Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, January 15, 1995 TAG: 9501160008
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-18 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: KATHY LOAN STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: CHRISTIANSBURG LENGTH: Long
But it's not a cakewalk, a handful of New River Valley residents can testify.
``Edward'' got out of prison in June 1993, then spent three more months under house arrest. He had served eight years of a 34-year sentence for the 1985 murder of his estranged wife.
Once released, he moved from the Tidewater area to the New River Valley to join his second wife, whom he had met when she visited his prison as part of a Christian ministry.
Edward, who asked that his real name not be used, spent his first 90 days on parole as the New River Valley's first participant in Home Electronic Monitoring, a state program offering intensive supervision for parolees.
So far, 10 people in the New River Valley and many more in Wytheville and Roanoke have served time at home under electronic surveillance.
The program gives a taste of freedom, but only in carefully measured spoonfuls doled out by parole officers, who use the electronic monitoring to ensure a parolee's first steps out of prison lead to a structured home life and a secure job.
The program also frees up prison bed space for criminals beginning their sentences. The new technology, which is widely used in the federal system, is also a cost-effective way to deal with prisoners, costing only a fraction of the $13,000 to $19,000 annual expense of housing a state prisoner.
``The morning I left prison, I was escorted to the parole office ... and the ankle bracelet was placed on me before I even left prison,'' Edward said.
For the next few weeks, Edward found himself confined to his house except for specific times designated for hunting a job or going to church.
``You're pretty much sitting in front of the boob tube or you're going to bed,'' Edward said.
Gradually, he was granted more leeway as he adjusted to his freedom, found a job and settled into his new home life.
``It was a little bit strange. As far as the actual bracelet, that didn't bother me at all. You don't really notice. ... I never had a problem, unless I tried to wear boots,'' he said.
But wearing the ankle bracelet was a closely guarded secret, too. Edward laughs when he remembers that he was the only one not wearing shorts at a picnic last summer.
``Unless I was around the house, I never went where anyone could see it,'' he said.
Rick Callahan, an intensive supervision probation and parole officer for the New River Valley, oversees the program.
It's doubtful Edward would have made parole so quickly had the home electronic monitoring device not been available, Callahan said. Edward made parole on his third try and will be on supervised parole until 2002.
The ankle bracelet is no bigger than a pack of cigarettes. And it's waterproof, Callahan said, so parolees can take showers or baths without fear of short-circuiting the unit.
BI Inc., a Colorado-based company, pioneered home arrest devices - offering the first in May 1984, according to The Associated Press. The bracelet is attached to an electronic transmitter that sends a signal to a receiver, installed in the person's home, whenever they are within range - usually up to about 200 feet. The receiver signals a computer at a monitoring center when the person travels outside the range.
Callahan said the devices provide structure for recently paroled convicts for whom the first taste of freedom after years of institutional life might prove risky. With about 270 units in use across the state, the devices are most often used for paroled murderers and other violent offenders.
But the system is also used to save taxpayers money by keeping nonviolent suspects and criminals ``locked up'' in their own homes rather than in prison.
An older woman in poor health convicted of felony shoplifting in Montgomery County was on home monitoring until she died last fall. And in Roanoke, Lola Miller, a palm reader better known as Miss Stella, was briefly assigned a unit while out on bond while charged with obtaining money under false pretenses.
The device's future is unclear, given the state's abolition of parole for those convicted of offenses committed after Jan.1, and the low parole rate the state Parole Board has adopted under Gov. George Allen's administration.
But John Metzger, chairman of the Parole Board, says the state is just beginning to delve into its uses.
``We're finding it increasingly a more valuable and cost-effective tool,'' Metzger said. ``It's certainly cheaper than incarceration. Having said that, it's not the formula - it's not for everyone.''
Edward is a mature, structured individual who adapted well to the program, Callahan said. Nine people who have entered the program under Callahan have successfully completed it. The 10th participant died last fall.
While being hooked up to the monitor meant Edward's freedom to leave home was greatly restricted, he said the freedoms he was allowed after eight years of prison made the program worthwhile.
``Just being able to pick up the telephone and use it and call anybody I wanted to'' was a privilege, Edward said.
For the first few weeks, using the telephone was one of his few privileges - just like being in prison, but without the necessity of calling collect.
The monitor restricted his movement generally to the interior of the house. If he went outside, it would alert Callahan.
He was allowed out of the house on Mondays, Wednesday and Fridays from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. to look for a job. He also had Sunday morning free to go to church.
He found a food service job by the first of July. His employers were fully aware of Edward's past and the restrictions on his time.
``And once I got a job, they adjusted [the monitor] to whatever my schedule was ... [but] I could never work longer than what I was scheduled,'' Edward said.
``I never had any problems at all. They knew what it was from the start,'' he said of his employers.
After the first month, Edward was given more free time. But he still had to steadfastly adhere to restrictions on his comings and goings.
Once, Edward's wife recalls, he made the mistake of leaving the house two minutes early when a clock at home was running fast, and the monitoring computer based in Indiana knew it.
``He was extremely upset. He said, `I wanted a perfect record,''' she said.
Callahan says Edward's wife speaks about home electronic monitoring as if she were confined by it, too. In a way, she was.
``It was much more restrictive for her,'' Edward said. ``I do agree that it gives you a `creature of habit' routine to follow. It's someplace you had to be at a certain time.''
Even in emergency situations, Edward and his wife say, the need to conform to the electronic monitor stays in your mind.
Edward's wife recalls being outside with Edward, dousing a heat-pump fire, when she noticed the time.
``I was looking at my watch saying, `God, he's got to get back in the house. What am I going to do now?'''
The couple also had to resolve transportation problems that cropped up. They had one vehicle, but she had to go to work at 7:30 a.m., while Edward couldn't leave the house until 9 a.m. to look for work.
Friends pitched in to give him rides.
But Edward's wife says the program was worth the small sacrifices necessary to gain his freedom.
``As far as I'm concerned, it was positive all the way,'' she said. ``It was an avenue for him to come home and prove what kind of person he was.
``There are people who can come out and can change. There are some that are there right now that I would love to see get on the program.''
by CNB