In the months that followed, Steve Altman would dwell all too often on the self-inflicted wound that propelled his personal life into a downward spiral. The irony, he invariably reminded himself, was that his problem began as an act of altruism.

Troubled that his lady friend was in an ever-increasing funk that stretched first from a couple of days to a week, then from a week to over a month, Steve finally spoke up during what had the makings of yet another silent dinner in the Santa Monica cottage they called home. "Why don't you come and work with me?" he asked Sally.

"As what? An appendage? A charity case?"

"As my right arm," replied Steve.

"I'm a writer, not a film person," Sally insisted.

"And a talented one. But was it your fault the magazine folded? And anyway, were the last few months there happy? Gratifying? Fun?"

Gritting her teeth, Sally shook her head.

"I'm not telling you to stop pitching ideas, or writing on spec, or looking for another place to land," Steve continued, "But in the meantime--"

"What would I bring?" wondered Sally.

"Smarts. An ability to organize. People skills."

"Give me something specific," demanded Sally.

"Fluency in Spanish," said Steve. "Right?"

Sally nodded.

***

It was a documentary about the Latinization of boxing both in the ring and in the stands that Steve was directing, and from her first day on-board Sally proved to be invaluable. That she was bilingual was a boon in scheduling and confirming interviews. Her organizational strengths resulted in fewer delays and far less frittered time. Her people skills diminished grumpiness when the crew was beset with heat, hunger, or traffic jams.

"Never thought I'd learn so much about trainers, managers, referees, promoters, or boxers," Sally mentioned early one Thursday evening while she and Steve were driving home after a long day of filming. "Or spend time with guys like Oscar de la Hoya and Sugar Ray Leonard."

"Sounds like somebody's enjoying herself," responded Steve.

"I wouldn't go that far," teased Sally.

"Since we're such a good team, can I tempt you to help on my next one?"

Sally smiled. "You got a green light on another?"

Steve nodded. "The film about that criminal justice breakthrough in San Diego."

"That's great!" Sally gushed.

"So, can I count on you?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"What credit you're offering," Sally stated.

"You really know how to hurt a guy!" Steve joked.

"I learned from the best."

***

It was astonishing, Steve explained to Sally, that it was in conservative San Diego, rather than in one of Southern California's more liberal bastions, that the experiment in dealing with convicted felons was launched. It was initiated by two high-ranking officials, District Attorney Angela Russo and Presiding Judge Harlan Clark, both of whom came to believe that the key to reducing crime was to cut down on the recidivism rate, since most infractions were caused by those who were, or were becoming, career criminals. Not surprisingly, once post-production was completed on the boxing documentary, those were the first two people Sally contacted to schedule an interview.

"What propelled you to try something entirely new?" Steve Altman asked the two civic leaders when filming began on the new project.

"Frankly," said District Attorney Russo, "we were desperate."

"Because?" Steve queried Judge Clark.

"The streets weren't safe, court costs were skyrocketing, and businesses were failing," Judge Clark stated.

"No one," added Angela Russo, "wanted to drive downtown to a world of drugs, muggings, carjackings--"

"And stray bullets," said Harlan Clark.

"So who did the brainstorming for what you came up with?" asked Steve.

"Two shrinks on the faculty of UC San Diego," stated District Attorney Russo.

***

As the cameraman, sound man, and production assistant were gathering gear in the aftermath of that interview, Steve and Sally stepped outside to get some air.

"Bet I know who we'll be seeing next," said Sally.

"Can't put anything past you," teased Steve.

***

Two days later, Steve was conducting an on-camera interview with a psychiatrist named Dr. Evan Townsley and his collaborator, psychologist Dr. Arlene Smith.

Their thesis, which they explained on-camera, was that the conventional means of addressing chronic criminality invariably led to failure. Simply put, incarceration no longer functioned as a deterrent in a world where criminals often viewed prison as a sanctuary--a place where day in, day out, they were guaranteed "three hots and a cot." Worse, given $300 upon release, many convicts return to the environment that spawned them, where, as Dr. Townsley put it, "They get loaded, get laid, then become a one-person crime spree." Worst of all, Dr. Smith opined, "Time spent behind bars is like a graduate school for wrong-doing."

The statistics Dr. Townsley and Dr. Smith cited were indisputably damning. "Forty percent of those incarcerated in California can't read above a fourth grade level." "Fifty percent have no job skills." "Over sixty percent have a substance abuse problem."

Plus, as the District Attorney and Presiding Judge had stated, an area plagued with chronic criminality becomes a danger zone.

Added to that was a terrifying fiscal reality: each convict costs the state of California over $81,000 per year.

"So," said Steve Altman, "give me the bright side if there is one."

"Consider what happens if and when crime is reduced," answered Dr. Townsley.

"Safer streets," stated Dr. Smith.

"Less fear," added Dr. Townsley.

"Courts are no longer log-jammed," claimed Dr. Smith.

"And if predators become taxpayers," announced Dr. Townsley, "everyone benefits."

"Which means," added Dr. Smith, "it's more expensive to do nothing."

Steve Altman's eyes lit up upon hearing that sound byte.

The only rational way to bring about serious change, Dr. Smith then explained, was to approach chronic criminality as though it were a chronic, life-threatening disease. "Take diabetes," she proposed. "Insulin on its own cannot and will not make a difference. We also have to address nutrition, physical activity, the emotions that lead to cravings, and above all environment. If everyone around a diabetes sufferer is guzzling soda, chomping on chips, or wolfing Haagen-Dazs straight from the container, imagine the consequences."

"So how can change come about?" asked Steve.

"It has to start from the very moment someone's found guilty," said Dr. Smith. "First, we have to address the substance abuse problems."

"Then introduce literacy," added Dr. Townsley.

"Then find an appropriate field so that we can work toward the necessary job skills," said Dr. Smith.

"All with eyes toward creating a solid citizen who can contribute to society upon release," offered Dr. Townsley. "But the key is that the process doesn't end there. If we send someone back to the same crime-ridden neighborhood, we'll be right up against the very same influences and pressures that yielded trouble in the first place. So we have to place them in a different--and hopefully better--environment."

"And give bus vouchers instead of cash that can be blown on other things," stated Dr. Smith. "And help them prepare for job interviews."

"Great in theory, but have you gotten results?" wondered Steve.

"So far, so good," answered Dr. Townsley. "We've got a landscape gardener, a restaurant manager, a forklift operator--"

"Plus a dog groomer," interjected Dr. Smith, "and a few others including a scuba diver who's working for the Harbor Department."

"A scuba diver?" asked Steve. "Did that also involve teaching him how to swim?"

"He was already a strong swimmer," answered Dr. Smith.

"You know who else we should mention?" Dr. Townsley said to his colleague. "Carlos?"

"Who's Carlos?" asked Steve.

"Carlos Arroyo," replied Dr. Townsley. "A guy who's doing wonders at the halfway house where in the past he was a resident."

"But the best part of all about the program?" bragged Dr. Smith. "So far not one single instance of recidivism."

"Everything sounds great," Steve said, "but there's a still a significant but. In a world where governments are terrified of spending, despite making perfect sense, plus the absence of recidivism, aren't you afraid that somebody will claim that the program's a waste of time, energy, and money?"

"We've heard that often," acknowledged Dr. Townsely. "But for now, we're okay."

***

Only once the interview was over did Steve pose a question that he didn't want to ask on-camera. "Mind telling me about the scuba diver?" he asked.

"Strange guy," acknowledged Dr. Townsley.

"Was he a competitive swimmer?"

"More like a surf Nazi," replied Dr, Smith.

"Not so happy-go-lucky?" asked Steve.

"That's a kind way of saying it," was Dr. Townley's response.

***

"More great stuff!" exclaimed Sally once she and Steve were headed back to Santa Monica.

"And we may have even gotten a title."

"Tell me."

"IT'S MORE EXPENSIVE TO DO NOTHING."

"I like it! So who's next?"

"Who would you suggest?" replied Steve.

"I wish it were the ones who've graduated, for want of a better term, from their program--"

"But?"

"I suspect we should start with the other powers-that-be."

"Meaning," said Steve, "the Chief Probation Officer, the prison wardens, and a couple of other county officials. But tell me-"

"Yeah?"

"How'd you catch on so quickly?"

"Funny things happen," said Sally, "when your title is co-producer."

"And remind me," added Steve playfully. "How'd you become a co-producer?"

"Promise you won't tell?" teased Sally. "I'm sleeping with the director."

***

Lying in bed beside Sally that night, Steve found himself thinking about what Sally often referred to as "the M word." When the two of them first met, each was coming off a rocky relationship--Steve with a dancer named Lucinda, Sally with a sculptor she called The Beast. As a result, neither was thinking about anything resembling a commitment. Yet over time, both acknowledged an interest in having kids. Could working together, Steve wondered, lead to a place where they could consider starting a family?

Even more than living together, working together made such a possibility seem far from inconceivable.

***

Thanks to Sally's scheduling prowess, an illuminating session with Chief Probation Officer Gerald Pickens took place two days later in which he admitted that a program he was initially against--and secretly hoped would fail--had transformed him into a believer. "Being a law-and-order guy, I never thought I'd say this," he told Steve. "But punishment accomplishes nothing. Zero. Zip. When done the way we're doing it, remediation is a hundred times more effective."

A call from the Chief Probation Officer proved to be decisive in convincing the prison warden, Gene McDaniels, to overcome his reluctance about being interviewed. Though initially awkward and tentative, that session, too, proved to be surprisingly upbeat, as yet another early doubter explained why he had become an advocate.

Next up was the warden of the women's prison, Margo Bojorquez. She, too, made it clear that initial reluctance had given way to a begrudging acceptance of the program, which over time grew into an active embrace.

Early the following week, thanks to a directive from Chief Probation Officer Pickens, Steve and Sally were introduced to the four Probation Officers--two men and two women--who were assigned full-time to the experimental program.

Since those four were on the front line, dealing with the prisoners in the program on a daily basis, their impressions were nuts-and-bolts rather than simply intellectual or conceptual. They detailed what was an emotional, mental, and even social roller-coaster ride for the participants, who on top of their obligations were confronted by suspicion and jealousy from the rest of the prison community.

Further, the Probation Officers spoke of the kind of prisoners likely to make it through the program, as well as those who almost certainly wouldn't. Additionally, they provided context by relating the crimes for which the participants had been convicted.

The four Probation Officers decided that it would be their longest-serving member--a tall redhead named Maureen Tierney--who would reach out to graduates of the program, both male and female, in the hope of persuading several to discuss their experiences both behind bars and after their release.

***

It was nervous time for Sally and Steve as they waited to see which of the graduates might consent to being interviewed. Sally in particular was crushed when Maureen Tierney at first reported bad news. The initial person she'd reached refused to participate, not wanting her fellow workers to know she had been a jailbird. That disappointment was followed by a text reporting that another ex-con didn't want his crime revealed. Yet a third was afraid that an interview would result in people from his sordid past finding him.

"What do we do now?" Sally asked as she and Steve went jogging early one Thursday morning.

"We wait," Steve answered.

"And if no one says yes?"

"We can try to get jobs at Big 5 Sporting Goods. Relax. We'll get somebody. Or better yet, a couple of somebodies."

"Is one of us suddenly a Pollyanna?" asked Sally.

"One of us," replied Steve, "has got a few films under his belt."

"But which one of us," countered Sally, "hasn't been able to sleep the last couple of nights?"

"How'd you know?"

"You don't think I hear you tossing and turning," asked Sally. "Or wandering into the kitchen? Good thing I'm able to fall back to sleep."

***

The sound of the phone not ringing persisted the next few days. Then, as Sally and Steve were chomping on a taco lunch on what felt like an interminable Wednesday, another call came from Maureen Tierney.

"Got one," She announced. "And you'll like her."

***

Candy Crawford turned out to be not merely a wonderful endorsement for the program itself, but also a delightful character. With spiky bleached blond hair and a dockworker's vocabulary, she talked initially about the journey leading to what she termed her "death"--a heroin addiction that led first to petty theft, then to prostitution--then her subsequent "rebirth." Proudly free of drugs and alcohol, her days were spent grooming pooches in a San Diego suburb, while evenings involved a program leading to certification as a trainer of service dogs. "I thought I was way beyond help," Candy avowed during her interviewed. "But that program did more than help. It saved my fuckin' life!"

Though less ebullient, the graduate delivered by Maureen Tierney two days later--a heavily tatted Black guy named Darnell Jones--proved to be no less moving. After describing the violence in which he was immersed as a gang leader, he then spoke about the changes he experienced once given "a second chance." Having become a voracious reader, particularly in the field of social justice, and a fledgling meditator as well, Darnell had achieved a sense of fulfillment he never dreamed possible, and was gainfully employed and as a recreational coach and exercise coach at a senior citizen center.

***

"Feeling better about the world?" Sally asked Steve as they were driving back from San Diego.

"Are you?" was Steve's reply.

"For sure. This film could open eyes and, hopefully, change the way things are done here, there, and everywhere."

"Unlike my films about baseball, basketball, and music?"

"I didn't mean it that way," said Sally. "But the way you're reacting--don't you think we've got amazing stuff?"

"Yes and no."

"What am I missing?" wondered Sally.

"If everything's too good, too upbeat, too perfect--"

"Yeah?"

"It'll come off like an infomercial."

"So what do we do?"

"There's a great Dusty Springfield song."

"Which one?"

"Wishing And Hoping. Right now, that's what we're doing."

Silence reigned for several minutes as the two of them enjoyed each other's company, then Sally spoke. "Know what's funny?"

"Tell me."

"I was dreading the long trips back and forth to San Diego, but it's fun being together this way. And the music you've been playing has been pretty great."

"Speaking of which," said Steve, "Anything special you'd like to hear?"

"You're the one in charge of my musical education."

"Some New Orleans R&B might be appropriate," averred Steve, who started fiddling with his iPhone. On came Fats Domino's "I'm Walkin' To New Orleans," followed by gems from Irma Thomas, Ernie K-Doe, Benny Spellman, plus the inimitable Huey "Piano" Smith & the Clowns.

***

"We may have something," Steve announced happily on Wednesday morning as he hung up following a call from Maureen Tierney and faced Sally.

"Who?"

"The scuba diver."

"AKA the surf Nazi."

***

With a personality capable of darkening any room, Joey McKenzie, who insisted on being interviewed while wearing a wet suit, proved to be in marked contrast to the previous interviewees. Gruff and dyspeptic, his speaking style was predominantly snarl.

"Are you happy you were part of the program?" Steve asked once the interview was underway.

"They should be happy they had me," was McKenzie's retort.

"Because?"

"Otherwise it'd be all candy-asses with chicken-shit jobs."

"But don't you feel beholden?" asked Steve. "Grateful? Thankful?"

"Why should I?"

"Seems to me," said Steve, "scuba diving's higher on the food chain than burglary."

McKenzie glared. "Whoa! I wasn't just a burglar!"

"Right," countered Steve. "You also had a charge of grand theft auto."

For a moment, McKenzie looked ready to lunge. Then, instead, he shrugged. "You're right," he admitted. "Scuba's better."

***

"So?" asked Sally as she and Steve stopped in Anaheim for Ethiopian food on their way north.

"Now it's not just testimonials," he replied. "But I got the feeling he liked you."

"Lucky me," said Sally. "Who's next?"

"I'm hoping it'll be the guy at the halfway house."

"Want me to bug Maureen?"

"Let's give her a day or so."

Fortuitously, the call they were hoping came the next afternoon.

***

Late the following Monday morning, Sally winced as she and Steve passed a tent city and other homeless encampments as they neared the halfway house, where they would soon rendezvous with their crew. "Life can be tough," she said with a sigh.

"Tough and unfair," Steve responded. "What do they say? Two-thirds of all Americans are three paychecks or less away from the street. Worst of all, a lot are veterans."

"Thank the military, screw the vets."

"Sad but true."

"I can only imagine," Sally said grimly, " what the halfway house will be like."

"We'll soon enough see."

***

Despite being surrounded by boarded-up and burned-out buildings, the halfway house, even from the outside, seemed to promise some semblance of hope.

Once inside, Steve and Sally discovered, it was surprisingly full of life. Greeted by the Director, a no-nonsense woman named Elizabeth Greenleaf, the two filmmakers saw no signs of indolence, lounging, or lollygagging. Whether lifting weights in the side yard, reading, cleaning, or in the case of one guy, playing an alto saxophone, the residents--all male--were busy doing something.

"Bet you thought you'd find a bunch of druggies and winos nodding out or feeling sorry for themselves," said Ms. Greenleaf.

"Well--" admitted Steve.

"We're not big on idle hands," stated the director. "But when it comes to morale, a lot owes to the guy you're here to see. Let me go grab Carlos."

***

Minutes later, Elizabeth Greenleaf returned with a wiry guy in a Padres sweatshirt who exuded charisma.

"I'm Carlos," he said, extending a hand first to Sally, then to Steve. "Where do you want to do this?"

"Is there a spot that's relatively quiet."

"How about my office?" volunteered Ms Greenleaf.

"If we won't inconvenience you," responded Steve.

"My whole life's an inconvenience," joked the Director.

"And when we're through with the interview," said Steve, "any chance we can film here and there around the place?"

"Be my guest," she replied, "as long as Carlos runs interference."

***

"So how'd you choose this line of work?" Steve asked once the interview was underway.

"More like it chose me," Carlos answered. "Truth is, I was here before, and not as a staff member. And if it hadn't been for that program, I probably would've ended up here again and again. Want to know why?"

"Sure," said Steve.

"'Cause I was a rotten guy El Vato Malo--with nothing good, positive, or decent ahead of me. I knew it all, and nobody here or anyplace else could put sense into my rock head."

"And the program made a difference?"

Carlos laughed. "Even though I went into it thinking it was nothing but goodie-goodie horseshit."

"So why'd you commit?"

"Time behind bars passes three ways: slow, slower, slowest. To get my ass out of my cell, I figured anything was worth it. And then one day--"

"Yeah?"

"I realized I was throwing my whole life away playing cool, being hard, doing the mi vida loca thing. So I had to decide whether I was gonna spend the rest of my life being an asshole, or maybe finally do something positive."

"And?"

"Since I'd been un chico rudo, which is a way of saying un idiota, I figured maybe I could help others who were headed down the same bullshit path."

"And has it been satisfying?" asked Steve.

"Satisfying? Whoa! At risk of sounding corny, it's the best, most rewarding experience of my life. Nobody who knew me back in the day would believe I'd be taking night courses to learn even more about helping others get a second chance!"

***

"Great, huh?" said Sally and she and Steve were leaving San Diego.

"That's putting it mildly. Too bad we can't spend more time."

"What's this 'we' stuff?" teased Sally.

"Give me that in English."

"I asked both Elizabeth Greenleaf and Carlos if I could spend some more time observing."

"But what about--"

"The calls I need to make? I'll have plenty of time while I'm driving down and back."

"But I thought you were-"

"Enjoying what we're doing?" interjected Sally. "I was, am, and will be. But remember, first and foremost I'm a writer. And you saw, this place is too good a story not to jump on."

The two of them drove in silence for several minutes, then again Sally spoke. "You disturbed?" she asked. "Disappointed? Pissed?"

"I'll manage."

"You always have, and you always will."

***

Late the next day, Sally phoned to tell Steve she was going to get a motel room so as not to risk falling asleep while driving home from San Diego.

"Did it go well?" Steve asked.

"It was amazing."

"What time can I expect you tomorrow?"

"TBD," Sally answered. "For now I'm just soaking everything in."

To Steve's dismay, a similar call came in the next day. Then again the day that followed.

"Should I ask what's going on?' Steve finally expressed.

"I've spoken with two magazine editors," Sally informed him. "Both are interested in a piece about the halfway house."

"Still--"

"Come on," Sally replied. "This is who I am, right? And who was it who told me I could keep pitching ideas?"

***

When Sally returned home on Saturday afternoon, the greeting she received was neither warm nor fuzzy.

"Look who's back," Steve mumbled.

"Happy to see you, too," Sally replied.

"I don't suppose you're interested in seeing any footage."

Sally glared. "Why would you think that?"

"Doesn't it seem as though you've lost interest?"

Sally bit her lip. "Somebody's jealous."

"Because you may have a magazine article, or because I feel jilted?"

"I'd say mainly because I'm spending time with Carlos."

Steve grimaced. "Now that you mention it--"

Sally started to say something, then turned and headed for the door.

***

Sally was about to climb into her Toyota when Steve neared. "Can we please talk?"

"Not when you're behaving like this," Sally replied.

"So where exactly are you going?"

"Away from here and away from you."

"Sally--"

"And FYI, I'm not sleeping with Carlos."

"That's a relief."

"Yet."

***

When Sally didn't return home that night, or the next, or the one that followed, Steve failed to make the call--or calls--that he knew he should have made. It was false pride that prevented him from eating humble pie or offering an apology.

Aware that in winning the battle with Sally he risked losing the entire war, he nonetheless kept hoping--hoping against hope--that somehow, some way, Sally would return on her own.

That never happened.

It was only a week later that she popped by the cottage, simply to pick up some clothes.

***

Though customarily elated when a film of his had a successful run on the festival circuit, with IT'S MORE EXPENSIVE TO DO NOTHING, Steve had a hollow feeling that refused to dissipate or disappear. Neither the audiences' enthusiastic reactions, nor the strong responses to the Q&As that followed, served to alleviate Steve's unhappiness--an unhappiness compounded by Sally's unwillingness to do so much as to attend a single screening.

Steve's cloud of gloom was barely lifted when feelers started coming in from probation departments and law schools across the country, all of them eager to replicate the success taking place in San Diego.

During that time frame, only two things gave Steve the slightest measure of joy or satisfaction. First was the publication of Sally's article, which he read, then re-read again and again and again, each time kicking himself for behaving in a way that cost him the woman he loved.

Yet despite his sorrow, Steve couldn't help but be pleased by the attention her article generated, for it was thanks to his overture that Sally was at last receiving the career boost she wanted, needed, and, as Steve saw it, richly deserved.

---

Alan Swyer is an award-winning filmmaker whose recent documentaries have dealt with Eastern spirituality in the Western world, the criminal justice system, diabetes, boxing, and singer Billy Vera. In the realm of music, among his productions is an album of Ray Charles love songs. His novel The Beard was recently published by Harvard Square Editions.