How do people survive once they get out of prison?

 

After 51 years ‘inside,’ I was paroled in May 2016 and have had no contact with police since. I had no family or friends in the free world to assist me. Consequently, the following is how I have stayed out for 20 months.

During my first 90 days ‘out,’ my parole agent required me to live in a homeless shelter, possibly to ensure I was not institutionalized and to give me an opportunity to adjust to the free world, and save money. There were around 100 males there, sleeping in bunk beds in two dorms. A full one-third talked, even viciously argued, with people I could not see. I paid for my room and board by washing pots and pans, silverware and trays following the six (one for residents and another for walk-ins) meals on Saturdays and Sundays.

I swallow my pride and prison fantasies and spent the first three months working four hours a day, at minimum wage, at a 2nd Chance program made available by Goodwill Industries. I cleared about $125 a week, which was quite an increase over the $18.75 a week I was making for 40 hours a week in prison industries. It seems that a lot of poor people smoke. I stopped smoking in 1995 and did not start up again in the free world. After three months with Goodwill, I found a job as a custodian/janitor at a second-hand store. I initially started at 25 hours a week at $7.50 an hour, and slowly worked up to 35 hours at $10 an hour. Considered a full-time worker, I am paid for holidays and a two-week vacation, plus have medical insurance. Having earned a bachelor's degree and a master's degree while inside, I do not think I have a dream job, but I am 74 years old now and have my felony and prison background. So I sweep, mop, vacuum, empty trash cans, and clean three toilets daily, swallow my pride, and take what life gives me.

After 93 days in the homeless shelter, I moved to a ninth-floor, three-room and bath apartment for “Senior Citizens,” overlooking a wooded area and a flowing river. Possibly the most important thing I have done stays away from the escapism of drugs and alcohol. And I walk, ride a bike in warm months, and use public transportation. I am on parole for a minimum of five years, and I am saving up to buy a pickup truck someday, one I can tow a travel trailer behind, and tour the country when my five years are up. Not a glamorous life, not the one I dreamed about inside, but I am out and do not want to go back, so I, as was said in the 1960s, keep on keeping on.

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