He was so anxious, he couldn't sleep. His mind raced between thoughts of being on the outside and somehow getting through the last few hours inside without trouble. One incident could change everything.

"The other inmates know you're being released, but most of them are not jumping for joy for you," says Donald Hardaway. "They would just as soon start something with you. Seeing you leave reminds them of one thing - being locked up. I was just sitting in my cell waiting, praying nothing would mess things up."

It was his last night as prisoner 908B0643. Hardaway had served five years of a seven-year sentence for robbery, but these final 48 hours before parole were the hardest.

What he remembers most about that first night home with his father is "the small things."

"I could get up and go to the refrigerator on my own," he says. "I was aware of colors. I noticed the air was different - I didn't smell other people."

That first night home, Hardaway says, was almost as memorable as his first night in prison.

"In prison, someone else opens and closes doors," he says. "It's one of the first sounds you hear, metal on metal. That first night home I opened the door myself and went out on the porch with my father, and I remember we just sat there together in silence. He didn't really know how to talk about what I had experienced. But I sensed he was glad to have me there."

In a region where the population is slowly declining, there is one segment that is holding steady. At any given time, there are approximately 43,000 parolees living in New York State, says Heather Groll, a spokeswoman for the state's Division of Parole. About 2,500 return annually to Monroe County alone. This doesn't include parolees returning from federal facilities or those who are released because they've served out their sentences.

Parole is an early release. Parolees complete their sentences outside prison under specific conditions and terms. The terms often include a strict curfew, enrollment in drug rehabilitation programs, restitution, and employment.

A poorly understood fact of the judicial system, says Ann Graham, is that most people convicted of crimes - with the exception of the most heinous acts - eventually come home. Graham is the Monroe County re-entry coordinator at the Catholic Family Center, one of the largest agencies in the city that work with released prisoners.

"There has to be some form of a bridge between prison and the community for the 98 percent of prisoners who come out," says Graham. "It's unusual to walk out and make it on your own. It's an extremely difficult thing to do. You leave with a shirt, a pair of jeans, and a $40 gift card, with no job and no place to live."

Re-entry is fraught with complications, which partly explains why so many people don't make it on their first try, says Graham. Getting precise figures on the state's recidivism rates isn't easy, but most experts agree that it is high. In New York State, 35 percent of prisoners released on parole return to prison within three years, according to the Division of Parole. For more than half, it is a result of a parole violation, Graham says, and not a new crime.

"Our program's rate of recidivism is less than 15 percent," she says. "Creating a re-entry program that works has a lot to do with understanding what gets people into prison in the first place."

Graham says that employment and impulse control are the two biggest challenges for parolees.

"In prison, you are deconstructed," she says. "You are completely stripped of any ability to make decisions. Every single decision is made for you - when to eat, when to go outside, and when to shower. But when you get out, we expect you to make perfect decisions instantly or we'll send you right back."

Hardaway, who now works at CFC with Graham helping ex-prisoners make the transition, says being on parole is the state's way of giving the parolee another chance. Parolees may feel like they are free, he says, but they are not.

"You have to follow the exact terms of your parole," he says. "Let's say there is a family reunion in Buffalo and you're not supposed to leave Rochester. Do you go? If you leave without your parole officer's permission, you're in technical violation of your parole. But you're thinking, `C'mon man. I'm just going to see my family.'"

In the beginning, Hardaway says, you feel like calling your parole officer every five minutes.

"You feel like you can't cross the street without calling your PO," he says. "They are your lifeline. It's an important relationship."

Many people who have been incarcerated for a long period - 10 or more years - experience what Graham calls a psychological aftershock. The person has to adjust to having a lot of responsibilities overnight in a world that can seem unrecognizable.

"Imagine walking out to a world and everything has changed," she says. "You have to look for a job, but you don't know how to turn on a computer. You don't even know how to use a cell phone or an ATM card. You barely remember drive-up windows."

And re-entry is even harder for people with mental illnesses.

About three percent of the general population has some form of mental illness, says Robert Weisman, associate professor with the UR psychiatry department. But it's many times that in prison, he says - up to 15 percent of prisoners have severe mental illnesses.

"These are extremely vulnerable people in a state prison," says Weisman. "And they are frequently sent back because of nuisance crimes - loitering, urinating on the sidewalk, panhandling, and trespassing."

Medications can help people build a bridge to stability, says Weisman, but getting them to take the medication correctly is difficult. Some people forget to take it and others are literally too paranoid to get on a bus to an unfamiliar place.

"So we've developed a Mobile Crisis Team to go to them," says Weisman. "We go out and see the patient where they are instead of making them come to us."

While the public seems to have an almost insatiable appetite for gory forensic details and high-stakes court drama, there is little empathy for the ex-prisoner returning to the community. Public attitudes tend toward the punitive. Public safety is such a potent political concern that no politician wants to be seen as soft on crime. And many people are outraged when they hear that tax dollars are being used to fund rehabilitation programs, especially with recidivism rates so high.

"Public safety is everyone's first objective," says Graham. "But consider that it costs about $35,000 a year to keep a person in a state prison. When they get out, and we know that most do, ask yourself, do you want them to have services or do you want them to have nothing? Do you want them homeless, drunk, and angry? Or do you want them sober, employed, and engaged in their community?"

Mike Iacucci has been working in Rochester as a New York State parole officer for more than 20 years. The goal of parole and re-entry services, he says, is to give people the tools and resources to succeed.

"Most people, from my experience, enter the same community they left," Iacucci says. "Don't we want to contain their behavior through close supervision and work toward changing the behavior that got them incarcerated in the first place? Wouldn't that make the community safer?"

A successful return to the community hinges on many of the same things that affect most people - finding a place to live, getting a job, and building positive relationships with others.

Katina Bowman is the life-skills resource coordinator at CFC. Parolees often need help developing their social skills after being in prison, she says. At a life skills meeting held by Bowman one afternoon in September, more than a dozen men and women filed into CFC's conference room to give Bowman an update on group activities that they were working on, such as CFC's first annual Gospel Hip-Hop and voter education and registration workshops.

"The goal is to get people involved," she says. "We learn about time management, how to interact appropriately with others, and how to communicate."

What parolees learn through these types of group activities can help them be on time for a job interview or learn how to speak properly to a landlord, she says. Prisoners learn behaviors in prison that help them survive in that environment, Hardaway says, but that are completely inappropriate on the outside.

"Every time someone approached me, I had to ask myself: what does this person wants from me and am I going to have to defend myself," says Hardaway. "You have to project a certain amount of aggressiveness or people will mess with you. But you can't behave that way on the outside."

Cursing and getting too close to other people, getting in their space were behaviors he had to change, he says.

Roysie Hill and Kyle Serena are two participants in Bowman's life-skills group. Hill was convicted of robbery in 1993 and given a sentence of up to 17 years. He served more than 11 years, some of that time in a maximum-security prison and in solitary confinement. His wide smile is instantaneous as he leans forward to shake hands. His smile and handshake are intentional, trained, and very effective at making you feel comfortable.

"I've been out for five months," Hill says. "I've learned that if I don't want to repeat the process, I have to change. And coming here and being part of this program is helping me do that."

Hill, who was incarcerated when he was 20, earned his GED and learned sign language while he was in prison.

"I'm learning how to avoid negativity and people who don't want to let you outlive your past," he says. "I am not what I was told as a young person - that I won't amount to anything. If I am persistent and I stay positive, I can still make something of myself. I've seen others here do it. That helps me know I can, too."

Hill used to work for a local real estate development company and wants to start his own property management and apartment maintenance business.

Serena, 20, was only 17 when he was convicted of a felony. He didn't want to talk about the crime he committed. He was housed with adults for four months, he says, but was released early from a sentence that could have kept him inside for much longer. Tall and thin with long legs that jittered nervously as he spoke, Serena says that he sometimes has difficulty focusing and that his "head is spinning constantly."

"Everything is so overwhelming," he says. "Sometimes it all seems impossible. How am I going to get through this? But this place is like a family. They've always been straight up and honest with me, and I am just trying to do what they tell me to do. I don't ever want to go back there."

Being chairperson of the life skills group's events committee keeps his mind busy, Serena says.

"I come here and work and make phone calls, which takes up a lot of my time," he says.

Serena is applying to MCC for the spring semester. He says that he has worked in construction.

"I like building things and I would like to learn the business side of the field," he says. "Maybe I could start my own business someday."

When parolees are released, they are often overcome by a tidal wave of expenses - restitution, child support, drug testing, attorney fees, and more - without a job. Finding employment is tricky for someone with a felony record because some fields are off-limits to convicted felons; it depends on the types of crimes they committed and the fields they want to go into. Nothing prevents ex-felons from going to college and getting the degrees they want, but state licensing bureaus frequently deny professional licenses to people with criminal convictions. In New York, for example, it is difficult to get a nursing job without being licensed by the Board of Nursing.

A limited education also reduces employment options for many people who have been released from prison, which leaves many ex-offenders with low-paying, low-skill job options. Food service, construction, and meat packing are industries typically more willing to hire people with criminal records.

Manufacturing is a local industry that has jobs and where employers are willing to train new workers, including people on parole or probation. Kevin Kelly, executive director of the Rochester Tooling and Machine Association, says that his organization recently conducted a survey of 400 local manufacturers. The companies that responded had an average of 4.7 job vacancies each, he says.

The RTMA recently collaborated with the city to create a "boot camp for jobs."

"It was Mayor Duffy's idea," Kelly says. "He said, ‘You've got members who need employees' and I've got people who need jobs."

The city identified 23 young men, some on probation or parole, to go through the boot camp training program and to be placed in jobs with RTMA member companies. At first, Kelly says, some RTMA members "scratched their heads over the idea." But today, most are enthusiastic supporters of the program and would like to see it continue, he says.

The trainees start out at about $10 an hour and the opportunity for advancement is excellent, Kelly says

"Six months ago, one of my workers was in prison," says Gary Rogers, president of Dock Hardware. "But the way I look at it, he made a mistake. Sometimes people just need a second chance. He's been excellent."