Former Inmate Credits Sheriff, Staff For Rehabilitation

She shivered while hunched over in detox. Ribs protruding and face gaunt, Kirstie Koch sat alone in the cell of the Antelope County Law Enforcement Center sweating and shaking what remained of her 103-pound body.

“Opioids, meth, benzos. I was a walking pharmacy,” she said.

Raised in Elgin until she was 12, Koch had four jails under her belt by age 24. This time she “peed hot” during a court appearance in Wayne County. Already facing possession of a controlled substance, failing the drug test meant immediate time behind bars.

But this time, she was sent to Antelope County — sent “home” and to Sheriff Bob Moore.

“He’s saving lives here,” Koch said, taking a deep breath to hold back the tears. “How someone is treated when they’re incarcerated at the lowest time of their life — are you kicked when you’re down or lifted up — makes a world of difference on how you act when you get out of here. He’s saving lives and helping people.”

Becoming An Addict
Addicts choose drugs for many reasons. For Koch, it was to self medicate. She doesn’t use her mental illness as an excuse, nor does she deny her drug use. Still, being in jail didn’t immediately fix her problem either. Koch said her other stints in jail actually made her addiction worse until she finally accepted help in Antelope County.

“You are ripped out of your environment and tossed into a place where four walls close on you fast. For anybody, it’s a struggle, but if you put mental health issues on top of it — anxiety, depression, I have bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder — so you throw in a bunch of mental health issues into the mixture, and it’s pretty much a living hell to be incarcerated,” Koch said.

Between staffing and medical issues, Moore said both the other law enforcement agency and Koch’s parents determined Antelope County would be a better fit for housing Koch. As one of the few facilities with a predominantly female jail staff, Antelope County is often paid to house female inmates for other counties.

Although Koch grew up in nearby Elgin, neither her nor Moore connected the dots for most of her first day at the Antelope County Jail. Koch, who was listed as from Norfolk, described herself as a little girl with pigtails when she lived in Elgin, where Moore then served as chief of police. Moore remembered Koch as a youth riding her bike and struggled to recognize her as the drug addict in front of him.

“When you walked in to talk to me, I was 103 pounds. You could see my ribs and my face was sunk in. I was shaking and sweating from detox. I wouldn’t have even recognized myself,” she said to Moore. “I don’t know if you even remember coming in to talk to me, but I remember you.”

There wasn’t an instant connection between the two. She was a drug addict, and he was the sheriff. To her, Antelope County was just another jail. Koch spent two weeks locked up before being bonded out. She was out for four days before being sentenced to six months on her previous charge.

Koch said she was arrested for being in possession of oxycodone and benzodiazepines, but she was also addicted to methamphetamine. She may have been clean for the two weeks while in jail, but that just a break away from her drug use.
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“I never really stopped, except for the two weeks I was incarcerated here, which were hell,” she said.

Worse Before Better
Moore said Koch was “problematic” at the other three jails, and she was equally so when she arrived in Neligh.

“Emotionally, she was all over,” Moore recalled. “She’d cry and then she’d get angry. All of a sudden, she would be nice and then suddenly upset again.”

Koch said she often threw items in her cell and punched the glass. Moore said her parents were in contact with him and talked about her mental illness. While they didn’t use it as an excuse, they gave Moore insight into what was going on with Koch and helped lead her to medical assistance.

“Dr. (Doug) Dilly talked to me as a person, not as an inmate trying to get a fix,” Koch said. “That means a lot to me because you get a stigma attached to you as an inmate, as an addict. I have a deal with him, and as long as I’m honest with him, he’ll continue to be honest with me and give me the care I need without that stigma attached. He’s a great doctor.”

Moore said Faith Regional sees inmates inside the jail. Rather than spending hours driving inmates back and forth and waiting at the Neligh clinic, Dilly typically visits them. Koch said Antelope County treats access to medical staff and medication differently than other facilities, which eventually helped her rehabilitation.

But simply being on medication wasn’t enough. Koch said using street drugs camouflaged her real issues. Moore said Koch often had one great day, but shut down the next, with no clear reason for a change. One of the most trying times, he said, was when her grandfather unexpectedly died, and she was unable to attend the funeral due to being incarcerated.

Unexpected events, even phone calls from loved ones or significant others, can trigger emotional reactions, he said.

“Here’s where the danger comes,” Moore said. “When she shuts down and she’s withdrawing and has mental health (issues), that’s where the suicide comes. That’s what plagues our jails terribly, and that’s why people like Kirstie cannot be ignored…. That’s how we lose people in incarceration. You have to educate your staff and tell them that sometimes they’re reaching out.”

But Moore said recognizing the difference between a red flag for danger and simply acting out isn’t always easy.

The Breaking Point
Koch admitted she was a problematic inmate. She didn’t like to be told no, and there was one specific jailer she went toe to toe with often. It was a constant battle, and the day Koch reached her breaking point — her changing point — was no different.

“I was in this dorm right over here,” Koch said, pointing. “I remember walking up to the window and smacking my fists up against it as hard as I could and just falling down to the ground sobbing. She could have yelled at me and ripped me up by my arm and drug me to the isolation cell.”

But the jailer didn’t.

Koch can’t remember what set her off that day. Just weeks out of detox, she said there were highs and lows as she fought the need for drugs.

“It was probably a small thing, like I couldn’t shower at that time, but it set me off with a temper tantrum punching walls,” Koch said.
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Her anxiety was high. Placing her hand on her chest, Koch said for whatever reason — at that moment in the cell — she felt like she was going to pass out and all she could do was explode.

“It was like going uphill on frickin’ quicksand, so my anxiety was all pent up,” she said, gently tapping her chest with her hand.

Just moments before that changing point, Koch said she and the jailer had been at odds over her behavior. But the jailer recognized what was happening and made a split-second decision that forever changed Koch’s life.

“She hugged me,” Koch said as a tear slipped down her face. “She told me she was going to get some medicine to help me. She asked me if I needed to go to the library or to the rec and walk around. . . . She treated me like I was a human being going through a hard time, and that’s when I knew they cared. In a lot of jails they don’t, but here they do.”

At first, Koch wanted to keep the jailer anonymous, but then she said, “I should name her name. It’s Coriann (Schmoldt) because she’s a very good jailer. She’s a very good woman, and she’s firm, which is why I always fought with her. She’d stand her ground, and at the time, I wasn’t used to hearing the word no. She’d be firm, but when I needed her, she was there.”

Hearing the story caused Moore’s lips to curl just slightly beneath his mustache. With an almost smile, the sheriff turned his head and said, “Respect needs to come from both sides of the glass. We need to respect you, and we’re asking you to respect us. That’s where the breakdown comes in a jail is when that respect isn’t met halfway on both sides.”

Just Bread & Water
Koch said she’s heard rumblings of people from Antelope County saying inmates are treated too well and “only deserving bread and water.” The attitude reminds her of other jails, where she was housed — and did not leave rehabilitated.

“Do you know how traumatizing it is to get thrown in there and locked away for a couple of months at a time, treated like crap, fed and watered horribly, going to bed hungry and cold?” she said. “It messes with your head. Not only does it not help you become a productive member of society, it hinders you because it messes with your head and makes you think you’re not worth it.”

Koch said that a positive attitude has the opposite effect. Positive behavior, she said, promotes a positive response. “Treating me like I have feelings and have a future makes you believe you are a person and you have a future,” she said. “Being treated like that reinforces your belief that you are somebody.”

Having been in four jails, Koch said she knows first hand the difference in facilities and credits Moore and his staff for being the difference.

“This is a world-class staff, a five-star staff right here,” she said. “Every one of them, and I give that credit to Bob. He hand picks who gets to work on his team, and you can tell. He doesn’t let anyone come on who is negative or hurtful.”

Koch said she overheard jailers in other facilities bragging about the way they mistreated inmates. But that behavior never occurred in Antelope County — not under Moore’s watch.

“That’s not what I’m about,” Moore said. “If that person you treat like crap at 6 p.m. is hanging dead in their cell at 10 p.m., was all the laughs and jokes worth it? That’s exactly what can happen because we don’t know what’s going on in their head. … It can be an unbelievable recipe for suicide, and if we don’t recognize why she’s acting out, these behaviors don’t need someone who thinks it’s funny.”

Someone To Be Proud Of
Entering the jail on Monday afternoon, Koch greeted every jailer by first name, offering them a smile and wave as she said hello. Walking to the library, she immediately slid into the familiar chair and looked at ease. But when Moore walked in, Koch jumped up and wrapped her arms around him like he was a grandparent — not the sheriff.

“Good to see you, Kirstie,” Moore said smiling.

Monday marked Koch’s third visit to the Antelope County Law Enforcement Center since being released last October. Now at age 25, and balancing a part-time job with three to four Narcotics Anonymous meetings a week, Koch said she looks forward to stopping at the jail in Neligh.

She wants Moore and the jailers to see for themselves that she’s continuing her rehabilitation.

“I’ve been back because I want them to know they helped me, and I’m still doing good,” Koch said, stopping for a moment to hold back tears. “When a team is this respectful, you want to do good and want to show them. It’s almost a pride thing. I want them to be proud of me.”