Mandi's Civil Commitment Blog 

Part 3

By Mandi Brady

Sometimes I can still remember EVERYTHING about that place.

I have been gone for years now, but the way it looked is still in my mind. There are certain things that remind me of the men I used to look after—like boiled eggs. The smell of them, and I’m right back running the dorm. If eggs were served at breakfast, the guys would save them, and someone on the dorm would make deviled eggs for lunch or dinner. One man would pitch in mayo or mustard, and another would have pickles, and at the next meal, they would all share. The men all worked together and made something, but no one ever talks about that part.

I still remember starting out as a new officer years ago. My captain lived up to all the rumors I had heard about him—he was HARD and strict. My first night, he assigned me the biggest dorm, BRAVO, to learn. He said if I could run Bravo, then I would be able to run any dorm. I don’t think the male officer really wanted me over there with him because he wasn’t much of a worker, and I asked way too many questions.

I stayed on Bravo a few nights with him and then was moved elsewhere. Captain put me with a tiny little woman to train a few nights. She was barely 5 feet tall, but nothing to mess with either. She would run the dorm from the minute she walked in until her shift was over and didn’t put up with any nonsense from the guys. I liked working with her, and we built a friendship through the years outside of work.

I think of the men at the facility a lot. I remember how they used to look at me when I first started. Not at all like it sounds or what others may be thinking—they were trying to figure me out.

• Was I gonna last at this job?
• What kind of officer was I gonna be?
• Strict? Easygoing?
• Would I treat them right or be another they couldn’t stand?

As I walked past a few, they would call me “new boot” or “bosslady” because they couldn’t pronounce my name, remember it, or didn’t try to learn it. I was really surprised at how many of the men were respectful, always saying “yes ma’am” and keeping a certain amount of distance between us when I walked past them.

Once, I accidentally bumped into a man when I was making rounds, and he would not stop apologizing because he was so afraid I was going to write him a case for touching me. I told him it was completely my fault. They were so scared and institutionalized from years of being in prison and dealing with guards on a power trip.

I wasn’t really sure what to think of my captain. He was a BIG guy—over 6 feet and like 300 pounds. He didn’t smile, didn’t joke, and didn’t like excuses about anything. During briefing every night, he would give us our assignments and make sure we were in uniform:

• Shirts tucked in.
• Black socks.
• ID badge.
• Driver’s license on hand.
• Long hair pulled into a bun.

You name it, he checked it. He seemed more comfortable and relaxed with the senior staff, but anyone new clearly had to prove themselves to him, and I was no exception. I would spend my entire time employed there trying to earn his respect and prove myself to him.

At this time, it was still under the direction of Correct Care, the vendor contracted to manage the security of the facility, but the policies were put out by TCCO (Texas Civil Commitment Office). Under Correct Care management, I saw many people in positions of authority and wondered how they got there—like trainers who weren’t very knowledgeable, ranking officers who used their title to manipulate others, and fraternization between staff.

Many nights were long, and just when I thought my shift was over, someone would call on the radio to tell me I had to stay over. This happened far too often. The morning captain always said she was going to try to call someone in to cover, but I doubt she ever did. She just ordered others to stay, and we couldn’t really say no. An 8-hour shift then became a 12 or 16.

The first couple of months really went by fast. I made it a point to learn the names of all the men in the dorms that I frequently worked. I addressed them all as “Mr. So-and-So.” I made it easy for them to learn who I was and told them to call me “H” if they couldn’t pronounce my last name.

I learned my paperwork, how to document my logbook, check my med drawer, conduct counts, pass trays, and anything else my captain said I had to know. I found myself liking the job and being halfway decent at it. I ran my dorm effectively, and I think the men were starting to adjust to me.

It turned out that this job wasn’t that bad...