Adrian Rodriguez spent his first weekend in Lancaster County Prison in sleepless disbelief.His thoughts cycled relentlessly, always settling on the same question:How did I get here?Rodriguez’s parents raised him with clear values and strong faith. But he somehow veered off-course, selling marijuana to finance his own habit.Now he’d disappointed his parents, thrown away a good job and lost his home and his car.On his fourth day in jail, Rodriguez moved to a different cell. His new roommate extended his hand and looked straight into Rodriguez’s eyes.“I just want you to know that Jesus loves you,“ the man said.Those simple words sparked a dramatic transformation in Rodriguez, reminding him of the values he’d abandoned — and that a series of bad decisions didn’t have to define his life.Rodriguez spent the rest of his four-month sentence working in the prison kitchen and leading devotionals. Corrections officers told him they’d never seen a happier inmate.“I saw nothing but great tomorrows,“ Rodriguez says.After his 1992 release, he returned to church and devoted himself to giving back, coaching youth basketball and counseling inmates.In 2007, Rodriguez was named director of the Community Homeless Outreach Center, a daytime drop-in shelter at 210 S. Prince Street.Rodriguez openly shares his past with center guests and anyone else he encounters. He tells them how he was once essentially homeless and crashing on a relative’s couch, and also how hard he’s worked to rebuild his reputation.“I never hesitate to tell people that the first 16 years of my life, I was on welfare,“ he says. „I’ve been to prison. I know what they’re going through.“Rodriguez, 50, is energetic and expressive, with a quick, booming laugh. But he tears up equally easily when talking about his wife, his late parents and his own poor choices.Despite the good he’s done for his family, church and community, Rodriguez still felt confined by his long-ago drug conviction.So in 2006, he took the first step toward clearing his record, a process that ended up taking six years.It’s another story Rodriguez doesn’t mind sharing: that anything can happen once the past is put to rest for good.“I know there are unlimited opportunities out there now,“ he says. „Not having a record, that is now possible. Before there was no option.“From promise to prisonRodriguez grew up in the Bronx, N.Y., the only child of parents originally from Puerto Rico, neither of whom attended school beyond second grade.Rodriguez’s parents could not work due to disabilities. The family didn’t own a home or even a car.Rodriguez was 5 years old and home alone with his mother when she had her first epileptic seizure.He grew up that day.“I was being groomed even at the age of 5 to do what I do today,“ he says. „It comes naturally to me.“Playing baseball and basketball kept Rodriguez busy and out of trouble. When he was 15, the family moved in with relatives in Pottstown.“We basically packed what we could [fit in my uncle’s car],“ he says. „What we couldn’t sell, we left in the apartment.“The family’s new surroundings were far less diverse than their former neighborhood. Rodriguez was the first Hispanic student to play sports at his new high school.After graduation, Rodriguez earned a good income working with computers. At age 22, he bought a home in Lancaster and moved here with his parents.But his success unraveled in a decade-long slide toward prison. He started drinking and smoking marijuana, running up debts and eventually losing his home and car.In 1991, Rodriguez was convicted of driving under the influence. A year later, he was caught selling marijuana.Rodriguez expected to get work release. He was shocked when a judge ordered him to spend four months of his 181/2- to 23-month sentence in jail.“That definitely was an awakening for me, that I allowed myself to get to that place,“ he says. „I turned my back on what was important to me, which was my family and my faith.“Back on trackCoincidences don’t exist in Rodriguez’s mind. He’s convinced he was meant to end up in that particular jail cell, with that particular roommate.After his release, Rodriguez set about reclaiming his life. He was disappointed when not everyone immediately recognized he was a changed man.“We want to throw everything in the microwave and make it happen,“ he says. „Life is not like popcorn.“Even so, Rodriguez had little trouble finding a job. He worked in production for Brown & Williamson Tobacco Corp. and later for Kerr Glass.He began attending The Worship Center — wearing his house-arrest anklet — and volunteering both there and in the community.Pastor Sam Smucker says Rodriguez’s past makes him more compassionate and quick to reach out to others who are struggling.“He cares about the underdog,“ Smucker says. „He tries to raise the banner for people going through tough times in life.“In 2000, Rodriguez married Norma Figueroa, a single mother of three. The couple built a home on a cul de sac just outside Lancaster City, a source of pride for his entire family.The Rodriguezes, who now have five grandchildren, remain active church volunteers. Rodriguez is a licensed minister who counsels inmates at the prison.Lancaster County Commissioner Craig Lehman met Rodriguez in the mid-1990s, when Rodriguez coached youth basketball and Lehman was a referee.“What’s really sustained Adrian is his faith … along with his community service,“ Lehman said. „He’s made the most of his second chance.“In 2003, Rodriguez got a job with Transition to Community, a re-entry program for former inmates. While accompanying clients to a career center, he decided on a whim to apply for a job.Rodriguez later got a letter from the company, saying he would not be considered for a job because he had failed a background check.That’s when he knew he had to do something about his record.A clean slateIn 2006, Rodriguez applied for a pardon, which reinstates privileges lost with a conviction, including the right to vote and serve on a jury.Attorney Mark Walmer helped with the application, where Rodriguez wrote about his crimes and what he’d done since to better himself and society.“I really thought he was a shining example of someone who had turned their life around,“ Walmer says.In late 2007, Rodriguez addressed the state Board of Pardons in Harrisburg. It was intimidating, with 50 other applicants watching and the five board members sitting in elevated chairs.Rodriguez took full responsibility for the poor choices he made two decades ago. He thinks that’s why the board recommended him for a pardon.In 2009, Gov. Ed Rendell signed Rodriguez’s pardon — and 174 others.The pardon paved the way for Rodriguez’s record to be expunged. As of last July, record of his drug conviction and DUI no longer exists in county court.Rodriguez has no plans to leave CHOC anytime soon. But now he knows his past can’t hamper any future opportunities that might come his way.“I can walk through a door one day without cringing and saying my record has squashed an opportunity,“ he says.Creating a safe havenRodriguez was the only finalist for the CHOC director position who didn’t have a college degree.He told the center’s steering committee members that he’d been too busy attending „Life University.“Current committee chair Tom Fasnacht says Rodriguez’s experiences with poverty and prison help him relate to people going through tough times.“As a result of turning his life around, he is able to help people move in a positive direction,“ Fasnacht says.Rodriguez is a hands-on director who aims to balance compassion with tough love. His words aren’t always well-received, but they might be exactly what a center guest needs to hear.Success, like finding housing for a guest, is fleeting. Another 60 or 70 people will walk through the door the next day, facing the same predicament.“There’s not a lot of time for … celebration,“ Rodriguez says. „But you get those pockets that drive you and motivate you to come in the next day.“The center, located in Water Street Mission’s Hayes Hall, is sparsely furnished with long tables and plastic chairs. Guests‘ backpacks and shopping bags are neatly arranged in one corner.Rodriguez maintains order, enforcing expectations as simple as pushing in a chair or throwing away an empty cup.He also creates a place where guests can relax, let down their guard and enjoy snacks, ’80s music or a showing of „The Three Stooges.““He sets a tone … that when people come through the door, they really feel like it’s their safe haven,“ Fasnacht says.Guests may form relationships that are stronger any others in their lives. „Alumni“ who have found housing often return to visit.Rodriguez tells guests to view the center as a stepping stone, a place to unwind and figure out their next move.Their current trouble, he tells them, is just a bump in the road.“There’s so much ahead for you,“ he says. „You just have to make the right choices.“Staff writer Lynn Ondrusek contributed to this story.
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