It’s 9:30 a.m., on a warm, overcast Wednesday in April, and Calvin is already a few hours into his workday. Dressed in a fluorescent orange T-shirt, black baseball cap, safety glasses, and work gloves he grins as he walks across the yard to the giant white board at IKON Construction, a Baton Rouge concrete contractor.
“This is my morning task,” he said, stopping at a large whiteboard divided by days of the week. “I come in and see what I have to do for today. I’ve got about 12 machines I need to get ready for tomorrow.”
Calvin is 48 years old. He spent 22 years in prison before returning home in 2024. Inside, he taught welding, carpentry, and safety classes — skills he now uses every day. He credits Parole Project with helping him adjust to a world that had changed dramatically while he was gone. He learned basic necessary skills like how to use a debit card, a smartphone, and even distinguish between a Walmart and a Super Walmart.
“I didn’t know there was a difference between a Neighborhood Walmart and a Super Walmart,” he said, shaking his head. “And McDonald’s — why do I have to go to a kiosk when someone is standing right there at the counter? People around me kept saying, ‘That’s how it goes now.’”
Since his release, he earned his commercial driver’s license, too — a step toward his dream of owning and driving his own commercial truck. His employer says that Calvin’s combination of skill and work ethic is exactly why he stands out.
“He shows up on time. He’s trainable. He came out of Parole Project’s program with his CDL, and we helped him get his manual transmission endorsements,” said Darion Percle, vice president at IKON Construction. “He can drive concrete pump trucks. He’s diligent and can do a lot of different things — whatever needs to be done.”
For Darion, hiring Calvin wasn’t charity. It was smart business.
“Everybody has good in them,” he said. “This is a tiring industry, and someone has to be willing to stand up for people who want to work and be part of a team. We bring people in that others are scared to take a chance on — and they bring value to us.”
Calvin grew up in Shreveport, in a neighborhood called “The Bottom,” where violence was constant and police rarely came. But he also spent time at his grandmother’s house across town — a different world with carpet, central air, and a real treehouse.
“Life was much, much different there. We had to take our shoes off when we entered my grandmother’s house. All of those houses had grass in their yards and central air and that’s where I saw a microwave for the first time and I played Atari over there,” he said. “She let me experience things I never experienced. She was trying to get me out of the environment I was living in.”
In high school Calvin played cello, upright bass, tennis, football, and basketball. But he also graduated in 1995 without knowing how to read — something he later taught himself in prison.
“I learned how to read in jail, and I got my bachelor’s degree in theology in prison and that’s where I started helping others,” Calvin said. “I prepared myself. I said ‘I’m not going to leave this prison the same way I was when I got here.’ I’ve been in trouble all my life. This is the first time I’ve ever done right.”
Today, he is living the life he always imagined.
He and his wife, Avis — whom he met while incarcerated — live in Central. He has a 29-year-old daughter and recently moved his mother and sister to Baton Rouge. He bought a new truck with the help of a financial advisor. He’s working toward buying a home and a commercial truck, and he is proud of the life he has built in the last two years.
“I’ve always hustled,” he said. “But now my hustle is legal. I work all day. I do what I have to do to stay out of trouble. I don’t want to disappoint my daughter, wife, or mom.”
When not working Calvin and his wife take drives just to see the world — other towns, parks, trees, things he never slowed down to notice before. He donates back to Parole Project, bringing clothes for men and women returning home, offering support, and staying connected to the organization that helped free him.
For Calvin, success isn’t abstract, it’s a daily reminder of how far he has come from the life he used to live. He is rewriting his narrative and choosing the life he wants to build.
“I feel like I’m successful now because I’m winning. I’m not committing crimes. I’m paying bills,” he said. “I’m doing the best I can do. I’m doing right.”
