Conair: A Federal Flight Service For Felons Only

OKLAHOMA CITY - It is an airline most Americans will never fly.

From its home base in Oklahoma City, the fleet of unmarked 727s and Saberliners heads to some of the country's hottest vacation spots: Phoenix, Miami, Denver, San Diego, New York, even the nation's capital.

There are no air traffic delays for these planes. Like Air Force One, they take priority over other aircraft. For passengers, there's no waiting for baggage, no waiting for a cab. Chauffeured vans and buses meet them on the tarmac.

They call it ConAir. It's the airline of the U.S. Marshals Service, and will fly 120,000 prisoners this year to prisons and courtrooms around the country.

``I'm waiting for my frequent flier card,'' says Kevin Ford, 47, who has flown ConAir seven or eight times during a criminal history going back 14 years.

The airline, officially known as the National Prisoner Transportation System, was formed in 1979 as a cheaper and more secure alternative to flying prisoners on commercial airliners, where they cannot be handcuffed. Officials estimate its $18 million budget this year is 70 percent cheaper than the cost of flying commercially.

Passenger loads are expected to climb 13 percent next year. Soon, ConAir plans to expand from its current fleet of six planes and create hubs like commercial airlines.

Its passenger list has included televangelist Jim Bakker, underworld bosses ``Fat Tony'' Salerno and Tony Provenzano, would-be assassins Squeaky Fromm and John Hinckley, and political extremist Lyndon Larouche.

But mostly, its passengers are inmates being moved from one prison to another or to court appointments around the country.

``There was a crying need to control the movement of these inmates centrally and do it safely,'' says Mike Brasel, chief of the airline. ``Some of these inmates are so bad we had to send in SWAT guys just to get them out of their cell to the plane. At the plane, we never let it sit on the ground too long because the longer it sits, the more impatient the inmates get.''

On a recent flight to the West Coast, frequent flier Kevin Ford is considered one of the most serious security risks among the 100 inmates on board. Serving 20 years without parole for illegal possession of a firearm, he once took a guard hostage in an escape attempt. He wears not only handcuffs but a black box padlocked around the cuffs.

Arriving at the airport in buses, the inmates are restrained by leg irons, handcuffs and belly chains. Before boarding, each is patted down by marshals looking for weapons and contraband.

Deputy marshal Tony Anderson says prisoners have concealed small hacksaw blades in their mouths, noses and rectums.

One by one they climb the back steps of the 727, their leg chains clanking against the metal stairs. On a typical day, the plane might fly from Oklahoma City to Denver, Salt Lake, Seattle and Sacramento before stopping for the night in Phoenix.

The planes are typically flown by former corporate charter pilots. On board, marshals act as an odd combination of flight attendant and guard.

At first blush, the plane looks like any other airliner - until you look closely. The tray tables and ashtrays have been removed because marshals feared the inmates might use them to fashion weapons.

Around noon, as the plane streaks through the skies to its next destination, the marshals serve bag lunches containing fig bars, juice and an apple packed by the Bureau of Prisons. It's the only meal the prisoners get all day.

The marshals who fly ConAir are generally former guards who have opted for a new career as special deputies. They carry no firearms on board, but electronic stun guns are placed around the plane.

Last January, two more prisoners tried to escape, but were wrestled to the ground by the marshals and stopped with the stun gun, which emits a paralyzing electrical charge. The marshals say some inmates create scenes on the plane to build a tough reputation for themselves that will be communicated to other inmates in the new prison.

But for the most part, there have been few threatening incidents.

``If you treat them right, 95 percent of the inmates won't make trouble,'' says Roger Loyall, a special deputy.

The guards of ConAir say their jobs give them more pleasure than most prison duty.

``You have a lot more freedom,'' says special deputy Shaun Meakins, a former corrections officer. ``At prison, I was locked in like the other inmates. Here, you get to see the country.''