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Antwann, 46

Antwann, 46

Stories

Meet Antwann…

I know staring down at a lifeless body did something to us all emotionally. There was one pivotal moment where I found myself questioning life itself.

Incarcerated: 18 years
Housed: Jefferson City Correctional Center; Jefferson City, Missouri

My day started as any other. I was checking in on a patient when the manager asked if I would live in the medical unit. Nurses and medical personnel who cared for ill and dying inmates with COVID needed assistance. At first, I felt reluctant, this virus was still a mystery. Moments later, I was informed that my cousin and two of my close friends had tested positive. I made the decision to work in the medical unit was to face and confront my greatest fear, dying alone. I’ve seen firsthand how many of the inmate patients don’t have any family or people who care. Two inmate patients battling COVID had a bittersweet ending that would ultimately give me the strength to continue fighting for this worthy cause. Stanley, 64 had COVID and pneumonia. He was in such bad shape the outside hospital sent him back and said he would not make it. As he lay in his bed, I stared at him and imagined that it was me lying in that bed fighting for my life. We became close and I did all that I could to assist the nurses. He thanked us, he knew his condition was bad that we were doing our best to keep him alive. He expressed to me how he didn’t have any family or friends, I took it upon myself to care for him as if he were my own family. George arrived and was diagnosed with terminal cancer. This was a death sentence for him. Stanley knew that I had a passion to help others, so he did not feel neglected or alone while I was holding George. I have to admit, George was a fighter. Just as with Stanley. George and I became close. George would not allow the custody staff to touch him unless I was present. You would have to be here to truly experience the joy these patients bring to our medical team and vice-versa. We’re a big family that relies on each other for strength and support, and we have the biggest prison medical facility in Missouri. Each plays a pivotal role in making this unit function, but it’s the hospice workers who have compassion for human lives. Its true meaning. Sometimes things were so chaotic nurses wanted to walk off the job, and we four hospice porters were losing hope. I know staring down at a lifeless body did something to us all emotionally. There was one pivotal moment where I found myself questioning life itself. One of the COVID inmate patients words still lives in my thoughts, “Against The Odds Goldie, it’s funny how cruel life can be, huh?” I responded, “What do you mean?” He replied, “never smoked, but I’m dying from lung cancer, and I have COVID. It’s ok, because I know I don’t have long. But I want to know, Goldie, why do you do this kind of work?” “I hope that if I’m ever in your situation that someone would be by my side in my time of need.” Two weeks later, he would be dead. During the rougher times, I found myself stepping into an empty cell for a few moments because I had to pull myself together mentally, emotionally, and also spiritually. If I told you I wasn’t affected by the death of another human, especially one I’d grown close to under these circumstances, I’d be lying. I have a newfound respect for healthcare workers. Working alongside them, I feel like a real human being and not some worthless criminal. This is the first time in my 24 years of incarceration that I have felt like this. It’s hard to hold back the tears looking at the work we have done. How we’ve received no recognition from the prison officials. I’ve witnessed firsthand how this virus attacks the body with no regard for human life. Nothing prepared me for that moment one of the hospice porters woke me to share George was no longer with us. I rushed to my feet to begin the process of notifying his family. It has been a rough journey being a hospice porter, and it has humbled me. There were times when I felt lost, confused, and couldn’t process the loss of another. For us four porters, it brought us closer together. The fact that we put other lives before our own convinces me of our shared compassion. Two of the porters gave me strength, they caught the virus, yet came back to work knowing they could contract this deadly virus again and die. I say, “Against the odds, for a worthy cause.” I’m an innocent man fighting a murder conviction only to witness COVID  kill eight people before my eyes. I am now questioning life, wondering where justice is, and if death is the actual answer to true freedom. I’ve truly become a broken shell among damaged petals. If there is anyone beyond these gates who is willing to listen, please become that “SEED OF HOPE” and share my story, because I’m only a Voice of Conviction. Antwann CEO

 

Touched By An Angel…

I have a sense of gratitude to God for blessing me to have been able to share precious moments with a woman who meant the world to me. Just the thought of her stirs up uncontrollable emotions as I attempt to hold back tears. I’m speaking of Anna Mae Johnson, my late grandmother of whom we all affectionately called “Granny.” Many of us have experienced and suffered through, the loss of a loved one, who has made a significant impact on our lives.

Sunday mornings growing up will forever be ingrained in my mind and within my heart. On Sundays we attended church and I enjoyed being in the company of my grandmother. I would sit in a chair at the kitchen table as she cooked, lectured me, and always made sure to keep God at the center of our conversation. She possessed a presence that absorbed and gave a feeling of warmth. It was her mild temper and soft-spoken voice that held my attention, but ultimately it was her smile and tender hugs that assured me that I was worthy of being loved.

I can remember occasions when we all would be having a good time, dancing, laughing and enjoying each other’s presence. Those moments of peace would be short-lived because we always had that one member of the family who would indulge in having one too many drinks and end up causing a scene. There would also be times when I could sense something was troubling my grandmother. She would be lost in thought as she rocked back and forth while humming to herself. She would call out to me “lil-man” and just like that I would come running. As I became enveloped in her warm embrace, it always seemed as if all of my problems and cares would instantly vanish. I often told her how much I loved her and how she was the greatest Granny in the world.

She taught me important life lessons through her actions. I watched how she would tend to her garden, I saw how she would plant just the right amount of seeds, perfectly spread them apart and add fresh soil. But most importantly, I saw the amount of care and patience that was required to make the garden bloom. I truly got my strength from watching her. She was the rock and foundation of the family. I never saw her cry until one day when she seemed to be in extreme pain and distress, crying out to God. This trapped me in a mix of emotions. I learned she was experiencing emotional anguish because my aunt (her daughter) had succumbed to cirrhosis of the liver, and she had to be the one to make the decision to pull the plug on her child. That would be the first time that I really experienced the effects a person’s death would have on a loved one.

God has a way of putting people in our lives, whether it is for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Whatever His purpose is for unifying people is beyond our comprehension, but one thing is for certain: there is no dollar amount that can be placed on memories made with a loved one. Even if it was not spent doing anything but spending life together. Not having my grandmother here to lean on for strength is painful.

I often find myself lost in thought, replaying scenes from my past and becoming emotionally joyful. Being in my grandmother’s room where she spent her final moments overwhelms me. I know she is listening and watching over me, as my guardian angel. I just have one request, granny…. smile for me!

I’ve learned to come to terms that death is always going to be a part of life, and to be grateful for those special moments we have with loved ones. I’ll meditate and talk to my grandmother, telling her how everyone is doing and how we all miss her dearly. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to just see her again.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that in order to gain peace of mind we must forgive, let go and let God deal with those we feel have wronged us. There have been times when I thought that God had forgotten me due to my situation, but by staying faithful to Him during my journey in prison, several people have appeared in my life and filled the void of emptiness.

Not long ago, we all suffered the loss of a true here at this facility, Nurse Pauline. If you knew her, you knew that she had a mother’s touch. She possessed the heart of a lioness, and the compassion to care. She touched so many lives. Sometimes it’s not easy trying to make sense of why we sometimes lose the ones who are the closest to us. However, I want you to take a brief moment and reflect on a time when you may have experienced a sudden gust of wind hit you, a soft touch on the shoulder, or something lightly brush against you…or perhaps you just sensed the energy of something in your presence when you were alone that gave you comfort. Whatever the case may have been, one thing is for sure…

You were touched by an angel….

Daniel, 42

Daniel, 42

Stories

Meet Daniel…

It’s not easy to come to the point where you want to change your mindset. It can be a mentally painful process. I still have a lot of fine-tuning to do. It comes in increments, when it does, it feels good. My heart and mind feel nourished.

Incarcerated: 23 years

I was a gang banger with little fear of death. I had little respect for people, their belongings and especially their lives. Including my family members, my baby’s mommas. I never took heed to their messages, concerns or pleas. Anxiety attacks led to violence, blackouts, feelings I was an outcast. Depression led to hatred. I didn’t have ways to cope. I fell in love with the street life, where I found happiness. Chasing all sorts of women, mastering the art of mackin, I began to overcome anxiety and shyness. My father missed a big portion of my childhood, I didn’t know how to turn to him. My mother was busy working, paying bills and didn’t know how to help. She raised us alone. We were the roughest, toughest boy pair. If our attitude and temperament weren’t so much like hers, she probably would’ve given us up for adoption. I hit California’s Pelican Bay’s level four at 18. I had never worked a job or gone to school due to gang affiliations. I started going to church and school, self help groups and conflict management. I was forced to shift gears in my rehabilitation path. I began to get yard and participate in recreation. Convict politics on the yard was abundant. People handled their problems by stabbing each other. My last year went without incident and I transferred to a level three. It was lovely and quiet. I felt like I was at rehab rather than prison. You could see the mountains. We were surrounded by hundreds of trees. The correctional officers weren’t yelling all the time, they talked to us like human beings. We could walk into a self-help group and get a crash course. One time I fell asleep on the yard and had no worries about it. I reconditioned my thought process there. This really flipped my wig. I could see why I was in prison for 37 years. I was misguided, had no positive inspiration or motivation. So many lives could have been saved. It’s not easy to come to the point where you want to change your mindset. It can be a mentally painful process. I still have a lot of fine-tuning to do. It comes in increments, when it does, it feels good. My heart and mind feel nourished. 📸 Daniel’s

 

Douglas, 58

Douglas, 58

Stories

Meet Douglas…

I am a survivor and my hope and my prayer is that in telling my story, someone will hear it and know that they are not alone. This is something that we deal with as child survivors. We feel that we are alone and have no one to turn to – especially behind these walls.

Incarcerated: 30 years

It wasn’t until I reached a point in my healing where I could talk to my father again. It took me 36 years. I lived in absolute terror of my father. He was abusive on all possible levels. He molested me when I was seven. It’s something that I’ve learned to handle with a lot of work. I just couldn’t live locked away anymore. In my father’s household, boys don’t cry and don’t show emotion, so I shut down. The only emotion acceptable to my father was anger. I enlisted in the Navy at 17. I stayed angry. I learned the way my father raised me was set in stone. At home my job in life was to protect my younger brothers and sisters. By the time I got out of the service, between my training and the way that I was raised, I didn’t see Scott as a person, when I took his life, he was a target. I emasculated him because of my childhood trauma of being harmed and my anger towards all sex offenders and child molesters. I didn’t have the tools I have now to deal with someone hurting the girls. If someone hurt them they answered to me. It was like flipping a switch, especially after I found out he raped my friend’s wife. I am a survivor and my hope and my prayer is that in telling my story, someone will hear it and know that they are not alone. This is something that we deal with as child survivors. We feel that we are alone and have no one to turn to – especially behind these walls. I’m working on accepting how empty I was of empathy, compassion, and feelings. The Victim Offender Education Group and the Veteran’s Healing Veterans Program laid the groundwork for the trauma and healing. They helped me deal with my criminal thinking, how I wrongly took the law into my own hands. I had to learn that contrary to how I was raised, taking an action like that is not my responsibility. I am not the law. It’s helped to tell my story and to be able to walk side by side with my sister on our path of healing. She’s the one that got me to understand that forgiving my father was not for him, but for myself.

📸 Dougles’ 🎤Interviewed by Edwin and Miguel, our inside West Block Correspondents

Douglas was featured in a San Quentin News article, “Looking back on a legacy of woodworking”

Michael John, 33

Stories

Meet Michael John…

I was going in Target and Walmart stores to steal electronics. To support my addiction. 

Incarcerated: 8 years
Housed: Augusta Correctional Center; Craigsville, Virginia

I was going in Target and Walmart stores to steal electronics. To support my addiction. At 14, I broke my arm in a dirt bike accident. Little did I know, I would become dependent on the painkillers. It led to me stealing and robbing, doing whatever to get high. I did jail time off and on since I was 16. After my first release, It wasn’t two hours after I walked out of prison that I found myself buying heroin. The pills were too expensive. Within a month my habit was up to four to five grams a day. Once, I was shot in the back of the head and it came out in front of my ear. By the grace of God, I’m still here. When I first started this prison sentence I was 24 years old. Still young and hard-headed. It took me until I was 30, to wake up and realize I’m getting too old for this lifestyle, plus I lost my little brother to an overdose. It’s a shame. It took this sentence and losing my brother to wake up and grow up. I’m going on four years this August without touching a pill or heroin. And that’s a miracle. I’d like to thank the Humans of San Quentin and my family for supporting me. Thank you and God bless you.

Richard, 66

Stories

Meet Richard…

At 12, my Ma had me incarcerated as a hopeless incorrigible, but really she was just mad because I wrecked her car joy-riding. I didn’t even know how to spell incorrigible, much less tell you what it meant.

Incarcerated: 16 yrs

I tried to commit suicide by injecting all the thorazine tablets they sent me home with. All it did was make me deathly ill. I began to self-medicate on grass and heroin, my two favorite things in the whole world. Especially heroin, it’s warm fuzziness wraps around you like a warm blanket and keeps all the bad memories, worries and fears out. I would drift on heroin’s cloud and luxuriate in the false sense of well being. Withdrawals are another story though and to avoid those I needed a ready supply of the $25 balloons I begged, stole and borrowed for.

This inevitably led to one incarceration after another, starting in ‘76 as a civil addict commitment to California Rehabilitation Center at Norco. To my surprise, there were more balloons there than on the street!

Today at San Quentin, I’m on my second life sentence for a nickel dime robbery in Corona. I began my roller coaster ride in 1968, three years after my Pa died. At 12, my Ma had me incarcerated as a hopeless incorrigible, but really she was just mad because I wrecked her car joy-riding. I didn’t even know how to spell incorrigible, much less tell you what it meant. Juvie was rough back then. Boys as old as 20 were locked up with children my age. We went to school for half the day and the other half was recreation, cutting up and stealing the counselor’s smokes. Ma came to see me, but not much. When I came home she constantly threatened to send me back, so I ran away. At 18, I was placed in the psychiatric ward for a nervous breakdown. I flipped out. And while I was Thorazined back, taking in 2800 mg a day! One of the navy orderlies raped me in the showers. I never told or talked about it until I received my military service records. Then, I saw how badly the military messed me over, they ripped me off with a general discharge instead of a medical one. This way, I couldn’t receive follow-up care in the veterans’ hospital. Instead, they sent me home a lost and broken soul.

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