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The experience of Ron Rusich, 29, a house painter in Mobile, was typical. In 1984 he received a 15-year sentence for burglary. But an intensive probation scheme used in his state since 1982 eventually sent him back outside, and back to work, under strict supervision. A 10 p.m.-to-6 a.m. curfew was enforced during the first three months after release by at least one surprise visit each week from the corrections officer. There were three other weekly meetings, with restrictions eased as his time in the program increased. Living at home, as he was required to do for 2 1/2 years, Rusich cost the state $8.72 a day, less than a third the expense of keeping him in prison. The experience was a "lifesaver," says Rusich, who is now on parole.
Alabama and a number of other states also have a similar but more restrictive option: the work-release center, a sort of halfway house where offenders must live out their sentences. The system allows them to work, often at jobs found by the local government, but maintains more of the trappings of confinement, such as dormitory life and security checks. In Indiana, where there are ten such centers, offenders do prison time first, with the hope of work release as a carrot for good behavior. That method lets the state consider, through observation and psychological testing, which inmates are likely to succeed in the program. "We want to see how they'll perform," says Vaughn Overstreet of the department of corrections.
A few localities have resorted to the most low-tech deterrent of all: shame. Sarasota County, Fla., is trying the "scarlet letter" approach, by requiring motorists convicted of drunk driving to paste bumper stickers on their cars announcing the fact. In Lincoln County, Ore., a few felons have even been given a choice between prison and publishing written apologies, accompanied by their photographs, in local newspapers. Roger Smith, 29, paid $294.12 to announce his contrition in two papers after a guilty plea growing out of a theft charge. A published apology "takes the anonymity out of crime," insists Ulys Stapleton, Lincoln County district attorney. "People can't blend back into the woodwork."
Do alternatives work? That depends on what they are asked to accomplish. If the goal is cost efficiency, the answer is a qualified yes. They often seem cheap enough, but there are concerns that they may actually add to the bill for corrections because judges will use them as a halfway measure to keep a rein on people who would otherwise go free in plea bargains. James K. Stewart, director of a Justice Department research institute, contends that the cost to society of crimes committed by those not imprisoned must be factored in as well. For certain offenders, Stewart concludes, "prison can be a real, real cheap alternative."