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A
Tale of Two Ex-Inmates Johnny, 31
Before he was released on probation by a Manhattan court on April 23, Johnny had never been to jail. How he found himself there is a convoluted story. Last
December, Bob, who was hospitalized after suffering a stroke, asked
Johnny to take care of his cat in his absence. Everything was well,
until months later, Bob received a phone call from his credit card
company, who wondered why there had been an unusual cash withdrawal
of nearly $1,200 on the card. Bob knew nothing about it. It turned
out Johnny did. Twelve
days after Johnny left Rikers, a Manhattan judge put him on probation
and sent him to a drug rehabilitation program. But Bob said Johnny,
who hangs around the Village but is hard to locate, has been skipping
his probation.
"Five years ago, I was in robberies, drug arrests [and] violent offenses," said Frank, who did not want his last name used. "Now I use my experience to relate as a life model."
Frank is among several youth, most of them ex-inmates from Rikers Island, who are building careers establishing stable futures for juvenile offenders. He works for Friends of Highland Academy, a nonprofit organization founded in 1990 that derives its name from the high school on Rikers — Island Academy. The group reaches out to young offenders with the offer of an alternative lifestyle to drugs and crime. "We go in [to Rikers], establish a relationship and tell them to come see us when they are out," said Frank. "Our job is to help them stay alive and free." On a recent mid-afternoon, Frank sat at his Manhattan office, which he shares with over a dozen colleagues, and worked the phone. Stacks of yellow folders, each containing information on recently released juvenile inmates, sat on his sunlit desk, which faces south toward the Statue of Liberty. The organization's third-floor office on Seventh Avenue is a congenial workplace where a battery of desktop computers sit on uncluttered white desks, all manned by juvenile ex-inmates working for peers currently in jail. Frank's seven-foot frame is formidable. His red, long-sleeved sweatshirt and blue jeans further suggested a casual workplace, the kind of place juveniles just released from jail would relate to. But his executive haircut and firm handshake exude confidence.
On a typical day, Frank goes back and forth between the offices of Friends of Island Academy, developing relationships with adolescent offenders in jail and convincing them that there is a future to look forward to. With his colleagues, Frank helps teach on-site GED classes and organizes vocational training or college classes for inmates already GED-qualified. Inmates who yield to the team's prodding become members of the organization. They are placed in schools, while those with drug history are monitored through rehabilitation programs. It wasn't hard to convince Frank to go through the same procedure when he last left jail in 2000. "I didn't have anyone there for me," he said of his experience in jail. "Even when I was locked up I was trying to help out people." His colleagues said there is no chance the man who once spent six years behind bars would go back there. "Do I think he is clean? I know he is clean," said Brian, 30. "He is doing the right things. He has shown that he is honest."
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he
lights at Rikers Island's jail go off at 10:45 p.m. Simultaneously,
the cell doors, which are controlled from the correctional officer's
center— referred to here as "the bubble"—lock
electronically. At 5:30 the next morning, they open again by a hand
no one sees. But one day, Johnny's door suddenly flung open at 4
a.m. and let in his worst nightmare.
f
all places, Frank, 22, found his vocation in jail. But he had to
go in and out repeatedly before he figured it out.
