Inmates hope hair cuts are the key to returning to society

HOBBS, N.M. -- Thomas James Gallegos lightly slipped a comb through J.Lo's dark hair, prepping it for a perm.

J.Lo stared blankly at the mirror with what might have passed as a faint smile.

J.Lo is Gallegos' nickname for one of the 10 Miss Suzie-Kin mannequin heads inside a new hairstyling-school classroom at the Lea County Correctional Facility. And Gallegos, who has less than two years left on his 12-year prison stretch for dealing cocaine, says the first-of-its-kind hair program at the state lockup is his ticket to a new, legit life away from the drug scene.

"I sell dope -- I don't have a job skill. I don't want to come back to prison," the 32-year-old Gallegos said as he worked his coiffure magic. "This is what I'm banking on when I get out."

The 1,231-inmate privately operated prison teamed up last summer with the nearby New Mexico Junior College to begin offering the classes to selected inmates.

Every workday, an instructor from the junior college's cosmetology department passes through a series of steel doors and chain-link gates at the lockup to teach hairdos and hairdon'ts. The instructor, Kevin Dean, has about 15 prisoner-students in two separate classes and may soon be teaching a third class of inmates.

To be accepted into the program and remain enrolled, prisoners must stay out of trouble and have earned a high-school diploma or its equivalent. Since the program will take at least two years or so to complete, the prisoners must also have enough time left on their sentences to finish the course.

The 1,200-hour program costs more than $7,000 per inmate, although the New Mexico Corrections Department picks up the tab for inmates who are indigent.

Other lockups in the New Mexico prison system have inmate barber shops where prisoners -- some self-taught and others who were formally trained before getting locked up -- cut hair. But the Hobbs prison hasn't had a barber shop for inmates since 1998, when a prisoner was stabbed to death after being summoned for a trim.

"That ended the barber-shop experience," said Sandra McFadin, programs warden at the lockup.

In the meantime, Hobbs prisoners said they have been cutting one another's hair with small beard trimmers and with full-sized hair clippers that can be checked out from prison staff.

McFadin said current state corrections chief Joe R. Williams asked her in late 2002 to look into starting up a formal training program that would teach prisoners to cut hair and give them a marketable skill once they left prison.

Less than two years later, the first students sat down in Dean's class.

Dean's classroom looks like many other haircut shops: Pictures of smiling, pretty people sporting snazzy hairstyles dot the walls, and there are eight barber chairs and two shampooing stations.

The scissors that the students use, however, remain locked in a heavy-duty, metal-mesh cage until they're needed.

The behind-bars classes are much like those offered at the college -- perming, coloring, curling, cuts for men and women, shaving and facials are all covered. Dean said he has made some changes from the standard out-of-prison curriculum: He spent some of his first class day explaining the importance of not swearing. And pupils who drop their hairstyling implements -- a barber no-no -- do 10 pushups.

During one morning class late last year, Dean had some of his students buried in books studying the anatomy and physiology of the face and head while others perfected their perming techniques.

Eddie Tafoya, a 30-year-old convicted murderer, said he began informally cutting hair years ago.

"I look forward to it every morning," Tafoya said of the class. "It's going to help me stay out of prison and do something productive."

A few barber stations away, Eugene Foster, a fellow convicted murderer, did the same perm work on his mannequin head.

The word "hate" is tattooed on his right hand, while "love" adorns his left hand. Like the other inmate students, Foster worked with a surprisingly soft touch.

Hairstyling is "probably one of the few things I do that I'm good at," he added as he worked. "When I leave the pod and I come in here, it's like I'm coming to work or something. There's no bars."

Some of the students recently began cutting other inmates' hair in the class, and Dean said those coming in for the cuts are "loving it."

At the conclusion of the program, the inmates will have to pass a state test to be eligible for licensing by the New Mexico Board of Barbers and Cosmetologists.

They'll also have to do something other barber hopefuls don't: Convince the state board they are suitable for licensing despite their criminal pasts.

Greg Biehler, chairman of the nine-member board, said the board can refuse a state license to anyone who has been convicted of a crime involving "moral turpitude."

"Generally, it's defined as a vile or base act," Biehler said.

He said he didn't know of a single case in which the board has approved or denied a license for a known felon.

Biehler said the board will take licensing of the prison trainees on a case-by-case basis and will look at information including the nature of the crime, the time they served and recommendations of parole officers.

"The state policy and the board policy is to allow individuals to gain employment to become useful members of society," Biehler said. "If we can do that without jeopardizing the public, it's something we think is a good thing."

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