A time when rules can seem so wrong

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© St. Petersburg Times
published April 12, 2002

Frances J. Morris of St. Petersburg, who is the mother of 11, grandmother of 20 and great-grandmother of nine, was dumbfounded when the Pinellas sheriff's deputy told her there was a warrant for her arrest.

To Morris, 77, who has lived in the same house for the past 26 years, and who had never been arrested, it seemed as though she had suddenly become part of a drama on television. She wears a patch for a heart condition and kept telling herself to stay calm.

Before she was taken outside, handcuffed and put into the patrol car, the deputy let her summon her grandson and tell him the news:

"Lamar, I'm under arrest for my dogs running around in '95."

Apparently, back in 1995, Morris was cited for letting her dogs run loose, and without a license, around her home on 17th Avenue S.

Also, apparently, she never answered for these infractions. Two warrants were issued. She says she does not remember any of this.

For seven years, as she puttered around her house, which is filled with photographs and cards and stuffed animals as befits a great-grandmother, she was a wanted woman.

On March 26, she went to the Pinellas County Jail to speak up for one of her sons at a parole proceeding. She gave her ID, just as she had on previous visits since early February. She and other family members passed through a series of secure doors and went into the hearing room. It was about 9:30 a.m.

"All of a sudden," Frances Morris told me when I visited her, "this lady police opens the door and says, "Morris?' "

All three Morrises present in the room said, "Yes?" The deputy said, "FRANCES Morris." So Frances got up and went outside, where another deputy was waiting for her.

It should be said that the deputy was kind to her: "He wasn't mean. He was just doing his job." He explained he had to put handcuffs on her when they got to the car. He cuffed her loosely, her hands in front of her.

She was driven to the other side of the jail, brought inside, uncuffed and booked. She had to turn over her personal items. She was photographed and fingerprinted. She saw a nurse, who told her that her blood pressure was high, which was not a surprise to her.

She was allowed to wait there, not behind bars. She was released about 1 p.m., after her family produced $226, $113 for each offense. She asked to keep the mug shot on her wristband as a souvenir but couldn't.

I asked her, did she remember being cited back in 1995?

"Ninety-five!" she said, eyes crinkling with a smile. "I can barely remember three or four year ago!" She has always had dogs but doesn't remember which ones she had then.

She is of the opinion that the authorities should try again, from time to time, to let people know they still have warrants, "not seven years after it happened, then lock a person up when that person has been here living for 26 years in the same house."

I talked to Sgt. Greg Tita, spokesman for the Pinellas County Sheriff's Office, and he confirmed Morris' basic version of events. He told me when a deputy runs a person's ID and finds a warrant, it's not as though he has any choice about what to do next.

I asked: What about the cuffs? Tita told me that deputies have no choice there either. The policy is that a person coming into the jail in custody has to be cuffed. It might seem silly to cuff a 77-year-old woman's hands. But the deputy is required to do it, Tita said.

Tita said he understands how this might look. The department has gotten publicity in the past for arresting people who had failed to appear for minor offenses -- once even for overdue library books. "We went national on that one," Tita sighed. The department has taken its lumps for wrongful arrests, scaring a babysitter and even arresting people for wearing an "LAPD" hat or a "Sheriff" T-shirt.

I think this deputy was as kind as possible while obeying the rules. But Morris' story highlights our creaky system for declaring somebody is wanted. It's not like she was on the lam all those years.

One more thing: If Sheriff Everett Rice wants to reconsider the rules for handcuffing 77-year-old great-grandmothers arrested for not answering dog violations seven years ago, I do not think many people would mind.

-- You can reach Howard Troxler at (727) 893-8505 or at troxler@sptimes.com.

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