COEUR d'ALENE - Nicholas Mattison watched with a tight smile as the tattoo artist outlined a cross on his arm.

The design was huge, consuming most of his forearm.

It had to be, to cover what was underneath: The crest of the hate group he had belonged to years ago.

Covering the old tattoo, Mattison said, erases the last vestige of the life he doesn't want anymore.

It will mean no more stares, no more scowls. It will mean he can get a job.

"This is a big step," the 31-year-old said on Tuesday, watching artist Cassie Eisenhour pen over the crest. "This is like a big stain on my arm."

It's hard for a tattoo shop to give back to the community, said Cori Jones, co-owner of Jojo's Tattoo Shop in Coeur d'Alene.

But she and her husband, co-owner Jojo Mataban, have found a way.

The couple and their staff are providing a special offer. If anyone is finding it difficult to thrive in society and gain employment on account of a shameful or offensive tattoo - say, gang or intolerance related - the shop will transform it into a different, more neutral design.

Free of charge.

"We want to make sure it's going to better the quality of their life," Jones said. "That's the point of it."

The shop sees it all the time, she added. Ex-cons or former gang members trying to resettle, who have teardrops tattooed on their eyes or other gang symbols branding them as the sort of person employers don't want representing their companies.

"That's just how it is," Jones said. "People don't want people like that around, and rightly so. They don't want people who are about that, who wear it on their sleeve."

Laser removal is expensive, she added, and typically leaves a scar.

And turning a large tattoo into something else, especially sizable ones like Mattison's, can cost hundreds of dollars.

"This is a definite option for people who don't have money for either," she said.

Jones and Mataban know the importance of a fresh start, she added.

Both former addicts, they have pushed through a lifetime of self-destructive habits to finally maintain a successful business and raise two children, Madison and Joseph.

"We have worked really hard to try and make a better life," Jones said. "Finally we have that, so we really, really feel strongly about giving back a little bit of what we've been given."

Mataban, a former gang member, remembered the frustrations of getting back on his feet with the sprawling gang tattoo snaking down his right arm.

"I was going to join the military, any of the divisions," he said. "They said, 'Not with a gang tattoo.'"

When he tried to interview at a local establishment, he added, the owner shook his hand, then turned it to stare at the glaring tattoo.

"I felt that small," Mataban said, holding his fingers inches apart.

Mattison knows the feeling.

He joined a hate group in Coeur d'Alene when he was a teenager, he said, not fully understanding what he was getting into or the politics behind it.

It took five years in Idaho Maximum Security Institution, he said, to learn what it all really meant.

"I realized how much space hate took up in people's heads. I felt awful," said Mattison, who was arrested for dealing marijuana. "When I got out, I had become a different person. All the hate, the big scary guys disgusted me. If you do good, I don't care if you're purple. I embrace you."

Despite the change of heart, however, he was still carrying intolerance on his skin once he was free. His left arm was painted with swastikas, the right with the crest of the hate group.

Eyes followed him everywhere, he said, especially when he was out with his 7-year-old son.

He felt a constant need to explain his transformation, and even bought an Israeli man coffee to apologize when the stranger was frowning at his ink.

He also couldn't get work.

"I was hired twice, and then as soon as they saw my arms, they'd say, 'Sorry, this is a family establishment,'" he said. "It's been getting harder and harder, and I'm running out of long-sleeve shirts."

On Tuesday morning, he was offered a solution.

Friends he has made volunteering at the HELP Center called and said Jojo's would transform his tattoo for free.

"I got teary eyed," Mattison said, adding that another friend has helped change the swastikas on his other arm into a different tattoo. "I thought, 'Finally. Finally, I can take my shirt off at the Kroc Center.'"

The shop's artists - Eisenhour, Kenneth Hoffman, Hector Mendoza and T.J. Nobile - can transform a tattoo without leaving trace of the former image, Jones assured.

"It can be turned into anything," she said.

The offer isn't for a limited time. The shop will help individuals as long as they ask, Jones said.

To set up an appointment, call the shop at: 765-3593.

Jones emphasized that the free transformations are only available to folks whose tattoos are seriously hindering their ability to live and find work.

"We don't want to cover up an old girlfriend's name," she said.

On Tuesday afternoon, Eisenhour fired up the electric needle as she bent over the design she had drawn on Mattison's arm.

"Like Mozart," Mattison said of the sound of the droning needle.

As she pressed it to his skin, he didn't flinch.

Instead, he smiled.

"I'm fine," he said.

His new life was starting.