In July, two Washington Parish sheriff's deputies were called to the home of an 83-year-old man who was struggling with depression and had threatened to harm himself.
The situation deteriorated, and the two deputies ended up in their cruisers chasing the man, who was driving an all-terrain vehicle across a field, at low speed. After they boxed him in, he refused to get out. When he finally did, he was wobbly on his feet but held a hunting knife in his hand as he told them to get off his property.
They didn't. Instead, the higher-ranking deputy told the junior deputy to tase the man. He did.
Washington Parish Sheriff Jason Smith, who had been in office less than a week when the incident happened, tells the story with disbelief. He eventually fired the senior deputy and held an all-hands meeting to explain why he thought the encounter had been handled poorly.
That incident was just one in a dizzying first week for Smith, the 51-year-old former Marine-turned-rancher-turned-rural sheriff. Three murders and a host of technical and logistical issues also greeted him almost as soon as his hand was off the Bible.
Jason Smith, spent 22 years in the Marines as an infantry officer. He retired in 2016, and now runs the family farm in Mount Hermon, La. Tuesday, Aug. 9, 2022. (Staff Photo by David Grunfeld, NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune | The New Orleans Advocate)
Smith, who saw intense combat in Iraq during his time in the Marines, is now in a different sort of battle. He might never have entered politics at all if it weren't for his predecessor, Randy Seal, suing him in state court for not collecting sales taxes on meat he sold from his ranch. Smith won that case, then decided to challenge Seal, a drawling political giant nicknamed "Country."
Smith's campaign focused on his experience in the military and his promise to modernize the office's technology, training and approach. It was a winning electoral formula, but he's barely had time to think about that kind of stuff in his first four months.
Even in a relatively small sheriff's office like Washington Parish's, with its roughly 85 full-time employees, the institutional culture is deeply embedded. And with that comes a host of personality conflicts, old grudges, rivalries and comfort in the way things have always been done.
Add in technical issues, like outdated computer servers that prevented Smith from sending work emails for almost two months after he took office, and he hasn't had time to think about making the agency better. It's enough just to keep it functioning.
Other quotidian tasks like paying bills on time, creating new forms because the versions he inherited had his predecessor's name and making sure there are enough vehicles for deputies have taken a lot of his time. He's also had to worry about his best deputies leaving for higher-paying gigs in nearby St. Tammany.
Smith has big ideas for the Sheriff's Office. He'd like it to be modern and data-driven. He'd like it to be service-focused and not quick-triggered. He'd like it to be decentralized and well-trained.
Those are good things. But first, he has to overcome the inertia. For the former Marine, that's frustrating.
"It’s very, very, slow," he told me. "I kind of thought things would go a little bit faster."
The day I was in Franklinton in late September, Smith was expecting a representative from U.S. Rep. Julia Letlow's office. He planned to give her a tour of the jail, a depressing warren of cinderblock hallways, barred doors and prison dorms downstairs from his office. The jail has a 144-bed capacity, but it held more than 170 people the day I was there. Inmates find places under tables and against walls, anywhere they can to put their pallet down.
Another couple dozen Washington Parish inmates were scattered at other jails around the state.
Smith would like to build a new jail that doesn't stack inmates, provides better outdoor recreation access and isn't threatened by flooding from the Bogue Chitto River. But that would take millions of dollars that his office — and Washington Parish, frankly — doesn't have. Federal funds could offer a lifeline, but he knows lots of folks have their hands out.
As I left Smith's office, he and his command staff were discussing plans for the Washington Parish Free Fair, a sprawling assignment for the agency. They were discussing how to stage deputies, whether they should have one scissor-lift tower or two and what other measures might be worthwhile. Smith knew it would be a big test of his leadership, both inside the office and outside.
The fair ended this past weekend. Monday, he texted that it had been good.
"I think we scored some points with the employees," he said. "General public seemed very receptive as well."
That counts as a win. But there are certainly more battles to come.