August 21, 2025

Update

I’m trying to change the culture
Gerald Roundtree, the Prison Society’s Correctional Employee of the Year, admits he was reluctant to take on the assignment of leading Allegheny County Jail’s juvenile unit. As a professional with more than two decades of experience in corrections, kids were out of his comfort zone.
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I’m trying to change the culture

Gerald Roundtree, the Prison Society’s Correctional Employee of the Year, admits he was reluctant to take on the assignment of leading Allegheny County Jail’s juvenile unit. As a professional with more than two decades of experience in corrections, kids were out of his comfort zone.

“Working with kids, you have to adjust. Kids are more delicate, more sensitive,” Gerald said. “I didn’t have a mindset to do it.”

Hard to believe that now, when he talks about his job: “I’m loving this way more than I ever thought,” he said. “I’ve never been more motivated. It’s exciting for me to go to work.

“I’m trying to change the culture,” Gerald said.

What Gerald and the Prison Society have in common is absolute neutrality when it comes to the charges against the people in prison. “I don’t know what their cases are,” he said. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

He and the Prison Society also share an appreciation for the importance of supporting people in prison. “Sometimes the biggest thing a man or a child needs is support, and sometimes you can’t get that from family,” he said. 

Gerald strives to provide that same support — and it’s how he went about it that will be highlighted September 17 at the Prison Society’s annual Love Above Bars celebration at Philadelphia’s Triple Bottom Brewing. For him, it’s all about building relationships and treating people like human beings.

For the Prison Society, Gerald exemplifies the importance of dignity and respect as the foundations for relationships that help and heal, rather than hurt and harm.

“When I’m in my office, the [young people] juveniles want to come and sit and hang. They want to tell me about their day at school, their mothers,” Gerald said. “There is nothing in the world that says they have to talk to me. But they do.

“First, it’s Mr. Roundtree, to Mr. Round, to Mr. Tree,” he said. “When they get comfortable enough to talk to me, I’ve won.”

By celebrating Gerald’s personal impact on the juveniles at Pittsburgh’s Allegheny County Jail, the Prison Society hopes other professionals in the corrections system will follow his example, modeling what is possible for the entire system.

Maybe the first step is picking up a ping-pong paddle.

That’s because Gerald believes strongly in the power of ping-pong, popcorn, puzzles, and people. 

On the people side, he’s been focusing on changing the attitudes of the corrections officers he supervises. He understands that they, like him, have spent years working in a system where corrections officers tend to keep their distance from the incarcerated residents. 

But Gerald promotes a different approach. 

“Interact as much as you want but still be professional,” he said he tells the guards, urging them to pick up a ping-pong paddle, challenge someone to a game of chess, or microwave some popcorn for movie night.

“You’re not in the pod where you have to be a stern by-the-book kind of guy,” he said.

He remembers being excited when he glanced at a security camera and noticed one of the staunchest old-school guards playing ping-pong with the kids. Later he spotted the same guard hard at work collaborating on a 1,000-piece puzzle. A victory! 

“Before the COs [Corrections Officers] didn’t want to look at these kids, let alone talk to them, let alone do a puzzle. 

“I get them to interact, be social with the kids,” Gerald said. “You get more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.”

Gerald’s approach, he said, has its roots in two completely different experiences he had at State Correctional Institution – Chester.

His initial experience came when he was interviewing for his first job in corrections as a guard at SCI Chester in 2001. A supervisor asked him if he knew how to fight, because he’d probably need to put up his fists on the job. Gerald never actually needed to fight — always relying on a firm, but honest demeanor in dealing with the people he met.

Years went by as Gerald moved around the state, advancing through the ranks in Pennsylvania’s prison system. 

In 2017, he returned to SCI Chester in a more senior role. 

Some Chester officials had traveled to Norway to observe a completely different prison philosophy based more on rehabilitation and less on punishment. Upon return, they established Little Scandinavia, a cell block based on the same model. 

“Chester had done a 360-degree change,” Gerald said. 

“They gave all the inmates keys to their cells. Their doors were unlocked all day long. They had fish tanks on the pod. They had TVs everywhere. It didn’t look like a jail. They had a kitchen with a real stove and a washer/dryer on the pod. They transformed how the whole place looked. I was amazed. I was skeptical,” he said.

But it was working. “That block had the least amount of fights and the least amount of arguments,” he said.

Gerald picked up on a key point in Little Scandinavia: Unlike most prisons, where officers keep their distance from the incarcerated people, the Little Scandinavia guards fostered relationships.

“You can sit with the inmates,” he said. “You can comfortably bring in food and have a meal with them. That block is so mild-mannered, that you can sit with them and relax.”

Gerald retired from SCI Chester in 2021, got bored, and returned to corrections work in a supervisory role at Allegheny County Jail in 2023. In March, he became unit manager of the jail’s juvenile unit and began to put into practice what he had learned in Little Scandinavia. 

“When I talk to young people, I treat everyone specifically. They are not going to get conveyor belt treatment. I take the time to care. I’m going to give you what you need. I’m here to make your day go fine.

“Before I got there, the kids didn’t have nothing,” Gerald said. “They didn’t have an Xbox.

“No one was giving them anything. No one was looking out for them,” he said. “When you come through for them, they appreciate it.”