The Beginning of The End
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Morgan HiltonThe Beginning of The End
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Morgan HiltonChapter Two
"The Beginning of the End"
December 2019 marked the beginning of my journey into a world of corruption that was buried deep
beneath the ground of Sickman, Kentucky. If I had known the secrets those cell walls and dirty hallways
kept, I would have never stepped foot inside.
I proudly put on my new uniform, starting my job with a nervous but chipper attitude. They warned me I'd
be thrown to the wolves, and they weren't kidding. I had no idea what I was up against, and it wasn't the
inmates.
Respect goes a long way no matter who you are, I believed. My job was to maintain order, not to punish or
make lives harder. The inmates were people to me, and some even became family. After all, we lived
together in that facility.
I carried a notebook, jotting down anything relevant during my rounds. The hallways reeked of burnt toilet
paper, corruption, microwaved tuna, and an unidentifiable odor. I suspected the odor was the result of
whatever the inmates were burning inside their toilet paper. Ahh, “Toilet Paper Tuesdays.” No wonder they
wanted extra rolls all the time!
Early on, I realized something was off. One of my first memories was a moment that left me questioning
everything. Sergeant Dale Sofa instructed me to pull inmate Leesha Bailey from her cell so he could show
me something. In the sergeant's office, they joked around, making inappropriate comments. I was
instructed to return inmate Bailey back to her cell, but not without first providing her with pistachios and a
better mat, a gift from Sergeant Sofa. I was bothered by this "simple gesture."
Things worsened. My reports on inmates were seemingly ignored. Contraband kept coming in, no matter
who I told. I refused to give up.
At one time, Guard Damon Laycaster approached me, whispering that he smuggled vape juice and snacks
to select inmates. He asked me to keep it quiet. I reported it, but was told it was hearsay without body-cam
evidence.
I wrote reports until it seemed pointless. Nothing was ever addressed. What was the point of reporting Joe
Bob and Jimmy Ray passing a joint of whatever they were smoking if the higher-ups would ignore it?
Later on, I met my new sergeant, Penny Means. Initially excited, I soon realized she was a power-tripping,
micromanaging badge bully, much like others I had worked with. She constantly called our desk phone
and even laid her head in the food flap with me during an inmate discussion.
Eventually, my entire team was called in to meet with Jailer Jack Grimes and his subordinates. Apparently,
I wasn’t the only one with a problem with Sergeant Penny Means. I stepped in first, nervous but eager to
express my concerns. I wanted to send a message to my fellow deputies not to be afraid of confrontation.
When I tried to explain, I was met with shouting and anger.
"How is she micromanaging you?" Jailer Jack asked. I explained the constant phone calls and Sergeant
Means' behavior. It escalated into a screaming match between former Chief Deputy Harold Hanson and I.
In the heat of the moment, I revealed to former Chief Deputy, Harold Hanson, that I had been
documenting the jail since day one, printing incident reports, and keeping copies. Hanson yelled, "You
can't do that!" assuming I was printing actual incident reports from the jail tracker system.
I corrected him, explaining I was typing up incidents on my own and turning them in to no avail. Hanson's
anger quickly subsided, the mood changed, and they ended the meeting by praising my work as a guard.
I couldn’t help but wonder why Harold Hanson became so upset when he thought I was printing actual
incident reports?
Why the change in tune when I brought up what I had actually been doing this whole time? I left, tears in
my eyes, wondering why they were so desperate to keep the truth hidden.