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Does America value second chances? Looking at presidential election results, you'd think yes. Donald Trump was convicted of 34 felony counts of falsifying business records in the first degree. Then, Judge Juan Merchan issued an "unconditional discharge" for it all, meaning Trump will not face any jail time or be subject to any fines. He not only gets a second chance, but he also doesn't have to pay his debt to society for his actions.

Like Trump, former Municipal Judge Patrick V. Kerrigan of Youngstown, Ohio, is a white man in his 70s with a felony record, but that's where the similarities stop. In 1998, Kerrigan was convicted and sentenced to two years in a federal prison, a $6,000 fine and supervised programming upon his release. He also surrendered his law license. His crime? Eight counts of extortion, bribery, racketeering and obstruction of justice. Kerrigan did his time but, unlike Trump, Kerrigan was not offered a second chance. He had to forge his own path, which is why I wanted to talk to him.

Kerrigan's first job after his release from prison was as a part-time caterer's assistant at minimum wage. "Sometimes it was worse than prison," he said. The disappointment, the anxiety and the bitterness. His expertise was irrelevant due to his status as a former felon. But Kerrigan did not give up. He doubled down on his education. He already had a law degree, so he went back to school and earned an ABD (completed nearly all requirements for a Ph.D. -- "all but dissertation") in criminal justice and public policy.

Prior to his conviction, Kerrigan was a highly rated adjunct professor. He had valuable professional and lived experience to offer college students.

Criminal justice should be a field that values second chances and models support for reentry programs. Kerrigan's experience proved otherwise. "I knew more about the criminal justice system than most people," Kerrigan said, "I was an active practitioner, I taught and then I went to prison." He's experienced it from every angle.

Kerrigan submitted his resume to dozens of universities with only one resulting in an interview, which he nailed. The dean recommended him for the position. But, in the end, he was disqualified because of his record. "That was my lowest point," he said.

Church was Kerrigan's saving grace: "They welcomed me back with open arms." They even made him the president of the Parish Council, though it came with some community pushback. Editorials were written protesting his position, but the church forgave him and believed he deserved a second chance.

Isn't that supposed to be how it works?

The U.S. Chamber of Commerce reports that without employment or alternative interventions, recidivism rates amongst prisoners rise, writing, "Individuals who secure employment after incarceration are more likely to achieve stability and less likely to return to prison."

But first it takes an employer who is willing to hire a former felon, which is hard to come by. Kerrigan turned to the nonprofit sector, working with a Christian social action reentry program and helping establish the Mahoning County Land Bank.

It was in the reclaiming of properties with the land bank that Kerrigan and a friend decided to do something for the community.

"We didn't have a real clear mission," Kerrigan said. "We just were doing whatever we could to clean up the neighborhood." He knew that communities with high levels of poverty, population turnover and ethnic diversity are more likely to have higher crime rates. In criminal justice circles this is known as Social Disorganization Theory.

Kerrigan transformed an old icehouse building into a space for teaching community classes, as well as incubated nonprofits and small businesses. He established a makerspace with 3D printers, a CNC router and a digital recording studio. What slowly became apparent was that all of these services pointed to the digital divide, which is the gap between those who have access to technology and those who do not. The digital divide is the difference between having the technology skills needed for careers and education or not.

Kerrigan formalized these efforts and established the Oak Hill Collaborative, and February marks their 11th year in operation. Along with the makerspace and classes, the nonprofit provides affordable laptops through their "Hardware for Homes" program.

Not everyone has the means to recreate themselves after prison, and Kerrigan is well aware of his privilege. "I have my health, a loving family and I've got my education," he said. "I can do good work and figure it out because (prison) wasn't going to be a permanent obstacle for me. I never, ever felt that way." Kerrigan is the exception, and the recidivism and unemployment rates among former felons prove it.

So, do we really care about second chances in this country? If we do, then we need to change the conversation about career viability for former felons. In a few days, we will have a former felon as our president. Perhaps we can use this as an opportunity.

If you didn't vote for Trump, maybe decide to focus your conversations on the ever-present job-related reasons Trump is unfit for office instead of gasping at the fact that America has employed a former felon for president.

If you did vote for Trump and support his return to office, you can continue supporting job placement for former felons and do your part to reduce recidivism in your community.

If we do not genuinely help former felons find a better way to live their lives and support their return to the job force, the revolving prison doors will continue.

Do you know anyone who's doing cool things to make the world a better place? I want to know. Send me an email at Bonnie@WriterBonnie.com. Check out Bonnie's weekly YouTube videos at https://www.youtube.com/bonniejeanfeldkamp. To find out more about Bonnie Jean Feldkamp and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

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