It’s free enterprise behind prison bars
CLEVELAND, Texas — Some call it “Shark Tank” for felons, but this business plan competition is much more than a jailhouse version of a reality show.
For the last six months, 85 men at the Cleveland Correctional Center have studied commerce, developed a business idea and dreamed of a better life. Within two years they’ll be back on the street, and the Prison Entrepreneurship Program aims to prepare them.
The business plan competition is just weeks away, so Charles Hearne, PEP’s executive relations manager, invited me to a practice session. I joined three dozen business men and women for an afternoon behind razor wire, steel doors and shatterproof glass. The experience was not what I expected, but neither is PEP.
Each year the staff invites 10,000 prisoners to apply for the program. Only sex offenders are excluded. About 3,000 express interest, but only 2,000 fill out the 20-page application. PEP provides 1,500 with a study packet for a 50-question test. Last year 718 participated, which is to say, the men earned their way into the program.
Once accepted, the Texas Department of Criminal Justice transfers them to one of three facilities with a PEP classroom and instructor, currently only available at men’s facilities.
Training begins with a threemonth leadership program focused on instilling integrity, accountability, love, fun and
excellence, what Hearne calls “degangsterization.” Since the art of the deal is about poise and communication, students also complete a Toastmaster’s public speaking program. Then the sixmonth business program begins using college textbooks and Harvard and Stanford Business School case studies.
My shock came when we entered the PEP classroom. Students blared upbeat music, flashed the fluorescent lights and gave us high-fives as we walked down what PEP calls a “tunnel of love” created by two lines of prisoners in uniforms. They welcomed us by name and thanked us for joining them. The raucous welcome and 30 minutes of ice-breaking exercises are designed to settle nerves.
PEP has brought executives and prisoners together for 14 years, and they know a trick or two about building personal connection. But soon we got down to business, with eight judges providing feedback to 10 prisoners in mock pitches they’ve rehearsed in their cells for weeks.
To protect the privacy and security of those involved, PEP staff asked me to identify participants by their first name and last initial. The staff also tell the prisoners not to discuss their crimes, because they want their focus to be on the future, not the past.
The 10 pitches I heard were modestly ambitious, reflecting the students’ realistic expectations and a desire to start something where their past can’t haunt them.
Valentin T. wanted to start a home-based medical billing business, performing backoffice functions of solo doctors. He’d calculated the cost of the computer and software and how long it will take to pay for it all. Robert K. had a plan to raise organic beef for high-end restaurants. Other plans included an RV park, a restaurant, a tree nursery, a janitorial service and a tiny house construction and rental business.
Brian A., who has spent 25 years of his life behind bars, plans to start a magazine for prisoners and their families that can also market prisoner-made arts and crafts.
“I have a captive audience,” Brian laughed while explaining how prisoners have things to sell but can’t access the internet. “I know prisoners who have put their children through college selling crafts.”
Jeremi R. plans to start a mobile barbershop. “PEP teaches us not to use what we did as a crutch to keep us from succeeding,” he said. “We learn that we can have a successful business and a better life.”
Thomas Fields, founder and CEO of a start-up called Grind, was making his second trip and said he could relate to the prisoners more than the older, white executives. The University of Houston junior, a minority as well as an aspiring entrepreneur, knows the courage that starting a business requires.
“The program gives them a different state of mind, coming from broken homes, broken families, rough backgrounds, rough upbringings,” Fields said.
What struck me was the students’ vulnerability as they dropped their street-tough personas to become someone new, as if psychologically donning a business suit for the first time and trying to get comfortable in it. Their sincere aspiration for a better life was palpable, and their fear of rejection was heart-touching, clearly affecting the executives who eagerly coached them.
PEP graduates earn a Certificate in Entrepreneurship from the Baylor University Hankamer School of Business. PEP also operates six transition homes in Houston, Dallas and Austin to help them re-enter society. All graduates find a job within 90 days of release. Graduates have started 289 legitimate, profitable businesses.
More importantly, while 50 percent of ex-convicts end up back in jail within three years, only 7 percent of PEP’s 1,500 graduates have returned to the system. The program costs taxpayers nothing, with PEP relying instead on grants and donations. But Hearne said what PEP needs most are business people willing to donate time and expertise.
Not every man in the program will start his own company. But undergoing the intellectual rigor of creating a business provides invaluable life lessons that help these men rehabilitate.
The Prison Entrepreneurship Program teaches these men to not only stay out of trouble, but to become pillars in their communities. Now if only the rest of us would open our minds and give them that opportunity.