Inmates Get to Keep Jobs While Doing Time

The residents of 125 Sproat live quiet lives, faithfully going to work each day, spending their evenings playing cards or watching television and doing community service once a week.

Not the usual routine of your average federal inmate. But these inmates aren’t in your average federal prison.

They are residents of the Community Correctional Center, one of two programs in the country--the other is in Washington, D.C.--that allows first-time offenders to keep their jobs while serving out sentences of up to one year.

The 50-bed prison houses six women and 37 men. They live in dormitory-style rooms in the two floors above a Salvation Army.

Most have been convicted of white-collar crimes such as tax evasion, mail fraud and bank embezzlement. A few have dabbled in drug dealing.

Once through the program, established in 1985, none of the 300 inmates has been a repeat criminal offender.

Taste of Prison

A 36-year-old Detroit man who asked to remain unidentified is in the center for securities fraud. He would have gone to a closed prison if the program did not exist.

A parole hearing at a high-security federal prison gave him a taste of what he might have been forced to endure:

“You walk in and see the guards in the towers with the guns, and see the bars on the doors. I’m happy to be in this place,” he said.

The knowledge that a conventional prison could be the next step is the idea the program tries to get across.

“There are a lot of people who’ve made mistakes in their lives, but whose lives aren’t buried because of it,” said Albert Uhl, U.S. Bureau of Prisons community corrections administrator in Detroit.

“The court didn’t want to put them in confinement but wanted some constrictions so the seriousness of the situation would sink in,” he said. “In most cases, they are middle-class people who made one bad judgment.”

Courts carefully screen for inmates they think will benefit from the program, Uhl said. Anyone who has already served time in prison, or has a history of assault or a drug problem, is ineligible, he said.

The center is not the “country club” some associate with high-profile white-collar criminals.

Inmates occupy two- and three-bedroom units, furnished with a few basics, including a bed, a dresser and a nightstand. It is situated in a depressed area of downtown Detroit, surrounded by abandoned buildings and litter-strewn lots.

Street People

“There probably isn’t anyone here who hasn’t been approached by a drug dealer, bum or prostitute,” one inmate said.

Still, absent from the typical prison setting are barred cells, armed guards and violent offenders. These inmates are accountants, securities dealers and pharmacists. Many find the company first-rate.

“I’m having a ball here,” said Leonard, a 48-year-old accountant, in the center for tax fraud. “I shoot pool, there’s a great bunch of guys here. It’s like an Army barracks.”

Though not ecstatic to be there--he said he would have received probation if the program did not exist--he is philosophical about it, and he stays upbeat.

“My relations with my family are better,” he said. “We don’t take each other for granted anymore.”

Helping maintain family ties is another aim of the program, where visits are allowed three times a week.

One inmate initially decided against having his children, a 3-year-old daughter and a 13-year-old son, see him there. He later changed his mind, thinking it might be beneficial.

“I explained the situation to my son,” he said. “I wanted him to see if you do something wrong, you’re going to pay for it.”

Program administrator Rosalind Humes said nine inmates have failed to comply with the rigid rules and were transferred to lockup facilities. Two tried to escape, were captured and taken to other prisons, she said.

Federal Commitment

“There is a commitment on the part of the federal bureau of prisons to move in this direction,” Uhl said, noting that the federal prison population is expected to triple to 150,000 by the year 2002.

Oakland County Prosecutor L. Brooks Patterson, known for his tough law-and-order stance, agrees that the program can be beneficial.

“If a tax evader is persistently and gainfully employed and can pay back Uncle Sam, I think we’re better off for it,” Brooks said.

Patterson agrees that white-collar criminals should be treated differently from violent offenders.

“I don’t think anyone in their right mind can’t distinguish an embezzler from a rapist,” Patterson said. “A white-collar offender is not going to rape and pillage the community.”

The relaxed atmosphere might give the impression inmates have considerable freedom. They move about the center freely, playing pool, watching television, using weight-training equipment and joking with supervisors.

But the sense of confinement is very real.

Each inmate has a curfew and is allowed to leave only for work. Inmates are tested regularly for substance and alcohol abuse, the facility is searched monthly and random pat searches are part of the daily routine.

‘It’s Dehumanizing’

“It’s dehumanizing to have someone telling you to do this and do that,” one inmate said.

A constant fear for some inmates is the thought of being transferred to a closed facility.

“It’s a bad feeling to see a person handcuffed and taken out,” said one inmate, who saw several residents removed by a federal marshal after they failed drug tests.

Still, many take their stay in stride and maintain a sense of humor.

Listed on the current activities schedule are roller skating and quilting.

“I think I’m a little bit past the roller-skating age,” said one inmate, a burly, 42-year-old Detroit man in the center for selling cocaine.

“But, hey, I won a candle playing bingo,” he said.

Several inmates think the program would be a good franchise investment, even if their criminal records would prevent them from getting such a contract. They point to the requirement that inmates pay part of their daily $37.50 subsistence, based on a sliding scale.

However, there is no return on this facility, which is managed by Project Rehab, a nonprofit organization based in Grand Rapids, Mich., that also runs drug-abuse centers and pre-release programs.