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Federal prison authorities have again changed the criteria used to consider inmates for early release, with the latest move broadening the set of prisoners eligible to be sent home on account of the dangers posed by the coronavirus. Just days after many inmates who had been in pre-release quarantine were stunned to be told they did not qualify due to a policy change, the Bureau of Prisons issued new guidance saying at least some of those prisoners could be considered for home confinement. (Gerstein, 4/23)

Her 17-year-old son was despondent on the call, wondering how much longer he could avoid the coronavirus that made Bon Air Juvenile Correctional Center in Virginia the scene of the nation’s worst known outbreak at a prison for youths. The teen was nervously awaiting the results of his second coronavirus test as resident after resident fell ill around him. The first — negative — came after a fever. (Jouvenal, 4/23)

Hampden County Sheriff Nick Cocchi says the men held at his jail for addiction treatment should stay there, despite the coronavirus pandemic. Cocchi is pushing back against a class action lawsuit seeking to reduce the number of people in correctional facilities because of COVID-19. That includes those civilly committed by a judge to addiction treatment, but who haven't committed any crimes. (Becker, 4/23)

Her cellphone buzzed with a new text message, and Tracy Fehrenbacher grew furious. An alert from the circuit court notified her that the man accused of a hit-and-run that left her daughter dead was being released from a St. Louis jail. A day later, Anthony Cromwell Sr. got a phone call from someone he had not heard from in a while. “Hey, Daddy,” said his son, who had been facing felony charges but had been released from confinement as part of an effort to protect inmates from the coronavirus. “Happy, happy,” the elder Mr. Cromwell said, describing his reaction. (Eligon, 4/24)

On Valentine’s Day, some seven years after leaving the state Capitol as Speaker of the Oklahoma House of Representatives, Kris Steele watched an old man in a purple shirt pee into a cup. “Do you have any special plans for today?” Steele asked the man as he stood vigil a few feet away in the worn yellow bathroom of The Education and Employment Ministry. Steele, a boyish looking 46, runs TEEM, a street-level nonprofit in downtown Oklahoma City that helps felons reenter society with job training, life skills and drug testing. Here, even the director snaps on blue latex gloves for urinalysis duty. (Schulte, 4/23)