One-Stop Shopping for Your Prisoners

Whether looking to add a splash of color to your inmates’ wardrobe or just shopping for that special corrections officer who has everything, there was no better place to be the other day than the exhibition hall at the annual winter conference of the American Correctional Assn.

It was a Nashville-style mix of beer, barbed wire and barbecue, with red-white-and-blue-skirted square dancers entertaining delegates as wardens and sheriff’s deputies browsed everything from newfangled leg shackles to the latest in prison garb.

Tired of those drab old black-and-white-striped chain-gang get-ups? How about bright green and white, or even a sassy blue-striped number?

Looking to spice up the selection at the commissary? Nothing says “exotic prison experience” like octopus in oil or smoked kipper snacks, imported from Thailand and distributed by Majestica, the self-proclaimed “King of Pouch Products.”

On the more introspective side, a banner over one booth asked: “How Do You Clothe Your Suicidal Inmates?”

This bizarre range of goods, and the grinning vendors, hinted at both the complexities of operating a modern jail or prison and the astounding amount of money that goes into feeding, housing and clothing the more than 2 million behind bars.

“It’s big business,” said Tim Baltz, regional sales manager for ATD-American Co., which supplies everything from riot gear to underwear. “‘I’ve been in corrections for 30 years now, and it’s a growth industry -- unfortunately.”

Unfortunate, that is, unless your business is selling riot gear and inmate underwear.

The country spends more than $60 billion a year on corrections, up from $9 billion in 1982.

With states tightening their budgets, corrections officials rely on exhibitions like the one in Nashville to make sure they’re getting not only the best technology to sweep for hidden cellphones but also the best bulk price on Snickers bars and MoonPies.

The whole affair was held at a resort so close to the famous Grand Ole Opry that you could toss a Dolly Parton CD there from the parking lot.

What better place to be charmed and cajoled by hundreds of eager salespeople greeting attendees with free candy and ice cream bars, pens and magnets, and glossy photo spreads of high-tech monitoring devices and glistening aluminum urinals?

For corrections officers, there was the new OC-B7 baton, made of sleek, aircraft-grade aluminum, aerodynamically perfect for hitting out-of-line inmates and, best of all, equipped with a thumb trigger to release a jet of pepper spray.

There were a slew of booths advertising courses on parenting, drug and alcohol treatment and something called Moral Reconation Therapy, which, though Webster’s dictionary doesn’t list the word “reconation,” certainly sounds like an effective way to get inmates morally reconated.

Suicide prevention was a hot topic as well, with Lonna and Dennis Speer proudly touting their “safety smock,” a dark blue robe, lightly padded and made of thick backpack material that can’t be torn. Dennis Speer explained that inmates deemed suicidal can’t wear regular clothes because they could roll them up, or rip them , to make a noose.

That’s where the safety smock comes in. It looks a bit like a stiff garbage bag with holes for the arms and head, but it’s actually fastened around the body with Velcro, so none of the holes can be used for self-strangulation. It’s big enough to put on over shackles and thick enough that it can’t be used as a noose.

At $240 a pop, the safety smock has become a popular alternative in prisons across the country and, according to Dennis Speer, was even worn by infamous California murderer Scott Peterson.

Dave Bernhardt, a sales manager for an Indianapolis company that crafts stainless steel bathroom fixtures, explained the complexities of making suicide-proof products.

“Everything’s got to be smooth and rounded, so you can’t attach anything to hang yourself,” he said, pointing out the gently sloping tapers of a well-polished toilet. “Even our towel hooks, they break away if you put more than a few pounds of pressure on them.”

To thwart sneaky inmates, Swintec Corp. makes typewriters -- $192 each -- that are housed in see-through plastic to prevent prisoners from stashing weapons or contraband.

Illinois inmates can earn anywhere from $10 to $45 a month working in prison. And they often turn to the commissary for a taste of home or, perhaps, of the aforementioned octopus-in-a-pouch.

John O’Brien had corrections people lining up outside his booth to sample his company’s sausage and dried meats. He makes more than $5 million a year in sales to prison commissaries.

“That is a lot of jerky,” he said proudly.

Not to mention something for inmates to chew on while they do their time.