PAROLEE READY TO TURN LIFE AROUND

Despite a Good Support System, Man Knows He Faces a Tough Transition
After 10 Years in Prison.

Hours after getting out of the Correctional Industrial Facility,
Tobias Konnersman still found himself fumbling for his prisoner ID tag
and worrying about making the daily inmate count.

"It's a really weird feeling after having lived so long under such a
regulated atmosphere," he said. "I could walk out here and sit on the
front steps if I want. I can walk up and down the street."

Konnersman's sense of awe and relief is understandable. Before his
release Wednesday from the high-medium-security prison near Pendleton,
he'd spent 10 years behind bars for attempted murder.

But Konnersman faces a difficult transition that many will share. An
estimated 600,000 people, including about 12,000 in Indiana, will be
released this year from U.S. prisons.

And after a decade of record homicide rates and tough drug sentencing
- - more than 1.3 million people are held in state and federal prisons
- - how to return those prisoners to society has become a growing
concern nationally.

"We're not prepared," said Jeremy Travis, who has done extensive
research on the subject for the Urban Institute, a Washington-based
think tank. "We've decided to put a lot more people in prison, but now
we're having the back end of that debate, which is . . . that more
people come home."

Many who leave prison have trouble finding jobs or getting into
relationships; they face restrictions on where they can work and live.
They often end up abusing drugs or alcohol; many return to crime to
make ends meet.

Nationally, more than a third of those leaving prison return to
prison, according to the "Corrections Yearbook," a publication of the
Connecticut-based Criminal Justice Institute. In Indiana, the
recidivism rate -- the percentage of ex-offenders who go back to
prison -- is 28 percent.

"We've kind of created an underclass of people, so it's not surprising
that they'll offend against other people," said Roger Jarjoura, a
criminology professor at Indiana University-Purdue University
Indianapolis.

Konnersman intends to avoid falling into that underclass, but he
understands the difficulty he'll face on the outside.

"As much as I think it's going to go well and everything's going to
work out, there will be some hard times."

Konnersman, unlike many former inmates, has a strong network of
supporters on the outside. He'll be staying with the parents of a
longtime friend, and while in prison he took many steps -- earning
three college degrees, turning to the Roman Catholic faith, quitting
drugs and alcohol, and getting his anger under control -- to change
his life.

"To us it sounds like he wants to get off on the right foot and keep
going that way," said Richard Lentz, in whose home Konnersman will
stay after his release.

Started Drinking At 13

Konnersman, 33, grew up on the Southside of Indianapolis and graduated
from Perry Meridian High School in 1987. Many regard him as highly
intelligent, and he was a talented musician; he studied trombone and
piano, and played bass in local rock bands.

But there was another side of Konnersman that many friends didn't know
about or chose to overlook. He began drinking when he was 13.

"By the time I was in middle school, I would have been considered a
very dedicated alcoholic," the lean, angular Konnersman, who wore
close-cropped hair and a tan prison uniform, said before his release.

The alcohol problems continued after high school and into his 1989
marriage. Konnersman was separated in December 1991 when he went to
his estranged wife's Greenwood apartment for a talk.

The discovery of another man in the apartment resulted in an incident
that changed two lives. Konnersman beat John R. DeWitt with a baseball
bat, causing severe brain injuries. He recalls the incident in vivid
detail -- the confrontation with DeWitt, hitting him with the bat
several times and seeing him lying on the floor.

"It's not something you forget," said Konnersman, who by turns spoke
in the profanity-laced jargon of prison and with the thoughtful,
articulate air of a teacher. "As much as I would like to push that out
of my mind, I think that if there's any part of me that has any
decency or character, it's something I have to remember."

Konnersman was arrested shortly afterward, and in May 1992 a Johnson
County jury found him guilty of attempted murder. He received a
30-year prison term.

Prison initially was a bitter experience for Konnersman, who believed
he hadn't gotten fair treatment from the courts. That bitterness
extended to his relationships with other inmates.

"It's amazing that somebody didn't stab me or kill me or do something
terrible to me, because I had an attitude a mile wide," he said.

Over time, Konnersman began to realize that many of his problems
resulted from his own behavior and attitudes. He began to open up to
other inmates, learning from them and establishing close friendships.
He also decided to become a better father for his son, Mark.

"If ever there was an innocent victim in this, it's him," Konnersman
said of his son, who's now 12. "He didn't ask for it, and he doesn't
deserve it."

That motivation is what Konnersman thinks will guide his success. He
has several job prospects, including work for a sheet metal plant and
a concrete repair company, and insists he's willing to work hard
despite the barriers many ex-felons encounter.

"If I have to cut grass, I'm going to do it," he said. "I don't care
where I get started; I'm going to start at the bottom and work my way
up."

Konnersman also has prepared for his release by attending the
Department of Correction's transition program. The 80-hour program,
which offenders are required to take within six months of their
release, offers instruction on topics such as finding a job, getting
the documents needed for a driver's license, filling out tax forms and
using computer programs common in today's workplace.

Although Konnersman found the transition program very useful, some
think it doesn't go far enough. Such programs often have too little
money, and ex-prisoners in many states have little supervision after
their release, said Travis, of the Urban Institute.

"We are spending less money, less time, less thinking on the issue of
re-entry," he said. "At the same time, we set up additional obstacles
in the way for individuals trying to make this journey, so it's very
hard for them."

Dealing With Freedom

While Konnersman will be on parole for two years, one of the biggest
challenges he will face is living without the constant supervision of
life behind bars. That's a common hang-up for former prisoners, said
Valerie Parker, vice chairwoman of the Indiana Parole Board.

"Inside the wall, everything is structured and you've got someone
directing your actions and your moves," she said. "Sometimes the
freedom of not having that structure . . . is a very big barrier to
overcome, because they don't know what to do."

Even everyday choices can be overwhelming, said Jarjoura, the IUPUI
criminal justice professor.

"I see them just agonizing at a fast-food joint over making a choice
of what they're going to have," he said.

Another common pitfall is drug and alcohol use. Konnersman admits that
will be an ongoing struggle.

"Every day I wake up knowing I'm only one drink away from throwing my
life away," he said. "It's always a threat, and I have to respect it.
As long as I do that, I think I'm going to be OK."

The biggest key to Konnersman's success on the outside will be the
support of his friends and relatives. After an emotional reunion with
them on Wednesday, Konnersman relaxed at the Lentz home, taking in
simple pleasures such as eating with metal tableware and shaving with
a good razor.

"It just seems like a dream," he said. "I never, ever thought this day
would come."

The Lentz family and other old friends, such as Chris Harris of
Franklin, hope to keep that dream from becoming a nightmare.

"He has a strong personality, and I feel that's going to help him,"
Harris said. "Being able to make the right decisions is going to help
him. A split-second decision cost him a lot of years of his life."