Why the best thing to open a locked cell door isn't a loaded weapon
by Walter Jowers
A few days back, up in Columbia, Ky., Sheriff's Deputy Charles Wright reported for duty at the town's fancy new $12.4 million Judicial Center. Wright headed down to the basement, and before he could get a good start on his day's work, he accidentally locked himself up in one of the new holding cells. That, by itself, shouldn't be a big deal. In this age of technology, you'd expect a law-enforcing man to have access to a cell phone (no pun intended), a walkie-talkie, or at least a tin cup that he could rattle across the bars. If none of those options worked, a man could always resort to plain old-fashioned hollering.
But none of that worked for Deputy Wright, who has a problem with claustrophobia, and apparently doesn't like waiting around in small, tight, scrunched-up stuffy spaces. After pondering his situation for a while — probably just long enough for his fingers to get itchy — Wright decided that the best way to bust out of his cell would be to grab his weapon and start shooting.
I've been run through an MRI machine a time or two, so I know a little something about claustrophobia. When you're stuck in a cylinder that's squeezing just about every inch of your body, you can't think about anything except getting the hell out. Claustrophobia can make you feel like 18 ounces of Crest in a 6-ounce tube.
Given his high-pressure situation, I wonder if Wright was able to give any thought to the physics of his predicament — the ricochet problem, for instance. It seems to me that a claustrophobic man who just locked himself in a basement cell might want to hold his fire and hope that a co-worker somewhere in the new jail wonders aloud, "Has anybody seen Charles?" Apparently, that didn't happen.
It's none of my business, but I can't help but wonder: What was Wright packing when he went into the cell? Did he think he could shoot out the cell's lock with a pistol? If so, how many shots did he think it would take to get him out? No offense to Deputy Wright, but even without seeing the basement of the Adair County Judicial Center, I'd guess he'd have to be packing either a rocket-propelled grenade or a good-size cannon to blast open a spanking-new jail cell.
Sure, this would be a good place in the story for me to make snide remarks about Kentucky and small-town Kentuckians, but I'm not going to do it. Heck, a sheriff's deputy in Kentucky just tried to shoot his way out of a brand-new jail cell, chased by his own ricocheting bullet or bullets. No doubt, the man was traumatized. Smartasses with no sympathy for the claustrophobic — and of course sanctimonious Yankees who'll retell this story in a lame Southern accent — will make up their own jokes.
I do have to say, though, what all of us are thinking: There's something about this story that harks back to the old Andy Griffith Show. Maybe it's the memories of Otis, the town drunk, who purposely locked himself into a cell when he got tipsy, then let himself out when he sobered up. As I recall, the esteemed Deputy Barney Fife locked himself in a cell more than once. Yet even he never thought to ventilate the jailhouse doors with his peacemaker.
You'd think that the law-enforcement folks in Adair County — with their nice new judicial center — would've put together some seminars to teach their officers how to safely leave and enter an empty jail cell without the use of firearms. Didn't anybody up in Columbia learn anything from Mayberry? Didn't anybody show Deputy Wright how to throw rocks through a window, in the time-honored style of Ernest T. Bass? It's much safer than the shoot-your-way-out method — although given the deputy's luck, he'd have been found on the floor with a rock-sized knot on his head. It's even good advice for civilians. After all, if you get arrested, it's always better to have your pockets full of rocks rather than guns.
If you ask me, Deputy Wright just "had a real bad day," like Sissy Spacek in Crimes of the Heart — the movie in which her character, Babe, tried to hang herself from a chandelier. As physics would have it, the chandelier came loose from the ceiling, and poor Babe walked around dragging the chandelier, which stayed wrapped around her neck.
Meanwhile, back in Kentucky: The sheriff says he still thinks highly of Wright, but he doubts that he'll be able to give him back his job. For his part, Deputy Wright has agreed to pay for damages to the building. The moral of this story: If you plan on venturing by yourself into an empty cell, use the buddy system. Oh, and make sure one of you stays outside — with the keys. It never hurts to be reminded.
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