October | 2020 | Walk In Those Shoes

There are all kinds of reasons to want a pen friend from the free world, some wholesome and some not so wholesome. Obviously it’s nice to receive mail now and then. It’s cool to be included. Most guys receive mail, and it sucks when everyone except you… okay, ALMOST everyone… gets word from people that care.

Mail also let’s people know where you are on the proverbial ‘totem pole’. If you don’t get mail, you most assuredly don’t get money to go to store and don’t get visits. This is also true for phone use. People that don’t get mail rarely use the phone.

I once built a parole package for a friend, and in return he had his fiancé purchase me a profile online in the hope of correspondence. For the most part people write and we are friends for a short time before life’s requirements pull them away.

This is a letter I got from Stephanie, a really cool motorcycle-loving cowgirl – she has her own bike. We wrote back and forth for about four months…

Hi Jeremy,
I read your e-book, ‘The Monster Factory’, and I was touched by your honesty and will to survive. It brought tears to my eyes and disgust about the people who run such an awful place and the people who are imprisoned.
I sent you some money to help you through your struggles. Please stay strong!
Happy Holidays,
Stephanie

I enjoy hearing from and reading about my pen pals’ ups and downs. It’s a vicarious way of living myself, of getting to know people and hearing about activities I can’t experience for myself. Sometimes these activities are big things, sometimes small, sometimes happy, often sad. But it’s REAL life, not prison life, and valuable to me because my pen pal has chosen me to share it with.

Every now and then I make a friend that continues to write over a lengthy period of time. Often my correspondence with them provides strength and hope, but every now and then I get a negative reply – made even more sad to me because it’s justified and true. And it hurts.

This letter is from… I’ll just call her P. She was curious and funny. We wrote back and forth for just a few months.

Jeremy,
I broke down and read that report. I don’t understand how you could go along with someone who said that he was going to set fire to a night club when he had no control what his ex-wife was going to do.
Setting fire to a business was stupid. You’re an idiot for going along with ‘your friend’. So what if your buddy was fighting over his kid, did he threaten you or twist your arm, saying you have to do this or this is going to happen to you?
There were other ways to get back at her. Did you know there were three fireman that got hurt that day??
Kevin W. Kulow, 32 years old, died because of you guys.
One captain sustained critical respiratory injuries, he was hospitalized.
Another team captain had sustained serious burns to his face, knees and hand.
Kevin Kulow was a rookie, seven months on the job, seven months! He was 32 years old.
Fuck! All I can say to you guys is, you’re all f&%$ing stupid idiots. You got what you three deserved.
I hope you ROT IN HELL for all your actions, all three of you!!
DO NOT WRITE TO ME AGAIN. I DON’T WRITE TO PEOPLE WHO KILL FIREMEN OR POLICE MEN!!!
P.

Don’t judge her letter, she has family that are employed as first responders. Without P. and Stephanie, and without being able to hear from people in the free world, I would quickly become only aware of this world…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jeremy Robinson is author of Monstor Factory and also a frequent contributor to WITS and part of our writing family, his work is always heartfelt and honest.
Mr. Robinson lives in a Texas prison and can be contacted at:
Jeremy Robinson #1313930
Michael Unit
2664 FM 2054
Tennessee Colony, TX 75886

I went to trial not because I was innocent but because in my adolescent mind I assumed a jury of my peers would go easier on me than a judge.

I was sixteen years old on December 12, 1995. Me and another guy were out getting high. We were walking down a street in a gang infested neighborhood, and we saw some people that were clearly not from the area. I took part in an unplanned and uncoordinated robbery.

After the jury found me guilty, they recommended thirty years for the three robberies, fifteen years for kidnapping, fifteen years for assault with non-serious bodily injury and five to fifteen years on attempted robbery and armed criminal action. Prior to my trial, the state offered me a plea bargain of a soft life sentence, the equivalent of thirty years.

At my sentencing hearing on February 28, 1997, it was left up to the judge to run my sentences either concurrently, thirty years, or consecutively, 241 years.

“You made your choice, you will live with your choice, and you will die with your choice because, Bobby Bostic, you will die in the Department of Corrections. Do you understand that? Your mandatory date to go in front of the parole board will be the year 2201. Nobody in this courtroom will be alive in the year 2201.”

In February, 2018, the Judge who said those words and sentenced me to die in prison came forward and tried to help me get out of prison. She now says the sentence was too harsh. She regrets it.

My adult co-defendant was given thirty years – 211 years less than I was – and he would have been home now, but he died in prison in 2018 at the age of forty, may he rest in peace.

I’m very sorry for the crimes I committed. I changed my life despite being sentenced to die in prison. I’ve taken over fifty rehabilitation classes through the Department of Corrections and outside entities. I have self-published five books and written ten more. I have an Associates of Science degree and have a few classes left to get my Bachelor’s Degree in Social Work. None of that means anything to the State of Missouri. What matters to the state is that I die in prison for a crime I committed at sixteen years old where no one was seriously hurt.

I feel myself growing old. My bones ache from the steel bunks and concrete floors. Nieces and nephews that weren’t born when I was on the street have kids taller than me now. I’ve watched them grow up in the prison visiting room. I was sixteen – all I want is one second chance. It’s all I would need…

ABOUT THE WRITER. Bobby Bostic was sentenced to die in prison for a crime commited when he was 16 years old. His co-defendant and the leader of the two was an adult and received thirty years. At sixteen years old, in a crime where no one was seriously injured – Bostic was given essentially – a death sentence. Mr. Bostic spends his time writing books and educating himself. If you would like to show your belief that his sentence is unjust, you can sign his petition here.

You can contact Mr. Bostic at:
Bobby Bostic #526795
Jefferson City Correctional Center
8200 No More Victims Road
Jefferson City, MO 65101

Walk In Those Shoes

Monthly Archives: October 2020

Pen Pals

I Was Sixteen – All I Want Is One Second Chance

Prison Writing and Expression