Twenty-two years behind bars is a lot of life but not much living.
So ever since Taparree "Pre" Shelton finished serving his time, he's been making every second in the free world count: "I'm hungry for life right now," he said.
But picking up and starting over wasn't as simple as it seemed.
If it wasn't for the Joseph House, a Catholic ministry and reentry home for former prisoners in Tallahassee, Shelton doesn't know where he'd be.
'A culture shock'
Going into the system at 18, Shelton – now 42 – spent most of his formative years isolated from society. He was convicted of second-degree murder, robbery with a firearm and violation of parole after a drug-related incident in Brevard County turned fatal.
Coming out of long term lock-up was "nothing short of a culture shock," he said. He had never even seen a smart phone before.
"When I was first released, a lot of people were looking at their hands, and I said, 'Man, why is everyone looking at their hands?' " Shelton said in an interview.
He was in prison from 1999 to 2021 — "the worst time to be locked up."
"More changed in those 22 years than any 22 years prior because that's how technology is," he said.
Now, people call him "Mr. Google" because he loves looking things up and absorbing information. In prison, Shelton said he would read the Encyclopedia Britannica from cover to cover, so Google and YouTube were life changers.
But even with the power of the internet, there are some things that only experience can teach you. That's where the Rev. Dustin Feddon, the priest who founded the Joseph House, and Rachel Bunting, the social worker for the reentry home, stepped in.
"The people here are what you want in a place like this," Shelton said of the Joseph House. "Everybody's trying to help somebody, nobody's looking down on you."
Feddon and Bunting picked up Shelton the day he was released from Santa Rosa Correctional Institution and brought him to his new home on East Bradford Road, with his first meal out of prison and a room with brand new furniture waiting on him.
The two walked with Shelton every step of the way back, from getting him his driver's license to figuring out how to take out loans.
Shelton landed at the Joseph House entirely by chance. He was transferred to a new prison near the end of his sentence; Feddon, who discussed the idea of the house with Shelton since 2016, happened to be at that same prison at the right time.
"I cried and thanked God," Shelton said.
From 'hell' to a home
Decades in prison changes a person — one becomes institutionalized, Shelton said. You have to adapt to stay sane, he added. When that's the only life you know, it's not easy rewiring your brain.
"There is a place across the street from hell, and it's these prisons," Feddon said.
Spending years visiting institutions and making daily trips to Death Row, Feddon said he felt a calling: People needed a safe haven, not another halfway house.
And from there, the idea of the Joseph House was born.
Feddon created the home and ministry in 2018 to be a place for former inmates to "de-incarcerate" and leave behind all the violent, survival instincts they've ingrained in themselves for so many years, allowing them to settle in and find their way again.
It's named after Joseph from the Old Testament, Feddon said, whose story is one of redemption and forgiveness.
Six people live in the house, including Feddon. Since it opened in 2019, they've had 18 residents cycle through. The ministry is entirely funded by donations from parishioners in the area and occasional grants.
People are welcome to stay for as little or as long as they need, but it's not for everyone, Feddon said.
Inmates find out about the Joseph House through word of mouth or directly through Feddon, but they each are screened to make sure that the home is a good fit. Sometimes it's too overwhelming to jump straight into community living and they aren't ready for it, he said.
"We've had brothers who've frankly said, 'I'm more comfortable in the streets,' " he said.
For others, like Shelton, the Joseph House was the blessing they never knew they needed.
"You have to be around people that can help you help yourself and help you integrate (back) into society," Shelton said. "You're not doing it by yourself."
Going back to the community and lifestyle that led to a prison sentence in the first place will never help you move on, he said. It took people, like Feddon, to show him how to live and coexist with others outside of the prison walls.
At times, Feddon said heated arguments have made their living room feel like the dorms. But so far, they've been lucky to never have had any instances become violent.
Like any home or family, he said, there are three major ground rules: No violence, no drugs or alcohol, no overnight guests.
Overall, the home has been very successful, he said, and the ministry is building a second house right next door to help more inmates filter back into the world.
"I start with this belief and the trust that at the core, we are all good and want to do good," Feddon said.
Switching back to society
For the average person, the worst moments of their life stay private, but everyone coming out of prison has to relive theirs every day because society refuses to look past them, Bunting said.
Job applications require people to say whether they have a criminal record, which can have resulted from a mistake someone made when young.
"They still are treated very punitively despite the fact that they're not the same person," she said.
Many are still being punished long after they finish serving their time. "Change took place and the stuff that they have to deal with, the hoops they have to jump through, often do not recognize the change they had to go through," she said.
The stigma they face only adds to the barriers to reentry, many that people would never think about, she said. Recently released inmates need help with common tasks like setting up a bank account or buying a car — things many have never done before.
They all just want chances, she said, and it's important that people are open to giving those chances.
"There's so much good in the guys, just incredible amounts of goodness, and I think that it's helpful to have someone around that will recognize it and point it out," Bunting said.
