Jail GED programs help educate inmates on brighter future

Ramiro Eric Avalos just celebrated his 32nd birthday - his third awaiting trial in the Fort Bend County jail.

"It's not depressing like it used to be," he said.

That's partly because he started taking GED classes under a new program the jail launched this year. The second set of students in the four-month-long program is set to graduate this week.

"This class really helps me get out of the tank," he said, "and put my mind into something different."

Educational programs that help inmates earn their GED or high school diploma or even just teach reading and writing skills have been in prisons across the country since the 1970s, with their popularity rising and falling as attitudes about crime and funding change. Most recently in Texas, the state prison budget was cut 27 percent in 2011.

But jails are trickier. Because most people in jail, like Avalos, are awaiting trial rather than serving out sentences, the turnover rate is high. It's up to local interest and funding to get educational programs in jails up and running.

Many large jails, such as Harris and Travis counties, have robust GED programs, experts said.

"In smaller jails, you expect that they may have volunteers that come in and teach reading, but they may not have formal education programs," said Lois Davis, a senior policy researcher with the RAND Corporation.

Regardless of size, though, Davis said these programs are critical.

"If you really want to reduce the size of the prison population, of the corrections budget," she said, "then invest in these programs that are really proven and have dramatic effects in reducing the chances of someone being reincarcerated."

The new GED program at the Fort Bend County jail is a product of several important changes. First, the county elected a new sheriff in 2012. Originally from Wisconsin, Troy Nehls has brought a series of changes to the department, sometimes at odds with a more austere brand of Texan justice. Second, the county has grown so that the jail population increased 12,699 bookings in 2003 to 14,367 in 2014. And lastly, though the jail's own numbers show only a slight increase in the average stay length over the past 10 years, Diana Claitor, director of the Texas Jail Project, said people are spending more time in jail in general across the state, allowing them to enroll in classes like this one.

"While they're waiting, they suffer from anxiety and depression," said Claitor. "They worry about their families and they're still not convicted of anything."

Avalos knows about that. He grew up in Bellaire but has been all over Texas, mostly shuffling around state prisons and county jails.

"I got a big problem with making fast money," he said. "I've got a lot of dope cases, a pistol case, an aggravated case."

His childhood wasn't much of one. And when he got his first car, a baby blue 1998 Ford Taurus, he just stopped going to school.

He's smart. In classes, he sometimes corrects the teacher, James Bonner, a former astronaut instructor who has an easy way with students. Avalos has a mind for fractions and percentages and also is working on a book.

Another chance

It doesn't come as easily for Clarence Jackson. When he gets up to the white board to work a problem, it can be a plodding process. He sighs a breath of relief when the answer comes to him. At the end, though, when the teacher tells him to sit down, he says he wants to stay up there.

Jackson grew up in Richmond, where the county jail is located. His mom kicked him out of the house in the ninth grade, and through a series of relationships with older women, he managed to get to the 11th grade before dropping out to work in landscaping and construction.

Without a degree or certification of some kind, though, he couldn't get ahead. So he enrolled in Job Corps, promising job skills for low-income young adults. Within a week, he was caught up in a fight and, Jackson said, they wanted to make an example out of them.

Now, he's in and out of jail because he keeps falling behind on probation fees.

"I really don't want to come back here no more," he said. "I don't like it in here."

Both Avalos and Jackson have kids they'd rather be with, women waiting for them. And both are hoping a GED will be the first step to something better when they finally get out.

"I stay in my cell," said Jackson. "I don't really deal with people. I come out, talk a little bit, watch TV and I go back in my cell and start studying. I'm trying to stay so focused."

The class takes about nine students at a time. One group, all women, went through in a test run. The men, graduating this week, are the second class.

In the classroom, sitting behind their computers with inspirational sayings painted on the walls around them, it's hard to remember they're in jail sometimes.

"I don't care about their charges," said Bonner. "I'm not a jailer and I'm not a deputy."

But then a guard comes to escort them back to their cells. When one starts giving a student with face tattoos a hard time, mocking his judgment, Bonner makes eye contact with him and gently tells him "in one ear, out the other."

Interested in learning

People who work with inmates say they are the best students they've ever had. For many, it's their first uninterrupted shot at a high school education.

"To be honest," said Jan Henry, who supervises Travis County Jail's GED program, "it's easier than regular classroom teaching because most of the students there really want to learn."

Most jail education programs rely on partnerships with community colleges, grant money or volunteers, according to Henry. Someone has to spearhead the effort.

In Fort Bend, Cheryl Hillegeist was that person. She's been the tireless coordinator behind the program, working with Wharton County Junior College to get the initial funding, interviewing potential students and even making last-minute runs to Office Depot for supplies.

The first day of class back in February made her feel like an anxious mom watching her kids go off to school. But like many who have had to adjust to some of what she calls Nehls' more progressive changes, she wasn't so sure about it at first.

"My first thought wasn't exactly positive," Hillegeist said. "I had to think about it." Then she thought, "Why would we not do something like this?"

She's already seen the benefits: fewer discipline issues, improved attitudes and students who have hope, many for the first time in their lives.

Inmates who take some sort of class while locked up are 30 percent less likely to return, according to Davis. And they are 13 percent more likely to find a job.

The facility benefits as well. Her research found that every $1 to $2 invested in education programs yields roughly $4 to $5 in savings in reincarceration costs.

Not all make it

But people don't always follow statistics. With about a month left in class, Avalos got kicked out for stealing. And Jackson was released a week before the end of class but promised to take his GED on his own, Hillegeist said. One other student also was expelled. The rest of the students will take the test this week.

Their fates beyond that are pretty varied. One student is just waiting on ICE to deport him. Others continue to wait for trial. The jail is set to open its first certification course this fall in heating, ventilating and air conditioning.

To help motivate them, Bonner has a friend who works for Goodwill Industries who can help students get jobs across the city once they're released.

"There's nothing like success," Henry said. "A GED gives them a tangible certificate that shows them success they haven't had in their life, for whatever reason."