David CookSometime Tuesday, Casey Moore, a 24-year-old local writer, will go to jail.
"I'm going to get it over with," he said. "I'm going to go in early."
He'll walk into Silverdale Detention Center, where he's required to spend the next 36 hours, punishment for one night's bad mistake.
One year ago - Nov. 12, 2017 - he'd been at Southside Social, drank a few shots of tequila, then drove way too fast down Lee Highway. Cops caught him racing - 88 in a 40 mph zone - and charged him with driving under the influence.
(There were other charges, but Moore's attorney told him they were being dropped.)
Moore is an African-American, Tyner High graduate and vegetarian. He's been to college, twice. When I first spoke to him, he was volunteering at the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer race. He prays and meditates each day. Rarely drinks anymore. Works sales with a local company. And he writes - check out his thoughtful work at SeeMooreBlogs.wordpress.com.
Plus, he works closely with area leaders to reduce urban violence and joblessness.
And last year was his first arrest.
He owns up to it. Knows he messed up that November night.
But the question facing Moore and so many, many others: how long does he have to pay?
And what happens if he can't?
According to Moore, his DUI offense will cost roughly $2,000.
-$100 for a driving school class
-$860 for the fines
-$140 to install the Ignition Interlock Device, a required breathalyzer attached to his steering wheel.
-$99 each month to lease the Interlock Device.
-$800 in attorney fees.
In fact, for many, Moore's estimate is low.
"With towing, bail, attorney, high risk insurance, court costs, school, and reinstatement fees, your first offense average costs could add up to $4,900," claims TN.gov.
Moore finds himself now caught in the maze of burdens that comes within the criminal justice system, especially for poor people, where the punishment hits over and over, the first crime compounded by legalities and financial burdens that shackle and enslave long after prison time.
"I'm thinking about people who don't have help. If you made a mistake, and don't have help, what do you do? How do you get out of that if you literally have nothing to your name?" Moore said.
Moments later, he answered his own question.
"You can't get out," Moore said.
Imagine this: A few years ago, you got arrested. Paid your time in prison. You come out a changed man, ready to walk straight.
Yet, you're also a felon.
You couldn't work in prison, so all your debt builds. You owe for court costs. Child support.
You try to get a job, but no one hires you. Or, you can only find minimum-wage work.
You have to pay your bills, otherwise, you'll lose your electricity. Your water. Your home.
If you don't pay court costs or child support, you'll lose your license or get thrown back in jail.
Plus, you also have to pay for house arrest monitoring. Or the required breathalyzer on your car. Or the monitor around your ankle.
What do you do?
Earlier this year, Human Rights Watch published a 142-page report that analyzed the way Southern states, including Tennessee, force people on parole to pay private companies.
For required breathalyzers.
Or ankle bracelet monitors.
Or house arrest monitoring.
"Many courts fail to recognize that when an individual is living in poverty, the fees force them to sacrifice basic needs, such as food, housing, and transportation, to pay the probation company. When an individual cannot afford payments, they can face arrest, extended probation, or even prison," claims the report "'Set up to Fail': The Impact of Offender-Funded Private Probation on the Poor."
A simple $250 drug possession in Tennessee?
It will cost nearly nine times that - more than $2,220, after fees and court costs - claims the report.
Earlier this year, a Chattanooga police officer was charged with DUI, yet after apologizing and resigning from his job - I assume he'd lose it anyway - all charges against him were dismissed.
How can that ex-officer avoid jail time, but so many others can't?
"You live your whole life stuck in a system that is always against you, no matter what," Moore said.
Moore, who says he's using his 36 hours in prison as a way to learn, minister and grow, promises to help people caught in the same trap.
"I'm going to make it my duty to find a better program for people," Moore said.
It's desperately important.
As one friend likes to say: the criminal justice system is the hardest gang to get out of.
David Cook writes a Sunday column and can be reached at dcook@timesfreepress.com or 423-757-6329. Follow him on Facebook at DavidCookTFP.