Dale White was in prison for only seven months, but it was long enough for him to figure out that he needed to make some changes in his life.
The third man in a two-man cell, White slept on the floor, next to the toilet, in what inmates call a foam “boat” — a type of makeshift bed the Vermont Department of Corrections uses during times of prison overcrowding.
After being released from the Northeast Correctional Facility in St. Johnsbury in 2017, White moved into a second-floor room of his own at the nonprofit Hartford Dismas House on Route 14.
“When I got out, I was lost,” said White, who was sentenced to prison in his early 60s for domestic assault and a second conviction for driving under the influence. “This has been a good place for me.”
Dismas House in Hartford Village offers affordable room and board ($85 a week) in a supportive environment for men and women who are trying to put their lives back together after prison.
Since Dismas opened in 2014, I’ve written a number of times about its residents. In a U.S. criminal justice system that prioritizes punishment over rehabilitation, Dismas provides a ray of hope and a helping hand for people who are in desperate need of both.
So news that the DOC is reducing Hartford Dismas’ funding from roughly $170,000 to $90,000 a year makes little sense.
Starting July 1, DOC will fund only five of Hartford Dismas’ 10 beds. Statewide, DOC is reducing the number of congregate beds that it pays for by nearly 100.
Where will the former inmates go?
DOC will put more people who are just getting out of prison into their own apartments. DOC says studies show that recently released inmates are less likely to return to prison when living by themselves rather than in group settings.
More independence, less supervision. It sounds good on paper. But is that what people — many of whom landed behind bars due to struggles with substance use — really need?
At a recent Vermont Senate Judiciary Committee hearing, Jim Baker, DOC’s interim commissioner, tried to reassure lawmakers that his department is “not just dumping people off in these apartments.”
They’ll continue to receive mental health and substance use treatment along with help in finding jobs, DOC’s housing administrator, Emily Higgins, told legislators. (According to its website, DOC provides housing and support services to more than 500 former inmates a year.)
Under its new plan, DOC is partnering with affordable housing organizations to line up landlords who are willing to take former inmates. But some lawmakers are skeptical the program that DOC is calling its “Theory of Change” — whatever that means — will lead to a change for the better.
“I’m disappointed about the move away from congregate housing,” said Sen. Dick Sears, the Bennington County Democrat who chairs the Judiciary Committee.
Sen. Alice Nitka, a Windsor County Democrat, was among the lawmakers who questioned DOC’s ability to find suitable apartments at a time when affordable housing is in short supply.
According to Baker, it won’t be a problem. “We’re already starting to secure apartments around the state,” he said.
Former state Sen. Will Hunter, who represented Windsor County in the late 1980s, established a nonprofit in 2013 that rents apartments, most of them in Springfield, to about 50 former inmates. DOC’s change in housing strategy won’t have a financial impact on Hunter’s operation, but he still considers it a “real step backward.”
People just getting out of prison benefit from the supervision that comes with living in a congregate setting, he told lawmakers at the hearing. As a landlord, Hunter said he’s seen former inmates get “dragged back down” by hanging out with the wrong crowd.
After more than a year at Hartford Dismas, White thought he was ready to return to his home in Newbury, Vt. But after a couple of months, he called Jeff Backus, Dismas’ house director.
“Can I come back?” White asked.
Backus, a Vermont correctional officer for nine years before joining Dismas in 2017, thinks having a few older residents, like White, is a plus. “They’re ready to make a break from the lifestyle that got them into trouble and can share their experiences with the younger guys,” Backus said.
After arriving at Dismas, residents are given help finding jobs and encouraged to open a bank savings account so when they’re ready to leave, they can afford their own place. This spring, residents are working as roofers, painters and on paving crews.
The 68-year-old White, who worked in small engine repair and building maintenance before prison, keeps busy doing odd jobs around Dismas. He’s also its master outdoor griller, cooking up chicken, burgers and fish for residents to share at mealtime. Last Thanksgiving, he deep-fried a turkey.
At Dismas, food is a big deal. Residents can always find boxes of cereal in the cupboards, sandwich meats in the refrigerator and ice cream in the freezer.
On most nights, Dismas residents sit down for dinner together. Before the COVID-19 pandemic, community volunteers prepared meals and dined with residents. After COVID-19 restrictions are lifted, the tradition will resume.
With DOC scaling back its commitment to congregate housing, Hartford Dismas must find new sources of funding to help support 10 residents at a time. With that in mind, it has taken in its first former federal prison inmate.
Hartford Dismas is also planning a major fundraiser for next month. On June 20, Sister Helen Prejean, the activist nun who wrote about her work on death row in the 1993 book Dead Man Walking, will be the featured speaker at the virtual event. (Ticket information can be found at dismasofvt.org/hartford-dismas.)
“We’ve got ground to make up, ” Backus said.
Jim Kenyon can be reached at jkenyon@vnews.com.
