With a fraction of the inmate population, Arpaio has had 50 times as many lawsuits as the New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Houston jail systems combined.
Based on records produced under the Freedom of Information Act, a review of federal and state records and a comparison with other correctional facilities, the picture that emerges is clear: Cruelty costs.
Jail records documented Deborah Braillard as diabetic. That didn't stop guards from denying her medical requests and insulin. Braillard died as a result.
AP/Wide World
During his "Dirty Dining Crackdown," County Attorney Andrew Thomas could've charged Sheriff Arpaio with criminal health violations in jail kitchens. He didn't.
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Maricopa County Sheriff's Office spokesman Paul Chagolla refused to arrange an interview with Arpaio for this story.
Earlier this month, the front pages of local daily newspapers were dominated by stories about the sheriff exceeding his budget by a million dollars. The courthouse was shuttered for a day. Positions were slashed, and visiting hours for attorneys and court personnel were cut drastically. Naturally, that meant another lawsuit (Arpaio lost and has appealed).
County taxpayers have footed an undisclosed fortune to sustain Arpaio's image as a tough lawman. The $41.4 million taxpayers coughed up to insure for, defend, or settle lawsuits is just the edge of the cesspool — one result of inhumane conditions that have long made Arpaio's jails the target of investigations from both the federal government and advocates like Amnesty International.
Arpaio has an 11-year history of ignoring expert warnings that his jails violate basic tenets of the U.S. Constitution and threaten life and limb. At least 11 inmate deaths have directly resulted from Arpaio's refusal to heed such warnings.
In that time, the deductible for the county's insurance policy to cover lawsuits against the sheriff has jumped from $1 million to $5 million. The annual premium has quadrupled in recent years. These dollars come out of the county's coffers, not from Arpaio's annual budget of $288 million, which he's already overrunning this year.
And which is $60 million more than the sheriff budget in a county jail of similar size in Houston.
While the sheriff has long argued that his crude jails prevent crime, a study that his office commissioned, and that cost $19,900, found that Arpaio's jails have no effect on inmate recidivism.
Despite the cost, the primary victims of Arpaio's mismanagement are not taxpayers, or even attorneys like Kathleen Carey, but indigent inmates like Michelle McCollum.
McCollum, who was arrested for drug possession, could not make bail and, therefore, waited for trial in Arpaio's lockup. She eventually was sentenced to nothing more than probation.
A medical test administered when McCollum was admitted to jail confirmed that she was pregnant.
On August 22, 2005, McCollum sat on the concrete floor of the Fourth Avenue Jail, a facility un-affectionately known by inmates as "The Matrix" (because the lights never turn off). She longed for a mattress and tried hard to overlook the rotting food and soiled feminine napkins on the floor.
Suddenly, two inmates attacked her, pummeling her face, back, and abdomen.
McCollum and another cellmate reported the beating to detention officers, pleaded for medical help, and reminded deputies that McCollum was pregnant and had been hit in the stomach. McCollum also put in a medical request to the infirmary.
No doctor or nurse looked in upon the injured McCollum.
Two days later, McCollum sat in the courthouse, chained to a row of inmates, when she started to bleed. She bled for five hours, looking frighteningly like Stephen King's infamous Carrie. The inmates chained to McCollum to await their arraignments began to complain. Detention officers ignored the prisoners.
When she arrived at the E-Pod in Sheriff Arpaio's Estrella Jail, a bloodstained McCollum again told guards about her beating and her need for medical care. An officer put in a priority request for medical attention, but nobody came. Alarmed at McCollum's loss of blood, a guard finally ushered her to see a doctor.
Infirmary workers called an ambulance and rushed McCollum to Maricopa Medical Center. Doctors there found her baby with an ultrasound, but they couldn't find the baby's heartbeat. The baby was dead.
Doctors told the jail guards that McCollum must return to the hospital in two days — on August 26 — to see if the fetus would pass on its own.
Ten days later, the jail had yet to deliver McCollum to her hospital appointment. On September 5, while McCollum stood holding her tray in the food line, the bleeding started again.
Still, nothing was done.
Three weeks after the ignored doctor's appointment, McCollum was finally rushed to the county hospital for the second time. She had lost so much blood that doctors gave her a massive blood transfusion. Then they removed the dead fetus.
It's important to note that McCollum hadn't been convicted of a crime. Like inmates whose deaths are recounted later in this story, McCollum was awaiting trial — innocent under the law.
Ignored cries for medical attention and resulting agony are not uncommon in Arpaio's jails.
"Only 40 percent of inmate sick-call requests are responded to in a timely manner . . . Because sick-call requests are not responded to in a timely manner and health appraisals are not completed within the required time frames, an inmate's health status is likely to deteriorate while in the custody of Maricopa County," concludes an audit of jail conditions done for the county two years before McCollum lost her baby.