For the longest time, it seemed many of the experiences in Sharon Jones’ life — both good and bad — were random and unconnected.

If the young woman who had been born and raised in Queens, New York, had not met Larry Jones while visiting her grandparents in Columbus, she would not have settled in Columbus, to marry and start a family.

If she had not started a family, she likely wouldn’t have sought a job in the hotel business, whose flexible hours worked best for her family.

If she had not been working in the hospitality industry, she would not have been able to use her work to provide jobs for ex-prison inmates desperately trying to break the cycle of recidivism.

And if that cycle had not played out so traumatically in her own family, Sharon Jones might never have founded Paroled2Pride, a job training and placement program that has helped between 300 and 400 former inmates break the cycle of crime and become productive citizens since its founding in 2007.

On Friday, Jones was among those honored with a “Earnest Brown Good Change Award” by Columbus Major Keith Gaskin during a brief ceremony at city hall.

“The story goes back to my childhood,” said Jones, 57. “There was domestic abuse in our home that led to my parents getting a divorce. My oldest brother, John, had to take over the fatherhood role in the family even though he was only a teenager. That’s how he got caught up in selling drugs, trying to make sure we had school supplies, clothing and the things we needed. As he got older, he began to use drugs to cope with all the stress and hopelessness.”

John soon found himself in and out of prison at a time when the War on Crime took a particularly devastating toll on Black families in the city. He spent almost all of his 20s in and out of prison until, in 1985, he was murdered at the notorious Attica Prison.

Her middle brother, Kent, seemed headed for the same end, finding himself in and out of Rikers Island prison complex.

Somehow, Kent was able to break the cycle. He landed a job, raised a family, got promoted and is now enjoying his retirement in New York.

The family trauma is not easily forgotten. She often finds it difficult to speak of her brother, John, without tears.

Even as her own prospects, which included meeting Larry Jones, the man who would become her husband and father of her children, while visiting her family in 1989.

“John had a sister whose husband was getting out of prison and, like so many people, was having a hard time finding a job,” she said. “God laid it on my heart to help him get a job at the hotel I was working at. I told my husband and he said, “Don’t do it. Don’t risk it.” My in-laws told me the same thing. I called my mom and told her, ‘I can’t get rid of the feeling that I should hire him. God keeps telling me that.’ She told me to obey God and always remember my brother, how hard it was for him to get employed.”

Her boss at Best Western was skeptical, too.

“He said, ‘You want to put a drug dealer at my front desk by himself overnight?’ I just told him, he’d have to trust me.”

Although the young man had some struggles early, he eventually became a model employee.

“He worked 11pm to 7am, for 14 years and never missed a day,” Jones said. “The program evolved from there.”

Parole2Pride became a 501(c)(3) in 2007, around the same time Jones’ mom passed away.

Jones has put together a team, mostly volunteers, to screen, assess, test and place former inmates, mostly in the hospitality industry.

“Best Western and their network of hotels around the region have helped us to have more jobs for the people who come through our program,” Jones said. “Hospitality jobs aren’t the highest paying jobs, but they do offer someone to prove they are reliable workers and help them find better paying jobs. It’s a big first step.”

Julie Patel serves as Hospitality Job Placement Coordinator, Tamara Jones is Case Manager, Daisy Young is Volunteer Coordinator and Robert Greatree, the only paid-employee, is the Accountant.

Jones still insists on meeting each inmate personally. Over the past 15 years, she’s learned to spot those who are truly ready for a new start.

“It’s not enough for them to say ‘I want to change’ or ‘I want to do this or that.’ You watch how they operate. Sometimes, it’s just talk. I’ll tell them, ‘You know you aren’t ready. You need to find yourself, then you can come back.’”

When Jones reflects on all of the events that led her to the role, it’s not a sense of pride that emerges.

“It’s so humbling after the loss of my brother and my mom. They are the driving force behind what I do through Jesus. God has called me to this work and I’m grateful.”

Slim Smith is a columnist and feature writer for The Dispatch. His email address is [email protected].

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