From ocregister.com

Rico Marquez, 24, remembers the first time he felt like a hero.

It was during his time at Pine Grove Youth Conservation Camp, a fire camp for incarcerated youth in Amador County, where he spent more than 1,600 hours fighting fires as an 18- and 19-year-old.

As the campers spent their days fighting wildfires, locals living in the Pine Grove community rallied around them, he recalls. They saw him as a firefighter protecting their homes and families, not as an inmate serving time for attempted murder and manslaughter.

“After a fire, we would get maybe 10 to 15 people coming to the gates to bring us stuff they baked,” said Marquez, who is originally from Los Angeles. “We might be leaving a fire, and they might line up outside and be cheering for us.”

At the camp, they covered a wall with the “flood” of letters and kids’ drawings they’d receive: “Thank you for saving my family,” “thank you for saving my dogs.”

On nights off for the incarcerated youth, locals would shut down the downtown for the firefighters. They’d put on plays and hand out free food from local eateries.

“To them, you’re a hero,” Marquez said.

Thousands on fire lines

Every year, thousands of incarcerated firefighters live in 30 fire camps — including Pine Grove’s youth facility — and battle wildfires around the state, according to the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation. But after release, few go on to become career firefighters, experts say.

The work is difficult — physically demanding and dangerous — and it requires firefighters to be away from their families. And after months or years in prison, some don’t want to be separated from their loved ones for even longer, said Jon Cesario, a statewide firefighter recruitment specialist for the Anti-Recidivism Coalition, a nonprofit that works to find opportunities for those released from incarceration.

“My role is now to go into every single fire camp,” including juvenile facilities, “and start planting the seed, start doing workshops, and see who has a desire to possibly pursue a fire career,” Cesario said.

Of about 40 people per fire camp, Cesario estimated that about only four to five really want to continue their work. Those who do see the work as a long-term investment in their futures, Cesario said, and many find the work rewarding.

Grueling work

At first, Marquez said he hated the backbreaking work of firefighting. When a fire broke out, Marquez and the rest of his crew would be called out to clear gaps in vegetation with hand tools to slow the wildfire’s spread. The schedule was grueling — 18-hour shifts were interspersed with breaks that lasted, at most, five hours, Marquez said.

They worked feet away from blistering flames, vision blurred by watery eyes, with smoke so thick Marquez said he sometimes couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face.

But, eventually, he started feeling good about himself, and he developed a sense of camaraderie with his crew.

“After a while, you start to grow pride in yourself and your work,” Marquez said. “After that, you know, I’m like, man, I’m badass.”

Barriers to entry

For those who do want to pursue a career in firefighting, the path is challenging.

Becoming a firefighter requires extensive training, and programs last about 18 months. When prisoners are released, parole can prevent them from leaving a specific region, which restricts their ability to attend training. They might lack support as well, Cesario said, and some are couch surfing until they can find a more stable place to live.

“How could a guy focus on going into an academy when he’s coming home and he can’t find a job?” he asked. “It’s definitely not a warm hand-off.”

While they’re training, aspiring firefighters aren’t getting paid for their work. That’s 18 months of training “coming out of their own pocket,” which is unattainable for most parolees, Cesario said. Many have to apply for financial aid and attend night classes, working around day jobs.

“It can be costly, and it can be time-consuming,” said Michelle Sotelo, chief operating officer for the Future Fire Academy, which trains formerly incarcerated people for forestry and fire service jobs. “And you might be traveling all over when maybe transportation is already a barrier for you. So, it’s pretty difficult.”

At Pine Grove, the training was minimal before the camp members started work — one week of physical training, and one week of first aid, Marquez said. “Then, after a week, I was on a fire that was over 65,000 acres,” he said.

But what formerly incarcerated firefighters initially lack in education, they make up for in experience, Cesario said. “Our guys already have three, four years of hard work,” he said. “They know what the fire line looks like firsthand, they’ve done 24-hour shifts.” And, he points out, they did it for $1 an hour, until a 2025 law raised their wages to $7.25, the federal minimum wage.

Without recognition of the experience they gained in prison, these would-be firefighters are starting at square one when they’re released from prison, despite potential years of experience.

“In fire service, you have to have the right certifications,” Sotelo said. “They have difficulty putting their experience onto a resume, because it automatically screams, ‘I’ve been in prison.’ ”

Getting a lift from legislation

In recent years, a handful of bills in the Legislature aimed to address some of these barriers. This year, Gov. Gavin Newsom signed two relevant bills — one that allows incarcerated firefighters to earn training certification and one that provides pathways to apprenticeship for construction craft laborer jobs after release. In 2020, Newsom signed a bill that expedited record expungement for former fire crew members convicted of nonviolent crimes.

“It’s so important when people are released from prison that they become productive members of society,” said Paulette Thornton, communications director for Sen. Lola Smallwood-Cuevas, who authored or co-authored both bills approved this year. “But because there are so many barriers to employment once they’re released, they have very few opportunities to become employed.”

‘A second chance’

Jonathan Angeles, 32, was released from prison three years ago. For now, he works for a windshield replacement company, but he knew he wanted more out of life.

“I came out here to serve a purpose,” said Angeles, who lives in Murrieta. So he reached out to Scott Budnick, founder of the Anti-Recidivism Coalition. “I just told him, ‘Hey, how can I be a firefighter?’ ”

In October, Angeles attended a firefighting recruiting event hosted by ARC. There, he did a 3-mile run and a group workout, and he spoke to CAL FIRE employees. In January, he plans to attend the Future Fire Academy in El Dorado County, which will prepare him for a career in firefighting.

Angeles believes in the power of positive thinking. So he insists he doesn’t just hope to attend: “I will be attending the academy,” he said, smiling. “And I will be passing the academy.”

At 15, Angeles was convicted of killing someone and sentenced as an adult to life in prison without the possibility of parole. He eventually was resentenced and released after serving 14 years behind bars.

“I shouldn’t be out here,” he said. “This life was given to me as a second chance.”

Happiest as a firefighter

Marquez also was searching for meaning in his life. After he was released in 2024, Marquez began working as a cook in downtown Los Angeles. The job paid him well — he paid his bills, bought a car, saved money. But he said he started feeling like he was “losing myself, losing who I am.”

“Working that job every day, I was just kind of like, what do I want to do?” he asked himself. “Where did I feel the happiest? Where did I feel the most sense of pride at? And it was firefighting.”

Eventually, ARC’s Budnick called Marquez and asked: “Do you still want to be a firefighter?”

“I said, ‘Yeah, you know, I’d love to, I just don’t know how to,’ ” Marquez told him.

That’s when Budnick told him about the Ventura Training Center, an 18-month residential program for the formerly incarcerated that provides rehabilitation, life skills and job readiness training in addition to firefighter training and certifications. CAL FIRE, the California Conservation Corps and CDCR teamed up with the Anti-Recidivism Coalition to develop the program.

“I ended up quitting my job and pretty much just changing my whole life to do this,” Marquez said.

Learning hard work

Of the incarcerated people who fight wildfires every year, a “very small percentage” continue firefighting after their release, Cesario said.

About 80 a year do so through the Ventura Training Center, which has also partnered with the Future Fire Academy, based in El Dorado County. The program has been “beyond successful,” Cesario said.

For some, fighting fires as prison inmates is the first time they’ve ever felt truly valued, Cesario said. “There are guys that this was the first real hard work that they’ve ever done, some coming from gang culture, some coming from the streets,” Cesario said. “Our guys are like, wow, I know what it means to put in an honest, hard day of work.”

Since its inception in 2018, more than 500 people have passed through the Ventura Training Center, according to Mary Martin-Mabry, deputy director of communications for the California Conservation Corps. About 75% of graduates “gained successful employment,” going on to work for CAL FIRE, other fire services or for private companies.

The California Conservation Center tracks the number of formerly incarcerated people accepted into the Ventura Training Center, but there are other pathways to firefighting careers. The agency has “no sense of how many people go on to work at other fire agencies,” Martin-Mabry said.

Making a difference

The Ventura Training Center program includes basic EMS training, six weeks of wildland-urban interface boot camp, then work on an emergency strike team for about three weeks. The program attendees also attend a 12-week fire accreditation academy that makes them eligible for firefighting employment out of state as well.

“Our guys are beyond well-prepared,” Cesario said. Many VTC graduates go on to become leaders in CAL FIRE.

Jason Olvera, 34, will graduate from the Ventura Training Center in December. The program has helped him get a high school diploma, wildland fire certifications and expunge his criminal record. “This is the kind of structure that I needed,” he said.

Olvera, who is originally from Victorville, was released from prison in November 2024 after a conviction for soliciting crime. “This last incarceration was my third term — my last term,” he said. “I’m just here (at VTC) to better my life and get to my kids.”

That’s Olvera’s primary goal — to be more present in the lives of his two sons, 12-year-old Jason Jr. and 10-year-old Jayden. Olvera said he tries to view his life through his sons’ eyes. “I just think, well, what are my boys going to think of me?” he said.

“I had to learn how to be a father. VTC is teaching me how,” Olvera said. “Their mother raised them from babies to boys. I want to raise them from boys to men.”

Marquez is close to being a firefighter now — he’s just a few classes away, thanks to training provided through the Future Fire Academy and the Ventura Training Center. He applied in late August to work as a firefighter on federal land with the U.S. Forest Service. He expects to hear back in November.

If he gets the job, he’ll be making less money as a firefighter than he did as a cook. But to him, it’s worth it.

“You’re making a difference,” he said. “You’re helping people.”

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