ndisputed time to think,” says Donte Kearney. “That’s what jail definitely gives you. I mean, there’s nothing like it.” Kearney salts his revelation with an all-knowing laugh – the kind of laugh that says you’ve learned more than you intended to learn in a lifetime.

Kearney, 21, stands before a milestone – not his age because the State of Maryland considered him a man, accruing man-like criminal charges since he was 18. It’s because he says he’s decided “to man-up” and make a difference.

Kearney sits in the Charles County Detention Center’s (CCDC) library, in La Plata, Md. Though he’s garbed in prison blue, the shine in his brown eyes, the glimmer of his wide smile set in butterscotch skin, and the subdued, polite manner in his voice seems an oxymoron to his past – a past that jolts the unsuspecting. His rap sheet is riddled with details of transporting firearms and illegal drug possession.

A Detroit native, he comments on his formative years: “My mother was 16 when she had me. So she wasn’t really in a position to take care of me.” Kearney searched for father figures, though he says he now realizes, “My grandfather was the best father figure I should have taken. But I clashed with my grandfather because he was a preacher. He tried to press the Bible on me.”

Today, Kearney’s drafting a plan for legacy building as an entrepreneur. He’s also working on repentance and accepting the unconditional love of Jesus Christ. “This is a blessing,” Kearney says. That revelation comes courtesy of a program at CCDC called S.T.A.R.S., which stands for Successful Transitioning And Reentry Skills.

S.T.A.R.S., a faith-based program operated in CCDC’s Classification Department, offers inmates an array of classes and training ranging from life skills, pet care, etiquette classes, writing, CPR, first aid, Kitchen Managers certification, Microsoft Word/Microsoft Excel, finance, and more.

Inmates must apply to take advantage. Legally, “you can’t really tell someone to participate in a program that includes believing in God,” explains Sgt. Tracy Williams, classification supervisor. “So they have to self-initiate into the program. And that’s what we want. We want the motivated person who’s not too proud to say, ‘I believe in God. And I want to participate in this program.’” Williams, a petite woman, speaks with a signature warmth known to vanish at the hint of a jail infraction.

One of the first questions inmates must answer during the application process is, “Are you a good representative of what you believe in,” says Officer Ryan Taylor, who coordinates S.T.A.R.S.

Tangible offerings help spread the Gospel

“It has always been a dream of Tracy’s to have this kind of program,” says Captain Debbie Dofflemyer, “And for a while, we didn’t have an administration that was really into helping the inmates. Basically, their thought was, ‘they’re just here. We take care of them until they get out.’” But the administration changed and women now man CCDC’s three top commands.

Some prisons don’t have administrators who are really into helping the inmates.

“Right now, the director, Captain Pamela Dottelis, is really into all kinds of programs to try to help these guys and women get themselves together before they get out. It’s a great program,” says Dofflemyer.

Williams adds, “And we have a chaplain who’s completely on board. We couldn’t pull this off without Chaplain John Lewis.”

Lewis is the senior chaplain at two area detention centers and the program director for the area’s homeless shelter, the Robert J. Fuller Transitional Home – a place where recently released inmates can seek temporary housing. Lewis’s non-profit organization, the Point of Change Jail and Street Ministry, Inc., which also coordinates prison ministry volunteers and operates solely on donations, pays for an inmate’s lodging, clothing, job-seeking activities, transportation needs, and mentoring.

The S.T.A.R.S. program recruits most of its facilitators from Point of Change volunteers.

“I get the chance to help mentor an inmate while he’s here, then meet him at the front door when he gets out and take him to the Robert J. Fuller House,” says Chaplain Lewis. It offers continuity.

“It’s what God has called me to do,” Lewis states. He adds that the byproduct of his tangible offerings cradles his primary focus, “to spread the Gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Chaplain John Lewis

As if chiseled in stone, Lewis says that when it comes to attending to the physical and academic needs of the downtrodden, “there’s nothing that they can do to stop us from doing our best. If we don’t get paid, we’re still going. If conditions are rough and they’re mean to us, we don’t stop. We answer to a higher power and everything else is second.”

The inmates pray at the beginning and closing of each class and view a Christian-centered DVD. “It sets the tone” for respect, affirms the Chaplain.

Officers and inmates’ mutual respect

Taylor stands just beyond two thick gray steel doors – stark evidence of one’s loss of freedom, an undeniable punishment if one passes through those doors in handcuffs. He prepares a special class for inmates who are veterans to address their special needs and verse them on veterans’ benefits. “We’ve got to do what we can to get these guys every resource,” Taylor says as he moves about his task.

Taylor, a young man, has crystal blue eyes and blonde hair. He’s dressed in civilian clothes and looks dapper in a crisp white shirt and conservative black suit, garnished with a sky-blue tie that happens to match his eyes. His tie pin is a tiny gold sheriff’s star, evidence of that for which he stands.

Perhaps one might say that Officer Taylor and inmate Kearney are polar opposites, but Taylor disagrees. “The inmates are just like we are,” he says. “Everyone knows someone who’s done something wrong in their life. Some people got caught. Some people didn’t get caught,” Taylor says. So the CCDC’s mantra is to “treat people with respect, regardless of who they are and why they’re here,” Taylor says.

Dofflemyer, dressed in full uniform, her blonde hair harnessed in a ponytail, interjects. She issues a quick direct eye, as law enforcement can do. “We’re not the almighty officers!” She stresses that mutual respect is key for both inmate transformation and the safety of on- and off-duty officers. The people incarcerated soon will be the people living and working among the general public.

She adds that when she’s simply a mom walking in the mall with her son and meets up with someone formerly incarcerated, safety is not an issue because the primary focus of CCDC is to rehabilitate and reduce recidivism. Often, former inmates are cordial and, due to S.T.A.R.S., some visit the jail to let the officers know how they’re doing. “Who would have thought that somebody would come back to visit us,” says Dofflemyer. “Right there is a success.”

Changing lives

“When I got in here, back in December, I heard that they had a new program called S.T.A.R.S.,” says Ryan Murray, 23. For me, this program gives you the tools and the opportunity to change your life – and you don’t have to do it alone.”

Murray, a handsome, robust young man of Irish descent, skilled in construction work, says, “I’ve been in and out of jail earning a bad reputation. This is my third time of being incarcerated. I’m sentenced to serve 18 months for first-degree burglary. But this time is different,” he says. “This time, I want to change.”

The inmates know they will receive no special points on their records, no days subtracted from their sentences. The perks to the S.T.A.R.S. program are God’s revelations at work inside the inmates.

Left to right: Donte Kearney, Dion Brookins, Kenneth Mitchell, Patrick Arnold. Photo credit: Officer Ryan Taylor.

Both Murray and Kearney participate freely in their first S.T.A.R.S. Cognitive Skills class, designed to help them build a habit of thinking before reacting. The class teacher is Margaret Jones, a Point of Change volunteer, who comes with more than 36 years in Special Education. “God is the only thing that sustains me,” Jones says, “I’m here because I really believe in giving back. I believe that what God has given to me, I need to share.”

Later, Murray fights the watery glaze in his eyes when he refuses to share why he’s never had much of a relationship with his mother and why she hasn’t answered his letters. But it’s being away from his 7-month-old daughter that demands a life change. “I feel terrible. It breaks my heart. And it’s one of the things that makes this incarceration different than any other one,” he says. 

The inmates must write an essay explaining why they should be selected to build upon the S.T.A.R.S. Murray refuses to divulge much of that except to say, “I wrote that my past is no longer my future.”

Left to right: Sgt. Tracy Williams, Captain Debbie Dofflemeyer, Officer Ryan Taylor, of Charles County Detention Center. Photo credit: Lt. Gerald Duffield.