Talking to People as They Get Released from OC Jail at Midnight

Categories: Crime-iny

Photos by Yesenia Varela
At 12:05 every morning, Santa Ana Central Jail releases its first inmates of the day from the Intake and Release Center out to the gates that open up to W. Sixth Street, to free bed space for incoming prisoners.

"As soon as midnight hits we can kick them out the door," Orange County Sheriff's Department spokesperson Jeffrey Hallock said. "We can release them."

Reasonable enough, right? But let's all agree midnight isn't exactly the best time for someone to leave jail. So the Weekly visited on two consecutive nights to interview folks who were just leaving jail and get their thoughts on their new-found freedom.

The first person I interview is a woman who requests anonymity. She seems startled but after I identify myself as a Weekly reporter, she loosens her arms from a tight fold and agrees to speak.

The inmate says she was detained for domestic violence, but claims to be innocent. For two days, she says, she wondered about the state of her children.

"What was really hard was not knowing what the hell's going on," the woman says. To comfort herself and try to make the two days go by quickly, she spent the majority of her time behind bars asleep.

There are three things you can do for free in jail, she explains: sleep, watch television or read. She also had the choice to place collect calls to a relative or friend, but she chose not to do that. After she served her sentence, the guards informed her at about 8:30 p.m. that it was time to leave. She says she doesn't understand why it takes so long to be released.

"We waited too long to get our clothes, we waited too long for everything," she complains.

Luckily, her phone's battery was still working, so she was able to call someone to pick her up. But she still understands the hardship that inmates who don't have a cell phone (at least one that isn't out of battery) go through after being released.

"[A charged cell phone] is our life line," the former inmate says. "I didn't know any number but my parent's number--that is it. I didn't know my kid's number--nothing." She holds up her phone as if she were holding Wonka's Golden Ticket in her hand.

After answering a few questions, she walks away, determined to fight in court and get full custody of her kids. Just because she was in jail, doesn't mean she isn't sane, she insists.


It's 1:25 a.m. Abel Betancourt is released. As I drink my hot coffee, he approaches to ask if I had a phone he could use to call his mom to pick him up. After speaking to his mom, they agree he should walk a block down to meet her after she is done fully waking up.

Betancourt, 19, spent about a week in jail after being arrested for burglary.

"You go to court and they totally fuck you over," Betancourt says. "They tell you your charges and that's it. You have to wait for another hearing. They keep adding time and then you never really finish your time."

After not seeing anyone released out the jail gates for an hour, I go home.

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