Monthly Archives: June 2024

LWOP, Views From The Inside

Aunt Linda’s Kid

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Author’s Note: I wrote this piece to honor my Aunt Linda, who has been placed in home hospice care. She never had children but spoiled lots of the family kids. Being loved by this special, beautiful person has blessed my life immeasurably. 

My Aunt Linda never had children, but she had lots of kids, pouring herself into loving so many of us.  She took us to special places, gave us countless gifts, cooked us favorite treats, and made us feel most special by lighting up around us. Her joy in us made us feel loved, special, and full of warm fuzzies inside. I’m sure we all felt like her favorite. 

My brother Tony and I might have been the most fortunate benefactors of Aunt Linda’s great love though.  Weekends often found us at her house, waking up to her scrumptious scrambled eggs with cheese.  She was a wonderful cook.  For my birthdays, I repeatedly asked for her lasagna.  Christmas and beach trips brought her delicious fudge, haystacks, and lady fingers.  One of the best things to happen to me in prison was getting food from Aunt Linda and my Mom. They found they could deliver food for a Church Christmas party.  They cooked nonstop for two days, then had it driven to the mountains.  Every bite tasted of freedom, of family, of love.  They supplied a couple of dozen nearly starving prisoners, just so they could provide special treats to Tony and me. That’s a lot of love. 

Aunt Linda loved to travel, especially to visit family.  Our travels took us to Florida, Kentucky, D.C. and Maryland, many times.  She was either the most patient person ever or a little crazy because she endured those trips in the backseat with two rambunctious boys.  We never stopped moving, and she had to be counselor and referee.  It was almost as bad as a prison transfer bus.  Maybe she should have shackled us, but she loved us too much. 

And she loved spoiling us.  She could have bought a BMW with the quarters she gave us at the arcade, but she found loving others the most valuable possession.  She gave us money for ice cream, movies, putt-putt, go-karts and the waterslides.  When we went to Disney World for the first time, she bought us numerous souvenirs and extras.  My favorite was a Disney signature book.  She helped us get signatures from all of the stars – Mickey and Minnie Mouse, Cinderella and Prince Charming, Donald Duck and Goofy.  So much fun. 

Life is measured by the quality of our relationships.  Aunt Linda’s life was rich and full because she gave all of her self to building quality relationships.  She gave herself to blessing others and helping others.  She wanted only two things, and she wanted them every day – Bojangles and a Cappuccino Blast.  Ask her what she wants to eat. Bojangles and a Cappuccino Blast. Baskin Robbins should rename it the Aunt Linda Blast.

Aunt Linda, thank you for loving me so much.  Thank you for choosing me as one of your kids.  Your love and the many happy memories made with you have been a lighthouse for me on this voyage.  You shine light by which I find my way, and by helping me find my way, you share in everything I accomplish.  Every person I help is touched by you and by your love. 

Being my Aunt Linda’s kid has been one of the greatest treasures of my life. I love, love, love you!

ABOUT THE WRITER.  Timothy Johnson is serving a life without parole sentence.  He has a Bachelor of Arts degree in Pastoral Ministry with a minor in Counseling from the College at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary; he serves as the assistant editor for The Nash News, the first and longest running prison publication in NC; he was editor of Ambassadors in Exile, a journal/newsletter that represents the NCFMP; he is a co-author of Beneath Our Numbers; and he has been published in the North Carolina Law Review (Hope for the Hopeless:  The Prison Resources Repurposing Act https://scholarship.law.unc.edu/nclr/vol100/iss3/2/).
Recently, Timothy and Phillip Vance Smith, II, co-authored a piece for NC Newsline, which can be found here, and Timothy can also be heard on the Prison POD podcast on YouTube.

Mr. Johnson can be contacted at:
Timothy Johnson #0778428
Nash Correctional Institution
P.O. Box 247
Phoenix, MD 21131

Timothy Johnson can also be contacted via GettingOut.com

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Sentenced to Death, Views From The Inside

Grandma’s Pick

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Growing up, I looked forward to holidays and family reunions because they meant we were going to visit Grandma in West Virginia.  She lived alone at the end of a long dirt road at the head of a holler.  Her two-story house had shingle siding, a tin roof, and no neighbors in sight.  It was where her in-laws lived before her and where she and my grandpa raised eleven kids.

Family gatherings there always began with the incessant slamming of car doors as uncles and aunts reached the end of a long drive and 29 grandkids scattered everywhere.  Some of us ran to the barn, some the creek or the woods, others headed straight to the house and the ceramic duck cookie jar resting on Grandma’s deep freeze where she stashed 5th Avenue and Zero bars.  Grandma watched us, smiling, as we ran every which way, and when one of our parents admonished us with a Slow down! or Stop being so loud!, Grandma would say, “Oh, let ’em play. They’re kids.”  She would remind them that they were once loud, dirty kids running through the same house.

As far as I can remember, she rarely raised her voice and only swung a switch maybe twice and only when one of us grandkids back-talked our parents.  That’s the one thing she didn’t tolerate… sass.  She was slow moving but first on the scene when it came to setting things right.  I remember her once telling my kindest uncle to cut a switch.  When he returned with it, she switched the legs of his son for sassing him.

Most of us knew better than to misbehave around Grandma.  We loved and respected her and knew the woods around her house were full of switches.  I thought the world of her, and it helped that my dad and others frequently told me I was her favorite grandson.  I’d do anything she asked and everything I found needed doing without her having to ask – chop and stack the wood, haul buckets of coal, cut brush, and pile rocks.  Sometimes there were several months between our visits, but upon arrival I would immediately set about completing whatever chores I could find.

I felt I received extra hugs, and Grandma would whisper in my ear that there were Nutty Bars (my favorite) in the cabinet, and I should get some when my cousins weren’t around.  Feeling I was her favorite, I didn’t want to disappoint her, while also feeling like nothing I could do would disappoint; a foolish mistake on my part.  One fall when I was fourteen, my dad and I went to visit Grandma for the weekend to do some squirrel hunting.  Grandma always beat the sun up when she had company, cooking as if all her children were home and hungry.  This particular morning was no different, and the smell of bubbling gravy and sizzling sausage drew us downstairs to the table.  As we ate with gusto, Grandma did as she always did, nibbled a biscuit and watched us enjoy her food with a smile on her face.  When my dad finished, he stood, grabbed his shotgun and walked out.  As I stood to follow, Grandma told me to put some sausage biscuits together.  Knowing we would be in the woods all day, she wanted to make sure we had something to eat for later.

After whipping the biscuits together and tucking them into the large pocket on my hunting coat, I said, “I better go catch up with my old man.”  She could’ve beaten me with a two-by-four and it wouldn’t have hurt as much as the look she gave me.  I felt I’d instantly become her least favorite.  After a long pause, she scoldingly said, “He’s not your old man.  He’s your daddy.”

Her words were evergreen, influencing how I treat elders and my father to this day.  I muttered, “Yes ma’am,” lowered my head, and skulked out of the house and up the hill to catch up with my dad. 

ABOUT THE WRITER.  Jason Hurst has a talent for writing and a desire to pursue productive and creative endeavors. He was recently one of the subjects of an article by Waverly McIver regarding parenting from death row, Dads of Death Row, has worked with Prison Pod Productions, and is currently working on a podcast project to raise awareness regarding death row.
Jason can be contacted at:

Jason Hurst #0509565
Central Prison
P.O. Box 247
Phoenix, MD 21131
OR
textbehind.com

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Views From The Inside

A Pandemic Christmas

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During the Christmas holiday here, residents are given a holiday bag filled with a variety of snacks.  This bag is often the only thing many guys receive, other than a rough time, and it is looked forward to each year.  After one such holiday, we were all in good spirits, having received our bags, and my friend slipped his under his bunk before leaving for his regular bible study.  When he got back – the bag was gone.  Stolen!  It was heart-wrenching to see the devastation in my friend’s eyes, to hear the hurt in his voice, knowing this was all he had.

As word of the theft spread, our unit of about 128 guys became charged with an awe-inspiring energy.  A few guys, some of the ‘worst haters’, went around and collected snacks and cook-up and sodas.  One guy even gave his own holiday bag.  Total collected that day was five times the amount that had been stolen. 

I watched in gratitude as my friend, a sex-offender, was given a better replacement bag than the one stolen.  It was a beautiful sight, seeing a broken heart being restored with hope, love, generosity and simple humanness.  His holiday became much more than it would have been, because my friend was someone who never received mail, never used the phone, and who felt no one cared.  He was a man who always had to hustle for everything he got, and he finally experienced being cared for.  

It made my holiday that much better too.  I received the gift of seeing the true spirit of giving in this environment.  It was difficult to not look at these guys and realize that in spirit we are all the same, that our appearance, race, sexual orientation, gender, criminal history or anything else – doesn’t matter.

We are judged on all those things by society, considered unworthy, unredeemable, unlovable, the worst of the worst.  But through our actions and the kindness shown to my friend, this community broke that stereotype.  

Yes, we have all made some terrible decisions in our lives, decisions that we will continue to pay for beyond our time in this prison with the stigma of being ex-felons.  I believe, given care, hope and love, these same men who are sons, fathers, brothers, husbands and friends will be seen more for their beautiful, generous hearts than the mistakes made in their past.

ABOUT THE WRITER. James Pruitt is new to WITS, having submitted this essay for a past writing contest. As always, WITS receives contest submissions that, though they may not place, need to be published. This essay was read by a board member at our 2024 Annual Board Meeting, and is also included in the the June, 2024, newsletter. It speaks to much of what WITS is about, recognizing that growth is experienced through love and grace, not perpetual punishment, and that happens in all populations when given a chance. I am grateful for Mr. Pruitt’s contribution and he can be contacted at:

James Pruitt #16364-040
Federal Correctional Institution Elkton
P.O. Box 10
Lisbon, Ohio 44432

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