Alyson R. Quinn is the editorial director at Prison Fellowship. She is a graduate of Georgetown University and holds an M.A. in Nonfiction Writing from Johns Hopkins University. Her work has appeared in the Washington Post, WORLD Magazine, and other print and online publications. She is based in the Carolinas.
Robert* was going home—if he could figure out how. An ex-prisoner who encountered Christ behind bars, he felt led upon release to start somewhere new. He sold his possessions, scrounged up $500, and set off in a donated van with no fixed destination.
Debbie Walsh cannot remember the first time she met volunteer Robert Ramos. But that, she says, merely demonstrates his soft-spoken, unassuming demeanor. When this former prisoner shared his testimony during Operation Starting Line (OSL) in-prison evangelistic events, “men and women listened intently,” says OSL organizer Debbie, “for his story was told in a straightforward, unembellished way.”
Tony Davis never thought he would appear on a panel about employing ex-offenders at an Out4Life Reentry Summit for coalition members, but he’s well-qualified.
On most days Tony, 32, works outdoors with his five-man auto maintenance crew in the sweltering heat of Sulphur, Louisiana.
Shipyard training manager Sterling Dolese was skeptical about taking part in a work-release program from a local correctional institution. The results have exceeded all expectations.
From the shipyard at Avondale, just outside of New Orleans, ring the steel-on-steel sounds of progress.
Tony Chantaca, 16, jumped from the stolen car in the wash of flashing blue lights. Mind clouded with inhalants, legs pumping against the asphalt, he ran. A policeman, hot behind him, sprang and tackled the teenager to the ground. Tony fought to pry the officer’s gun from its holster.
On Father’s Day in America, the tangy smoke of barbecue will float over countless backyards. Young daughters and sons will present their fathers with hugs, homemade cards, and breakfast in bed. But for over one million children of incarcerated men, one thing will be missing: Dad.
For many of the 700,000 prisoners released to American neighborhoods each year, the return to society looks bleak. After months or years in an environment prone to eroding decision-making skills, many will take their bus fare and the clothes on their backs and head straight back to familiar territory: addictions, broken relationships, and crime.
“I don’t think you and I can understand the pull of the world on these guys when they get out,” says Dan Pearson, a Prison Fellowship volunteer and a 70-year-old grandfather from Grand Rapids, Michigan. “They are like children—giddy.” But after the thrill of freedom come the challenges of reintegration.