Of those who get out, 60 percent end up back in jail, according to Ryder. But a Billerica study this past summer determined that only about 30 percent of those who got their GED's end up back at Billerica.

Once a prisoner qualifies for release, he enrolls in the Boston Resource Employment Program, which is run by the correctional system. According to Deb Hung '88, leader of the Harvard group that goes to the Resource Center, these prisoners are out on prerelease. They hold a job and live in one of many halfway houses in Boston. These prisoners are essentially on the street, "but they have counselors, must check in wherever they go and account for every penny they spend," Hung says.

These ex-prisoners participate in the tutoring for a variety of reasons. "A lot are really curious about the tutoring," says Hung. "They haven't had much schooling, and the GED is a major goal for them."

Some prisoners on pre-release may end up back in prison as one of 700 inmates in MCI-Concord, where Eric Weaver '86 leads a group of six Harvard tutors. Because Concord is a clearinghouse for most prisoners, it is quite large, but Weaver only deals with the 100 prisoners who comprise the "permanent population." The six undergraduates tutor about 12 prisoners in the library. Because the population is so transitory, Weaver has given up working one on one with specific prisoners week after week.

What does it mean to go into a maximum security prison? Says Weaver, "We lock our belongings in a locker and get searched. We take off our shoes, belts, and get frisked."

Students don't know the crimes their tutees have committed. "We don't ask them and it's better not to know what people did. Plenty have killed somebody. Some were drug dealers. But if someone's there to be tutored, they're trying to turn their lives around," Weaver says.

Some prisoners are highly motivated, says Concord volunteer Debra S. Niestat '88, "If they pass the GED it's because they wanted to, not because of us."

Female criminals convicted of prostitution, drug dealing, shoplifting, writing bad checks, or assault go to MCI-Framingham, an overcrowded mixed security facility with 300 inmates, and the only prison in the state that incarcerates women.

"They don't seem like hardened criminals. Many seem really gentle," says Charlotte A. Ellertson '87, leader of the Framingham tutoring program.

Unlike other MCI tutoring programs, Ellertson's group helps in a variety of activities, from arts and crafts to registering the women to vote. The tutors lead painting and drawing sessions and discuss women's issues.

But many women just bide their time in prison, Ellertson says. "It's really difficult. There's no authorized outlet for anger. You can't write a letter to the head guard. Well, you can, but it won't do anything." Moreover, Ellertson says that the problem with the prisons is that they don't rehabilitate people. "They seem to tear up future generations by separating these women from their families. The damage these women do to society as prostitutes and abusing drugs is much less than the damage they do to themselves."

Weaver cautions that prison tutoring is often not as rewarding as other kinds of social service, such as visiting old people. "Many are incorrigibles. Some have seriously messed up their lives. Most of us won't do anything to help them. But tutoring is something that needs to be done," he says.

And don't go in there thinking you can turn someone's life around, because you'll be disappointed, Niestat says. "They should go in there with the intent of giving someone contact from the outside and encouraging their desire to learn," she says.

It works the other way, too, says Ellerston. "Another purpose of tutoring is to give students contact with prisoners. Maybe someday some of them will be in a position to effect change. Students should spread their knowledge about what's going on in there."

Friday: A look at the Law School's Prison Legal Assistance Project, which provides free legal help for about 25 prisoners every month.