Women learn construction in Athens jail. Outside, the job hunt is tough.
ATHENS — One morning in the courthouse, Selina Watts messaged her boss in tears. Drug court demanded another test, and she wouldn’t make it to work on time. She feared the job she’d just landed would slip away.
Spencer Frye — her Habitat for Humanity boss and Democrat state representative who helped her land the role — didn’t flinch.
“We knew this would happen, and I’m fine with it,” Frye told her. “You’re not working anywhere else.”
That reassurance changed everything. A year later, Watts, 47, has a car, an apartment, friends at work and regular visits with her 2-year-old twin granddaughters.
“I couldn’t dream this would turn out as good as it has,” she said. “I feel like I hit the jackpot.”
Her journey reflects what local officials hoped to achieve when they launched Future Foundations at the Athens-Clarke County Jail: teaching women construction skills inside jail walls while giving them a chance to build a different kind of future outside.
More than 18 months in, the program’s long-term benefits — and challenges — are coming into sharper focus.
A program takes shape
Future Foundations began in early 2024 at the jail, with Frye and volunteer Jonathan Sims, a licensed contractor and husband to a jail staffer, leading Saturday sessions. At first, the women learned how to swing a hammer and read a tape measure. Soon they were building sawhorses and birdhouses. Eventually, they raised walls on a 160-square-foot “tiny home.”
Frye envisioned dozens of such homes addressing Athens’ homelessness issue. But local zoning codes require most dwellings to be at least 600 square feet — nearly four times the size of what the women can build inside jail walls.
“Some of the things that haven’t come to fruition are out of our control,” Frye said. “I am still working to change those.”
Even without houses to show for it, the program’s effect is visible in other ways. Women who might otherwise sit idle while awaiting trial or sentencing instead learn skills, build confidence and get a glimpse of a life beyond jail.
Nearly 50 women have participated in Future Foundations so far, with just one removed for disciplinary reasons. Because they have not been charged with violent crimes, and often are dealing with addiction issues, many are sent after their release to the Western Judicial Circuit Felony Drug Court, a substance abuse treatment program.
In the two years before the Future Foundations program launched, those 47 women were charged with 210 crimes. Since then — with many now released — that number has fallen to just 14.
Yet the program unfolds inside a county jail under strain. Staffing shortages have left the facility overpopulated by at least 50 people, Sheriff John Q. Williams said, and the number of women incarcerated has surged in recent months, sometimes reaching about 70. Four men have died there since April, underscoring the pressure on both inmates and staff.
Clarke County, which includes Athens, had the 10th-highest crime rate of Georgia’s 159 counties in 2024, nearly 50% higher than the statewide average, according to the GBI.
According to jail officials, programs like Future Foundations help boost morale for the incarcerated and staff alike. But when the women are released, they face the same old barriers: background checks, probation restrictions, housing shortages and unreliable transportation.
And the jury is still out on how much the program boosts job prospects.
‘Opportunities were there, but I couldn’t access them’
For some, the transition feels like running into a wall.
Erica Pena spent years working for an asphalt company before her arrest in 2024. When she entered Future Foundations, the construction lessons came naturally. She left jail in March with skills, motivation and a willingness to work.
But finding a job was harder than swinging a hammer.
Pena, 33, applied for positions at Home Depot and a warehouse, only to be rejected after background checks. A construction company offered her work, but drug court barred her from leaving Clarke or Oconee counties and some of the job sites were in neighboring areas. Another willing company wasn’t on a bus route — and in the early phase of drug court, Pena wasn’t allowed to drive.
“It was stressful for me,” she said. “I can’t say the opportunities weren’t there, but I couldn’t access them.”
She spent four months working at McDonald’s, barely scraping by. Today, she’s with a paint company that also does drywalling. She isn’t using most of the skills she picked up in jail, but she’s learning a new trade and likes the people she works with.
“It was humbling,” she said, “but it has panned out and I’m still slowly progressing.”
‘I grow every time I come here’
For Tammy Brooks, one of the first women to join the program, the hurdles proved even higher.
Brooks, 56, has battled addiction since the 1980s and often lived in tents. She was drawn to Future Foundations because she wanted to “pay it forward” by building tiny homes that might help others get off the streets.
“You can show it can be done and that we’re worthy of it,” she said. “You’d be amazed at what it would do for this community.”
After her release last year, Brooks completed a nine-month stay at a residential substance abuse treatment program. After that she had no housing. She repeatedly went to homeless facilities in Athens and was able to take showers and wash her clothes. However, there were long wait lists for beds and after 5 p.m. each day she was forced to return to the streets.
Without a car or phone, she couldn’t stay in touch with shelters or service providers. She slipped back into street life and was soon arrested again.
“My old nature was to convert back to the way you were,” she said.
When she reenrolled in Future Foundations, Brooks said, she immediately regained a sense of self-worth. But she’s also left frustrated by the contrast between the structure she receives inside and the absence of it once she’s out.
Now facing another potential release, Brooks says she will make a surprising request: She wants to stay in jail long enough to graduate from the program in October, and even hopes to invite the judge to her ceremony.
“Because I grow every time I come here,” she said. “I don’t want to go back out there doing that. I don’t.”
‘Biggest handcuff’
Despite signs of progress, the Future Foundations program hasn’t proven an easy panacea.
Watts and Pena are two of only three women the jail knows of with jobs related to construction after leaving the program. Lt. Gary Davenport, an official at the jail, keeps a spreadsheet with contact information for each participant, but hasn’t been able to track the employment status of everyone.
In an effort to boost hirings, Davenport often talks with potential employers and has called the courthouse and public defenders office to ask for leniency on certain stipulations, specifically about travel across county lines to job sites.
Watts’ path at Habitat reflected her drug court experience: Restrictions first, then freedoms earned. At the start, she worked the store’s cash register rather than going to job sites, a mandate from the judge to keep the same daily routine. As Watts proved herself, those restrictions loosened. She chose to stay in the store even after she had the option to do construction.
Participants in drug court go through phases, with addiction treatment layered alongside frequent testing and court appearances.
That rigor is intentional, said Kalki Yalamanchili, the district attorney for Clarke and Oconee counties. Since taking office in January, he’s assigned a full-time prosecutor to accountability courts and emphasized screening candidates carefully.
“Any drug court that is having success has intentional participation by the DA’s office,” Yalamanchili said. “It’s a real accomplishment for people to graduate because it’s intense. They don’t let you slide or talk your way out of things — and that helps break the habits that accompany addiction.”
Both Yalamanchili and Davenport cited housing as a major hurdle to success. According to U.S. Census Bureau data, 37% of households in Athens-Clarke County, excluding students, earn less than $35,000 annually. The state average is 29%.
Homelessness in Athens reached a record high in 2024, with nearly 400 people living outdoors, in shelters, or emergency or transitional housing, according to the Athens-Clarke County Continuum of Care’s annual point-in-time count. That number fell to 286 in the 2025 tally.
“My biggest handcuff right now is in order to help people find a job sometimes you’ve got to help them find a place to live,” Davenport said. “The housing part is very frustrating to me.”
Building — and rebuilding
On a Saturday in August, Sims welcomes a new wave of female inmates to the Future Foundations program. Davenport, a former electrician, joins on his day off, wearing jeans and a polo in place of his uniform.
Sims is up front with the women about the difficulties of finding a job on the outside. But, he says, he will teach the fundamentals and terminology necessary to get their foot in the door. And if nothing else, they’ll learn how to properly hang a mirror and fix a window that won’t close.
The group began work on a children’s playhouse that will be raffled for charity. Before lifting lumber, Sims asked everyone to hold up their hands.
“How many fingers do you have?,” he asked. “How many fingers will you have when we’re done? Don’t get in a hurry.”
Soon the women broke into groups, moving framed-up walls and a heavy platform floor to continue work in the jail’s outdoor area.
For newcomer Taniqua Hardy, the tools were unfamiliar, but the hope was clear.
“This will be another thing on my resume,” she said. “I’m teachable and this is outside my box. I’m grateful the jail has something like this.”
About the Author
Fletcher Page is Athens bureau chief covering northeast Georgia for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
