ONCE RELEASED, INMATES FIND LITTLE HELP - RESOURCES REMAIN SCARCE

Third of four parts

Hill's parole officer was trying to get permission for him to move to
Illinois, but it hadn't come through. She gave him two local bus
tickets and the names of some shelters and told him to check back in a
week.

Hill spent his first night of freedom homeless.

When Ricky Hill was released from prison in October, he had $14 in his
pocket and nowhere to live. His wife and six children were waiting in
Chicago, but he wasn't allowed to leave the state.

"I thought when we get out, they were supposed to give us some help,
some money or something. They didn't do nothing," he said.

Before truth in sentencing took effect, a committee mandated by the
Legislature worked to identify and head off potential problems with
the law's implementation. Among its recommendations was more help for
people, such as Hill, when they left prison.

"Wisconsin must strengthen its probation system and develop credible
alternatives to prison," the report says.

Its authors hoped that extended supervision - the new name for parole
- - would be a vast improvement over the old system. The committee
recommended that Milwaukee parole officers' caseloads be reduced to 17
and that their budgets be greatly increased in order to help former
inmates succeed on the outside.

It hasn't happened.

"The failure to do this because of budget pressures is going to be
costly to the state in the long run," said Thomas Barland, who was an
Eau Claire County circuit judge when he led the committee.

While the Department of Corrections has begun some programs to address
the needs in the four years since truth in sentencing took effect,
resources for ex-inmates remain scarce. Many of those released on
supervision find themselves back in prison. Most have not been
convicted of a new crime; they have simply failed to meet the
conditions of supervision, such as keeping appointments with their
agents. They may have no work history, no driving privileges and
nowhere to live.

Portage County Circuit Judge Frederic Fleishauer believes the system
is part of the problem.

"We take their driver's license away and then are surprised when they
don't have work," he said. "We preclude them from accomplishing
exactly what we're hoping to accomplish."

At the same time, offenders are starting to leave prison with longer
supervision terms under truth in sentencing, which gives offenders
almost no chance for early release. The law requires extended
supervision equal to at least 25% of the prison term, but many judges
are far exceeding that.

By 2011, the truth-in-sentencing law will mean more than 2 million
extra days of community supervision per year, according to a Journal
Sentinel analysis based on records from the Department of Corrections.
For inmates admitted through 2025, the extra days of supervision and
prison time will cost state taxpayers an estimated $1.8 billion if
current trends continue.

"I don't think there's a plan," said Barron County Circuit Judge
Edward R. Brunner. "We're doing nothing for them. It's not a wise use
of money, and there's no guarantee we're any safer."

With 69,600 offenders on probation, parole or extended supervision
this year, the state's parole officers already have caseloads
averaging around 60, with some approaching 90. The Department of
Corrections is seeking to add 51 officers by June 2007.

30 days to find a job

Across the state, parole officers are charged with helping recently
released offenders turn the three keys to success on the outside:
employment, housing and drug treatment.

"If they don't find a job within 30 days, it's almost a
self-fulfilling prophecy," said the Rev. Joseph Ellwanger, who serves
on the board of directors at Project Return, a non-profit agency that
helps former prisoners rejoin society.

"If they don't have a job, they're going to go right back to where
they were. The state is learning the hard way," he said.

Matthew English is learning the hard way, too. English, 21, said he
served as the getaway driver when some friends robbed several
Milwaukee taverns because they didn't have jobs and needed money.
English, a high school dropout, spent two years in prison and is now
serving an additional year on extended supervision.

"I was being stupid," English said.

Over the summer, English managed to get hired as a part-time
telemarketer, but he kept getting sent home because he wasn't selling
enough. So he quit.

"It's like a revolving door," English said. "Once you get out, you
can't get a job. They don't want a felon even flipping hamburgers at
McDonald's for minimum wage.

"Days before I was released I would sit in my room, turn the TV off
and think about what I was going to do. How was I going to live?

"Basically I take everything one day at a time. I don't look to the
future."

Searching for housing

Although he remains unemployed, English has a roof over his head. His
sister in Brown Deer is allowing him to stay with her.

Not every ex-convict has a family willing to help, and even those who
docan't always find housing. Federal rules prohibit felons from living
in public housing for five years after the crime. Some public housing
facilities won't allow sex offenders, no matter how much time has
passed. A family member or friend who lets one stay could be evicted.
To protect their victims, released inmates with domestic violence
convictions or restraining orders against them often are not allowed
to move back home.

As a last resort, a parole officer may refer someone to the Salvation
Army or the Milwaukee Rescue Mission, but space isn't always available
there, either.

The Department of Corrections has a few emergency and transitional
housing programs that can provide shelter to people on supervision for
up to 90 days. The demand far outweighs the supply, however, and the
waiting lists are long.

'Wouldn't call it clean'

Gregory P. Hayes was lucky enough to get a space in one of the
Department of Corrections' emergency apartments in July, while serving
18 months of extended supervision. In and out of custody since 1995,
he has a history of funding his drug habit through garage burglaries,
according to court records.

"The Price Is Right" played on a tiny television set in the sparsely
furnished apartment when parole officer Ken Ryback checked in on
Hayes, whose days of temporary lodging were nearly up.

"How's the job search going?" Ryback asked.

"Applied at a couple temp places," Hayes replied.

"Have you been using drugs?" Ryback asked.

Hayes shook his head.

"How long have you been clean, then?" Ryback asked.

"Wouldn't call it clean," Hayes replied.

Ryback rephrased his question: "How long has it been since you've used
drugs?"

"Close to a month or something," Hayes said.

Ryback said a few words to encourage Hayes in his job search, then
reminded him that he would need to find somewhere else to live within
the next few days. Ryback headed for the door, knowing all too well
what would happen once Hayes was kicked out of the apartment. Records
show it's happened before: Hayes uses drugs, then sits outside
Walgreens begging for money. The police know he's on supervision, so
they hit him with a ticket for loitering, panhandling or public
drinking and pick him up. He sinks deeper into debt and gets no closer
to stability.

Sure enough, by September, police had used DNA to link Hayes to two
more burglaries, and he was arrested again. In November, Hayes pleaded
guilty to two burglary counts. He is scheduled to be sentenced Dec.
10.

"It's going to be a hard cycle for him to break," Ryback
said.

Need for treatment programs

Hayes is among thousands of released inmates who need to conquer their
addictions to succeed. Although drug treatment programs are operating
inside the state prisons, the waiting lists are long, and many people
are released before they are accepted.

The Department of Corrections estimates that 70% of offenders entering
the prison system need drug or alcohol treatment. An average of 1,061
offenders still needing treatment will re-enter Milwaukee County every
year, according to department projections. On the outside, they find
more waiting lists.

"It is . . . essential that probation and extended supervision
officers have the funding to see that their clients receive the
alcohol and drug treatment that so many need," Barland said recently.
"In the absence of that we are going to have higher incarceration
rates and probably a higher crime rate than would otherwise be the
case."

It's a problem the Department of Corrections is working to solve,
Superintendent Matthew J. Frank said.

"What we need to do here is make sure when someone is released if they
need alcohol and drug treatment that we get them through a program,"
he said. "As we look at the system, we need to be focused on re-entry
and reintegration. This is a change in philosophy at the
department."

A new program at the Sturtevant Transitional Facility is one of
several recently begun by the department to address that need. There,
addicts who have violated the terms of their supervision receive a
final chance to avoid prison.

"If someone has an alcohol problem, putting him in prison isn't going
to help," Superintendent Deb Chambers said.

The 90-day program at Sturtevant can accommodate 50 men. Because the
program started in January, statistics about its success have not yet
been compiled, Chambers said.

In addition, the state this year won a $23 million federal grant to
improve access to drug treatment in Milwaukee County. Gov. Jim Doyle
said in August that the grant would help an estimated 3,000 people,
including 1,000 offenders on supervision, over three years.

Hard road to recovery

While people who have completed treatment are less likely to commit
new crimes, it often takes more than one stint in rehab to cure an
addiction, experts agree.

Joleen Taliaferro, 46, said she has graduated from drug and alcohol
treatment programs nine or 10 times. Her first arrest came in 1976,
when she was 18.

Her most recent felony conviction stems from a drunken fight during
which she beat her ex-boyfriend's girlfriend into the hospital. She
says the other woman hit her first. Taliaferro already was on
supervision for drug and weapons charges at the time.

"I beat the crap out of her," she said. "I was drunk. I hit that lady
46 or 47 times."

Taliaferro said she has conquered the crack cocaine problem that led
to both dealing and trading sex for the drug. She still drinks the
occasional beer, however, despite an alcohol addiction so severe that
she used to drink a fifth and a half of Bacardi rum daily.

Taliaferro hopes she'll make it but is far from certain what the
future holds.

"The drug game is a dirty game," she said. "I'm getting back into
church now, and I just pray every day."