Corrections And Community Boyd County Detention Center Hosts Annual Event

Corrections And Community

Boyd County Detention Center

Hosts Annual Event

Lisa Patrick

The Ashland Beacon

Once a year, the Boyd County Detention Center plans an event dedicated to its deputy jailers. It allows deputies to have fellowship and gives the community an opportunity to meet the jailers who are “always behind that wall,” according to Jailer Bill Hensley. County Attorney Curtis Dotson was one of the community members who attended because “these men and women deal with some of the harshest conditions that the public will never know and never understand. They pour their heart and soul into their job, and that is to be commended.”

Hensley stated that “there are a ton of traits that you need to be a deputy jailer, but the main ones are courage, determination, and, most importantly, forgiveness.” He went on to say that an inmate “might assault you or throw stuff on you,” but they’re in there for six months or a year, and “you have to see them every day.” The same person who did something bad to you one day may need help the next day, so “you can’t hold those grudges. You have to have forgiveness.”

Guest speaker David “Oz” Osborne, a former law enforcement officer, then came forward to tell his own story of perseverance and forgiveness by recounting how the simple act of serving civil papers became a struggle to survive and changed his life forever. He started by praising the deputy jailers for their work because “being a deputy jailer is a dangerous job” that is “sometimes overlooked” and that he was never “exposed to the type of dangers the deputy jailers face every day.” “I just arrested people and took them to jail and dropped them off.”

On May 27, 1989, he was working the mid-shift with his canine officer, Bill, when he had to serve civil papers to a man named Darrell Perry. Perry had married a woman who was 20 years older than him and had terminal cancer, and her family was contesting the will. Osborne left Bill in the car because “I was just serving civil papers.” He credits surviving that day to a couple of what he referred to as “God things.”

He went to the front door and knocked, but Perry did not answer so, “God thing #1,” he called his location into dispatch and asked them to call Perry and tell him to answer the door. He stated that he never called in his location when serving civil papers. Perry came to the door, invited him inside, and Osborne went about his duties, reading the papers to him and telling him that he needed to vacate the premises and was only allowed to take his personal belongings. Osborne said that the entire time, Perry kept repeating, “Why are they doing this to me?”

Osborne followed Perry outside after he had gathered his personal belongings and said there were “no threats and nothing to indicate what Darrell Perry was going to do.” Osborne told Perry to “have a good night” and then turned around and went back to his cruiser. He was about to open the door with his left hand when he heard the first shot.

Perry had gone to his car and retrieved a .38-caliber revolver from the front seat. The first shot went through Osborne’s left arm, across his abdomen, and ended up on his right side. Osborne said he “never felt it” and “just heard the gunshot.” He turned to look at Perry, who was 8-10 feet away with the gun pointed directly at him. Osborne’s training kicked in, and he immediately tried to make himself as small a target as possible and headed for cover behind the back of his cruiser. Meanwhile, Perry continued shooting.

The second shot hit Osborne in the left flank, and a piece of the bullet cut his spinal cord between T10 and T11, causing him to become paralyzed from the waist down. He fell, and the third shot hit him in the left hip. The fourth shot went into the heel of his shoe and into his heel. Perry then jumped on him, pinned his arms behind his back, and put the gun to his forehead, but Perry had a five-shot revolver and had already emptied it. The fifth shot had gone through the brim of Osborne’s hat. Perry then palmed the gun and proceeded to hit Osborne in the head with it more than 25 times, knocking out two of his front teeth and fracturing his skull.

Osborne managed to get his arms free and started fighting back but, at that point, Perry was in the “proverbial kill the messenger” mindset. Osborne managed to get his weapon, and that’s when “God thing #2” happened. When he pulled his weapon, he accidentally pushed the magazine release, leaving him with only one bullet in the chamber. He was trying to shoot Perry but couldn’t get the gun turned, and it discharged between them.

Perry then twisted the gun out of his hand, put it to Osborne’s head, and pulled the trigger. He tried to chamber another round, stuck it to his head again, and said, “You got one of those fancy automatics.” Perry then picked up the civil papers, wadded them up, and shoved them into Osborne’s mouth, saying, “Here, how do you like them?”

Perry took the keys to Osborne’s cruiser, his gun, and his portable radio, and then what Osborne described as “God thing #3” happened. Bill, the dog who would not usually let anyone get within 10 feet of the cruiser, let Perry in. Perry then backed the cruiser over Osborne, and the wheels went down his back and over the back of his neck. Perry backed into the road, hesitated as though he might run over him again, and then drove away.

Osborne had not felt anything except being hit in the head but, when Perry left, the adrenaline wore off and he felt everything. He knew that if he stayed where he was, he would bleed to death, so he rolled onto his stomach and managed to crawl to the road.

Osborne said that law enforcement often thinks the public “doesn’t care anything about us” and that it’s “us against them,” but he wanted to assure them that “the public does care.” A couple pulled over, and he told them that he had been shot and to call 911, but the man refused to leave him. Instead, he held Osborne’s hand and patted his head until fellow officers arrived. When the dispatcher had been unable to reach him, she sent a cruiser to check on him.

Osborne knew the paramedics and firefighters who responded, and they all kept telling him that he was going to be okay, “but their faces were not portraying that I was going to be okay.” On his third day in the hospital, a neurosurgeon told his parents that he would never walk again, never have children, and never again have control over his bowels or bladder. However, “God had other plans.” He was able to walk unassisted with a limp for 25 years before once again having to use a wheelchair. He has three children and 10 grandchildren, with an 11th on the way.

Perry was sentenced to 30 years in prison, and about two years later, Osborne received a letter from Perry asking him to “please forgive me for what I did to you.” Osborne said it wasn’t “immediate,” but he did “eventually” write him back and forgive him.

Osborne told the deputy jailers that they should be encouraged by the extremely important job they do and that people do care. They should also take pride in their work but “always remember forgiveness and mercy.”

The event concluded with an awards presentation. Sergeant Tracie Payne, Deputy Jeremy Barada, and Deputy Krystal Arnold were recognized for saving the life of a deputy who had come into contact with a foreign substance during a new intake. Deputy Zack Ferrell received the Exceptional Duty Award for saving the life of an inmate who was choking, and Deputy Lindsey Barnes also received the Exceptional Duty Award for locating Suboxone on an inmate after the initial search and scan had been completed, preventing it from making its way into the jail. Deputy Jeffrey Johnson was named Deputy of the Year.