Casper Star-Tribune
CASPER – When Brandt Cross was granted parole, he called Monte Henrie.
Cross had heard about Henrie from others on the inside. He has a safe place to live while you get back on your feet, they told him.
Cross spent four years in prison for drug possession and breaking and entering. If he messes up while on parole, he could go back for several more years, he said. Before his arrest, he snuck into someone’s barn to avoid freezing to death. He said he was on the run because of drugs.
But on a recent spring morning, Cross – sporting a buzz-cut, T-shirt, jeans and a cross necklace – had a contagious optimism about him.
He’s working a steady job at a gas station. He recently celebrated his son’s 6th birthday. They watched the lunar eclipse together. Eventually, Cross plans to move to Colorado to spend more time with his mom.
Having a place to stay and people to support you on the outside makes all the difference, he said. At Henrie’s, everyone is on the same path.
“I got lucky when I called Monte,” Cross said.
For many who’ve been to prison, housing represents a tremendous obstacle, people on both sides of the criminal justice system say.
Those who have spent time in prison are seven times more likely to be homeless than the general population, according to a 2018 study by the Prison Policy Initiative, a think tank focused on reducing mass incarceration. They’re especially vulnerable within a couple years after their release, the study showed.
Without a place to sleep at night, they could get in trouble with the law again. Previous research shows around one in six inmates face homelessness in the year leading up to their sentence.
Henrie owns and operates a sober living house on Casper’s west side. Many of his residents come right out of prison or treatment centers. He helps people stay sober, get jobs and find permanent housing.
He, too, struggled with addiction once, and helping others is what keeps him clean, he said.
“Most guys say if it wasn’t for me, they don’t know where they’d be,” Henrie said. “Probably (a) revolving door, you know? Going back into the prison system.”
Even those who went to prison or jail a long time ago say they face barriers to housing stability. A lack of affordable homes means more people are competing for less inventory. Some with criminal records say they’re getting left out in the cold.
Housing help needed
When they’re a good match for their residents, programs like Henrie’s help stop that cycle, people who’ve been to prison say. There’s only so many of those homes available in Wyoming. They wish there was more help for people like them, they said – and that it was easier to find.
Next to finding a job, housing can represent one of the biggest questions for people coming out of prison.
Inmates in Wyoming’s prison system have case workers who help them plan for reentry, said Severn Shores, deputy reentry program manager for the Wyoming Department of Corrections.
When deemed “safe and appropriate,” some inmates return to their family homes after they’re let out, Shores wrote in an email.
If that’s not an option, staff try to connect them with another safe place to go, Shores wrote. That could include anything from affordable housing, sober living homes, residential treatment centers and, as a last resort, homeless shelters. The Department of Corrections keeps a database of housing and community resources around the state.
Certain inmates – including people who are disabled, elderly, sex offenders and those who spent more than 10 years in prison – can qualify for “enhanced case management,” according to Shores. That means assistance from one of the agency’s nine reentry specialists, he wrote.
Parole agents can also help inmates find a place to stay.
Housing hurdles
Even with support, housing is hard to sort out ahead of time, said Richard Burton, director of correctional services for Volunteers of America’s Northern Rockies region. VOA operates one of three state-contracted halfway houses in Wyoming.
It’s not like prisoners can stay up-to-date on apartment listings – they don’t have internet access, after all.
An inmate might write to a landlord asking if they have any open apartments, for example. That landlord might even agree to hold one for them. That’s a far cry from a lease; the unit could be gone by the time the inmate gets out.
“A lot of companies will actually tell you yes,” Burton said. “And then it’s not really there.”
Recently released inmates haven’t been earning an income, either. Unless they have savings, or friends or family willing to spot them, they might not be able to afford rent.
“The offenders in our institutions, in general, were arrested with little to no funds or resources to their names,” wrote Shores.
There are some grants inmates can apply for to help with reentry costs. One pot of cash is funded by inmate expenses like using the phones, downloading music or emails, buying things from the cafeteria and paying off disciplinary fines.
To get money from this fund, inmates have to finish any treatment programs they’ve been ordered to complete during incarceration, said Shores – like for substance abuse or sex offenses.
“Priority will be given to those who have been actively working to achieve the goals set forth in their institutional case plans and release plans and have attempted to budget for their release,” Shores wrote in the email.
People can also apply for the funds if they run into an emergency within 90 days of their release, he said.
Henrie’s home
With nine beds, Henrie’s single-story home feels tight at times. But it’s cozy and clean. There are three bedrooms upstairs, and two downstairs. Henrie sleeps in the basement, sharing a room with another resident.
Inside, it looks like any other home. Henrie has two cats, Taffy and C.J. He’s stuffed the cupboards with collectibles and family photos, hung sports memorabilia on the fridge and in the basement. There’s a grassy backyard for summertime grilling. The only giveaway that it’s a sober living house, perhaps, is the beat-up, thoroughly underlined Alcoholics Anonymous book in the living room.
Rent is $450 a month. Henrie doesn’t get any outside funding, he said.
There are house rules: No drugs or alcohol. Residents help with the chores. Curfew is 10 p.m.
Henrie can’t supervise them round-the-clock; he has a full-time job as a chef at Casper Mountain Rehabilitation and Care Center. He makes sure his guests are eating, sleeping and staying on the straight-and-narrow.
“Knowing how to run a washing machine – I show them how to do that,” Henrie said. “And I show them how to clean dishes.”
He encourages them to start saving up: “Money is your best friend,” he tells them, the key to their independence and stability. When residents apply for apartments, he tries to put in a good word for them.
His housemates try to get jobs as soon as they can. Many of them are enrolled in weekly substance abuse, mental health and therapy programs, too. It’s a juggling act, especially because they don’t all have cars.
People can stay as long as they need to. Recovery, Henrie said, isn’t something that can be rushed.
Kyle Dresser, a Casper probation and parole officer who’s referred inmates to Henrie, said that programs for people coming out of prison have grown considerably in the past decade. They’re becoming a more frequent condition on parole grants, too.
It makes a huge difference when former inmates have a place to go, Dresser said.
“I’ve had really, really good success with people that go to (Henrie’s) house,” Dresser said. “I’ve even talked to some of them that have done well about, you know, maybe one day starting their own sober living house.”
