I had a plethora of ‘special visits’ within the past week – four visitation days filled with two different people, for a total of sixteen hours.  Had I not been awarded such visits from caring friends, I would have spent those hours within a defeat filled prison cell.

During those four hours of conversation, topics range from favorite TV shows – they liked Mork & Mindy, I liked Punky Brewster – to cartoons like the Smurfs, Care Bears, Voltron, and Underdog – a classic.

We talk about food, although my guests are all vegans.  They talk about nuts and crackers, while I ask, “Where’s the beef?”  When they buy me snacks, they refuse to eat in front of me.  No one likes getting food stuck in their teeth around me – what’s up with that?

We discuss politics, books read, family issues and jobs.  We talk about their dealings just as much as mine, and we will cover a wide range of wild and mundane topics.  At some point the unavoidable will arise, though I try to avoid it – my pending execution/murder.  After all, it’s the reason we are ‘here’.  It’s why our sailing ships crossed paths within the massive sea of interactions.

My friend, Mary, is from England where they drive on the wrong side of the road, though she begs to differ.  It’s where they say ‘arse’ instead of ass.  Can you imagine Cardi B singing about her ‘arse’?  Just don’t sound right.  Mary comes from a land where Mary Poppins isn’t a myth – rather a legend.  When she told her family and friends that she was coming to America to visit a man on Texas death row they asked, “Have you gone mad (lost your mind)?”

People often ask me if I am mad.  Bitter.  I’m not pretentious by nature, and what you see is exactly what you get.  So – in the tone of my cussing pastor and actor, Samuel L. Jackson, “You damn right I get mad and bitter!”  Even though hardly anyone ever sees that in me. 

“Chucky, I have one more question.  I would like to know just as the people of England would like to know – how do you stay so strong?  How can you stay smiling and positive?”

It’s a fair question.  One I’m often asked.  And, bravado has it’s place – but not in my story.  To put on a brave face would make a mockery of the struggle of being isolated all day for decades without the touch of another human being’s skin.  It is written, ‘It is not good for man to be alone.’  I guess my oppressors didn’t get that memo.  How do I stay strong?  I pointed to her through the glass, to her surprise.  “Me?”

“You and people like you.” 

It’s not lost on me that it’s not easy entering a prison to come visit me. I understand the money and time so freely given to afford me a few hours of comfort.  I’m always grateful for it.  We are all – literally – strangers from different cultures, with different likes and different social economic norms.  The thought that strangers come to my aid and show me what love is – is humbling.  Without my friends, I would be nothing…  Nothing.

I draw strength from the acts of others who display a courage and unmanacled devotion on a scale that I can never fully comprehend.  I think about how busy their lives are and how they still find the time to think about me and write me.  They visit me knowing they are going to be made uncomfortable by guards. 

I think about my friend, Debbie, who was diagnosed with brain cancer and lung cancer and has undergone multiple surgeries within the past year. She has been a constant in my life since 2004.  And when she was told I lost my final appeal she argued with the doctor to discharge her so she could fly to see me and offer comfort so I wouldn’t feel alone. 

I think about my play-daughter and her mom and how they have enriched my life by adopting me into their family.  They are two of the greatest humanitarians my eyes have ever witnessed – and they shed tears for me and the injustice that has befallen me for two decades.  Some people have seen Gandhi, Mandela, Sojourner Truth, Dr. King and so on – to them, they are heroes.  My play-daughter and her mother are my icons, my heros – my angels.  If I don’t live to see another day, I know I have been cared for by people that are greater than this life.

Then there’s Mary.  She’s laughter.  She’s Lucille Ball funny and one of the most non-judgmental people there is.  She’s a great religious orator and an advocate for children who have been abused or suffer mental illness. She is a fascinating person and a genuine friend, as well as her husband.

These people are the core of my support group and the source of the strength others see in me.  If I’m strong, it’s because I have been shown and taught what strength looks like and feels like.  I am strong because I have been loved freely by those who so freely love.  That’s strength. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Charles “Chucky” Mamou is living on Death Row in Texas.  He is out of appeals and has always maintained his innocence.

He can be contacted at:
Charles Mamou #999333
Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53
3872 South FM 350
Livingston, TX 77351

Writing By Charles Mamou