INDIANAPOLIS — In 2022, Billie Edison had to make one of the most difficult phone calls of her life.
The mother of seven boys, living in an Indiana correctional facility at the time, faced an irresistible offer to walk free and reunite with her kids years sooner than anticipated.
Edison was going to tell them she was turning the opportunity down.
A program within the prison's walls was brought to her attention, and she couldn't ignore her persistent thoughts to enroll. The classes gave her a better shot at employment after her release. It also meant remaining separated from her family a bit longer.
She feared how her children, then ages 11 to 30, would react. After years of her drug and alcohol addiction commanding her attention, she wondered how they'd respond to the new development.
“They were always put on the back burner," Edison, 49, said. “So it was really hard to make that call and explain to them that it was going to be another year before I got home."
From the Indiana Women's Prison, Edison mustered the courage to phone her family and tell them her decision. Much to her surprise, her sons showed overwhelming support. With their backing, Edison extended her stay in prison and underwent the rigorous technology education course, 'The Last Mile.'
The skills she learned led to her current job as an IT help desk technician for the Indiana Pacers, a journey she now shares with other women like her.
"It completely changed my life," she said. "And now, I’m doing this for them. Because when you put in the work, you deserve a chance."
A robbery sentence, and another shot at life
Growing up in Bloomington, Edison said sports were a huge part of her childhood. She ran track and was a gymnast and cheerleader. At one point, she was the only girl in her weightlifting program.
At the same time, drugs and alcohol surrounded her life. A friend's mother offered her marijuana when she was 10 years old. Some members of her family would get her drunk “because they thought it was funny.” By 15, she had already been to rehab.
She later developed a cocaine addiction, an expensive habit that led to bankruptcy. Her "on-again, off-again" relationship with drugs continued and by 2016, depression and anxiety had settled in. Some mornings, only her drug dealing could get her out of bed.
Edison said it didn’t take long to find herself “running with some really scary people.”
“It took me down a road that I didn’t know existed, but in the movies,” she said.
By August 2016, Edison and two others were charged in the murder and robbery of a 26-year-old woman. According to articles from The Herald Times, the group had gone to rob the woman of drugs and money. Edison knocked on the woman’s door and when she answered, the two men busted through the entryway. The robbery ended with one of the men shooting the woman in the abdomen.
Edison received a 16-year sentence, with four years suspended, after pleading guilty to robbery resulting in serious bodily injury.
Reflecting on the case now, nearly eight years removed from the crime, Edison gets emotional.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to go back and change what I was involved in because I absolutely would,” she said, pausing to wipe a tear.
Edison is equally adamant she wouldn't give back her time in prison.
"Prison saved my life," she said.
Behind bars, Edison said she was forced to face her demons instead of subduing them with drugs and alcohol. A prison recovery course helped her tackle her substance abuse. A faith-based program healed her past trauma and gave her purpose.
Then came the opportunity to learn tech skills in The Last Mile. Edison, who previously worked as a lab supervisor and assistant phlebotomist in health care, said she had no desire to take the class at first.
About four years into her prison sentence, Edison's attorney and the prosecution team had confided and agreed to ask the court for her early release. Yet her persistent thoughts of enrolling in The Last Mile "would not stop."
“I prayed about it. I argued with God about it,” Edison said.
Ultimately, she called her attorney and told her to stop the sentence modification.
“She said, 'I have never had anyone call me and tell me something like this,'” Edison recalls. “She was super proud.”
'This is for them'
For the next year, inside a classroom in Indiana Women's Prison, Edison underwent the intensive web development program that teaches coding and tech skills to incarcerated people so they may enter the high-demand technology industry.
"We believe that having a job is the key to successful reentry, and breaking the cycle of incarceration," said Beverly Parenti, co-founder of the nonprofit.
According to data from the Indiana Department of Correction, about 35% of formerly incarcerated Hoosiers return to prison after three years. The rate shoots up to 60% if the person remains unemployed.
Parenti said incarcerated women face additional challenges trying to reenter society because educational programs in many female correctional facilities are limited to culinary arts and cosmetology, both fields that Parenti calls admirable, but don't always teach skills that translate to broader industries.
With those barriers in mind, Edison said she knew she had to persevere. She wanted to quit the first day of class, like the woman sitting next to her, after the daunting curriculum was laid out.
She fought back her doubts by scribbling 'Quitting is not an option!' on a Post-it note. She stuck the message on the bottom of her monitor where it remained for the rest of the program.
On May 8, 2023, Edison walked out of Indiana Women's Prison, freshly graduated from The Last Mile.
Three months later, her mentor from the program told her a chance to work with the Pacers had come up. Edison found the news amusing, thinking the job was out of reach. She applied anyway and soon found herself in front of hiring managers from the team, going through round after round of interviews.
She got the job in November.
"What Billie has done is just extraordinary," Parenti said. "There are other women who are in her category. But she shines in many ways."
Edison's work schedule involves answering IT desk help tickets, setting up laptops for the NBA to use and prepping rooms for players to conduct interviews.
"I cannot tell you how it feels to be a Pacer fan your entire life and then actually being able to represent this organization that you love so much," she said.
Edison now has another Post-it on her computer monitor that carries a new message: This is for them.
"That's for everybody sitting in the classrooms right now," she said. "It's for people that are struggling. I want them to know there is another side to what you're going through right now."
Contact reporter Sarah Nelson at sarah.nelson@indystar.com
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