In Just One Second
Authored By: Bradley Chapline
August 2021
Authored By: Bradley Chapline
August 2021
Based on a true story.
The names of some characters have been changed.
Part One
It was July 1987, a damn hot day in Southern Nevada. I was wearing my prison guard uniform perfectly. This would be my first day of an eight week academy. I wanted to look my best, and make a good impression. But, everyone knew me. Especially the training instructors. I was getting this look of contempt.
I was known as the trainee officer who saved the life of a lazy, no-count corrupted black female prison guard.
Unlike other correctional academies, the Nevada Department of Prisons wanted to give a potentially permanent employee, like myself, a trial run on the prison yard before spending a good deal of money on training.
So, it was simple, a few months earlier, my first day of work at the Southern Nevada Correctional Center (Jean prison) was an interesting one. Not a word was said to me in the muster room by my fellow officers. However, the shift supervisor did speak up. He told me to go to Unit Three, general population. I replied, "Excuse me, Sir, this is my......interrupted by a boisterous yell, " I know its your first fucking day here! Get your ass out on the yard and find your post! I'm not going to babysit you!"
On the prison yard, an inmate was nice enough to point me in the right direction. When I walked inside the cell block, the graveyard officer was hostile towards me. "You're fucking late. Nice way to start off, shithead." The graveyard officer threw the keys to the cell block and the two-way radio on the doddering three legged desk in the officer's control center. Again, I had no idea of what to do. But then again, a bit later, another inmate assisted me in getting started.
Finally, my so-called partner arrived on post. A tenured officer, she was two and one-half hours late. But, within fifteen minutes, she was gone again, and for most of the work day.
After I had somehow survived for the next two weeks in that inmate housing unit, as the lone officer, I was pulled off my post. By this time I had gotten a hold on how to run my cell block. I really didn't want to be reassigned. I had no say so, and didn't dare say anything.
The next few weeks I would be reassigned to foot patrol the prison yard. There were some wild days, to say the least.
The first day, a tower officer came to work inebriated. He fell out of his post window and landed in rolls of barbed wire located at the base of the gun tower. However, the officer's loaded shotgun had gone over the fence line and onto the main prison yard. Of all people, a Hispanic gang leader picked up the shotgun. He then said to me, "Don't you think this should be kept off the yard?" I forced a smile through my fright, and answered, "Yes, I do." The gang member handed the weapon over to me. Relieved, I graciously thanked him.
A few days later a staff member was having symptoms of a heart attack. When a Flight for Life helicopter from a local hospital had been cleared to land on prison grounds, a tower officer, who had likely just awakened from sleeping on duty, was unaware of the clearance. Panicking that an escape was in progress, he grabbed his loaded 30.06 rifle and began shooting at the helicopter. The helicopter pilot flew his chopper away from the prison as quickly as possible. There was no way he was coming back. The staff member having the heart attack, remained lying motionless on the floor of the institutional culinary until his death.
The following day, the voice of a female officer, sounding much like my often absent partner in the cell block, was screaming over the two-way radio for help. On a fast paced run, I headed for her post with several other officers. During the response time, I admit, there were all kinds of radio traffic, but none of which I could clearly decipher. When I arrived at the entry door to the cell block, everyone else that I thought was responding with me, had vanished. So, I went into the cell block, alone. I successfully fought the attacking inmate off my partner and secured him in handcuffs. I then took hold of my ostensible partner who had just slumped over a rail, bleeding profusely, and carried her outside the cell block to safety.
Repeatedly, I called for a medical team from the institution's infirmary to respond to an officer in dire need of immediate medical attention. But, the response time was very slow.
Through all this, I thought I had done a great job. I was wrong.
The next day I was reprimanded by my shift lieutenant for my actions in virtually saving the officer's life. I was told that the officer being attacked was having an affair with an inmate, and that the two were having a domestic dispute.
I was questioned if I had, in fact, heard specific orders come over the two way radio to not respond to that particular situation? I replied it was possible, but, I wasn't sure in all those chaotic moments. I was informed by management that my probationary status would be processed for immediate termination.
I had given this incident a lot of thought. I muttered, "Just what the hell kind of correctional agency am I working for here in Nevada that would allow this attack on staff to happen?" I then recalled some of my past Marine Corps years. I had previously transported many prisoners to the military penitentiary, at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, an ACA (American Correctional Association) accredited institution. I knew in a situation like this authorities at Fort Leavenworth would have been following strict disciplinary procedures of military justice.
So, I decided, I would fight to keep my prison job with the state. I figured I had a good case to make in my defense.
The following day I went to downtown Las Vegas to have a direct conference with the Assistant Director of the Nevada Department of Prisons. After hearing my side of the story, Mr. Ron Angelone assured me he would overturn any such request for my termination. Ironically, it was the next day that I was originally scheduled to report for academy training.
In the classroom, on the first day of the academy, I was paired with another female officer. It didn't take long to discover she was not liked by both my supervisors and fellow officers. She was trainee, Maeko Nguyen.
Part Two
Maeko, while very intelligent, was also an extremely attractive woman. Two traits not very common in a prison environment. Maeko also had a diverse college education in which she was a certified mental health specialist.
A new mental health unit, to be named Desert Hall, was due to open on the prison grounds at the Jean prison in approximately two months. It was to be the first of its kind in not only Nevada, but, in the western United States, as well.
But few, if any correctional staff at the Jean prison would welcome this new facility and their staff. However, the unfriendly nature of custody towards mental health personnel would not stop the scheduled opening. Additionally, mental health staff were already onboard and attending the academy.
The mental health staff would all be treated by custody as outcasts. In our academy training, the instructors made their prejudices quite open, and very clear. Maeko was deeply concerned. She had good reason to be.
It was at this point I decided to become a close associate of the mental health staff. I knew they would never be able to fully function without the support of custody.
Days later, I had seen on the bulletin board in the muster room three openings for post certified custody officers to work as representatives in the mental health unit. I wanted to be one of them.
For the time being, Maeko and I went on about our training. We graduated one and two in our class. I was a distant second.
Before the opening of the mental health unit, I got to know the majority of staff who would be working in Desert Hall. So, as a custody officer, I became their choice to work hand and hand with the mental health professionals. But, I had a lot to learn.
Maeko and the lead psychologist of Desert Hall, Dr. Jefferson Thompson, were dedicated to bringing me up to speed on most everything I needed to know.
In a short amount of time, and during my off-duty hours, I had become quite knowledgeable in the basic principals of mental health procedures and operations.
Therefore, every chance I had, I took the initiative and began talking with custody officers from the main prison yard. This was necessary because I was the only custody officer who had volunteered to work in the Desert Hall mental health unit. So, I intended to educate those tenured prison officers as to just how important segregating mentally ill inmates from general population inmates had become in a prison's ever changing framework.
But, it was all a wasted effort.
Meanwhile, Jean prison, a once quiet, minimum security institution had now had its security classification upgraded since violent assaults on prison staff was becoming quite commonplace. In fact, those assaults on staff had risen quite significantly.
There was a clear reason for this drastic increase in prison assaults on staff. In 1980, all federally funded mental health hospitals, facilities and clinics across America were immediately defunded. Consequently, thousands of mentally ill patients were given unconditional releases from these institutions. Of course, many of the mentally ill went into the streets of America, untreated.
As the mentally ill, over time, were committing more and more violent crimes, the justice system became overloaded. The judicial system had no other choice other than to throw the mentally ill patients convicted of violent crimes into an already overcrowded prison system.
And now, with Maeko by my side, we returned in a second effort to educate custody. This time, we detailed even more facts to the custody staff. We informed them that presently, sixty-four percent of state prisoners in Nevada were clinically diagnosed as mentally ill, and therefore, likely prone to committing some degree of violence. But, prison staff still refused to accept our warnings and continued on their path of brushing aside the mental health professionals in the penal system.
Over time, our head psychologist did somehow negotiate agreements with prison management for both custody officers and mental health staff. In essence, those agreements provided for backup to be available for each other when dangerous situations or staffing shortages would arise.
Code Four Response - non emergency. Backup required for vacant position.
Code Three Response - Backup required for distribution of medications.
Code Two Response - Backup required, threats to staff.
Code One Response - Multiple backup required, staff in imminent danger.
But, at the Jean prison, code responses three and four were many times ignored by custody.
I was extremely proud of Dr. Jefferson when he hammered out a partnership between custody and mental health.
Dr. Jefferson believed in proactive therapy for convicted mental health patients. He was also of the opinion that this type of intense treatment could eventually advance most incarcerated mental health patients to reintegrate with general population inmates. If successful, Dr. Jefferson's master-plan would be a limited answer to the extreme rise in prison violence.
In time, as mental health patients were being reintegrated into the general prison population, their progress was closely monitored by mental health staff. However, custody officers were not happy with the mental health staff's intrusion of custody business on the main prison yard.
But, a stunning 87% of mental health patients emerging from the mental health unit had no further episodes of violence. However, there were critics of Dr. Jefferson's master-plan. It was true that the majority of mental health patients that Dr. Jefferson sent back to the general prison population were kept heavily medicated with psychotropics. Custody staff called them "drugged monkeys". It was also true that the majority of these mental health patients had gone from previously being attackers to currently becoming victims on the prison yard.
Custody staff seemed more hateful and resistant than ever towards towards mental health staff.
So, it was a few weeks later when on my days off that I got the most disturbing call of my life.
Maeko had been serving lunch, by herself, because custody had obviously refused to send one of their officers to Desert Hall in assisting the distribution of the noon meal. One food flap lock was jammed. Obviously this was an act of the mental health patient residing in this particular cell.
Maeko called, via her two way radio, for custody backup. But, no one from the main prison yard responded. She again called custody over the two way radio. No response. Maeko tried to make contact with custody three more times. Still, there was no response.
Due to unforeseen circumstances, Maeko needed an extended period of time in getting the noon meal completed. She would be on her own. But, prison psychologists, who were associates of Dr. Jefferson Thompson, had ordered Maeko to complete the distribution and cleanup of the noon meal, as scheduled. The on-duty psychologists were not going to tolerate having their appointments with mental health patients changed to a later time in their work day. The bottom line was, Maeko knew, one way or the other, she had to feed the patient who was refusing to cooperate. The only way to accomplish this was to break procedure and key open the cell door, without backup.
The moment the steel door unlatched, the mental health patient pushed the door open, grabbed Maeko by her throat, lifted her feet off the floor and began repeatedly bashing her head into a steel railing. She had lost a considerable amount of blood, and then lost consciousness as her body collapsed to the concrete floor.
This time, custody did respond to the Code One emergency. It took several shotgun blasts to the chest and stomach region in disabling the inmate mental patient. Maeko was rushed to the hospital where she remained in emergency surgery for a good many hours.
Upon my arrival at the hospital, I got a glance of Maeko while she was in surgery. It was a gruesome site. It appeared as if a portion of her face was missing. I got physically sick and had to leave.
Part Three
Maeko, over the next several years survived countless surgeries, therapies, and rehabilitations. But, she still could not break into experiencing her environment. To make matters even worse for Maeko, she frequently had prolonged episodes of unresponsive wakefulness syndrome. Although awake, Maeko showed no signs of her surroundings.
So, it was that fifteen years later, and after hundreds of thousands of dollars spent on medical procedures, Maeko had made no improvements.
Finally, after three tries, the State of Nevada had once again filed suit to end their years of medical and financial support of Maeko Nguyen. This time the State won their case. Authorities for the State of Nevada recommended that Maeko be permanently institutionalized.
The court agreed with the State of Nevada that Forensics Specialist Maeko Nguyen was negligent in knowingly and willingly breaking the written rules of her post orders; to wit, in that, her unauthorized actions did in fact place herself in impending danger. This, in itself, was enough for the courts to end the state's financial and medical obligations to Maeko Nguyen.
All of her surgeries, rehabilitation programs and financial benefits came to a complete and immediate stop. She would now not receive any further type of assistance and or benefits from the State of Nevada.
Once I heard of this, I thought I would offer Maeko as much help as I could give. I worked for the next several days to make contact with her. I wanted to help Maeko get her personal effects in order. Maeko not only did not remember me, she did not want my help. Additionally, Maeko did not even remember anything about the violent incident at the Jean prison mental health unit.
I asked Maeko if she could comprehend the fact that all of her medical and financial benefits from the State of Nevada had been terminated. She only mumbled, as best as I could tell, "I'm leaving for a beach in Mexico to paint." She then hung up the phone.
I've never heard from Maeko again.
A Personal Comment From The Author
The incident of attack on Forensics Specialist Maeko Nguyen clearly illustrates how any disregard of post certified procedures and or special instructions may alter a situation dramatically, in just a second.
Regardless of whether personnel believe they can handle situations without their strict adherence to procedures, these orders and instructions are there for an important reason.... the safety of both staff and the mentally ill patients they superintend.
Maeko's life was changed forever because she gave into peer pressure from her superiors when they made it more important to stick to a schedule rather than security procedures. In doing so, Maeko was foolish in believing she could bypass set procedures and handle a situation on her own. Ultimately, she was wrong.
In many institutions, especially prisons, a simple written order which is not followed, may well result in a life or death situation.
In short, working in a general prison population is a truly dangerous job. Even more so, to work in a prison's mental health unit is an extremely high-risk and often times a perilous occupation.
It was July 1987, a damn hot day in Southern Nevada. I was wearing my prison guard uniform perfectly. This would be my first day of an eight week academy. I wanted to look my best, and make a good impression. But, everyone knew me. Especially the training instructors. I was getting this look of contempt.
I was known as the trainee officer who saved the life of a lazy, no-count corrupted black female prison guard.
Unlike other correctional academies, the Nevada Department of Prisons wanted to give a potentially permanent employee, like myself, a trial run on the prison yard before spending a good deal of money on training.
So, it was simple, a few months earlier, my first day of work at the Southern Nevada Correctional Center (Jean prison) was an interesting one. Not a word was said to me in the muster room by my fellow officers. However, the shift supervisor did speak up. He told me to go to Unit Three, general population. I replied, "Excuse me, Sir, this is my......interrupted by a boisterous yell, " I know its your first fucking day here! Get your ass out on the yard and find your post! I'm not going to babysit you!"
On the prison yard, an inmate was nice enough to point me in the right direction. When I walked inside the cell block, the graveyard officer was hostile towards me. "You're fucking late. Nice way to start off, shithead." The graveyard officer threw the keys to the cell block and the two-way radio on the doddering three legged desk in the officer's control center. Again, I had no idea of what to do. But then again, a bit later, another inmate assisted me in getting started.
Finally, my so-called partner arrived on post. A tenured officer, she was two and one-half hours late. But, within fifteen minutes, she was gone again, and for most of the work day.
After I had somehow survived for the next two weeks in that inmate housing unit, as the lone officer, I was pulled off my post. By this time I had gotten a hold on how to run my cell block. I really didn't want to be reassigned. I had no say so, and didn't dare say anything.
The next few weeks I would be reassigned to foot patrol the prison yard. There were some wild days, to say the least.
The first day, a tower officer came to work inebriated. He fell out of his post window and landed in rolls of barbed wire located at the base of the gun tower. However, the officer's loaded shotgun had gone over the fence line and onto the main prison yard. Of all people, a Hispanic gang leader picked up the shotgun. He then said to me, "Don't you think this should be kept off the yard?" I forced a smile through my fright, and answered, "Yes, I do." The gang member handed the weapon over to me. Relieved, I graciously thanked him.
A few days later a staff member was having symptoms of a heart attack. When a Flight for Life helicopter from a local hospital had been cleared to land on prison grounds, a tower officer, who had likely just awakened from sleeping on duty, was unaware of the clearance. Panicking that an escape was in progress, he grabbed his loaded 30.06 rifle and began shooting at the helicopter. The helicopter pilot flew his chopper away from the prison as quickly as possible. There was no way he was coming back. The staff member having the heart attack, remained lying motionless on the floor of the institutional culinary until his death.
The following day, the voice of a female officer, sounding much like my often absent partner in the cell block, was screaming over the two-way radio for help. On a fast paced run, I headed for her post with several other officers. During the response time, I admit, there were all kinds of radio traffic, but none of which I could clearly decipher. When I arrived at the entry door to the cell block, everyone else that I thought was responding with me, had vanished. So, I went into the cell block, alone. I successfully fought the attacking inmate off my partner and secured him in handcuffs. I then took hold of my ostensible partner who had just slumped over a rail, bleeding profusely, and carried her outside the cell block to safety.
Repeatedly, I called for a medical team from the institution's infirmary to respond to an officer in dire need of immediate medical attention. But, the response time was very slow.
Through all this, I thought I had done a great job. I was wrong.
The next day I was reprimanded by my shift lieutenant for my actions in virtually saving the officer's life. I was told that the officer being attacked was having an affair with an inmate, and that the two were having a domestic dispute.
I was questioned if I had, in fact, heard specific orders come over the two way radio to not respond to that particular situation? I replied it was possible, but, I wasn't sure in all those chaotic moments. I was informed by management that my probationary status would be processed for immediate termination.
I had given this incident a lot of thought. I muttered, "Just what the hell kind of correctional agency am I working for here in Nevada that would allow this attack on staff to happen?" I then recalled some of my past Marine Corps years. I had previously transported many prisoners to the military penitentiary, at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, an ACA (American Correctional Association) accredited institution. I knew in a situation like this authorities at Fort Leavenworth would have been following strict disciplinary procedures of military justice.
So, I decided, I would fight to keep my prison job with the state. I figured I had a good case to make in my defense.
The following day I went to downtown Las Vegas to have a direct conference with the Assistant Director of the Nevada Department of Prisons. After hearing my side of the story, Mr. Ron Angelone assured me he would overturn any such request for my termination. Ironically, it was the next day that I was originally scheduled to report for academy training.
In the classroom, on the first day of the academy, I was paired with another female officer. It didn't take long to discover she was not liked by both my supervisors and fellow officers. She was trainee, Maeko Nguyen.
Part Two
Maeko, while very intelligent, was also an extremely attractive woman. Two traits not very common in a prison environment. Maeko also had a diverse college education in which she was a certified mental health specialist.
A new mental health unit, to be named Desert Hall, was due to open on the prison grounds at the Jean prison in approximately two months. It was to be the first of its kind in not only Nevada, but, in the western United States, as well.
But few, if any correctional staff at the Jean prison would welcome this new facility and their staff. However, the unfriendly nature of custody towards mental health personnel would not stop the scheduled opening. Additionally, mental health staff were already onboard and attending the academy.
The mental health staff would all be treated by custody as outcasts. In our academy training, the instructors made their prejudices quite open, and very clear. Maeko was deeply concerned. She had good reason to be.
It was at this point I decided to become a close associate of the mental health staff. I knew they would never be able to fully function without the support of custody.
Days later, I had seen on the bulletin board in the muster room three openings for post certified custody officers to work as representatives in the mental health unit. I wanted to be one of them.
For the time being, Maeko and I went on about our training. We graduated one and two in our class. I was a distant second.
Before the opening of the mental health unit, I got to know the majority of staff who would be working in Desert Hall. So, as a custody officer, I became their choice to work hand and hand with the mental health professionals. But, I had a lot to learn.
Maeko and the lead psychologist of Desert Hall, Dr. Jefferson Thompson, were dedicated to bringing me up to speed on most everything I needed to know.
In a short amount of time, and during my off-duty hours, I had become quite knowledgeable in the basic principals of mental health procedures and operations.
Therefore, every chance I had, I took the initiative and began talking with custody officers from the main prison yard. This was necessary because I was the only custody officer who had volunteered to work in the Desert Hall mental health unit. So, I intended to educate those tenured prison officers as to just how important segregating mentally ill inmates from general population inmates had become in a prison's ever changing framework.
But, it was all a wasted effort.
Meanwhile, Jean prison, a once quiet, minimum security institution had now had its security classification upgraded since violent assaults on prison staff was becoming quite commonplace. In fact, those assaults on staff had risen quite significantly.
There was a clear reason for this drastic increase in prison assaults on staff. In 1980, all federally funded mental health hospitals, facilities and clinics across America were immediately defunded. Consequently, thousands of mentally ill patients were given unconditional releases from these institutions. Of course, many of the mentally ill went into the streets of America, untreated.
As the mentally ill, over time, were committing more and more violent crimes, the justice system became overloaded. The judicial system had no other choice other than to throw the mentally ill patients convicted of violent crimes into an already overcrowded prison system.
And now, with Maeko by my side, we returned in a second effort to educate custody. This time, we detailed even more facts to the custody staff. We informed them that presently, sixty-four percent of state prisoners in Nevada were clinically diagnosed as mentally ill, and therefore, likely prone to committing some degree of violence. But, prison staff still refused to accept our warnings and continued on their path of brushing aside the mental health professionals in the penal system.
Over time, our head psychologist did somehow negotiate agreements with prison management for both custody officers and mental health staff. In essence, those agreements provided for backup to be available for each other when dangerous situations or staffing shortages would arise.
Code Four Response - non emergency. Backup required for vacant position.
Code Three Response - Backup required for distribution of medications.
Code Two Response - Backup required, threats to staff.
Code One Response - Multiple backup required, staff in imminent danger.
But, at the Jean prison, code responses three and four were many times ignored by custody.
I was extremely proud of Dr. Jefferson when he hammered out a partnership between custody and mental health.
Dr. Jefferson believed in proactive therapy for convicted mental health patients. He was also of the opinion that this type of intense treatment could eventually advance most incarcerated mental health patients to reintegrate with general population inmates. If successful, Dr. Jefferson's master-plan would be a limited answer to the extreme rise in prison violence.
In time, as mental health patients were being reintegrated into the general prison population, their progress was closely monitored by mental health staff. However, custody officers were not happy with the mental health staff's intrusion of custody business on the main prison yard.
But, a stunning 87% of mental health patients emerging from the mental health unit had no further episodes of violence. However, there were critics of Dr. Jefferson's master-plan. It was true that the majority of mental health patients that Dr. Jefferson sent back to the general prison population were kept heavily medicated with psychotropics. Custody staff called them "drugged monkeys". It was also true that the majority of these mental health patients had gone from previously being attackers to currently becoming victims on the prison yard.
Custody staff seemed more hateful and resistant than ever towards towards mental health staff.
So, it was a few weeks later when on my days off that I got the most disturbing call of my life.
Maeko had been serving lunch, by herself, because custody had obviously refused to send one of their officers to Desert Hall in assisting the distribution of the noon meal. One food flap lock was jammed. Obviously this was an act of the mental health patient residing in this particular cell.
Maeko called, via her two way radio, for custody backup. But, no one from the main prison yard responded. She again called custody over the two way radio. No response. Maeko tried to make contact with custody three more times. Still, there was no response.
Due to unforeseen circumstances, Maeko needed an extended period of time in getting the noon meal completed. She would be on her own. But, prison psychologists, who were associates of Dr. Jefferson Thompson, had ordered Maeko to complete the distribution and cleanup of the noon meal, as scheduled. The on-duty psychologists were not going to tolerate having their appointments with mental health patients changed to a later time in their work day. The bottom line was, Maeko knew, one way or the other, she had to feed the patient who was refusing to cooperate. The only way to accomplish this was to break procedure and key open the cell door, without backup.
The moment the steel door unlatched, the mental health patient pushed the door open, grabbed Maeko by her throat, lifted her feet off the floor and began repeatedly bashing her head into a steel railing. She had lost a considerable amount of blood, and then lost consciousness as her body collapsed to the concrete floor.
This time, custody did respond to the Code One emergency. It took several shotgun blasts to the chest and stomach region in disabling the inmate mental patient. Maeko was rushed to the hospital where she remained in emergency surgery for a good many hours.
Upon my arrival at the hospital, I got a glance of Maeko while she was in surgery. It was a gruesome site. It appeared as if a portion of her face was missing. I got physically sick and had to leave.
Part Three
Maeko, over the next several years survived countless surgeries, therapies, and rehabilitations. But, she still could not break into experiencing her environment. To make matters even worse for Maeko, she frequently had prolonged episodes of unresponsive wakefulness syndrome. Although awake, Maeko showed no signs of her surroundings.
So, it was that fifteen years later, and after hundreds of thousands of dollars spent on medical procedures, Maeko had made no improvements.
Finally, after three tries, the State of Nevada had once again filed suit to end their years of medical and financial support of Maeko Nguyen. This time the State won their case. Authorities for the State of Nevada recommended that Maeko be permanently institutionalized.
The court agreed with the State of Nevada that Forensics Specialist Maeko Nguyen was negligent in knowingly and willingly breaking the written rules of her post orders; to wit, in that, her unauthorized actions did in fact place herself in impending danger. This, in itself, was enough for the courts to end the state's financial and medical obligations to Maeko Nguyen.
All of her surgeries, rehabilitation programs and financial benefits came to a complete and immediate stop. She would now not receive any further type of assistance and or benefits from the State of Nevada.
Once I heard of this, I thought I would offer Maeko as much help as I could give. I worked for the next several days to make contact with her. I wanted to help Maeko get her personal effects in order. Maeko not only did not remember me, she did not want my help. Additionally, Maeko did not even remember anything about the violent incident at the Jean prison mental health unit.
I asked Maeko if she could comprehend the fact that all of her medical and financial benefits from the State of Nevada had been terminated. She only mumbled, as best as I could tell, "I'm leaving for a beach in Mexico to paint." She then hung up the phone.
I've never heard from Maeko again.
A Personal Comment From The Author
The incident of attack on Forensics Specialist Maeko Nguyen clearly illustrates how any disregard of post certified procedures and or special instructions may alter a situation dramatically, in just a second.
Regardless of whether personnel believe they can handle situations without their strict adherence to procedures, these orders and instructions are there for an important reason.... the safety of both staff and the mentally ill patients they superintend.
Maeko's life was changed forever because she gave into peer pressure from her superiors when they made it more important to stick to a schedule rather than security procedures. In doing so, Maeko was foolish in believing she could bypass set procedures and handle a situation on her own. Ultimately, she was wrong.
In many institutions, especially prisons, a simple written order which is not followed, may well result in a life or death situation.
In short, working in a general prison population is a truly dangerous job. Even more so, to work in a prison's mental health unit is an extremely high-risk and often times a perilous occupation.