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Why did Judge Linda Teodosio fire a model detention officer?

By Denise Grollmus

Published on April 30, 2008

Laura Asbury flips through a stack of photographs. Her long, manicured nails graze dozens of smiley faces, inspiring deep dimples in her own.

Each shows the 32-year-old juvenile detention officer embracing a different girl. In one, Asbury wraps her slender arms around the broad shoulders of a girl who looks like any other happy 17-year-old — aside from the prison-issued uniform. In another, Asbury gently cups the belly of Grace Stokes, who at the time was 17 years old, eight months pregnant, and incarcerated. "I love my girls," Asbury says.

For more than seven years, she didn't simply work at the Summit County Juvenile Detention Center, better known as Dan Street. She lived and breathed her job, and was dedicated to helping any girl who would accept it.

There was no such thing as 9-to-5 or sick days. Asbury was the girls' guardian 24/7, often answering their calls in the middle of the night and carting them to the hospital to deliver babies. She was the one who handed them GED applications, the one who threw them pizza parties when they collectively read 100 books. She ensured that many never returned to Dan Street and that the ones who did weren't forgotten when sent off to prison.

Their gratitude is expressed in a stack of letters. "Thank you for all the outings and appointments you took me to," writes one former inmate. "You have been someone I look up to . . . I look at you and think, 'Damn! That's how I want to be — strong, independent.' You will always be in my heart."

"[You] mean the world to me," writes another. "[You] gave me a reason not to give up."

They refer to her as "Miss A" — as in "Miss A would give you the world, if she could." But even as Asbury sifts through her mementos, her smile fades.

While the inmates appreciated Asbury's dedication, her bosses did not. Last year, Asbury was fired. Don Ursetti, spokesman for the Summit County Juvenile Court, claims she was let go because of her "noncompliance with court policy," though he refuses to translate this from bureaucrat-speak.

But her firing may have been motivated by another reason. Asbury had a habit of calling out anyone who didn't act in the kids' best interest.

A single mother who prefers shopping at Gabriel Brothers to Dillard's, Asbury has a girlish physique and straightened mane that make her appear much younger than her 32 years. But when she opens her mouth, she speaks with the cadence of a woman who knows exactly where to score weed among the empty row houses of East Akron. It's not so much what she says; it's how she says it — with a nonchalant, streetwise twang that leaves no room for flourish.

Asbury first entered Dan Street not as a twentysomething detention officer, but as a 13-year-old inmate.

She rattles off the things that led her to this place — the self-hate that comes from teenage fat, the relatives more dedicated to addiction than family. She often ran away, preferring to spend her time getting high at metal shows. "I was all about the Monsters of Rock and experimenting with drugs," she says. "I used to use my family's dysfunction as an excuse to act out. I'd highlight it when it was convenient."

The first time Asbury ended up at Dan Street, she was arrested for running away. It was a quick overnighter before Mom picked her up.

The second time wasn't so easy. Asbury was caught bringing a joint to school. In exchange for having the charges dropped, police wanted her to rat out the dealer. She found a better option in running away again.

When she was finally caught, she spent a week in detention. "I continued downhill from there," she says. "I stopped going to school in my sophomore year. I went the first two days, then just started skipping."

The woman next door gave her pot in exchange for baby-sitting. They'd spend afternoons getting drunk on Black Velvet.

She finally ran away to Virginia at 16, before returning to Summit County to serve her last stretch in detention. She was tired of getting in trouble — tired of causing her family so much trouble. She got a job as a waitress, enrolled at the University of Akron, and gave birth to her only son. Her lone goal was to land a job working at Dan Street. "I just knew exactly where those girls were coming from," she says. "And I knew I could help. I just knew it."

In 2000, she took a part-time job as a group counselor. One of her first girls was Grace Stokes, 14 at the time. The startlingly curvaceous beauty fought with her mother incessantly. She first ended up at Dan Street for threatening to kill her mother's dog.

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