In March, 1975, I was selected from of field of over three hundred applicants to serve as Warden of the California Institution for Women (CIW), the largest women’s prison in the country at that time. A risk-taker, I felt challenged by the responsibility such a position posed. But I also am a woman interested in the advancement of women. What is astonishing is why the Department of Corrections selected me, and why Governor Jerry Brown (a Democrat) and the California Senate summarily approved the appointment of a (then) Republican woman with no Corrections experience. That first day I was presented with a ring of keys and a parade of staff smiles. No initial orientation for me from the Department except being handed a paperback copy of the Charles Manson story, Helter Skelter. The book did nothing to prepare me for my actual meeting with Charlie Manson at San Quentin in July.
My year began, a year in which I was buried beneath complex paperwork, a year during which I struggled to break through the stifling bureaucracy. I came to understand that rehabilitation at CIW existed as a theoretical concept, a victim of inadequate funding and political disillusionment. It became clear that when directives were issued for prison budget allocations, the women’s prison was of secondary importance to the Department of Corrections. Finally I learned that it was intended that the new Superintendent be an outsider with no knowledge of the powerful political dynamics of Corrections. The Department believed that CIW was due for problems and they needed a “straw man” to take the fall. I was appointed to “front” for the situation and had never been intended to “manage.” That responsibility, unknown to me, had been laid upon the two Deputy Wardens so eagerly provided from the outset.
My year ended with a fearful riot. Sensing trouble, I tried to warn Department officials and asked for counsel but I was told Women don’t riot. Six hours later it was over; the inmates were safely behind bars in a lock-down. After the rubble was cleared, a stern-faced investigator descended from the Department with a ridiculous political demand. The final gesture was mine, when I held my ground and then submitted my resignation in response.
Professionally, I had never failed, yet there was a year of my life during which I lost track of myself and became a re-actor, deferring my own common sense and knowledge to system-insiders who claimed to be experts. All of my experience, all of the things that had worked for me on the outside became virtually valueless. Several years later, I learned that the top executives in the Corrections Department were replaced in a wide reorganization. So apparently I was not the ineffectual one after all.