Doug Hollis (Courtesy of PennLive) (PennLive / Nancy Eshelman) Doug and Dianna Hollis celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary in February the same way they had marked the previous 29: He as an inmate at a state correctional institution and she as a resident of Millersburg.
Then, a few days later, on March 3, Doug walked out of SCI Mahanoy a free man for the first time in 42 years.
Doug was 16, a child of the Philadelphia ghetto, when he fatally stabbed a woman during a purse snatching. A year later, he arrived at Camp Hill to begin serving a life sentence for that deed.
When I first met Doug in 1994, he had shaken off all vestiges of that ghetto kid. I described him then as "35, rehabilitated, educated, soft-spoken, religious."
He used these words then: "I can't change what has happened, but I have changed the only thing that I can - myself."
He shared that same message when we met again recently. He's 58 now, still soft-spoken, even more well-read and articulate and still very religious.
I remarked the other day that if he had been born into different circumstances, I imagine he would have become a lawyer or, perhaps, a businessman.
Doug and Dianna were able to sit together in my home because of Montgomery v.Louisiana, a 2016 Supreme Court decision that gave men and women sentenced to life as juveniles the opportunity to be re-sentenced.
Doug was offered a sentence of 30 years to life. Since he had already served 42 years, he was released, although he will remain on parole for the rest of his life.
Being on parole doesn't bother him.
"If you're not going to do anything wrong, why worry about it?" he asked.
Doug's biggest concern right now is finding a job. It's tough finding an employer willing to take a chance on a man who hasn't had a job in, well, ever.
"All I want is an opportunity," Doug said.
He's upfront with employers about where he's been and why.
"While I'm not proud of my past," he said, "I don't want it to be a skeleton in my closet."
Doug aims to be a productive member of society, but his main motivation is helping his wife.
"She was there fighting with me every step of the way," he said. "I know it was hard for her. I love this woman, and I want to do everything to make her life easier. She has been my rock."
Back in 1994, Doug told me he dreamed of a job, membership in a church and the opportunity to share with young people a horror story learned in the school of hard knocks.
That hasn't changed, either. He believes he has something to offer young people. He wants to share his story, as a warning and as an inspiration.
"There's a lot of kids who are troubled, and they need someone to talk to them," Doug said. "I've always tried to help guys to do the right thing."
Some of those guys packed the courtroom when Doug was resentenced in December in Philadelphia. They told the judge Doug had been a calming, steadying influence in prison.
His philosophy is simple: If prison is to be your home, it makes sense to create the best atmosphere possible, while making yourself the best that you can be.
"There's positive in each and every one of us," Doug said. "You have to invest in you in a positive way."
With nothing but opportunity ahead, Doug is learning the basics of a life he never knew. He's mastering his cell phone, learning to drive, pumping gasoline, tending the garden.
He glances at his wife.
"She has been my constant. She has been my motivation. ... She fought tooth and nail for me every step of the way. ... Hopefully, there will be another 35 years."
Then, a few days later, on March 3, Doug walked out of SCI Mahanoy a free man for the first time in 42 years.
Doug was 16, a child of the Philadelphia ghetto, when he fatally stabbed a woman during a purse snatching. A year later, he arrived at Camp Hill to begin serving a life sentence for that deed.
When I first met Doug in 1994, he had shaken off all vestiges of that ghetto kid. I described him then as "35, rehabilitated, educated, soft-spoken, religious."
He used these words then: "I can't change what has happened, but I have changed the only thing that I can - myself."
He shared that same message when we met again recently. He's 58 now, still soft-spoken, even more well-read and articulate and still very religious.
I remarked the other day that if he had been born into different circumstances, I imagine he would have become a lawyer or, perhaps, a businessman.
Doug and Dianna were able to sit together in my home because of Montgomery v.Louisiana, a 2016 Supreme Court decision that gave men and women sentenced to life as juveniles the opportunity to be re-sentenced.
Doug was offered a sentence of 30 years to life. Since he had already served 42 years, he was released, although he will remain on parole for the rest of his life.
Being on parole doesn't bother him.
"If you're not going to do anything wrong, why worry about it?" he asked.
Doug's biggest concern right now is finding a job. It's tough finding an employer willing to take a chance on a man who hasn't had a job in, well, ever.
"All I want is an opportunity," Doug said.
He's upfront with employers about where he's been and why.
"While I'm not proud of my past," he said, "I don't want it to be a skeleton in my closet."
Doug aims to be a productive member of society, but his main motivation is helping his wife.
"She was there fighting with me every step of the way," he said. "I know it was hard for her. I love this woman, and I want to do everything to make her life easier. She has been my rock."
Back in 1994, Doug told me he dreamed of a job, membership in a church and the opportunity to share with young people a horror story learned in the school of hard knocks.
That hasn't changed, either. He believes he has something to offer young people. He wants to share his story, as a warning and as an inspiration.
"There's a lot of kids who are troubled, and they need someone to talk to them," Doug said. "I've always tried to help guys to do the right thing."
Some of those guys packed the courtroom when Doug was resentenced in December in Philadelphia. They told the judge Doug had been a calming, steadying influence in prison.
His philosophy is simple: If prison is to be your home, it makes sense to create the best atmosphere possible, while making yourself the best that you can be.
"There's positive in each and every one of us," Doug said. "You have to invest in you in a positive way."
With nothing but opportunity ahead, Doug is learning the basics of a life he never knew. He's mastering his cell phone, learning to drive, pumping gasoline, tending the garden.
He glances at his wife.
"She has been my constant. She has been my motivation. ... She fought tooth and nail for me every step of the way. ... Hopefully, there will be another 35 years."
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