LOCAL WOMAN SEEKS PARDON

HOUMA -- Last Tuesday, after clocking out from her parish government desk
job, Cheryle Hayes drove home in her Toyota Highlander, started dinner and
tossed a load of laundry into the washing machine. And she considered
herself fortunate to be able to do so.

Sorting socks and stirring soup may seem like mundane tasks for most, but
for Hayes each is a morsel of cherished freedom worthy of celebration.
Convicted of heroin-distribution in 1979, Hayes served 20 years of a life
sentence before Gov. Mike Foster ordered her freed.

"I learned to appreciate the things I missed," she said. "Sometimes we take
the simple things for granted and don't realize it can all be snatched away."

But freedom's sweet flavor still bears a bitter aftertaste for Hayes, who
has come to realize in the two years since she walked out of prison doors,
that legal tethers keep her from enjoying the liberty she feels she deserves.

"I've had a chance at a new life, and I appreciate that," she said. "But I
want the same privileges other people enjoy. I want to be able to vote, to
volunteer at the jail and to have my name cleared."

The 45-year-old Hayes, who used to be known as Cheryle Beridon, is
scheduled to appear before the five-member state pardon board in Lockport
Wednesday morning to ask for a full pardon. If board members give the OK,
the decision as to whether the crime gets wiped off her record and her
rights are restored will be up to the governor. If they say no, it will be
two years before she will be allowed to ask for a second hearing.

Many state and local officials, as well as community activists, say Hayes
deserves the break now.

"I'm going to fully support her in getting a gubernatorial pardon," said
Sen. Reggie Dupre, D-Bourg. "This is the first time I've ever lobbied the
governor for a pardon and I couldn't think of a more deserving (person) to
receive one."

The odds that she will get the legal forgiveness she craves, however, are
against her. Nearly 1,000 convicted felons asked for a pardon hearing last
year. The state pardon board agreed to consider fewer than half of those
requests and approved only 111 of them. The governor signed off on a mere
22, making the official release a reality for fewer than 2 percent of those
who asked in 2002.

Hayes doesn't let the daunting odds dissuade her. She said she already
fought and won one seemingly impossible battle: The one that took her from
a tiny prison cell in St. Gabriel to the new Authement Street home where
she now lives.

Twist Of Fate

Hayes was sentenced to life in prison for selling $125 worth of heroin to a
police informant in the summer of 1977. Hayes has long claimed she was
framed by then-Terrebonne Parish District Attorney Norval Rhodes after an
affair between the two of them soured. Rhodes denies the allegations.

Hayes' story fell on deaf ears for much of her two-decade stay at the
Louisiana Correctional Institute for Women. It was a chance meeting on the
Terrebonne Courthouse steps between Hayes' older brother and Jerome Boykin,
president of the Terrebonne Chapter of the National Advancement of Colored
People, which eventually led to her release.

"I asked after their mother and (Joseph Hayes) said, 'She's OK, but she's
worried about Cheryle,' " Boykin said of that years-old encounter. Boykin
knew of Hayes and the alleged affair that she said landed her behind bars,
but said the encounter reminded him of her plight. "Then it hit me," Boykin
said of his resolve to help. "I said, 'Give me your mother's phone number.
The NAACP is going to take up Cheryle's fight. I'm making a promise to you
right now: We're going to get her out of prison and bring her home.' "

The civil rights group's legal support, evidence-gathering and the
testimony of a former investigator in Rhodes' office helped persuade the
Pardon Board and Gov. Mike Foster to commute her life sentence to 45 years,
making her eligible for parole. But the Parole Board, citing fights and
other infractions of jailhouse rules that led to a spotty behavior record,
sent Hayes to a Lake Charles halfway house for six months before granting
her freedom.

A New Life

Hayes proudly shows off the scrapbook detailing the life she's led since
leaving the halfway house in November 2000. It's one of five she plans to
present to the board members who will decide whether her request for a
pardon is a valid one.

"You can go to the Pardon Board and say, 'I did this and I did that,' but
there's nothing like looking at it in black and white," she said of her
carefully compiled scrapbook. The 1/2-inch thick book includes pictures of
Hayes standing alongside state and local politicians as well as copies of
documents proving she is the proud owner of a new SUV and a three-bedroom
brick home.

"It hasn't been easy," Hayes said of her life on the outside. "I've had a
lot of bumps and bruises and there were a lot of things that took some
adjustments."

One of the hardest things for her to comprehend, she said, was the fact
that she really is free.

"At first I kept thinking they were going to come and get me," she said.
"That they were going to knock on the door and tell me it was all a mistake
and I had to go back."

But the former self-admitted drug-addict and prostitute says she was
determined to get past her anxiety and change her life for the better.

"I was 22 when I went to prison and I was not finished growing up yet," she
said. "I am wiser now. I've learned responsibility and how to put
priorities into place."

A Chance At A Job

Hayes credits a strong support system -- family, friends and some
influential backers -- with helping her pull herself together. She moved in
with her mother briefly following her release and went to work for the
parish as a draftsman in the Engineering Department.

Most convicted felons have difficulty landing a job because of the stigma
that comes with their rap sheet, but Parish President Bobby Bergeron,
impressed by Hayes' determination to overcome her difficulties, pledged to
help her find employment while she was still in jail.

"I was fully aware that unless someone gave her a break it would be
difficult for her to get back to a normal lifestyle," he said.

Hayes' boss, Bob Jones, said he initially wasn't so sure if her presence
would be a good thing. He said her hiring was preceded by an office-wide
conference held to make sure that Hayes would be welcomed.

"We discussed it at length," he said, "and it was a joint decision."

Hayes was hired in a temporary capacity and quickly learned how to scan
drawings and other information submitted to the parish office for use on
the agency's Web site. Jones said his concerns that the former convict's
presence would be distracting were unfounded and she quickly became a
productive and permanent member of his staff.

"It was more of an adjustment for her than for us," he said of those first
days on the job. "She asked for permission to do everything, it was sort of
strange to have someone say, 'Mr. Jones, may I go to the restroom,' but we
explained to her that that wasn't necessary."

Asked if he ever regretted the decision to hire her, Jones said he never
has. Neither did Bergeron, who called Hayes a model employee.

"I'm completely impressed with her," he said. "This lady has proven to me
that, if given the right opportunity (convicted felons) can come back ..
People are amazed at what she's been able to accomplish."

Hayes saved up enough money from her job to move from her mother's home to
a rented trailer and then, this past October, she moved a third time. She
now lives in a $70,000 house that she bought herself. The house, like many
other things in Hayes' life, is something she worked hard to get. She
bought it through the parish's first-time homeowner's program for
low-income residents -- a program that requires participants to pass a
course in homeownership and put up the money needed for appraisal fees,
insurance and other costs.

She lives there with her son, 31-year-old Leroy Beridon, in tidy rooms that
she has painstakingly decorated with telling touches that demonstrate the
delight she has in her new home.

Renewing Ties

"I'm really proud of her and what she's done and accomplished," said the
man who was just a boy when his mom was locked away. He moved from
California into his mother's house just last week in an effort to make up
for some of those lost years. "I wanted to come here and spend time with
her. I wanted to get to know her," Beridon said.

Beridon was 7 years old when his mother went to jail, but her illegal drug
use meant she had been a sporadic presence in his life long before she
entered the justice system. "I'm upset about what happened to her," he
said. "But I'm really glad to have her back."

It is difficult for him to talk about the trauma of visiting his mother in
prison and Hayes hovers protectively nearby while Beridon talks about the
pain her absence caused him. Hayes said she regrets not having been there
for her only child, but points to their now-close relationship as one of
the reasons why she's determined to stick to her new lifestyle.

"When he needs help, he calls me," she said as the two leaned against each
other while standing in their east Houma driveway. "That means so much ...
it makes me feel so good to know that I am someone he can call for help."

It seems that Hayes' son is not the only man in her life these days. She
says she met Wendell Pitts, her boyfriend of eight months, in church and
the two of them have talked of a future together. "He seems like a good
man," Hayes said of the Baton Rouge resident. "He's hard working."

Church is important to her too, she says. Hayes embraced Christianity while
behind bars and points to her desire to counsel other prisoners as one of
her reasons for seeking the pardon. Convicted felons are prohibited from
visiting other inmates.

"She has a lot of ambition and desires," said Lori Bolden, who pastors
Restoration Prayer Center in Houma along with her husband, Timothy Bolden.

One of the first things Hayes did when she visited the east Houma church
was to pull Lori Bolden aside and confide in her a desire to help others.
Bolden said she is confident Hayes will follow through on the promise she
made to God while still in prison.

"There's a part of her that knows she's been released to help others," she
said. "There's a burning desire in her to do that."

A High Price Paid

Before she can help others, however, Hayes said she must first help
herself. Under the conditions of her parole, Hayes must report monthly to a
probation officer for the next 21 years.

The fees that come with her monthly visits -- a service for which the
single mother pays $53 a month -- will total more than $13,000 by then.
Hayes said the fees are a burden, but it's the restrictions on her freedom
which are the most difficult.

The head of a national criminal justice group said it's important to
remember there are times when punishment is appropriate and there are times
when mercy is warranted. Hayes was sentenced to a mandatory life prison
sentence at a time when the federal law only provided for 15 years, said
Eric E. Sterling, president of the Maryland-based Criminal Justice Policy
Foundation.

"Twenty years is a very long time to serve," he said. "And heroin selling
is not a violent crime." He suggested, like many of Hayes' local
supporters, that the lengthy-prison sentence she already served may have
been punishment enough. "Because mandatory minimum sentences have been
created in many states, people who are technically guilty can end up
getting sentences that the legislature thought would be imposed on more
serious offenders," Sterling said.

High Hopes

Hayes said she is anxious about her hearing, but confident that she will
prevail. Her supporters agree.

"I'm very confident," Boykin said. "Cheryl has been out two years and
accomplished a lot. We're bringing someone before the board who is fully
rehabilitated."

This hearing, Hayes said, resembles the one that allowed her to walk out
the prison doors, but it is also vastly different. The Wednesday interview
represents a chance for her to prove her innocence.

"I was incarcerated for a crime I didn't commit," she said. "I want my name
cleared."

It's a battle cry that many of her supporters have taken up, including the
state senator whose picture appears in Hayes' scrapbook.

"There were some very questionable circumstances surrounding her
conviction," Dupre said. "This matter seems to be the largest injustice to
ever come out of Terrebonne Parish. She should get her whole civil rights
back because that is the right thing to do."