Cons enjoy pros of license plate plant

In an aging prison building where men are identified by a number, inmates doing hard time spend their days stamping numbers onto shiny metal plates that will adorn the most humble to the priciest wheels on Massachusetts’ roadways.

Earning up to a buck an hour - good jailhouse wages - four dozen inmates at MCI-Cedar Junction, a maximum-security facility, punch out every license plate issued in Massachusetts, whether a random array of numbers and letters or a vanity plate.

‘‘It’s the best job in the complex,’’ says Dennis Groleau, supervisor of the operation that cranks out 2.8 million license plates a year and a sought-after prison job.

It takes three inmates about 15-20 seconds to stamp out a license plate.

Each plate costs about 85 cents in raw material, Groleau said; about the same as the hourly pay of the inmates who man the stamping machine.

It’s a workshop without much flash.

The faded, one-story, 5,000-square-foot building that houses the stamping machinery was built with the rest of the prison in the early 1950s. Today, it resembles an aging steel factory - its unbarred windows are opaque smoked glass - and it is surrounded by a 12-foot chain-link metal fence topped with three-foot silver loops of razor wire.

At the end of the day workers go ‘‘home’’ to a cell.

The maximum-security facility opened its doors to the media last week for a walking tour that included a trip to the license plate factory.

The purpose of the license plate production program is to create inmate employment that ‘‘mirrors that found in comparable outside industry,’’ according to a packet provided by prison officials.

Once they’re released from prison, ex-convicts obviously won’t be making license plates in the real world, said Diane Wiffin, spokeswoman for the Department of Correction. However, they learn essential work skills inside the walls, such as responsibility and being a ‘‘team player,’’ she said.

They punch in at the beginning of the work day and punch out at the end, Wiffin said. In the process, they learn responsibility and the importance of being on time, she said.

The inmate workers were on lunch break during the media tour and unavailable for interview. Meanwhile, the corrections officer supervisors were boxing license plates to be shipped to the Registry of Motor Vehicles in one corner of the basketball court-sized room.

Groleau and another man gave a short demonstration on the making of a Massachusetts license plate.

Three inmates are required per machine, Groleau said. Each machine appears to weigh about a ton; each is taller than an average man.

The operation is simple. One man slides the metal sheets into the machine; another changes the numbers and letters that will be pressed into the metal, removing and replacing playing card-sized tabs on a surface that resembles a miniature old-fashioned printing press. The second prisoner then presses a button and the top part of the machine drops a foot onto the plate, stays briefly, and lifts to reveal a stamped plate.

The third inmate makes sure the unpainted plates come out correctly after they slide down a metal chute.

A plate can’t be stamped upside down, obviously, and the numbers must correspond with the month the plate is to be issued, Groleau noted.

The last number of each plate corresponds with the month of issuance, he explained. Next time you’re on the highway, look for it, he said. If it’s a 3, it’s a March plate; if it’s a 4, it’s an April plate, and so on.

These unpainted plates are then moved over to the painting station where a 3M brand crank machine applies paint from what looks like a roll of tape. The plate moves along a conveyor and the paint tape is pressed onto the surface, where it attaches itself.

The 2.8 million plates the factory produces each year have a variety of designs. There are 210 available versions, Groleau said.

On a table next to the plate-stamping machine, hundreds were stacked. Below the number-letter combinations on some of the plates were painted slogans like ‘‘Invest in youth hockey,’’ ‘‘Preserve the trout,’’ and ‘‘Disabled veteran.’’

If he catches an inmate making mistakes he’ll tell him to be more careful. The second time, he is replaced, Groleau said.

There are many inmates in line to replace an errant worker; in fact, there’s a waiting list, according to prison officials.

There are two reasons for the job’s popularity.

First, it’s high-paying compared to other prison jobs, Groleau said. A worker starts at 50 cents an hour, and can move up to $1 an hour.

Secondly, the job offers a taste of freedom in that prisoners get outside the main facility to work in the factory. Other prison work takes place inside the central building.

Jeb Bobseine can be reached at jeb@walpoletimes.com or 508-668-0243, ext. 13.