By Danny Jacobs
The Daily Record
BALITMORE, Md. — April Smith-Koroma took several re-entry workshops offered by Alternative Directions Inc. before leaving prison six years ago and felt prepared to land on her feet. But even as she occasionally popped into Alternative Direction’s Baltimore headquarters in the months to follow, the drug problems that initially landed her in jail resurfaced.
Then one day in 2003, Smith-Koroma visited Mary Joel Davis, ADI’s founder and longtime executive director who will retire at the end of the year.
“My child, whenever you’re ready, I’m here,” Davis said.
Smith-Koroma took Davis’ offer to enter a drug rehabilitation program. Next month will mark five years’ sobriety for her.
“She saw me when I was at my bottom and reached her hand out,” said Smith-Koroma, who now sits on ADI’s board of directors. “Mary Joel, she does this from her heart. She’s an angel. “
Davis politely accepts the compliments - she’s been hearing a lot of them since her retirement party earlier this month - but her eyes truly light up when she hears or recites a success story like Smith-Koroma’s.
“The best thing I see every day are these people making it and being happy and thankful,” she said. “I don’t think I could make it, I truly don’t. It’s too hard. But they do. “
Davis has become synonymous with the organization she founded 30 years ago, which now helps 17,000 inmates a year with civil legal problems and up to 50 female parolees annually transition back into society.
She turns 75 in less than two weeks and is stepping away so she has more time to focus on a few specific projects instead of managing the day-to-day operations of her eight-person nonprofit organization.
Take the 52 women at the Maryland Correctional Institution for Women whom Davis calls “the lifers. " Some deserve their lengthy sentence, she admitted, but some might have been accessories to a crime or in the wrong place at the wrong time and have been punished excessively.
“It’s a lot of peoples’ lives being wasted,” Davis said. “I certainly understand people being put away for a crime, but 30 or 40 years, you should look at that and say, ‘Is this person ever going to commit a crime again?’ I don’t think so. “
Davis spoke from behind her desk at ADI’s office overlooking the 2500 block of Charles Street. She sat forward but relaxed in her chair, often cradling her chin in her left hand when listening. While her casualness seemingly contradicted her passion toward prisoner rehabilitation, Davis never comes across as anything but genuine no matter her audience, said Tomi Hiers, assistant secretary and chief of staff for the state’s Department of Public Safety and Correctional Services.
“We don’t agree all the time, but I’ve always respected her honesty,” Hiers said. “She’s not one to simply point out what’s wrong. I’ve seen her always try to find a solution. “
‘Friend of the court’
While Davis’ passion is certain, she’s unsure of its origins.
The mother of five went back to college at age 40 to get a philosophy degree and then announced one day to her late husband, Ed, a Baltimore lawyer, that she wanted to volunteer in the prison system. The closest she comes to a reason is when she explains the biggest misconception of her job - that she works with criminals.
“All you have to do is meet, talk and understand the plight,” she said. “If you get out of prison with $50 in your pocket, you’re expected to get an apartment, turn on the gas and electric, get a bus pass, you’re going to be expected to go to your parole agent and you’re going to be expected to go to all of those different programs you’re supposed to go to. It’s not possible. “
Benjamin R. Civiletti, the former U.S. attorney general and a family friend, suggested to Davis in the 1980s that she seek backing for her program from the Maryland Legal Services Corp. and its new interest on lawyer trust accounts (IOLTA) funds. ADI became one of the first IOLTA grantees in 1986 and has received funding ever since.
“It’s hard to quantify the value added when you look at the population Mary Joel championed. It’s not a sympathetic client constituency,” said Susan M. Erlichman, MLSC’s executive director. “It was always a program that fulfilled a critical need. “
She started helping inmates with civil legal issues after noticing a need in the prison population, such as abused women seeking divorces. (Davis, incidentally, is not a lawyer: “I like to say they can’t disbar me,” she said with a laugh.)
The thrust of ADI’s civil program focuses on family law, including custody, visitation and child support issues. The organization won a major state court case in the mid-1990s allowing inmates to suspend their child support payments while incarcerated.
Davis also became a “friend of the court” to female defendants, walking them through the legal system and making her organization responsible for their whereabouts before their court date. ADI never “lost” one of the female defendants, she said.
Taking care of business
In 2000, ADI received a grant from philanthropist George Soros’ Open Society Institute to work with the Maryland Parole Commission and care for parolees.
Between 35 and 50 women annually take part in ADI’s Turn About Program (TAP), a yearlong transitional service that can include drug treatment, counseling and parenting, high-school equivalency degree and stress reduction classes.
The first six months are known as “taking care of business,” Davis said, when participants rebuild their lives.
“Once they get that structure in six months, they’re sort of ready to go job hunt,” she said, adding TAP helps clients with bus fare and picking out a work wardrobe.
Most importantly, ADI delivers on its promises.
“If someone doesn’t do well in Mary Joel’s program, they won’t do well in any other program,” said David Blumberg, chairman of the parole commission.
The recidivism rate of TAP participants has been less than 10 percent the last few years, and only two women have committed non-drug-related crimes, Davis said. She credits an intensive monitoring system, including a software program that keeps close track of a client’s actions and feelings.
The transition, then, becomes a team effort.
“It works when they know that you’re part of the avenue to success,” she said. “People you don’t have a hold on, you can’t demand too much of them. “
While Davis stresses the importance of teamwork, others are quick to point to Davis.
“I don’t know anyone who is as passionate and dedicated to her cause,” said Sharon E. Goldsmith, executive director of the Pro Bono Resource Center of Maryland. “She’s a fierce advocate. Nothing seems to daunt her. “
Blumberg believes parolees are motivated to do well not just for themselves but for Davis.
“They are more wedded to her and if they fail, they feel they let her down,” he said.
For similar reasons, Blumberg has complete confidence in ADI’s staff continuing Davis’ mission.
“She’s instilled in them the importance of what they do and who they serve,” he said. “Whether they are successful or fail is proportional to the effort they put in.”
Blumberg’s theory was proven by Michelle Kelly, ADI’s deputy director, who will assume Davis’ position.
“I’m not nervous,” she said. “I had a great teacher. “
Kelly has worked with Davis for nine years and said the most important lesson she has learned is to treat everyone with dignity, no matter their background.
“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Kelly said.
Keeping in touch
Many who take advantage of the opportunity keep in touch with Davis, much to her delight. One such woman recently stood in Davis’ office doorway, smiling, asking for a few minutes to chat. Davis, head down in work, waved her in but said she only had a few minutes. The woman sat down, still beaming.
Davis looked up and was stunned.
“Oh my God!” she said. “You got teeth!”
Drug use had cost the woman her teeth. But after almost a year with ADI, she landed a job and saved enough money to repair her smile.
“You look at that and you go, ‘That’s amazing,’” Davis said with a smile.
Copyright 2008 Dolan Media Newswires