A Common, Ordinary Inmate’s Prison Story

It was in the early 90’s and I was a few years into a 35-year bit at a maximum-security prison in Wisconsin. I spent the first few years fighting to accept what had happened to me, and constantly sedating myself. I woke up every day, still in prison, no matter how much I sedated myself each day. I spent a lot of time in and out of segregation for dirty urine analysis tests, possession, and fighting. My life at this point was all about escaping myself as much as possible, as a coping mechanism in order to deal with being in prison. I had a daily struggle with thoughts of killing myself, but I could not do that to my parents. The pain of being in prison never went away but I learned to carry that pain even today without sedation. 

 What brings me to telling this story is that I felt that it needed to be said. Now I am in year 29 of that 35-year bit, because the parole board deemed it necessary that I do all the time possible. I am presently doing PMR on MR for anyone that understands Wisconsin old law. I have seen the parole board 17 times, having been eligible for parole since 2002. My mom and dad have been gone now 12 years, along with my sister, Karen, and many other relatives. I often think of my struggles during those early days in prison; now I am pretty much all by myself. I am amazed that I have survived and will be released soon. I have this story that I would like to share before I go. 

I was 33 years old when I came to prison, and I am 62 now. I am white, not affiliated with any gang, I had no one holding my hand, no one looking out for me, no one had my back, and no one showed me how to do time. I had to survive and make it through the toughest thing I ever did by myself. When I found out how easy it was to sedate myself with whatever I could get my hands on, something I already knew how to do very well, that is what I did.

One day that all changed, I believe because of a young cellie that was moved into my cell. Come October, it will be 24 years since the last time I sedated myself and come June I will have been cigarette-free for 13 years; I am pretty proud of these two facts. I have earned several technical school diplomas, and even an associate degree in liberal arts. Upon release, I have high expectations of working on prison reform. Look for my name some day in the news!

The reason I share this story is that new cellie was, I believe, the beginning cause of this transformation in my life. I think of this cellie quite often. I choose not to use his name, he’s just “cellie.” He was a 16- or 17-year-old African American from Milwaukee, had nothing, no money, and no one looking out for him. He had thick-lensed state glasses, blind as hell, dirty braided hair that really stunk. He constantly was tapping his head because it itched; what a mess. He was an alright kid, I let him listen to my radio and he was good.

He shared with me that he had a homicide case and got life without possibility of parole. He said a neighbourhood gang member put a gun in his hand and told him to kill this rival gang member. So, he did, got caught, and got life with no chance of parole. He said that he was not worried, the gang members said they had his back, that they had it covered, they would get him out of prison soon. I did not say anything about this, I didn’t know what to say.

As time went by, we had late-night talks. I learned he was from Milwaukee and had never really been off his city block. All he knew was that block, dropped out of school, and never had a job. He was convinced he was going home, saying things like, when I get home, my momma going to cook me this or that. I did not have the heart to say anything about his life bit.

Then one day, it hit him. He looks at me and says, “I ain’t never going home, am I?” I was like, “No man you’re not.” He then crawled up in his bunk and that is where he stayed for days. I will tell you: I know exactly what he felt like, and that overwhelming feeling really sucks. Help is never gonna come, no one is gonna rescue you, and it feels like no one cares.

I got mad that no one helped me, no one held my hand, no one looked out for me, no one showed me how to do prison time. Why should I care? Why should I help a cellie hugging the wall, in bed, in a fetal position?

Finally, I say, “Damn it man, there are plenty of lifers here going through the same thing that you are. They are dealing with it, and so can you. I’m like you, I don’t want these dudes finding out that you ain’t coming out the cell or they are going to step to you, and you definitely don’t want that.” That actually made it worse, then he wanted to tie the door shut with an electric cord, so no one could get him. I said that you don’t want any of them seeing that or getting wind of that either, I said that would make it worse. Then he blurts out, “I’ll just kill myself,” and that he can’t deal with this at all. I say, “Hell no man, I understand this all, you can’t let evil win that big. That is what evil wants from you, evil already had taken a lot, don’t give it your life, too.” I said, “Listen man, I am not a religious person, but I do believe that there is some kind of God, something created this all. This God helps those who help themselves, I’m not saying you have to turn into a bible thumper. I believe that if you ask for help, tell God what you are going through, and things will get better. I understand that you are really young, and the laws change all the time, you can study law and find your own way out. Believe me, I know better than anyone, that hope really sucks, but some days that is all that you got.”

Prison was a hard lesson for me, and I could see it was going to be hard for him now. Why I cared, why I helped him, I am not sure, but I did. I said you got to come out of the cell, you got to, you got to go to the chow call, you got to go to recreation, you got to go to the shower, you got to go to the library, bottom line is you got to be seen. I said, “You got to wash that stinkin’ hair.” I got a little laugh out of him with that one; he was hearing me. I told him to just hang tight with me for a while, I’ve earned a little respect in the time that I’ve been here. He finally said, “Okay.”

Why I even cared really bothered me, I had to do some soul searching about who I was, or who I might be. Man! This kid listened to me, actually listened to ME! As time passed, he began to relax, he met up with some other lifers and he started to hang out with them. I was glad for this; other lifers could help him better than I could.

At this point, I believed that he would be all right. Shortly after I got a job and moved to a different cell, I didn’t see him again. I wonder about him every so often, I wonder if he made it. I wonder if I made a difference. It’s funny you know; the world works in mysterious ways. This experience changed my life forever and I thought this story needed to be shared with someone. I appreciate what I do have today thanks to this young man.