One recent Friday, an Off Limits operative caught White in action. "John, he's trying to leave without paying," a waitress told the cop, pointing to a guy heading for the exit.
White, an imposing-looking black man who easily tops six feet, lowered his arm like a drawbridge in front of the door.
"I can't believe you think I'd leave without paying," the guy protested. "I left some money on the table. I wouldn't leave without paying. I'm white; I can't run. I wouldn't want you chasing me down the street."
After the waitress confirmed that the patron had left dough on the table, White raised the drawbridge.
Smooth operators: While the Denver Police Department has Pete's covered, the Denver Sheriff's Department has put its own clientele to work. When Off Limits called an inmate recently, the phone was answered with this: "Denver County Jail information. This call may be monitored. This is Operator 4-2-8. How can I assist you?"
What 4-2-8 didn't mention was that not only are calls to the jail monitored, but so are the operators -- because they're inmates themselves. Allison Perry, for example, has been doing seven-hour shifts on the switchboard since the heroin and crack addict was picked up for prostitution in October. Playing operator, she's reminded that there's more to life than the drama of the jail dorm. "I get sick of seeing the same women all day," Perry says. She also earns $5 credit for her efforts each week, which she can spend at the jail commissary.
Since the phones have to be manned anyway, why not by the jail's captive audience? "A Denver deputy sheriff gets a lot of training," explains Sergeant Frank Gale, who's also the department's public-information officer. "Do we really need a person with all of that training answering phones?"
Phone duty isn't the only work that inmates perform. "A lot of the stuff that's being done to beautify the City and County of Denver is being done by inmate labor," Gale adds. "Part of the reason we do this is that sometimes people need a little help with their self-esteem. We're not going to chain them up; we're not going to treat them inhumanely. If they're going to walk away, they're going to walk away."
Which is why only non-violent offenders without protection orders and/or a history of attempted escape are allowed on outside crews. But even on the inside, the system makes use of inmates, dishing out janitorial duties, squad-car washing, laundry and kitchen work to jail vets like 67-year-old Frank Valdespino, who cooked meals for his fellow inmates while he was in for six weeks after violating a domestic-violence restraining order. "I don't like nothing about working in the kitchen," he says. "I do it to pass the time, stay busy."
The jail got particularly busy in January. After Denver Bronco Darrent Williams was murdered, the cops found the Tahoe that was reportedly involved in the drive-by, and it turned out that the vehicle was registered to a gangster doing time in Denver County Jail. After that, every reporter in town called to get an interview with Brian Hicks. Perry answered some of those calls, which at least were more polite than many of the calls that come in to the jail.
"They deal with a lot of irate people, and these girls don't have all the answers," says Officer Norma Mock, who supervises the female phone crews. "But for the most part, they do well. We try to pick some responsible girls."
