There should have been more given to him by the Corrections Department “in acknowledgement for what he did,” she says, than to ship him to an out-of-state prison where his life was immediately put in danger. The department did nothing to hide his identity from the prison grapevine and possible revenge by Watland or by others who believed he had broken the “code” that requires a prisoner not to tell on another prisoner, even though he may have saved the lives of prisoners’ wives and children; Watland had allegedly planned to take them hostage in the visitors’ room. (See “Stabbed in the Back: Officials Reward a Prison Hero by Endangering His Life,” by Lance Tapley, September 14, 2007.)
There are many other things wrong with the prison culture, Dawson says. One example she described to Baldacci: “I caught a sergeant going through the security [gate] with two brown paper bags stuffed with currency. Shortly thereafter I filed an incident report about the issue. The warden said that he didn’t think there was a problem.” She suggested the officer might have been involved with gambling inside the prison.
Other guards have publicly complained about the prison’s “hostile work environment,” as a guard described it to a legislative Labor Committee meeting earlier this year, where there was criticism of the prison management for favoritism, insufficient guard training, and retaliation for reporting wrongs.
The administration of the prison and the Department of Corrections is so entrenched in its ways, Dawson believes, that a clean sweep is needed: “They’re all in bed with each other.”
No response from Baldacci
Dawson says she has been given legal advice not to discuss the terms of her 2007 settlement with the state over her Maine Human Rights Commission complaints.
Not long after the settlement, she sent her letter to Baldacci. In it, she also related that she had originally applied for the job of prison guard after seeing a classified newspaper advertisement that read, in part: “If you enjoy the challenge of helping people change their behaviors, attitudes, and improve their lives and yours, the field of Corrections is for you!”
The ad deceived her, she told the governor.
“I invite you to meet with me in person,” she wrote him. She wanted to discuss how to make the prison a better place.
Her letter was never answered, she says — not even by an aide. There was “no reaction from anybody.”
As the Phoenix went to press, Governor Baldacci's office e-mailed us: "We received the letter and forwarded [it] to the Department of Corrections for review. . . . Ms. Dawson should have received a response to her letter from the Department of Corrections. She did not. That was an error." Earlier, Commissioner Magnusson had refused numerous requests for an interview on the issues discussed in this article and did not respond to e-mailed questions.
Dawson has a good job as an office worker at the Department of Transportation, she says, but she misses being a prison guard, despite the troubles she endured. The inmates thought of her as their sister or mother, she says. While some guards treated her poorly, “I had a lot of respect from the prisoners.”
She says: “I was meant to do that kind of work. It was a calling. I was honored to have that opportunity to lead and to teach.”
She is still an idealist. Even now, “I would like to be part of a team” to reform the prison, she says.
“At least I could try.”
Lance Tapley can be reached atltapley@roadrunner.com.
