THE NEVER ENDING PAPER TRAIL

We (and by "we" I mean us loyal Michigan Department of Corrections academic teachers that teach year round) have orders from high above, the puzzle palace to be exact (Lansing) to test the prisoners in school on a regular basis. Every three months we must administer a TABE (Test of Adult Basic Education) to check for grade level improvements. Then we must submit, not their grade level, but their Stanine Scores to DLEG (Department of Labor and Economic Growth), and these scores must be keyed in on each student’s CSJ-363A Form (Educational Program Plan), a.k.a. school evaluation.

At this point, each teacher considers whether a student can be fast-tracked, meaning scheduled for GED testing based on TABE scores, circumventing the qualifying round. If not fast-tracked, then students with low TABE scores that are deemed ready for the GED Exams must qualify for the GED Exams and shall be administered a series of GED half-tests which are given and scored by me (see above picture).

According to Lansing, both GED Exams and half-tests must occur monthly. However, GED Exams can not be administered by an academic teacher (conflict of interest) or school psychologist (too few). So a vocational instructor must do this. However, the latter two testing procedures are unnecessary if an inmate sentenced on or after December 15, 1998, has "exemption status." Form CAJ-789 "GED Completion Exemption Form" solves this dilemma, helping any inmates deemed "too slow to learn" from being stuck in prison forever based on the "No GED, No Parole" law. However, this does not preclude said "Slow Learners" from going to school and TABE testing.

Sound confusing? There’s more—but why bore you. Also, try explaining all these scenarios to a functionally illiterate inmate. Or worse, a street-smart convict.

I remember a certain young man (sentenced under the "No GED, No Parole" guidelines) who sat on his dairy ere for approximately fourteen months doing absolutely zilch. He wanted to prove to me that he was indeed a slow learner. "I’m going home," he claimed.

After I consistently jammed him in three-month-intervals with bad school evaluations, the parole board granted him a parole anyway. With official papers in hand, he showed me his "out" date and declared that attending school no longer mattered. Of course, his declaration of independence was a bit more animated and vocal, but I wished him well just the same.

Two weeks later, he returned to my classroom. The school principal "dropped a dime" on him, meaning "made a phone call." His parole had been snatched. He had to sit in all six of my classes until he earned his GED, thus earning his parole. As an added measure, the principal would periodically drop in and ask, "How’s Billy Madison doing? You got him to the 2nd grade level yet?"—an obvious reference to his last TABE scores, where he shaded in his scantron sheet without opening the test booklet. I advised him not to feed into the principal’s comments. "If someone puked in the corner," I’d say, "would you lap that up to?"

In time, his behavior and work ethic improved. I remember one particular day in which he looked rather glum. "What’s the matter?" I asked. He proceeded to tell me that the police went to his momma’s house with a warrant for his arrest. I asked him why, and he said, "For failure to report to my parole officer."

"Kind of hard to do when you’re still in prison, isn’t it?" I couldn’t help chuckling.

To make a long story longer—within five months he earned his GED and paroled. Last I heard, he went back to slinging packets and ended up back in prison. His freedom lasted approximately two months. I guess some paper trails never end.