LOS ANGELES — William Taylor III, once a lifer in state prison for two robbery convictions and the intent to sell a small packet of heroin, was savoring a moment he had scarcely dared to imagine: his first day alone, in a place of his own.
“I love the apartment,” he said of the subsidized downtown studio, which could barely contain the double bed he insisted on having. “And I love that I’m free after 18 years of being controlled.”
“My window has blinds, and I can open and close them!” he exclaimed to visitors the other day, reveling in an unaccustomed, and sometimes scary, sense of autonomy.
Mr. Taylor, 58, is one of more than 2,000 former inmates who were serving life terms under California’s three-strikes law, but who were freed early after voters scaled it back in 2012. Under the original law, repeat offenders received life sentences, with no possibility of parole for at least 25 years, even if the third felony was as minor as shoplifting.
Formerly branded career criminals, those released over the last two years have returned to crime at a remarkably low rate — partly because they had aged in prison, experts say, and because participation in crime declines steadily after age 25, but also because of the intense practical aid and counseling many have received. And California’s experience with the release of these inmates provides one way forward as the country considers how to reduce incarceration without increasing crime.
California prisoners who return to state prison for new crimes.
40%
All prisoners
–
Mr. Taylor, whose convictions did not involve guns or serious violence, was freed last June by Judge Ryan, who stipulated that he must stay under official supervision and receive mental health services.
When the moment came, Mr. Taylor was overwhelmed by doubt. “I was afraid that someone would do something to make me react and get arrested again,” he said.
Mr. Taylor admits to a paranoid streak that has led him to angry disputes. Overly self-conscious about a drifting, blind eye, he wore sunglasses day and night when he first arrived at the Amity center.
But he says he has learned to trust others for the first time and hopes to cultivate his passion — writing lyrics for what he envisions as “pop gospel” songs, with lines like “Complaining ain’t no way to be / Just think things naturally.”
Mr. Taylor has moved into what is known as permanent supportive housing, in a building run by the nonprofit SRO Housing Corporation. For rent, he pays one-third of his monthly disability check, leaving him with $514 a month to live on. He has a sister who drives him to Walmart for groceries.
The apartment building is in a barren warehouse district, and homeless people camp on nearby sidewalks. But to Mr. Taylor, it may as well be a palace.
For his first night in his new home, he said, he would cook oatmeal and have a fruit cup. And then, he said, he was going to soak in a hot bath for the first time in nearly two decades.
Go to Home Page »
