A clean slate one day

He paid his debt, and now John C. Williams is working to change the CORI law that he says keeps others in crime

John C. Williams of Brockton, at the State House recently, has the governor’s backing in his push to make criminal records closed to the public sooner. (Globe Staff Photo / Dominic Chavez)

BROCKTON - One of the most determined lobbying movements on Beacon Hill is driven by an atypical cast of characters. John C. Williams is one of those characters.

In his 27 years, Williams has sold crack and heroin. He has been stabbed and left bleeding in the street. And he has spent much of his adulthood in some of the state's toughest prisons. But now, two years after his last jail stint, he has moved from a life of crime to the other side, participating in crime watch groups and lobbying the state for what is known as CORI reform - an effort to legislate new limits on how long a criminal record remains public. Williams is a new leader in the lobbying effort, which has roots in Brockton.

The argument for CORI reform is simple: A person's criminal record should be sealed after, say, five or 10 years, depending on the crime, so that former criminals have a better shot at landing an honest job and can support themselves without returning to a life of crime.

"If you're not able to take care of yourself, your family, then it's hard to assimilate back into society," says Williams. "For me, this is personal. . . . A lot of people forget about the struggle there is."

It's also personal for the estimated 2.8 million people in the state who, like Williams, have a criminal record.

The effort to revise the Criminal Offender Record Informa tion, or CORI, system began in earnest in 2004, when hundreds of supporters marched to the State House on the annual Lobby Day. Now the cause has taken them to the governor's door, where, for the first time, they've found an ally.

"These folks have hope now," said state Senator Robert S. Creedon Jr., a Brockton Democrat. While Creedon has supported CORI reform - only to see it die before - he said the grass-roots effort, defined in part by stories like Williams's, has placed the measure at the forefront of debate this year.

"If they didn't do their lobbying, guess what, this wouldn't be on anybody's radar screen," said Creedon, chairman of a joint committee that will decide whether to recommend proposed changes to the CORI system. "But for their efforts, this wouldn't even see the light of day."

Governor Deval Patrick has already changed the state's use of CORI in hiring practices for public jobs. Job applicants' history can be checked only after they have been deemed qualified for the job, and their crimes can be considered only if they are relevant to the type of work the applicant would perform.

More important, the governor has filed legislation that would reduce the amount of time it would take to seal a criminal record, from 15 to 10 years for a felony, and from 10 years to five years for a misdemeanor. The board that administers the CORI system would be banned from releasing data on crimes that have passed the time frames proposed by the governor.

The proposal does not cover sex offender crimes, which cannot be sealed. "CORI was never intended to turn every offense into a life sentence," Patrick said in a statement.

Williams's advocacy of CORI reform, delivered at a time when Brockton is reeling from a new round of violent street crime, is being well received in his community.

He's received standing ovations in some unlikely places, including at a Brockton Interfaith Council meeting, which embraced Williams's message and put CORI reform on its political agenda. The police chief, who knew the old Williams, applauded his new message. CORI reform efforts also have the backing of such Brockton groups as the Criminal Justice Policy Coalition and the Coalition for Social Justice.

But that doesn't mean that the campaign is going to make headway this year on Beacon Hill, where similar bills have died before.

The reforms have staunch opponents, among them the Associated Industries of Massachusetts, representing 7,000 employers in the state.

The organization argues that the system of open criminal records is meant to safeguard employers and allow for better screening of applicants.

"Employers are justifiably concerned relative to liability for negligent hiring practices," John Regan, the group's executive vice president of government affairs, said in a statement to Creedon's committee. "This bill would curtail the information available to employers during the hiring process and could place the employer, current employees, and their clients at risk."

Statistics argue for - and against - CORI reform. Figures from the governor's office show that a person who has stayed crime-free for three years is unlikely to re-offend.

But other figures, also from Patrick's office, show that nearly half of the 20,000 inmates released each year commit new crimes within a year.

Williams says he has seen too many people leave jail with plans to get a job, only to go back to selling drugs because no one would hire them. He's been rejected for jobs because of his past crimes.

Williams doesn't hide his past. It's written in a three-page criminal report he carries in his backpack.

His history of drugs and violence still haunts him, he said, like the scar on his chest from a stab wound seven years ago.

Among his crimes: robbing a gas station and selling marijuana, heroin, and crack. In 2003, while on probation, he was arrested after leading police through the city on a high-speed chase.

He made it home but was arrested, and police found a drug stash. He was booked for resisting arrest and assault with a dangerous weapon, a car.

His last day in jail was May 24, 2006. As he left, he promised himself a fresh start. The statistics say he has another year to prove he'd be unlikely to re-offend.

Williams has spent his time at crime watch groups and neighborhood meetings, telling his story to anyone who would listen.

He's joined rallies on Boston Common and sat through legislative hearings. He's lifted his shirt to show his scars, saying he doesn't want to live that life anymore. He's told of watching his father crying, "wondering if this was the job rejection that was going to send me back to the street."

Williams has since found a low-key job at a cleaning company run by a friend of one of the crime watch groups. But he remains intent on seeing CORI reform and has recruited people like him to the cause.

Later this month, supporters plan another march to the State House. And Williams will be there, waving signs and speaking with legislators, in hopes of helping the measure pass this session.

"My biggest issue is it disenfranchises a group of people just because of their past," said Williams. "We're saying . . . that our criminal justice system doesn't work because we're continuing to punish individuals that come out of the criminal justice system by saying that isn't enough."

Milton J. Valencia can be reached at valencia@globe.com.