THE WALL STREET JOURNAL - ENTERPRISE
Ex-Cons Find Other Jobs Pay In Labor Pinch
B Paulette Thomas
Wearing a white jacket, gloves, a mask and hairnet,
Edward Zebrak sets to work at 4 a.m. in a cavernous, refrigerated
processing plant in Cleveland. where lines of workers chop and package
vegetables. “This place has its moments,’ he says over the din.
It is a big improvement over the previous 812 years, which Mr. Zebrak
spent in an Ohio prison for a violent crime. Produce Packaging Ltd.
hired him from a halfway house for parolees as part of its strategy to
stem high employee turnover. After seven months at the company, Mr.
Zebrak now supervises 20 people. “Has he only been here seven months?”
says office manager Therese Poulos, flipping through paperwork. “He’s a
good, hard worker. It seems like he’s been here longer.”
This plant is one spot where economic reality and criminal justice
intersect in America. As the nation’s businesses are increasingly
squeezed by a labor shortage, they are turning to one of the very few
places left where workers aren’t in short supply — prisons.
U.S. prisons now house a record 1.7 million inmates, who are often
released to halfway houses or work-release programs at the end of their
sentences. And companies are hiring them. The surprise, for many of
those businesses, is how reliable these workers can be — and how high
they can rise in the hierarchy.
No doubt, the parolees do so well in part because they are under tight
supervision and risk returning to jail if they lose a job or fall a drug
test. “If there’s one distinguishing factor, it’s that their attendance
is impeccable,” says Charles Walden, chief executive of J.L. French
Corp., an automotive-parts maker in Sheboygan, Wis., which has a couple
dozen inmates on its payroll. Several of them wear electronic-
monitoring devices under their work boots.
The hiring strategy has some hazards. There are the bureaucratic
hassles, such as having to notify parole officers about overtime work in
advance. Some hires are hostile, or prone to drug problems. At Produce
Packaging, one parolee worked out so well that he, like Mr. Zebrak,
became a supervisor
But this man went on a crack cocaine binge when job
pressures grew too stressful and was later arrested for breaking into the
company office.
Produce Packaging began hiring from such programs a few years ago, grasping
at any possible way to deal with annual work-force turnover of 70%. About
half its employees now come from prison halfway houses and
drug-rehabilitation programs, and turnover has fallen to 40%. Two of its six
supervisors are from halfway houses.
“Entry-level people you hire off the street generally wouldn’t be any more
polished than the people we get from the programs,” says Ms. Poulos, the
office manage!. Some of the scariest people are the hardest workers.”
Many ex-cons are making their mark above entry levels. Since many parolees
are older than recent high-school graduates or dropouts, their age and
experience can make it easier for them in more senior slots. Street and
prison life, it turns out, aren’t bad ways to prepare for certain jobs.
For instance, at Omni Computer Products, a Carson, Calif., computer-parts
distributor, three out of four vice presidents of sales are from
halfway-house or substance-abuse programs. About one-third of the company’s
250 employees — nearly all of them in sales — are from such programs.
Ex-cons, says Chief Executive Gerald Chamales, have “street smarts” from
sizing people up and “reptile skin,” useful in deflecting the constant
rejection of telemarketing.
“They know urgency and focus,” Mr. Chamales says. Still, he quickly
acknowledges, “This isn’t for the faint of heart.”
Last week, Mr. Chamales says he spent several hours assembling a team of
employees to help a relapsed sales manager get into a detox center and find
care for her four-year-old child. Another time, Mr. Chamales got death
threats from an employee who had been tired after a kickback scheme was
exposed. There was also the time the company had to clear out the office for
bomb-sniffing dogs, after a disgruntled employee telephoned to say he had
planted a bomb. All the incidents involved halfway-house hires.
But sometimes, the hires work out. Joseph Hiller, now a senior vice
president of sales supervising 120 people, had been a steady drug user for
years when he was arrested for drunken driving. Onmi hired him 14 years ago
through a hospital rehab program. His climb through the ranks at Omni helped
him keep his life straight. “I need structure,” Mr. Hiller says. “I need
discipline. Now I’m a workaholic.”
Mr. Chamales says he is willing to be a pioneer because he spent a decade strung out on drugs
and alcohol. Then he got training from a social-services agency and landed a
job cold-selling computers by telephone, eventually starting his own
business selling computers. The experience influenced his management style.
For instance, he looks for evidence from job applicants that they are in
counseling or support groups. And, flouting the national trend toward casual
attire, he requires business dress, which he believes instills a
professional attitude. After six months, Mr. Chamales says, Omni usually
knows if the hire is good. While turnover in the first six months is 50%,
after that it drops to 27%.
It isn’t a free ride for 0mm. New hires get a mentor right away, for
coaching on skills like getting along with people and problem-solving. The
company also has some $250,000 in personal loans outstanding to employees —
often for legal fees and drug fines.
In some cases, companies are looking to prison inmates even before they
return to the streets.
J.L. French has faced unemployment rates of about 2.5% in Sheboygan for
years. In Wisconsin, some prisoners are required to hold down paying jobs on
the outside to make restitution and defray incarceration costs. Making the
rounds of prisons, J.L. French’s production vice president, Joe Harrison,
discovered Kelly O’Brien, who was serving a two-year sentence in the county
jail for battery and driving while intoxicated.
Mr. Harrison offered Mr. O’Brien, a former construction worker, a factory
job while he did time. But Mr. O’Brien spurned it in favor of an outdoor
construction job — from which he promptly escaped. “They made it too easy
for me to walk away,” Mr. O’Brien says.
Hauled back to jail, he got the job Mr. Harrison had offered. Mr. Harrison
urged him to seek a promotion, and in several months, he won the job of rile
caster. “He kept after me,” says Mr. O’Brien.
With his monitoring device chafing at his ankle, Mr. O’Brien works the
second shift and attends meetings of the company’s alcohol program. He
struck up a romance with a woman who works at the factory. They dream of
raising a few horses on a farm together after his scheduled release from
prison July 10.
Mr. O’Brien says he gets stressed out when his supervisor yells. “But I am
on pretty good terms with the supervisor,” he says. “I’ve learned to bite my
tongue.” One reason, he says: “I definitely plan to stay here when my term
is up.”