Prison Is Town’s Savior, but at a Price

Nestled near a towering redwood forest and the crystalline Smith River sits an imposing monolith of concrete and barbed wire that has become both savior and bane to this tiny North Coast town.

When it opened about a decade ago, the maximum-security Pelican Bay State Prison seemed a clearing in the economic fog that loomed over remote Del Norte County as fishing and logging jobs in California’s northwest corner began to vanish. And it was, quickly becoming the county’s biggest employer.

But with steady employment has come notoriety as the home of the state’s toughest maximum-security prison. Residents are now divided over whether Crescent City made the municipal equivalent of a Faustian bargain by becoming a prison town.

Prison Riot Is Painful Reminder

Pelican Bay’s reputation as a modern-day Alcatraz--a high-tech holding pen for the worst human beings California has to offer--was never clearer than the day last month when one of the bloodiest prison disturbances in state history erupted in an exercise yard.

The melee pitted Latino and white prisoners against their black counterparts. It ended after guards opened fire on the inmates, killing 23-year-old Miguel Sanchez and wounding 15 others. Dozens more were stabbed, slashed or beaten, according to prison officials, who recovered 89 inmate-manufactured weapons from the yard.

The episode again cast a national media spotlight on Del Norte County and has offered a glimpse into how the state’s prison building spree, which exploded in the mid-1980s, has affected host communities.

Some of the cultural and social adjustments here are also being played out in Susanville in the state’s northeast corner, amid the cotton fields of the San Joaquin Valley in Corcoran, and in the desert outpost of Blythe in Riverside County--all rural communities that have become dominated by the prison industry.

In Del Norte, a reluctant acceptance of the problems that come with prisons has set in among many of the county’s nearly 28,000 residents since Pelican Bay opened in December 1989. The lockup, they say, saved their community.

“What goes on out there behind that death fence, I don’t think the community takes a big interest in,” said Jack Reese, chairman of the Del Norte County Board of Supervisors.

“Had the prison not come here, this would just be a spot on the map and we wouldn’t have anything,” he added. “We would have no Wal-Mart, no Kmart.”

Pelican Bay has provided something desperately needed in the county that in 1999 had California’s lowest per capita income: cash.

The prison’s February payroll hit nearly $6.1 million in pay and benefits for 1,341 full-time employees and 103 other temporary employees at $225,000. Unemployment, which in the past has run as high as 26%, averaged 10.3% in Del Norte last year.

The resurgence led to a new hospital and the emergence of chain stores in a place so remote that residents say they still have to cross the Oregon border to buy a pair of Levi’s. Some local residents who were once loggers and fishermen were also able to secure jobs at the prison for steady paychecks.

During a recent breakfast at Glen’s Bakery & Restaurant, Laurie O’Reilley, 43, described how her husband went from earning a living as a fisherman to doing carpentry nine months a year at the prison. “When it first opened I was against it, because we had kids and I didn’t think we needed a prison,” O’Reilley said. “But now I definitely feel it has been an asset to the county. I don’t even think about it out there.”

The economic relief, however, has not come cheap. Rapid growth brought on by Pelican Bay nearly bankrupted the county as it strained to build roads, expand landfills and improve utilities.

The prison, which was annexed into Crescent City and is about nine miles north of town, has also led to subtle changes in the county’s social fabric.

“Before the prison came this was more of a wide-open community,” said Lyndol Mitchell, a 62-year-old Realtor who moved to Crescent City in 1952. “It used to be a community where everybody knew everybody.”

An influx of newcomers has come in the form of hundreds of prison employees, often described by natives as a reserved, tight-knit bunch. Families of some Pelican Bay inmates have also relocated to the area to be near their incarcerated loved ones, and their arrival has caused concern among some residents.

“To me the prison has been a negative even though it’s been a positive to the community,” Mitchell said. “I know we had to have it for economic survival. I just don’t like the changes in the community.”

And prosecutors suspect some inmates’ families of contributing to a rise in gang-related violence and graffiti that coincided with the opening of Pelican Bay.

“We do have serious juvenile crimes being committed in this county,” Del Norte County Deputy Dist. Atty. Jim Fallman said.

An odd tourism industry has developed as other inmate “followers” converge on Del Norte for weekend visits, booking rooms at local hotels and grabbing meals at nearby restaurants. There’s even a shuttle service that whisks the families to and from the prison.

North Hollywood resident Florence Archuleta, 46, has made the punishing 12-hour drive from Los Angeles to Crescent City every weekend for about a month to visit her fiance, who she says is serving a 106-year sentence for attempted murder. Archuleta arrived in town on a Saturday morning with her son and the wife of another Pelican Bay inmate, all of them desperate to learn whether their loved ones had been injured in the riot.

After lunch at Christina’s Mexican Restaurant, the trio were off to a local motel to resume calling prison officials for information. Archuleta said she planned to make the 12-hour drive back to North Hollywood the following day.

“I would like to live here,” Archuleta said. “We go through hell driving back and forth.”

The newcomers and the growth-induced problems have contributed to a polarization that has caused some residents to move away.

“I know of about five or six people who were adamantly opposed to the prison who ended up selling their property and leaving,” Crescent City resident Norma Moell said. “They just disappeared.”

Added Fallman: “For many of the people here there’s no middle ground. They either think the prison is wonderful or they hate it.”

Few would dispute that Pelican Bay ushered in a new era for an old town. Founded in 1853, Crescent City was built from the sweat of loggers and fishermen.

“It was a booming lumber town at one time with lots of bars,” recalled Bill Peepe, an 83-year-old native and co-owner of the now-closed McNamara and Peepe Lumber Co.

Peepe was mayor in 1964 when Crescent City became the only California town to be wiped out by a tidal wave; a tsunami caused by the Alaskan earthquake destroyed 29 city blocks and killed 11 people. The region faced additional setbacks because of a decline in the timber industry caused in part by logging limits.

By the time he closed his doors in 1981, Peepe estimated that only about six of the 55 sawmills that once operated in the area were still open. The region’s fishing and crabbing industries also fell on hard times during the last decade, as a result of tougher environmental regulations.

Desperate to save their fading county, Del Norte residents successfully lobbied for a state prison.

Influx Caused Strain on Schools

While some growth-related problems that came with Pelican Bay have worked themselves out, residents still complain of overcrowded schools, among other things. Bulging classrooms also materialized across the state line in Oregon, where an estimated 300 Pelican Bay employees live in the pricier Brookings-Harbor area. Their arrival prompted school district officials to hire additional teachers.

“We appreciate them as far as the economy is concerned,” Brookings Mayor Bob Hagbom said. “But we have had to add to the school system because of them.”

Back in Del Norte, local leaders are scrambling to bring light manufacturing and technology jobs to the area to diversify their economy. Some residents, for example, have recently found work providing customer support services for an Internet company.

There’s also a desire to lure more nature-friendly tourists to visit the local harbor or the nearby Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park. For now, the prison industry keeps the community afloat.

Consequently, there is concern among some residents of Del Norte, where fishing and timber jobs were traditionally passed down from generation to generation, over what the future holds for their children.

“The prison isn’t a place where kids aspire to work,” said Kathleen Smith, the city clerk for Crescent City. “We have nothing to keep our kids here.”

Times staff writer Mark Gladstone contributed to this story.