Managers of prison in-plants must deal with tight security, regulated hours, high turnover and endless training—and still put out quality work on time. by Bob Neubauer When the metal doors lock behind you, and you step into the wind-swept courtyard, edged with guard towers and razor wire, you know you're in prison. Heavily tattooed men with matted ponytails leap and shuffle on the basketball court, shooting curious glances as you pass. Others play handball or work out with weights, all of them eyeing you, sizing you up. Overhead, guards in sunglasses stare down from their towers with stoic faces, their rifles ready.
Robert Thomas
Managers of prison in-plants must deal with tight security, regulated hours, high turnover and endless training—and still put out quality work on time. When the metal doors lock behind you, and you step into the wind-swept courtyard, edged with guard towers and razor wire, you know you're in prison. Heavily tattooed men with matted ponytails leap and shuffle on the basketball court, shooting curious glances as you pass. Others play handball or work out with weights, all of them eyeing you, sizing you up. Overhead, guards in sunglasses stare down from their towers with stoic faces, their rifles ready. No false