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Christopher, 28

Christopher, 28

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Meet Christopher…

I’m now very considerate and learning a lot from these classes on how to be a good man with integrity. I want my freedom after I get these skills. I have a lot to live for. I have a lot of self-worth and dignity that I haven’t had before.

Incarcerated: 2 years
Housed: San Quentin State Prison

She’s the most generous and loving woman in my life. It’s a privilege to call her my mom. She struggled, but kept a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. She worked in the food service industry for 36 years. She’s my best friend, but on August 24, 2021 she left us. She passed away. I wasn’t there to be with her and that was really hard. I was in San Quentin. She went to see her other son and daughter before she passed, but I know she wanted to see me. I got to talk to her every single day before she passed. She was my angel. She struggled with her own habits. It was really hard losing her.

My son is Christopher Jr and he’s eight. He’s about a year old in this picture. It’s one of three photos I have of him. It’s the last time I was with him before I came to prison. He’s with his mother now. Between my son and my mom, they are my anchor. I thought if I lost either one of them, I’d lose control. But, I’ve lost both and stayed balanced. I try to call my son all the time, but only get through about once a month. When he was one year old, he had more toys than a ten-year-old. I try to spoil him as much as I can. He was getting spoiled before he knew what being spoiled is.

Freya is my dog, she’s half Pomeranian and Chihuahua and was the size of my fist when I got her. Freya would put her head on Chris’s stomach and lay there like she was protecting him. Ever since she was a puppy, she’d lay in this position and plop back. She was spoiled too – getting her nails and hair done. I spoiled all my family. I did the best to support them and make a better life, because it was a real struggle for me growing up.

We went to a dog adoption in Stockton and got Baldur. He’s a purebred American Bulldog, raised as a fighter and rescued from a raid. We were walking around and Baldur was just staring at us with that same sad face in this picture. I knew he was the dog for us. You’d never know that he was a fighter until you saw the scars on his head. We were worried at first, having little Christopher. But when Baldur was with him, he got attached just like Freya. They’d be on either side of him, protecting him. For a long time, we were a normal family going out, going to movies, the beach, San Francisco, peaceful and happy. Now both dogs went to a rescue. I don’t have my wife or mom. But it’s the memories I hold on to. I’m learning day by day to come to terms with the passing of my mom as well as losing things. Even though I’ve lost all these things while being in here I respond in a positive way, not negative. I think it’s my mom’s spirit driving me. I’m in the GED program getting 98s and 99s in science and reading and social studies. I didn’t apply myself in high school, but I attribute what I’m doing now to my mom, because that’s what she’d want me to do. All the programs I’m taking I hope that it’ll keep me doing right. I’m done doing wrong. While I was doing wrong, I was missing my family and everything that makes these pictures meaningful. I don’t want to go through that again. I don’t want to be in a place like this when a loved one is passing. I don’t want to ever hurt anyone or hurt myself from being selfish. I’m now very considerate and learning a lot in school on how to be a good man with integrity. I want my freedom after I get these skills. I have a lot to live for. I have a lot of self-worth and dignity that I didn’t have before.

Jim, 73

Jim, 73

Meet Jim…

I was saved by the bell. The chow hall bell, signaling that dinner was ready. As soon as our door opened, he bull rushed toward his former cellie. He angrily tried to pick a fight with him.

Jim, 73
Incarcerated: 21 years

I held a position on the trash pick-up crew. I was relatively happy and making good progress through therapy and medication in moderating my bi-polar condition. I was sitting at a table in the visiting room with my aunt when I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard a voice say, “You have to move to Three Yard.” Three Yard is a b**ch. Guys can be brutal. Approximately 850 prisoners cram into a tiny yard for air. It’s no wonder that officers and prisoners were persistently grouchy. I asked, “Is there a library?” “Not an official library.” “Well, is there an unofficial place to borrow books?” Mr. Mahon, in the library, seemed to be a kind teacher, rare in my prison experience. I heard him say, “I’m trying to use my limited supply of books to put together a real library. You want a book, go to the back room. No pay, of course.” I went into the “back room” where I saw about 100 books in boxes. I also found an older prisoner who asked, “You looking for a job?” That’s how I got my strictly unofficial job at the temporary unofficial library. One advantage of this job was to have priority on books received. The cellies were generally much younger than me. A few of them were polite, but most were rude. I can’t remember any of them except for one – a 30-something thug from the San Joaquin Valley. We didn’t like each other from the outset, and we only lasted three weeks. The proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back was when I caught him making prison wine called Pruno, hidden under my bunk. “You can’t do that in here. If you get caught, I’ll get in trouble too!” “F*** you, asshole. I’ll do what I want.” By that time, I had enough of Three Yard. I hadn’t met with my mental health clinician in over a year. When I asked to meet with him, amazingly my request was granted. He was a good guy. He promptly greased the admin wheels so I could return to One Yard. I was installed on the top bunk with a young, bald tattooed brother who refused to allow me to put my property under the lower bunk. I had to sleep with my boxes, while he studied German out loud all night…with the light on. Oh well. Here we go again.

Greg, 60

Greg, 60

Meet Greg…

“Two weeks after the robbery she picked me out of a lineup. I went to trial. I had a good lawyer, yet I was found guilty. I was given three years to life. I felt like I died that day.”

Incarcerated: 24 years

It was a cold clear day on January 20th I was on parole and was just released three months prior. I was staying with my brother Mike. I needed a car and a place for my girlfriend Debbie and I. I was selling small amounts of dope. Business was slow and my habit was getting bigger every day. I was at the point where I wasn’t going to be able to sustain. I needed money badly. There was a bank a stone’s throw away from the house. It’s in the perfect location. I rode my mountain bike. I parked behind the bank on the other side of the fence. I was higher than a kite, so I didn’t care if I got caught. I waited my turn in line. I didn’t have a weapon. I handed the nice teller a note, she read it and started putting money on the counter, $5,600. I put the money in my jacket pockets and walked out of the bank. I rode that two miles back to my brother’s house in well under five minutes. I bought a car, rented an apartment, and bought a TV and stereo. Nobody saw anything at the bank except the one bank teller. Two weeks after the robbery she picked me out of a lineup. I went to trial. I had a good lawyer, yet I was found guilty. I was given 32 years to life. I felt like I died that day.

Eldridge, 56

Eldridge, 56

Meet Eldridge…

I’ve taught myself, instead of reacting to situations, act on them. To think before I act.
Incarcerated: 30 years
Housed: Statesville Correctional Center, Joliet, Illinois

I’ve been talking to men the past 30 years and it’s hard to share your feelings with guys in this place. My mom lives in Michigan so I haven’t seen her in 30 years. We talk on the phone two times a week. I have never had a visit which is sad. Recently I’ve tried reaching out to my kids, two daughters, 31 and 36 and my son, 37. I’ve got grandkids I’ve never met and might not ever meet. I don’t know what to say to my kids. I just got back into their lives in 2020 and it’s been strange. We don’t know one another and it’s hard to write because my hands are shot. I have a tablet, so we can email but they haven’t done it and that’s what hurts knowing I have any kind of future with my kids. I filed a clemency petition last year and getting it scares me more than being turned down. I have no place to go and some nights that keep me up, but I have to lift my spirits up and stay strong. Nobody got me here but myself so I blame myself for all the wrong choices I’ve made in my life. I’ve taught myself, instead of reacting to situations, act on them. To think before I act. I have tested positive twice for Covid but never got sick. But I feel blessed, four of my friends didn’t make it. I shed a lot of tears for them. During these Covid times, please stay safe.

Stevin, 63

Stevin, 63

Meet Stevin…

As hard as life might be, in and out of prison, I’ve learned a secret that has changed my life. Happiness is a choice, a frame of mind. If you wake up each day and decide that you’re going to feel happiness and joy – you will

Incarcerated: 42 years

When I say I’m in prison, I’m describing where my body is, not my mind or spirit. After 42 years in prison, my body is slowly breaking down, yet despite all that, I feel blessed. It took several decades to learn how to live, and love, and to be happy. I finally found freedom, true freedom. I can only guess that it may be harder for me because of the environment I grew up in. For a very long time I have struggled with identity. I was told in a very harsh way when I was ten that my father wasn’t really my father, that he had adopted me. Not that I didn’t already feel out of place. As hard as life might be, in and out of prison, I learned a secret that changed my life. Happiness is a choice, a frame of mind. If you wake up each day and decide that you’re going to feel happiness and joy – you will. No matter what bad things happen on that day, it is still a present, enjoy it. Being in prison won’t prevent me from sharing my life, loves, joys or sufferings. I am grateful that prison isn’t much worse than it is. I hope all of you out there in the free world are having awesome lives. Remember it’s all a matter of perspective. You can decide your life or your day! It’s all up to you! I hope you are as blessed as I am. Take care my friends and I’d love to hear from you, friends out there, about your lives. 📸Stevin’s