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Jose, 36

Jose, 36

Stories

Meet Jose…

Since the beginning of my existence, I was cloaked in darkness, confined to small spaces. As cramped as I was, comfort and peace was gained by familiarity to my surroundings.

Jose, 36
Incarcerated: 5 years
Housed: Susanville, California

Since the beginning of my existence, I was cloaked in darkness, confined to small spaces. As cramped as I was, comfort and peace was gained by familiarity to my surroundings. Like a seedling buried deep within earth, I too burst forth clawing for survival into a world unknown. My comfort & peace seemed to fade away. As I grew up, I pushed past resistance, elbowed my way through uncertainties in order to stand firm in a space I call my own. Becoming attached to things, to people, only to have them ripped away from my clutches caused a pain to stay. Disappointment, shame, sorrow was masked layer upon layer with rage, hate, and a heart that’s hollow. Resulting in my inner light to fade away. I sought friends from the free world whom might help me escape a dream twirl. Little did I know about the path laid down before me would illuminate the love that stood upon it. A love so majestic that it would revive my inner light which I believed to be non-existent. I held her picture in my hands and couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

I read and reread her letter until I felt my soul awakened. I couldn’t wait any longer. I made my fateful call to her. Like a bolt of lightning ZAP! Her voice struck a chord within my soul and I heard a melody so sweet, I dare call it divine. All I wanted, all I needed, all I had hoped and prayed for I found in her. A woman who looked at my tears of pain, fear, shame, anger, rage, and wiped them away. She listens, she knows, she feels all that I’ve fought, all that I’ve faced, sees in me a man of greatness, a man of perpetual elevation. My inner light was diminished because I had lost my vision. She clears away the fog, she finetunes my perspective, she stands next to me, forever, because she’s here to stay

 

(We were married March 18, 2023).

Dale, 51

Dale, 51

Stories

Meet Dale…

Last year I helped over 90,000 Californians and I’m on track for over 100,000 this year. I focus on those people. Not following the rules got me in prison but what better thing could I be doing.

Dale, 51

Incarcerated: 26 years

Housed: Valley State Prison, California

I work in a Prison Industry Authority optical factory. It produces thousands of pairs of glasses each week. After my parole violation was extended for a 5th time in 2021, I was a bit despondent and depressed. Shortly after I was approached by my correctional counselor and asked if I would be interested in a job in optical. At first I hesitated for a couple reasons: one, people who have done nothing wrong had been fired for the actions of others. Second, it required getting up very early, for an eight hour a day, 5 days a week, for a fraction of a dollar per hour. I had become accustomed to no such obligation, and I had become lazy. I didn’t take the application, but immediately something nagged me. I decided to approach the counselor. During the interview I told the supervisor my concerns, and said all I hoped for was: not to be held accountable for anyone else’s behavior and acknowledged for the job I do. I did my best. I started to notice the many different frames and styles. It occurred to me that each represented a different person. Women, men, boys, girls and infants.

I started having this joy of imagining different people. My considerations and thoughts kept going to the Californians behind these frames waiting for their prescriptions. I often hear complaints: the hours, the pennies for pay, the cops, but all I could think about are the people behind the frames who didn’t know or need to know me. But I get to be a help to each of them! After several months my work ethic put me in a position to run a department. It was here I started counting how many Californians I helped each day. When other guys complain, or I get ridiculed for hard work, I’d walk up, grab a pair of frames and state, “This may not be your sister, brother, daughter or son, but it’s someone’s and I work because people need their glasses.” Last year I helped over 90,000 Californians and I’m on track for over 100,000 this year. I focus on those people. Not following the rules got me in prison but what better thing could I be doing. The value I get is the great feeling that no matter what past mistake I made, I am helping people. 

Odell, 57

Stories

Meet Odell…

Art is essential to me; it’s a part of me. Even when I was working seven days a week, I did art. Even when I was working in a garage with cars, I did pin-striping.

Odell, 57
Incarcerated: 24 years
Housed: San Quentin State Prison

When I was a child in private school, I would draw when we  would have free time after lessons. I had just seen some old horror movies, like Frankenstein and Dracula. I couldn’t explain it in words to the other students and teachers, so I started drawing the characters.  They loved what I drew! I thought, wow! It was an “Angels singing, Aha” moment.  I think they saw me in a new light and I was able to open up and express myself.  It was the first time I saw how to get positive attention for myself. I started drawing everything around me, all I wanted to do was draw! In prison, when I’m having a hard time, I volunteer my artwork or let my art be seen. It softens hardened hearts. Even if they don’t like the art, they realize I’m not just the jerk they were thinking I was. Art is essential to me; it’s a part of me. Even when I was working seven days a week, I did art. Even when I was working in a garage with cars, I did pin-striping.  It has always been positive in my life.

My artwork is tattoo or “low brow” style.  I don’t tattoo, despite my artwork. However, I do design tattoo patterns to be used by others to cover over tattoos they no longer want. It’s hard, laborious work and time consuming, designing pieces that fit their body while using design basics. I put rice paper over the old tattoo and create something new.  I also make it meaningful to them by learning who they are and what they want.  I’ve now evolved to painting and sculpture. I’m trying to bridge graphic art with “low-brow” art.  I just did a painting for my mom. I asked her what she wanted and she said the Lady of Guadalupe looking down as if she was watching over San Quentin.  I worked on it for a year.  When I sent it to her, she said it was f***ing awesome! I think it was the first time she ever liked my artwork.  It was another “angels singing” moment and brought tears to my eyes. My step-dad wants to put it on t-shirts and sell them, both a black and white and color version.  He already put one of my drawings of Marilyn Monroe as the Lady of Guadalupe in high heels on a t-shirt!  

Osbun, 73

Osbun, 73

Stories

Meet Osbun…

I was blind to the harm my actions caused, blind to the criminal foulness that I constantly enforced on others. By the time I got my first gun, I had already become a human monster.

Osbun, 73
Incarcerated: 28 years
Housed: San Quentin State Prison

My Tears are Constant

My mother Emma and my grandmother Texanna raised me to the best of their abilities. At seven, I knew nothing of their struggles of surviving on welfare and I  had struggles of my own. We lived in a run down apartment house. It was so old, it was probably the first home built in the neighborhood. Unlike most of the other houses, it had no green grass and or flowers. My mother worked cleaning white folks’ homes, which she did undercover so no one would know. She was given all kinds of household items, but a television set never blessed our dwelling, although we did get an old radio. My mother enrolled me in Longfellow Elementary School. I felt she had abandoned me there because attending school was the beginning of my childhood traumas. School for me was a maze of physical brutality. No matter which way I turned, I got beat down. Besides the bullies at school, the neighborhood bullies also made my life a living hell. It quickly got to the point that I feared going outside to play. Neighborhood bully #1 was older, taller, and weighed about three times as much as me. He was cross-eyed with an offensive odor and none of his clothes fit properly, making him look like a homeless clown. Neighborhood bully #2 was about my age and height, but weighed even less than me. He used a shoestring for a belt and looked like a human skeleton made into a puppet, which made me want to laugh. But he was no laughing matter. They threatened me constantly and were always teaming up to attack me. My family didn’t seem to understand or care what I was going through.

“Fighting is a part of life,” my grandmother said. “Sooner or later you have to stand up and fight your damnedest, win or lose. “But I’m getting beat up by two people at a time” I protested. “Well, do the best you can,” she replied.

I stayed silent, but it didn’t feel fair. “I’m the one getting beat up and robbed every day,” I thought. “ It’s my face and body that’s getting hit so much that I’m getting used to the pain.” I swore that someday I would get my revenge. One day after school, my bullies beat me up in front of their friends and some cute girls. They all seem to think my pain and shame were funny. Somehow, I managed not to cry. When I made it back to my house, my grandmother heard my sniffles and thought I was catching a cold. She made me a Hot Toddy, it consisted of tea, a little sugar, and whiskey. By the time I finished her Toddy, I felt extremely different. In fact, I felt fearless. 

I started coughing so my grandmother would make me another. She did and then told me to lie down on my bed and not go outside. But at this particular time I didn’t feel like being in bed. I felt powerful like Superman and I wanted revenge. I crawled out my bedroom windows and went in search of my neighborhood bullies. I found neighborhood bully #2 and attacked him with all of my pent up rage. He screamed and cried for someone to help him, and in that moment, I experienced a strange power over him that made me feel greater than I ever had before.

Standing over him, I asked, “How does it feel to be me, helpless and alone?” As I grew into adulthood, my mind became fixated on my childhood traumas, which held me back from moving forward. I was stuck knowing only one way to deal with people who were not my family. I became trapped in my past, deceived by my false beliefs. I was blind to the harm my actions caused, blind to the criminal foulness that I constantly enforced on others. By the time I got my first gun, I had already become a human monster. I was a victim who had turned into a victimizer. My 38 Special gave me a feeling of power greater than any alcohol. I  had the ultimate power over another person, the power of life and death. I feared nothing and no one, not even losing my own life. Sadly, having a gun in my posession eventually led me to take the life of another human being. Now, after sitting in prison for countless years, I am being given a second chance. Yet I have lost so much. 

Yes, my tears are constant…

Vincent, 58

Vincent, 58

Stories

Meet Vincent…

My street name is “Sly,” not by gang or negative slang, but because I was caught, at the age of four, trying to scoop out peach cobbler from under the crust, like I saw my uncle do, and got busted by Grandma.

Vincent, 58
Incarcerated: 15 years
Housed: San Quentin State Prison

My street name is “Sly,” not by gang or negative slang, but because I was caught, at the age of four, trying to scoop out peach cobbler from under the crust, like I saw my uncle do, and got busted by Grandma. She called me a “sly devil” and the name stuck. Now, I want to share my own grandfather moment: One day, I was sitting in my living room watching TV with three of my four grandchildren. I had made them a snack of graham crackers with peanut butter, an already peeled tangerine and a Gogurt tube. They were running in and out of the house, letting out the cool air from my air conditioner. I screamed, “Hey! Quit running in and out of the house! Stay outside!” In return, I received a high chorus from all three, “Okay, PaPa!” But then, the door opened up again and my five year old grandson jumped in my lap, and whispered, “Papa, this is my last time, okay?” and kissed me on my jaw. I can still smell the mix of tangerine and graham crackers. It was a pure smell of a loving trusting child who saw me as the alpha protector and he loved me. 

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