Sheriff Gordon Ramsay

Editor’s Note: This is the third and final installment in our series on the St. Louis County jails.

REGIONAL- As the St. Louis County Jail has increasingly become the county’s default mental health service provider, correctional staff have found themselves on the front lines of a behavioral health crisis, operating in a system not designed for the roles they’re now being asked to play.
This third installment in our series on the county jails explores how the sheriff’s office is responding, not just by managing inmates in crisis, but by caring for its staff, leaning on community partnerships, and preparing for sweeping policy changes that could alter the jail’s operations for years to come.
Staff support
At a facility where staff are increasingly called to manage crises far beyond the duties of traditional corrections, the well-being of employees has become a major priority.
All sheriff’s office employees, including corrections personnel, are now required to complete a yearly wellness check through Northland Psychological Services, a Hermantown-based provider specializing in first responder care.
“We do offer additional visits for free for the employee if they choose to continue,” said Jail Administrator Jessica Pete. “They also provide crisis response, debriefings and such for critical incidents for all divisions.”
The wellness initiative includes resiliency training to help staff manage the stress and trauma that can accumulate from working in a facility now described by Sheriff Gordon Ramsay as “one of the largest mental health providers in the county.” More in-depth support is also available to employees who need it.
“With more resources for staff that have a higher need for some additional supports we can do more for them,” Pete said.
The jail is also building up its internal peer support network, giving employees one-on-one access to coworkers trained to help them navigate emotional strain.
“Our staff can go one to one with somebody with lived experience who works within the sheriff’s office,” Pete said.
These supports don’t come without cost.
“That is coming directly out of our budget,” said Division Commander Jon Skelton. “So, when we do stuff like that, it’s taking away from somewhere else. But we feel it’s just an important avenue that we need to cover.”
That investment appears to be paying off.
“We have cut (staff turnover) down to about 15 percent, 20 percent maybe, if that,” Pete said. “In pre- COVID times, it was about a 60 percent turnover rate, especially with new staff.”
Pete credits aggressive hiring efforts, added benefits including the support systems, and culture change across the department.
Pete said the department has made a concerted effort to improve morale and leadership so that staff feel supported and want to stay.
Ramsay has pushed to break down silos between divisions and create a unified workplace culture. “The best teams provide the best service,” he said. “The longer I’ve been in leadership, the more I realize that team building is crucial.”
Skelton sees a visible shift, saying that the changes have helped unify the department with a shared sense of direction that staff have found motivating.
Community supports
The jail doesn’t operate in a vacuum, nor could it, given the number of inmates with complex mental health and substance use challenges. A growing network of community partners is stepping in to help meet those needs, both behind bars and after release.
Pete said the shift from an integrated approach utilizing outside resources has made a meaningful difference.
“Corrections used to be so siloed from public health, from all these other things, and we’ve actually blended it,” she said. “So, I have embedded people here from probation. I have social workers who are regularly up here now. I have treatment providers that are coming in to do programming, volunteers from the schools coming in to give education, public defenders we partner with on a lot of initiatives.”
The jail also contracts with CHUM, a Duluth-based faith organization, to provide religious programming for inmates who want to participate. Through that agreement, a chaplain is on-site 24 hours a week to coordinate services for all denominations. Volunteers from the community supplement the chaplaincy, helping to provide services throughout the week.
A key partner helping inmates transition out of jail and back into society is Recovery Alliance Duluth (RAD).
RAD is helping inmates take a first step toward sobriety – and a second chance. The group pairs those struggling with addiction with peer recovery specialists, people who’ve walked the same road and now offer guidance, support, and a plan for what comes next. The program also helps bridge the gap from jail to community, working with public health and other partners to make sure people leaving custody aren’t left to figure it out alone.
It doesn’t stop at planning. Thanks to a partnership with the Steve Rummler HOPE Network, inmates leaving the jail can get Naloxone kits – an effort to reduce the risk of overdose in the critical days after release. RAD also supports medication-assisted treatment through St. Luke’s and helps lead broader community efforts to reduce stigma and strengthen support for recovery.
Pete noted how this supported re-entry transition is essential, especially when inmates leave with few supports in place.
“RAD helps me with that warm handoff for those with opioid disorders and getting them the peer support they need when they get out of here,” she said.
But RAD is just one part of a broader effort. St. Luke’s Hospital assists with securing placements for the jail’s highest-risk individuals, Pete said. Range Mental Health provides evaluation and treatment services, while the county works with the Northeast Regional Corrections Center to move eligible inmates into lower-security work farm programs with expanded services. CJ’s House, a boarding facility in Virginia, is one of several options the jail taps for transitional housing.
The long list of partners speaks to the scope of the need—and to the jail’s evolving role in a system not built to catch people falling through the cracks. Despite all the collaboration, Pete said the most basic barrier remains: a shortage of places that can actually take people in.
“We’ve got all that help out there,” she said. “We got people who want to be a part of the solution. We don’t have a place for these people to go.”
Reform vs. reality
As Minnesota considers sweeping changes to how jails operate, particularly around mental health issues, Ramsay, Pete, and Skelton are all watching closely, preparing for the impact of rules that could reshape their day-to-day operations.
At the heart of the conversation is a proposed rewrite of Minnesota Rule 2911, the regulatory framework that sets minimum standards for county jails. The draft revision, still under state review, calls for more frequent wellness checks (as often as every 15 minutes), expanded mental health assessments, stronger reentry planning, and restrictions on placing mentally ill inmates in segregation.
While many of these proposed reforms align with best practices, Pete said they go well beyond what counties were led to expect. She said the Legislature called for the Department of Corrections to develop minimum standards across 17 categories, but instead of writing baseline rules, DOC proposed “gold standards” that go far beyond what counties were expecting.
Implementing those standards, she said, would pose serious logistical and financial challenges. “What they’re looking at is one, more frequent checks to be moved all to 15 minutes, which puts more burden on staff to be moving and watching people,” she said. “Even five minutes can be a big deal.”
Some proposals would also limit the jail’s ability to make security-based housing decisions for certain classifications of inmates.
“They’re saying ‘you need to put them in general population.’ And I’m like… even if it violates security?” Pete said. “There’s all these different things that they’re asking of us.”
The greatest frustration, she said, is being asked to meet high standards with no corresponding funding or infrastructure.
“It’s what you’d want to have happen if you could have the ideal,” Pete said. “But… you’re not going to give me any funds to do it, yet you’re going to hold me to a standard that I don’t have the people or the facility to be able to accommodate.”
Skelton said the potential impact on the county’s smaller jails in Hibbing and Virginia is especially concerning. Staffing at those sites is minimal, and there’s no onsite medical care.
“Some of the DOC regulations and rules that are changing will really affect the Range facilities,” he said.
Still, Pete said, the jail is working to interpret the draft rules and prepare for what’s ahead.
“We have a really, really good relationship with the DOC and our inspector and how we interact and ask questions and problem solve and how we can make our facility fit the rules,” she said.
It’s all part of the bigger picture of adapting to the demands of an inmate population where one out of three have identified mental health concerns, and while adaptation is necessary, Ramsay believes that shifting responsibilities to jails for mental health issues detracts from the real issue of addressing the underlying issues in the community before so many of these people end up in the the justice system.
Ramsay said the jail will continue to do what it must to keep people safe, but lasting change won’t come from within its walls. Real progress, he said, depends on rebuilding the community supports that once stood between people in crisis and a jail cell. Until mental health is treated where it belongs – in clinics, homes, and neighborhoods – jails like his will keep struggling to fill a role they were never meant to play.