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With the exception of five people serving out sentences for relatively minor crimes, “Everybody else in here is innocent,� Burris says, “if you believe in the constitution. These are citizens. We should do whatever we can so they don’t come back to jail.�

Like most municipal and county jails in America, the people held in this county jail are there awaiting trial, either because they can’t afford to pay the bond, or because they are being held on a violent offense without bond. Some of them, Burris says, have no business being in jail.

“There are 100 to 200 people in this jail who don’t need to be here,� Burris says. They are people with mental health issues, or alcohol or drug addictions.

Britnee is one of them. I interviewed her in the laundry room of the jail last week on a tour arranged by Burris. She asked that I only use her first name. She’s in jail on a drug offense and has been enrolled in the county’s drug court. “I don’t need jail,� she says. “I need treatment. I’m getting used to being institutionalized when I need to be getting used to being sober on the streets.�

Burris took over the jail last September at a difficult time. Under the previous county administration, several detainees had died, some after delayed treatment of health issues. County Executive Sam Page’s first choice to fix problems at the jail, Raul Banasco, was an abject failure, having resigned after less than a year on the job amid complaints that he created a toxic workplace.

Burris has righted the ship, detainees and corrections officers told me on my tour.

“There’s been a big difference in the past year,� said corrections officer Melba Patton, who’s been with the department for 12 years. “We have a voice. We’ve never had that before.�

One of the reasons Burris has become popular with corrections officers is that he pushed for, and won with a County Council vote earlier this month, the first raise they have had in years. Still, morale is low among staff and detainees for reasons related to the coronavirus pandemic.

The corrections department is understaffed, says Tim O’Brien, a 13-year veteran of the department, and that has them working forced overtime. The lack of staffing led Burris to cancel a contract to hold federal detainees. Still, the jail has a high population, in part because jail stays are too long.

That’s what a recent University of Missouri-ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ report on the jail population funded by the Pew Charitable Trusts found. The good news from the report was that over the past decade, there have been fewer arrests that lead to jail time for various misdemeanors, including drug possession. The bad news is that jail stays have increased, keeping populations higher than they should be.

The pandemic has exacerbated that problem. “It’s frustrating,� said one detainee in the pod of vaccinated men who work doing odd jobs throughout the jail. “It’s hard because the court dates keep getting pushed back.�

Burris says that based on his research of the current jail population, about 30% have been incarcerated for more than a year. Forty-nine people have been in the jail more than three years, he says, at a cost of more than $5.7 million to taxpayers.

That’s a problem the next jail director will have to deal with. Burris, who was brought out of retirement after a long career with the federal probation department, is retiring for good as of Oct. 1. It’s time for him to go watch his grandson play baseball and spend time with family, Burris told me.

The corrections officers who give him credit for turning around the environment in the jail will miss him.

“He came in, he showed up, he did his best,� says Mario Reed, a 20-year veteran of the department. “He’s made it a better place.�