When a loved one goes behind bars, the whole family is in prison The statistics say that about 2 million Americans are behind bars. That number lies.

Ask anyone whose husband, wife, son or daughter lives in prison. These family members are behind bars nobody sees.
"You are in a prison of your own," said an ex-wife of an Oklahoman prisoner sentenced 30 years for drug trafficking. "You, too, do each and every day of the sentence in one way or another."

Those who want to tell these families where to look for sympathy should wait a moment. "The public should keep in mind that they could very well become one of those families, since Oklahoma is No. 1 in locking up women and No. 3 overall," said Lynn Powell, president of the Oklahoma chapter of the Citizens United for the Rehabilitation of Errants in Tulsa. "I could guarantee that the families didn't think they would end up having someone in prison. "The chances keep getting better and better that they could end up with a love one in prison," Powell said.

About one in every 147 Americans are in prison, according to the latest Bureau of Justice Statistics report. For some time, America has battled with Russia as the country with the highest rate of incarceration in the world. Oklahoma's courts, as one Tulsa wife of a prisoner said, are known for hard sentences. "Real hard," she said. "Too hard."
I Prisoners' names are part of the public record, but their families remain invisible. And there's a reason for that. Many don't even tell their bosses they have a loved one in prison. "I'm afraid of what would happen," said one Tulsa mother, whose son is serving time for drug possession. The lives of the families who know phone numbers at the Department of Corrections by heart are filled with weekend trips to destinations like Boley, Granite and Walters.

They talk about phone bills where they have to pay $25 for 15-minute phone calls. They read books like "Keeping Love Alive While in Prison." Most want to remain hidden. They say their family has gone through enough. They don't want to be guilty by association. "It happens every day of my life," said one parent, whose son, like many of the country's inmates, is a nonviolent drug offender.

'This is our life'
Lisa Taylor isn't your typical inmate's wife. For the last 16 years, her ex-husband has been locked up for a number of crimes, all connected to drug addiction. Unlike many spouses of inmates, she's not afraid to speak out. "We've told our kids from the beginning we are going to be open and honest about this," she said. "We have nothing to hide. This is our life." The days that followed her ex-husband's incarceration were littered with events that make Taylor wonder how she made it. There were the nights when she gave her two children five crackers each for dinner. There were days when she didn't eat at all. There was the time when she worked three jobs, when she didn't get to come home until after 1 in the morning. "I not only needed to support my children, but the inmate as well," she said. "Without help from the outside, they're out of luck." She's lost longtime friends because of crimes she didn't commit. I'm 44 and never had a speeding ticket," she adds.

Even worse was watching her children shunned. At school, when the kids played cops and robbers, her son was the one who always went to jail. "You're going there, just like your dad," some of them told him. Studies show that children of incarcerated parents are five to seven times more likely to be in prison one day. "It does more damage to the kids than even the adults who have to make it without a partner," said Mary Lou Martin-Hartung, executive director of the Tulsa-based Operation Hope Prison Ministry, which helps adults coming out of prison start over.

Fated to fail
Taylor knows her decision to speak openly about her family's life is unusual."The families are afraid, and I understand that," she said. "I hope and pray there are no repercussions because of what I'm saying, but we need to say something. There are too many prisoners. It's like the government doesn't want them to get out." Many families wonder why prisons aren't working more to rehabilitate the people there. Access to drug rehab or work training is limited to a fraction of the inmates who need it, they say.

Families complain the visitation rules are too strict.
The need for security is the reason behind many of the rules placed on visiting families, said Jerry Massie, a spokesman for the Oklahoma Department of Corrections. "It's difficult for some people, if they are not bringing in drugs or trying to circumvent the rules, to understand what we have to do," he said. In Taylor's experience with the system, she's come to one conclusion. "I think the system makes sure you are going to fail," Taylor said.

'Rite of passage'
Susan Sharp had two high school friends end up in prison. One was paroled after four years for conspiring to commit homicide. The other was jailed for stealing a bag of dog food from a store using a water pistol while he was drunk. He got 10 years, but was paroled after seven. "Doesn't seem equal, does it?" she said. "But reality is, if you have money you get one consequence. If you don't, you get the other." That was one of the experiences that led Sharp, associate professor of sociology at the University of Oklahoma, to research the effects of incarceration on the families of drug offenders. "We have such a huge punitive approach," she said. "In some areas, we have successfully created the next generation of people to lock up. In certain communities, one out of six African-American males went to prison. It's become almost a rite of passage." She supports programs like drug court and those that provide earlier interventions.
"There is also no real help to reintegrate these people back into society," she said. "It's even harder to reintegrate with the family, especially when the family hasn't received any counseling. Financially, it's just a disaster." To reduce these kinds of effects, Sharp said social services are needed that help prevent rather than react to people who commit crimes.

'Play the game'
One mother whose son spent his 20s in prison for drug possession wants to know where all the money goes. She wonders who gets the money when her son pays $4 for a travel-sized toothpaste. She wonders why the state needs money for prisons when she pays $5.14 for the first minute and 89 cents for each additional minute when he son calls home collect, the only way the law allows. After telling her story in the living room of her south Tulsa home, she laughs. Sometimes that is all she can do. "There isn't much you can do other than play the game," she said. "If you push too many buttons, there will be retaliation to the prisoner. I don't know. I feel their jobs are helping these guys -- to make it an easier transition. But I know, I know, that's not the case." Since her ex-husband's prison term started, Taylor has answered one question more than any other: "Why don't you leave him?" "I tell them I took him for better for worse," she said. "I got the worse. But I love him. I don't want anyone else but him." Come spring, there's a chance he will be released. She is now busy trying to line up a job for him. "I think our work has only begun," she said.

Some thoughts of families who have loved ones in prison
"I do believe that my husband needed punishment, but 17 years for a first-time offender is really harsh."
-- wife of a husband convicted of manufacturing drugs

"There is no consideration whatsoever to try to teach inmates how to become successful in the world after doing their time. I guess once sentenced you are a criminal for life. Why not just throw them all in a gas chamber and kill them? What the state does to them is every bit as good ... They may need punishment, but not abandonment."
-- mother of a son who just finished his five-year prison term

"I often wonder why the state of Oklahoma wants these inmates so badly."
-- woman who volunteers to visit prisoners

"Having a loved one in prison is like knowing your loved one is in purgatory. You ache, agonize and hope that someday, somehow he or she will emerge and then life can start again. Prison is -- for its denizens and their family members on the outside -- the land of the living dead."
-- a lawyer whose loved one has been incarcerated for three years

"He's recovered. He rehabbed himself despite the fact the drugs are in there, if not worse than out here. My daughter tells him every Sunday when we visit, 'I want you to come home. Can they let you come home?' It's always a question of coming home. Watching his kids walk away every weekend, that's rehab."
-- wife of a prisoner who was sentenced to 30 years for manufacturing methamphetamine
 

Jason Collington 581-8464
jason.collington@tulsaworld.com

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