They're not too proud to beg.
And that's exactly what county commissioners, suburban mayors, the sheriff, district judges, city councilors, state representatives and the district attorney did at a press conference last week.
Several teared up during impassioned pleas for voters to approve a 0.067 sales tax later this year to fund construction of a new juvenile justice center and expansion of the Tulsa Jail.
Voters can form their own opinions and offer comments about proposed capital improvements at seven town hall meetings throughout the county beginning Monday and continuing through Jan. 23.
Anyone touring the downtown jail or the grossly inadequate Juvenile Bureau, 315 S. Gilcrease Road, cannot walk away unmoved by physical conditions.
Sardine can justice
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"Welcome to our home," Doris L. Fransein, Chief judge of the Juvenile Division, told those shoehorned into her courtroom for the press conference.
She apologized for the stuffy courtroom, where the air system seldom works, for the lack of parking outside. This is place that invites apologies especially to an extraordinary bureau staff that works long hours in closet-sized spaces, with mold on the walls and poor lighting. The facility's deficiencies are legion.
No apology is called for, however, for what happens at this nationally recognized bureau in spite of conditions. Fransein and others go through hell and high water (literally) to serve more than 5,000 kids a year.
What they do what's been described as "God's work."
It must be, because it takes a miracle just to handle the work environment.
"You bring a child into this building," District Attorney Tim Harris said, "and tell them, 'This is the best we have to give you.' Shame on us. It's an embarrassment."
In a floodplain
"This complex, in a floodplain, has outlived its usefulness," he said. "When it rains, the floor floods and the roof leaks; when it isn't raining, the plumbing is breaking." Harris worked as a prosecutor here 20 years ago and not a lot has changed. He held up a tape measure he'd used to measure his old office a 7-foot by 9-foot space he shared with two other prosecutors, and one phone. Their space was roomy compared to the converted broom closets, bathrooms and partitioned rooms others still use.
The records division is housed in a double-wide trailer out back. Sometimes wild animals crawl underneath it and die, meaning nauseated records' clerks must retreat for awhile to the main building.
Dead possums are chicken feed compared to other issues.
The stakes children's futures are high here in this emotional space with its clogged corridors, cramped courtrooms and anxious clientele.
Lipstick on a pig
It's hard to keep the 46,000-square-foot facility safe and clean. Although it's undergone periodic remodeling, upgrades are akin to putting lipstick on a pig. Maintenance costs eat the county alive.
Several makeshift courtrooms are so small that it's nearly impossible to accommodate a judge, clerk, bailiff and court reporter, and the necessary parties to a child abuse/neglect case: the state's attorney, child's attorney, parents and attorneys, Department of Human Services child-support attorney, DHS liaison and social worker, court case manager, foster parents, relatives, therapists and witnesses. The fire marshal limits the number of bodies squeezed into courtrooms to eight, so often parties must shuffle in and out.
A new design would accommodate courts, bureau and detention facilities, addressing safety issues and building maintenance efficiencies.
Sardine can
Until voters are willing to fish the bureau out of a sardine can, the challenges in trying to operate out of an obsolete facility will continue for 100 bureau staffers and nearly 100 workers from other agencies across the juvenile justice spectrum.
Their mission is daunting 40 percent of children passing through are deprived or neglected, meaning they are here through no fault of their own. Unless helped they eventually could end up as delinquent teens. About 60 percent of the bureau's clientele are in the delinquent category. Don't handle them correctly and they'll turn into adult criminals preying on the public and filling prisons.
"It's like the old Midas muffler ad," Harris said. "'You can pay me now or you can pay me later.' This is the last stop to turn their lives around."
It's time to dump the facility, opened in 1969, the same year Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. What's needed is a new center near the Tulsa Jail, one with a functional design and which is accessible to users and allows for all services under one roof.
Presiding Judge Carlos Chappelle once worked at the bureau as a private attorney and later as a special judge. "What we do here," he said, "is the most important work in the entire legal system."
That work deserves better than a Dickensian dump. When the time comes, give the Juvenile Justice Bureau a new facility. It's an investment in kids.
Julie DelCour, 918-581-8379