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Dale, 51

Dale, 51

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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. 

Whitney, 33

Whitney, 33

Meet Whitney…

I was on drugs and alcohol which led me to a fatal mistake. I started hearing voices and seeing things that weren’t there.

Whitney, 33
Incarcerated: 3 years
Housed: McPherson Unit, Newport, Arkansas

I was on drugs and alcohol which led me to a fatal mistake. I started hearing voices and seeing things that weren’t there. Some things seemed real, like the TV began to talk. I was going back and forth between men. All of my relationships were raunchy. I was so lost and caught up in sex and drugs, that I couldn’t see what was happening. I was so ashamed and hurt by my actions that I tried to commit suicide. One day my old case worker asked if I would like to try and talk to my kids. I said no, I was sure they didn’t want to speak to me. I have four kids and one is deceased. My oldest was upset with me for a while. The other two were not upset as much. I look back with regret everyday on the choices I made. I’m still talking to my kids. It’s been rough for all of us. I can’t sleep at night sometimes because I question myself. The guilt consumes me. After I came to prison I got my GED. I didn’t think I could do it. That’s the way I’ve felt all my life,  like I couldn’t accomplish anything. I love to write poetry about how I feel. God has changed my life and is still working on me. I look at these prison walls and think this is what I left my kids for. I miss being around them so much. They are so smart and funny.

Odell, 57

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

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…

Jonathan, 30

Meet Jonathan…

Maybe I was a hateful person, but never more to others than I was to myself. I hated myself so much that I felt maybe prison was the only place I should be.

Jonathan, 30
Incarcerated: 9 years
Housed: Sing Sing Correctional Facility, Ossining, New York

I remember cutting myself to see if my adopted parents would show some sort of compassion. I was in for a rude awakening. If I didn’t grow to understand the meaning of my suffering. I would easily have been a hateful person. Maybe I was a hateful person, but never more to others than I was to myself. I hated myself so much that I felt maybe prison was the only place I should be. My vision from as far back as I can remember was nothing but destruction and self-hate. I’ve had guns pointed at my head at 10 and not an ounce of fear did I feel, not one ounce. I was on a suicide mission; I mean life was so fucked up that death could not have been any worse. I am an incarcerated individual for committing a serious crime against humanity. I spilled blood and even though that life can never be given back to that person, I will never allow that person’s death to be in vain. The day I was sentenced, his mother told me to use my time to change my life. I’ve done that, now it’s time to help the new generation gain an understanding of their life. The ones who have parents and the ones who don’t. We need to be examples to the youth, help them find that vision. That is my purpose. I love humanity. There are so many people who are going through worse things than I am. Some people have it so bad that my struggles are like a dot to the universe. That thought process is what has gotten me through life. Now I just want to live the great words of Muhammed Ali, “Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on earth.”