State: Sumter prison industry thriving

COLEMAN -- Downtown Coleman in central Sumter County is filled with burnt-orange buildings, all marked with big signs and all owned by Bobby Caruthers: Bobby's Cars, Bobby's Antiques and a related attraction, Bobby's Historic Village.

"People tease me about owning the whole town, and I guess I do, there's such a little bit I don't own," said Caruthers, 66.

That puts him in a good position, he said, to judge the economic impact of the Federal Correctional Complex at Coleman, which, with the recent opening of a maximum-security penitentiary, became the largest collection of federal prisons in the nation.

Most of the facility's workers live in nearby Lake County, Caruthers said, because it has housing and shopping.

"Go out to the prison at 3 o'clock (the afternoon shift change) and watch which direction the cars go. They go east," he said. "We've seen very little benefit. It's been a drop in the bucket."

Sumter is an extreme example of a well-established pattern: a poor, rural community welcoming prisons as a route to economic improvement.

Since it opened in 1995, the complex has brought in nearly 5,000 prisoners and created 1,114 jobs.

According to community leaders, the facility has been a boon to the county, which had the second-fastest growing population in the state during the 1990s.

"It's a clean industry, and we do look on it as an industry, because it brings an opportunity for employment," said County Administrator Bernard Dew, who is also chairman of the complex's community relations board.

Some business owners, though, said the federal government's money has not reached beyond the walls of the complex. Sumter's population is still far smaller than its neighbors', and it ranks 57th of the state's 67 counties in average household income.

"It's the poorest county in the state, or next to it," Caruthers said.

The federal Bureau of Prisons maintains facilities throughout the country because prisoners are easier to manage if they can regularly visit with family members, said Mimi Potts, the penitentiary's associate warden.

In the early 1990s, the bureau, which had not built a prison in Florida, wanted to construct one. Sumter's leaders invited them to build it there.

"Our (County Commission) was very proactive," Dew said. "We actually contacted our legislative delegation about building the complex here."

The first facility, housing low- and medium-security inmates, opened six years ago. The new maximum-security prison opened two weeks ago. When it is filled to capacity at the end of the year, the complex will hold about 5,600 inmates, making it considerably larger than Sumter's biggest city, Wildwood, which has a population of 3,924.

And it will continue to grow. Construction of a second penitentiary, which will hold another 1,200 inmates, will begin as soon as a contractor is selected. All this is in addition to Sumter Correctional Institution, a state prison with about 1,500 inmates in the southwest corner of the county.

The federal complex is on a county road surrounded by rock mines and pasture. The new prison is more than a mile back from the entrance: a low, gray building beyond the relatively cheerful brick structures, flanked by basketball courts, that hold the less restricted inmates.

The front control panel is big enough to resemble NASA's Mission Control. Beyond it are three parallel chain-link fences, topped with and sandwiching coil after coil of razor wire.

The fence surrounds a square hallway, a quarter-mile on each side, that runs around the exterior of the living areas. These quarters, which are still mostly deserted, are fitted with enough features to keep inmates occupied, but not enough to disrupt them, Potts said. Cells have narrow bunks and steel desks; the common areas have televisions, telephones and an ice machine.

"We try to keep things very sterile, very uniform and very structured," Potts said.

One-third of its employees, including Potts, live in the county, she said, and its salaries are well above the county's average.

As the facility grows, it will continue to bring in more employees who will build houses and shop in Sumter, said Diana Couillard, president of the county's chamber of commerce.

Relatives of inmates who visit the prison will patronize Sumter's restaurants and hotels. Both the state and federal facilities have a good safety record that Couillard and others think will continue even as more dangerous criminals arrive at the federal penitentiary.

"We think it's fantastic," Couillard said of the complex. "The best corporate neighbors we've had in Sumter County is the federal Bureau of Prisons."

It has not even interfered with the county's other growth industry, which is attracting retirees.

Sumter's population climbed from 31,000 to 53,345 in the 1990s, with a substantial number of the newcomers being federal inmates. The Villages, a retirement community that straddles the Marion and Lake county line about 15 miles north of the complex, was responsible for most of the rest.

About 27,000 people live in the Villages now. Its population eventually will grow to more than 75,000, said Gary Lester, the community's vice president for community relations.

"We have seen no negative influence from it at all," Lester said of the prison. "We're having our best year ever selling homes."

That may be due to the nature of both the Villages and the rest of Sumter County.

The Villages has its own shopping and entertainment districts, which its relatively affluent residents can reach by golf cart.

"Pretty much, we stay in the boundaries" of the Villages, said Ed Nowe, 67, a resident there.

"I haven't even thought about the prison, to tell you the truth. I don't even know how far Coleman is from here," he said.

"That's a different world up there," Caruthers said. "You may as well be talking about Mars."

Outside of the Villages, Dew said, the county still depends on industries that are either in decline or have little potential for growth: mining, cattle and railroads. Many of the residents are still poor, he said. Most of the county is still undeveloped.

"Between (the Villages) and the prison, there's a lot of watermelon fields and cow pastures," he said.

The problem with the prison, said some business owners, is that it is almost as disconnected from the community as the Villages.

Sumter has no impact fees levied against new construction, so the federal government paid the county nothing to build the facilities. As a governmental body, it is exempt from property taxes. It buys its food and most other supplies from outside the county. Most employees eat lunch at the prison cafeteria, Potts said.

Carolyn Orr is the owner of the Old Coffee House restaurant in Wildwood, where the main street features thrift shops, auction houses and several boarded-up storefronts. The town is situated between the prison and the Villages, but she has seen little traffic from either.

That is not all bad, Orr said. She moved to Wildwood from Orlando 12 years ago, partly because it was quiet, and has no intention of moving back.

"I like the small town," she said. "You couldn't pay me to move back to the city."

Recent coverage

Federal prison opens in Sumter County (July 10, 2001)

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