MORE CRIMINALS ARE OUT THAN IN

For 15 points, name where Wisconsin keeps most of its convicted criminals.

Answer: Down the street, next door, in the apartment below you.

Far from locking them up and throwing away the key, Wisconsin has been
letting offenders out of prison almost as fast as it has been putting them
in. Many thousands more are sentenced each year to probation, where they're
supervised in the community.

In most cases, they'll check in with an agent from the Department of
Corrections two or three times a month. Some are wearing electronic
bracelets discretely under their pant cuffs. But otherwise, they're on
their own.

Yet the state spends nearly 14 times more per person it sends to prison
than it does monitoring the same people once they're released to the community.

"We've got the largest prison population in our history, but that also
means we're going to be releasing more prisoners into our community than
ever before," said Ed Brunner, a Barron County Circuit Court judge and
former candidate for state Supreme Court. "The re-entry problem is not
something I think the Department of Corrections or the Legislature has
thought through very carefully."

More than 90 percent of those currently serving time in prison will be
released one day on parole or, as it's now known, extended supervision,
Corrections Secretary Matt Frank said. They're supervised by an agent, who
can recommend they be returned to prison if they commit a new offense or
violate the terms of their release.

In some cases, offenders are released without any supervision, having spent
their entire sentence behind bars because they behaved badly in prison or
violated the terms of their parole and were returned.

Ultimately, an estimated two-thirds of those released eventually will do
something that results in an arrest; nearly half will end up back in prison.

The reasons are no mystery, according to interviews with parole agents,
judges, offenders and others: Many are released with no place to live;
ex-wives and girlfriends often want nothing to do with them. With few job
skills to begin with, finding work as a convicted felon is an uphill
battle, even for the most motivated job hunter.

In prison, they were denied drugs and alcohol and given counseling to beat
their addictions. Now, they're faced with the opposite: Drugs are
everywhere but treatment comes at the end of a long waiting line. Floating
from place to place, they circle, anonymously, in a community that doesn't
even know they exist. It's like a license to commit crime.

And it's why advocates of a stronger community corrections system say the
state needs to do more to help returning offenders succeed, if not for
their sake, than for the safety of everyone else.

"You need to gain control of that person's life as soon - minutes - after
they leave prison," said Gerald Thomas, a Madison psychologist who works
with offenders in the community. "Minutes count. Within that first few
hours of getting out, more than likely they're going to have done something
that violates their release."

Returning offenders often don't make realistic plans and then are
frustrated when those don't pan out, Thomas said. Earlier this year, he
asked a group of ex-cons he counsels how much they hoped to earn when they
start working. The average expected salary: $90,000.

Odean Heimann would be happy to earn a fraction of that. Released in
November after serving 15 months for his fifth drunken driving offense,
Heimann, 36, said he has probably filled out 30 job applications but is
still unemployed.

"They say, 'We'll let you know in a couple weeks,' and you never hear
anything back," said Heimann, who lost a good-paying job as a machinist
when he went to prison and had to dip into his retirement account to help
his fiancee, who does have a job, support their three children. "You can
tell (they're saying) 'Well, this guy's been in prison.'. "

Heimann knows the odds of former inmates going back to prison are good, but
he says he's determined to beat them.

"I'm not going back. I'm not going to put myself back in that position," he
said. "I've got good enough support with my family and my (support) groups
that, even though the job (hunt) and stuff can get stressful, all's I got
to do is remember where I went and why. I haven't even wanted to drink."

Prisons get the money On average, taxpayers spend $28,088 a year to keep
each of the more than 22,000 men and women Wisconsin locks up in prison. It
spends $2,041 a year supervising and helping each of the more than 67,700
people on probation or parole.

"Traditionally, probation and parole has been the poor stepsister of the
family," said Daniel Nevers, who spent 28 years as an agent and supervisor
and now serves as a lecturer on criminal justice at UW-Madison. "Clearly
we're putting our corrections dollar at the far end of the system, the most
intensive and most disruptive part of the system."

With caseloads of 50 or 60 clients, probation and parole agents are often
limited to a few superficial interviews a month with each client. Agents
and offenders describe a relationship that emphasizes punishing failure
rather than rewarding success, although the problem has lessened in recent
years as the Legislature moved some additional money into the system.

Unlike parole, probation has had a mostly successful track record, said
Dane County Circuit Judge Daniel Moeser. People sentenced to probation
generally have been convicted of a less serious offense and usually don't
spend any time in prison, although they'll often serve some time in county
jails.

Although preferable to prison, probation can be burdensome, with clients
being monitored electronically and required to undergo random drug tests,
Moeser said. But more importantly, it allows offenders to maintain ties to
their families and employers while serving their sentence, he said.

"I can't remember the last time I saw a story about someone who did a bad
crime, got put on probation for five years and now has a good job, family
and is a wonderful parent. That's not news," Moeser said. "And yet, that's
the norm. That's what usually happens when people get put on probation."

Staying connected Comparisons between probation and parole are difficult,
since they tend to cover two different classes of offenders. But a key
distinction of probation is the ability for the offender to stay connected
with his or her community.

Corrections can help create that sense of belonging for people coming out
of prison by inviting churches, neighborhood groups and community leaders
to play a bigger role in the reintegration process, said Keith Thomas, a
former inmate who now works with returning prisoners.

"(Offenders) are going to have a lot more willingness to listen to a pastor
in their community who they know, who knows them, knows their mother, knows
their family," Thomas said. "They're going to be willing to listen to some
member of their community who they grew up with . . . and they're going to
feel better about, 'OK, my community wants to help me with this transition.'. "

Frank said the department hopes to form many such partnerships as part of a
renewed effort to focus on rehabilitation. That has included more drug and
alcohol treatment programs in prison, expanded work-release programs and
allowing agents to order alternative sanctions for people who violate the
terms of their supervision other than lengthy prison terms.

As a former prosecutor, Frank said, "I have no illusions about human
behavior. I think there are people who never change. So I think it's
important that we not target too many resources toward those people who
aren't going to change."

But with the growth in the prison population leveling off, at least for
now, "we are now at the juncture where we can really step back and look at
how we can improve our system."