Julio Briones never thought he’d see daylight again.

After his trial in 2002, Julio resigned to the fact that he would never see his wife, daughter, friends, or family — except behind a glass wall. At 27, Julio’s 44-year prison sentence, with no early release, meant that he wouldn’t be released until he was a withered old man — assuming he survived that long.

Essentially, it was a death wish.

For years, Julio dwelled on the unfortunate night that he wishes he could’ve had back. His charges were serious: robbery, carjacking, and illegal possession of a weapon. Those two years spent in New Jersey State Prison — the only true maximum security prison in the state — were marked by isolation from family, anger against co-defendants who turned on him in court, and resignation to a life behind bars.

“It takes a very long time for someone to accept that fate,” Julio said. “I compare it to accepting a diagnosis of terminal cancer.”

He cut off his family, not wanting them to worry about him or even think about his situation. He was surrounded by “high risk” inmates, constantly watching his back and living in an eternal state of paranoia. The first few years of imprisonment were undoubtedly the darkest time in Julio’s life.

“I had shut off communication with everyone. I didn’t want to talk to anyone because, as far as I was concerned, my life was over,” he said.

As time passed, Julio’s initial anger and guilt subsided a bit. He realized that brooding over his situation was not going to get him anywhere. Despite the bleak future that his lengthy sentence afforded him, he began to work hard to do everything he could to try to improve himself, and hopefully get it shortened in the process.

Julio began to study the law. He was inspired by certain people he saw on TV who had managed to reduce their sentences through diligent understanding of the law. Over the course of the next year, Julio took the steps that enabled him to gain a paralegal certification.

With a high school diploma to his name and experience with Army intelligence prior to his incarceration, Julio acquired his paralegal certification behind bars over the course of a year. This meticulous studying of law was deliberate. Julio was hoping to get his sentence shortened, and have a course of action if he was to be released early.

Julio’s good behavior didn’t go unnoticed. The courts ended up shortening his sentence to 12 years, which meant that he had to complete 10 more years and also be under five years of mandatory supervision.

“I got the news that my sentence was reduced on my birthday, so it was pretty exciting for me,” he said.

Julio realized that he wanted to try to help improve the prison system and people filtering in and out of it once he got released. He began to take part in volunteer work and mentorship programs, which made him realize that his true calling in life was helping others. He wanted to assist people who were going through the same things as he had to go through.

With his paralegal certification and understanding of the law, he began to take the early steps of forming his current company — AnswerMan Specialty Services — while he was locked up. His company helps families that are dealing with personal crises, prepares people for the prison system, and helps salvage marriages.

Julio managed to retain his marriage and relationship with his daughter despite being imprisoned for over a decade. He also had a two-year old son with his wife following his release.

However, the unfortunate truth is that communication and contact between loved ones is completely different when you’re behind bars. Julio’s company helps prepare families for that uncomfortable truth.

“You have to learn how to communicate in that 15 minutes without passing blame, and overcoming the urge of complaining,” he said.

Along with his company, Julio also has a podcast called “An Ounce of Prevention.” It also deals with personal and familial crises, and how to cope with them. In every sense, Julio has found that his calling is helping other individuals deal with issues that he had to go with better than he did.

Through perseverance, diligent study of the law, and sheer positivity, Julio has managed to turn his life around. Currently, Julio is on the last year of his parole, and has significant goals for the future. He hopes to buy a house very soon, expand his company and podcast, and spend even more time with his family.

Julio firmly believes that his time spent behind bars is what made him into a productive member of society today. He learned lessons while imprisoned that he wouldn’t have learned if he had never done time. “There’s no such thing as a roadblock,” he said. “You can have a record and make it in this country.”

“Sometimes, in life we need more than just a slight nudge to get back on track. Sometimes we need a swift kick in the ass.”

“There’s no such thing as a roadblock” was originally published in NJ Spark on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Larry Levine sells himself as a “prison expert.” After having spent 10 years in federal prison for a variety of serious charges, Levine now runs a prison consulting firm, and has appeared on several major news network to discuss the criminal justice system.

Alex Harrison: What’s your personal experience with the prison system?

Larry Levine: I spent 10 years in federal custody. I was in 11 different federal prisons — high, medium, low, and minimum security. They moved me around a lot because they were pissed about me helping inmates with legal work and issues.

My experience is that the system doesn’t care. They’re more interested in warehousing you than helping you succeed. They have programs that they run that are supposed to be for inmate development, but the staff is not interested in it.

AH: What were you charged for?

LL: I personally got hit for narcotics trafficking, securities fraud, racketeering, obstruction of justice, and machine guns. I was a troubleshooter for the mafia. I got caught up in a conspiracy. I did two 10-year sentences and one five-year sentence. They ran concurrently. I’ve served a lot of time.

AH: What’s it like to be in federal prison?

LL: Let’s talk about rank-and-file staff, and not the system itself. The prison staff is like the consumer. Picture the inmate as the product. If there were no more inmates, they’d be out of a job. The staff really doesn’t have a vested interest in seeing the inmates succeed, get ahead, or rehabilitate. Cause then there’d be no one in prison. But they’re mandated by law to run rehabilitation programs, but they don’t give a shit. There’s no real incentive other than say personal development.

AH: What do the rehabilitation programs consist of, especially with regards to education?

LL: The one that everyone wants to get in — and remember, this is federal — is called RDAP. It stands for Residential Drug Abuse Program. These are programs that are mandated by law to run.

As far as education itself, they want everyone to have a GED. If you don’t have a GED, you actually lose big time. You actually get released a week later if you don’t have a GED, which really doesn’t matter to people who have been locked up for years.

They also run a lot of personal development courses — video classes. They’re usually run by the inmates. You’re usually watching videos from the Discovery Channel and NatGeo. It keeps the inmates busy; if they’re watching that stuff, they’re not breaking the rules or getting in trouble.

They also run some vocational training. This includes classes that teach carpentry, heating, and plumbing. So theoretically when you get out, you’re supposed to be able to get a job or something.

Then there’s college courses. They bring in outside instructors from local colleges to go in the prison. You’re taking real classes; you’re getting real credit. It’s only 100 and 200 division classes, but still. That is really the extent of what’s offered. I took economics, marketing, philosophy. I took whatever they offered.

AH: Did you have any college experience before you went to prison?

LL: I was a military intelligence officer for several years, so I did have some college experience. I took courses while I was in the military. I didn’t have any degrees or anything, though. Since I was locked up for ten years, I joke to people that I have a doctorate in criminology. I tell people I did home study, so I’m like a doctor of crime. I know everything about crime.

They call prison “the college for criminals.” When someone goes into custody, their number one goal is to get out — at least for some people. A lot of people having nothing; they’d rather stay there. When I was in prison, I knew I was going to run a consulting program when I got out. So I just looked at it as on the job training.

There’s a term that we use: it’s called “doing life on the installment plan.” Somebody gets out, commits a new crime, gets sent back. It’s a revolving door. Prison is supposed to rehabilitate you. The term penitentiary comes from “pentance”. You’re supposed to be repenting for your crime. But while you’re in there, people teach you new crime. I didn’t see a lot of rehabilitation anywhere.

The inmates aren’t motivated in most cases. There’s no motivation to succeed. The system doesn’t care about you; the staff lies to you. The staff isn’t well paid, so why should they care. The staff makes more money by smuggling in cell phones, drugs, and other things into prison. They need money too.

AH: Can you tell me a bit about your consulting firm, Wall Street Prison Consultants? How did that come about?

LL: It wasn’t even my idea; it was the inmates’ idea. I helped out so many inmates with legal services. Some are people that I helped on the outside, some are people that I helped on the inside. I helped them with legal issues, custody issues, getting medical care, getting transfers, education, etc. All the inmates were like “Wow, I wish I had met you before I went in.”

That’s when I realized I could turn this into a business. So I did. I got out of custody and put up my first website, American Prison Consultants. It’s still up; it’s an old beat up site that is not modern at all. My Wall Street Prison Consultant website is pretty new — only a few weeks old.

AH: So just to get this straight, you started Wall Street Prison Consultants while you were in prison?

LL: I basically started it as a focus group with the inmates to find out what was important to them. That’s how it all started. I was incarcerated in El Paso, Texas and I filed this big lawsuit on behalf of everybody against the Justice Department. I got them to essentially move hundreds of inmates across the country. We were in Nevada at a federal prison until they moved us to Texas. I helped out hundreds of people. I knew at that point that this was what I was going to do when I got out. I didn’t have any question in my mind. There’s other consultants, but I started doing this while I was in custody. My competitors started once they got out.

AH: So once you got out, you decided to go full throttle with the consulting?

LL: I did. You see me on all the major news networks? I became an expert — the source. I can help people get out early, get into a good prison, get an education, get medical care. I can give them things that the system tries to give them anyway, but the system doesn’t care.

‘The system doesn’t care about you’ was originally published in NJ Spark on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Ronald Pierce was released from New Jersey state prison after serving thirty years for a murder conviction. Since his release, Ron has been working hard to acquire a bachelor’s degree from Rutgers University — Newark. He details the struggles that prisoners face while being incarcerated and upon release in trying to receive an education.

Alex Harrison: When were you incarcerated, for how long, and where?

Ronald Pierce: I got locked up in 1986. I spent the next thirty years, eight months, and fourteen days as a resident of Rahway State Prison and Northern State Prison.

AH: Were there any resources to get an education while you were imprisoned?

RP: When I first got locked up, we were still getting Pell Grants. So, I was able to acquire 12 credits through Pell Grants during the initial few years of my imprisonment. But, during 1994, they stopped the Pell Grants, so colleges stopped sending their professors to the prisons because they weren’t getting paid.

Then in 2013, the New Jersey STEP program started. The classes you had been able to take through Pell Grants were not supposed to help you obtain a degree. It was more based on availability. The New Jersey STEP program, however, was all based on degrees. Out of 1,600 inmates at Rahway, 700 were eligible. There were only about 150 spots, though. Because I already had credits and since I was recommended with a high GPA, I was selected for the program. I started my degree-based education in 2013. In 2015, I finished my associates degree. In January of 2016, I started my bachelor’s degree. Initially, New Jersey STEP was only for associates degrees, but they were able to extend it to bachelor’s degrees later on.

AH: Did you attend school after high school?

RP: I enlisted in the military after high school.

AH: What did you do after you were released?

RP: I was sent to a halfway back program for like six months, which is basically a private jail. It really is. I really didn’t seek freedom although I was able to attend school while being in the halfway back program — like day passes. I didn’t go home until Nov. 14, 2016.

AH: What made you want to pursue a bachelor’s degree? Did you see a long term goal?

RP: I was too angry at the time of my incarceration to see the benefits of a college education. By the time I got over that period, I saw it as a way out. I started getting into school and finding how much I liked it and how much it opened my mind up. The fact that they ended the Pell Grants was a huge bummer, but it didn’t stop me from learning on my own. I started to read anything and everything I could get my hands on.

AH: So now what are you doing as far as education?

RP: I’m attending Rutgers University — Newark. I graduate in May. They’re trying to convince me to do a double degree in law and a master’s degree in public administration.

AH: What are you studying now?

RP: I am majoring in Justice Studies with a minor in Sociology.

AH: What are some of the main challenges that people released from prison encounter in trying to get an education?

RP: Stability. There are barriers to housing, barriers to work, and once you start becoming a full-time student, you lose almost all benefits to any kinds of social programs that would help you maintain eating and basic things like that. The only thing that I was able to have upon coming out was my family that helps me. A lot of people don’t have that. That family stability was what enabled me to maintain my focus on school.

A lot of people can’t find a job that enables them to pay rent and other basic aspects of life. It’s also hard to find a place to live because lots of landlords do background checks. I’m not living in my hometown [Jackson Township]. I’m not allowed to live in the house that my fiancee rents because of my criminal conviction. Housing barriers are essential for ex-inmates. Luckily, I was provided a place to stay because of my support system. I have a brother who’s helped me out; he bought me a truck when I got out. I have family that makes sure that I have everything. The house I live in now is owned by my cousin who allows me to stay here if I watch his cats. I pay nominal fees; gas and electric bills. I’m the exceptional to the rule.

AH: Once you get your bachelor’s degree, what are your future plans?

RP: Right now I’m working as an intern in the New Jersey Institute for Social Justice, which is a liberal think tank. They are working with me to try to find some place for me to work where I can work on policy change. I don’t want people in prison to have to come out to the same problems that I came out to. I can try to make it better for them.

My education is geared toward working in non-profits to work on policy change. I was recently involved in a press conference for the New Jersey Institute of Social Justice’s bill on voter rights. I did some of the research for Scott Novakowski who wrote a report that helped get this bill introduced to legislation. The bill seems to have legs.

My goal is to keep fighting for policy changes, not only for people coming out of prison, but for people within the system. They don’t prepare you for getting out. The programs they have don’t guide you. Once you’re stuck in maximum security prison, you’re stuck. Even if you show that you can handle the rules and regulations of max, it’s extremely hard to move to medium security and minimal security.

The system is so backed up that it can’t operate efficiently. I would like to change that. There has to be more incentives for help based on good behavior. Change the system so that people are ready to be home. New Jersey has very little in the way of restorative justice. They really don’t prepare you for coming home. That’s why recidivism is so high.

‘They don’t prepare you for getting out’ was originally published in NJ Spark on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Kevin Wong, 27, has first-hand experience with the devastating effects that incarceration can have on education, job prospects, and just about every other facet of life. He’s currently in his second year at Middlesex County College, and is serving the tail end of his parole from Bayside State Prison. Kevin also volunteers at NeighborCorps by helping people coming out of local Middlesex County Correctional Facility with employment in housing.

Alex Harrison: How did you start getting involved in NeighborCorps?

Kevin Wong: I was taking a course at Middlesex [County College]called Contemporary Social Problems, and my professor required us to pick categories of social issues and how they’re linked together. Of course, I was drawn to criminal justice and disenfranchisement, and how life is difficult for people coming out of prison or even county jail. It’s always difficult coming home. Part of the assignment was to link up with NeighborCorps, find out what they’re about, and write a paper on it.

Getting involved in this has been an opportunity to help people who are less fortunate than me. I wasn’t from the most affluent neighborhood, but I’m also not from the most terrible neighborhood either. I understand that people come from a wide range of places and everyone needs help when they come home, especially people who come from more urbanized areas.

AH: Did you attend college before you were incarcerated?

KW: No. I graduated high school in 2008, but didn’t attend college after.

AH: How were you as a student?

KW: I didn’t go to a bad school and I didn’t go to a great school; I just didn’t try. All my teachers said that I was such a disappointment compared to my older brother. He was an introvert, and I was an extrovert, so I would be out and about doing whatever while he would be paying close attention to his studies.

AH: What were you doing post high school? Did your lack of effort in school affect you after you graduated?

KW: After I graduated, I was doing odd jobs. My parents kept telling me to get my life together and figure out what I wanted to do, and I would just say “I’m 18, I’ll figure it out later,” or “I’m 19, I’ll figure it out later.” Then when I was 22, I got involved in the wrong things and next thing I knew I had a case against me.

AH: What made you want to go back to school after you got out?

KW: After I got out of jail, I was working odd jobs like Shoprite. I knew that I was capable of doing more than what I was doing. I knew that I didn’t belong around certain work fields. After all these years of not trying, I decided to try. So I went back to school.

AH: What motivated you to keep going with school?

KW: My first semester, I ended up getting a 4.0. After that, I started enrolling in summer courses. The following courses, I decided to go hard and take seven courses. I just wanted to find my limit at that point. I want a better future than the one I offered myself before.

AH: What’s next for you, education-wise?

KW: I’m about to move to Vegas to attend UNLV. I have a good amount of time before I can get this expunged off my record. My ultimate goal is to go to law school. I had intended on doing computer science, but then I realized I don’t like math. I excelled in classes like constitutional law and political science. The dream is to practice criminal and immigration law.

AH: How did you find the money to pay for community college?

KW: I have financial aid, which doesn’t cover all of it. I was paying for summer classes out of pocket. You can do that at county colleges, because it’s not so expensive, but once you get to universities it gets really expensive. You have to worry about housing, food, transportation, paying for classes, and even textbooks.

AH: How do you think going to prison affects your chances of getting an education and subsequently getting back into the workforce?

KW: It affects people differently. The workforce is a huge one. Even before the conviction, when I had several accusations that were not even convictions, I had a hard time finding employment. On another instance, I am legally allowed to participate in the federal work-study program. It doesn’t matter if you’re a convicted felon; you’re still supposed to be able to qualify for the federal work-study program.

I initially applied for that because I was serving as the Vice President of a community service group at school that works with NeighborCorps. I was getting paid, but when the school got word that I was a felon, they refused to pay me. And the thing is, it wasn’t even their money — it was the federal government’s money. They said that I could volunteer, I could do whatever work I wanted to do — but I just couldn’t be getting paid. Which didn’t make any sense! It was bullshit, it was ultimately bullshit! I hadn’t ever been so slighted by Middlesex County College.

AH: Did you try to fight it?

KW: The coordinator for the program came, my professors all advocated for me and said I was a great student and was doing everything I was supposed to be doing. Then the school just put their foot down firmly and refused to pay me. So, I went to complain to HR. They were very firm and didn’t allow me to work there. I told them that they couldn’t fire me for being a convict because they had already hired me. But yeah, it’s really difficult going back to school and going back to work. Work is the most difficult part. I was a janitor for a year after I got out.

AH: How long were you locked up for?

KW: I left the country for two years. I was at Rikers for one month. Then they took me to Middlesex County Jail for three months, until I got into a fight in prison. Then I was in confinement for four months. Then I did seven months in the state jail. From there I’ve been on parole — from the day of the [2016] election until now. Parole is going to end on May 17, this year.

AH: I bet you can’t wait for it to end.

KW: Oh yeah, I can’t wait. I can’t wait to not have to call anybody if I have to leave the state, not have to worry about someone randomly popping up at my house, check my room, etc. When you have your liberty deprived of you, all you have left is your pride and a bit of your ego. When you’re locked in an area with all men, there’s so much anger and frustration flying around. It fosters violence. I’d argue that prison is overly punitive with the amount of non-violent offenders I met in there. It’s a revolving door. They go in, they get out, and keep repeating the cycle.

AH: Do universities do background checks?

KW: There’s this one private school that I’m applying to in New York. I think that my grades are good enough to get in, but there’s another portion of the application where it asks if you’ve been convicted of a felony, and asks for an explanation. But how do you ask for an explanation? You gotta be more specific than that. You want me to just put the charges there, or say why I did it? Those are really personal questions. But the school I’m currently set to go to, University of Nevada Las Vegas, didn’t ask for anything. So it definitely varies from school to school.

AH: What did being incarcerated teach you about the value of education?

KW: Jail and incarceration — if it did one thing for me — it definitely taught me a lot more discipline with reading. Beforehand, I hadn’t done much reading at all. But when you’re locked in a box for 20 hours a day, all you really have is a book.

AH: What books did you read in prison that particularly stood out to you?

KW: The Count of Monte Cristo, The Autobiography of Malcolm X, and the Bible of course. That was hands down the most important book I read while incarcerated. I used to read it every day. I also read all the Game of Thrones books.

‘I want a better future than the one I offered myself before’ was originally published in NJ Spark on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Kevin Wong is a convicted felon who has experienced first-hand the devastating effects that incarceration can have on education, job prospects, and just about every other facet of life. I will be discussing the effects that Kevin’s imprisonment has had on his desire to get an education.

Alex: Tell me a bit about yourself.

Kevin: My name is Kevin Wong, and I’m 27 years old. I’m currently in my second year at Middlesex County College, and I’m serving the tail end of my parole. I was paroled from Bayside State Prison on November 6th, 2016 and I also volunteer at NeighborCore in helping inmates coming out of local Middlesex County Correctional Facility with employment in housing.

Alex: How did you start getting involved in NeighborCore?

Kevin: I was taking a course at Middlesex called Contemporary Social Problems, and my professor required us to pick categories of social issues and how they’re linked together. Of course, I was drawn to criminal justice and disenfranchisement, and how life is difficult for people coming out of prison or even county jail. It’s always difficult coming home. Part of the assignment was to link up with NeighborCore, find out what they’re about, and write a paper on it.

Getting involved in this has been an opportunity to help people who are less fortunate than me. I wasn’t from the most affluent neighborhood, but I’m also not from the most terrible neighborhood either. I understand that people come from a wide range of places and everyone needs help when they come home, especially people who come from more urbanized areas.

Alex: Did you attend college before you were incarcerated?

Kevin: No. I graduated high school in 2008, but didn’t attend college after.

Alex: How were you as a student?

Kevin: I didn’t go to a bad school and I didn’t go to a great school; I just didn’t try. All my teachers said that I was such a disappointment compared to my older brother. He was an introvert, and I was an extrovert, so I would be out and about doing whatever while he would be paying close attention to his studies.

Alex: What were you doing post high school? Did your lack of effort in school affect you after you graduated?

Kevin: After I graduated, I was doing odd jobs. My parents kept telling me to get my life together and figure out what I wanted to do, and I would just say “I’m 18, I’ll figure it out later” or, “I’m 19, I’ll figure it out later.” Then when I was 22, I got involved in the wrong things and next thing I knew I had a case against me.

Alex: What made you want to go back to school after you got out?

Kevin: After I got out of jail, I was working odd jobs like Shoprite. I knew that I was capable of doing more than what I was doing. I knew that I didn’t belong around certain work fields. After all these years of not trying, I decided to try. So I went back to school.

Alex: What motivated you to keep going with school?

Kevin: My first semester, I ended up getting a 4.0. After that, I started enrolling in summer courses. The following courses, I decided to go hard and take 7 courses. I just wanted to find my limit at that point. I want a better future than the one I offered myself before.

Alex: What’s next for you, education wise?

Kevin: I’m about to move to Vegas to attend UNLV. I have a good amount of time before I can get this expunged off my record. My ultimate goal is to go to law school. I had intended on doing computer science, but then I realized I don’t like math. I excelled in classes like constitutional law and political science. The dream is to practice criminal and immigration law.

Alex: How did you find the money to pay for community college?

Kevin: I have financial aid, which doesn’t cover all of it. I was paying for summer classes out of pocket. You can do that at county colleges, because it’s not so expensive, but once you get to universities it gets really expensive. You have to worry about housing, food, transportation, paying for classes, and even textbooks.

Alex: How do you think going to prison affects your chances of getting an education and subsequently getting back into the workforce?

Kevin: It affects people differently. The workforce is a huge one. Even before the conviction, when I had several accusations that were not even convictions, I had a hard time finding employment. On another instance, I am legally allowed to participate in the federal work study program. It doesn’t matter if you’re a convicted felon; you’re still supposed to be able to qualify for the federal work study program. I initially applied for that because I was serving as the Vice President of a community service group at school that works with NeighborCore. I was getting paid, but when the school got word that I was a felon, they refused to pay me. And the thing is, it wasn’t even their money — it was the federal government’s money. They said that I could volunteer, I could do whatever work I wanted to do — but I just couldn’t be getting paid. Which didn’t make any sense! It was bullshit, it was ultimately bullshit! I hadn’t ever been so slighted by Middlesex County College.

Alex: Did you try to fight it?

Kevin: The coordinator for the program came, my professors all advocated for me and said I was a great student and was doing everything I was supposed to be doing. Then the school just put their foot down firmly and refused to pay me. So, I went to complain to HR. They were very firm and didn’t allow me to work there. I told them that they couldn’t fire me for being a convict because they had already hired me. But yeah, it’s really difficult going back to school and going back to work. Work is the most difficult part. I was a janitor for a year after I got out.

Alex: How long were you locked up for?

Kevin: I left the country for two years. I was at Rikers for one month. Then they took me to Middlesex County Jail for 3 months, until I got into a fight in prison. Then I was in confinement for 4 months. Then I did 7 months in the state jail. From there I’ve been on parole — from the day of the elections until now. Parole is going to end on May 17th, this year.

Alex: I bet you can’t wait for it to end.

Kevin: Oh yeah, I can’t wait. I can’t wait to not have to call anybody if I have to leave the state, not have to worry about someone randomly popping up at my house, check my room, etc. When you have your liberty deprived of you, all you have left is your pride and a bit of your ego. When you’re locked in an area with all men, there’s so much anger and frustration flying around. It fosters violence. I’d argue that prison is overly punitive with the amount of non-violent offenders I met in there. It’s a revolving door. They go in, they get out, and keep repeating the cycle.

Alex: Do universities do background checks?

Kevin: There’s this one private school that I’m applying to in New York. I think that my grades are good enough to get in, but there’s another portion of the application where it asks if you’ve been convicted of a felony, and asks for an explanation. But how do you ask for an explanation? You gotta be more specific than that. You want me to just put the charges there, or say why I did it? Those are really personal questions. But the school I’m currently set to go to, University of Nevada Las Vegas, didn’t ask for anything. So it definitely varies from school to school.

Alex: What did being incarcerated teach you about the value of education?

Kevin: Jail and incarceration — if it did one thing for me — it definitely taught me a lot more discipline with reading. Beforehand, I hadn’t done much reading at all. But when you’re locked in a box for 20 hours a day, all you really have is a book.

Alex: What books did you read in prison that particularly stood out to you?

Kevin: The Count of Monte Cristo, The Autobiography of Malcolm X, and The Bible of course. That was hands down the most important book I read while incarcerated. I used to read it every day. I also read all the Game of Thrones books.

Alex: How did you start getting involved in NeighborCore?

Kevin: I was taking a course at Middlesex called Contemporary Social Problems, and my professor required us to pick categories of social issues and how they’re linked together. Of course, I was drawn to criminal justice and disenfranchisement, and how life is difficult for people coming out of prison or even county jail. It’s always difficult coming home. Part of the assignment was to link up with NeighborCore, find out what they’re about, and write a paper on it. Getting involved in this has been an opportunity to help people who are less fortunate than me. I understand that people come from a wide range of places and everyone needs help when they come home, especially people who come from more urbanized areas.

Alex: Thanks for taking the time to talk to me.