Category Archives: Views From The Inside

Views From The Inside

Pen Pals

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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

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Harsh Sentences, Juvenile Justice, Views From The Inside

I Was Sixteen – All I Want Is One Second Chance

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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

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Innocent, Sentenced to Death, Terry Robinson, Views From The Inside

First -Timer

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Suicides, assaults, perpetuated acts of nonsense, exonerations, relationships severed and put back together – I thought I’d experienced all there was on Death Row.   I’ve seen mild, treatable medical conditions fester and decline, often turning fatal due to inadequate healthcare.  And I’ve seen the dismal look in a man’s eyes, helpless and void, moments away from being executed – yet even after twenty years, nothing could’ve prepared me for today.

For over six months now, due to global restrictions imposed to prevent the spread of COVID-19, all weekly in-person Death Row visitation has been suspended.  As an alternative, online video visitation was implemented, which was a welcome remedy to the growing concerns of our loved ones for our well-being.  For men decades removed from society, video visits ignited Death Row with an ever burning anticipation to view our family in the comforts of their homes as opposed to a concrete booth with reinforced glass and steel bars.  Appointments were made faster than a sweepstakes giveaway and everyone that returned from a visit had a tale to tell, some recounted with exuberant smiles, some with heavy hearts.

In the following weeks, as per safety regulations, the site for Death Row video visits was moved to another area in the prison.  Many of us know the new location as the ‘Death Watch’.  It’s where capital punishment is performed.  Few men here have suffered the Death Watch prior to having their scheduled executions vacated, one in particular describing the most dreadful night ever with a broken voice to match.  More often, the men who’d been hauled off to the Death Watch would not return.  It was a wasteland that was now being assigned familial merit and a path on which I would walk.

Friday, September 18, 2020, at 9:03 a.m., a call blared over the P/A system, one that came expectedly as I had awaited the sound since the night before.  It would be my first video visit with my family, whom I hadn’t seen in months.  The anticipation of it all elevated my mood beyond the reach of my daily struggles.  I hopped into the standard Death Row uniform, one meant to evoke guilt – a hot red jumper that draws heavy around the shoulders in a color scheme that clashes with one’s dignity.  With nothing left to do but settle my eagerness, I strapped on my face mask and headed on my way. 

I joined the company of two other inmates, also with scheduled visits, as they shuffled slightly on their heels, anxious to be off.  One guy, like myself, was a first-timer; I surmised he was equally as nervous. The other inmate had attended video visits prior and schooled me on what was to come.

With the arrival of the escorting officer, we set out on our trip from the Death Row facility down to an area usually reserved for visitation, nothing to heighten the excitement along the way, yet nothing to diminish it.  We then discontinued the familiar route and veered down a flight of stairs, a control station identical to the one above at the bottom.  We crossed the lobby to a sliding glass door that held beyond its threshold something menacing – the very path condemned men had journeyed before as they faced a despicable end.

The door cranked open with a woeful whine, like a symphony of restless souls.  I followed the group as they seemingly proceeded with no ills for our whereabouts.  What looked to be a short distance to the other end of the hallway became a faraway stretch of land, my steps laden with the realization that, for some, this was their final walk.

Rows of windows, made murky and distorted to deny one last peaceful look at nature, lined the passageway.  Here, nothing would be offered to soothe the spirit of the wretched, though in a failed act of humanity, sedatives would be used to ease their pain.  At the midway point was a sally port with its inner workings obscured as it sprang into view like a childhood boogeyman, chasing away my sense of security.  I needn’t inquire of anyone to know this was the Death Watch.  It appeared nothing like the horror I’d dreamed of, yet it incited the same despair.  I was standing in the final resting place of a friend of mine named Joe who was executed in ’03 by lethal injection.  Longing for his company, I whispered to myself and hoped he could hear me.

We made our way to a waiting area, each taking up a station as the first of us was ushered away to begin his scheduled visit. It would be some twenty minutes later before he returned, talkative and rather giddy as the next guy hurried off in his place.  I sat and thought of all the laws passed over the years that would’ve prevented some executions, like the Mental Retardation bill that would’ve saved a man named Perry, or the Racial Justice act for another guy, Insane.  One law that was enacted excluded defendants under eighteen years of age from being eligible to receive the death penalty, an amendment that would’ve kept two other men, Hassan and J-Rock, alive today.

The second inmate emerged with a smile so bright I soaked up a bit of his joy.  I was sure that I’d seen the worst of the Death Watch.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I stepped around the corner to what I thought would be a cozy, makeshift cubicle with a monitor on which the faces of my loved ones awaited.  Instead, I happened onto an arching hallway with blinding lights at the far-end and a metal tank made obvious by the gear-wheel bolted to the door.  I was told it was the crank that released the gasses into the chamber during executions. Beside the Death Tank was the viewing area, where the deaths have actually been watched by those who would champion vengeance while holding others to a different standard.  I cringed at the thought of such an immoral practice and the historical transgressions.  I’ve often wondered if my friends felt alone when they were executed – part of me now prays that they did.

After visitation, I passed by the infamous Death Chamber once more and peered into the darkened sarcophagus.  I had hoped to get a feel for my friend, Joe, but all I got was a question of fate. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:  Terry Robinson often writes under the pen name ‘Chanton’, and this year he and others co-authored Crimson Letters, Voices From Death Row. He continues to work on his memoirs, as well as a book of fiction. Terry Robinson has always maintained his innocence, and hopes to one day prove that and walk free. Mr. Robinson can be contacted at:
Terry Robinson #0349019
Central Prison
4285 Mail Service Center
Raleigh, NC 27699-4285

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Views From The Inside

I Need You To Know

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I need you to know
I can’t see past tomorrow,
That I’ve been surviving these last five years
On nothing but blood and tears,
That I’m withering under the weight
Of me.

I need you to know
The more I fight my yoke
The more it chokes me,
The more of my burden I share
The harder it becomes to bear,
But my pen rebels –                        Stop!

I need you to know
I am dying,
That this is the midnight hour
Of a squandered life
And I’m struggling for recognition
Of my struggle.

That these crudely woven words
Are my last desperate attempt
At preserving a tiny piece
Of what could have been.

I need you to know
That I’m sorry.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Robert McCracken is a gifted poet, with the ability to paint a picture and stir emotion with so few words. I’m always excited to recieve his work, and have a few more pieces I hope to post soon. I hope he someday puts his collection together in book form.

Robert can be reached at:
Smart Communications/PADOC
Robert McCracken LG8344
Sci-Greene
P.O. Box 33028
St. Petersburg, FL 33733

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Views From The Inside, Writing Contests

Writing Contest Time!!

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The holidays are right around the corner.  Plans have started, options being considered, gift lists are being made. 

Describe for readers what your favorite holiday looks like behind bars.  It doesn’t necessarily have to be a winter holiday or Christmas.  It can be a spring holiday.  It can be any holiday you want.  You might want to compare it to a holiday long gone, or one never had but dreamed of or observed from afar.  It can be a description of what it looks like from your vantage point, start to finish.  It can be a combination of past and present.  It can be ways you’ve found to create a taste of what it means to you. 

That’s the theme of this writing contest:  What Does Your Favorite Holiday Look Like From There? 

I say it all the time – be vulnerable.  That may mean writing about your own insecurities. 

Only those who are incarcerated are eligible to participate. 

We can’t accept anything that has been previously published.

Submission is free – BUT, even if an entry doesn’t win, we consider entry permission to publish and edit.  Sometimes we get so many excellent entries, they can’t all win, but they need to be shared.

Entries should be 1,000 words or less.

Submissions can be handwritten.

As done in our previous contests, I will narrow down the entries to the top ten, and then hand them off to individuals to rate the writing with a point system to determine winners.

PRIZES: 

First Place:  $75
Second Place:  $50
Third Place:  $25

DEADLINE:  November 30, 2020.  Decisions will be posted on or before December 31, 2020.

MAILING ADDRESS:

Walk In Those Shoes
Writing Contest Entry
P.O. Box 70092
Henrico, Virginia  23255

As always – I’m excited to see what comes in!

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Views From The Inside

Regardless Of Our Flaws

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Dear Sugar Baby,

Sometimes the lines get blurred, and I don’t know which of us is saving the other.  I have no idea what you’ve been through, where you’ve been, or where you are going, but when I met you, I knew it was my job to do the best I could for you. What you don’t know is, while I’m teaching you the skills to succeed, you are doing the same for me.

Thank you for having the patience to teach me patience and for never complaining, even though we all have bad days.  Thank you for showing me that regardless of our flaws we can love and be loved. I’ve been known to put my life on the edge, self destruction the product of my decisions, but I cannot allow that while your precious life is in my hands.

You’ve never cared about my past, what I look like or what I have.  You just look at me with those beautiful green eyes, your tail waggin’, simply happy with the moments we share together in our 6’ x 9’ home.

Thank you for training me Sugar Baby.   I’ll miss you.

Josh

I am one of many trainers, and Sugar Baby is one of many dogs.  The Colorado Prison Trained K-9 Companion Program has given many individuals the opportunity to see the change they can create.  Just like us, some of these dogs have been hurt, abandoned, and lack the knowledge they need to succeed. Also like us, some of them are on their last chance.  We invest ourselves, 24 hours a day, to provide them with the socialization skills, obedience training and love they need.

To take a scared, hurt, or distrustful being and teach them to become a fun, loving and playful part of someone’s family, sometimes in weeks, shows us what we are capable of.  The dogs we get to care for are amazing and they teach us how amazing we are along the way.  If they can turn out so wonderful, then we can too.

You can find out more about our program at www.coloradocelldogs.com

Joshua Kenyon with another dog he has worked with.

ABOUT THE WRITER.  Mr. Kenyon is currently living behind bars, but as Sugar Baby would tell you, he is capable of positively impacting the world. Without question – there should be more programs like this. Joshua Kenyon can be contacted at:

Joshua Kenyon #150069
21000 Hwy 350 E
Model, CO 81059

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Juvenile Justice, Views From The Inside

A Pocket Full Of Hope

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I’ve never thought of myself as extra ordinary.  Like many born into a family of poverty, I desired more than I’d been shown in my life.

In my family the acme of success was my uncle who’d been hired by the state as a janitor in my grade school.  The job came with benefits, union wages, and security.  He helped two of his brothers get jobs as well – one of the rare times I’d seen the slow moving man smile.

When people discover I’ve been in prison more than thirty-two years on a ninety year non-homicide sentence – I was seventeen years old at the time – they assume I made some bad decisions.  I point out people’s moves in life can only be judged by their options at the time, and their eyes climb their foreheads in shock, as if to say, “Surely, you had better options than to shoot someone!”

On a rare occasion, I’ll see a head tilt to the side, a body’s way of reflecting the brain’s strenuous attempt to see an issue, the world, me? from a different angle.

Sadly, if there is one thing visible in me, it’s my anger.  Most people who live in a cage as long as I have come to a place where, for the sake of sanity, a balance has to be struck that allows reason.  I’ve always rejected it, that tipping point between the retention of hope, the most valuable of things seen and unseen, on one side and the slow carving off of pieces of myself as I sit on the opposite scale.  

Some give chunks of their souls away in an attempt to boost the economy.  The more you have, the more you spend, right, hoping it may come back around…  Call it karma, or simply planting different seeds in the hope of just a little rain, the effort and sacrifice no less noble because of its desperation or timing.  Outside of either, few will lay so much of themselves on the alter for another.

Some toss pieces of self on the fiery blaze of their rage, seeking to stave off the icy bleakness of reality through violence, drugs, and homosexuality, anything to dodge being deprived of human touch and love, the ever thirsty phantoms of hope.

So, my little cousin paroled today with tears in his eyes and a very detailed business plan that I helped him with.  I’ve studied for more than fifteen years now, connecting dots of knowledge to create plans that I may never touch myself.  I pray I have done all I can to teach him how to do the same for himself.   We fought three times before I had his attention, each blow given and received costing me another piece of myself.

I sent him back to a family of poverty, the same one that once set my options before me, but this kid had all the hope that I could give in his pocket.  Don’t worry.  I’ll find more somewhere…  After all, what are any of us worth without it? 

ABOUT THE WRITER. When a gifted writer submits their work to WITS, it is the fuel that keeps this going. Writing that shares the human heart is what we look for, which is exactly what Mr. Jones shared with us. Mr. Jones has served 32 years for a crime he committed when he was seventeen years old. He can be contacted at:
DeLaine Jones #7623482
777 Stanton Blvd.
Ontario, OR 97914

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Views From The Inside

Hope Is My Story

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My name in high school was Rod T. Bridges.  My buddies and I were frequently bored, living in our small East Idaho town, but it was the ‘70’s.  We had our own little gang with our own little pseudonyms.  Gas was cheap and our cars were fast.  We had one stoplight and a decent movie theatre until the local proprietor burned it to the ground and collected the insurance money – or so the story went. 

We grew up Mormon, but we still had our wild streaks.  We discovered beer and girls just like every other red-blooded American boy.  We shot at road signs and broke a few hearts, but we were mostly naïve.  Our gang of six are all now pushing sixty, at least those of us who are left.  Rick (Dicky P.) shot himself after two failed marriages.  Danny (Lanny S.) hung himself, battling homosexual demons.

Muggy just retired from thirty years of FBI service.  Lance (Vance C.) put in thirty years at the D.O.E.  David (Dana Z.) spent thirty years flying tandem paragliders in Aspen.  And I, Rod T., am nineteen years into a life sentence for premeditated murder.

Nobody could have predicted our fates.  We went our separate ways after high school.   I had to see the world and started to as a missionary in Japan.  I guess the promise of small town stability with my high-school sweetheart just didn’t appeal to me.  She married pick #2, and they are still together.  Go figure.

Too bad I can’t go back and marry Laurie.  But here I am.  Prison has taught me a lot about myself I probably wouldn’t have learned any other place.  Circumstances can make or break a person.  I’ve chosen to befriend my situation.  My incarceration has had its ups and downs, but I’m stable now.  I have a job, a newfound faith in Christ, and a stringent exercise routine – my life is a balance of these three elements.

I’ve been compelled to share my story of my lifelong struggle with obesity.  I continue to blame the ‘fat gene’, whether it exists or not.   I had to hit rock bottom mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually before finally overpowering my demon. But here’s the thing – it never ends. The demon may lie dormant for a spell, we might temporarily subdue the dragon by sheer force of will.  These battles can be won, but the war continues.  We must be ever vigilant.

I lost a monumental 114 pounds over the course of fifteen months while trapped in a 6’x9’ cell.  It happened accidentally and on purpose. I marvel still at the change which took place within me.  I still have the excess skin to serve as a reminder.  I still shudder with fear when my weight starts to creep upward.  But I overcame.  I am overcoming.  And I will continue to overcome.

Hope is my story.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Mr. Briggs wrote in to a writing contest not long ago, and what was apparent from that submission was the honesty and vulnerability in his writing. He has since shared with us a book project he is working on. The above piece is the introduction to that book, and I hope we get to share the final product when it is complete. Mr. Briggs can be contacted at:

Todd R. Briggs #66972
Idaho State Correctional Center, G Block
P.O. Box 70010
Boise, Idaho 83707

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Views From The Inside

Potholes

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I wish there was a positive way to clear people’s distorted perceptions – without making enemies of them.  I wish there was a way people could realize their own flaws and laugh at them, while inspiring change.   Some roads just are bumpier than others, and some of us keep hitting the same bump over and over.  And then, sometimes, we adjust our actions to prevent us from being on that same road and hitting that same bump – no job, no home, divorce, prison, whatever the personal ‘pothole’ seems to be. 

I’m doing the best I can, given the circumstances.  I’m a ‘master handler’ in the Prison Trained Canine Companion Program.  I just completed an Entrepreneurial Operations course and got accepted to Phi Theta Kappa Honor Society.   

Often the advice given is that which is best taken, and I’m following my best advice.  I’m becoming who I want to be. 

ABOUT THE WRITER. Mr. Kenyon is a first time writer here, and I’m very glad he has joined us. I hope we hear more from him, and I hope we get to hear more regarding the positive impact of the canine program he is a part of. Joshua Kenyon can be contacted at:
Joshua Kenyon #150069
21000 Hwy 350 E
Model, CO 81059

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Harsh Sentences, Views From The Inside

Why Does Justice Pass Me By?

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I was sixteen years old when I came to prison, and now I am forty.  I was sentenced to two hundred forty one years for robbing a group of people while I was a teenager. 

I still believe in justice.  I read about it.  I see wealthy people and those who have family connections get it.  It just doesn’t apply to all of us in here.  Some of us haven’t experienced it.  She eludes us, this justice.  The statue of the Lady of Justice furnished in the courtrooms is blindfolded… How is it then, that her scales are tipped for us?

Do we ever deserve a second chance? 

“Bobby Bostic, you will die in the department of corrections.  You do not go to see the parole board until 2201, nobody in this courtroom will be alive in the year 2201.”
– Judge Evelyn Baker

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

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