Photo by Tom Jenz
Adam Procell
When I met Adam Procell, he told me a story.
“It was 2020, and the George Floyd murder was on the minds of most Americans,” he said. “I was speaking before 84 new recruits at the Milwaukee Police Department. I was introduced as Lieut. Mark Smith of the Detroit Police Department and that I had worked undercover in gang crimes. I told the police recruits that Milwaukee had 14,000 arrests last year, and there were 10 million nationwide. I told them of a case that I will never forget. It was about a 15-year-old honor student and Boy Scout, and that he had joined a gang and was involved in a gang homicide, and then he was sentenced to life in prison three days after his 15th birthday.”
Procell continued, “After my presentation to the new recruits, I went to the cemetery. It was a cold rainy day. I stopped at the gravesite of a fallen officer and set up two photos, one of the murdered officer, and the other of the man who took his life. I changed into an orange county jail jumpsuit. Soon, the 84 police recruits showed up and acted confused. Why was I, a police lieutenant, dressed in a jail jumpsuit and why is he standing next to a fallen officer’s grave?
“I then reminded them of the story of the 15-year -ld gang member who had committed homicide. I told them that the 15-year-old was me and that I had been the youngest inmate in the adult prison system. I was released on parole 20 years later. I ceased being Inmate 314949 and went back to being Adam Procell. I told those police recruits it’s not easy to leave your past behind.”
Not long ago, Adam Procell and I met at the downtown 3rd Street Market, a dissonant food and games complex, people eating, gossiping and playing board games. He wore a pinstripe suit, pressed dress shirt and tie. He speaks softly as if measuring each thought.
Take me through your background, where you grew up, neighborhoods, schools, and your parents.
I grew up across the street from a military base in Fort Carson, Colorado and went to school on the base. My father owned a maintenance business, and he had a late-night jazz show on public radio. Today, he manages the station. My mom and dad separated when I was three. She lived in Milwaukee and worked for the park services.
So did you grow up in Colorado?
Yes, with my dad and his wife. I did well in school. But when I was 14, my best friend was shot and killed in a random act. I was depressed, and my behavior turned quickly. I moved to Milwaukee and lived with my mom, then joined a gang to get to know kids. Because I was the youngest gang member, my initiation was to protect the neighborhood, and I killed a rival gang member. This was 1995, three days after my 15th birthday.
How was your prison sentence determined?
I was tried as an adult and convicted as first-degree intentional homicide. I was sentenced to mandatory life in prison and sent to the Green Bay Correctional Institution.
When you were incarcerated, what did you learn, and what was your progress as you served your sentence?
Tough question. At first, I learned about the harm that I caused. I knew right from wrong but could not understand the gravity of my actions. The first five years incarcerated, I ran from what I had done. I beat up a correctional officer and was confined to the Supermax Correctional Institution. I served four consecutive years in solitary confinement with four walls, a shower, a sink, and a toilet with camera above it.
Solitary confinement at the Green Bay Correctional Institution normally involves confining an inmate for 22 or more hours a day without meaningful human contact. But Procell spent 24 hours/7 days a week in his cell.
You were running from your past.
I was, and the past is very fleet of foot. It will catch you. When I was about 19 and strapped to a table, I hit rock bottom. I did not know what to do to get through the next ten seconds. Later, looking in the mirror, I saw my dad, who I loved very much. I realized that what I did is not what he raised. God came into my life.
You turned yourself around with the help of your God, but what did that mean in terms of your actions?
When I left solitary confinement, I renounced my gang affiliation and covered up my tattoos. I immersed myself in various programs including high school and college correspondence classes. I earned a vocational degree in Culinary Arts. I was also doing anti-gang work in prison. What saved my life was a program called Victim Impact, which showed me the harm I had caused on the other side. Victim Impact brought in a father whose daughter had been murdered. I realized that I knew the killer who was inside the prison. I melted inside. The problem was that I had been running from the guilt of my own crime. I was begging God to not let me wake up in the morning. The Chaplain told me, “Who the hell do you think you are that Jesus can forgive you, but you cannot forgive yourself.”
That is a very powerful concept.
Yes, something clicked. Then, I got a letter from my victim’s father who showed me unbelievable compassion. Two years ago, the father and I met in person at a crime victims event.
Backing up, I assume you were eventually moved to a medium security institution.
Yes, I was moved to Oshkosh where I met the warden who became a kind of mentor to me. She allowed me to work within the community and keep kids out of gangs and helped me get my first book published, Anatomizing Gang Culture. While in Oshkosh, I worked at a restaurant and ended up running the restaurant. I became so good at making wedding cakes, that I lost all my street cred. (laughing) After about eight times in front of the parole board, I was paroled in 2018. My victim’s father had advocated for my release. It was an emotional experience for me.
When you were released from prison, did you have a plan for your future?
I came back to Milwaukee and lived with my grandmother. My plan was to work with kids and keep them out of gangs, but gangs were almost disappearing. I changed my plan. I worked at Partners in Hope, a prisoner reintegration initiative for individuals to transition back into society. Eventually, I became the Director but left the organization last year.
You helped get Act 233 passed in the state legislature. Act 233 requires the Department of Corrections to create community reentry centers to help individuals re-integrate into society after leaving correctional institutions. Do I have that correct?
Yes, and I actually wrote the Act 233 legislation. It started when I was testifying at the Capitol to get reentry services all under one roof. Oshkosh Assemblyman Michael Schraa took my proposal and got it through committees. Last year in March, I was in the Capitol when Governor Evers signed Act 233 into law. He gave me the pen.
What are you doing currently?
My lane is collaborative. We have the Home to Stay Resource Fair once a month with 40 providers there to help reentry clients. That way, the clients don’t have to go to all the different silos to get their needs met. We also have a website, hometostaywi.org, that features every known resource in the Milwaukee area.
You are CEO of Paradigm Shyft. What is Paradigm Shyft?
The Paradigm Shyft firm consults with government entities, universities, employers and service providers on ideas to better the justice system - multi-dimensional solutions. We work with the police and fire departments to help the formerly incarcerated. Milwaukee Fire Chief Lipski has been especially helpful. Generally, the first people to respond to a violent crime are the EMT’s, Emergency Medical Technicians. Recently, Chief Lipski donated an old ambulance to Paradigm Shyft. We are building a Mobile Office Of Reentry Education that will travel to areas of the city where many of the formerly incarcerated reside.
You are a Fellow at the Fund for New Leadership. What is FNL, and how did you get involved?
A few years ago, I submitted a proposal similar to Act 233 to the Fund For New Leadership. FNL helps individuals become leaders. I received a three-year grant, which has funded my work.
I read that you taught a course inside a prison where incarcerated students and college students learn together.
A few years ago, Marquette Professor Darren Wheelock and I had an idea to create a course on reentry. We called the course, Reentry & Life After Incarceration. We take ten Marquette college students into the Racine Correctional Institution to learn next to ten currently incarcerated students. The course lasts an entire semester. Each of the 20 students get three credits. It’s been humbling for me to see the college students accept the incarcerated students as peers.
Here is a quote from you: “95 percent of the people who are in prison someday get out. If these individuals are releasing, how can we ensure that we maximize them becoming who we want them to become?” So then, who do we want them to become?
We want them to become productive law-abiding citizens where they are not thought of as a number or a past action. All citizens have made mistakes and hurt people, but none of us want to be defined by that action. Too many formerly incarcerated people have been sentenced to social death. You can’t thrive when you are socially dying.
Here is a fact from 2024: Over 6,000 people in Wisconsin are released from prison each year and reenter society. Fifty-two % of ex-offenders in Wisconsin are arrested again within three years following their release, often because of a failure to reintegrate into society and find a job. Recidivism costs Wisconsin more than $426 million annually.
That is a staggering number. People ask me, “What can I do?” It takes $40,000 to incarcerate a person for a year. If we can provide the formerly incarcerated with opportunities, jobs, and acceptance, we can prevent recidivism, we can get past yesterday.
Let’s talk about your new book, THE TRENCHES OF CHANGE: From incarceration to legislation Here is the blurb from Amazon books: “The book is a practical exploration of prisoner reentry, focused on how effective legislation can address systemic challenges and improve reintegration outcomes.” Tell me more about the message of the book.
I can describe the message in one word, Collaborative. For people coming out of prison, they cannot do reentry by themselves. They need collaboration. But the problem is that too often nonprofits compete with one another for funding.
I think they call those silos, organizations not working together.
Exactly. How do we de-silo the reentry ecosystem. In my book, I lay out this roadmap on how I try to combine efforts up until Act 233 legislation that legally requires organizations to work together.
I was just thinking that your book should be part of a course taught in colleges or even some high schools.
Yes, I am hoping that will happen, and I am also hoping to consult with various Departments of Corrections across the country. I just did that very thing in Hawaii not long ago. The book is a roadmap on how you build a collaborative reentry system.
How can law enforcement help reentry individuals to adjust to normal society?
Police officers and the formerly incarcerated working together. For example, when I was Director at Partners In Hope, I created a process where every police recruit is required to eat dinner with the formerly incarcerated so as to humanize each other. That led to role playing reversal during traffic stops. The police officer drives an old truck I got donated, and a formerly incarcerated person acts as the traffic cop. The lesson? To see how quickly each side can escalate the situation. The only answer is to treat each other as humans.
After 23 years in prison, Procell was paroled in 2018. He is 44.
You can reach out to Adam Procell at adam@paradigmshyft.org
