Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, April 15, 1990 TAG: 9004150065
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: VICTORIA RATCLIFF STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Consider that Hurst was a Norfolk policeman for 20 years and commanded a narcotics squad.
His son, also a Norfolk police officer, was shot and killed in a drug raid in 1972.
Hurst also served as executive director of the State Crime Commission for 10 years.
It would seem Hurst would want keep criminals locked up forever.
Not so. Hurst, 59, considers himself a moderate on the five-member parole board.
In fact, Hurst, who hears most of his parole cases in Western Virginia, believes that treatment for drug and alcohol abusers is probably society's best chance for reducing crime.
It was his experience as a street cop that helped Hurst reach this conclusion.
Hurst started as a motorcycle patrolman and worked as a detective in the burglary, robbery and homicide squads before being named in 1969 to head a new narcotics investigative unit.
The Norfolk unit was the first of its kind in the state, and Hurst, as its lieutenant, became a well-known public figure.
Hurst and a Norfolk judge started a program in which all narcotics addicts convicted in that court were sent to a treatment program at a federal prison in Lexington, Ky. "We loaded them up until they wouldn't take any more," he said.
While the program was in effect, the crime rate in the high-crime district of Norfolk was reduced 30 percent. "Drug addicts are not criminals by nature," Hurst said, but turn to crime to support their habits. And, he said, "if there were no such thing as alcohol, we would not have very much crime.
Hurst predicts that the state legislature eventually will enact a mandatory treatment law in order to get addicts off the streets and reduce the crime rate. "It wouldn't necessarily be a criminal procedure - it could be a civil procedure, like a commitment hearing," he said.
On the parole board, Hurst is able to funnel drug-dependent inmates through treatment programs by making that a condition of their parole.
Former Gov. Charles Robb appointed Hurst to the board in July 1982. He was elected vice chairman on his second day on the job, and still holds that position.
Hurst gets up at 4:30 every morning to make the 84-mile drive from his Amherst farm to his office in Richmond. He arrives by 6 a.m. some mornings. "I can get more work done when there's less confusion," he said.
The work - and exposure - of the parole board members increased in 1985 with the first organized effort of victims to influence the parole process.
It involved the families of two Roanoke teen-agers murdered in 1971 in the Hanging Rock section of Roanoke County. In that campaign 3,500 letters, cards or signed petitions were sent to the board asking that parole be denied the three men who were convicted of abducting and murdering Debra Lynn Hawley and David Doyle, and of raping Hawley.
That input "got us cranking up our interest in victims," Hurst said. "The Virginia Parole Board got ahead of other states on victim involvement."
As victims' rights became more of an issue, the parole board began a pilot project in which its members met with people interested in discussing an inmate coming up for parole.
During that time Jeanne Doyle of Roanoke, mother of David Doyle, first met Hurst. During that meeting, Hurst told Doyle of the death of his own son.
"I felt like we were . . . talking to someone who really would listen, having been there himself," she said. "The main thing for survivors is to feel like you're not alone. And we all felt, immediately, like we had an ally and like we were not alone."
Because of Hurst's experience in losing a son, Doyle said, "He has a greater depth of understanding for the feelings of victims and survivors."
Hurst's law enforcement background also is an asset, Doyle said.
Because Hurst has dealt with criminals on the street, "he can see good in people more clearly than a do-gooder could. They're so overcome with `let's give everybody a chance,' " she said.
Hurst's first-hand view of crime and criminals helps him see when someone has honestly made an attempt at changing his life, she said. "I think he's a very fair person."
Kit, the oldest of Hurst's six children, was 22 and a month away from his wedding day when he was killed. He had been on the Norfolk police force for just over a year and was serving in a special services unit that assisted other officers in investigations.
After working surveillance one night, Hurst's son and his partner were asked to assist in a drug raid. Some narcotics officers from a nearby jurisdiction had learned from an informant that drugs were being sold at a house in Norfolk.
After officers entered the house, Kit Hurst was standing on a staircase landing when a shot was fired through a closed door. The bullet went through the railing and struck him in the chest.
What the Norfolk officers didn't know was that the informant had pointed out the wrong house. An elderly woman who lived in the house had fired the gun to protect herself.
"The hardest thing I ever did in my life, when I found out what happened . . . was make the motion in court that the charges not be prosecuted against the person," Hurst said.
"I don't like to talk about it . . . But sometimes - with the right victim in a board appointment hearing - I'll tell them about it.
"It helps me relate to victims - especially victims where there's been a tragedy in their life. People who are really grieving have a terrible time coming to talk to the parole board."
Board members mark inmates' files with bright pink victim alert cards so that other board members will be sure to see what victims and their families have said.
"No victim input goes unnoticed. And it's kept strictly confidential," Hurst said.
If board members hear that a victim has been threatened by an inmate or that a victim is legitimately in fear for his or her life, it plays an important role in the members' decision to grant or deny parole.
Hurst's current term on the parole board is up in 1992. He says he looks forward to retiring "some day" so he can spend more time with his wife Jayin and their 12 dogs on their 30-acre farm.
Jayin Hurst is president of the Amherst humane society and raises golden retrievers. Both Hursts fly and they own an airplane that they keep on a strip near their farm.
Hurst said he probably will do consulting work if he continues to work after he gets out of state service.
But until he leaves, Hurst will continue to work in a job in which mistakes can bring about serious consequences.
"We've had people we release kill people," Hurst said. "It makes you feel terrible. It's hard to get over. We're not people with ice water in our veins. . . .
"But we're dealing with human beings. In human behavior, there is no absolute predictor. There are failures. But I can say, with a bit of comfort, of the failures we have in parole, only about 2 percent are of a felony violent nature," he said.
by CNB