Cruel. Heartless. Malicious and cold. That’s how the prosecutor described me to a jury during his pitch for a verdict of death. He argued that I was, “…just mean and unfit to live.” In the end, the jury agreed.
Four months after my arrival on Death Row, I stole money from an officer. Though inadvertent, it was theft nonetheless. It happened one morning during weekly ‘draw’, while one officer was training another. At that time, available funds withdrawn from inmate accounts were counted and stapled together.
The new guy – or Newbie – handed me a stack of bills in fives and ones meant to total forty dollars. With no prior incidents or errors, I tucked the bills in my pocket and walked away. Within moments, a commotion stirred as one inmate started shouting over missing funds. Others became disgruntled and offered up chide remarks about the unfairness of the system. The senior officer tried to de-escalate the ruckus, while the new guy searched frantically through the money bag. I sympathized with the perplexity strewn on Newbie’s face. It was his first day on the job.
After reassuring compensation, both officers exited the pod, as the ire amongst protesting inmates increased. With a prickly notion to count the money, I collected the bills from my pocket and discovered it wasn’t one stack, but two. The staples in each stack had snagged one another and pieced the money together. I called over the guy to which the funds belonged, explained the mix-up and offered him the money.
“Keep it,” he said, “Let the State pay for it, since they’re trying to kill us, anyway.” Tempers flared over systemic oppression, as the other inmates egged each other on. Reluctantly, I passed the money off to a friend – I was striking a blow to ‘the State’.
Not only was the meager blow ineffective to the State, it was utterly deflected. I later found out the replacement funds were deducted from Newbie’s salary. What a terrible feeling to know I was responsible for a mark on his work record. And by involving another party, I couldn’t return the money, though keeping it cost me peace of mind.
Over the years, Newbie has gone on to become a well respected officer. With an 18 year tenure of working on Death Row, he has seniority over all other staff. He’s shown cordialness and consideration when enforcing policy, while effectively performing his duties. A kind, hard working man, who seldom speaks, but is eager to flash a grin. As I’ve come to admire his professionalism, I’m reminded of my offense. Such a fine person deserves better from me – I deserve better from myself.
Recently, I was among several Death Row inmates selected for a random urinalysis. I arrived to find Newbie overseeing the process, as he went about his task with a grin. I’d often experienced discomfort whenever he was present – a nagging guilt that pecked at my conscience and impeded the wholeness of reform. Tonight’s discomfort was more salient and intense, as I struggled with the idea of possible outcomes. What if Newbie had lost his job, or been accused of theft and criminally charged? I squeezed my eyes tightly as my inner voice gathered. Newbie deserved better. So did I.
Some idle chat was used to generate dialogue on self-reform. Then, with no one else around, my words spilled forth, “Yeah, man… many of us want to be better, but to do better, we have to own our truths. Just like the time when that forty dollar draw come up missing…” At that point, I had Newbie’s undivided attention. While confessing my role in the missing funds, I felt embarrassed, but liberated. I searched his eyes for a hint of anger. They stayed steady and unrevealing. I expressed my sincerity to return the funds and the difficulty of having involved another. His fixed look filled me with shame – a shame I well deserved.
Finally, Newbie settled his thoughts and said, “Thank you for telling me that.” For eighteen years Newbie had been puzzled by the events of that day. He was certain about the money count and grateful to finally know what happened. I was moved to witness such genuine forgiveness, given instantly and without effort. I expected reprimand for my wrong-doing, instead, Newbie seemed relieved. His forgiveness was validation in the courage to right our wrongs. It was more than I deserved – it was a lesson in the goodness of humanity.
©Chanton
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Terry Robinson writes under the pen name ‘Chanton’. Terry is a thought provoking, inspirational writer and a frequent contributor. It’s a privilege to share his work. He can be contacted at:
Terry Robinson #0349019
Central Prison
4285 Mail Service Center
Raleigh, NC 27699-4285
In 1999, the year Charles Mamou was sentenced to death, Texas performed 35 executions. The following year, they performed 40. The state was and is very practiced at executions – but has it become too easy to execute?