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William, 58

William, 58

Stories

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Meet William…

What on earth would make this young person, with so much life and joy ahead of her, want to keep in contact with someone like me?

William, 58
Incarcerated: 35 years
Housed: Stateville Correctional Center, Joliet, IL

I met a young volunteer tutor named Annie during my final quarter in Northwestern’s Degree program here. Her forte was all things math related, and since my final course was psychology, she and I rarely interacted. We would smile and greet one another when our paths crossed, but we had almost zero instances of substantive discourse. On the last day of her tenure here, Annie and I sat across from one another, and talked. I learned how genuinely kind, empathetic and bright she was. I lamented that I wished we’d made time to talk sooner, and we’d had the opportunity to talk more often. To my surprise Annie replied, “I’m going to reach out to you William, this won’t be the last time we speak.” I smiled and nodded, but to be honest, I did not take her seriously. What on earth would make this young person, with so much life and joy ahead of her, want to keep in contact with someone like me? You see, I was rightfully convicted of first degree murder, sent to Death Row, had my sentence commuted to Life Without Parole, and have been locked up a total of 35 years of my life! So why would Annie want to know me beyond her duties as a tutor? Then, out of the Blue, I get a new contact alert on my prison issued tablet. Annie and I have built a symbiotic relationship of trust, honesty, respect and mutual encouragement. I give her counsel about boys and life, she teaches me through poems about the world and being human in this new and scary world. I’ve been absent for over three decades. I’ve told Annie in vivid detail, all about my past, the harm I’ve endured, and the harm I’ve unleashed on the world when I walked in pain, ignorance and addiction. Initially, I think I did it to shock her, may be run her away; but she’s stuck by me, saw me not for who I was, and what I’d done; but for who I am now, and the gifts I can give to the world in my healed and self-actualized state. Despite all the odds, I found a friend, I gained acceptance, and for someone I least expected it to come from. Picture is of William and a reporter from PBS – he was featured in a story on bringing back elder parole to Illinois.

Amir, 72

Amir, 72

Stories

Meet Amir…

I stayed out of prison for five years and came back with a life sentence for attempted murder. For the first time I looked at who I really was.

Amir, 72
Incarcerated: 20 years
Housed: San Quentin State Prison, San Quentin, CA

I am a career criminal, my history started in 1967. I was not raised to be a drug addict-alcoholic and a career criminal. My mother and father were hard working people. They provided for me, my sister and brother and we never went hungry. At a very young age I started to rebel at home, in school, and my environment. Stealing, gambling, ditching school, and at 14, I started smoking pot and drinking. As I got older all these behaviors escalated. At 16, my parents sent me to see a psychiatrist. This did not last long. After eight sessions I told my parents I was through with the psychiatrist, and they could give me that money. At 17, I went to a juvenile camp in the Malibu mountains for six months. Upon release I went right back into my dysfunctional household and environment. Within eight months I was in the Los Angeles county jail, for multiple robbery charges. My first county jail experience was fun-games-and insanity. By the time I went to youth authority I was a better crook and gambler. After 22 months at youth training school, I paroled in 1971. I learned a good trade, sheet metal. I was in between an apprentice and journeyman. I went to the local union for a job interview. I was denied based on my skin color, I knew more about sheet metal than the interviewer. One of my original pains was not getting that job, I still live with that pain today. I met a beautiful girl, got married and had two wonderful kids. I enrolled in college and was still drinking and using. My habits shifted to using heroin. I got hooked and dropped out of college. At 25, I went to prison for the first time. Prison a horrible scene in 1977, prison was what you made it. The adventure got better as years went by. I paroled in 1982. I did not try to find work of any kind. I started hustling and hanging out with the wrong crowd. My mantra. “Everything came out of the street, if I didn’t win I didn’t eat.” I went back to prison in 1984, 1986, 1988 and 1995. I stayed out of prison for five years and came back with a life sentence for attempted murder. For the first time I looked at who I really was. Full of a bunch of mental, emotional and spiritual garbage. I finally found out I know nothing. Fighting back I had to examine every aspect of my life. After twenty years of incarceration I’m still soul searching. I no longer have all the answers. I have turned all of my problems over to God. God is in charge and not me.

Victor, 54

Victor, 54

Stories

Meet Victor…

I scanned the dayroom, paying particular attention to people’s hands, looking for weapons, and to eyes and faces to see attitudes and signs of nervousness.

Victor, 54
Incarcerated: 27 years
Housed: Correctional Training Facility, Soledad, CA

Prison is a very dangerous place, especially in the crowded dayroom where we have to wait until the guards unlock our cell doors. So when my five foot, one inch, hundred and ten pound buddy, Cuba suddenly stopped talking and his sight appeared to see through me, I got a bit nervous. We had been talking for about five minutes and everything was fine. He was telling me about a funny incident that had happened at his job in the kitchen, and we were both laughing. I call him Mr. Magoo, he is a naturally funny guy. His strong Cuban accent and bubbly personality made his conversations extremely funny. That day, he made me laugh so hard I impulsively gave him a slight hug for a second or two, before backing up to continue laughing. That’s when I noticed something odd, “What’s wrong, is there a fight behind me?” I asked him. I quickly turned and scanned the people behind me. Everything seemed normal. The place was packed with inmates waiting for the cell to unlock but no fight or signs of any unusual tension. Cuba simply answered, “Nothing.” I still had some laughter to unleash. However, my little friend was still frozen and staring through me. I looked back again. This time searching more intensely just in case the possible danger was aimed at me. I scanned the dayroom, paying particular attention to people’s hands, looking for weapons, and to eyes and faces to see attitudes and signs of nervousness. Still, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, “What’s wrong Cuba?” I asked again. “You’re making me nervous.” “Nothing” he answered, but he would not look at me. He was still staring straight toward the wall. I moved to his left side trying to see what he was seeing. He was in his 60’s, so I wondered if maybe he was having a stroke. I’ve seen people having strokes, and they just freeze and stay silent. So, I asked him, “Are you okay Cuba? Do you feel okay?” He nodded yes, but remained a statue. “Cuba, please! I’m concerned. You’re getting me nervous. Please tell me what’s wrong?” After a few seconds, he looked at me, and in a very soft and broken tone of voice, he said: “Biktor, I’ve been locked-up for over 23 years and this is the first time someone has ever hugged me.” This time, I was the one frozen and speechless. From that day, and until the day he went home a year later, I hugged him every time I saw him.

Zach, 31

Zach, 31

Stories

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Meet Zach…

If a negative thought comes at you, deflect it like a ping pong ball. It will keep coming back but keep deflecting it.

Zach, 31
Incarcerated: 2 years
Housed: San Quentin State Prison, San Quentin, CA

I met her at a club in Oakland. I saved her from a harasser, and then we got to talking. The next morning we took an uber to her car, and she drove me back home. I remember her Mini Cooper; it was so much bigger inside than it looked from the outside. She told me to call her, but I never did. We went back and forth forever – – “You’re not gonna tell me when to call, you call me!” – but she finally called and invited me over. I said no at first but she convinced me. Eventually she picked me up and took me to her house. Amy lived in a huge, beautiful house. I couldn’t believe it! I was taking pictures and videotaping it the whole time. I remember her laughing and asking, “Where did you think I lived, an apartment?” I couldn’t tell she was rich; she wore hippie clothes, and she doesn’t brag – except when she does, and she’s hilarious like a comedian. I can’t ever get ma[d at her. We can talk for hours. She’ll say anything to make me happy, and I love her sweet nothings. She and I are in a great spot. She has a successful business selling facial products, and I have a passion for making people feel good, especially my mom.

Early on in prison, I spent 45 days completely by myself. I had to be in prison to experience that as I had always wanted to be with others. I was scared of being alone. I cried for days, experiencing all the emotions I had been holding in. I cried about everything, what made me sad, what made me mad and I let it go. I told myself, you’re the only one here now, you came by yourself, and you’ll leave by yourself. I wrote a letter to myself to break it all down, to take away the negativity. I took the advice of Napoleon Hill and pushed it away so I could be my best self. His books were a big help for me to think about things differently. If a negative thought comes at you, deflect it like a ping pong ball or it will keep coming back. What you can dream of you can achieve–stay positive!

Roy Lee, 68

Roy Lee, 68

Stories

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Meet Roy Lee…

The powers that be, have no idea all the good teachings Stacy did for people.

Roy Lee, 68
Incarcerated: 45 years
Housed: Valley State Prison, Chowchilla, CA

I met a lady pushing a shopping cart through Quentin. It was full of art supplies, she stopped at all the cells and asked if I’d like to draw. From that point on she’d stop by every week and give me pointers. Twenty some years and three prisons later, I met with Stacy Hay, five days a week, in her classroom in the Arts in Corrections building and learned something new. She taught me that after three days of beating Mulberry bark with wooden hammers I could make paper. She taught me how to make hard back books from scratch. I learn mosaic art for a number of mascot projects for nearby schools. I sat with her for hours talking and watching her paint. Her paintings were beautiful, she could keep up with the best of them, she taught me momo printing. The flier I added was of a momo print I did of celtic knot work.

You draw out what you want, cut them out, ink them up, place them on a sheet of fiberglass, with a sheet of damp printing paper over it and run it through a press. She was one of the main driving forces in my life that has kept me upright. I brought music to her to copy for her shop, she was like an old hippy from the early 70’s, I brought Alanis Morissette. Her first CD was kind of racy. One day her husband was a visiting artist and he asked as he was sweating me, “Why do you give my ol lady stuff like that to play?” I remember telling him, it’s time to come out of the 60’s and move forward. It hurt to be moved from that prison. I heard right after I left they shut down the Arts in Corrections program. The powers that be, have no idea all the good teachings Stacy did for people. I’ve spent many years trying to give back, but with this system, it is sort of like the old west, once you are put in one spot, that is it! Like the old gunfighters who are not allowed to hang up your guns, but I will keep pushing forward with hope in my heart and peace in my soul.

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