EX-INMATES STRUGGLE TO ADJUST TO REAL WORLD

Kathleen Moore is a forger, shoplifter and longtime heroin addict.

She is also the proud mother of an honor roll student and a relative rarity
in Arizona: An ex-convict who seems to have a real chance of turning her
troubled life around.

"I was given another chance for a reason, and I'm going to take advantage
of it," says Moore, 40, who was released from Arizona State Prison at
Perryville last month after serving more than four years for forging stolen
checks.

Moore is one of an estimated 10,000 felons released to the streets of
Maricopa County in the past year. Most, like Moore, vow never to return to
prison.

But the odds are against them.

Statistics compiled by the Arizona Department of Corrections show that
one-fourth of all released inmates will be back in prison within a year.
Nearly half will return within six years. And those numbers are
conservative. They include only convicts who return to state prison in
Arizona, not those who wind up in county jails, imprisoned in other states
or locked up in federal prisons.

While no one has a magic formula to help prisoners re-enter communities
successfully, experts agree that a vital step is getting a good-paying job.
That can be difficult for ex-convicts who often are poorly educated,
receive little or no training in prison and may be released during tough
economic times.

Looking for Work

Only four of 12 inmates The Arizona Republic has been tracking managed to
find work within a month of release. Of the eight still looking, only two
completed high school.

"It's shocking how little we know about this process of prisoner re-
entry," says Joan Petersilia, a professor of criminology, law and society
at the University of California-Irvine and a nationally recognized expert
on prisoner reintegration.

"For most of the 1960s, '70s and '80s the whole focus of debate was on who
should go to prison and how long they should stay," she says. "Nobody had
any kind of discussion about what awaits communities that have to absorb an
unprepared and sometimes dangerous population of former inmates."

For years, the prevailing public perception has been that prison is the end
of the judicial process. Prisoners are locked away and forgotten. Hardly
anyone, including national and state policymakers, acknowledged that 99
percent of all prisoners are released back into the community and many come
out as dangerous and desperate as when they went in.

The consequences of failing to adequately prepare criminals for
reintegration to society were highlighted this month when a felon, just
released from custody, went on a violent crime rampage in Mesa.

Police said 21-year-old Jesus Hector Bustamonte stabbed two people and ran
over a third while trying to steal three vehicles. Officers traced
Bustamonte from the paperwork he left behind in one of the cars showing he
had just been freed from a Maricopa County jail.

Arizona corrections officials say a little more than 1,000 prisoners are
released each month, the overwhelming majority to the streets of Maricopa
County.

The Corrections Department estimates 85 percent of the 13,649 prisoners
released in 2001 had a history of substance abuse. Forty-three percent
committed crimes against people. An additional 34 percent went to prison
for violating decency or public order laws.

These convicts are coming back to the communities troubled, poorly prepared
and prone to violence.

"The first couple days were really awkward," says Nicholas D. Miller, 23,
of Scottsdale, who served 18 months for attempted burglary and was released
April 16 from the Arizona Prison Complex-Lewis.

"Prison didn't really do much for me. It was just kinda like a camp. You
don't really have a chance to better yourself."

State budget cutbacks, a downturn in the economy and changes in federal
policy that prohibit inmates from getting grants to continue their
education while in custody have severely affected rehabilitation programs
in Arizona prisons. That, in turn, experts say, stacks the odds against
released inmates and threatens the safety of the community.

Pulling The Safety Net

"We kind of pulled the safety net," says Petersilia, who is writing a book
on prisoner re-entry. "We've been sending more and more people to prison
and providing fewer and fewer programs.

"At the same time, almost behind the scenes, we imposed restrictions on
where they can work, where they can live. We have denied welfare benefits
and educational possibilities," Petersilia says.

"We have created a situation where they do, in fact, represent a risk to
the community."

Arizona is typical of the national trend. Until recent budget cutbacks, the
state could point to a well-funded substance abuse program for felons, both
in prison and after.

"A year ago, we had been making progress, but when substance abuse dollars
went away, that really caused a kink in our system," says Terry Stewart,
director of the Arizona Department of Corrections.

Moore was one inmate who benefited from the substance abuse programs before
they were cut back. She completed a nine-month program while in prison and
says she has been drug-free for nearly four years, the longest period since
she was 17.

"It's great to be thinking with a clear head," Moore says. "The best thing
about my time was the treatment program. I needed help and I was too
independent or prideful to ask for it when I was out. In prison, I asked
for help and got it."

Nearly as crucial to personal and communal success, though, is the notion
of hope - the sense among released prisoners that they have a chance to do
what many of them say they crave most: to get their lives back on track and
stay out of prison for good.

Hope comes in many forms, but one of the most important is a job.

Rick Sanders, 41, was trained as a welder before he went to prison for a
third time in August 1998. He landed a job making $8 an hour at an
automotive repair shop within a week of his release last month.

Employer is a help

"The place that hired me works with the Department of Corrections," Sanders
says. "They get a tax break for hiring felons and they know the drill. They
know I gotta take off every now and then to meet my parole officer and go
to counseling. They're cool about it."

For Sanders, the brightest sign of hope is a battered '91 Dodge Caravan.

The day he was released from prison, Sanders had to walk 20 blocks in
90-degree heat from his parole officer's office to his mother's house in
Phoenix. He left all his personal belongings from prison, including a tiny
portable television, in a cardboard box on his parole officer's desk and
had to beg a ride from a friend later to retrieve it.

"I got my license back and bought this van from my brother for a thousand
bucks," Sanders says. "It started heating up . . . right away so I wired
the fan so when the key's on, the fan is always going.

"It gets me to work, and that's all that matters."

Moore also found work. She's making $10 an hour marketing pre-paid legal
services to the public.

Old life is over

"It's a start," she says. "I was a bartender for the most part before, but
I'm going to get my life going this time. I've closed that chapter of my life."

Moore admits she was surprised how much the world changed during the four
years she was in prison. She came out not knowing how to send an e-mail,
use a cellphone or find her way around the new Valley freeways.

But she had the support of her mother, her son and a daughter who welcomed
her home by making the honor roll at school.

"It's been cool," she says of life back with her family.

Family support has been important, too, for Michael Olguin, a former gang
member released from the Arizona State Prison Complex-Lewis near Buckeye in
April after serving 21 months on a drug conviction. That was his fourth
prison sentence since 1986.

"We're doing our damnedest to help him," says Michael's father, Ray, who
worked construction like three of his sons before falling from a roof a few
years ago and being forced to retire. "I've got five boys, and sometimes I
felt like I didn't have any control. But Michael wants to straighten up and
with my help and his momma's and his brothers, I pray he's going to come
out of it."

Michael walked free the day before his 34th birthday. His brother Scott,
32, was at the prison to pick him up.

"He always takes care of me," Michael says, putting a scarred, heavily
tattooed arm around Scott. Both of Michael's forearms have inch-deep gouges
and long stretches of purple skin grafts.

"Ah, that? No big deal. Just a shotgun thing a couple years ago."

The day of Michael's release, the Olguins celebrated with a family picnic
and a birthday cake that Scott stayed up until the early morning hours to
bake for his brother.

Experts say supportive gestures like the Olguin family picnic and birthday
cake are crucial to helping former offenders turn their lives around.

"There are really only two things that have been proven to enhance the
chances for successful reintegration," Petersilia says. "One is simple age
and the other is family and social support. One thing we know for certain
is that inmates who maintain ties with family and children have a much
higher rate of integration."

Kathleen Moore knows that.

"I'm pretty blessed that I have my kids and my mother in my life," she
says. "I couldn't imagine going back to where I was four years ago. For me,
it's a maturity and growth thing. Either you get fed up and decide to take
responsibility and make a change, or you give up on your life."