Portland jail empty, despite rise in crime

PORTLAND — It may be one of the prettiest jails ever built.

A long driveway circles past a modern-art sculpture on the front lawn. The main building looks like a manor, with pink stucco and glass tile on the outside. The interior motif leans heavily toward pastels. Vaulted ceilings and open-air corridors suggest the design principles of feng shui.

The Wapato Facility, in the city's northern outskirts, took $59 million and two years to construct. But in the nearly two years since its completion — as Portland has struggled with a crime surge — not a single inmate has set foot in the building.

Multnomah County, in charge of Portland jails, can't afford to open it.

"We held a ceremony, cut the ribbon — then locked the doors," said Sheriff Bernie Giusto, who attended the dedication in summer 2004. "We have a brand-new jail sitting here empty, and I don't have a good answer when the public asks me, 'Why was it built if there was no plan to operate it?'

"Even I get tired of telling people how dumb we are."

Today, the shuttered jail is a symbol of Oregon's continuing financial troubles in the midst of an improving economy. As the state and its counties prepare for another round of budget cuts this year, Wapato has come to represent different shades of failure to different people.

Activists cite it as an example of government incompetence. "Remember Wapato!" has become a rallying cry for citizens groups braced for new tax increases.

Among the proposals, Gov. Ted Kulongoski would like to raise the cigarette tax to pay for school programs, and Portland Mayor Tom Potter has suggested a temporary personal income tax to make up for an expiring levy in Multnomah County.

Economists and politicians say Wapato reveals the instability inherent in Oregon's tax system, which makes local governments vulnerable to economic plunges.

Giusto just wants to put bad guys in jail. For the sheriff, whose name adorns the front entrance, Wapato is a mocking reminder of what crime-fighting in the Portland area could be — but isn't.

A revolving door

For the past five years, an acute shortage of jail beds has forced police in the region — made up of Multnomah, Clackamas and Washington counties — to systematically release inmates early to make room for new ones.

Multnomah County last year released a record 5,000 criminals: drug dealers, burglars and assorted con men, many of them addicts or mentally ill. Police say the situation has fueled an explosion in property crimes and has increasingly meant the release of dangerous criminals.

On Jan. 20, a man with a history of violence, Richard R. Koehrsen, 45, was arrested for trespassing and drinking in public. Because the county detention center was full, jailers released him and 14 other inmates the next day.

Two days after he was set free, Koehrsen was arrested again, this time for fatally stabbing a man in the neck in front of Jake's Famous Crawfish. Witnesses said Koehrsen had gotten into a fight with Christopher Darryl John Carter, 42, a laborer and lifelong Portland resident.

The murder renewed public demands for more jail space. A member of a local crime commission, Louise Grant, called the incident appalling, and the head of a public-safety committee, Howard Weiner, said it was time for the region to wake up to the problem.

The sheriff gritted his teeth.

"I love coming to an empty $59 million jail."

Giusto talks of getting his staff to create a virtual tour of the jail so Oregonians can see it for themselves on the Internet. The tour would include an answer to the vexing question of how Wapato came to be.

In sum: The jail was conceived during good times and finished during bad.

At the height of the boom years in the mid-1990s, Oregon taxpayers approved a levy to build the jail with the idea that rising property taxes — the chief source of revenue for local governments in Oregon — would generate money to operate it.

In 2000, a recession caused the economy to plummet. Unemployment surged to 8.5 percent, the highest in the nation. Two tax initiatives imposed sharp limits on property taxes. Schools cut class times, social agencies dropped programs, and police cut back on personnel — in particular, corrections officers.

Fortunes changed about a year ago. Revenue and job-creation figures show the state economy on a steady upswing. The unemployment rate dropped to 5.4 percent in January, the fourth-straight month below 6 percent, a figure economists associate with better times. State economist Tom Potiowsky recently characterized the Oregon economy as robust.

The state and many counties nevertheless may not have enough money to maintain some government services at current levels. Multnomah County expects to be in the hole at least $32 million.

Potiowsky says it takes several years for local budgets to reflect swings in the economy. But the main reason for the shortages is Oregon's one-of-a-kind "kicker" law, which requires amounts collected in excess of tax projections to be kicked back to taxpayers. An estimated $666 million will be refunded to Oregon taxpayers next year.

Multnomah County also faces the loss of revenue from a three-year county income tax — used to prop up ailing school districts — due to expire this year. This makes it certain competition for county funds will be fierce.

None of this bodes well for Wapato, which at full capacity could hold 525 inmates at a cost of about $20 million a year. Giusto would be happy to use just part of the jail — 150 beds at a cost of $6 million, a tiny fraction of the county's $1.2 billion budget.

"It would be a foot in the door," he said.

No one publicly opposes opening Wapato, but politicians facing a choice between paying for classrooms or jail cells have, in recent years, favored schools. Social programs, such as drug rehabilitation, also get priority.

Flat-screen TVs

In the background lurks the notion expressed by Maggie Miller, director of the Citizen Crime Commission of Portland: "If a sheriff has a million beds, he'll fill a million beds."

On a recent tour of Wapato, Giusto's eyes wandered over dozens of never-used metal bunks arranged in neat rows and separated into spacious 75-bed dormitories. Flat-screen televisions could be seen adorning the walls in each dorm, where the ceilings soared 30 feet high.

The county spent more than $600,000 on art for the jail.

"The public has this image of inmates rattling tin cups on bars," Giusto said. "Take a look around. There aren't gun ports on the ceilings. Look at the colors. Private showers. If I didn't tell you this was a jail, you'd never know."

Thefts, vandalism up

On a recent night, the department let three dozen inmates out early. They were brought together and released in a horde. "We opened the door," Getman recalled, "and they were laughing and joking and they were right back out on the street, back to the same party they left."

Most were young men, such as Joseph L. Craddock, who spent two days in jail for theft; Charles E. Bernbeck, two days for malicious harassment; and John R. Place, one day for stalking.

The Sheriff's Department maintains a Web site (www.inmatereleases.org) listing early-release inmates with mug shots, criminal records and home addresses.

The revolving door is the chief reason Portland's rate of property crimes — burglaries, car and identity thefts, acts of vandalism — has risen to twice the national rate in recent years, police officials said.

Not even the top cop in the region is immune.

One day not long ago, Giusto returned to the parking lot at work to find his car windows smashed in. A gym bag had been taken in broad daylight — before surveillance cameras and right under a sign that read Multnomah County Sheriff.