The Prison Explosion, Part 2a

PAROLE DENIALS NEGATE CRIME DROP

Prison Cells Remain Filled

In the last five years, New York state opened three prisons, built nine
prison additions and saw its inmate population grow by 5,000. It did all
this in the midst of a dramatic decline in crime that reduced the number of
people sentenced to state prisons by at least 10,000 in the last three
years alone.

How can prison populations go up even when the supply of sentenced
criminals dwindles?

In a word: parole.

As fewer inmates came into the system in the last half of the 1990s, the
governor-appointed state Parole Board let fewer out. Further, more parolees
who didn't follow rules were brought back to prison. And fixed sentences
that do away with parole altogether are keeping prisoners locked up longer.

The result has been an unprecedented parole-driven scenario in which
prisons grew while crime dropped. It is only in the last several months
that the prison population has finally started to drop -- as crime
continues to dip.

"This is the first time in history that this has happened,'' said Howard
Abadinsky, author of the book, "Probation and Parole," and a former New
York state parole officer. "It's an anomaly."

"They keep coming in the front. Nobody goes out the back," said James
Turpin, legislative liaison for the American Correctional Association.

The state's system of parole -- which allows for supervised release of
convicts after they serve a minimum sentence -- is at the heart of a new
chapter in the evolution of prisons in New York state, and indeed nationally.

The changing view of parole has been driven by myriad factors, from a
federal law that rewards states for keeping prisoners locked up longer to
Gov. George Pataki's belief that violent criminals were being let out too
early and adjustments needed to be made.

"We're not handing them ticking time bombs," said Katherine Lapp, director
of the state's Division of Criminal Justice Services. ''The right people
are going out on parole."

The governor told the parole board to carefully review inmates with violent
histories, and, she said, "Don't worry about prison capacity."

The upshot: Only one in five violent offenders in the state is being
released at a first parole hearing now; in 1994, nearly one in two was let go.

"Parole boards around the country tend to look at inmates who have
committed violent felonies with a jaundiced eye,'' said Tom Grant, special
assistant to Parole Board Chairman Brion Travis. "New York is part of that."

Critics: Boards too demanding

But some critics of the new trend -- under which fewer nonviolent offenders
are also being released -- say a rubber-stamp Parole Board is failing to
consider anything an inmate might have done in prison to rehabilitate himself.

In interviews, inmates and their advocates said people with exemplary
records were being denied parole repeatedly, including those who had earned
college degrees, served in positions of responsibility in prison programs
and fulfilled the parole board's mandate to participate in programs offered
to them.

"What you see a lot is these boiler-plate denials," said Robert Isseks, a
Middletown attorney who represents inmates denied parole. "We've considered
everything, but the nature of the crime merits denial."

In one such case, the board denied release to Sean Clark, who was sentenced
in Manhattan to 18 months to three years for grand larceny. The inmate,
with two robbery convictions, nonetheless worked outside the prison on a
community project in Saratoga County; he was electrocuted in June when a
ladder hit an electric line.

In another case, Guy Conese of Westchester, who was convicted of
manslaughter, was denied parole three times -- even though he lived and
worked outside prison for three years, returning on weekends. Despite an
excellent record, recommendations from employers and a letter in support
from the late Cardinal John O'Connor, he died of cancer in prison last year.

Victims' rights on other side

On the other side, of course, are the crimes by inmates on parole. The 1998
law that eliminated parole for violent offenses is named for Jenna
Greishaber, 22, an Albany nursing student murdered by a parolee. Such
crimes aren't hard to find.

Larry Gibson, 53, was paroled in 1998 after serving 20 years for a robbery
and burglary in which a Hyde Park woman was terrorized. He was later
convicted in Maryland of burglary, robbery and assault.

Sterling Fisher, 39, was convicted in 1996 of robbing and killing a
Poughkeepsie man only 30 days after being paroled on a robbery conviction.

''We certainly are supportive of the changes in the law that do call for
enhanced penalties and longer sentences for repeat sex offenders,'' said
Anne Liske, executive director of the state Coalition Against Sexual
Assault. Release rates for rape convicts have dropped from 8 percent in
1991 to 1 percent last year.

Another group, Parents of Murdered Children, has helped stop the parole of
634 murderers through letter-writing campaigns -- and issues alerts when
selected convicts are released.

The Citizens Budget Commission, a nonprofit watchdog group, argued in a
report in May that it wasn't parole that was the problem, but underfunding.
Officers have caseloads averaging 100 in New York, against 69 in other
states, it said, a system that offers "relatively little supervision."

The question is whether keeping people in prison longer, and without the
incentive to reform that parole often gives, will make them any better when
they are finally released -- as the vast majority are. Last year, 192
inmates died in prison while 28,034 were released.

"When you sentence someone to 20 years to life and they give you 20 years
to prove they are rehabilitated, it reinforces (that) you actually have a
system of justice when you release them when they have met their part of
the bargain," said Kenneth Stephens, staff attorney for the Prisoners
Rights Project, which is considering a class-action lawsuit against the
Parole Board. "You give people more incentive to make good use of their
time and to obey the rules."

Crime and punishment

In many ways, the debate centers on whether more punishment equals less crime.

''No serious scholar disputes that longer prison sentences have been an
important cause in reducing the crime rate,'' said Todd Gaziano, a senior
fellow at the Heritage Foundation, a public policy research organization.

However, a new study by the Sentencing Project, a prison reform group,
found that ''states with the greatest incarceration increases over the last
decade had less impact on crime, including violent crime, than states with
lower increases.''

The irony is while the New York State Parole Board was clamping down on
granting parole, two of its officials were convicted of lying to a grand
jury about their role in freeing a convicted robber in 1996 whose father
had given money to Gov. Pataki's election campaign.

In court testimony, one of the convicted officials, Ron Hotaling, said
Pataki's office had exerted "tremendous pressure" to parole Queens robber
John Kim at his first hearing. Hotaling was fired as secretary to the board
and later testified on behalf of investigators.

The Parole Board's Grant denied Hotaling's assertion, noting he was an
"admitted liar."

"Everything that was done was right and proper," Grant said.

Critics point to the parole scandal and worry that other factors are
slowly, perhaps subtly, driving parole and sentencing policy besides crime.
State prisons employ 32,500 people, are billed as job-creation programs for
economically depressed areas and have lobbying groups that spend money to
keep pro-prison legislators in office.

"It's a gravy train,'' said Scott Christianson, a criminologist and author
of "With Liberty For Some," a history of incarceration in America. He noted
that contractors, vendors, unions and entire towns thrive on prisons,
particularly in areas of high unemployment. Dutchess and Ulster counties,
with low unemployment, have long had eight prisons that employ 4,500.

Boom to upstate community

The state's newest prison is Five Points Correctional Facility in Seneca
County, a 750-cell facility with 650 jobs and an annual payroll of $25 million.

Sen. Michael Nozzolio, chairman of the Senate Corrections Committee, said
it ''helped to usher in a new era of economic development and job
creation'' in his district.

Lapp, the state's chief criminal justice policy adviser, said the notion of
keeping prisons full for economic reasons is ridiculous.

"I remember the first time I heard such an assertion. I was shocked. I've
been in high-level policy discussions with mayors and governors and that
has never entered the equation.''

She and others say the prison buildup and drop in crime are allowing the
state to reverse a years-long tendency to release violent inmates prematurely.

"It's about time that the Parole Board is taking a real look and they're
making denials,'' said Susan Jeffords, president of the parole officers
union. "In the past, many of us felt there was a quota system. They would
keep a count," she said, releasing inmates until space needs eased.

The question is whether the quota has shifted the other way -- taking a
huge human and economic toll.

David Murray, 50, of Brooklyn, is a convicted murderer, with, he admitted,
"a lot of baggage." An inmate for 27 years, he has been denied parole
twice, though he believes he is the definition of a man who has repented
and been redeemed.

He was an angry 23-year-old drug addict when he killed a drug dealer in a
botched robbery, he said.

"I came a long way," Murray maintained in an interview at Fishkill
Correctional Facility. ''I have dealt with my shortcomings as a human being."

The board didn't see it that way. Although a prison report said Murray's
record was "excellent" and that he'd participated in numerous programs and
earned high school, bachelor's and master's-level degrees, he was denied
parole. The board cited ''the violent nature'' of Murray's crime and a
prior robbery conviction, concluding he was ''a risk to the community."

"He can't undo what he's done,'' said his wife, Angela, who lives in Beacon.

By not releasing such inmates, said Sen. Nozzolio, the corrections chair,
''We're keeping our streets safer.'' He said inmates were let out too
easily under prior ''revolving-door" policies that virtually guaranteed
inmates would return to prison.

Not anymore, apparently.

- In fiscal year 1994 -- around the time crime began to drop in the state
-- 60 percent of inmates who came up for parole for the first time were
released. By 1999, that proportion dropped to 40 percent.

- One in five convicted murderers were let go in 1994; last year, one in 20
was. Ironically, murderers have the lowest prison return rate: 19 percent
of those released in 1994 came back within three years; 44 percent of all
inmates did.

Those numbers add up to real dollars. At $29,678 per inmate per year, it
will cost the state almost $120 million to keep the 4,000 additional
inmates denied parole last year as compared to five years ago. And most get
a two-year "hit," as inmates call it.

There is evidence to suggest that the extra time provides no real benefit.
An analysis of 325 studies by researchers at the University of Cincinnati
and the University of New Brunswick, in Canada, actually suggested the
opposite: inmates returned to prison at slightly greater rates as prison
sentences lengthened.

''It won't have any deterrent effects and it is an extremely costly
option,'' said the study's prime author, Dr. Paul Gendreau, referring to
longer terms served.

And people are indeed serving longer terms.

1995 law changed things

In 1995, the state Legislature instituted fixed sentences without the
possibility of parole for two-time violent-felony offenders. In 1998, it
did the same for all violent offenders, a move that assured the state tens
of millions of dollars in federal prison building aid and made inmates
serve at least 85 percent of their sentences. The average time served in
state prison for violent crimes has risen 30 percent since 1995, state
figures show.

As the possibility for parole is diminished, reform advocates say,
prisoners become demoralized.

"It embitters people who are incarcerated rather than changing them,'' said
Edward Hammock, a parole board commissioner from 1976 to 1984 and now a
parole attorney. "You can be as good as you want to be, but you're not
going to get home any sooner, so why bother?"

Hammock said he believes the board is violating the parole law, which holds
that it will consider a prisoner's institutional record, efforts at
self-improvement and crime in determining whether to release. Instead, he
and others said, the board considers only the "nature of the crime."

Parolees' crimes noted

But Lapp, the state's chief criminal justice adviser, said, "This is not a
cookie-cutter approach. People should consider what the cookie-cutter
approach was (during prior administrations) when 60 percent of violent
offenders were being let out. A lot of lives were lost. People were hurt."

Releasing inmates without parole won't stop them from committing crimes,
advocates say. Under parole, the board is held responsible for release and
oversight of parolees, including curfews, prohibition against alcohol and
drugs, employment monitoring and unannounced visits to homes.

The California prison system, which had eliminated parole, had no choice
but to release Richard Allen Davis, the man who later murdered 12-year-old
Polly Klaas. While the murder may have occurred in any event, parole
advocates say he would have been monitored if a parole system was in place.

To address the supervision issue, New York's no-parole sentencing structure
includes both a fixed prison sentence and a period of "post-release
supervision," both set by the sentencing judge.

Abadinsky, whose book on parole is in its seventh edition, said such
systems haven't worked without a parole board to answer for the parolees'
crimes. "There's no incentive to put money into it because no one is
responsible," he said.

"It's a real mistake,'' agreed Jeffords, the parole union head. ''Prison
populations skyrocket. Crime figures don't change. Everybody -- every human
being -- has to work toward something. ... (Without that), what do I have
when the guy gets out on the street?"

But Lapp maintained that the promise of release after 85 percent of the
term is served is enough to assure inmate cooperation and rehabilitation.

Too her, however, that is secondary.

"The first and foremost purpose of prison," she said, "is punishment.''