A Cinderella Life
In the fall of 2022, a contract which provided transitional housing for 850 formerly incarcerated people was reduced, resulting in closure of three transitional housing hotels. Many of the residents were recently released from decades-long prison sentences and suddenly found themselves scrambling for housing once again.
The program, launched in March 2020, was designed to relieve an overcrowded Rikers and state prisons at the beginning of the pandemic. It placed more than 2,000 other former inmates in six hotels around the city as temporary housing for those who had no place to go. Having an address is critical; without one, those who are detained have a harder chance of getting parole, since it’s assumed that they will become homeless or go into the shelter system. Through the social-service support that comes with the hotel program, approximately 16 percent of the nearly 2,500 former inmates placed in hotel rooms have moved into permanent housing.
The closure came at a particularly perilous time as rents across the city remained high and winter temperatures dropped. Without shelter, the risk of former inmates landing back in prison also goes up — when homeless, their chances of interacting with the justice system are 13 times higher than the general public’s. While the contract remained in flux, I photographed and interviewed residents in their transitional housing hotels about their stays and transition to post-prison life.
Ashley Carnevale, 34
Incarcerated 12 years at the Taconic Correctional Facility; living at the Tillary Hotel in Brooklyn since May 2021, which will close December 31.
“I’m so devastated. I’m actually freaking out. I’m trying to find a cheap studio. The max I can afford is $1,400, but I don’t have my voucher yet. It’s not right. This support, having a safe room to live in, is what has been helping me get on my feet. Now I’m being knocked down again.”
Sergio Parilla, 62
Incarcerated for about 33 years at Fishkill Correctional Facility and Rikers Island; living in the Tillary Hotel since May 2021 and, prior to that, the Wolcott since April 2020. The Tillary will close 12/31.
“People wanna talk to me now. Since last year, they’ve seen a change in the way I dress, the way I express myself, the way I talk to people. They know it’s a change. ’Cause that’s not the old Serg. I mean, the old Serg was the one that was doing dirt. I’m going to get my own apartment soon, but for the time being, I’ve got to keep focusing and stay straight. ”
Sandra Zelazny, 38
Incarcerated twice for over three years in total; living at the Holiday Inn Express in Queens since November 2020.
“I can’t wait to get out of here so I can get my own place and get my son. He’s 14. I was locked up most of his life. Even though we have a mother-son bond, we will be more bonded living together. I can’t wait to spend more time with him. I didn’t feel a part of the community in the shelter. Being in here, I’m more independent.”
Jeffry Rosario, 32
Incarcerated for seven years; lived at the Wolcott Hotel in Manhattan from December 2021 to October 2022; now at the Holiday Inn Express in Queens.
“I’m a family person, but my family isn’t here, so it’s this place that checks in on me.” With the closure of the Wolcott, he now has to live with roommates at the Holiday Inn Express in Queens. It’s like “being back in prison.”
Dexter Robinson, 56
Incarcerated for 26½ years at Otisville Correctional Facility; lived at the Tillary Hotel from March 2021 to October 2022; now works with Exodus as a residential aide.
“The first 100 days are critical days. All your senses are hypersensitive. You need to learn how to walk. When people say, ‘What you mean — learn how to walk?’ I’d have to match the speed and the temperament with the public. Being used to being on the train, being confined, being bumped. Not become overaggressive because somebody bumped you. Because those are triggers for me from the inside.”
Louis Madero “Palomino” Lawrence, 64
Incarcerated for 28 years; was at the Wolcott from August 2020 until it closed in October.
“Living in the streets hurt. And I learned then that sleeping in a hallway, particularly in the wintertime, hurts not only my body but hurts my soul from the inside. Here, you have a room and a small refrigerator and a microwave oven. It’s like I’m the Cinderella man. What they do is they pave the road for you. But you have to do the footwork. I know that I’m living this kind of Cinderella life. And sooner or later this is gonna turn into a pumpkin. My time is gonna run out.”
Glenn Stewart, 66
Incarcerated for 41 years; living at the Holiday Inn Express in Queens since July 2021.
