Once seen as the model of public employee labor sophistication and clout, California's prison officers union is struggling amid the state's financial meltdown and a sour relationship with Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger.
The California Correctional Peace Officers Association over the last three decades built a reputation for its textbook application of raw political force, fueled with enough money to sway elections and build or destroy political careers. Indeed, its 33,000 members are the best-paid correctional officers in the nation.
But the labor lion has lost a few teeth:
The union has been without a contract for nearly three years. Schwarzenegger's furloughs and employee layoffs have affected more correctional officers than any other state employee group.
And the California Legislature, facing a series of budget shortfalls, this year curbed state employee overtime and trimmed holiday pay. The changes were largely aimed at the CCPOA and will hit the state's prison officers squarely in the wallet.
"CCPOA's muscle met the deficit, and the deficit won," said Tim Hodson, executive director of the Center for California Studies at California State University, Sacramento.
Union executives scoff at that assessment.
"The reality is that the rumor of our demise has been greatly exaggerated. I think that, actually, we're in a pretty good position right now," CCPOA spokesman Lance Corcoran said during a recent interview at the union's West Sacramento headquarters. "It almost plays to our advantage that people think that our ability to effect change has been diminished."
Rise to power
A few years ago, no one questioned CCPOA's influence. Under its first president, Don Novey, the fledgling union grew from 2,600 "prison guards" to a political powerhouse with more than 10 times the number of "correctional officers" - the term they prefer to describe their work.
Critics and admirers alike acknowledge Novey's penchant for organization, which Corcoran said Novey distilled into "the three L's": labor, legislative and legal.
"He was visionary to realize that you got things done by having strong divisions that handled those specific areas," Corcoran said.
Novey polished the vocation's professional image by pushing for everything from grooming standards to better training and equipment. Under his leadership, the union befriended victims' rights groups and poured millions into law-and-order ballot measures, including 1994's "three strikes and you're out" sentencing law.
Alan Barcelona, president of the 7,000-member California Statewide Law Enforcement Association, said Novey "was in a class all his own." When Barcelona took the top post in 1994, he said, "I fashioned our association after CCPOA."
'Most dangerous beat'
If member pay is a gauge of success, CCPOA has been the yardstick by which all others are measured.
Last year, California state correctional officers made an average $63,230, more than any other federal, state or local counterpart in the country, according to federal statistics. New Jersey ranked second, averaging $62,240. Third-place Massachusetts paid its correctional officers $54,850.
Their federal counterparts made an average $50,330, and the national average wage of the 428,000 men and women in the industry was $41,340. The figures, compiled by the Bureau of Labor Statistics, track full-time employees and don't include management.
The wages reported are for straight-time gross pay and exclude overtime or shift differentials.
A Bee analysis of state pay records shows that overtime added an average of 14.9 percent to California prisons officers' pay last year.
CCPOA says its members are worth every nickel.
The state's prison officers work for a $10 billion-per-year system that incarcerates roughly 172,000 inmates in 33 prisons that are notoriously overcrowded. Many prison staff have to live in remote regions of the state where prisons are located.
From 1952 through last year, state prison inmates killed 17 custody employees, according to the Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation. In 2006, the last year for which figures are published online, inmates committed about 9,090 acts of assault and battery on staff. Nearly one in five involved a weapon.
