Former Venture Capitalist Helps Prisoners Prepare for Business World

I went straight from graduating from the University of California at Berkeley right into venture-capital investing. I loved it. I made my short career in forcing deals. I was an aggressive and good deal originator. I would call up CEO’s or find them wherever I could, and I was successful in turning a “no” into a “yes” when it came to investing in their companies. I was in Palo Alto, Calif., doing Silicon Valley investing for about three years, and then I went to New York, where I was for about three years.

In 2004, I had this friend over for dinner. She was an executive with JP Morgan. She started

CATHERINE ROHR Age: 31 First professional job: Associate, Summit Partners, Palo Alto, Calif. Current job: Chief executive officer, Prison Entrepreneurship Program, Houston

telling me about her passion for prison ministry. I didn’t know any prisoners. I was very ignorant about the problem, but still had such strong opinions about these guys. Her compassion for them intrigued me. So I peppered her with questions and by the end of the dinner she said, “Why don’t you come?”

When I got to the prison in Texas I thought I was going on some zoo tour. I went in there thinking I was going to see a bunch of crazy animals. I saw these human beings instead. Society calls these guys hardened criminals, but to me it was more about my hardened heart. The humility I experienced by meeting these guys struck me at the deepest level. I knew that I needed to do something about it to help open the eyes of others the way that my eyes had been opened.

As a venture capitalist I was able to recognize that behind prison walls is America’s most overlooked talent pool. They’re the biggest underdogs that America has to offer. I realized right off the bat not just their entrepreneurial ability but their proven entrepreneurial skill sets. They know how to manage people to get things done. Some of them have managed hundreds and impacted thousands of lives. They understand business at a street level extremely well. They just don’t have the theory to back it up, and they were using it for illegal purposes. I thought, “What if we actually equipped these guys with some real business tools?”

I was still living in New York at the time, but one month later I had to be back in Texas, for the second time in my life, for a wedding. I thought, if I’m going to go all the way back to Texas then I might as well stop by the prison where I had this amazing experience and invite some other people to share it with me. I had worked with 4,000 CEO’s in my career at that point. I called on some of them and said, “I have this crazy idea. Come to prison with me and talk to these guys about what it means to be a legit businessman.” Three of them said yes. I was shocked. I realized we might have something marketable here.

Just a month after my first prison tour, we showed up in Texas to do that business panel. Fifty-five inmates showed up. At the end I stood up and said, “We’re going to start a business-plan competition right here, right now, and your first assignment is due next week.” I had no idea what I was talking about, or what I was doing. I didn’t even know I needed approval. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

I flew back to New York to my full-time investment job and started corresponding by mail with these 55 inmates, then started to fly in every month on the weekend to teach them business. Within four months their business plans were completed. They were great business plans, and I’ve looked at enough of them to be able to say that. I realized I needed to invite executives to come out and work with them and judge the competition. I invited everyone I knew from throughout the country and I recruited 15 CEOs and investors to fly out.

I realized along the way that what we were doing in prison with these guys was fun. But the State of Texas sends them out with $100 and the clothes on their back and tells them to go make it. I realized that if we really wanted these guys to make it, that wasn’t going to cut it. That’s when I felt convinced to move out to Texas to build post-release solutions for them.

My family, friends, and colleagues thought I had lost my mind. It was 2005 — I was making about $200,000 a year before and I dumped every last dollar I had into this. I emptied out my 401(k) plan and took the early-hit penalty and gave every last dollar to the Prison Entrepreneurship Program. I literally was broke. I got an electric bill and I couldn’t pay it off. I got robbed the same night I arrived in Texas. All my stuff was stolen. I had no money. That’s when I became a professional beggar on behalf of PEP. We raised $40,000 in our first week, and $230,000 in our first year. This year we’re hoping to do $2.5-million roughly.

We run three classes per year, four-month classes back to back. We have a preference for working with those who’ve committed violent crime and for former criminal leaders. We have more than 1,000 CEOs and investors who are volunteers, and 400 MBA-student volunteers. Most CEOs are asked to just write a check, but we also ask them to get their hands dirty, and to come and teach a man to fish. We’re asking them to come equip somebody else to become a business leader. It’s a pretty rare opportunity that people get to give back in their core competency.

In four and a half years we’ve achieved a single-digit recidivism rate. We have a 98-percent employment rate within four weeks of release. We have 47 guys who have started their companies, out of the 406 graduates. The others are employed.

Fifty percent of our job placements are done through graduates themselves, so these men are giving back to society after all that they’ve taken. Almost 100 percent of our graduates are donors back to PEP after they get out, most on a monthly basis. We’re teaching them this cultural tradition of giving back, and we’re proud of that. These guys who were once major tax consumers in society are now taxpayers. They’re dads and they’re employees and employers. They’re total turnarounds.

We’ve been growing very quickly and we hope to continue on that trajectory. I have a bigger vision for this. I have national aspirations. Putting my life on the line with murderers every day is the way some people see it. I don’t. I can’t imagine doing anything else for the rest of my life.

I hope I’m doing this forever. I believe that God put me on earth so that I could one day land in prison and do this work.