Generally speaking, I am often able to pull a silver lining or two out of even the darkest cloud. That is in spite of decades spent behind the walls of a maximum-security, federal penitentiary; the marriage and divorce of the same woman – twice; and a lifetime and oft lost battle with addiction. Those things should have me mired in darkness and more than ready to give up as my release date approaches, yet here I sit.
According to the numbers, I’m destined to fail. The odds are horrible for somebody with my lack of outside support and a current release address of homeless, boasting a 77% chance that, within five years, I’ll end up back in prison. The thought of even trying to enter the workforce at an age when most people are considering retirement is scary. Couple that with a lengthy criminal history and lack of marketable skills – well, things don’t look too good.
My time has been spent in maximum-security, and the sad truth is, the higher security the facility, the less opportunity for programming. That being said, in the federal system, everyone who is able is expected to work. That led to me becoming a G.E.D. tutor. Turns out, teaching is something I am pretty good at, and I also enjoy it. Matter of fact, I was the first inmate to complete the Teacher’s Aide apprenticeship program at this facility. That’s right, I spent 4,000 hours of learning and teaching and earned myself a piece of fancy paper from the U.S. Department of Labor proclaiming me a Teacher’s Aide I. Not that I’ll ever be able to use that certification in the real world because, as hard-up as society seems to be for teacher’s aides, the whole ex-con thing’s not gonna go over too well.
What does one do when he or she has failed at everything else in life? Patricia McConnell once said, “When you failed at everything you ever tried, what’s left? To become a writer, of course.” Sounded good to me. To date, I’ve published several volumes of poetry, the most recent, Read This When I’m Gone, is available from Amazon and would look fantastic on your bookshelf. I’ve appeared in a wide range of publications, and I guess one could say my career as an incarcerated writer has been a success. However, poetry, much like crime, does not pay, and the $5.25 per month that I am paid to teach doesn’t stretch very far. As the days pass and my release date inches closer, I also inch closer to homelessness and the need to find a real job.
So, just what opportunities are out there for a thrice convicted felon such as myself? The truth is, most jobs available to an ex-convict are lower paying and offer little in the way of benefits, job security or advancement potential. Numerous states even seem to go out of their way to make things more difficult by implementing arbitrary and nonsensical licensing restrictions on certain careers. In Mississippi, convicted felons are presumed to be without the good moral character needed to sell automobiles. In Florida, a felony conviction will keep you from tending bar for five years, and North Carolina can make it challenging for an ex-con who wishes to work in the pest control field.
While those things are frustrating, the discretion given to certain state licensing boards further discourages people like me from even applying for certain jobs. In New York, a former prisoner needs special permission from the Secretary of State to obtain a real estate license, and in Texas, a felony conviction adds a mountain of paperwork to being an apprentice plumber.
There is no shortage of statistics, the two biggest needs of a body just walking out of prison are housing and employment, in that order. Studies have shown that providing access to both costs much less than reincarceration.
In spite of all that, I’m a silver linings kind of guy. The same 77% chance of my failure leaves me with a 33% chance of making it. If nothing else, my floundering as a writer has taught me how to write a good ending. Where there’s a will, there must be a way, and when I’m not sitting around feeling sorry for myself, I’m looking for proof that someone like me can make it.
Just look at Mike Carter, Executive Chef of Down North Pizza in Philadelphia, PA. In 2023, Down Home Pizza was named one of the Washington Post’s 50 Best Pizzerias in the U.S. Like me, Mike once found himself trapped in the revolving door of the correctional system, yet Mr. Carter never gave up. Instead, he adapted. Whereas, free-world pizza is as simple as some mozzarella, dough and tomato sauce, those ingredients can prove elusive in a cell block. Even so, a penitentiary pizza, borne of Ramen noodles, BBQ sauce and crushed up Cheez-It’s isn’t as bad as it might sound. And, as Down North Pizza reminds me, there’s hope. Sometimes the solution lies in just deciding not to be the problem anymore, and knowing none of us are the sum total of our worst mistakes.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR. Dan Grote is the author of We Are All Doing Time and Read This When I’m Gone. Mr. Grote’s poetry has been widely published and also featured in WITS Newsletter Issue 13. While polishing his writing skills, Dan also became a certified teacher’s aide and will soon be going home to the Chicago area where he hopes to connect with support and begin building his new life on the outside. To contact Dan Grote:
Dan Grote #22670-424
USP Canaan
U.S. PENITENTIARY
P.O. BOX 300
WAYMART, PA 18472
