New Haven Independent

Dyson came to talk to about 25 women in the Hill Health Center’s Village of Power program, a group of women recovering from substance abuse. About 90 percent are homeless or at risk of homelessness. About 80 percent have been in jail or probation, according to Village of Power staff. The women come to the Dixwell Avenue health center for job training, support and inspiration.

Dyson, with his instantly captivating story-telling style and vigorous hand gestures, engaged the group in a discussion about getting back a normal life after jail.

Anyone who’s heard Dyson talk probably knows about his two sons, Eric and Michael, who went to prison then stepped out into a world of closed doors. “My son came out and he had some notion about getting himself a job. He tried to get a driver’s license, but what do you think happened?” He had no ID when he got out of jail. That meant no license, no way to prove his identity and no car to get to a job. “He got a problem! All around a cotton-picking license!” Women mmm-hmmmed in solidarity.

When his second son got out of jail, he couldn’t move back home because the household already housed one felon. Dyson has devoted himself to working for convicts’ rights. He told another story of a man who couldn’t get a job as a substitute teacher because he had been convicted of writing a bad check. “Bop! There he is, a felon! He couldn’t teach.”

“We have in this city 250 people coming back a month. We have a bunch of people who are pissed — and can you think about all the people who depend upon them?”

Women jumped in with their own stories. Edna Brown (pictured) used to work at the SBC telephone company. Her whole family worked there. Then she got into drugs — taking, dealing, “boosting” (shoplifting) to support the habit. She came out of prison 10 years ago. When she got out, she applied for a job again as a telephone operator. The company turned her down because she was “a gal with a record,” she said. The SNET episode prompted a drug relapse. She’s doing mentoring training at Columbus House now, but still hasn’t landed a regular, paying job.

“I’m a very intelligent, very smart black woman but I get into blockages,” she said. “Nobody’s going to pardon me — I’m marked for life!”

Dyson stepped in with words of support. “They can easily turn you off about trying to move ahead.” But “don’t give up.” He shared what he’s doing at the state Capitol: Pushing to establish a “certificate of employability” for ex-offenders who have a criminal record but who the state deems fit to work. That certificate could mean the difference between someone being dismissed wholesale and actually landing a job.

“It’s attaching some humanity to the issue of corrections,” said Dyson. He said there is a House bill now in the legislature, but he didn’t recall the bill’s number.

Staff at the state Board of Pardons and Paroles had even better news. People who committed crimes a long time ago but have since reformed can apply to have their criminal record wiped clean. A lot of people in the room didn’t know that the Board of Pardons was an option. And getting a pardon may be more and more relevant these days, said Sal Lovetere (pictured at left), a parole officer and investigator for the board.

“Since the Patriot Act, everybody’s doing reference checks,” said Lovetere. He spoke of a case of a police officer who had a violent misdemeanor, a breach of peace charge, on his record from 15 or 20 years ago. “No one even did a background check” on him when he was hired. Now he’s in jeopardy of losing his job. Getting a pardon can be key these days.

So how do you get your criminal slate wiped? You send in an application, which is weighed on several factors — how long you’ve stayed out of trouble, the seriousness of crime, whether you’ve built credibility by getting a job or going to support groups. The board meets four times a year — February, May, August and November — to accept or deny requests. In the last year, 300 pardons have been granted. Over 50 percent get accepted, said Lovetere. One tip for applicants: Be ready to take accountability for your actions. “It’s amazing the number of people who talk their way out of a pardon” by refusing to admit guilt.

Pardons staff urged the crowd to apply. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t apply for a pardon — all they can say is no,” said Doug Poger (pictured at right). “This is the avenue for a second chance.” Sue Feldman, who coordinates Village of Power, was impressed that all three state pardons investigators showed up. “The message you’re sending to the community is you care.”

“I just feel like we are so blessed to hear this,” chimed in Edna Brown (pictured above). “It’s been on my mind so heavy about how to do something about this. There’s a lot of people needs to hear about what you guys have said today,” she told the pardons investigators. After the meeting, she clutched an application in her hand. “”This pardon board is an awesome thing. If I don’t get it this year, I’ll try it year after year after year. I ain’t never giving up.”

“I have to look in more about what’s going on with the pardon program,” said Tonya Henderson. She’s trying to shake a risk-of-injury charge made against her three years ago. She says she’s cleaned up problems with drug use and has been working as a nurse assistant. She’s fighting to keep her kids and move on with her life. “I just want to focus on getting that criminal history gone — then I’ll be satisfied.”

A place to Shine
Meanwhile, staff at Village of Power aren’t going to wait for pardons to enable their clients to gain job skills. Their “Growing through Sewing” program teaches clients to sew, market and design their own clothing. In a basement shop, they make and sell the clothes — fine silks, colorful blouses, custom-made cloaks and suits. The money goes back to the clients — 40 percent to buy more fabric, and 60 percent back to the women who work there, to subsidize housing costs. “They’re so talented, yet the doors slam in their face when they try to get a job. We’d like to have everyone come here every day and not give up,” said program coordinator Sue Feldman (pictured).

Clients often aren’t appreciated, she said. “Their beauty doesn’t shine. All the community sees is that one felony. We say — who cares about the past? We want to allow their talent and strengths to be magnified.”