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BY JOHN BEBOW and DAWSON BELL
FREE PRESS
STAFF WRITERS
March 3, 2006
About 10 times each year, Michigan prison parolees kill someone.
They commit the crimes despite a system recognized as one of the nation's toughest, most unforgiving, and costly in its treatment of violent criminals and sex offenders hoping to be paroled after serving their minimum sentences.
Still, there are human errors in the parole system and no guarantees that convicted felons won't commit the worst of crimes once they're set free.
In the 10 years ending in 2003, at least 105 parolees -- one out of every 530 -- had returned to prison for homicide convictions. The relatively small band of parolee killers is vexing to policymakers. It's an issue again because Patrick Selepak is accused of three killings last month and prison authorities have admitted that mistakes in the parole system kept him out of jail.
Michigan made obvious and major reforms after two horrific cases. One incident ended governors' practice of releasing inmates early to reduce overcrowding and sparked a massive prison building boom. The other -- the 1992 Leslie Allen Williams case -- led to far more parole denials.
In 1990, nearly half of sex offenders and nearly two-thirds of Michigan's other violent convicts who were eligible for parole gained release from prison. By 2004, those numbers had dropped to 13% for sex offenders and 34.5% for other violent convicts.
With each new high-profile killing by a parolee, calls echo for tighter parole standards.
"Are we trying to push people out of prison too quickly and too often?" Rep. John Pastor, R-Livonia, asked at a tense hearing on the Selepak matter on Tuesday.
Prison system watchdogs argue that the emotion overshadows the fact that Michigan's get-tough parole approach has caused an explosion in prison costs.
"The proportion of parolees committing violent crime is very, very tiny," said Barbara Levine, executive director of the Citizens Alliance on Prisons & Public Spending, a Lansing group advocating more parole and smaller prison budgets. "All of the thousands of people who make it don't make news."
As of February, the state prison system held more than 15,000 inmates who were either eligible for parole or were sent back to prison on nonviolent technical violations, Levine said.
The number of parole-eligible inmates is virtually unchanged from three years ago, when Levine's group estimated that if just 40% of eligible inmates were paroled, the state could save some $150 million a year.
And the 1 of every 530 parolees who kills, gets past the parole board with no suspicion of the violence to come.
Consider two parolees -- former prison bunkmates -- who brutally killed a Livonia jeweler and his family over a bag of gold in December 2002.
John Wolfenbarger of Detroit and Dennis Lincoln of Flint were paroled from prison months before stalking jeweler Marco Pesce and killing him, his mother and his three children execution-style in the Pesce home a few days before Christmas. They're now serving life sentences without parole.
Parole board members declared there was "reasonable assurance" that both could be safely returned to society. Wolfenbarger had "matured" after three previous breaking-and-entering convictions. Lincoln "developed good insight" after serving eight years for a gas station holdup, the board concluded.
The recent headlines in Selepak's case are a chilling reminder to Marco Pesce's brother, Fabrizio, of how horribly wrong parole can go.
"It makes me relive everything," Fabrizio said Thursday. "Can't we find a system with traps and checks to take out some of the risks?"
Former Corrections Director Ken McGinnis said Thursday that Michigan's parole system was changed substantially in the 1990s, based on system failures laid bare by the depredations of Williams, a convicted killer and rapist.
The system of sanctions for noncriminal parole violations -- including missing appointments or failing drug tests -- was tightened, he said.
Parole officers lost some discretion to waive penalties for violations. Williams, for instance, wasn't sent back to prison even though he was caught shoplifting, was suspected in a rape case and dropped out of sex offender therapy without permission.
In 1992, McGinnis appointed 10 new parole board members, many of them former cops and prosecutors.
After Williams' case, parole approval rates, especially for sex offenders, quickly dropped. By the end of 1994, prison officials estimated that 1,600-1,700 inmates were still behind bars who would not have been without the changes. The state paid about $40 million more to keep them in prison.
Patrick Urbin's two teenage daughters were killed by Williams. Urbin said the changes haven't eliminated mistakes.
"We tried to make them more accountable. In this situation, I don't know who you blame," he said.
State Rep. David Law, R-Commerce Township, a member of the House Judiciary Committee, which is reviewing the department's Selepak decisions, said it was too early to determine whether more changes are needed.
"I have a lot of questions that I want to see answered," Law said.
In contrast to Michigan's parole board, which hears thousands of appeals each year, many states have moved from discretionary prison releases to specific sentences with mandatory supervised release, according to the U.S. Department of Justice.
In Michigan, the 1,100 field agents who supervise 72,218 monthly parole and probation cases are stretched beyond their limits, according to a consultant's report completed last week for the Department of Corrections.
The report, obtained by the Free Press, contends that the state needs 350 more agents.
"The job has become so complex," said Alan Kilar, the union representative for the state's parole agents. "Every time there's one of these (killings by parolees), the powers that be make more policy."
In Wayne County, there are 4,500 parolees, 1,300 of whom have disappeared, Wayne County Sheriff Warren Evans said. He estimated Thursday that 250-300 people in the county violate their parole each month.
Last fall, parole agents in Macomb County held an informational picket.
"They're not adequately able to do the job with the high caseloads," Kilar said.
Contact JOHN BEBOW at 313-222-8851 or jbebow@freepress.com. Staff writers Joe Swickard and Shabina Khatri contributed to this report.
Copyright © 2006 Detroit Free Press Inc.
