Hodge helps inmates cont...

For several contributing family members that CBS 11 News was able to identify, Hodge:

* Directly arranged highly coveted face-to-face meetings between inmates and parole board members who wield the power to approve their releases. Most inmates never have an opportunity to meet with parole board members.

* Obtained the dismissals of disciplinary infractions that obstruct parole by bringing to bear the influence of her office with letters and phone calls to prison officials.

* Invoked an obscure legislative privilege to obtain confidential disciplinary files sought by family members. It would be a crime for a legislator to share such information with an unauthorized person, and Hodge insists she has never done so.

* Had inmates transferred to facilities closer to their families.

At least two inmates whose families donated to Hodge's campaign – and whose sons won parole with her intervention – were accused of committing new crimes after they were set free. But mysteriously, top parole division officials intervened in their favor when the two inmates were re-arrested on parole violations; their one-way trips back to prison were halted, and both were allowed to go free yet again.

Few if any of the inmates or families that Hodge has helped live in her southern Dallas District 100. Records show an assembly line of some 500 inmates have gone through her Dallas offices over the past three years, but even she concedes that the total figure is much higher.

Hodge has run for election with no serious opposition for all four of her terms. Yet immediately before and after Hodge imparted these favors, some families identified by CBS 11 news gave Hodge hundreds of dollars in campaign contributions, some of which have never been reported as required by Texas Ethics Commission rules.

In one case, the parents of an inmate Hodge helped supplemented their relatively meager contributions with a campaign fundraising effort on her behalf aimed at other families.

In another case, an affluent West Plano couple who gave Hodge more than $1,200 before, during and after her help gaining parole for their son also treated Hodge to dinner at Bob's Steak and Chop House, where an average meal runs $75.

As a legislator, Hodge served on the Criminal Jurisprudence Committee and frequently sat in on hearings held before the Corrections Committee, which oversees the Texas prison system. In her role, Hodge had power over budgets and prison jobs. According to several prison officials, when she called employees and officials in the Texas Department of Criminal Justice they had to listen – and act - for fear of incurring her wrath.

Burt Reyna, a former board of pardons and paroles member whom Hodge often called, explained: "When lawmakers call obviously they control the legislative process. They control whether your job continues or not, so in that respect I got the impression that a lot of members were basically very responsive when a legislator calls."

In a 55-minute interview, Hodge portrayed herself as a tireless defender of inmate rights and rare legislative watchdog over a deeply flawed prison system that gets little outside scrutiny. She said she has never demanded contributions in exchange for her extensive advocacy work. Like any other politician, she said, she has always accepted contributions by grateful constituents who appreciate her dedication to prison reform.

"There is not one person that can ever say Terri Hodge charged me a dime to help my son or my wife or my daughter," Hodge said. "Have I charged anybody any money to do anything? I have not, sir, and I will not, sir."

Two families said they gave donations to Hodge, which CBS 11 News confirmed were not reported on Hodge's campaign finance reports.

Last fall, the FBI opened an investigation into Hodge after CBS 11 News reported that she had accepted free rent and utilities from a Dallas affordable housing developer at the center of a Dallas City Hall corruption probe. Hodge has never offered a public explanation for why she accepted or reported more than $33,000 worth of rent over more three years from developer Brian Potashnik, whose projects she used her legislative position to support.

Presented with CBS 11's new findings about her work for inmates and acceptance of campaign contributions, Walker County District Attorney David Weeks said the intertwining pattern of campaign fundraising with Hodge's prison interventions creates a perception of ethical wrongdoing and may warrant criminal investigation.

"It's clearly an ethical problem, and it certainly bears scrutiny from the criminal side," Weeks said. "Because, when you have that pattern where contributions are made, actions are taken and more contributions are made, the connection there is a trail that just raises the idea that this needs to be looked at."

He continued: "It subverts the system, and not only that, think about the victims that are left out of the loop here."

CBS 11's findings angered victims' rights groups that have often demanded input in decisions regarding parole for violent offenders.

William Hubbarth, a spokesman for the victims-rights group Justice for All, said that if it is true that Hodge has made a habit of helping inmates win parole while accepting money from their families "It is an abhorrent abuse of public office" deserving of investigation.

"Yes, everyone respects the title of an elected state representative," Hubbarth said. "But if she is abusing that title as described, for the sake of trying to promote parole for inmates, at the expense of the victims, then I would only ask that this matter be referred to (Travis County District Attorney) Ronnie Earle for a zealous prosecution."

A MATTER OF SOLICITATION

Sometime after becoming a state legislator in 1997, Rep. Hodge began heavily courting the inmate advocacy group Texas Inmate Family Association, or TIFA, whose members often join after experiencing frustration helping criminal loved ones on their own. She has regularly spoken at TIFA gatherings across the state, leaving contact information, and has called on members at times to speak out in favor of some of her bills. Hodge has also been a guest on a prison radio show during which her contact information was provided.

Hodge acknowledges that she has often contacted parole board members and written support letters about specific inmate cases. But she vehemently insists that she has never solicited campaign money from TIFA members in exchange for bringing to bear her powerful legislative countenance on these officials.

"They aren't contributing to me as pay," Hodge said. "But any elected official, if you are doing the things that people like, that help their issues…they try their best to get you reelected."

But several TIFA sources who requested anonymity say Hodge, during at least one Dallas-area TIFA speaking engagement in February 2002, did solicit campaign funds in exchange for contacting parole board members and helping inmates make parole. According to several attendees among roughly 40 TIFA members who met at an Irving church that February, Hodge openly boasted that she had just returned from a trip where she had successfully persuaded parole board members to parole eight of nine inmates she had targeted.

Attendees of that meeting told CBS 11 News that Rep. Hodge, who at the time was facing an unopposed primary race set for the following month, then told the TIFA group that she could do the same for their loved ones in exchange for campaign contributions.

"It was, 'you want your loved ones moved, helped or paroled, give me donations. I'll walk your dog if you walk my cat. I got eight out,'" said one attendee who requested anonymity citing fear that Hodge would retaliate against an inmate the attendee helps.

Some people opened checkbooks on the spot, the attendees said. News of Hodge's reported quid-pro-quo promise spread like wildfire across the statewide TIFA community, generating hot demand for her reputed special services and buzz of questions, among them, "How much will it cost me to get Hodge?'"

Another attendee explained how much value TIFA members saw in Hodge's interventions when she demonstrated how easily she could cut through the prison system's bureaucracy and get things done they could not.

"This lady has major stroke. We have seen it work. You have no clue what this woman can do and what that means to these desperate, pain-filled people," another 2002 TIFA meeting attendee said.

Not everyone sees nefarious intent in Hodge's extensive prison advocacy work. Many TIFA members and two former parole board members had high praise for what they described as Hodge's solo crusade to help a powerless and forgotten class of citizenry that, regardless of any crimes committed, maintains rights under the law. Several families Hodge helped told CBS-11 they gave her no money, and that she asked for none.

"She is a very, very active advocate for her constituents. I see her righting a lot of wrongs," said former parole board member Lynn Brown, who recalls that Hodge very often discovered gross inaccuracies and case mishandlings throughout the prison system. "The hierarchy of the TDCJ just shivers when she calls because by golly they'd better have it right, and if it's not right they'd better fix it."

Others who admire Hodge say they gave legitimate campaign contributions merely to show their political support for her prison legislative work. Some of these families, however, personally benefited, not from the legislation Hodge has sponsored but from her specific intervention in their loved ones' cases.

Later, these families were placed on invitation lists for Hodge's campaign fundraisers.

For instance, Hodge was able to get Roger Secrest's son, who is serving a 27-year sentence for manslaughter, transferred to a facility closer to family, making visits to him easier and more frequent. She didn't ask for money then, Secrest said.

"She is probably the one representative that looks at inmates not as animals but as human beings," Secrest said.

But the Secrests and other TIFA families Hodge helped later received mailed invitations to Hodge's campaign fundraisers. Secrest said he gave $100 at a Fair Park fundraiser for Hodge.

"One woman got up and really busted everybody's arm to give," Secrest said.

The $100 Secrest said he contributed is not listed on any of Hodge's campaign finance reports on file with the Texas Ethics Commission. Maggie Brooks, the mother of another inmate that Hodge helped, said she gave money orders to Hodge's campaign. Those also are not reported on campaign finance reports.

Walker County District Attorney Weeks said the post-help invitations to Hodge fundraisers and the lack of reporting on some of the contributions are troubling.

"Those are very disturbing, and I think it calls for a lot more…harder look, shall we say," Weeks said.

Hodge acknowledges that some TIFA members she helped gave campaign contributions "not for what I did for them but for their appreciation of my work" on legislative committees.

"If my job involves me, based on my committees, to help the people in the criminal justice system, you guys write what you choose because I'm going to continue it."

THE ALBRECHT CASE

In 1998, Billy Albrecht pleaded guilty to participating in the brutal beating of a man at a residential party. He was sentenced to eight years for aggravated assault with a deadly weapon and for threatening to retaliate against witnesses. He was first eligible for parole in March 2002, his father said.

Albrecht's father, William Albrecht, a retired business executive, told CBS 11 that he heard about Hodge after joining TIFA and sought her help in 2000 after his son lost family visitation privileges for a disturbance involving a prison guard. William Albrecht said he also feared the discipline would adversely affect his son's chances for parole, and he was having trouble getting it reviewed.

After bringing his problem to Hodge, William Albrecht said Hodge successfully got his son transferred to a closer facility. He said a facility evaluation committee narrowly approved the son as a medium-security inmate, a stamp that came with more liberal visitation privileges.

After this accomplishment, William Albrecht said he felt indebted to Hodge and wanted to remain in her good graces should any other problems with his son arise. He went to Austin, for instance, when Hodge called on TIFA members to support one of her bills.

"She helped me. I helped her."

It wasn't long before Billy Albrecht was in trouble again. In May 2001, he was caught with contraband tobacco, another disciplinary case that could have torpedoed his chances for the March 2002 parole less than a year away.

"We went to Terri Hodge," William Albrecht said. "I asked her to get the case dropped."

CBS 11 News has learned other disciplinary problems soon followed. Billy Albrecht was cited for being in an unauthorized place in the prison on June 20, 2001, and he got into a fight with another inmate on July 11, 2001.

Two weeks later, on July 26, records show Albrecht's father contributed $100 to Hodge's campaign. On February 19, 2002, the file of Billy Albrecht was pulled for review by the parole board. But the originally scheduled parole vote never took place.

On March 29, 2002, a grievance official at the Hughes Prison Unit issued orders to delete disciplinary reports and punishment records that would significantly impair a parole, CBS 11 News has learned.

Less than a month later, on April 25, 2002, Albrecht's father gave Hodge a $500 campaign contribution.

Three months later, on July 17, Hodge called the parole board and requested that Billy Albrecht - and his parents - be given rare face-to-face interviews with a voting parole board member, according to a message slip obtained by CBS 11 News.

On Aug. 14 and 15, board members Juanita Gonzalez, Burt Reyna and Lynn Brown voted to release Billy Albrecht on parole.

On August 28, Billy Albrecht's father gave Hodge another $500 campaign contribution, ethics commission records show.

Parole officials involved in the case, including board member Gonzalez, have declined interviews. A Texas Department of Criminal Justice spokesman said the system would have no comment on CBS 11's investigation.

William Albrecht, Sr. said he does not know what behind-the-scenes machinations went into the dismissals of his son's disciplinary problems and the successful parole. He said he doesn't remember a lot of the details but that it was his understanding Hodge provided mainly "administrative help."

Parole board positions are paid political jobs appointed by the governor. Reyna, who is no longer on the board, said Hodge often called regarding inmates and acknowledged that a call from her would help a case get special attention. But Reyna said he never let Hodge influence a parole decision.

"I voted my conscience, and at no time did I ever feel, or did I ever vote a case in a particular way, simply because I felt pressure or I felt that was what someone else wanted me to do," he said.

In her interview with CBS 11 News, Hodge initially said "Have I ever been paid a dime by Mr. William Albrecht about his son? Absolutely not!"

When told she had accepted more than $1,000 from William Albrecht before and after his son's disciplinary cases were dismissed and he was paroled, she indicated that she had no control over whether someone she helped gave contributions.

"Why don't you ask Mr. Albrecht why did he give me a campaign contribution. Why don't you ask Mr. Albrecht, did I ever say to him, 'if you give me a contribution…I will do some wonderful things?'"

In fact, William Albrecht, Sr. told CBS 11 News that Hodge initially tried to turn down his contributions. He said, however, that he wanted her to keep the contributions to increase all odds that his son would make parole. He also said she accepted a meal with him and his wife at Bob's Steak and Chop House.

"She helped. She contacted people who wouldn't give me the time of day. She cut through the red tape," he said. "She had lots of contacts inside the system. She knows how the system works."

When asked about the appearance of impropriety in accepting such meal from the family of an inmate she helped win parole, Hodge replied: "I don't imagine that night when they were celebrating or deciding to take me to dinner they probably didn't want to eat at McDonalds. So since they didn't want to eat at McDonalds, Bob's Steak and Chop House may be a place that they frequented, so they invited me to go there."

Billy Albrecht's good luck in the prison system did not end with his parole. In November 2003, he was arrested again for allegedly sexually harassing the female leasing agents of an apartment complex, and for failing to pay for car repairs. His parole would have been revoked and he'd have been sent back to prison.

But the parole division's warrant to revoke Albrecht's parole was withdrawn for undisclosed reasons, and Billy Albrecht was released after about one week in jail. A Department of Criminal Justice spokesman told CBS 11 News that the parole division's North Texas regional director, Vicki Hallman, ordered the warrant withdrawn. Hallman declined several interview requests, and officials would not say why she pulled the warrant.

Billy Albrecht's father said he was the one who called Hallman and lobbied her not to send his son back to prison. He said to his knowledge Hodge had no direct involvement.

Billy Albrecht remains on parole and is living with his parents in Plano.

THE CATON CASE

In 1994, Michael Allen Caton pleaded guilty to aggravated robbery with a deadly weapon in Tarrant County. A judge sentenced him to 15 years in prison.

Caton's parents, John and Carolyn Caton of Euless, became active in TIFA after their son was sent to prison. Caton would become eligible for parole in February 2002.

On June 25, 2001, Hodge sent a letter to Troy Fox, the parole board's director of review and release processing, supporting the release of Caton.

"I have worked with Carolyn and John Caton for over a year," Hodge wrote. "They are fine parents. In my opinion, upon Michael's release to parole, he will go home to a kind and loving family. They will assist and nurture him, as he makes his adjustments to live under the rules and guidelines of community supervision."

On July 9, 2001, the Catons gave Hodge a $100 campaign contribution. They gave another $50 in September and $50 more in December 2001.

According to a message slip obtained by CBS 11 News, on Jan. 15, 2002, Hodge called the parole board on behalf of the Catons to make sure their son had been scheduled for an interview with board members. On Feb. 15, Bert Reyna and Juanita Gonzalez voted to parole Caton, parole minute sheets show.

Two days later, Hodge spoke at the Irving TIFA meeting where she boasted of having just helped obtain the paroles of eight inmates. The Catons were present. On that day, they gave Hodge another $50 campaign contribution, Texas Ethics Commission records show.

By this time, the Catons' total contributions to Hodge amounted to $350. But the Catons were not finished.

The week after Hodge reportedly boasted at the Irving TIFA meeting of her successes in helping obtain eight paroles, the Catons mounted a fundraising campaign for Hodge. In online postings to a TIFA message board, John Caton urged fellow members to give to Hodge.

"Terri Hodge does not have an opponent this year, but she needs help," Caton wrote in a Feb. 23, 2002 message. "TIFA can't do anything officially, but us members sure can. We can heed her call for political involvement, and individual TIFA members can send her some stamps or a couple of dollars or more (whatever you can afford) so she doesn't have to do all our work out of her own pocket…"

On April 16, 2002, Michael Caton was released on parole. On December 8, 2002, the Catons gave Hodge another $100.

Caton would run into trouble again – and again catch a break. In March, 2003, Caton's parole was up for revocation when he was arrested for family violence. Board members Reyna and Lynn Brown voted not to revoke his parole.

Two months later, he committed another assault in Tarrant County. He spent 37 days behind bars and was released. In April 2004, he was arrested for burglarizing a commercial building. He remains in prison.

John and Carolyn Caton did not respond to telephone messages left at their home.

A request to interview Michael Caton in prison prompted a letter from Fort Worth attorney Randy W. Bowers.

"Please be advised that as Mr. Caton's attorney, I am advising him to NOT partake in any type of interview with anyone at anytime, unless I am present or made aware of the interview beforehand."

Bowers could not be reached for comment this week.

A QUESTION OF "LEGISLATIVE PURPOSE" AND REPORTING

Grady Earl Shaw was serving a long prison sentence for aggravated robbery when his mother, Maggie Brooks of Dallas, said she called Hodge for help sometime in the spring of 2004. She said her son had gotten in trouble on an undisclosed disciplinary case.

Brooks said she called Hodge to ask her to "find out some information for me" about the disciplinary case.

"I just wanted to know generally what she could find out. I could not contact the warden. He would never respond to me the way he supposed to, or anything, so I asked her if she would just look into something for me, and she did."

What Brooks did not offer was the fact that Shaw had just been passed over for parole because of the discipline case. Shaw had come up for a monthly review by the parole board on May 22, 2004. What Hodge did next raises legal and ethical questions.

On July 6, 2004, Hodge wrote a letter to Warden Curtis McKnight requesting Shaw's disciplinary file. In doing so, Hodge invoked a rarely-used, obscure legislative privilege that allows only lawmakers to gain access to such files.

Within the prison system, disciplinary files are so confidential that they often aren't available either to the public or even an inmate's own lawyers. But state legislators can get them under the privilege, often by citing "legislative purposes" as grounds.

Records show that in requesting the Shaw file, Hodge cited "legislative purposes." The law allowing legislators to request such files is clear: there must be a good public interest reason related to pending bills.

Section 552.352 of the Texas statutes makes it a crime for a government representative to share confidential prison files or "use the confidential information for a purpose other than the purpose for which the information was received, or for a purpose unrelated to the law that permitted the officer or employee to obtain access to the information, including solicitation of political contributions or solicitation of clients."

Asked point blank whether Hodge had shared the information from the file with her, Brooks said she never saw the records or learned what was in the file the Hodge requested.

"No legislator would give records to a little ol' citizen like me," Brooks said. "I wouldn't suspect a legislator or anyone else would do that."

Hodge is almost alone among lawmakers in so often invoking the privilege to obtain prison records. She has cited "legislative purposes" as grounds to request such files in at least 65 instances over the past few years. Hodge strongly denied ever sharing the contents of the files she's received with unauthorized people.

Brooks, who described herself as hardly a wealthy person, said she gave contributions to Hodge, two money orders totaling $75.

"We are working for the same cause," Brooks said. "She's a politician. Do you know any politician who does not accept campaign funds if they give it to you? She has never, ever, never, mentioned – nothing, nothing – about money, ever. I've never known her to be anything but honest, with high integrity."

Hodge acknowledges accepting money orders from Brooks. But a check of Hodge's campaign finance reports going back to 1999 does not list any of Brooks' money order contributions.

Hodge, when asked why money order contributions were not listed on her reports, replied: "I don't know what in the hell I would do with a money order made out to the Terri Hodge campaign fund… I don't look at all of them."

Victims' rights advocate William Hubbarth said he thinks Hodge's development of a political constituency from the families of inmates should be examined because it is fraught with the potential for real or perceived abuses.

"Inmates don't vote… however families of inmates may constitute a portion of her voting base," he said. "I don't think it's so much for representation as it is a financial incentive."