A second chance: How Oklahoma prison programs help inmates return to life after their release

Christie Luther recalled that moment washing hair when she knew she wanted to start a cosmetology school at the Mabel Bassett Correctional Center in McLoud, Oklahoma. Her professional license gave a little glimmer of hope that she could get a job once she was released from prison.

With over 35 years of experience, she worked in the beauty shop at Mabel Bassett. Other women wanted to work there, too, but many didn’t get a chance to learn or finish their cosmetology education. She wanted other women to feel the same hope.

“I always say I met God at the shampoo bowl," she said.

Released after four years, four months, four weeks and one day, Luther promptly got in touch with the Department of Corrections and the Oklahoma State Board of Cosmetology and Barbering, both of which supported her idea for a prison program to give incarcerated women job skills to use when they're released.

In 2015, the program called “Re-Entry Investment Student Education” or R.I.S.E. , got its nonprofit status. The doors opened at Mabel Bassett two years later in 2017 with about 20 students out of 200 to 250 applications. Today, there are 28 students enrolled at the prison and 11 enrolled in the diversion school in Oklahoma City, including the school’s first male student.

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So far, not one graduate has returned to prison.

Oklahoma’s prison experience often includes violence and death, and the state sends more people to prison than the national average, according to a Bureau of Justice Statistics report .

The state ranks fourth in the nation with an incarceration rate of 563 per 100,000 people, while the national average is 355 per 100,000.

However, Oklahoma has a relatively low rate of recidivism, which the Corrections Department attributes in part to prison programs to help inmates and former inmates find second chances through education, career skills, behavioral changes and treatment.

The state's Transparent Oklahoma Performance (TOP) says Oklahoma's recidivism rate is 15.6% and dropping. The Governor’s Dashboard of Metrics says the rate is 18.5%, giving the state the second-lowest recidivism rate in the U.S. Outside sources like World Population Review says Oklahoma has a 22.6% rate, ranking it fifth-lowest.

Programs under Corrections Department make effort to change lives

The department's motto, "We Change Lives," is supported by programs focusing on education, substance abuse treatment and support, cognitive behavioral programming, career and technical skills training and reentry, says Kay Thompson, a department spokesperson.

“We can get these people good careers, and then they don’t have to rely on dealing drugs or stealing or things like that,” Thompson said. “It’s a public safety effort.”

When people enter the prison system, they’re placed in programs based on assessed level of need, time to projected release and available resources. Some programs for drug and alcohol offenders are court ordered, and instead of a lengthy prison sentence, release depends on completing a boot camp-type program and good behavior, Thompson said.

One example is a partnership with the Department of Rehabilitation Services through which inmates at the Oklahoma State Reformatory transcribe books for visually impaired children. The Braille Education Program teaches participants those skills and allows them to work toward earning a Library of Congress Braille Certification.

Out of the approximately 21,000 incarcerated people in state prisons, 8,000-9,000 are participating in programs designed to help them when released, Thompson said. She added that before the COVID pandemic participation was about 15,000, and the numbers are bouncing back.

Thompson said the department's budget was cut by $8 million this year, making it more challenging to devote resources to the programs. She said the department has found ways to be efficient by going paperless, adding technology and streamlining processes.

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She said the department also is encouraging programs run by volunteers such as Poetic Justice , based in Tulsa, that offer restorative writing and creative arts programs to women in prison. The department only provides the space for these programs. Thompson said volunteer numbers were about 4,000 before the pandemic, and they are slowly increasing.

OBU’s Prison Divinity Program helping inmates find value in themselves

One privately funded endeavor is Oklahoma Baptist University’s Prison Divinity Program, which started in 2022. Men who are serving 12 years or more and have a high school diploma or equivalent at the Lexington Assessment and Reception Center can apply and if accepted, earn a liberal arts degree in Christian studies.

“For many of them, they’ve been written off by society sometimes with no family and they feel like life is over,” Bruce Perkins, director and lead professor, said, adding it restores value and dignity in themselves. “When you begin to understand, ‘Hey, I do matter, and I can be useful, and I can be successful.’”

Currently, 62 men are enrolled with about half expected to graduate next May, while the other half just completed their first year. Another cohort is expected to start in fall 2025.

Students who complete two years in the program can receive an internship that allows them to enter the maximum-security yard and talk to inmates about the program. Since the program operates at the reception center, they can also talk to incoming inmates, Perkins said.

He said the program's next phase would be expanding into other prisons and deploying graduates into service as field ministers.

Students R.I.S.E. up in cosmetology program

Luther said a key to the success of the R.I.S.E. program is what she called "wraparound support." The program partners with salon franchises in Stillwater, Oklahoma City, Moore, Norman, Edmond, Jenks and Tulsa that will hire graduates when they are released.

The program provides more than job training. One day Luther asked her students if they had a plan after they were released. She said a few had tears trickling down their cheeks and onto their written answers. One woman said she’d go to the Tulsa Day Shelter, and when Luther asked why, the woman said she didn’t have her family or her children anymore.

“Right that minute standing in the classroom, I was like we have to get a transitional home,” Luther said. A church member bought a house in partnership with R.I.S.E. and then one day, signed it over to the nonprofit. Now there are two transitional houses.

The pandemic shed light on another challenge: canceled class days and early commutations. The class missed 247 days, during one period, and one woman who was released on early commutation wouldn’t be able to continue her education, Luther recalled. R.I.S.E let her finish the last 100 hours.

She said the pandemic revealed the need for a diversion school in Oklahoma City where students could finish their education. The school receives donations of household goods, clothes and unused supplies and equipment from other salons and those going out of business. The diversion school opened on June 10, and holds two classrooms, a room for spa services and a new addition for 20 styling stations.

The school also provides a family that understands what it’s like to be in prison and return to life.

“We understand what it’s like to drive a broken-down car to work and to school, to go to the food bank,” she said. “Sometimes they might only be able to come to school for an hour and a half after they’ve worked all day, but they’re here that hour and a half and that matters.”

Watching her students graduate, return to life, get a job and be a productive citizen is a great comfort for Luther, but it comes full circle when they want to visit and encourage women who are still in prison, she said.

Another challenge is breaking down the narrative and stigma of people who have been in prison.

“We’ve all made mistakes, and we just all want a second chance,” she said. “They’re doing great stuff with their second chance.”

Jeri Crow got her second chance after she served 12 years over two separate prison sentences — one for manslaughter resulting from a car wreck. She knew she wanted to change.

“I didn’t want to live with an addictive mindset,” she said. When she entered R.I.S.E., it changed her completely. “When I got out, I knew from past experience how hard it is to get a job because when you get out, it doesn’t matter if you have college degrees or what, people won’t give you a chance and they will not give you a job.”

Eight days after Crow was released, she chose a job from an offer of three and has worked ever since. “It just makes all the difference in the world. You don’t have to go back to any old ways of life because you have hope.”

Michael Espinosa served nine months in prison for a DUI charge in 2022. When he was released, he met someone who was in the program. After a near-death experience in a wreck, his friend said he should meet Luther. They met and he shared his story with her and wanted to better himself. Luther helped him get a scholarship, and Espinosa is now the school’s first male student.

Luther said she’s grateful to have the support of the Oklahoma State Board of Cosmetology and Barbering and to the Corrections Department for giving them the spot at Mabel Bassett. Another school is expected to open near the end of 2024 at the Dr. Eddie Warrior Correctional Center in Taft.

This article originally appeared on Oklahoman: A second chance: How Oklahoma prison programs help inmates return to life after their release