Jeff Grant is a member of our White Collar Support Group that meets online on Zoom on Monday evenings. We will celebrate our 300th meeting on March 14, 2022, 7 pm ET, 4 pm PT.
Life in a halfway house comes with rules and constraints
As I approached Watkinson House on my first day out of prison in Hartford, Connecticut, I saw there was a large group of guys hanging out in the parking lot.
It was summer so they were all wearing baggy shorts, long t-shirts, flat brimmed baseball caps and Nike Air Force Ones. I recognized the uniforms. They were probably on a cigarette break before they hustled back inside to watch a few more hours of mind-numbing television.
The front porch smelled like old wood in need of a paint job, but the door had a very modern surveillance system. I pushed the buzzer and looked up into the camera. A businesslike yet gentle woman’s voice asked me if she could help.
I quickly rifled through my now institutionalized brain for the shortest and most succinct answer possible. “New resident,” I replied.
The door buzzed open and I stepped inside. To the right, another large group of men sat in a dayroom watching television. The office was to my left where two women sat behind a counter. I introduced myself and presented them with my papers and my bag of clothes.
The familiar process started all over again. There were forms to fill out and drug tests to take. I had an initial meeting with a counselor. They searched my bag and my body — aerosol containers, sharps, electric shavers and alcohol-based products were either discarded or tagged and stored.
Once processing was completed, I was escorted up to a room up on the third floor where I would have three roommates; I was assigned an upper bunk and given a supply of sheets, blankets, towels and basic toiletries — I was an old pro at this already.
I started to make my bed when my first roommate walked in — a bald Latino man named Hector. He looked pretty tough; his arms were sleeves of gang tats. He looked me up and down, and then asked if I was a cop. I said no, and then I asked him if he was a cop. He smiled. I think he liked my response.
I could also tell that he was stoned. When my other roommates showed up, it was pretty clear that they were all stoned. Hector pulled out a bottle of some cheap liquor, and they all got drunk right there in the room. I suppose that they had a right to be suspicious when I didn’t drink with them, even after I told them that I would be five years sober in a few weeks.
Nonetheless, Hector — stoned, drunk and barely able to speak — had an idea: He had a few tests to put me through to prove I wasn’t a cop.
Hector asked me if he could continue to store his cell phone and charger in a hole in my mattress. He had been storing it there while my bunk was unoccupied. We both knew that cell phone possession charges were among the most egregious offenses in prison. It wasn’t a big leap to guess that they weren’t allowed in the halfway house either and that we could get sent back to prison if we were caught.
I told him to forget about it — I was White, not stupid. He seemed delighted with this response.
For his next test, Hector took off his shirt, exposing his hairy tattooed body — he explained that he liked to shave his body hair so that his chest and back were smooth. He proposed that I shave the hair off his back.
I figured that this was my Mendoza Line — I was in a halfway house my first night out of prison about to shave the back hair off of a Latino gang member. When I was finished, we wrapped our arms around each other and laughed.
He pulled a big plastic box out from under his bunk and showed me a huge cache of sundries. He was running a bodega for the benefit of the guys who couldn’t get passes out of the house. Of course, he marked them up two to three times their cost.
“Go ahead, Papi,” he said. “Take one. No charge.”
I went for the Old Spice push-up anti-perspirant stick. Things went pretty smoothly with Hector from that point on.
The halfway house had a culture unto itself, but with none of the checks and balances of prison. Quickly dissipated was the prison culture that honored respect.
For example, in prison, if I were in the television room and put my book down on my chair, nobody would have touched it for hours. At Watkinson, my book was pushed onto the floor and I found a guy sitting in my seat.
In prison, phone calls were automatically cut off after 15 minutes. In the halfway house, guys hogged the phones for hours even though there were lines of other guys waiting.
In prison, meals were served in a line and doled out somewhat systematically. In the halfway house, it was a cattle call of first come, first served. I wound up eating a lot of cereal and peanut butter those five weeks.
Watkinson House did however have Alcoholics Anonymous meetings most nights and took us to even more meetings in the van. Fortunately, as a federal client, I was eligible for a pass in three days (it took Connecticut clients 20 days to get a pass). As soon as I was issued a pass, I could go outside on my own.
I had not been on a computer in 14 months. I was hoping that I’d at least have some email. I met with my counselor to find out how and where to do that because there were no computers available to clients at the halfway house.
The only place that she could think of was at the state’s employment agency, called CT Works, which was a pretty long bus ride from downtown. Clients who achieved level four status were allowed to go to the public library downtown and use the computers there, but I was short-termer and only had a level one status.
I received instructions for a pass and then filled out a request. I explained exactly where I wanted to go and why, including the address and phone number I got from the Yellow Pages in the office. My pass was approved, so on my assigned day after breakfast, I was handed a three-hour pass — barely enough time to accomplish my mission – along with directions to CT Works at the edge of the city. I walked out the door of the halfway house feeling like a free man.
It was my first taste of freedom. The one-mile walk to downtown felt great. I caught my first sight of the Connecticut state capitol, a rib joint, and the arena where the Hartford Whalers used to play. But mostly there were people, real people, and they were going to work, wearing work clothes and sitting on benches eating breakfast.
I got to the center of the city and found the bus stop on Main Street in front of the State House where I would catch the No. 40 bus to CT Works. I asked a few people in line to make sure I was waiting for the right bus — with only a three-hour pass I didn’t have any room for error. They were very kind, especially given that I was dressed like a guy only a few days out of prison.
It took about a half hour to get to CT Works, located in a large factory building that had been restored and repurposed into a business incubator housing all sorts of services for poor people. I had to register to become a client and then wait in line for a computer. By the time I finally got on a computer, two hours had passed since I left Watkinson House, and I was worried about getting back in time. I logged on to my Yahoo account and saw I had lots of spam but no messages.
Now I had to hustle. The bus stop for the No. 40 bus back downtown was across the street. Every minute seemed like an hour, as I waited for that bus to come from Windsor back into Hartford.
Time seemed to slow down as I thought about the repercussions of arriving at the halfway house late. When the bus got downtown, I still had 20 minutes to walk up the hill back to Watkinson House. But the bus had let me off on Main Street in front of a Burger King.
The poster with an Oreo shake in the window looked so good it practically had my name on it. I knew I was not supposed to stop anywhere unless I had a pass for it. But it was as if my body had a mind of its own. I couldn’t help myself. I found myself in line ordering the biggest shake they had.
Soon, I was walking up the hill and slurping down my shake. At the corner before I got back to Watkinson House, I licked the last drops off the straw and threw away the remnants in a dumpster behind one of the housing projects.
I walked into the house on time and the women behind the desk were practically falling out of their chairs laughing. I asked if everything was okay.
One of the women commented that it was a good thing I was leaving in five weeks — I would never make it there if I couldn’t figure out how not to not to drink a Burger King shake on the streets without a pass. She said at least five people saw me.
The blood drained from my face. I was busted. Was I going to go back to prison over a milkshake?
She told me to relax, the feds were way too busy to bust guys over something like this, but she also gave me a warning. They sometimes take away the people they don’t like for the smallest infractions. The people they like, they leave alone.
She turned out to be right. In my five weeks there, there were shakedowns where they would overlook stuff from some guys, but handcuff and take away others.
Jeff Grant is an ordained minister with more than three decades of experience in crisis management, business, law, reentry, recovery and executive and religious leadership. After serving almost 14 months in a federal prison for a white collar crime when he was an attorney, he is dedicated to helping people move forward in their lives. Earlier this year, Jeff’s New York law license was reinstated and he was featured in The New Yorker magazine. Jeff hosts a weekly online White Collar Support Group, is the host of the White Collar Week podcast and is the editor of prisonist.org.
The author is a member of our White Collar Support Group that meets online on Zoom on Monday evenings. We will celebrate our 300th meeting on March 14, 2022, 7 pm ET, 4 pm PT.
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“If you are going through hell.. keep going.”- Winston Churchill
I joined the White Collar Support Group last year, after I pleaded guilty to healthcare fraud. I am not known to reach out for help too often, one of my shortcomings, but I knew this was something I could not face alone. I had not told anyone but my spouse about my legal troubles and hid it for well over 2 years. I knew I had to seek out others who had exposure to the impossible to understand American justice system. I found the group through a Google search and a link to an article in the New Yorker magazine titled, “Life after White Collar Crime”.
I was a bit hesitant at first to join, worried it might be some strange cult, but after talking with Bill from the group my nerves were settled. I did not feel judged and was able to express my feelings at that point in time. I logged on to my first Zoom meeting that week and mostly just listened to the different stories being told, but I found everyone to be incredibly honest and real. I was moved so many times during the meetings that I had to turn the camera off because I did not want anyone to see a tear rolling down my cheek.
I always feared making mistakes since I was very young because I did not want to be judged. I put extreme pressure on myself to excel at everything I do, so much so that it ended with disastrous results. What I found in the group is that most of them have felt this same pressure and also (temporarily) destroyed their lives as well.
Through the group I have watched others go through what I have gone through and also what awaits me. As I get ready to self-surrender this month, it gives me great hope that all these smiling people will be at the Zoom meeting when I return to society stronger and better than before. I know life after serving will be hard, but I have confidence that with the help of Jeff Grant and the group members, it will be much smoother than doing it alone. I am forever thankful for finding this group.
Mike Neubig is a member of our White Collar Support Group that meets online on Zoom on Monday evenings. We will celebrate our 300th meeting on March 14, 2022, 7 pm ET, 4 pm PT.
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300. For the over 425 men and women who have attended any of the White Collar Support Group’s 300 meetings hosted by Jeff Grant, this is a meaningful number. For those who have been indicted, convicted and /or served some sort of sentence for a white collar crime, every waking minute of every day is filled with worry and suffering.
The worry centers around: how will I pay for a criminal defense lawyer? Will I be able to survive incarceration mentally and physically? How many years will I be away? How will I support my family financially? What will happen to my spouse and family relationships while I’m away? How will I rebuild my professional life after my release? What is wrong with me that I was able to commit a crime? Would it be easier to take my life?
As brutal as these questions seem, every one of them and more fills the obsessive mind of convicted white collar justice impacted individuals, and their families. In an instant, the problems of yesterday that seemed so significant, turn into ones of basic human survival and what seems like life and death at every turn.
The negative effect on one’s psyche is immeasurable. Often times, hopelessness and depression set in, daily tasks become difficult, and it is near impossible to imagine a future with anything but the present pain. Life seems like it’s over and that you are alone as no one has experienced exactly what you have.
Fortunately, for the over 425 attendees of the group, there is hope. Every Monday night, a we gather on Zoom. We in attendance range from those with recent arrests and indictments, to those who have been out of prison for more than twenty years. We have our routine of the serenity prayer, the introduction of new members, resource sharing, then a new topic relative to the challenges with which we all struggle. Often, much of the session is dedicated to supporting those who have an upcoming sentencing hearing or are soon to report to prison.
Those who have attended one of Jeff’s meetings can tell you that the impact on their lives is immediate. Attendees get questions answered, receive encouragement that they will make it through this difficult time, receive advice on how to handle their stage of the process, and realize that they are not alone in their crime, nor the collateral damage associated with it. One after another, attendees state that they are ecstatic to have found this resource and express gratitude for the care and concern of everyone. And the wish that we had all found this group earlier in our journeys.
Although much of what the group members are experiencing are a few years past for me, I can say that the meetings remain the safest, least judgmental and most accepting space I have available. There is something about commonality, shared experience and true acceptance that brightens the human spirit and allows me to move forward knowing I am not alone, there have been many before me and there is light at the end of the tunnel.
As the group moves toward its 300th meeting, the days of suffering will surely continue to pile up. But thanks to Jeff’s selfless dedication and the caring hearts of the group’s members, those days will be more manageable. We have a resource and friends to reach out to and in the end, all will find a renewed life of hope and acceptance.
Gregg Johnson is a member of our White Collar Support Group that meets online on Zoom on Monday evenings. We will celebrate our 300th meeting on March 14, 2022, 7 pm ET, 4 pm PT.
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I found the White Collar Support Group in July, 2021, 8 months after my ordeal began. Prior to finding the support group, I was afraid & alone. Jeff’s group brought me peace, comfort & camaraderie. I realized I wasn’t alone & that others were going through a journey similar to mine.
The weekly meetings gave me something to look forward to…a sense of purpose. Both to hear & provide insight as everyone is there to learn & to teach. I only had 2 months of meetings before beginning to serve my sentence, but I look forward to re-joining the weekly meetings upon my release.
I know my journey is long from over, but I won’t be going through it alone… Jeff & his support group will be there for me, just as I will be there for every member of the support group! I’m fortunate to have found this support group to walk through this journey with.
Timothy Litzenburg is a member of our White Collar Support Group that meets online on Zoom on Monday evenings. We will celebrate our 300th meeting on March 14, 2022, 7 pm ET, 4 pm PT.
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Jeff’s catchphrase “It’s the isolation that destroys us; the solution is community,” might be the perfect explanation of the human experience. I think everybody has become more acutely aware of this in the last two years.
Those of us in recovery from substance abuse have been aware for some time. The World tends to push us in the direction of isolation, for some reason; it encourages us to keep our problems to ourselves, to marinate in some level of shame and guilt, and not to ask for help or offer it. And everything positive in this life has at least a slight tendency to dissolve those barriers.
No matter what you are going through, no matter how extreme or unique or shameful you are convinced it is, others are going through the same thing, and still others have successfully gotten through it. Sometimes they are just down the street, or sometimes they are all across the country and on a Zoom meeting on Monday nights. God bless Jeff and his group, it is a tremendous source of help and relief to so many defendants, convicts and families.
Debbie Colbourn is a member of our White Collar Support Group that meets online on Zoom on Monday evenings. We will celebrate our 300th meeting on March 14, 2022, 7 pm ET, 4 pm PT.
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I am an outlier in the group, not because I’m in Canada or that I am woman, but in the fact that I have not been part of the criminal justice process despite having taken money that wasn’t mine to take from an employer. Yet I suffered for over twenty-five years from the biggest thing that those who’ve made a decision to do something we knew at the time was wrong, do.
Despite our inner voice screaming at us. Overwhelming shame and guilt.
Only five people in the world knew what I had done, two lawyers, my parents, and the owner of the company. Plus me.
I represent a large number of people, women in particular, who crossed both an ethical and legal line, who had “good” careers, made OK money, lived in a normal home, came from a loving family, no history with abuse or addiction. And our $ amounts are in the five or low six figure amounts – not in the millions. Still very wrong – still punishable by a jail term.
I repaid every penny to my employer but I could never find a way to move past the shame, and guilt, and the lack of trust I had in myself.
In my path to growing my business and leaning into my potential I have let my nudges, my gut instinct guide me and one week a post from a lady who had a group for wives of women whose husbands had committed a white collar crime and a podcast episode by a man named Jeff Grant who’d been a lawyer that had gone to prison and rebuilt a life on a completely different path, showed up.
I cannot tell you what Jeff said on Rich Roll’s podcast, but I reached out to the lady with the group and asked if she knew him – weird hmm?? Yes, I’ll introduce you.
And a week later there I was, terrified of where the Pandora’s box that I’d just opened would lead – yet I knew it was the right next step. The every Monday night meeting of the White Collar Support Group.
I was as intimidated as hell by the people on the Zoom call. People I’d read about in the media. People who were used to making in two weeks what I made in a year. I felt dumb. Like they were somehow better than me. Yet as I listened quietly, something I no longer do, I realized that although they, the men, use different words, different phrases, most were struggling with debilitating shame and guilt. Struggling to stop the voice in their head berating them on how friggin’ stupid they were.
Each week one phrase, one deep emotion shared, one roadblock or obstacle shared by someone can take the conversation in any number of directions, but it’s always something that someone needs to hear at that moment.
The group has grown and now has a couple of people who can chat confidentially with you if you’re thinking joining the group might be the next step you (or someone in your family) needs.
Sometimes it takes only a few meetings to help you move forward, sometimes it takes years. There are people at all stages. And people are there for you 24/7/365 – when you simply need to not feel alone. Like you’re the only one going through what you are, or feel the way you do. – Debbie Colbourn, Calgary, Canada
Jeff Krantz is a member of our White Collar Support Group that meets on Zoom on Monday evenings. We will celebrate our 300th meeting on March 14, 2022, 7 pm ET, 4 pm PT.
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I cleared the obligations of my prosecution five years prior to coming to the White Collar Support Group. I had navigated the legal aspects of the ordeal relatively successfully, receiving three years probation and having paid down my fine and restitution a month after my sentencing. Nonetheless, as time passed, I found myself becoming increasingly isolated and I struggled with navigating day-to-day life.
There are some Mondays when I’m running late and not particularly enthused about logging on to the weekly meeting. I rush to make dinner, get it on the table and log on by seven. Most nights I make it in time for “announcements and resource sharing”. Sometimes I don’t appear in my rectangle until the topic leader has started to speak. I’ll do an initial scan across my screen to see who’s on the call while I settle in for the next hour. In short order, my resistance has dissipated and I’ve become absorbed as the meeting proceeds. When new people introduce themselves, they identify where they reside in the process: whether they are being investigated, soon to be sentenced, or are facing a report date. Often they are short of resources and information and desperate for a life line that will give them some guidance on how to proceed forward. Others arrive better provisioned or they are past the legal mechanics of their ordeal. The bottom having come out from under their lives, they seek comradeship and guidance to cope with the long term fallout of their ill considered choices. The twenty to thirty or so participants who join the weekly group represents the continuum of experiences had by those engulfed in the realm of white collar crime. Each one at some point or another has either sought or gained the support of the group and similarly, purely in being present, each person showing up provides support and comfort to those who arrive at the group in need.
The meeting has wound down and Bill is speaking. As always, he’s a fount of information, delivered in a low-key, self-effacing manner. Sun-je, the last to speak, is tuned into the message of the night’s speaker, as he sums up the overall vibe of the evening. The session comes to a close, Jeff thanks everyone in attendance and reminds them of the Spiritual Urgent Care meeting on Thursday morning. It’s 8:15 and we all wave as one by one we disappear off of our respective screens.
Over the week, I text Jeff to see if he has some time to chat about a justice-related non-profit organization with a promising job opportunity and whose vetting process has proven to be challenging to navigate. We speak for a while later in the day and his counsel is pragmatic and helps to take some of the weight of the frustration off of my shoulders. Later in the week, Craig and I meet in Brooklyn for coffee. We both live in New York and have been talking about getting together to meet in person but I’ve also sought him out to get his advice on building a writing practice. Finally, I called M to talk about her plea. She knows that the deal is fundamentally a good one but it bothers her that she doesn’t have an option but to take it. She knows that my circumstance was similar to hers and we spend 40 minutes or so venting about the unfairness of our respective situations with at least half of that time laughing at the absurdity of it all.
The week closes out with planning for next week’s meeting already having begun. Texts and emails fly steadily back and forth while queries and articles get posted up on Slack. The group is active throughout the week, riding atop the myriad crests and troughs of victories and setbacks. A steady flow of information keeps things moving irregularly, but undeniably forward, the inexorable benefit of people supporting each other, bringing us all a little more into ourselves. – Jeff Krantz, NYC
Join Evolution’s team of justice impacted family members for our first meeting on Thursday, Feb. 3rd via Zoom from 7:00pm ET – 8:00pm ET for a brand-new support group dedicated to supporting family members of incarcerated men and women… you are no longer alone in your personal journey while your loved one is navigating through the criminal justice system.
Feb. 3, 2022
Thursday Evenings from 7:00 pm ET – 8:00 pm ET via Zoom
Do you have a loved one incarcerated or going through the criminal justice system? If yes, then join us Thursday, Feb. 3rd for our first online support group devoted to supporting justice impacted family members, one family at a time. Lead by family members who are walking in your shoes, we understand the needs and isolation that often comes with having a family member navigating the criminal justice system. You are no longer alone!
Tony T. is a member of our White Collar Support Group that meets online on Zoom on Monday evenings. We will celebrate our 300th meeting on March 14, 2022, 7 pm ET, 4 pm PT.
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I am currently sitting at FCI Morgantown, a prison camp in West Virginia, finishing a 41 month sentence for wire fraud.
When I first found out I was being investigated, I was literally frightened beyond words. What was going to happen, what would happen to my family, my kids, my life. After finding Jeff and the White Collar Support Group, I first watched and listened, and then fully joined in. ALL the things I learned about my next few years of my life, what will happen next, what to do, what to ask and what to expect, I learned through the group. Not only did this group become my community, it’s members became my family.
I am now 97 days from finishing my journey and was told today that because of the First Step Act, I will go straight to probation. I never thought I could get through this process and, without the group, I don’t know if I could have. I am so grateful.
Attorney and minister, Jeff Grant, is this week’s guest on the Energy Stoners(TM) Cafe Podcast. He discusses his journey from successful lawyer, to opioid addiction, to convicted felon to minister. Jeff is now the founder of prisonist.org, the world’s first ministry serving the white collar crime community. After years of recovery and self-discovery and ministry, Jeff Grant is finally reinstated as a lawyer and continues his ministry. His story is truly enlightening and inspiring.
