Newly elected public officials sometimes turn out to be ill-suited to their duties, but they generally at least have a basic understanding of what those duties are supposed to be. 51ºÚÁÏ city Sheriff Alfred Montgomery, on the other hand, appears perpetually confused on that point.
This has been evident before during Montgomery’s short, tumultuous tenure since taking office in January. His latest run-in with the city’s Board of Aldermen has again highlighted his odd notions regarding his powers and responsibilities — notions he seems to have picked up from old westerns.
That appears to be why Montgomery feels comfortable threatening to ditch one of his office’s primary duties — to transport criminal defendants between the city jail and hospitals for medical care — unless the city gives him more money to solve a departmental budget crisis of his own making.
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It’s also apparently why he can ask the Board of Aldermen with a straight face: “What’s the difference between me and the mayor?â€
We’ve said it in this space before, and Montgomery’s continuing antics drive home the point: The city should re-think even having an elected “city sheriff,†and consider just letting the court system take over duties that are mostly in logistical support of that system anyway.
The confusion over what the city sheriff is supposed to be doing would be understandable coming from almost anyone other than the guy who was recently elected as sheriff. That’s because the very construct of the job is a weird one, rooted in 51ºÚÁÏ city’s unusual stature as its own county.
In most places, the sheriff is an elected county official in charge of law enforcement outside the jurisdiction of cities within the county. But since 51ºÚÁÏ city isn’t part of any county — yet continues to elect some offices that would normally be considered county posts — the elected city sheriff is relegated to the more mundane tasks of sheriff-dom. These include providing prisoner transport, court security and eviction services.
None of this involves routine law enforcement or criminal investigations; those tasks fall to the city’s police chief. But don’t try telling that to Montgomery.
In a letter to Mayor Cara Spencer last week, Montgomery threatened to stop transporting jail detainees for medical care unless the city increases his budget. Among his arguments was that those pesky transportation tasks distract from his office’s “core law enforcement duties.â€
Again: Sheriff Montgomery has no “core law enforcement duties.†He’s not Wyatt Earp. His office’s core function is more like a publicly funded Uber service for jail detainees. That’s primarily what he’s supposed to be doing.
And why is Montgomery suddenly in need of more funding for his budget? Because upon taking office, he summarily fired more than a dozen sheriff’s department employees. It was a purge clearly intended to set up Montgomery’s own fiefdom to replace the fiefdom of his predecessor, former Sheriff Vernon Betts — who Montgomery unseated in part by accusing him of fiefdom politics and promising reform.
As it turns out, Montgomery’s spate of firings is going to cost the city about a half-million dollars, says city Comptroller Donna Baringer, because of benefit payouts and other expenses for which the city is legally liable. Montgomery’s fiefdom is an expensive one, and now he wants the city to pay for it.
In a meeting with the Board of Aldermen Monday, Montgomery appeared to back off from his threat of refusing to transport prisoners, while doubling down on his right to set up a fiefdom. His bizarre question — “What’s the difference between me and the mayor?†— was offered in the context of race: The mayor is white, Montgomery is Black, and that’s why the mayor gets to bring in her own team and Montgomery doesn’t.
Or, just maybe, it’s because the mayor is tasked with running a city, while the city sheriff is tasked with getting jail detainees from Point A to Point B.
Montgomery’s previous antics are well-documented: That he handcuffed a top city jail official for interfering with an “investigation†Montgomery had no authority to launch. That he made a deputy literally roll the dice to determine whether he would keep his job. That he hired high-priced lobbyists, bought more than $10,000 worth of golf carts for his office and had an off-duty deputy driving his kids around.
Montgomery has, in five short months in office, demonstrated in real time why impeachment processes exist. But the issue here is far bigger than this one office-holder. The fact is, Montgomery holds an office that, at least in its current elective status, arguably shouldn’t exist.