WAKE JAIL'S DOORS SPIN FOR SMALL-TIME OFFENDERS

RALEIGH -- Last Thursday afternoon, Sherwood M. Little stood before a
judge, his frame tall and proud but quivering from alcohol-induced tremors,
and cut a deal. He knew the drill, had done it before and readily pleaded
guilty to trespassing in exchange for freedom. The exchange took less than
a minute.

Every week, in a quicksilver session dubbed "Free the People," Wake inmates
such as Little, who are charged with petty crimes, are released weeks
before their court dates to make room for more violent criminals and to
save taxpayers the $58 a day it costs to keep them locked up.

They are let go because they are not the kind of people who belong in jail,
said Assistant District Attorney Frank Jackson, who began the program about
10 years ago. For the most part, they are homeless men, some with
addictions, who are arrested on charges of public drunkenness, trespassing
or urinating in public and can't afford to post bails as low as $100.

"It's a good thing for the county and the state," Jackson said.

But the fix is only temporary.

In most cases, the men will end up behind bars again. Those who work in the
jail and see the same men shuttle in and out have grown cynical.

"We free the people so we can let them back in," said Officer A. Horne, who
books new arrivals.

Each week, about a dozen people are released early. All nine men freed last
Thursday had been in jail before. One, who had been arrested 88 times, left
jail two nights before, only to return less than four hours later. Both
times, the charges involved alcohol.

"That's rehab for you," said Lt. V.P. Oxendine, who was in charge of
releasing the nine men. Records show all were homeless.

Yet the jail does not provide information about homeless shelters. Wake
County Human Services, with its cornucopia of substance abuse services,
doesn't offer treatment.

Wake Sheriff John Baker said he might suggest that his staff assemble a
list of area shelters to be handed to the men when they leave. As for
treatment and drug counseling, Baker said: "That's not what the jail is
for. We just hold them."

Wake has 820 beds in three jails and expects to add about 200 more this
fall. Its main jail, in downtown Raleigh, is routinely overcrowded, and
voters approved a $20 million bond issue in November to pay for a new jail.

In April, however, construction was put on hold after Baker told county
commissioners the space crunch had eased as the number of inmates declined
last year by 9 percent.

It is likely that some of the men who are released early are already in
contact with Human Services, although they are not referred to the agency
when they're released, said Tom Hogan, director of services for Human Services.

"It might be interesting to get a list of those guys to see how many of
them we do know," he said. "Whether we could correct some of that behavior,
I don't know. You got a magic wand?"

For some of the men, jail trumps living on the streets. Johnnie T. Moss,
charged with trespassing, didn't want to leave last Thursday so he pleaded
not guilty, hoping his case would be delayed until his court date next
month. But he miscalculated; the prosecutor presented no evidence, and the
judge dismissed the case. Moss was free.

This time, he left without prodding. But sometimes, jailers said, he
refuses, lingering in the lobby, ignoring orders to get out, until he is
arrested again.

It is a cycle of despair, and it has become entrenched in the local justice
system. The men are technically criminals but of the small-fry variety;
prosecutors say they don't represent a danger to the public. Jail is often
the only constant in their lives. And it is taken away as soon as the
appropriate paperwork can be completed.

A few hours after a judge orders Little, 46, released, he trades his orange
jail jumpsuit for the rumpled black T-shirt and jeans he wore when he was
arrested two days earlier -- a week after another arrest for trespassing --
while drinking a beer on Peace Street.

He is an alcoholic, he says, up-front and realistic about his lot. He drank
up all his money, not that there was much to begin with, so his plan for
the evening doesn't include a meal.

"I'm real shaky and nervous, and I don't feel like being around people so
I'll just sleep on the street and hopefully I'll feel better tomorrow,"
Little said.

He tosses his shaggy brown hair away from his dark eyes and looks at his
hands, scarred and trembling.

Lt. Oxendine stands with Little as he waits for his papers to be processed,
a final check before he is released. She knows many of the men by sight and
some by name, and she jokes with Little.

"What brought you back?" she asks. "You had to see us?"

"Yeah," Little says. "The service here is so good."

Where are you going, she wants to know.

The streets, he answers.

Oxendine, who is off Friday through Monday, tells Little: "We'll be back
Tuesday if you need a place to stay."

She doesn't know it at the time, and neither does Little, but he will be
back before she returns.

Though he says he dreads being confined, he was jailed for trespassing
again Saturday.

But as he waits with Oxendine, he can think only of freedom.

Little waits for the mechanized metal jail door to roll back; then he walks
out onto Salisbury Street, blinking in the waning sunshine. Downtown
Raleigh stretches before him. He turns left, then right on Martin Street
and walks until he can no longer see the jail.

Staff writer Bonnie Rochman can be reached at 829-4871 or
brochman@newsobserver.com