the first time since entering the jail, the prisoner’s handcuffs are removed. Deputies search him, empty his pockets, take his belt and any sharp objects. 5. 12:30 a.m.--Back to a holding cell. 6. 1 a.m.--Interviewed by court officer, who can release the prisoner on his own recognizance if the charge and the accused’s record allow. Interview usually takes 10-15 minutes. 7. 1:15 a.m.--Back to a holding cell. 8. 1:45 a.m.--Classification deputy interviews prisoner and decides which color wristband to issue: White sends him to minimum-security, yellow to medium-security and orange to maximum. Red and blue are for special. 9. 2 a.m.--Back to a holding cell. 10. 2:30--Photographed and fingerprinted. 11. 2:45 a.m.--Taken to the clothing room, where street clothes are exchanged for jail overalls. Street clothes are inventoried, sent to jail dry cleaners. 12. 3 a.m.--booking complete, prisoner heads to “housing hold,” where he now hits the logjam. The wait for an available bed routinely takes 12-15 hours. In the hours ahead: 5 a.m.--Breakfast, a couple cold sandwiches, fruit and milk. Noon--Lunch, same basic meal as breakfast. 5 p.m.--Dinner. A hot meal, the prisoner’s first since he entered jail 18 hours ago. 6 p.m.--Transferred to cell with a bed. Holding Cell H6 One of dozens that line the booking corridor of the county’s Intake-Release Center. As many as seven prisoners may share H6 at any time, a limit determined by a formula that gives each one 18.5 inches of cement bench space. Note: All times are estimates, based on a typical evening at the county jail. Source: County jail officials. THE STANDOFF OVER GYPSUM CANYON Orange County supervisors have wrestled with the jail construction issue for more than a decade, only to box themselves into a corner. It takes three votes to pick a site, but four to obtain it through condemnation. The Gypsum Canyon site has three votes--enough to prevent other locations from being considered, but not enough to go forward. Roger R. Stanton, District 1: Supports Gypsum Canyon. Stanton represents Santa Ana, which arrests more people than any other city. But Santa Ana already has three jails, and he wants to make sure the city stays out of consideration. Supporting the canyon helps insure that. Harriett M. Wieder, District 2: Supports Gypsum Canyon. Wieder hammered her opponent in a just-completed runoff campaign for suggesting that a new idea for a jail site might be worth considering. Wieder wants a site away from her district, and the canyon meets that criteria. Gaddi H. Vasquez, District 3: Opposes Gypsum Canyon. It’s in his district, and his north county constituents would never forgive him for doing anything that would land a jail in their back yard. Vasquez says he won’t reconsider, and there’s no reason to doubt him. Don R. Roth, District 4: Opposes Gypsum Canyon. A former Anaheim mayor, board chairman Roth’s political base is centered in the area near the canyon. He vigorously opposes it, and instead is the leading proponent of building a jail in the Riverside County desert. Thomas F. Riley, District 5: Supports Gypsum Canyon. His south county district includes vast open space--inviting terrain for any planner looking to locate a new jail near his constituents. As long as there’s support for the canyon, Riley won’t reopen the door.