the code of silence - story and photos by stephen james investigative journalism & photography

8/14/2019 The Code of Silence - Story and Photos by Stephen James Investigative Journalism & Photography

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Donald D.J. Vodicka

was overwhelmed with

an intense anxiety when he

woke up each morningso

much so that he decided to

strap on his bulletproof vest

and firearm before leaving

for work. Because he knew

too much, a gang with a his-tory of expertise in intimida-

tion wanted to help him for-

get. As a result of the unre-

lenting stress of this environ-

ment, his health deteriorated,

and he planned to leave California to protecthimself and his son from the reprisals that hebelieved were coming.

Fred Lembach could feel the tension inthe air. He was getting looks from his co-workers that carried a message: If you turn on

us, your life will be in danger. Then the men-acing phone calls began. Finally, the messagebecame more than clear, when the man hesaw get assaulted by co-workers was thenstabbed at home. After the stabbing, a super-visor at work told Lembach: Id be packin.He didnt need another message. He neededsimply to forget the violence that he had seenand not to stir up more trouble. Lembachknew that the situation had become one of

life and death for him and his wife. He hadgone up against a group of people who wereunafraid to keep him and his co-worker quietat any cost.

Like Vodicka, Lembach fears that Califor-nia correctional officers, sworn to uphold the

law, are not above using violence in order tokeep him quiet.

The two men are whistleblowers living infearstate employees who followed the law,and their own personal sense of duty to thepublic, and reported the misconduct of gov-ernment co-workers at the California Depart-ment of Corrections (CDC). Unfortunately,the CDC may be the one state agency whosehighest-ranking administrators are the least

likely to acknowledge that any of its employ-ees are capable of wrongdoing, and whoseadministrators also are willing to spend mil-lions in taxpayer funds to prove themselvesright in lengthy court battles.

That historically inbred philosophy of pro-

tecting ones own, and a code of silenceregarding problems inside the system, areintertwined with some employees who repli-cate the violent prison subculture of theinmates they manage each day. That danger-ous combination has created serious prob-lems for the handful of employees who havedone the right thing and gone against rogueofficers and their supervisors.

In January, a parade of those employees

16 CN&R July 8, 2004

Story and photos by Stephen James The code of

silence

Whistleblower D.J. Vodicka,above, believes that formercoworkers and fellowmembers of the prisonguards union would like tosee him dead.


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testified under oath at two days of hearingsof the Senate Select Committees on Govern-

ment Oversight and the California Correc-tional System, co-convened by state Sena-tors Jackie Speier, D-San Mateo, and GloriaRomero, D-Los Angeles. Also testifyingunder oath were an A-list of CDC adminis-trators and officials who admitted to theexistence of many persistent problems,including the code of silence, and promisedto enact reforms.

But, five months later, seemingly simplepolicy changesthat would have an immedi-ate effect on employees whose lives wereupended by the department and that wouldsend a supportive message to other employ-eeshave not materialized.

Vodicka was reluctant to cooperate

with Speiers request that he tell his story tothe Legislature at a high-profile public hear-ing because he knew that associates of the

people he feared could be in attendance.The athletic, 6-foot-6-inch, 280-pound

former college basketball player had neverbacked down from a confrontation during his

16-year career managing convicted felons,but this time he would be outside his element.Still, after what he had been through, he felt astrong sense of betrayal by the CDC andwanted to help with any process that mightprevent the same thing from happening tosomeone else. So, he had to tell his story, andhe made the five-hour drive from SouthernCalifornia to Sacramento.

When he arrived at the Statehouse, he leftthe firearm he always had strapped to his side

in the car, but the additional bulk of his bul-letproof vest was visible as he was sworn inin a packed hearing room.

Doug Pieper also would have wanted tocooperate with the Legislature and providetestimony about the employee misconduct atFolsom Prison, according to his widow,Evette. But Pieper had taken his own life ayear earlier, in part because of the workplaceretaliation he experienced. And the govern-ment formally admitted that Piepers deathwas indeed work-related. In her husbandsplace, Evette gave her emotional testimony ina hushed legislative hearing room, includingthe details of a suicide note her husband hadleft, linking his death to reprisals by the war-

den and other officials.Like Vodicka, Evette said she hoped her

story would help others avoid a similar fate.I dont want any other family to ever go

through this, and I dont want any other staffmembers to feel the stress, pressure and painthat my husband felt that ultimately drovehim to do what he did.

At the start of the hearings, Speier hadforeshadowed the anticipated testimony.Much of the testimony we will hear will bestartling and even unbelievable. Manywhistleblowers who will speak under oathtoday fear for their jobs and their lives, shesaid. In addition to that of Vodicka andEvette, the unsettling testimony of other CDCemployees from throughout the state con-

firmed that Speier was not exaggerating.Californias prison system teeters on the

brink of being declared bankrupt, not only inits policy but in its morality, starting with topprison brass, said Romero in her openingstatement. Romero went on to review thefindings contained in the recently released85-page draft report of John Hagar, an inves-

tigator or special master appointed by afederal-court judge in San Francisco.

The Hagar report originated from aninvestigation of employee misconduct at Peli-

can Bay State Prison, near Crescent City, anddetailed a litany of internal CDC problems atthe highest levels of the department, includ-ing the code of silence.

Under the code, employees tacitly agreenot to report the misconduct of co-workers.Adherence to the code also includes makingfalse statements to investigators to protect co-workers and the most egregious form of thecode, lying in federal court, according toHagar. Employees who violate the code areisolated, ostracized and labeled rats orsnitches.

But the ramifications go beyond name-calling; getting such a label can mean that, inthe case of a prison altercation or riot, backupassistance from co-workers might not bethere. Aminority of rogue officers can estab-lish a code of silence, threaten the majority,damage cars, isolate uncooperative co-work-ers, and create an overall atmosphere of deceit

and corruption, Hagar wrote. It cannot beemphasized too strongly that the code ofsilence is always accompanied by corruption.

Hagar also found a code of silence about

the code of silence among high-ranking CDCadministrators, including the former director,Edward Alameida. The special master recom-mended that the federal court consider initiat-

ing criminal contempt charges againstAlameida for his role in the Pelican Baycover-up. The significance, and perhapsirony, of that particular Hagar recommenda-tion did not escape emphasis by Speier. Notwo women are going to run my prisons,Alameida had told Speier and Romero at asimilar hearing last year. Also testifying at the

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SILENCE continued on page 18

Members of the state Senate Select Committees on Government Oversight and the California Correctional System grilled state employees and California Correctional Police Officers Asociation officials earlier this year.

Ive got to leave the state. Ive got to go

somewhere and hide. Thats how

paranoid I am.

D.J. Vodicka

corrections employee

You dont want to blow the whistle about your prison co-workers.It could cost you your jobor maybe your safety.


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hearings were an assortment of CDC officialswho promised system-wide reforms were inthe works.

A central figure at the legislative hearingswas the state secretary of the CaliforniaYouth and Adult Correctional Agency(YACA), Rod Hickman. YACAis theumbrella agency that oversees the CDC andvirtually every other state agency responsiblefor corrections. Appointed by Gov. ArnoldSchwarzenegger last November, Hickman isthe top CDC official in the state.

Hickmans appointment, however,requires confirmation by the state Senate, and

in January the secretary-in-waiting was espe-cially congenial with the Senate memberswho held the power over whether he wouldget to keep his new job. Hickman promisedthe committee he would address the laundrylist of problems identified by the legislatorsand the Hagar report. How we conduct our-selves on the job is a reflection of [ouragencys] values and demonstrates our com-mitment to a strong organization that treatsthe public, staff and offenders fairly, he said.

Less than a month after the January hear-ings, Hickman seemed to be making good onhis promises when he issued a memo to allCDC employees, captioned ZERO TOLER-ANCE REGARDING THE CODE OFSILENCE. For maximum exposure, thememo also was posted to the agencys Website. The memo acknowledged that the pub-lics trust has been undermined by the opera-tion of the Code of Silence within the CDC,

and it went on to put the 49,247 employees of

the department on notice that, effectiveimmediately, the code of silence would not betolerated.

Hickman also had reassuring words foremployees who observe misconduct butmight be reluctant to report it out of fear ofretaliation. The publics trust in this depart-ment is also violated by retaliating against,ostracizing, or in anyway undermining thoseemployees who report wrongdoing and/orcooperate during investigations. ... We alsowill not tolerate any form of reprisal againstemployees who report misconduct or unethi-cal behavior, including their stigmatization orisolation, Hickman wrote. Although thememo did not establish any new policy, it putthe troops on notice that existing departmentrules and state laws would be enforced.

Vodicka, Lembach and Richard Krupp,another whistleblower from CDC headquar-ters in Sacramento, would not deny that they

have felt ostracized, stigmatized and isolatedas a direct result of breaking the code ofsilence and reporting the misconduct of co-workers in the CDC. Because of the reprisalsand retaliation they endured, they each filedwhistleblower lawsuits against the department.

The current status of those claims callsinto question the sincerity of the CDCspromises to the Legislature and Hickmanszero tolerance pronouncement of Feb. 17.The mens attorneys say the CDC continuesto contest the claims aggressively, has refusedreasonable settlement offers and is draggingout the proceedings as long as possible in thehope of wearing the men down mentally andfinancially.

Under the California Whistleblower Pro-

tection Act, whistleblowers are entitled to jobreinstatement, back pay, restoration of lostservice credits and other relief. The act saysthat state employees should be free to reportwaste, fraud, abuse of authority, violation oflaw, or threat to public health without fear ofretribution. Other state laws also protectwhistleblowers.

The News & Review wanted to ask theCDC and Hickman about the cases and aboutwhether the new zero-tolerance policyapplied to them, among other things. CDCspokeswoman Terry Thornton said that sincethe Lembach, Vodicka and Krupp cases werepersonnel matters, the department could notcomment. Thornton did, however, say she

would look into whether the CDC plannedto reevaluate pending whistleblower cases inlight of the promises made by CDC officialsto the Legislature in January, but she nevercalled back.

Hickman did not respond to phone and faxrequests for an interview. CDC DirectorJeanne Woodford also did not respond tophone and faxed requests for an interview.Thornton was able to confirm that the CDChas a longstanding policy protecting employ-ees from retaliation when they report miscon-duct, but she didnt know exactly where it waslocated within CDC rules and regulations.

The Lembachs looked frustrated when

they walked out of the nondescript confer-ence room in the Sacramento Superior Courtbuilding on Feb. 23, just six days after Hick-man had issued the zero-tolerance memo.The Lembachs and their attorney, John Scott,

had been in a sit-down with attorneys repre-senting the CDC, and the group had been try-ing to reach a settlement and avoid a jury trialof the Lembachs whistleblower lawsuit.

Citing the ongoing negotiations, Scottdeclined to comment on the proceedingsother than to say no agreement was reached,but court records detail what happened to thecouple. (Fred Lembachs wife, Virginia, alsoworked at the prison.)

It was more than three years ago, when,ironically, Lembach had followed the edict inHickmans recent zero-tolerance memo near-ly to the letter. After Lembach witnessedwhat was either an assault or a hazing inci-dent run amok between co-workers at Iron-wood State Prison in Riverside County, he

broke the code of silence and cooperated withan internal investigation. Correctional OfficerCurtis Landa, the victim of the assault, alsocooperated.

Two months into the investigation, Landawas attacked outside his home as he took outthe garbage. His jacket was pulled over hishead, and he was hit in the back with a club-like weapon. He was then stabbed twice, inthe back and chest. Landa was able to see thathis attackers wore black uniform pants tuckedand blossomed into black boots in the samemanner as those worn by the prisons elitecell-extraction team.

The attackers were never fully identified,and no arrests were made in connection with

the stabbing incident. But Landa and theLembachs got the message loud and clear.And, apparently, so did the CDC. All threewere provided an around-the-clock armedsecurity detail and relocated to Sacramento.

In their lawsuit, the Lembachs allege thatinstead of adequately investigating the incidentand providing them a safe workplace, theCDC forced them to transfer to Sacramento.The defendants could have taken steps toeliminate the code of silence and the resultingrisk it posed to Plaintiffs. Instead, the Defen-dants chose to perpetuate the code of silencerather than create a safe work environment atIronwood State Prison, reads the lawsuit.

Last November, Sacramento SuperiorCourt Judge Thomas Cecil denied a CDCmotion to have the case dismissed. The mas-sive, five-volume-thick court file alludes tothe amount of time, effort and money bothsides have invested in the case.

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SILENCE continued from page 17

When Fred Lembach (left),blew the whistle on abuseand corruption at a stateprison, the CDC did nothingto correct the problems, hecharges, instead transferringhim and his wife, Virginia(below), to Sacramento.After the Lembachs sued theCDC, the agency spent afortune in taxpayer f undsfigh ting the s uit.


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workers became aware of his history at Sali-nas Valley, and he began to experience similarabuse. At one point, Vodicka and other staffand inmates were gathered in an office at theprison, and an officer yelled out to Vodicka,You big snitch, who are you ratting outnow? Because inmates were present, thestatement potentially could have relayed amessage to prisoners that Vodicka was an out-cast among his co-workers, in the same sensethat an inmate informant would be ostracized.

Vodicka said the stigmatization and isola-tion eventually took its toll on his mentalstate, and he went out on stress disabilityleave, filed a workers-compensation claimand, later, filed a suit against the CDC, a co-worker and a supervisor.

Exacerbating his ongoing stressand

compelling him to carry a firearm and wear abulletproof vestare his concerns stemmingfrom the Landa incident. Vodicka believesthat former co-workers from Salinas Valleymay assault him or arrange to have himassaulted. Salinas Valley has a cell-extractionteam like the one implicated in the Landastabbing. Vodicka has seen pictures of theSalinas Valley team flashing a hand signalassociated with the Green Wall.

In June 2003, as he was leaving the Cali-fornia Mid-State Fair in Paso Robles, heclaims, Vodicka was confronted by a CDCemployee who demanded that he back off,in reference to his lawsuit. And, based on hisown experience doing prison drug investiga-

tions, Vodicka believes that it would be possi-ble for a prison staffer to arrange to smugglein drugs for an inmate in exchange for theinmate getting an associate on the outside topay back the favor by assaulting Vodicka.

Last year, Vodicka offered to go back towork at any commensurate position in theCDC, as long as the agency would ensure hispersonal safety, according to his attorney,Lanny Tron. And they said, Theres no waywe can do that, said Tron. Since that time,Vodicka has been on full disability, and heseeks a settlement for what he would haveearned had he been able to finish his career,compensation for his trauma, and other dam-ages, Tron says.

Krupps ordeal is perhaps the most

egregious example of CDC retaliationnotinvolving threats of violenceand illustrates

the obstinacy of the department in the face ofseemingly overwhelming evidence against it.

Krupp has worked for the CDC for morethan 30 years, and during that time hereceived a Supervisor of the Year award and aDirectors Appreciation Award, and he earneda doctorate in criminal justice. In 1998, hisemployee Performance Appraisal Summaryrated him as consistently exceeding standardsin eight of nine performance factors.

That same year, Krupp prepared a prison-by-prison analysis of sick-leave and overtimeusage by correctional officers. The numbersrevealed that most institutions were signifi-cantly over budget, though a few had lowernumbers. Krupp suggested that the cost-con-

trol methods of the institutions that had lowerrates of overtime and sick pay be applied tothose that had higher rates. Krupps supervi-sors rejected the idea.

The following year, the Bureau of StateAudits conducted a review of the CDCs per-sonnel costs and found excessive use of sickleave and overtime by custodial staff. Inresponse, the CDC attempted to recalculateand manipulate the data by adding in vacantpositions that didnt use sick leave, therebybringing down the sick-leave percentagenumbers, and by adding other staff who did-nt earn sick leave, rather than limiting theanalysis to correctional officers. The CDCalso attempted to compare January, a high-

use month, with June, a low-use month, inorder to reach the conclusion that sick leavewas decreasing.

Krupp said he was asked to assist with thecreative accounting but refused. As a result,Krupp involuntarily was moved to another

job in the department, where he reviewedresearch proposals sent in by college studentswho were seeking to interview inmates forthe studentsdissertations. Krupp said thattask required about 30 minutes of work perweek, and he spent most of the rest of thetime in the $72,000-a-year position readingmore than 200 books.

Krupp filed whistleblower complaints withthe IG and the State Personnel Board (SPB),and his former supervisors became defendantsin those complaints. While he was waiting forthe decisions on his whistleblower claims, hetried to change jobs on his own. I was on twopromotional lists, so I would go for promotion-al interviews, and some of the defendants inmy [whistleblower] case were sitting on thepanelmy interview panel. So, I eventuallystopped participating in the interviews, becauseI thought it was a waste of time to have thesepeople sitting in judgment, he said.

Krupps allegations of retaliation subse-quently were found to be true by the SPB andtwice by the IGs Office, after the CDC con-

tested the first decision confirming Kruppsclaims. Krupp said the CDC has had at least 18attorneys working against him on the case,which has dragged on for more than two years.

Richard Steffan, a consultant in Speiersoffice, said the CDC has spent more than$312,000 in legal fees and other expensesfighting Krupp. And the case isnt over, sothere will be more expenditures, said Steffan.

Some of those additional expenditures willoccur this monthsix months after the Legis-latures CDC hearings and Hickmans zero-tolerance memowhen several days of hear-ings for Krupps case are scheduled at theSPB. The department sought and was granteda court request to contest the SPBs earlier

finding in Krupps favor. And more publicfunds will be spent to fight Krupps pendingSacramento County Superior Court case.

Meanwhile, the department has not taken

20 CN&R July 8, 2004

SILENCE continued from page 19State Senators Gloria Romero, left,and Jackie Speier said they aredetermined to improve Californiascorrectional system.

Much of the testimony we will hear will

be startling and even unbelievable.

Many whistleblowers who will speak

under oath today fear for their jobs and

their lives.

state Senator Jackie Speier


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any action against the employees who retaliatedagainst Krupp. Thats how successful zero toleranceis, said Krupps attorney, Scott. Just ask them.They never retaliate, and anybody who says they dois wrong.

Scott has been practicing public-policy andcivil-rights law since the late 1970s. During thattime, he has represented the families of patientswho died at Napa State Hospital, police-brutalityvictims and female police officers who were sub-

jected to departmental discrimination and harass-ment. Scott said the CDC is unquestionably one ofthe most unreasonable defendants he has ever met.

When my client is alleging that they did some-thing wrong, it doesnt matter what the evidence is,what the facts are or what the merits are. Theyre

going to defend it and say they havent done any-thing wrong, he said.

Scott also sees an unspoken complicity with theCDC by other branches of government. All the war-dens and top officials in the CDC have to beapproved by the governor and the Senate. These arepolitical appointments. Its not going to make thesenators or the governor look very good if it comesout that all of these people who theyre appointingare crooks or incompetent, he said.

Scott does, however, give Speier and Romerohigh marks. I think Jackie Speier and GloriaRomero are very sincere, and I applaud what theyredoing. I think theyve been courageous, and I thinkthey are genuinely committed to the public interest.

Speier still believes that the new leadership in the

CDC is sincere about implementing systemic changesfor the better. I dont think its going to happenovernight, because youre changing the culture, andyoure changing the way people who have been there

for quite a while have come to operate, she said.Speier cites the case of CDC whistleblowingemployee Sam Cox as an example of recentprogress. Last year, Cox was asked to delete theallegedly incriminating audio portion of a videotapeof a Folsom Prison riot. When Cox refused, he wasdemoted to yard sergeant and given a less-desirableshift and work schedule. Speier said Cox since hasbeen promoted to captain, has moved to CDC head-quarters and has received lots of plaudits and posi-tive feedback for doing the right thing.

Speier also said she is committed to keeping trackof the other whistleblowers who told their stories atthe January hearings. I always worry that whistle-blowers get a raw deal, and in the end most of themdo, so Im always cognizant of making sure that we

keep tabs on them and follow up with them, she said.In at least one case, that may take some out-of-

state phone calls. The mental stress of being awhistleblower continues to take its toll on Vodicka.Ive got to leave the state. Ive got to go somewhereand hide. Thats how paranoid I am, said Vodicka.

Vodicka wants to believe that Hickman will inter-vene on his behalf and set things right. He related thestory of a brief encounter in the hall during his Janu-ary appearance at the Legislature. On his way to therestroom, Vodicka was spotted by his old squad cap-tain. He said Hickman broke away from hisentourage, walked up and shook his hand. Glad tosee you, Hickman said. You and your son take careof yourself and dont let this get to you. Well get tothe bottom of this.

July 8, 2004 CN&R 21

Rod Hickman, center, head of the California Youth andAdult Correctional Agency, promised the Legislature hewould address the myriad problems afflicting thecorrectional system in California.

the code of silence - story and photos by stephen james investigative journalism & photography

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