Had myself a jail tour when I was young

I got to thinking about jails a couple of weeks ago.

The Curry County commissioners were going to have their annual tour of the county correctional facility and an invitation to cover the occasion was sent to the newspaper.

Lockups have aroused my curiosity at times. Once upon a time, long ago and far away, I was working in radio news, covering a trial at a county courthouse. I was outside waiting for court to go back in session when the county sheriff came walking by.

“Sheriff Bob, how ya doin’?” I called out.

“Pretty good, Grant. You stayin’ out of trouble?” Sheriff Bob said.

“I reckon. Hey, I was wondering, what happens when someone goes to jail? I mean, what do they do all day?” I asked.

“Well some folks do nothing, they have that choice. They can sit in their cell all day or get out to go on work detail. For instance, Grant, do you type?” Sheriff Bob asked.

“Yes sir, about 50 words a minute,” I said.

“You come into my jail I’d probably put you right to work typing reports and washing patrol cars,” Sheriff Bob said.

“How’s the food?” I asked.

“Well, it’ll fill a body up but even I’ll admit you’ll find better eats at a school cafeteria. We don’t want it to be too good, don’t want people comin’ back just because we serve good home cookin’,” Sheriff Bob said with a laugh.

I got a tour of a big ol’ jail one time.

I was 11.

It was an unscheduled, surprise tour of the city jail.

It was a sunny summer day.

Kevin, a neighborhood kid, and I were hanging out in front of his house running our toy cars and trucks through toy-sized dirt roads we made through the grass.

The front door of Kevin’s house burst open and Kevin’s dad came striding out.

The man wasn’t all that old but he was a grumpy.

I never knew why he was so grumpy but from the angry stories he told from his Navy cook days I think it had something to do with his military service. He was retired from the Navy.

“Come on boys, let’s go for a ride,” Kevin’s dad exclaimed.

We hopped in Kevin’s family car and off we went.

“What did you do?” I whispered to Kevin.

Kevin shrugged his shoulders.

Our destination was downtown to the city jail.

“Come on, boys, get out. You need to see inside the jail,” his dad said.

“Come on Kevin, what did you DO?” I whispered again.

Kevin shrugged his shoulders again.

Kevin’s dad had access to the jail because he was some kind of officer with the city court.

Into the big ol’ jail we went. The place smelled like the bathrooms in school.

We walked by the cells getting catcalls, “bad words” and whistles from the prisoners.

The walk only lasted about five minutes.

Soon we were back outside in the summer sun.

Kevin’s dad stopped, turned around, got down on our level, eye-to-eye and said, “Now you boys see that you never want to be in this place.”

Then he drove us home.

We went back to playing with our toy cars and trucks in the dirt in front of Kevin’s house.

I stopped and looked Kevin in the eyes.

“What did you DO?” I said.

Kevin stopped his truck in the middle of the dirt road through the lawn.

“Might be because I said a cuss word at breakfast,” Kevin said.

Grant McGee writes for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him:

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