https://www.ajc.com/life/heroes-emerge-behind-bars/MGO2X4MEXZCPHO6MGURJKYTOFU/
By Keri Janton
Oct. 14, 2020
Two jail deputies sit side by side, their chins raised, tears in their eyes. This is a joyous reunion. Just weeks prior, each man experienced a medical emergency while on the job. Life was at stake for both deputies, and both were saved.
Their first responders? The inmates in their respective housing units. In a matter of minutes, the lives of all these men, those in uniform and those in orange jumpsuits, were changed forever. The line between convict and authority was inconsequential, and humanity prevailed.
•••••
“I woke on the floor but didn’t realize I was on the floor. My mind told me I was still sitting at my desk,” said Hobbs. “I heard inmates calling my name. I was in and out, trying to figure out who needed help, then I locked eyes with the inmates in Unit 617.”
Hobbs pulled his long, thin body up with the tips of his fingers, hit the button to open the door to Unit 617, then fell back to the ground.
At some point, Hobbs unknowingly keyed his mic, which signaled to other deputies that he needed help. Assistance was en route, but the inmates did not know that.
The residents of Unit 617, Walter Whitehead and Terry Loveless, immediately ran out their door and down the stairs. As they made their way to Hobbs, they feared he was dead.
“His color had changed and there was blood everywhere,” said Whitehead, 46. “His phone was ringing, so I picked it up and said we needed help. Loveless grabbed his radio and did the same.”
•••••
When Hobbs entered Unit 3M in August for the first time since his cardiac event, he had all the inmates gather.
“I told them how much I appreciate them,” said Hobbs. “If not for inmate Smalls, especially, we’d be talking about a different story. It felt great to feel like any one of those guys would have helped me.”
Conversely, it felt great for the inmates to feel like heroes. Smalls, Whitehead and Loveless have each been personally affected by the experience and amazed by the public’s response. Their story has been shared by news outlets across the globe, and they have received thank-you letters from multiple countries. One of their favorite responses came from the Vanderbilt University baseball coach who sent hats and a letter, telling the trio they are the kind of men he teaches his players to be.
“It feels good to save someone’s life,” said Whitehead. “I had a drug addiction, and when I was on drugs, I didn’t care about life. After being here for 21 months, I have more respect for life and even more so now.”
Smalls echoes similar sentiments.
“I’ve never seen anyone nearly die,” said Smalls. “Deputy Hobbs isn’t even old or out of shape. A man could have lost his life just like that, for no reason, at 46. I’ve been out there using marijuana, taking risks, not thinking about my health. I realize I need to take better care of my body. I have a son out there I want to be an example for. I think he’ll be proud of me for this and that feels good.”
Loveless, 52, said his family is proud of him, too. In an excerpt from a thank-you note he wrote to Deputy Shannon Volkodav, the public information officer for the Gwinnett County Sheriff’s Office, he said,"I am proud of myself. First time in a long time and I really like this feeling."
After years of disappointing and causing his family shame, Loveless wrote, helping save Deputy Hobbs turned his life around, “and I’m going to stay going in that direction," he said.
•••••
Inmates to the rescue, again
On Aug. 16, just four days after Hobbs returned to work, the unthinkable happened again when Deputy Patrick Edmond, 40, had a stroke while on the job.
Edmond became a deputy to follow in the footsteps of his grandfather, who was a sheriff in Haiti.
“I love people and I wanted to use my life as a role model to others,” said Edmond. “When I was younger, my neighborhood looked at officers badly because they had a lack of understanding. If you want to change something, you step in and change it. I stepped in and I try to be a good example.”
Edmond has worked at the Gwinnett County Jail since June 2019.
“He’s a really cool, really firm deputy,” said inmate Rodrequs Wells, 33. “He always says, ‘We’re going to have a good day on purpose.’”
Edmond makes a habit of being intentional and kind.
“I believe you reap what you sow, and this is the very reason why I’m fair every time I enter my unit,” said Edmond. “I’m consistent, compassionate and I show respect to everyone. I give my inmates respect and I get it back from them.”
•••••
While Edmond thought he was speaking clear sentences, seven inmates observed as the deputy repeated “40, 40, 40.”
“We kept asking if he was OK. He said he was fine, but he didn’t seem like himself at all,” said Wells. “He was repeating himself and the left side of his face was crooked. We tried to have him sit down in a chair and we used his radio to get help. Another guy ran to get assistance. Everyone played a part to stay calm and get him help. We stayed with him until they came.”
The inmates were sent to their rooms when a sergeant and nurse arrived. Edmond’s blood pressure was through the roof. He was removed on a stretcher and sent to Northside Gwinnett Hospital, where he was administered pain medication and had an MRI and CAT scans. From there, Edmond was life-flighted to Grady Hospital in Atlanta. Grady doctors contacted Edmond’s wife of 16 years, and she gave consent for them to do anything necessary to save his life. He was in surgery within seven minutes of his arrival to remove the clot that had traveled from his groin to his brain, causing the stroke. If not for the quick response of the inmates, the doctor told Edmond he may not have survived.
•••••
“I hadn’t been released to return to work yet, but I chose to go back to see the inmates,” said Edmond. “Those men didn’t have to save my life, they chose to. It’s against policy, but I hugged every one of them. They all applauded and said they prayed for me. I said to them, ‘Whenever you feel sad or depressed about anything, you remember that you sent me back to my family.’”
•••••
“It’s easy to assume there’s an adversarial relationship with officers and criminals, but these incidents prove that’s not always the case,” said Volkodav. “Many law enforcement officers are drawn to this profession because they care about people and their duties. They’re professional, they serve as role models, and they encourage good decisions. Many of our inmates don’t have examples like that at home.”
The Gwinnett County Jail has an average of 2,000 inmates at a time. With that population come many medical emergencies.
“You should see the deputies running to assist inmates, as if they’re running to their own family or friend,” said Volkodav. “It’s amazing to see that reciprocated. This has been an incredible learning experience for these inmates. They see they don’t have to be defined by that thing they did wrong. Anyone is capable of greatness. It’s not the uniform that makes the hero, it’s the person.”
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