Skip to main content

Help Wanted (in Prison): Texas Recruits High School Kids To Be Corrections Officers

Short on guards, the state hopes to attract students enrolled in career training programs once they turn 18.

PALESTINE, Texas — Kiara Guley wants to be a cosmetologist when she graduates from high school next year. But after taking a training program at the public school in this rural town, the 17-year-old has a Plan B: Become a prison guard.

Hundreds of high schools across Texas offer classes to prepare students for careers in law enforcement, including corrections. This career-training program is the biggest of its kind in the country, enrolling almost 162,000 students in the school year that just ended.

Every year, more than 2,500 Texas teens take classes focused on working in prisons and jails, studying subjects that include how to restrain prisoners and administer first aid in a prison setting. The Texas Education Agency sets curriculum standards, though teachers can use additional material.

Now, the Texas prison system hopes to tap into that pool of students to help ease its severe staffing shortage. The Texas Department of Criminal Justice says that over a quarter of its 23,600 jobs are unfilled. In rural Anderson County, where Guley lives, the vacancy rate at the four state prisons is almost 50%.

So the prison department has hired a recruiter to develop relationships with high school training programs, hoping to make it easy and attractive for graduates ages 18 and older to become corrections officers. The agency “is exploring the option of establishing a pipeline for high school” students to become employees, Director of Communications Amanda Hernandez wrote in an email.

The student-to-guard pipeline Hernandez described differs greatly from the well-documented ‘school-to-prison pipeline,’ in which harsh school discipline puts some children in contact with the criminal justice system at an early age.

Critics have begun questioning whether reliance on prisons makes for good economic policies in rural areas. “Prison-based rural economic development is really uneven and dubious, and in a lot of places, it actually just doesn't happen,” said Judah Schept, a professor at the School of Justice Studies at Eastern Kentucky University.

High job vacancy rates “suggest that these are not jobs that people really want,” he said. “Something is clearly not working.”

The Texas prison agency hires between 8,000 and 10,000 new guards each year, but has a turnover rate of 45%, said Benny Kinsey, the director of recruitment and retention. “We don’t have a hiring problem; we have a retention problem.”

The Texas agency’s effort to work with high school programs is an approach that prison systems and police departments across the country are adopting as they try to find and keep employees, said Thomas Washburn, the executive director of the Law and Public Safety Education Network, a Georgia-based nonprofit organization that supports criminal justice programs in high schools.

“It’s a massive movement,” Washburn said. “Career and technical education programs are absolutely one of the solutions.” The group says 3,500 programs serve hundreds of thousands of students nationwide.

Washburn said he has some misgivings when it comes to encouraging young people to become corrections officers. “I don’t know how to phrase this in a good way,” he said. “Corrections is a job whose challenges outweigh its benefits. It’s not a great career.”

But, Washburn said, “When it’s paying 40% better than anything else in your community, it is a viable option.”

Researchers have linked working in a prison to high rates of mental and physical health problems, including depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, substance abuse, and suicide.

In Texas, guards make between $42,000 and $51,000 a year, depending on experience, and are getting a 5% raise effective July 1. The officers earn an average of $8,000 a year in overtime, the agency says.

Huntsville, Texas’ most famous ‘prison town,’ is home to seven state prisons and the headquarters of the corrections agency. Prison-related attractions, like the Huntsville Prison Museum, draw tens of thousands of visitors a year. The museum’s collection includes manacles used to bind chain gangs, weapons carried by guards from 1848 through the present, and a gift shop selling T-shirts and handmade leather gun holsters. The electric chair known as ‘Old Sparky,’ which the state used to execute 361 prisoners from 1923 to 1964, is on display.

In Huntsville, “Everyone knows someone who is a corrections officer,” said Jordan Huebner, who went to Huntsville High School and now leads the criminal justice program there. “If it’s not your parents, it’s one of your friend’s parents.”

The local school district and Sam Houston State University are also major local employers. But for students who want to stay in rural Walker County, in the piney woods of East Texas, the Department of Criminal Justice is “going to be your best option,” Huebner said, adding that at least 10% of her students will work in corrections in their lifetimes.

Texas is one of an increasing number of states where the minimum age to be a corrections officer is 18. Corrections “is a big pathway that we’re showcasing to the students since that is something that they can go and do as soon as they graduate from high school,” Huebner said.

The prison system “is what defines us,” said Ryann Kaaa-Bauer, a former police officer and one of the teachers at Huntsville High’s training program. The school has a set of dummies and batons to train students in use-of-force, as well as a collection of mock weapons and utility belts modeled after those carried by police officers.

The students’ favorite activity? “Oh my gosh, the students love handcuffs,” Kaaa-Bauer said. “And I mean that in the most positive and educational way possible.”

Students must “demonstrate self-defense and defensive tactics such as ready stance and escort positions, strikes, kicks, punches, handcuffing, and searching,” according to state guidelines. They also study topics including the mundane day-to-day tasks it takes to run a prison (efficient food service, good communication and organizational skills) and responding appropriately during “hostile situations.”

The corrections course taught at Huntsville includes units on prison intake procedures, searches and shakedowns, offender rights and services, and prison gangs, according to Huebner and Kaaa-Bauer. Last school year, the program included three prison tours, and a trip to the Huntsville prison museum for a final exam in the form of a scavenger hunt.

In 2023, states will receive $1.4 billion in federal funding to support career and technical education programs in 16 fields, including agriculture, information technology and health science.

Law and public safety programs can include classes on law enforcement, corrections, criminal investigation, legal systems and firefighting. In Texas, the most popular class is forensic science, including techniques used by crime-scene investigators.

Several students in the Texas programs said they were interested in careers like police officer, lawyer, or criminal psychologist, rather than in corrections.

“It’s not something I would do,” said 16-year-old Rodney Harper, who took a law-enforcement overview class in Palestine. “They work with criminals every day and their lives are in danger, and they don’t get paid nearly enough.”

And even those who do leave the program with an interest in working as a guard may not stick with the job.

Andrew Mireles graduated from Huntsville High School’s criminal justice program in 2021, and, inspired by a guest speaker, applied for a position at the Walker County jail when he was 18, he said. He worked there for a year before quitting to enlist in the Army.

He said he plans to return to the criminal justice field — but he doesn’t want to work in a jail or prison again.

“After a while, I started to dread it,” he said in an interview. “You don’t want to go there. You’re working 12 hours, and it’s just very depressing.”

Sourcethemarshallproject.org, Anya Slepian, June 26, 2023. This article was published in partnership with The Daily Yonder. It was produced with support from the Education Writers Association Reporting Fellowship program.


_____________________________________________________________________




_____________________________________________________________________


FOLLOW US ON:












HELP US KEEP THIS BLOG UP & RUNNING!



"One is absolutely sickened, not by the crimes that the wicked have committed,
but by the punishments that the good have inflicted."


— Oscar Wilde

Most viewed (Last 7 days)

Florida executes Michael Tanzi

Florida on Tuesday executed a death row inmate described by one local detective as a "fledgling serial killer" for the murder of a beloved Miami Herald employee. Florida executed Michael Tanzi on Tuesday, 25 years after the murder of beloved Miami Herald employee Janet Acosta, who was attacked in broad daylight on her lunch break in 2000.   Michael Tanzi, 48, was executed by lethal injection at the Florida State Prison in Raiford and pronounced dead at 6:12 p.m. ET. 

South Carolina | Man who ambushed off-duty cop to face firing squad in second execution of its kind

Mikal Mahdi, 48, who was found guilty of killing an off-duty police officer and a convenience store worker, is the second inmate scheduled to executed by South Carolina's new firing squad A murderer who ambushed and shot an off duty police officer eight times before burning his body in a killing spree is set to become the second person to die by firing squad. South Carolina's highest court has rejected the last major appeal from Mikal Mahdi, 41, who is to be put to death with three bullets to the heart at 6pm on April 11 at the Broad River Correctional Institution in Columbia. Mahdi's lawyers said his original lawyers put on a shallow case trying to spare his life that didn't call on relatives, teachers or people who knew him and ignored the impact of weeks spent in solitary confinement in prison as a teen.

Afghanistan | Four men publicly executed by Taliban with relatives of victims shooting them 'six or seven times' at sport stadium

Four men have been publicly executed by the Taliban, with relatives of their victims shooting them several times in front of spectators at a sport stadium. Two men were shot around six to seven times by a male relative of the victims in front of spectators in Qala-i-Naw, the centre of Afghanistan's Badghis province, witnesses told an AFP journalist in the city.  The men had been 'sentenced to retaliatory punishment' for shooting other men, after their cases were 'examined very precisely and repeatedly', the statement said.  'The families of the victims were offered amnesty and peace but they refused.'

South Carolina executes Mikal Mahdi

Mikal Mahdi, 42, was executed for the 2004 murder of 56-year-old James Myers A man facing the death penalty for committing two murders was executed by firing squad on Friday, the second such execution in the US state of South Carolina this year. Mikal Mahdi, 42, was executed for the 2004 murder of 56-year-old James Myers, an off-duty police officer, and the murder of a convenience store employee three days earlier. According to a statement from the prison, "the execution was performed by a three-person firing squad at 6:01 pm (2201 GMT)," with Mahdi pronounced dead four minutes later.

USA | Why the firing squad may be making a comeback

South Carolina plans to execute Mikal Mahdi on Friday for the murder of a police officer, draping a hood over his head and firing three bullets into his heart. The choice to die by firing squad – rather than lethal injection or the electric chair – was Mahdi’s own, his attorney said last month: “Faced with barbaric and inhumane choices, Mikal Mahdi has chosen the lesser of three evils.” If it proceeds, Mahdi’s execution would be the latest in a recent string of events that have put the spotlight on the firing squad as a handful of US death penalty states explore alternatives to lethal injection, by far the nation’s dominant execution method.

Louisiana | Lawyers of Jessie Hoffman speak about their final moments before execution

As Louisiana prepared its first execution in 15 years, a team of lawyers from Loyola Law were working to save Jessie Hoffman’s life. “I was a young lawyer three years out of law school, and Jessie was almost finished with his appeals at that time, and my boss told me we needed to file something for Jessie because he’s in danger of being executed,” Kappel said. Kappel and her boss came up with a civil lawsuit to file that said since they wouldn’t give him a protocol for his execution, he was being deprived of due process, and the lawsuit was in the legal process for the next 10 years.

Lethal Injection, Electric Chair, or Firing Squad? An Inhumane Decision for Death Row Prisoners

South Carolina resumed executions with the firing squad killing of Brad Sigmon last month. Mikal Madhi’s execution date is days away. The curtain shrieked as it was yanked open to reveal a 67-year-old man tied to a chair. His arms were pulled uncomfortably behind his back. The red bull’s-eye target on his chest rose and fell as he desperately attempted to still his breathing. The man, Brad Sigmon, smiled at his attorney, Bo King, seated in the front row before guards placed a black bag over his head. King said Sigmon appeared to be trying his best to put on a brave face for those who had come to bear witness.

I spent 16 years in solitary in South Carolina. This is what it did to me. | Opinion

South Carolinian Randy Poindexter writes about the effects 16 years of solitary confinement had on him ahead of South Carolina’s planned execution of Mikal Mahdi , who spent months in solitary as a young man. For 16 years, I lived in a concrete cell. Twenty-three hours a day, every day, for more than 3,000 days, South Carolina kept me in solitary confinement. I was a young man before I was sent to solitary — angry, untreated and unwell. I made mistakes. But I wasn’t sentenced to madness. That’s what solitary did to me. My mental health worsened with each passing day. At first, paranoia and depression set in. Then, hallucinations and self-mutilation. I talked to people who weren’t there. I cut myself to feel something besides despair. I could do nothing as four of my friends and fellow prisoners took their own lives rather than endure another day of torturous isolation.

Arizona | The cruelty of isolation: There’s nothing ‘humane’ about how we treat the condemned

On March 19, I served as a witness to the execution of a man named Aaron Gunches, Arizona’s first since 2022. During his time on death row, he begged for death and was ultimately granted what is likely more appropriately described as an emotionless state-assisted suicide. This experience has profoundly impacted me, leading to deep reflection on the nature of death, humanity, and the role we play in our final moments. When someone is in the end stages of life, we talk about hospice care, comfort, care, easing suffering and humane death. We strive for a “good death” — a peaceful transition. I’ve seen good ones, and I’ve seen bad, unplanned ones. 

Execution date set for prisoner transferred to Oklahoma to face death penalty

An inmate who was transferred to Oklahoma last month to face the death penalty now has an execution date. George John Hanson, also known as John Fitzgerald Hanson, is scheduled to die on June 12 for the 1999 murder of 77-year-old Mary Bowles.  The Oklahoma Court of Criminal Appeals on Tuesday set the execution date. The state’s Pardon and Parole Board has a tentative date of May 7 for Hanson’s clemency hearing, executive director Tom Bates said.