Rob “6’9”, 45

Rob “6’9”, 45

Meet Rob…

Having spent almost half my life in prisons, I could have very well become hardened by hatred, regret, and deprivation, but yet this sweet loving old woman truly showed me I’m still a good guy – deep down.

Her name was Mary or “Miss Daisy” She was 94, and widowed. They were married for 62 years until cancer took him from her. She was sweet as ever, the biggest blessing in my life next to my late beloved mother. We were brought together after my girlfriend left me for drugs. I saw an ad in the paper for an “apartment for rent for a single working man.” I would soon be living in an upstairs one-bedroom apartment in Mary’s huge Victorian-style house. At 6’9”, 220 lbs, and tattoos, I automatically wrote myself off from even getting the place, not to mention forming a serious deep and meaningful friendship with an old fashioned christian woman like Mary. It all started with a  six week old puppy Mary had to have. Before long, I was taking out the trash and cleaning up puppy stains on her extravagant carpet. About a year and a half later, she failed her fifth and final try at a renewal for a driver’s license. Bless her heart, to which she humbly asked if I would drive her to Walmart. One trip to the store would soon turn into endless trips to the hairdresser each Saturday, church on Sunday, anywhere else she needed to go. I always seemed to be driving “Miss Daisy” somewhere. I looked after her every move. Everything in life happens for a reason. I firmly believe people don’t cross our paths merely by coincidence. Having spent almost half my life in prisons, I could have very well become hardened by hatred, regret, and deprivation, but yet this sweet loving old woman truly showed me I’m still a good guy – deep down. We both added a bit of sunshine to the other’s life when it was found cloudy and grey. Yet here I am again in a pinch, yet not forgetting one thing for sure, “Good people make bad decisions too.”  I’m not sure what happened to “Miss Daisy” after I moved. I still ponder from time to time and live by her words, “It doesn’t matter if you fall twenty times, as long as you get back up twenty one!”

Robert, 34

Robert, 34

Meet Robert…

I’ve learned that in order to get a second chance in prison, you have to use your time productively and not allow negative people to control the outcome of your life.

They told me prison was the best thing to happen to me. When I asked why, I always got the same answer. You’d be dead out here or doing life. Thinking about it now they were right. I was so lost, drugs controlled me. Prison isn’t a place anyone should need to come to, but if I hadn’t – things would be different. I’m trying to continue to make my time productive. Currently, I’m setting out to get into college and obtain an AA degree with the last three years I have left. There’s two current paths I’m looking into. One, I’d like to start a bakery and two, counsel young kids who are in gangs and grew up like me, to give them a chance out of that lifestyle. I’ve learned that in order to get a second chance in prison, you have to use your time productively and not allow negative people to control the outcome of your life. So I’m thankful for prison and what I’ve learned along the way.

Robert, 65

Robert, 65

Meet Robert…

The next thing I heard about him was that he had died from the coronavirus. The suddenness of it all is unbelievable. He was here, then he left us – just like that.

SUCCUMBING TO THE CORONAVIRUS

On March 25, 2020, I received an email from a friend, Darnell,  “Brother, we are in the throes of an unprecedented global pandemic – the likes of which hasn’t been seen in humanity since the Bubonic plague of 1317 A.D., aka, The Black Death; which killed more than one-third of Europe. Physically, psychologically, emotionally, and spiritually.” He expressed concern for my health and the other prisoners held in the path of the coronavirus.

I clean my cell with bleach at least twice a week. I wash my hands after using the Unit’s kiosks,  doors, and the telephone. I exercised social distance, which is difficult with neighbors on both sides of me. The one had been coughing since February 2020, and the other laid in his bunk sleeping for five straight days. Even though I was exposed,  I continued to work out daily, drink a lot of water.  The one experience I had was mental. 

Before the virus, I could complete four or five projects, but for a period of seven days, while the coronavirus ran rampant in me, I could not concentrate, nor focus while I read or attempted to write. Things in my mind would repeat over and over again. The information I had received and my good health at age 63 would not let me succumb to the coronavirus.

From this backdrop, I wish to remember William B. Lovett, a co-worker and friend of mine for eight years. Mr. Washington, a tutor in the GED education class. Gregory A. Heisler, #174564, a barber in the education building. Mr. Haney-Bey, who lived in a housing unit for prisoners with serious medical conditions, or are too elderly for the general population. I did not know Larry, who worked in our General Library, but I would see him visiting Lovette in the Law Library, where they would talk about the Pistons, Lions, and Red Wings. All of these men succumbed to the coronavirus.

Lovette had always been a good man. It was rare to see him without a smile and he loved helping others. He always wanted to answer the guys’ questions and give them assistance. When he didn’t know the answer to a question he would ask me or one of the other law clerks. He had been a paralegal for Prison Legal Services and worked in the factories at Jackson Prison. He also held numerous jobs in the Law Libraries. I remember the last time I had talked to Lovette, just a few days before the closing of the library. He told me how his two daughters, who live in Lansing, wanted him to transfer to a prison closer to them so they could come and see him more often. He loved his daughters, and when coming back from visits he would show me their pictures. He also told me that after the quarantine, he was going to request a transfer to Carson City so he could see more of his family. Lovette was one of the first prisoners at Lakeland to succumb to COVID-19, so he never had the chance to make his request. He is missed by me, and his spirit will always be remembered.

Mr. Washington worked in education as a tutor in the GED class. When I would pass by the class he worked in, I always saw him engaged with his students. About two years ago, Mr. Washington had a stroke or heart attack. It was difficult for him after the incident, but he did not give up. Within a year I saw him moving around faster in  his walker. He was engaged with his student once again. He was always respectful and had extremely good manners in all our interactions.

Gregory A. Heisler  and I lived in the same unit. He was a barber and on many occasions I had him cut my hair. This guy was very humorous and uplifted the prisoners’ spirits. He had a wife, and went on visits regularly. He often spoke to family and friends on the telephone. Sadly, he suddenly became ill, and the administration moved him to C-Unit, then the next thing I heard about him was that he had died from the coronavirus. The suddenness of it all is unbelievable. He was here, then he left us – just like that.

Haney-Bey lived in the facility’s geriactiric’s unit, and he had gone through a lot, losing half of both his legs and having serious problems with diabetes. On top of that he had a major heart attack. He used to come to the Law Library for help, and everyone had directed him to me. I put him on the right track to get an understanding of civil litigation, and helped guide him when he received medical pleadings in the mail about his case. Even though he was in a wheelchair, he never slowed down. He interacted with his family, and he was successful in defeating the defendant’s summary judgement pleadings on his deliberate indifference claims. Prior to the quarantine, the court had appointed him an attorney to represent him at trial. He was so happy about that and was looking forward to the end result.

These men succumbed to the coronavirus because of their underlying medical conditions, and they will all be remembered.

Ronell “Roach”, 48

Ronell “Roach”, 48

Meet Ronell…

I am thankful for this platform being made available to those who are not locked away, to see us as a human.

I was someone who was in a lot of pain. The one way I was able to let others know of that pain was to hurt them. I knew nothing of what it meant to process my hurt or even the fact that I was traumatized. My fear of rejection and abandonment manifested itself in the form of self-sabotage when experiencing anger towards others, except in the case of animals or children, both of which I am extremely protective of. To that end, I am serving 15 years to life for killing another man for no reason. Since I arrived at San Quentin I not only learned to let others into my world, but I consciously chose to share my story. I’ve learned to step out on a limb in other areas too, such as performing Shakespeare and giving talks. They were the very things I feared and were previously unable to even consider. Many people featured in Humans of San Quentin were key to my unfoldment. From Mr. Juan Haines to my one and only Rayjeeta and Kells to name a few. Ray Ray has been my adopted nephew and someone who I can look to as an inspiration, and he is half my age. From our first meeting – I held him with love. I’d like to note that I waited to submit this to the Humans of San Quentin, while I was sure I must support it. I am thankful for this platform being made available to those who are not locked away, to see us as a human. Yet, I know there’s no way to account for the ways some individuals show acts of kindness to strangers, and there will always be people who see us as undeserving of such charity. Writing poems and stories, drawing, acting, and performing recitations while seeking to become an energetic healer, who works to usher in a new collective consciousness while healing the world, to changing the world, to save the world through one held intention, by as many persons as possible. As the author, Joanna Macy shared regarding the Shambhala Warrior: with compassion and insight as their weapons.  they will be the difference. Please let me or us know if the Prophecy of the New Shambhala Warrior is something of interest, look it up, it’s sure to change your life. 

May you be well. 

Divine as designed.

Rufus ‘Lil Ru’, 31

Rufus ‘Lil Ru’, 31

Meet Rufus…

 I feel it’s my job to teach positivity amongst adults – young and old. Today, my model is to ‘each one – teach one’ where I speak out about my experiences for the ‘Humans of Arkansas.’

I have never been outside of Arkansas and by coming to prison in Grady, this is the farthest I’ve been outside of Little Rock. Even though I have been incarcerated since I was 16, I no longer consider my length of imprisonment a struggle. I was pretty dubious growing up in the streets of Little Rock. By 12, I was infamous around my neighborhood. I was in and out of juvenile detention, expelled from school even though I was always the smartest, in every subject. I am thankful to my father, who taught me at an early age to be resourceful in school. I strayed away from positive morality to an ephemeral, glamorous lifestyle that provided lucrative living. I don’t blame my role models, my five cousins, it was my choice. I wanted more for myself and my household which could have been developed in a more meek way equally due to the fact I didn’t really understand poverty. I dropped out of Felder Academy, a military school named after a man who died for this country named “Bo Felder”. Every Friday, in our school uniforms and ties, we marched for Mr. Felder’s family. Our principal was a man named Judge Evans, who lost his leg in the war. He was our disciplinarian, hard and fair If any rule was broken, you were handcuffed and taken to the Little Rock Juvenile Detention Center. The county judge gave me unlimited chances to get it right instead of sending me away. Kids like me were sent to a place called Alexander, where we could stay up to 12 months. By 16, I hung out with a maniacal apprehensive group of guys. We marked ourselves as a gang, known as “Hoe-hop”. Some of us are Pirus, Crips, Bloods, G-D’s, B-D’s, ViceLords, hence the biggest in town. They gave me a purpose to live. Today, while seeing a continuous cycle of young men who remind me of myself, overcrowding the prison system. I decided to make a change while growing up in this Arkansas prison system. I feel it’s my job to teach positivity amongst adults – young and old. Today, my model is to ‘each one – teach one’ where I speak out about my experiences for the ‘Humans of Arkansas.’ 

Steven, 51

Steven, 51

Meet Steven…

Believe me when I say this: I was a kid living in an adult world – all on my own. By the time I was 25 I was in prison and didn’t feel as if I should be here.

At 12, my best friend was a white guy named Ronnie, we were inseparable. One day we were on our bikes on a dirt hill in Oakland ,when Ronnie’s bike broke down. A blue van pulled up and a tall black guy with a neat natural hair stepped out of the van to help with Ronnie’s bike. He asked if we went to school and wanted a job. I told him he would have to ask my mother. He put Ronnie’s bike in the van and followed us with Roonie on the seat of my bike. I ran upstairs and told my mom. They talked and when I walked him out, he said I would be hearing from him. On our first day, we picked up  other guys and went to the The San Francisco Chronicle newspaper. We would be selling newspaper subscriptions. Mr. Edwardson taught us the salesmen’s speech and how to respect the customer. I excelled at it. A year in, on a Sunday morning,  I was at the store picking up newspapers. This big caddy pulls up and a short man gets out and comes up to me. I had a newspaper in my hand. He gave me a dollar, I gave him the paper and his dollar back and he said “Get in, let’s take a ride.” We pulled into a parking lot filled with vans, Cadillacs and newspaper crews. He introduced himself as Mr. Hearst, owner of the newspaper,  stood next to me and said don’t move. He shared my story with the crowd and said he was glad to have me working for him and handed me a  bundle of money. I did not look at it, count it, nothing. Just stuck it in my pocket. I found out later his daughter was Patty Hearst, who was kidnapped and part of a domestic terrorist group SLA. This was my first job, and first few hundred dollars. My mom took me to the bank for my first bank account. Two years later my life would change when  my mom passed away. Believe me when I say this: I was a kid living in an adult world – all on my own. By the time I was 25 I was in prison and didn’t feel as if I should be here. Yet in San Quentin, I’ve learned a lot while incarcerated: I’ve gotten my high school diploma, learned different trades such as electrical, plumbing, carpentry, building furniture and being a janitor. I want to be well experienced, a friend in need is a friend indeed.

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