When Red Barn Academy announced its closure, rumors swirled that dozens of men in recovery would be left without a place to go. According to CEO Jaynee Poulson, the reality is more hopeful – and more complex. Long before the closure, Red Barn’s founders had been in conversation with John Volken Academy (JVA) about bringing its long-term, work-based recovery model to Utah. When the moment came, Red Barn donated assets, JVA interviewed and hired most of the staff, and the state approved sentencing directly to JVA.

Today, the team is preparing a move to North Salt Lake City – targeting Nov. 1 to begin the transition and Nov. 15 to fully vacate the current building. A 40,000-square-foot warehouse sits next to the new campus; it will house the thrift operation, pallet auctions, and classrooms. JVA is also starting up skills shops – welding, auto, and woodworking – alongside a classroom, gym, and barbershop. “These are opportunities for students to learn real skills and give back,” Poulson said.

Community service is a through line. Students filled sandbags during local flooding threats, perform free moves for women escaping domestic violence, sing at senior centers, and they move Christmas trees for organizations, decorate a tree for the Road Home family shelter in Midvale. The organization recently received a Community Impact Award – recognition, Poulson said, that belongs to the students who “are rebuilding their lives by serving others.”

JVA’s program is intentionally long: 24 months, followed by a three-month “workout” period focused on employment and re-entry. “Thirty, 60, 90 days rarely work to stabilize homelessness, criminality, and addiction,” said Poulson. Evidence-based goals include family reunification, steady work, education, housing, mentorship, and a renewed sense of purpose. To support that, JVA is building student housing and seeking graduate housing – and even aims to house staff, most of whom are graduates themselves.

John, a 2022 graduate of Red Barn and now JVA’s program director, is blunt about what changed him. “I thought my problem was drugs and alcohol,” he said. “My problem was entitlement, selfishness, and avoiding accountability. I needed to be told to make my bed, get up, go to work.” He stayed because prison loomed if he quit; around month six, the shift took root. “I learned I can do hard things. I’m not defined by my past.” The payoff shows up at home: “I was the dad of empty promises. Now I show up. I’m ‘Grandpa,’ and I’m trusted.”

For Nathaniel, sentenced to the program and now 18 months in, the length first felt intimidating. “It goes by faster than you think,” he said. 

Accountability has been the hardest part – and the most rewarding. “My mom’s proud,” said Nathaniel. “I’m learning to show up.” He is the crew lead for the moving company and is mapping a path to union boilermaker work after graduation. “We’re still human,” he said. “Our choices don’t define us. It’s never too late for a second chance.”

If there’s a single word these men return to, it’s accountability – the habit they’d often never been required to build. Some chose JVA; others were sentenced there. Either way, the work is the same –make the bed, do the job, tell the truth, show up tomorrow.

“Life hasn’t given a lot of chances to a lot of people,” Poulson said. “Now it’s their choice to stick it out. And many do.”