Warden James H. Bruton - The Big House: Life Inside a Supermax Security Prison

Welcome to Minnesota Correctional FacilityOak Park Heights, a super-maximum-security prison housing the most violent and dangerous serial killers, murderers, drug dealers, and sex offenders.

These felons are not incarcerated here for singing too loud in church choir.

An inmates cell measures seven by ten feet. Each contains a bed, table, toilet, and sink within the ambiance of reinforced-cement floors, walls, and ceilings. The bed is a cement slab topped by a thin mattress. The toilet is made of steel so it cannot be broken; it lacks the amenity of a hinged seat or a lid, which could be used as a weapon.

For inmates, this is homesometimes for the rest of their lives.

In prison, nothing is as it seems.

On the outside, a bar of soap is for washing.

Inside, it becomes a deadly weapon if hidden in a sock and swung at someones head.

Outside, a toothbrush is for brushing teeth.

Inside, it can be sharpened into a homemade stiletto for settling disputesonce and for all.

Outside, a Bible is a holy book.

Inside, it can be hollowed out and used as a cache for weapons or drugs.

Life Inside a Supermax
Security Prison

Warden James H. Bruton

T his football game was different from any other ever played.

The game wasnt over when the clock ran out or when one team scored in overtime. It didnt end with a record-setting field goal or a long touchdown pass. This game ended when the quarterback stabbed the running back.

It was a glorious summer day on the field, the green grass aglow in the sunlight and the crowd cheering on the players. Yet this wasnt playground or recreation football, nor was it a college or professional game. The players were serial killers and drug dealers, rapists and child molesters, murderers and thieves, convicted felons who had committed atrocious acts against innocent victims. Their field of play was different from the grassy public parks, sandy lots, or stadiums that host most games. The gridiron was in the yard at the super-maximum-security Minnesota Correctional Facility-Oak Park Heights. This was prison, a place that brings together men with histories of settling their differences with violence. The Big House-an environment of myth and mystery behind high walls, a place the outside world tries to ignore yet watches with intrigue.

On the surface the football field was largely the same as any other, with team benches, yard markers at regulation distances, goalposts, and end zones. But instead of spectators in stands, press boxes, and luxury suites, correctional officers with Colt M15 automatic rifles observed from the rooftop and brick walls were laced with sensor systems, creating an air of foreboding not found at other stadiums.

The Oak Park Heights complex is made up of eight housing units in a circular pattern surrounding the eight-acre recreation yard: Each unit contains fifty-two of Minnesotas most aggressive, dangerous, and violent prisoners. As its first warden, Frank Wood, once told me, These people are not here for singing too loud in church choir. Each team in this game was the home team and no one left the stadium when the game was over. In fact, some stayed behind for years, some for the rest of their lives.

It was the prisons recreation schedule and incentive-based program rewarding good behavior that had brought members of two housing units to the yard to play football on this particular Saturday afternoon. Yet in the Big House, past good behavior doesnt always dictate future good behavior. This truth would certainly be demonstrated today.

The offense came out of the huddle and lined up in formation as on any other play. The center snapped the ball and the quarterback turned to hand off to the running back for a rush to the right. But the quarterback did not execute the play as called.

Outside prison walls, when a quarterback changes the play at the line of scrimmage its called an audible. From an inmates perspective, changing the play on this day was called taking care of business. Some quarterbacks carry a card with notated plays, others a wristband with their notes. The quarterback in this game carried a piece of non-regulation equipmenta sharpened length of metal known as a shank, prison slang for a crude homemade knife. He wasnt concerned with moving the ball down field or winning the game. His goal was doing in one of his own teammates.

Instead of handing off the ball, the quarterback plunged the shank into the running backs chest. No routine handoff, this was a premeditated assault with a deadly weapon. The ball tumbled to the ground and the field of play erupted in chaos.

This game was over.

The quarterback was John Albus, a felon with plenty of prison years behind him and a long sentence still ahead. He had been transferred to Oak Park Heights for causing trouble at another prison and was labeled as high risk. Yet for some time his behavior had been exemplary, qualifying him to live in the special unit whose inmates had been rewarded with this game. But it was all one big con. Albus had likely planned his attack months in advance. For him, feigning good behavior, getting into the special unit, and playing football were all part of a larger game with deadly intent.

After the attack, we immediately sounded a Code Three. Over our prison radios, staff was alerted that there was an inmate-on-inmate assault with a weapon. The special Security Squad ran double-time to the yard. Made up of highly trained and experienced officers, the Security Squad is the Big House equivalent of a police SWAT team, adept at managing any kind of disturbance thrown at them. The squad leader first gave orders to clear the yard, sending all the players back to their cells for a lockdown. The Security Squad blitzed the quarterback, sacked and handcuffed him. They then hustled him off to the Segregation Unithis football career was over. During this action, emergency response personnel attended to the injured running back. The weapon, however, had disappeared.

We quickly made several important discoveries. The game had been videotaped by an inmate so it could be played on closed-circuit TV for the rest of the prisoners. While recording the play-by-play action, the inmate also captured the deadly final play. As soon as the camera operator realized he had recorded an assault, he immediately tried to destroy the tape. No self-respecting inmate would ever assist the staff in anythingespecially providing evidence in an attack. The staff members, however, were quicker on their feet. We intercepted the tape intact, and it became key evidence during the quarterbacks ensuing criminal trial.