#WEDORECOVER the theme of ‘Second Chance Month’

WANTED: Mat-Su employers willing to take a chance on felons who’ve been recently released from prison and are in successful recovery. Must be willing to be blown away by their work ethic and enthusiasm.

Such was the general mantra repeated Monday at the Reentry Resource Fair and March at Cook Inlet Tribal Council’s new Wasilla office off Crusey Street, and on street corners lining the Parks Highway and Main Street.

Sponsored by the Mat-Su Reentry Coalition, the event kicked off a week-long string of gatherings in the Valley and Anchorage to celebrate National Reentry Week and April being declared “Second Chance Month” by President Donald Trump.

Several successful felon “reentrants” were on hand to share their stories at CITC’s new digs on Westpoint Drive, which will serve as a recovery assessment and support facility in conjunction with the Alaska Native Justice Center, MY House, Knik and Chickaloon tribes, and Mat-Su Health Foundation.

One of those eager to spread the word about the importance of second chances was Palmer’s own Mark Weaver, who serves as vice president of Fallen Up Ministries, is a member of the Mat-Su Opioid Task Force, and has been in long-time recovery from alcohol and various drugs.

Weaver said that although he’s never spent more than 30 days in jail himself, he’s worked with many men and women who have served much longer sentences and have still managed to find their way to a cleaner, more honest life with the help of those who refuse to give up on them.

“With Fallen Up Ministries, we help a lot of people coming out of incarceration,” said Weaver, sharing that he was in his “single digits” when he took his first drink. “Our founder Terria Walters had a 20-year sentence, so she’s been there. Her son was murdered out by the fireworks stands in Houston, but she was doing this long before that. She’s always helped people who’ve been released. She knows what it’s like to get out and have to take any job that you can and not have people rent to you and having to go on Craigslist to find a room to rent from somebody because you have that ‘felon’ tag.”

Weaver said he wants people to know that the Valley is full of people who care and will show up any time of day to help someone in need. He said this is especially true of felons in recovery.

“The reentrants I know who have a troubled past and are in recovery now are the most reliable people I know,” he said as he waved his “#WE DO RECOVER” sign for motorists during the march down the Parks Highway between Crusey and Main with 14 others. “Whenever I need help, if I’m broken down with a flat tire, I don’t call a ‘normie.’ I call one of my peers in recovery because I know they’ll show up. They love to help other people.”

He stressed the importance of employers giving reentrants a second look.

“If I could say anything about people who are wanting to do things differently in our community, I’d say don’t just throw an application in the garbage because someone checks the ‘felon’ box or you find out someone’s in recovery,” he said, stroking his long-braided goatee. “Get to know them and find out where they’re at now because you might be surprised.”

Such is the case with Nelly Perez and Venus Woods, who both marched with Weaver on Monday.

Perez was making up to $40,000 per day selling drugs at one time. But she chose to give it all up for minimum wage work.

“It was difficult when I got out of incarceration because my entire family went to prison,” said Perez, who hails from the Dominican Republic and now serves as the Program Manager for the Adult In-Reach Program of the Alaska Native Justice Center. “I had no support system on the outside. What I push with my participants is when you get out of jail, you need to find a support system of people you know who are healthy, sober.”

Her first minimum wage job upon being released after a 10-year sentence was at a KFC in Anchorage.

“I think I was making like $7.75 an hour and that was really hard after making 30 or 40 grand a day selling drugs. To get a paycheck of $250 was tough. It was sad. But you know, I used my time wisely when I was incarcerated. I took advantage of every class offered to me. I did a lot of my college credits, so when I got out I was determined not to be a statistic.”

She earned her associate’s degree in human services in 2015 and worked at the Alaska Native Justice Center under the guidance of Woods -- a two-time felon who also made good.

Both of them admit it is challenging to work with felons who aren’t as motivated as they were.

“It’s really difficult to get them a job because after you’ve been incarcerated 15 times, you come out feeling like the community doesn’t care so I’m just going to resort back to what I was doing before,” said Perez, a 39-year-old mother of two who is now working toward her bachelor’s degree. “So it’s an everyday struggle to be a reentrant.”

Woods, though, knows that if she can overcome her own demons, anyone can.

“They say you have to change your people, places, and things and that’s true,” said Woods, who lost both of her children to the state when she was sent to prison for drug-related crimes and then faced a $19,000 child support bill when she was released.

“A lot of incarcerated parents end up owing child support when they get out and it’s a real problem,” she said. “But I worked two jobs, 70 hours a week, and paid back every penny within five years. So if you want it, you’ll make it.”