Ex-con struggles to stay on the outside

I wanted to believe Michael Graves from the moment I met him.

Graves, 50, saw me walking toward my truck in a parking lot downtown a few weeks ago and approached immediately. I knew — or thought I knew — what was about to happen. I figured he was about to feed me a story and ask for a few bucks.

Instead, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a worn leather wallet. He flipped it open and pulled out an ID card issued by the N.C. Department of Correction.

"Look man, I haven't been out of prison long. I'm trying to find a job. Anything, man. You know if they're hiring in there?" he said, pointing toward the newspaper building.

I'm generally about as cynical as it gets, especially when it comes to hard-luck yarns spun by strangers in the street. But there was something about Graves' handshake and the way he looks people straight in the eye.

"No, they're not," I replied. "But if you have some time, I'd like to hear your story."

Tough sledding

Graves' record is not pretty. He indeed served eight years and nine months after convictions for selling crack cocaine and being a habitual felon.

If that's not enough, he was let out early in 2010 but went right back in less than a month later after a drug test turned up positive.

Those are the kinds of things that are damn near impossible to overcome. Guys like him overwhelmingly land back in prison.

Ask Graves about his record — and statistics from the U.S. Department of Justice that say up to two-thirds of ex-cons are arrested within three years of their release — and he answers without hesitation.

"It's a struggle, it really is," said Graves, who is from Reidsville. "You have to make yourself stay away from places where bad things happen. That's why I'm here (in Winston-Salem). Fresh start."

Why would Graves be any different?

He walked out of the minimum security prison on Cherry Street July 29. He was asked if he had a ride, and when he didn't, somebody dropped him off near Samaritan Ministries homeless shelter.

Good luck, pal.

"It was 7:30 in the morning," Graves said. "I thought, 'Now what am I supposed to do?'"

Even though he was spending his nights in homeless shelters and didn't have much to his name, Graves set out with a plan.

While still in prison and with his release date approaching, he got in contact with the Social Security Administration and applied for disability. Mental illness is real, and it can be crippling.

Graves has known for some time that he suffers from depression and anxiety disorders. He knows that leaving it untreated likely contributed greatly to his imprisonment. But upon his release, he got his Medicaid in order and made certain to get his prescriptions.

"If I don't take that medicine, I'm subject to get in trouble," he said. "I know that."

Moving forward

When his disability was approved — it's not much, a few hundred bucks a month — Graves managed to save money for such things as deposits on an apartment and the deposits required to hook up utility service.

He moved in four days ago. He's still trying to come up with the $150 for a water deposit. But he has power, heat, food in the kitchen and some clean clothes.

Considering where Graves came from, those are real and laudable accomplishments.

"You have to do the footwork," he said. "You have to want to move forward. You can't just sit around all day and watch TV."

He says he tries to get to church on Sundays and keeps a schedule of Narcotics Anonymous meetings on him. Whether he attends faithfully, I don't know. It's next to impossible to verify.

But with the verifiable things Graves has managed in a short time after long years in prison, I want to believe him. I want to believe in rehabilitation and second chances after a man has paid for his crimes.

The stats say Graves stands a better chance of landing back inside than landing a job. He's just one guy in a sea of homeless ex-cons.

Still, I can't help but root for him. It's better to hope for the best than merely expect failure.

"Ain't nobody going to help you if you don't help yourself," Graves said. "Nothing is just going to fall out of the clear blue sky."