Where authority meets empathy: A look inside the Midland County Jail

When Captain Amy Randall steps through the doors of the Midland County Jail each morning, her focus is clear: ensure safety, support her team, and maintain dignity within the walls of one of Midland County’s most complex institutions.

 In October 2025, Randall made history as the first woman to serve as the jail’s captain, leading a staff of more than 40 employees responsible for the care and custody of nearly 190 inmates in a 274-bed facility.

Randall did not originally set out to work in corrections. “I don’t think that initially that was ever my intention,” she says. With a father that worked in law enforcement, the field was familiar, but it wasn’t until she began working inside the jail that she understood the profound human connections present in the job.

 “What kept me here wasn’t the badge, it was the people,” she explains. The role, she says, is misunderstood by many. “People think we just babysit inmates. But we’re mentors, counselors, nurses, and sometimes the only listener someone has.”

The Midland County Jail operates using a “podular” design, with separate sections for female inmates, work-release participants, and maximum-security detainees. The facility serves both individuals who have been sentenced and those awaiting trial; many of whom remain in custody because they cannot afford bond or are held on no bond due to the seriousness of their charges. Families can provide financial support to inmates through the Canteen Kiosk or online, enabling access to phone calls, hygiene products, and commissary items.

Randall’s daily routine reflects the complex nature of managing the jail. Her day begins with a check-in with the shift sergeant to review any incidents, staffing concerns, or needs from the night before. She then reviews emails and prioritizes requests from staff, inmates, and outside agencies. 

Weekly walkthroughs with her lieutenant help assess staff morale, inmate well-being, and operational needs. Ordering supplies, reviewing policies, and evaluating jail procedures are also part of her responsibilities. “It’s about keeping the ship going,” she says.

For corrections officers, the work is demanding and unpredictable. Intake officers process new arrests, ask medical and mental health screening questions, and coordinate arraignments with the courts. Many individuals entering the jail struggle with substance use disorders or severe mental health conditions. Others are in crisis, requiring immediate medical attention or intervention from mental health staff.

After classification, inmates are assigned to their appropriate housing units, where officers focus on safety, security, daily checks, mealtimes, court transports, education programs, and access to tablets for communication and legal work.

The most meaningful moments in the job, Randall shares, come from seeing genuine change in someone’s life. In her office, a sobriety tag hangs on the wall, a recovery coin handed to her by a former inmate. “He told me, ‘You helped save my life,’” she says. “Those moments, even if they’re rare, mean everything.” These connections have shaped her philosophy of leadership.

Challenges remain significant. “Staffing is the biggest issue,” she states. “A lot of people don’t want to do this job. People think it’s just watching inmates, but it’s so much more.” She also spoke about the strain of watching individuals with untreated mental illness cycle through the system. “It breaks my heart. Sometimes jail isn’t the best place for them, but it’s where they end up because of safety concerns and lack of resources.”

Balancing empathy with authority is central to her leadership. “You have to be kind but firm. Most people just want to be heard. If you stay professional, listen, and treat them like humans, you can still enforce the rules. It’s not about being soft, it’s about being fair.”

Midland County Sheriff Scott Holzinger shares a similar philosophy. Since taking office, he has made it a priority to become more involved in jail operations. “A county jail is different from a prison,” shares Holzinger. “A lot of people in here haven’t been convicted. They’re waiting for due process.” 

Holzinger announced plans to open a recovery-based housing pod by the end of the year. The pod will bring together inmates committed to sobriety and recovery, and connect them with local mentors, life skills programming, and peer support. “It won’t work for everyone,” Holzinger admits. “But if one person says, ‘I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired,’ and we give them a reason to believe life can be different; that’s worth it.”

The sheriff frequently visits inmate housing areas to observe operations and speak directly with inmates and staff. “There are people who need to be in jail because they are a risk to society. But while they’re here, they’re still people. If we can help even one person walk out and not come back, that matters.”

Currently, the jail houses 188 inmates. Staffing includes approximately 30 line officers, transport officers, support staff in scheduling and billing, and specialized positions in classification and property. With multiple shifts operating around the clock, consistent staffing remains a constant challenge.

Randall hopes the public will better understand the role corrections officers play, not just in maintaining safety, but in contributing to community stability and rehabilitation. “We don’t just lock people up and throw away the key,” she says. “We’re here to help them, to connect them with services, and to give them a chance to go back into the community in a better place.”

Her leadership reflects a broader shift in modern corrections, one that recognizes accountability and compassion can exist side by side. Inside the walls of the Midland County Jail, policies and procedures matter. But what also matters, in Randall’s view, are the small conversations, the mentorship, and the belief that people can change when someone chooses to believe in them.