Madison-area Urban Ministry helps children of incarcerated parents find stability

On June 25, 2005, Azure Fudge-Hart was at home when her phone rang.  Her grandmother was on the line, calling to tell her that her father had shot his girlfriend and was contemplating suicide.

Azure hung up, and drove to her grandmother’s.  From there, the two went her father’s apartment on Madison’s Fordem Avenue.

“I rang the doorbell, and I just remember thinking there was no way it could have happened,” Azure says. “It wasn’t even plausible.  Even when nobody answered the door, I kept thinking ‘please let her just need help, please let her just need help.’ It was out of a movie.  It didn’t seem real.  But it was.”

When police arrived on the scene and kicked in the door to the apartment, they discovered Tina Campbell, 27, dead from gunshot wounds to the head and chest.  As they searched the rooms, the apartment was still.  The suspect, Walter Fudge, had left the scene.

Hours later, Azure says that her father appeared at her house, asking for help.  Azure’s husband, an attorney, could only recommend that he surrender to the authorities.

Azure drove her father to the police station.  When they pulled into the station driveway, Azure says police drew their weapons and screamed for Fudge to exit the vehicle.  As he stepped out, Fudge was handcuffed and led into the station.  He would later be convicted of first-degree intentional homicide and sentenced to life in prison. [1]Marcus Fudge, 10

But Azure wasn’t the only one to lose a father that day.  Fudge’s son and Azure’s half-brother, Marcus, would grow up without either parent.  Marcus, who was three years old and staying at his grandmother’s house at the time, would only know his father through exchanged letters and scheduled prison visits.  He would know his mother, Campbell, only through photographs and family stories. 

Marcus will face challenges distinct to children of incarcerated parents—when adults commit crimes and are locked away, their children can face unstable home environments or poverty due to loss of parental income.

Yet perhaps the most formidable challenge for this population has less to do with income than with emotional costs.  Without help from family members or programs designed to support affected families, children like Marcus face an increased likelihood of being victims of circumstance.

“As a group, they are at risk”

Despite the gravity of his father’s crime, Marcus is not unique in losing a parent to incarceration.

Julie Poehlmann, a professor at the University of Wisconsin-Madison's Department of Human Development and Family Studies, estimates that roughly 1,600 children in Dane County have a parent in jail, prison, or on community supervision.

“What’s not known is the precise number of affected children,” says Poehlmann, who researches the effects of incarceration on children and families. “There are no tracking systems currently in place, in jails or in schools.”

“But what is known,” adds Poehlmann, “is that without intervention, children who have an incarcerated parent are more likely than the general population to experience a host of emotional difficulties such as anxiety, depression and aggression. They are 2.5 times more likely to be involved with the criminal justice system later in life.”

Poehlmann says a stable home environment and a quality relationship with a caregiver are two factors that can help children in this situation adjust to life without a parent.

Programs which support children by matching them with a positive adult mentor have been shown to offer benefits, says Poehlmann, especially if the mentor and child meet regularly and the relationship is sustained for six months or longer.

“It’s not accurate to say all of these children are in trouble,” says Poehlmann.  “As a group, they are at risk—there is a difference.  But with more research and support on their behalf, they can have the same opportunities as any other children.” 

One area program, Madison-area Urban Ministry (MUM), supports children and families whose lives have been affected by incarceration. MUM is the only program of its kind in Madison, and one of the few in the state.

MUM is a faith-based nonprofit that offers adult reentry services and facilitates Family Connections, a program that provides transportation for children who wish to visit their mothers in prison.  In addition, MUM operates Mentoring Connections, a program that matches positive adult mentors with children whose parents have been incarcerated.

Linda Ketcham, MUM’s executive director, says these youths belong to the most hurting and vulnerable populations—yet they remain invisible.

“Many people don’t realize that anything that affects a parent who has a criminal record, affects their children,” says Ketcham. “When a parent can’t find a job, the child has less at home. When a parent can’t vote because of a felony conviction, that child has no voice…Children are the collateral consequences of our criminal justice system.”  

Life after the crime

Today, Marcus is ten years old and lives with Azure near north-side Madison’s Cherokee Marsh. Azure is now his guardian and caregiver.

It’s 3:15 p.m., and Marcus is arriving home from school.  He passes the basketball hoop in his driveway, walks through the door, and climbs past family pictures hung near the stairway to the living room.

“Hey, Marcus,” says Azure.  “You want something to eat? You can have a yogurt or an apple. Make sure to wash the apple.”

Marcus takes the apple and moves across the living room with quick, nimble steps.  He sits at the far end of the couch—watchful—as Azure speaks openly about their father.

“I truly believe that being honest about this is the only way to control it,” says Azure. “Keeping it a secret only gives it power.  If I have one hope in sharing our story, it’s to let people see the faces of incarceration.  It’s part of my work as a Christian to do that.”

Azure says that after the murder, when the story reached local news outlets, she felt obligated to comment on her father’s actions and felt judged by members of the community.

“I felt a lot of guilt and shame,” says Azure.  “I felt shame for what my father did, and I felt guilty for still loving him.”

Azure says that she feels emotionally equipped to handle the stigma associated with having a parent in prison, but worries that judgment might fall on Marcus and add to the trauma he has already experienced.

After his father was incarcerated, Marcus stayed with his grandmother for a short time.  When her health deteriorated, Marcus moved in with his aunt, but was placed in foster care after he began stealing and behaving aggressively.   In November 2008, Marcus moved in with Azure, where he lives today.

“When we originally tried to get custody of Marcus,” Azure says, “the therapist who interviewed me didn’t believe that my father didn’t abuse his kids—and she didn’t want to send Marcus to his family of origin if we had a history of abuse.”

Azure says that because Marcus shifted from home to home at a young age, the instability manifested in his behavior.

“When Marcus first got here, he couldn’t even sit through church. He was so filled with fear and anxiety,” says Azure.  “He had a hard time coping with change—he didn’t even like change when it was positive, like going on vacation. The only thing that helps is keeping a structured routine.  Structure seems to lessen that anxiety.”

In addition to speaking often about their father, Azure says that she occasionally takes Marcus to visit him in Waupun prison.

Marcus says that during visits he can sit next to his father, play cards with him, and give him a hug when it’s time to leave.  They speak over the phone, but more often, they exchange letters.

“When he writes me, he says that he loves me.  He tells me to try hard in school.  He says that he’s sorry for killing mom,” says Marcus.

Azure looks at Marcus, and sweeps a piece of lint from his clothing.

“He’s probably going to struggle throughout his life,” says Azure.  “He’ll have these realizations that he’s not like other kids—Christmas and birthdays are the worst.  In the middle of all this happiness, he’ll remember that he doesn’t have his parents there to celebrate.”

Mentoring Connections offers time, support

Two years ago, looking for a way to help Marcus gain confidence and social skills, Azure encouraged him to participate in Mentoring Connections and spend time with a caring adult outside of the family.

Fabu Carter, Mentoring Connections’ program coordinator, says the program has supported approximately 50 matches a year since 2004.  MUM matches children and mentors based on interests whenever possible.

Carter says that Mentoring Connections is based on research and methods which have proven effective in supporting children whose parents are incarcerated, such as asking that volunteers commit to a year of service in order to promote consistency.

“When an adult becomes a friend to a child—not their parent, not their teacher, but a friend—and gives the gift of time, that mentor shows the child that there are options out there,” says Carter.

She says that since 2004, no children involved with Mentoring Connections have had trouble with the law or juvenile justice system.

“Adults don’t need to go way out of their way and give of themselves sacrificially,” says Carter.  “Children are incredibly resilient.  They just need a little support, a little faith, and they can thrive.”

Since Mentoring Connections lost federal funding in October 2010, MUM has operated Mentoring and Family Connections on a combined annual budget of roughly $65,000 provided by private and foundational support.

In addition to looking for funding support, Carter says that MUM is always looking for mentors.

“We’re looking for people that remember what it was like to be children—to believe that you can go anywhere and do anything—we’re looking for people to help give children that same opportunity,” says Carter.

Jason Ford, 26, was matched with Marcus in 2009 and has been his mentor ever since.  After his first year, Ford decided to stay with Marcus.

Ford says that he’s seen Marcus grow from a shy and timid boy, into a more self-confident young man who is willing to reciprocate conversation. Marcus doesn’t speak often about his father, but when he does want to talk, Ford says he will be there to listen.

“We do mostly simple, fun activities. Nothing therapeutic or heavy,” says Ford. “Marcus likes to play outside on the jungle gym or the playground. When I see him laughing and running around, it reminds me of how much fun it was to do those things. It’s nostalgic.”

Hopes for the future

Through a combination of structure and affection at home, as well as support through Mentoring Connections, Azure says that Marcus has shown improvement over the past two years in his academic performance and ability to form appropriate relationships.

“Marcus can still have trouble internalizing positive comments,” says Azure. “But my hope is that Marcus can begin to see himself as the way we see him. I try to remind Marcus that no matter what happened in the past, he was made out of love.  And that he’s loved now.”

In Marcus’ living room, athletic trophies stand beside the family TV.  Here’s one for being an outstanding football player, here’s another for most improved player. 

He presents a certificate for the Links award that he won last year; he was the only student nominated by his elementary school to receive the honor for academic excellence.

[2]Marcus takes out a photo album and looks at a picture of himself with his mom and dad.  He says he likes to look at photos.  His dog Tegan lies at his feet and Marcus scratches her belly.

“See,” Azure says.  “She likes that. Remember what I said about when she lays on her back? It means she trusts you.”

Marcus closes the book, and talks about school. He says that his favorite class, besides recess, is science.  He practices his spelling words, reads books, and writes a paragraph each morning about what he read the night before.  His favorite part of school is that he has a lot of friends. 

In regards to the future, Marcus has a simple, but ambitious, plan.

“I want to be a famous basketball player when I grow up,” he says.