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 Nonetheless, the program, launched by successful tech
entrepreneurs for inmates north of San Francisco in the decaying San
Quentin State Prison, has expanded, and a new session began this
month in the gritty, downtown Los Angeles Twin Towers Correctional
Facility.
The reason they're growing is simple: Graduates, now trickling out
of the penal system, are landing real jobs at real dot-coms.
The rigorous, six-month training teaches carefully selected inmates
the ins and outs of designing and launching technology firms, using
local experts as volunteer instructors.
"We believe that when incarcerated people are released into the
world, they need the tools to function in today's high-tech, wired
world," says co-founder Beverly Parenti, who with her husband, Chris
Redlitz, has launched thriving companies, including AdAuction, the
first online media exchange.
The pair were Silicon Valley pioneers in the 1990s, and they tap
their many high-level connections to help with the prison program
they started the program after Redlitz was invited into San Quentin
in 2011 for a guest lecture and was overwhelmed by the inmates'
desire to learn.
"I figured, 'We work with young entrepreneurs every day. Why not
here?'" he recalled.
After discussions with prison administrators, Parenti and Redlitz
decided to add a prison-based firm to their portfolio, naming it for
the precarious journey from prison to home: The Last Mile.
Now, during twice-a-week evening lessons, students — many locked up
before smartphones or Google— practice tweeting, brainstorm new
companies and discuss business books assigned as homework. Banned
from the Internet to prevent networking with other criminals, they
take notes on keyboard-like word processors or with pencil on paper.
The program is still "bootstrapping," as its organizers say, with
just 12 graduates in its first two years and now a few dozen in
classes in San Quentin and Twin Towers. But the five graduates
released so far are working in the tech sector.
They are guaranteed paid internships if they can finish the rigorous
training program, which requires prerequisite courses, proven social
skills and a lifetime oath to lead by positive example.
In one recent class, while thousands of inmates exercised or played
chess in San Quentin's prison yard, students worked their way
through a business model, pitching different technology concepts.
"What are the distribution channels?" challenged seminar leader
Andrew Kaplan, a product marketing manager at LinkedIn. "What
platforms or networks do we need to think about? Who are we trying
to engage?"
Tommy Winfrey, 35, who is serving 25 years to life for second-degree
murder and hopes to be paroled in 2018, adjusted his eyeglasses and
raised a tattooed arm. "I think an important part of our brand is
going to be to give our customer a voice," he said, suggesting they
share ideas on social media.
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On a Silicon Valley-style Demo Day, the startup students present
ideas to investors, a demonstration that convinced former California
Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation director Matthew Cate
he made the right decision to approve the training course.
"This program will go a long way to not only providing these guys
with jobs, but it is my hope that they hire people like them who
have changed their lives and are now ready to contribute to society,
pay taxes, follow the law, support their families. All those things
contribute to the economy," he told participants after watching the
2012 Demo Day.
Inmates also learn the essential startup skills of blogging, in part
by answering questions on Quora, a website that allows users and
experts to communicate, by having volunteers input their entries.
Without real businesses to discuss, thousands of readers ask the
inmates questions such as: "What does it feel like to murder
someone?"
"Murdering someone was the ultimate release for me," blogged David
Monroe, 30, who killed a 16-year-old when he was 15. Over the long
term, he added, the murder "has forever pitted my heart with regret
and covered it in shame."
Writing publically about their crimes, organizers say, helps the
inmates move forward once they are released.
Just months after serving 24 years for repeat drug offenses and
weapons possession, Chrisfino Kenyatta Leal fed his cat and ironed
his shirt before hurrying off to catch a Bay Area Rapid Transit
train in to his office in San Francisco.
"I always had an entrepreneurial fire in my belly, I just used it in
the wrong way," said Leal, 45.
Like the other entrepreneurs hurrying to meetings, tapping on
computers and talking on smartphones at startup RocketSpace, Leal
has a passion for technology and the possibilities it holds.
He just acquired his skills in a very different classroom.
[Associated
Press; MARTHA MENDOZA, AP National Writer]
Follow Martha Mendoza at
https://twitter.com/mendozamartha.
Copyright 2013 The Associated
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