Nowhere to Hide
by Leif Enger
April 2000
Every year, roughly 450 sex offenders are released from custody in Minnesota.
Some 20 percent of those will be arrested for another sex crime. The enactment
of notification laws and the occasional community protest suggest sex offenders
are among the most feared people in society. While cities provide some measure
of anonymity, half of Minnesota sex offenders live in small-town Minnesota
where everybody knows your name, where you went, and why.
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After his release, Jerry says his record made it hard to find work. He had some
construction background. He's doing
freelance work taking a job at a time, hoping it turns into a career.
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"JERRY"
lives with his fiancée in a rented two-story
house in a town of 500 in central Minnesota. He's lived in the area
most of his life. Of several-dozen sex offenders approached for interviews,
Jerry is the only one who agreed to tell his story.
It starts with a broken home, an abusive family, and an incident with a
firearm, about which, this is all Jerry will say:
"I was in a compromising position. I
ended up shooting and killing my sister, who was younger than me. She was
my half-sister. That happened when I was eight. I guess that's pretty much when
it started."
The shooting happened when Jerry was living in Alaska with his father. Too young
to be charged with a criminal offense, he spent a year under study in a
psychiatric ward, was returned to Minnesota, and spent time in a home for
troubled youth. At 11, he was released to his family. He started smoking pot.
He became a chronic runaway and thief. At 18, he was a convicted
check-forger and self-described sex addict. At 21, he was jailed for third-degree
criminal sexual conduct after assaulting an underage girl.
"Some people have crutches - some are alcoholics, some are addicted to
chemicals. I was addicted to sex. I had to have sex. I
sat six months for that. I was just beginning to realize
some of the things I had done to people around me. I didn't have a direction. I
just knew I'd done wrong."
Jerry says he's lucky to have spent time in the county jail, rather than state
prison. Those coming out of the prison system are classified as low, moderate,
or high risks to re-offend. High-risk releases are publicized with flyers and
press releases. But while Jerry's release was low-profile, this is a small town.
You don't need a press release to be famous.
"The biggest problem with rural areas is the lack of professionals and good treatment."
- Chris Siegfried
Senior Director of Justice Programs
National Mental Health Association
Listen (RealAudio 28.8)
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In the stale basement of the county courthouse, probation officer Pat Schorn
presides over the files of some 90 clients, including 15 sex offenders.
Schorn is stocky, with a heavy handshake and the shoulders of a wrestling coach.
If Jerry starts avoiding Schorn - or skipping work or the weekly, mandatory
group therapy sessions - Schorn tracks him down and works on his attitude.
"It could be anger," Schorn suggests. " It could be a deviant fantasy or something. We try
to teach them they can get off that cycle any time and jump to the other side of
the wheel, and replace that delinquent thought with something positive - like
having respect for people instead of degrading them."
Schorn's been involved with Jerry for 10 years - since he was a 15-year-old
runaway. In 1998, Jerry started missing meetings, then abruptly left the state
without the required travel permit. When he returned, Schorn discovered Jerry
had performed a breathtaking dive off the wagon; sexually assaulting his
previous victim, who was still underage, stealing, and drug-dealing. Back to
jail he went.
"My biggest mistake was saying, 'Well I'll never do this again,'" he says.
"You say you're never going to do it, but you never know what situation you're going
be in tomorrow and you don't know how you're going to handle it. I guess if I always
believe it could happen again, then I'd keep my guard up, watching out for
situations I shouldn't be in."
Jerry got out just 10 months ago. This time, he hopes his focus on work and his
young family will help keep him right-side-up. His fiancée, whom we'll call
Laurie, just had their first child. She had two previously while living with
Jerry's older brother. Seeming older than her 25
years, Laurie admits her relationship with Jerry has been expensive. "My dad disowned me," she says.
At a nearby poultry farm, Jerry and his work-partner, Dave, lay up sheets of white
steel siding; giving a new look to an aging turkey barn.
After his release, Jerry says his record made it hard to find work. He had some
construction background, as did Dave, who he met in jail. The two are doing
freelance work; taking a job at a time, hoping it turns into a career.
Jerry says he's set these goals for the next 10 years: he wants to marry Laurie
and buy a house with her; he wants to build a respected and prosperous business;
and he wants to explain his past to his kids - before it gets explained to them
by someone else.
"I don't
think I'll ever be able to earn back the trust and respect of everyone," he says. "There's
always going to be people who think that was a bad thing. Regardless of what you're
doing today, that's what you did then. There'll always be people who can't get
beyond that."
For his neighbors who want to get beyond it, Jerry says, his door is open.
Especially in small towns, he believes, a sex offender's best chance at a normal
life, is a transparent life.
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