People who are incarcerated are paid notoriously low wages for kitchen, laundry work and maintenance.
But the expanded use of laptops is creating other opportunities.
This is part two in a two-part series about remote work in Maine prisons. To read part one, click here.
Preston Thorpe is only 32, but he says he's already landed his dream job as a senior software engineer and bought a modest house with his six-figure salary. It was all accomplished by putting in long days from his cell at the Mountain View Correctional Center in Charleston.
"It's not normal to have 15-17 hours a day to really focus on something and learn something, like deeply," Thorpe says. "And fortunately tech is one of the few areas where they're not concerned with your college degree. They're really only concerned with your ability to write code."
A self-described "computer geek," Thorpe says he built his first computer at age 13. In high school he always expected he'd have a career in tech. But he also had a rebellious side. He got into trouble with drugs, using them and selling them. He says his parents kicked him out of the house and he ended up in prison for the first time at age 20.
"You know, I was worried and pretty hopeless that I had messed my life up so bad that it was no longer possible to have like a normal life and normal career," he says.
When you have nothing to lose, Thorpe says it's pretty easy to behave that way. And when you're out of prison with a criminal record, no money and an identity as a convict, he says the likelihood you're going to improve your life in any way is zero.
His own circumstances changed in 2019 when he got transferred from the New Hampshire prison system to Maine, where he discovered laptops with limited internet access were available for education. That's when he says he had an epiphany that he could change himself by pursuing his passion. And about two years ago, he became one of the first incarcerated people in the country to get hired for a remote job.
"Now I feel like my life has purpose," Thorpe says.
Glauber Costa says he first became aware of Thorpe through his contributions to an online public software project. Costa is the CEO of Turso, an international database company. He was impressed by Thorpe's work and had no idea he was incarcerated.
Once he found out, he thought it would be impossible to talk to Thorpe, let alone hire him.
"But then," Costa says, "it turns out that he can take video calls. And then by talking to him, it became very, very clear to me that if this is not a reformed person I don't know what is."
Costa says he was also surprised to learn that Thorpe was eligible for remote work while he was in prison. He hired him in June. He figured Thorpe might have trouble clearing the company's background check and he says he prepared himself for that. But since it only searches back seven years and since Thorpe has been in prison for more than a decade, "He is actually our cleanest background check," Costa says.
"He doesn't have a parking ticket."
Several dozen other prisoners are also working remote jobs. At the Maine Correctional Center in Windham, Darlene George is a certified recovery coach, a scholar and a teaching assistant who's serving a 40-year sentence for the murder of her husband.
"I became incarcerated in 2009 and I've been here 16 years," George says.
Unlike most women in prison, George had a college degree before she was incarcerated. She says she still tries to make the most of every opportunity she can. For the past two years, she's held a full-time remote job, first as a grant writer and now as a program coordinator, for a Maine-based health care company.
"The work, it just, it really makes you feel good," she says. "When I — when I put my head down at night I can say I'm giving something back."
George relishes her role as a decision maker and an advocate for clients' health care. She makes a competitive salary. And she says her boss and her co-workers are extremely supportive of her situation, and so are the other women at the Maine Correctional Center.
"Literally, I work from my room. There's a sign that I put out that lets people know I'm Zooming or in meetings," she says. "They try not to be noisy on the floor ... because they're like, 'Well, we want a job, too.'"
Mara Sanchez, the program director for the Alliance for Higher Education in Prison, says Maine's Department of Corrections was the first to have a remote work policy.
"Their implementation, willingness to try remote work for incarcerated students has really kind of set the bar for other states and been very inspiring to other states," she says.
Maine Corrections Commissioner Randall Liberty says remote work is an outgrowth of expanded educational opportunities in prison. There are 800 residents who now have access to the internet.
"We have technicians that are watching where they're going and what they're doing and we've had very few problems," Liberty says. "If it provides meaningful employment for them ... it also allows for a transition back into the community."
For example, Liberty says one resident worked as a paralegal for a law firm and continued with the job after he got out. Wages are garnished for child support, victim restitution and other fees. And for those who earn above a certain amount, 10% goes to the Department of Corrections for room and board. But residents can also save money or send it home. And Liberty says between educational programs and remote work, the prison environment is better for everyone.
"It's important that the officers work with residents that have hope and have meaning in their life," he says. "We had 87 assaults on staff in 2017. Last year, we had seven assaults on staff. So all of this work isn't just about the residents. It's about the community ... the officers that go to work everyday and don't feel like their life is at risk."
Liberty is optimistic that remote work can be expanded to other people in prison as the network of employers who understand their value grows.
"I think it can become the norm," he says. "This isn't a reckless attempt at finding work for individuals. This is a well-thought out plan with lessons learned and consequences. ... The last thing anybody wants is to lose their laptop."
Preston Thorpe would agree. He's hoping to be released sometime next year. He never expected to have started a successful career in prison or to have bought a house. But he says what he's most proud of is that after everything he's put his parents through, they are proud of him.
