TAKING FIRST STEPS OF FREEDOM AS AN INFLEXIBLE LAW IS OVERRULED

BEDFORD HILLS, N.Y. -- Angela Thompson's son, Shamel, was born nearly eight
years ago in a prison nursery here, behind the cinder block walls and razor
wire fences of the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility, and raised by his
aunts.

Friday, Ms. Thompson practically skipped out the gates of the maximum
security prison, celebrating her freedom by smothering the boy with kisses
and promising him an expedition to Toys "R" Us and Chuck E. Cheese.

A month ago, Gov. George Pataki commuted Ms. Thompson's sentence of 15
years to life for selling drugs, one of 11 clemencies he has granted to
nonviolent drug offenders sentenced under the 1973 Rockefeller laws. And
now, after more than eight years, prison was behind her, the rest of her
life ahead.

"Thank the Lord I am free," Ms. Thompson said, as two sisters and a cousin
snapped pictures and their children, eight in all, scampered underfoot.

It was a bleak day to re-enter the world, with sleet lashing the northern
suburbs and the sky low and gray. But Ms. Thompson was bareheaded and
gloveless when she left the prison shortly after 9 Friday morning.

She was escorted by Sister Elaine Roulet, director of the nursery and
children's center where Ms. Thompson, now 26, had worked as an inmate
supervisor. Later she said she would have run out the door had the nun not
held her arm.

Ms. Thompson carried a small suitcase and a bouquet of alstroemeria, a gift
from a volunteer at the children's center, where imprisoned mothers have
regular visits with their sons and daughters. She wore a new, sleek black
pants suit. Her hair was freshly primped, by inmate beauticians. Her son
nuzzled at her side.

The reunion of mother and son, so long in coming and so hard won, was the
result of a determined effort by a retired State Supreme Court justice,
Jerome W. Marks. Marks had read a law journal's account of the sentence
handed the teen-ager, who had no previous record when she was arrested for
selling 2 ounces of cocaine to an undercover officer. Ms. Thompson, 17 at
the time, was taking orders from her uncle and legal guardian, a repeat
felon and drug dealer.

Marks, who prepared the clemency petition and greeted her as she walked out
of the prison Friday, had the support of the trial judge, Juanita Bing
Newton. Justice Newton had sentenced the pregnant teen-ager to eight years
to life, but that sentence was overturned on appeal because of the
mandatory minimums specified under the Rockefeller drug laws. Ms. Thompson
was one of three first-time, nonviolent drug offenders granted clemency on
Christmas Eve. Her uncle, who was sentenced to 15 years to life for drug
dealing, remains imprisoned.

On Thursday, her final night in prison, Ms. Thompson and four friends ate
dinner together, beef and rice cooked on a hot plate. There was a cake,
with vanilla icing and coconut flakes, "baked" in a tin can atop the coils.
The women talked of old times, wept and prayed until lockdown at 10:30 p.m.
Ms. Thompson was awake before dawn, packing and pacing.

Her relatives, in a motel in nearby Mount Kisco, were too excited for much
sleep, as well. The children, ranging in age from 4 to 10, were crammed
into two rooms. Way past normal bedtime, they were jumping on the beds and
playing Nintendo. Even Justice Marks, 82, and his wife, also spending the
night at the Holiday Inn, tossed and turned in anticipation.

Marks, who has been harping for years about the injustice of Ms. Thompson's
sentence, called Friday "the best day I've ever had as a judge." He added
that sentencing defendants was always difficult; helping one gain her
freedom was another story. "There's nothing quite like seeing a new life
for somebody, especially somebody who suffered as she did," he said.

Morning broke stormy, but the little girls wore black velvet party dresses,
the boys freshly pressed flannel shirts. Together with Ms. Thompson they
ate a celebratory breakfast at the Crabtree Kittle House, an 18th century
inn and restaurant in Chappaqua. Then Ms. Thompson paid her first visit to
her parole officer in Manhattan and went to Brooklyn, where she will live
for six months at a halfway house run by Sister Elaine's order, the Sisters
of Saint Joseph.

Her family lives in Camden, N.J., but Ms. Thompson chose Providence House
so she would be closer to her parole officer and to job counseling. Her
goal is to work with girls like she once was, who are liable to get
pregnant or involved with drugs. She has some experience as a result of the
many innovative programs at Bedford Hills for inmates' children, including
one for teens who attend monthly rap sessions at the prison.

Ms. Thompson said she plans to complete college. She was six credits short
of an associate degree in psychology and sociology when the prison lost
funding for higher education programs a few years back. But first on her
agenda are thank you letters to Pataki and a visit to Justice Newton's
courtroom.

She has poise and job skills learned in the prison's children's center,
where she was permitted to live with and care for her son for the first
year of his life and where she later worked. She also has the support of a
large family that includes her sisters Sophia Thompson, a 28-year-old
nurse's aide, 29-year-old Sharon Pryce, soon to have another child, and a
cousin, Andrea Barnett, 27, also a nurse's aide, who was here Friday, too,
with her children.

All the youngsters took turns joining Shamel for visits at the correctional
facility -- periodic weekends when model prisoners can stay with family
members in trailers on the grounds. The boy, a second-grader, was here for
such a visit on Christmas Eve, along with his Aunt Sophia and her two boys,
8-year-old Dimitri and 7-year-old Renice.

That is the day when governors traditionally announce clemency decisions.
Ms. Thompson, in the visitors' room with her family, could hardly bear the
suspense. She rested her head in her older sister's lap and Sophia stroked
her hair. At just that moment, the superintendent came into the large hall,
ringed with vending machines and noisy with children.

"Angela, you got it," she said.

Until that happy day, Ms. Thompson's sisters would fend off the children's
questions about when she was coming home. "Soon," they would say. "When is
soon?" the dogged youngsters would counter.

"You know kids -- all the why questions," Sophia Thompson said as Angela
kneeled on the restaurant floor, all eight children climbing on her as if
she were a jungle gym. "Well, now we know the answer."

Copyright 1998 The New York Times Company