CHRISTINE Goes to Jail…How it feels to get on the wrong side of the law By Anne Stanton If someone “accidentally” carries a loaded gun into an airport screening area, they are completely stupid and deserve every bad thing that happens afterward. Right? Well, before you jump to that easy conclusion, read the story of Christine Blackledge and how this upstanding citizen of Traverse City paid for one of the dumbest mistakes in her life.
THE CRIME Blackledge is a mother of six, grandmother of seven, and owner of Michigan Decorations, a company that gussies up downtowns throughout the state with holiday decorations. On November 5, she came home at 3:30 a.m., exhausted after a night of working in Bay City with her crew. She did some bookkeeping and packed a suitcase to get ready for a trip to New York to see her daughter dance on stage. She could sleep on the plane, she told herself, and all would be well. That morning she took out of her purse the tools of her trade – measuring tapes, screwdrivers, pliers, and wire cutters. Her purse felt light, especially since she usually carries a 40-caliber handgun for protection on the rough city streets (she has handled guns all her life). After she folded her clothes, she packed her toiletries in quantities small enough to meet airport requirements. Blackledge arrived at the Cherry Capital Airport, feeling exhausted from two straight days of working. She got into line, set her suitcase and purse on the conveyer belt. Just as her purse hit the X-ray machine, she smacked her head and yelled, “Oh no!” She realized she had replaced her 40-caliber pistol with a lighter 9 millimeter gun, and it was still in her purse. She had put it in a zippered compartment and completely forgotten about it. “My first thought was, my daughter was still in the parking lot. Is there anybody who could take it to her? Which is really stupid. But I just wanted to resolve it and get on to New York.” Just as the TSA screener had noticed the gun, Blackledge’s daughter came running up with cash that had been forgotten in the car. “It was a three ring circus,” she said. Blackledge was immediately pulled to the side where she was questioned by a Transportation Security Administration (TSA) officer and, later, a Traverse City police officer. “I explained how it happened. I was very sorry. They’re asking me, how many shells did it have. They take a picture of it. The city officer runs a check on the gun and finds out it’s been stolen.” Someone had stolen the gun from her home seven years ago; it had been recovered last summer in a downstate drug bust and returned to Blackledge just a few weeks before. The TSA overheard the city officer, and assumed she’d stolen the gun. “It took forever to get through to TSA it’s my gun and it was stolen from me.” After about 30 minutes, she was set free. She took the next flight out.
THE APOLOGY First thing Monday morning, she called the Grand Traverse County prosecutor’s office to explain what happened. She was well acquainted with the staff because she’d been a victim of a crime on September 7, 2008. That was the day Wayne Hutter, a long-time friend, had walked into her unlocked home, angry and drunk. “I told him I didn’t want to talk, and he pulled a gun, pointed it at my head, and said, ‘We will talk.’ He held me hostage and screamed at me for 20 minutes.” Judge Haley of the 86th District Court set a $25,000 bond, which essentially allowed Hutter to walk the streets freely until his conviction in mid-January, when his bond was revoked. During his four months of freedom, Blackledge went on the run, staying with friends, at hotels, and her sister’s house in Florida. “I will remember those days for the rest of my life.” She had possessed a concealed weapons permit for years, but after the assault, she decided to carry a gun with her at all times (with the exception of airports). Blackledge is not afraid to speak out. She went to the media about Haley’s bonding decision. She’s also been outspoken on the financial irregularities on the Traverse City Housing Commission (she was right, but was politely pushed off the board). Now she has something to say about our judicial system.
A DECISION TO CHARGE The clerk at the Grand Traverse Prosecutor’s office told Blackledge that she didn’t have a report yet. “She said, it could be two or three weeks. I was thinking when the report did come, I would be asked to come into the office. I did something wrong; I’m expecting to pay a fine. I realize there are going to be repercussions, but never in my wildest dreams did I ever expect what happened next.” People had unknowingly brought weapons to the airport screening area before, Grand Traverse County Prosecutor Al Schneider told the Express. In fact, just after 9/11, a retired police officer had forgotten to take his gun out of his briefcase. He wasn’t charged, but Schneider said it prompted him to meet with state law enforcement, TSA, and federal justice officials. The consensus was there had to be “intent” to bring a charge. There have been numerous instances at the airport since then; Schneider couldn’t recall charging anyone. But this time, an assistant prosecutor argued that negligence was sufficient in the case of a loaded gun. The law wasn’t clear about intent, and what if someone saw the gun in her purse and panicked? The prosecutor issued a warrant for Blackledge’s arrest. A conviction would mean up to one year in jail and/or up to a $1,000 fine.
THE ARREST Two weeks later, Blackledge came home from another job at 4 a.m. She was exhausted. “Around 8 a.m., I’ve got doorbells ringing, telephones ringing, people pounding at my door. I think it’s my crew of guys. I come down the stairway, half asleep, and there are police officers at my backdoor. I recognize Officer Bosner from the assault. He protected me at Hutter’s trial. He told me, ‘there are police officers at the front door with warrants for your arrest and we need to let them in.’ “He follows me in the house, I unlock the front door; there are two officers there, and a police car down the street… What the heck! They told me, ‘we have a warrant for your arrest for carrying a gun at the airport.’ I’m stunned. I ask, ‘Can I get dressed? Put some jeans on?’ ‘There’s no reason to do that. You’ll have to change at the jail.’ So they told me, ‘just take your driver’s license. ‘How about my concealed weapons permit?’ ‘That makes sense.’” Fortunately, Blackledge had already thrown on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Unfortunately, she had a severe chest and head cold. The officer accompanied Blackledge upstairs while she put on a sweatshirt, handcuffed her and led her out to the police car. “He tells me to put my head down and pushes me in. He’s trying to be cool about it.” Problems at the jail quickly arose. Blackledge was constantly hacking. A guard, fearing she had the swine flu, told her she was too sick to fingerprint. Her attorney arrived to post bond money but was told to come back because she hadn’t been booked yet. Blackledge was told to sit on the bench. A guard noticed her sweatpants had a string. “They told me to take the string off. They’ll fall down if I do that, so they made me put on jail clothes. The guard stood outside the door while I undressed and dressed. It was very humbling.”
A JAIL KIT “At this point, I haven’t had anything to drink, nothing to eat. They gave me a mask, and I can hardly breathe. I’m cold and miserable. I’m on the bench. I ask a guard, ‘Can I please have a drink of water? I can’t stop coughing.’ She told me, ‘We don’t have glasses. You have to buy a jail kit. I have no money, my attorney showed up to pay bond. But yes, I’ll buy the jail kit. It’s got toothpaste, a comb, a toothbrush, gargle, and a plastic cup. The guard empties it out and gives me a glass. It costs $12. I have to pay $12 to get a glass of water. That’s the only way you can get a sip of water. So she lets me go across the hall to the faucet. And I’m sipping on water.” [Grand Traverse Sheriff’s Captain Bob Hall, who oversees the jail, said that everyone has to pay $12 for a booking fee; the jail kit is free.] A nurse came by, and offered help. “The guard wouldn’t even let the nurse look at me!I’m coughing and hacking and this other woman who’s in jail said, ‘Why did they let you in here? Are they trying to make us all sick? Do you have the swine flu? We think you’re in here as a plot!’ Now the prisoners think I’m a bad person!” So the guard put Blackledge into a glass-encased cell. Sick and exhausted, Blackledge curled up in a fetal position on a steel bed. “I’m freezing. I’m right across from the desk, other people are coming in. Mostly males, and they’re sitting on the bench.” Blackledge had to go to the bathroom. There was a stainless steel toilet in the cell, but she didn’t want people to watch her. So she taps on the jail door. “The officer finally comes, the one who wouldn’t fingerprint me. ‘Can I please go to the bathroom? Please.’ He doesn’t say anything, but just points to the toilet. I thought, ‘I’ll pee my pants before I pull down my britches in front of these people. There’s no way I’ll do that.’” [Hall said there’s a half wall in front of the toilet, so although you can see the person’s head as they’re sitting on the toilet, you can’t see their bottom.] Meanwhile, Blackledge is hungry; she saw lunch getting handed out just before her magistrate’s hearing, but thought it was for inmates, and no one offered her lunch. [Hall said a sergeant reported she declined lunch.]
WAITING & THINKING Finally, a young officer cracked the door of her cell and told her he was trying hard to get her paperwork through, but she’d have to see the magistrate via a video conference at 1 p.m. Fortunately, Blackledge was the second in line, the hearing was short, and the magistrate said she could be released on her own recognizance. But she continued to sit. For nearly three hours she sat. “I kept thinking, I’ve already been let out on my recognizance and I still can’t get out.” Finally just before 4 p.m., a young looking teen comes in, yelling profanities, saying he wanted to talk to his grandfather. “He’s a handful, scared to death. I was scared to death. I didn’t know if I wanted to start screaming and yelling or break down crying. There’s a horrible feeling, nothing you can do. I could understand his panic. I felt sorry for him. The guard said, ‘Guess we’ll be letting you out, we’ll need the cell for problem child here. Here’s your box. Put your clothes on, and go out the door,’” she said. Blackledge’s day ended as quickly as it began. “I got my clothes on … It’s 4:30 by now, misting. I walk home. I felt like Alice in Wonderland. What just happened?”
THE OTHER SIDE Hall initially said, without knowing the full story, that Blackledge wasn’t fingerprinted or photographed because the jail staff feared she had the swine flu and wanted to get her out quickly. “Everyone was masked up,” he said. In a later interview, he explained that “sometimes we don’t (fingerprint or photograph) due to the nature of the charge or if a person has a subsequent court hearing.” Releases started at 2 p.m.—the jail staff must first receive signed papers from the magistrate. Blackledge—despite being too sick to fingerprint—had to wait in line behind the others who came in before her, a jail policy. “She was by herself. She wasn’t infecting anyone,” Hall explained. When someone new shows up, the single jail staffer must stop the release process to do the intake paperwork. Things would go much faster if he had more staff, he said. “We live with these people,” he said. “We understand their circumstances.” Jail is most unpleasant, but it must be safe; others have said the jail runs more smoothly than most, he said.
‘A TOTAL WASTE’ After getting jailed, Blackledge received a letter from the TSA, with a fine of $3,000, but only $1,500 if it was paid within 30 days. Blackledge called the 800 number, as instructed, and eventually had a long conversation with TSA’s attorney, Scott Klippel. She told him the story of her arrest. He was surprised that a cadre of police officers would come to her door, shut off the street, and handcuff her—for a misdemeanor. He wrote a follow-up email to her, saying that the home arrest was “unnecessary” and, in his opinion as a former prosecutor and defense attorney, “a total waste of scarce law enforcement resources.” Does the Traverse City Police Department send a handful of police officers for every misdemeanor? Traverse City Police Chief Mike Warren said no. Some people get an appearance ticket, in which they come in unescorted for the booking. “Carrying a gun into a sterile zone of the airport isn’t one of those instances.” THE PUNISHMENT Blackledge ultimately had to hire an expensive lawyer who advised her to plead guilty on charges of bringing a gun into the sterile area of the airport. Meanwhile, Blackledge was written up in a local paper for a three-month trip she planned to take in February—a humanitarian mission to Africa where she would teach villagers how to irrigate their land, make solar cookers, and run a tiny business. The article didn’t mention that she had been ordered to appear in court seven days after she was scheduled to fly out. The prosecutor had actually dropped the charges on January 19, but she didn’t find out until last week, when the Express gave her the news. Schneider explained to Express that his office decided the TSA fine was sufficient punishment. Blackledge still must cut her trip two months short, though, because 13th Circuit Judge Tom Power refused to allow a rescheduling of her civil trial against Hutter; her lawyer forgot to mention her African trip in his rescheduling request, only mentioning his scheduled hip replacement. Blackledge said she knows she must pay for her mistake (her fine was ultimately reduced to $350), but wonders about the waste of police, jail and prosecutorial staff on a misdemeanor case that had a simple explanation. How many times does this happen, she wondered. She urged common sense. Always being on the “good side” of the law—helping with the prosecution of Hutter, as well as the man who stole her gun—didn’t seem to matter this time, she said. This experience humbled her. “I once went on a jail tour with the Grand Traverse Leadership Group. You eat the jail food, you tour the rooms. But I tell you, it’s nothing like the reality.”
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