Every spring, something quiet but powerful happens inside America's prisons and jails. Wardens hang banners. Sergeants bring in trays of barbecue. Families show up for tours. Bagpipes play in courtyards. It's National Correctional Officers and Employees Week — and for thousands of staff who run the country's correctional facilities, it's the one stretch of the calendar when the rest of the nation actually says thank you.
If you're a CO, a family member, or a citizen who wants to understand what this observance means and how to honor it, this guide walks you through the history, the traditions, and the small things you can do that matter more than you'd think. The week falls during the first full week of May each year.
It's been that way since 1984, when President Ronald Reagan signed Proclamation 5187 and put the date on the federal calendar for good. The choice wasn't accidental — May is also when the law enforcement community pauses for Police Week, and Reagan wanted corrections folded into that broader conversation about public safety.
What started as a presidential nod has since grown into ceremonies at every level: federal, state, county, and private. You'll find it observed at supermax penitentiaries and small county lockups alike. The observance pulls together three things that don't usually live in the same room: appreciation for living staff, memorial for the fallen, and public education about a profession most people never see up close. That combination is rare.
Police get parades. Firefighters get calendar pinups. COs got a paragraph in the Federal Register and a week in May — and they've built it into something real over four decades.
So how did we get here? The story starts in the late 1970s. Corrections had long been the forgotten branch of public safety — cops got parades, firefighters got calendars, and COs got, well, not much. A grassroots push from professional associations, union leaders, and a handful of governors built enough momentum that the White House took notice.
Reagan, who had a soft spot for law enforcement after his California years, signed the proclamation on May 5, 1984. The text recognized correctional personnel as a cornerstone of the criminal justice system and called on Americans to observe the week with appropriate ceremonies. The proclamation isn't just symbolic.
It changed how facilities budgeted for staff appreciation, how unions negotiated commemorative leave, and how the public talked about the people who work behind the walls. Before 1984, most COs would tell you their job was invisible. After? It became a profession with a national week, a memorial wall, and — slowly — a louder voice in policy debates. The federal Bureau of Prisons started issuing official commemorative materials.
State DOCs followed. By the early 2000s, even private operators like CoreCivic and GEO Group were running their own weeklong programs. The observance also serves a second purpose, one that gets heavier as the years go on.
It's a time to remember officers who died in the line of duty — homicides, hostage incidents, vehicle pursuits, exposure to disease, and the slow toll of a job that can hollow people out. That memorial function has only grown since the early 1990s. Worth noting: the original 1984 proclamation only named correctional officers.
It took until 1996 for a follow-up resolution to expand the observance to include all correctional employees — nurses, mental health counselors, teachers, food service workers, chaplains, administrative staff, maintenance crews. Anyone who keeps a facility running. That change reflected a quiet truth inside corrections: officers don't run prisons alone, and the people in scrubs and civvies who walk the same halls deserve the same recognition.
Reagan's 1984 proclamation declared the first full week of May as National Correctional Officers Week and called on all Americans to observe it with appropriate ceremonies and activities. In 1996, the observance was officially expanded to include all corrections employees — not just uniformed officers — recognizing nurses, counselors, teachers, maintenance staff, and administrative personnel who keep facilities running. The proclamation has been re-issued or affirmed by every administration since, regardless of party, making it one of the most consistently observed federal recognitions in American public safety.
Walk into a state prison during the first week of May and you'll notice things are a little different. The chow hall might be decorated. There's usually food — real food, not commissary food — provided by the warden's office or local restaurants who've adopted the facility. Awards get handed out. Officers of the Year. Lifesaver awards for staff who pulled off a successful resuscitation. Length-of-service pins.
Some facilities hand out challenge coins; others give framed certificates. A few really lean in and bring in spouses and kids for an open-house tour, which sounds simple but is genuinely meaningful when your job is normally a locked-door mystery to your family.
Common traditions you'll see across the country include staff appreciation breakfasts (almost always before first count), barbecues on the back lawn during shift change, blood drives, K-9 demonstrations, retiree reunions, and chapel services for officers who passed during the year. Some agencies — Texas, Florida, California, the BOP — go big. They host statewide ceremonies at the capitol with the governor showing up.
Smaller county jails might just put up a banner and order pizza. Both versions count. What matters is that the people doing the work get acknowledged, even briefly, for what they actually do — which is run a 24-hour operation full of unpredictable humans under constant scrutiny, often understaffed, almost always underpaid. A few wardens have built reputations on doing CO Week well. They walk every post personally.
They write notes by hand. They show up to the night shift roll call at 2 a.m. with coffee and donuts. Officers remember those wardens for the rest of their careers. The ones who hand off the week to HR and disappear? Officers remember those too — for the opposite reason.
The Bureau of Prisons issues annual commemorative materials, holds ceremonies at every one of its 122 institutions, and the Director sends a personal message to all 35,000+ staff. Many wardens host appreciation lunches and unit-level awards during the week. Federal correctional complexes like USP Atlanta and FCI Terminal Island typically organize family-friendly open days with photographs at facility entrance signs, retiree breakfasts, and chapel services. The BOP also publishes annual Director's Awards recognizing exceptional service across multiple categories including lifesaving, mentorship, and community engagement.
Every state corrections agency runs its own program. Texas TDCJ holds a memorial at Huntsville. California CDCR does the same at its training academy. Florida DOC hosts a ceremony at the FDC headquarters in Tallahassee with families of fallen officers. New York DOCCS coordinates with the governor's office for a statewide proclamation, while Michigan and Ohio host commemorative parades. State unions often partner with DOC leadership to fund cookouts, gift bags, and family events. Many states fly flags at half-mast on the official memorial day within the week.
Sheriffs handle their own observances. You'll see banners on jail facades, free meals from local diners, and proclamations read at county commission meetings. Many sheriffs personally walk every shift to shake hands with their deputies. In rural counties with small staffs, the recognition can be intimate — handwritten letters from inmates, home-cooked meals from the sheriff's family, surprise visits from local clergy or school groups bringing thank-you posters. These small-town traditions often mean more than the corporate-scale ceremonies at larger facilities.
CoreCivic, GEO Group, and Management & Training Corporation each run nationwide programs. They typically include corporate awards, family events, scholarship announcements for officers' kids, and partnerships with local restaurants. CoreCivic operates a Warden's Excellence program tied to the week, and GEO Group hosts an annual employee recognition gala. MTC, which runs federal contract facilities, distributes branded gift sets and runs facility-level barbecues. Private operators also commonly announce annual safety milestones — days without a serious incident — during the week.
Now the harder part. Correctional Officers Week isn't just cake and certificates. It's also the time we remember officers who didn't make it home. The Correctional Peace Officers Foundation maintains the official Fallen Heroes memorial — a granite wall in Sacramento, California, with hundreds of names engraved on it. Each year, new names are added. Sometimes one or two. Sometimes more.
The names get read aloud at the annual memorial ceremony, usually held at the Foundation's headquarters during the first week of May. Families travel from all over the country. There's a procession, a wreath laying, bagpipes, and a moment of silence. It's heavy. It's also necessary.
The list includes officers killed in inmate assaults, officers who died in hostage incidents, officers killed in transport vehicle accidents, officers who contracted infectious diseases on the job — hepatitis, HIV, COVID-19 — and officers lost to job-related suicide.
That last category has only recently been recognized formally, after years of advocacy from family members and mental health professionals who pointed out that the cumulative trauma of corrections work doesn't get logged on an incident report but still ends careers and lives. Several historic incidents weigh heavy on the memorial. The 1971 Attica uprising claimed the lives of 10 correctional officers and civilian staff held hostage.
The 1973 Holmesburg Prison stabbing of Warden Patrick Curran. The 1987 Atlanta riots. The 2000 murder of Officer Jose Rivera at USP Atwater. Each name on the wall has a story like that — a shift that ended differently than expected, a family that got a phone call no one wants to get. The COVID years added their own grim chapter.
Between 2020 and 2022, dozens of correctional officers across the country died after contracting the virus on duty. Their names are still being added. Their families still show up to the May ceremonies, sometimes wearing photographs around their necks because the engraving hasn't finished yet. If you ever doubt whether this week matters, sit through one memorial service. You won't doubt it again.
Held annually on May 15, established by President Kennedy in 1962. It honors all law enforcement officers killed in the line of duty, including correctional officers. Many agencies combine their CO Week ceremonies with Police Memorial Week observances since the dates overlap directly. The day features blue ribbon campaigns, half-mast flags at law enforcement facilities nationwide, and a national moment of silence at noon Eastern.
The week containing May 15, designated by Congress in 1962. Tens of thousands gather in Washington DC for the Candlelight Vigil at the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial. Correctional officers killed on duty are honored alongside police, sheriffs, and federal agents. The week includes a Peace Officers Memorial Service on the U.S. Capitol grounds, motorcycle rides, and a Survivors Conference run by Concerns of Police Survivors (C.O.P.S.) for grieving families.
Observed on the first Friday of May in many states, especially Maryland. It originated in 1984 as a Maryland-specific observance but has spread to honor all public safety personnel — fire, EMS, police, and corrections — who died serving their communities. Maryland's annual ceremony at Dulaney Valley Memorial Gardens in Timonium draws thousands and includes a riderless horse, helicopter flyover, and full color guard procession.
Held in mid-July, this separate observance honors community corrections officers who supervise offenders outside facility walls. Different timing, related profession — many COs cross-train into parole work and vice versa. The American Probation and Parole Association coordinates national activities, and many state agencies host joint events with their institutional counterparts during this companion week.
Here's where you come in. If you're not in corrections and you want to do something during this week, the bar is low and the impact is real. COs are used to being ignored. They're not used to being thanked. Even small gestures land hard. Start with the basics: if you know a CO personally — a neighbor, a cousin, the parent of your kid's classmate — just say something.
A text. A card. A handshake. You don't need a speech. The simple acknowledgment that you know what they do is more than most of them get in a calendar year. If you don't know one personally, your local sheriff's office or state DOC will accept thank-you cards and drop-off donations. Most facilities collect them for distribution to staff. Some pointers, though. Don't show up unannounced — call first.
Don't bring food without checking dietary restrictions and security rules. Don't expect a tour — that's not how it works. And don't film anything without explicit permission. If you'd rather give time or money, the Corrections Foundation, the American Correctional Association's scholarship fund, and the Correctional Peace Officers Foundation all accept donations.
These groups fund scholarships for officers' kids, emergency assistance for families of fallen officers, and mental health support for staff. Your tax-deductible $25 actually goes somewhere useful.
If you're shopping for a CO in your life — partner, parent, sibling, friend — here's the honest truth about gifts. Most COs don't want corrections-themed mugs. They want stuff that helps them recover from work. Good coffee. A massage gift certificate. Nice headphones for the drive home. A weighted blanket because they probably don't sleep well. Practical wins over symbolic almost every time.
That said, there are a few thoughtful items that consistently land well. Quality boots — corrections-rated, with good arch support. Tactical pens that double as everyday writing tools. A challenge coin from their academy class. A framed photo from their graduation day. Sturdy lunch bags that survive shift work. Compression socks for those 16-hour shifts.
And for the family, restaurant gift cards mean a lot — COs miss a lot of dinners, and an easy night out matters. Cards are underrated. A handwritten note from a kid in your family, a thank-you from a neighbor, a card from your church or community group — these get pinned up on lockers and looked at on bad days. Don't underestimate them.
One more thing worth saying out loud: ask before you give. Some COs are deeply private about their work and don't want it celebrated publicly. Others love when their family makes a fuss. Read the room. The best gift is the one that matches the person, not the one that matches the badge.
Behind every CO Week observance you'll find a handful of professional groups doing the heavy lifting. Worth knowing them — both because they organize the events and because they're worth supporting. The American Correctional Association (ACA) is the granddaddy. Founded in 1870, the ACA accredits facilities, publishes the standards that govern corrections nationwide, and runs the largest training and certification programs in the field.
They host two major conferences each year, and their CO Week materials get distributed to thousands of facilities. The Association of Paroling Authorities International, the American Probation and Parole Association, and dozens of state-level chapters all coordinate with ACA. The Correctional Peace Officers Foundation (CPOF) is the one most COs know personally.
Founded by officers, run by officers, the CPOF maintains the Fallen Heroes memorial, provides emergency financial assistance to families of officers killed in the line of duty, and runs Project 2,000 — a program that supports the survivors of fallen officers long-term. They're the ones who make CO Week feel personal. APCTO, the American Probation Correctional and Treatment Officers association, and the Corrections Foundation handle scholarships and training grants.
State unions like AFSCME Council 31, the California Correctional Peace Officers Association, and TSEU (Texas State Employees Union) also run their own appreciation events and political advocacy during the week.
One week isn't enough. Every CO will tell you that. The job is hard 52 weeks a year, and a barbecue in May doesn't change shift differentials, mandatory overtime, or the slow grind of working in a violent and chaotic environment. But the week matters anyway. It matters because it's the one time the broader public is invited to acknowledge what these workers do.
It matters because rookie officers see veteran officers being honored and understand they've joined a tradition that goes back generations. It matters because families of fallen officers get to stand in a public space and hear their loved one's name spoken aloud. And it matters because policy follows attention.
Corrections funding, mental health programs for officers, retention bonuses, hazard pay — all of these have improved over the past 40 years partly because the public got slightly more aware of who runs the country's prisons. If you take one thing from this guide, take this: corrections is essential public safety work, and the people doing it deserve more than a week. But the week is a start. Use it.
Send a card. Make a donation. Thank a CO you know. Show up to a ceremony. Then keep doing those things in June, July, and the rest of the year — because that's when it actually counts. The officers who walk those tiers every day don't need much. A little recognition every now and then. A fair wage. A safe post.
And the occasional reminder that someone outside the wire still sees them.
Whether you're a CO reading this on your break, a family member trying to make the week mean something for someone you love, or just a citizen curious about a profession most people never think about — you now know the basics. The first week of May. Reagan signed it in 1984.
It honors current staff, remembers fallen officers, and reminds the public that there's a whole branch of law enforcement working behind walls most of us will never see. Mark your calendar. Pick one thing to do. And if you're considering a career in corrections yourself — or studying for the entrance exam right now — keep going.
The field needs people who care enough to do the work the right way. The badge you'll earn means something, and so does the week we set aside to honor it.