Issaquah Jail Is A Pokey With Pride

ISSAQUAH - Jailer Pete Boehme thought he was doing the inmate a favor when he let him out early for good behavior.

But hours after the man was released from the Issaquah City Jail, he was back, sitting on the curb outside, waiting for Boehme.

Boehme wouldn't let him back inside.

``When your time is up you have to deal with what you have to deal with out there,'' Boehme said. ``We're not a bed and breakfast.''

With 10 beds, the Issaquah jail is the smallest corrections center in the state for serving sentences of up to 90 days.

But ask just about anyone who's done the jail circuit around King County, and they'll tell you they'd rather do time in Issaquah than anywhere else.

Take Trevor Crow. Crow was at Issaquah District Court last week on a domestic violence charge. Another inmate asked how things were going.

``Man, it's a long story,'' Crow said. ``I'll tell you about it at home tonight.''

There are reasons Crow and his friend describe the jail as a home away from home.

There's the brightly painted yellow table where inmates dine on fresh fruit and Banquet or Swanson frozen TV dinners. There's also the tidy kitchen, available anytime for prisoners to make themselves a cup of coffee or pour a glass of milk.

But there's more than clean rooms and decent food here to make inmates feel at home. There's Boehme.

Boehme came to the jail four years ago after spending 16 years as a sheriff's deputy in the Oakland, Calif., area. With him he brought a philosophy that sometimes earns him a reputation among police officers as a ``bleeding heart liberal.'' It's a label he doesn't like but finds difficult to shake.

``We're here not to punish people. We're here to serve the community,'' the 50-year-old Boehme said. ``We're here to solve problems.''

With the consent of Police Chief Duaine ``Dag'' Garrison, Boehme does more than keep the inmates well fed and well behaved. He tries to get to know each one and works with attorneys, prosecutors, judges and counselors to get the help each man needs or wants.

``They need someone to listen to them,'' Garrison said of the inmates. ``Pete not only gives advice but he steers them in the right direction to help them solve their problems.

Boehme's approach to corrections has earned him a reputation for fairness among many inmates - but not all of them.

Ken Carter, who's spent time in the Issaquah jail more than once, said he'd rather go to King County Jail in Seattle - even though the big-city jail has a reputation for drug use, fights and vandalism.

According to Carter, when he's landed in the Issaquah jail he's been strip-searched and isolated from people Boehme knows he doesn't get along with - just because the jailer knows him so well. He complains he's not treated like everyone else.

``If you were in my position, and I had your history, wouldn't you treat me that way?'' Boehme asked him.

``Yeah. . .'' Carter conceded.

``They treat us with respect here,'' Crow said. ``At King County (Jail), those guys will spit on you before they look at you.''

Boehme's credibility comes partly from his own history. Like many of his inmates, he has struggled with an alcohol problem. He never graduated from high school because of dyslexia and for years was a laborer.

He worked himself out of it. He studied hard to become a police officer and worked up to the rank of sergeant in a quick six years. Ten years ago he quit drinking, then smoking and drinking coffee.

But he doesn't preach. Instead, he tries to restore some of the confidence that's lacking. If the inmates want him to, Boehme helps get them into treatment, or into jobs. Sometimes they call him ``Dad.''

Many times Boehme's work doesn't pay off right away, and the inmates return to their jailhouse home away from home.

Boehme always leaves room in the jail for Issaquah residents and those from cities that contract with the city for beds.

Boehme said he could easily fill those beds and make a few extra dollars for the city, because defendants from all over the county call him to ask if they can serve their sentences in Issaquah.

Even Carter has a certain soft spot for the jail. He sat in the back of the courtroom, and as Boehme escorted one inmate out, Carter whispered, ``Hey, Pete - save me a bed.''