The Evolution Of A Witness Statement – Securing A Conviction

The key piece of evidence in a capital murder case leaves one wondering how much of a trial is built on the talent of a prosecution to ‘paint a picture’ – and how much is based on reality.

Charles Mamou was sentenced to die twenty years ago in Harris County, Texas, for the death of Mary Carmouche.  He was black, tried in a county that sentenced people to death at an unrivaled rate, and couldn’t afford an attorney of his choosing.  When the courts determined his fate, people went on with their lives, assuming justice had been done. 

But had it?

The victim had been present at a drug deal that went terribly wrong, her body later found by a utility worker.

There were several people involved in the drug deal that took place that night, including one man who died at the scene.  Those who survived were evasive when questioned by police – all but one.  One of the drug dealers was very cooperative and investigators interviewed him at length. The young man was Charles Mamou’s very own cousin – a man the prosecution referred to repeatedly, arguing that the accused’s own family testified against him.  Why would his own family lie?

What’s more bizarre than why a twenty-one year old drug dealer being looked at in a capital murder case would lie – is why someone will be executed on the weight of his testimony.  Dodson had a lot to say – not a lot of it matched facts.  But without a weapon, an eye witness, DNA, any physical evidence connecting Mamou to the crime scene – they wanted a ‘confession’.  Watching the video today, twenty years later, it’s clear the ‘confession’ used to convict Charles Mamou was riddled with inconsistency.

Terrence Dodson started out by assuring investigators he would never be involved in a drug transaction.

Terrence Dodson said he just wanted to go home and not be involved with any type of illegal activity.

Those original statements directly contradicted what he later said at trial.

Q: And how did you come to meet him or be with him that morning?
A: Well, he gave me a call and told me that he had a lick for a key. So I said, come get me.

Q: What did you think was actually going to happen?
A: That they was going to bring the kilo, we were going to bring newspaper, and we was going to rob them.
Q: What was your part going to be?
A: My part in the robbery?
Q: Right.
A: To rob them.
Q: With what?
A: With a gun.
Q: You had a gun?
A: Yeah, I had it on me.

Q. What if there is more than one or two people there? Is that going to be a problem for you?
A. No, not really.
Q. You’re comfortable going in a situation like that with a gun, and if somebody shows you the dope, you just going to take the dope?
A. Pretty much.

Over and over, Terrence Dodson testified to his involvement in the drug deal, contradicting his original statement to police.

When Terrence Dodson first spoke to police on Wednesday, December 9, 1998, it took over an hour. He was asked several times what day Charles Mamou had left Houston for his home in Louisiana. Dodson told investigators Mamou left on Monday, December 7.

Although Dodson said Mamou left on Monday, according to the Houston Police Department’s own incident report – Charles Mamou left Houston on Tuesday, December 8, 1998.

Then, Dodson told investigators about the ‘confession’ – which he said took place in a phone call from Charles Mamou on Tuesday morning – from Louisiana. It would have been hard for Mamou to call Dodson from Louisiana on Tuesday morning – because the investigation’s own witnesses stated Mamou was actually in Houston on Tuesday morning, but that didn’t concern investigators, the prosecution or his defense attorney. Mamou had actually spent Monday night in the apartment of one of the prosecution’s own witnesses, Howard Scott.

Terrence Dodson then proceeded to share what he says was a confession to murder.

In his statement to police, Terrence Dodson shares a story of Mamou calling him on Tuesday morning from Louisiana, when in reality Charles Mamou wasn’t even in Louisiana, and confessing to him in one phone call. Months later, at trial, he told a different story.

Q. Now, when you are having this conversation with the defendant later on – says, ‘Later on I spoke with Charles’ – are you face to face?
A. Yes.
Q. Where are you?
A. On the porch.
Q. Whose porch?
A. Stephanie’s porch, my sister.
Q. Now you gave a whole lot of information in response to the prosecutor’s questions about conversations you had with Charles and go into detail about the jack on jack and these guys with a Bible. There was a shoot-out and goes into detail about where the people were shooting and everything. And then, also talking about the girl had been shot, that they had been outside. And he asked you about talking with Detective Novak, and she supposedly had performed oral sex on him. When do you get that information? What time is that?
A. I don’t really recall. I got, like I said, bits and pieces in person.

Q. Is it one conversation or several?
A. It was several.
Q. Over what period of time?
A. I don’t really recall, a couple of days.
Q. So, it’s not just Monday, it’s Monday and Tuesday?
A. To the best of my knowledge, yeah.

Yet – in his taped statement – Dodson claimed Charles confessed to him in one phone call on Tuesday morning from Louisiana, a time when Charles Mamou wasn’t in Louisiana.

Friends and relatives of Mamou’s have told me Mamou would never have shared his business with his cousin, Terrence. But, Terrence was willing to testify to a confession, so he was very valuable in the investigation – even with an odd version of events that didn’t match any of the available information or witness accounts. He even said the drug deal shooting began inside the car. As everyone knows – including the witnesses, police, prosecution and defense – it didn’t happen inside the car.

The drug deal and shooting actually took place outside the car. And none of the people there described a bag of money being thrown back and forth. That version is far from believable, even without any of the witnesses. But Terrence Dodson was giving investigators a confession, no matter how far-fetched it might sound. Not only was it a ‘confession’ it was one by a cousin – why would a cousin lie?

With regard to the victim – Dodson had an even more bizarre story to tell. One moment he described the girl as ‘scared’ and his cousin was trying to calm her down – and in the next moment he actually told investigators that she said, “I ain’t fixin to suck your dick for under $300.”

The victim’s body was later found in a neighborhood Charles Mamou, who was from Louisiana, would not have been familiar with, in the backyard of a house that was for sale. That is not how Terrence described the location though. He said in his statement that it was behind some abandoned houses, some for sale houses.

At one point it seemed the investigators were trying to help him include something they wanted him to add to his statement.

Again – the detective appeared to want this detail in the statement and again asked the leading question.

There wasn’t much about Dodson’s statement that lined up with what the other parties involved had to say. Even Dodson’s description of Mamou’s sunglasses that the prosecution presented as being connected to Mary. The glasses were nearly five miles from the body – but that was never told to the jury. In Dodson’s version of the story – the glasses were broken, ‘lenses gone and everything’. Anthony Trail and Charles Mamou, who had no reason to lie about the condition of glasses, both described the glasses as not being broken, and they were the ones who picked them up.

Terrence Dodson spoke to police for over an hour. A month after this statement to police was made, he wrote a letter to his cousin, Charles Mamou, who was in prison. In the letter he wrote:

“I’m glad you didn’t tell me shit about that cause I don’t wanna know shit, I feel better off that way.”

Charles Mamou was repeatedly accused of sexual assault during the trial and has repeatedly asked for any DNA testing that should have taken place if there was a sexual assault, as he knows it wouldn’t match him.

During the punishment phase of Mamou’s trail, autopsy photos of individuals other than Mary were shared, as well as testimony from family members of other murder victims. Charles Mamou has never been tried for any other murder.

I have tried to contact Terrence Dodson on several occasions, but he has not responded.

Charles Mamou is out of appeals and currently awaits an execution date.

Anyone with information regarding this case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net.  Anything you share with me will be confidential.

TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU:
Charles Mamou #999333
Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53
3872 South FM 350
Livingston, TX 77351

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Forgiveness

Forgiveness was something I had to learn in order to move forward.  It took me a while to realize, I also had to forgive myself.  For too long, I kept punishing myself for my failure, for my loss, and for not being a better man.  Unfortunately, the more I punished myself the more I messed up my life.   I was stuck in a self-destructive cycle that kept me from being a better person. 

I’ve forgiven myself, and I’m working to become a better person – someone deserving of the forgiveness and trust of my loved ones and the people I’ve hurt.  There’s no way I can change my past, nor erase my misdeeds, but I can work towards a better future and keep my lessons in mind so I don’t fall back into that self-destructive mentality.  I know it won’t be easy and it has not been easy, but I can only take it a day at a time and pray I’m strong enough to not stumble.  If I do, I hope to have the fortitude to stand back up.  This journey has not been easy, but I have learned and have been blessed to have many good people on the way that have shown me that I can earn the trust and respect of people by my actions without being judged solely for my past. 

Though I have many regrets, my faith and hope in a better future help me stay strong and not give up.  There’s a long road ahead of me, and I can only keep going and learning.  Forgiving myself and forgiving the people who have wronged me has prepared me to start on this road to redemption.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:  Jorge Garcia is a poet and currently working on his first book.  He can be contacted at:
Jorge Garcia #1372972
McConnell Unit
3001 S. Emily Drive
Beeville, TX  78102

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Violence Is A Way Of Life Here – From TDCJ

Prison is not only tough on a man physically, it also damages him emotionally and mentally. Being all packed in together the way we are, it’s hard to miss anything happening in your assigned living area, and in my time here, I’ve seen three men commit suicide. 

I once watched as a man leaned out his door and slit his wrists. He died before medical arrived. 

Another time, I was in a dayroom watching TV when a man jumped head first off three row. That’s about forty feet onto cement.  He survived the initial jump, but later died.  

The most haunting suicide was a hanging…  I’ve actually been near for two hangings, but in one I prevented a death, and in the other I was just a bystander.  In 2006 my celly hung himself on the Ellis unit.   I happened to arrive back at the cell while he was suffocating, lifted him up and called for help. He was hospitalized and then placed into mental health care.  I have to laugh when I write the word ‘care’ – that’s a misnomer for sure.    

The man that hung himself and died did so with a day room full of people.  He walked out of his cell on two row, walked onto three row, tied a sheet around the rail and climbed up to perch on it.   He was making demands.  There was something wrong at his family’s place, and he wanted access to a phone.  At that time, there were no phones in TDCJ.  They have since installed some phones for some of the inmates. The officer on the pod responded and tried to tell him that he would help. They argued, and the officer got angry before saying, “You aren’t going to jump anyway.”

…and the inmate jumped.  He dropped about fifteen feet and began choking.  The staff panicked and ran to three row to untie the sheet, which would have dropped him twenty-five more feet to the cement, but they couldn’t untie the knot.  His weight had tightened it. Inmates on two row were trying to hold the hanging inmate but they couldn’t.  He suffocated and died while hanging.  Officers cleared the living area.

My last look at the inmate was seeing him still hanging from the rail twenty minutes after he had jumped.  TDCJ sanitizes a scene like that by shipping most of the inmates off the unit immediately, a few here and a few there, so no reporters or investigators can chase down the facts.

I’ve seen two life ending heart attacks. I watched a man choke to death in the chow hall. I’ve been housed near, but not actually witnessed, several other suicides and attempts. I’ve seen so many stabbings I’ve lost count.  An inmate that gets stabbed finds himself in real trouble.  Medical care here is slow to respond and poorly trained. There are two doctors on staff that work 8 am to 4 pm, and the fact that these doctors are employed by the system allows them to be considered for medical licensing. All the rest of the medical staff are nurse’s or physician’s assistants.  They are able to take vitals and talk to you about chronic pain, but when a man has been stabbed fourteen times in the chest and stomach, they are ill trained to treat him.  These injuries tend to end in death. Usually, medical tries to stabilize the victim while an ambulance is called, and by the time it arrives the inmate is beyond care.  I’ve seen officers stabbed and inmates assaulted by officers. 

Simply put – violence is a way of life in here in the Texas Department of Criminal Justice.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jeremy Robinson is author of The Monster Factory and is currently working on several projects. He can be contacted at:
Jeremy Robinson #1313930
Polunsky Unit
3872 South FM 350
Livingston, TX 77351

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A Letter To My Thirteen Year Old Self

Dear Duck,

You might want to sit down for this.  Being as you’re so young, my intention is to be delicate, but there are some troubling things that need to be disclosed about the path down which you are headed.

Who am I, you ask?  Oh, I’m nobody in particular, though I could’ve been. It’s just that I’ve made some really poor choices in life – kinda like what you’re doing.  Should you continue, well… eventually you may become nobody in particular too.

The things you’re going through that you think no one else understands – I do.  However, I’ve come to learn that other people’s shortcomings are not my excuses, and there’s self-accountability in most blame.  We are all responsible for creating the lives we want for ourselves.  None of us are exempt from that obligation, Duck. No one else determines how you live.

I know that you’re experiencing some household issues that compel you to find acceptance outside your home. Your older brother, Ray, whom you idolize, doesn’t want you tagging along with him anymore. And while you wait enthusiastically around the house for his return, still, he doesn’t notice you.  I know between your mother’s day job and night school, quality time has given way to fatigue.  And while everyone dotes on your cute kid sister, your presence feels passed over.  It makes you envious, and you question your worth.  You feel invisible, as though you don’t matter. You prioritize making friends for the sake of their opinions to validate your importance.  You assume a person’s reputation is the measure of their worth; that fear is ascribed to weakness.  So you smoke, deal drugs, and have unprotected sex simply to gain approval.  But real friends needn’t prove themselves to one another, and fearfulness touches us all. Even the stony looks on the faces of those you so desperately hope to impress, they too have known fear.  We’ve all been afraid, though not everyone has the courage to admit it.  Owning up to our fears is not weak but strong.

Open your eyes, Duck.  You could have a rich, joyous life, if only you would seize it and realize that nothing worth having comes free, it takes dedication and hard work. And yes – having to take ownership over your life at thirteen can be scary, but being a better person is a decision that can only be made by you.  Should you continue to travel down such a callous road of indignities, well… you’ll find yourself one night staring down the barrel of a shotgun while fumbling in your socks for what you hope is enough money to trade for your life.  You’ll have kids who will grow to adults and have no idea who you are. You’ll suffer scorching lead bore through your flesh as you are left in the street for dead.  You will become a slave to your addictions, contract STDs, and erroneously learn to settle domestic disputes with your fist.  You will hold a man’s life in your hands while wielding a powerful sense of judgment at the price of your humanity.  You’ll spend 20 years in a prison cell crying yourself to sleep at night with shame. Your life will be plagued with regrets, and you’ll find that behind closed eyelids, your demons await.

There’s lots of hurt coming your way, Duck.  Trust me – I know.  But there’s also the chance for you to make things different.  The life you want – your dreams and aspirations – they begin and end with you. Don’t let the pain of your poor choices diminish your goodness and exact its toll on your family.  Don’t let the expectations of others determine who you will become.  You’re a wonderfully smart and gifted young man with unworldly potential for greatness, so be someone to be proud of…  don’t be another me.

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

All Posts By Chanton

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Mamou’s Harris County Death Sentence Centered On Questionable Testimony

Charles Mamou has never wavered in declaring his innocence, but the key witness at his trial testified that Mamou ‘confessed’ to him.  In a case without a weapon, or a fingerprint at the scene, or a hair, or a fiber, or DNA, or an eyewitness, or a violent history – the testimony of Terrence Dodson was a key factor in Mamou’s death sentence.  But, in matters of life and death, should claims of ‘confessions’ be held to a reasonable standard of reliability?

Dodson wasn’t just an uninvolved witness.  According to his own testimony, he clearly had reason to be concerned about his well-being.  When asked, “Were you a little concerned about the fact that you might be charged with a crime?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t have that concern now, do you?”

“No.”

Over and over, Dodson maintained his understanding that he had a lot at stake. 

“And at that point in time, what exactly are you thinking at the time that you were picked up by the police?  Is it clear to you that they are looking at you as a suspect for capital murder?”

“Yeah, it was clear to me.”

“So, at that point, is it a fair statement to say you’re very concerned about your future and what might happen to you?”

“Yeah, it’s a fair statement.”

Dodson knew the gravity of the situation and the possible consequences to himself.  That would be enough to make one wonder if his testimony regarding Mamou’s ‘confession’ could be relied upon, but self-preservation wasn’t the only issue that would bring into question everything that Dodson shared in the courtroom.  There were also contrasts between his original statement to police and what he testified to during the trial.     

During the police interview, Dodson repeatedly said he had nothing to do with the drug deal that took place that night.  He simply wanted to go home.

“He told me that he was going to buy a kilo – coke, and I was like, man, take me home because I don’t want to be around the transaction or whatever.”

“So, him and Bud started looking at me saying just chill out man, chill out, man, you are tripping, I was like, man, no, just take me back to the house, that’s all I am asking.”

“And he kept saying, just chill, we got out there.  I’m like, oh man, just take me back.”

“And I am like, just take me back, man, I am not with all that.”

Yet, during the trial, when asked about his involvement in the drug deal, Dodson describes it differently. 

“What was your part going to be?”

“My part in the robbery?”

“Right.”

“To rob them.”

“With what?”

“With a gun.”

“You had a gun?”

“Yeah, I had it on me.”

“So, what is it that you’re supposed to do, you, personally?  What is your role on this jack on jack?  Of  course, you’re not knowing that it’s a jack on jack at that point, are you?”

“Exactly.”

“So, what is your role?  What are you supposed to do?”

“Once I see the dope, I pull out my pistol and take the dope.”

“You’re comfortable going in a situation like that with a gun; and if somebody shows you the dope you just going to take the dope?”

“Pretty much.”

The star witness consistently contradicted himself and his prior recorded statement.  While being questioned by detectives, Dodson described Mamou’s ‘confession’ as taking place in one phone call.

“Ok, and where was he calling you from?”

“He said, Louisiana, but we don’t have a caller I.D., so he said, what’s up?  I said, what’s up?  He said, what’s going on?  I said, there is nothing going on, what’s up?  He said, have been watching the news?  I say, yeah.  He said, man, he just started telling what went down, that he, in so many words, did it, and I like, man, and he told me step by step how it went down.”

Dodson lived in Houston, and Mamou lived in Louisiana.  Dodson told police that after Mamou returned to his home in Louisiana, he called Dodson and confessed.  Yet – at trial, Dodson changed his story, describing how the confession took place differently.  

Now you gave a whole lot of information in response to the prosecutor’s questions about conversations you had with Charles and go into detail about the jack on jack and these guys had a bible.  There was a shoot-out and goes into detail about where the people were shot and everything.  And then, also talking about the girl had been shot, that they had been outside.  And he asked you about talking with Detective Novack, and she supposedly had performed oral sex on him.  When did you get that information?  What time is that?”

“I don’t really recall, I got, like I said, bits and pieces in person.”

“Everything that you said here in court today, you’re attributing to him?”

“Yeah, everything I said that was told to me was told to me by him.”

“It is one conversation or several?”

“It was several.”

“Over what period of time?”

“I don’t really recall, a couple days.”

Terrence Dodson didn’t just contradict himself throughout his statement and testimony.  He also told a version of the drug deal during his statement to police that no one else did.  According to him, Mamou confessed to getting into the Lexus before the shooting.  He clearly describes the violence taking place inside the car.  He also paints a picture of two drug dealers throwing a bag of ‘money’ back and forth between them.

“So the dude that drove the Lexus approached Chuckie or whatever, so this is how we are going to do it, you gonna ride with my boy in my Lexus, and you all do the business and we gonna stay here with Bud or Buk whatever.  So, Chuckie was like, no, no, I don’t even like the way that sounds. So, if I am going to do the business, is going to be with you, because you are the one I talked to.  So the dude must have said, they all loaded up in other words, and the dude told Chuckie we are fixin to do the business down the dark street, so Chuckie said you want to do it in front of Bennigans, but the dude said, it is too hot over here.  So they went down the dark street.  Dude asked Chuckie where is the money?  So, Chuckie said, I got the money, and threw him the paper bag, whatever.  The dude threw it back, so Chuckie said, what’s up?  The dude said, take the money out, I want to see it. Chuckie said the money is right here, threw back at him. Chuckie said, by that time, he see the dude flinch – like moving into his seat.   Chuckie said, he came out with his pistol and was like, man, what’s going on, and the dude was pulling for his.  He said, he just thought something, and shot him up on whatever and burnt off with the girl in the Lexus.”

“His exact words were, shit, I threw him the money, and he threw it back. I threw him the money again, and he threw it back, know what I’m sayin’, and that’s when I threw down to see what’s goin’ on.”

The two witnesses and participants in the drug deal, Charles Mamou, and the police have established that the drug deal and shooting took place outside of the vehicle.  None of the other individuals described a bag being thrown back and forth. 

Not long after Terrence Dodson told the police that Charles Mamou ‘confessed’ to him, he wrote a letter to Mamou.  In it, Dodson once again contradicts himself, writing, “I’m glad you didn’t tell me shit about that, cause I don’t wanna know shit.  I feel better off that way.”

Charles Mamou is currently on death row in Texas and waiting for his execution date. 

Anyone with information regarding this case can contact me at kimberleycarter@verizon.net.  Anything you share with me will be confidential.

TO CONTACT CHARLES MAMOU:
Charles Mamou #999333
Polunsky Unit 12-CD-53
3872 South FM 350
Livingston, TX 77351

Related Articles:   What Does It Take To Get On Texas Death Row;
Texas Death Sentence Clouded By Irrefutable Doubt;
Awaiting Execution – “Have You Ever Felt Like You Can Taste The Future?”;
Because They Can – Execution In Texas;
Letter From Key Mamou Witness Contradicting Testimony;
Testimony Worthy Of An Execution? The Mamou Transcripts – Part I;
The Mamou Transcripts Part II;
The Mamou Transcripts Part III – Death Sentence Built On The Testimony Of Dealers;
The Mamou Transcripts IV;
The Mamou Trial – Was Race A Factor?;
Mamou’s Death Sentence Sealed With Graphic Testimony And Photos – Of Victims Of Crimes He Was Never Charged With

Writing By Charles Mamou

Source:

Harris County, Texas. Charles Mamou, Jr. Vs. The State Of Texas. Sept. 1999.

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Finding ‘Why’ On Texas Death Row

Whether a prisoner of concrete walls, iron bars and razor wire fences, or economic woes, or mental insecurities – everyone is hungry for a ‘why’ to get through one more day.

My name is Charles “Chucky” Mamou, Jr., and I have been a prisoner on Texas Death Row since 1999.  It is here that I found myself a student of my own self, a man whose mental incarceration has been pardoned.  I now see things with clarity, without bias.  I am not the same man I was a decade or so ago.  Now, don’t get it twisted – my imprisonment and death sentence did not bring about such change.  For any person to fully attempt to start the process of change, it has to start with the changing or reforming of one’s own mind. I took a liking to the cliché, ‘You are what you think yourself to be’.

A robber doesn’t walk around thinking what sermon he’s going to preach on Sunday, nor is he singing Amazing Grace to express the joys of his heart.  He’s thinking about his next heist.  But, I’ve come to accept what many deem unthinkable – humans do change!  Some from good to bad.  Many from bad to good.  It all begins with a thought toward a different approach that hasn’t been tried before. 

Life finds meaning through ‘why’ and cautious hindsight that allows us to decipher what is important to each one of us.  For me, such sanity comes from my devotion to my mother, children, family and sincere friends.   More importantly, the devotion they have for me that sustains me.  It keeps me smiling when my face should be caked with frowns.  They help levee my eyes so that my tears do not cause my heart to flood in misery.  They are my ‘whys’ and continue to give me hope for a brighter future. 

My family has allowed me to see the other victims that don’t get much attention in a death penalty system.  The victims who go unnoticed, uncounted, unheard and not spoken enough about.  As much as I understand that it is because of me that the ones I love have become victims, I see an incredible resiliency in them, a beacon that no longer allows my own ignorance to be the master of my mental chaos.

I don’t know what tomorrow is going to bring.  I can only concern myself in the now.  What I learn in the now will allow me to be a better person in the tomorrows that lay ahead – should any tomorrows come to pass.  And, I can smile in this moment, because I am mentally alive.  Indeed, I am stronger and wiser in mind, if nothing else.  Stronger today than I in my yesteryears.

Life isn’t how you see it, it’s how you make it.  We’re here for a reason.  To learn from lessons that are unseen.  We are here for more than McDonalds and the mall.  We are here to love those who adopt hate.  We are here to understand each other without the divide that ignorantly sees some as lesser beings due to the color of their skin, when it’s the content of their character that should be sought.  We are here to rehabilitate the rehabilitatable.  We are here to forgive, even if redemption isn’t feasible.  We are here to seek our meanings, our whys, and make a difference.

This is what I have observed.  If we completely understand self first – then we can understand others.  We are all designed in the same likeness, with the same capacity for peace, love, and respect of ourselves and our fellow brothers and sisters.  This is my understanding.

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

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Out Of Isolation

I got outta solitary confinement – Yay!  They weren’t through with me though.  I expected nothing less…

On the 9th of May I was placed in a modified general population housing unit.  This means more privileges – limited, but a tad bit better than the barbaric isolation I endured for over 700 days.  I pray that my comrades back there are keeping the fight alive and manufacturing hope in a hopeless situation.

On Saturday, June 3rd, I received a fifteen minute phone call.  This was my second in less than thirty days, and I was ecstatic.  As you can imagine, we cherish this time no matter how short or long.  It’s a lifeline, a buoy that keeps us afloat in a sea of endless blue.  Without it, we feel hopeless and fall into despair because of the loneliness.  At least, I do.

The person on the other end of the line and I had some catching up to do.  I’m nearly deaf in my right ear, so I was holding the receiver to my left ear to hear over all the yelling in the wing.   I was on the phone no longer than ten minutes. I know it wasn’t near the end because after fourteen minutes we’re prompted by the operator to hurry up, “You have sixty seconds remaining.”

Mid-convo, I looked over my left shoulder because I felt as if my personal space was being invaded or I was being watched.  I stared into a face that was sun burnt, weathered and covered with liver spots.  “Wrap it up,” the face demanded, filling the small area between us with the acrid smell of a wet ashtray. 

I complied and hung up.  Mind you, well short of my fifteen minutes.  Yet, who cares?  I was elated to have heard my comrade’s voice and learn of his accomplishments. 

“You!” 

‘I have a name,’ I thought.

“Give me your I.D.”

 I handed him my identification card and went to my cell.  I was oblivious to why he needed my I.D.  The young guy that was walking back to our cages with me stated matter-of-factly, “He’s goin’ to write you up.”

‘For what?’  I thought.  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

A few hours later, my cellmate and I were in an intense battle for position.  I flanked, he thwarted. He sacrificed, I capitalized. I attacked, he parried.  Pop!  We nearly knocked the chess board over.

I peeked my head out of my door, and the loud speaker garbled something unintelligible. I was confused, so I looked to my cellmate for help, but he was still studying the board in confusion.

I struggled into my state issued orange jumpsuit that we have to wear in the unit. When I went to the bubble, I was told to go back and see the housing unit Sergeant.  The general population wings were open and in full swing. I was bombarded with questions, handshakes and hugs.  After nearly thirty days out of isolation, I was still catching up with people every day.  It felt good to still be celebrated and relevant after over two years in a box.

After forty-five minutes of waiting, I grew restless. I walked into the back and saw a conduct violation on the desk. I snuck a peek, ‘Refused to get off of the phone’.

‘What?’  I had to catch myself from saying or doing something uncalled for.  One thing I’ve learned is self-control.  I know impulsive decisions can have grave consequences, so I did the best thing possible. I exercised my right not to participate and walked back to my cell.  

But, my heart was beating rapidly, so hard that I felt it in my mouth and heard it in my ears.  In short, I was enraged.  Why did he lie on me?  Maybe it was a mistake.  He must have something against me or he’s making some type of weekly conduct violation quota.  And, YES, some do this more often than you would think. You can never be too hard on ‘us here pris’ners’.

After I calmed and accepted that I would be found guilty and stripped of all phone privileges for two to three weeks, I made a cup of steaming hot java – John Wayne style.  I had no sugar, creamer, or butterscotch candies, so I enjoyed every sip of the bitter fluid just the way it was. It distracted me for the time being. 

My cellmate knew what occurred.  We’ve all experienced the same bull.  We resumed our game. Of course, I took out my anger on the board. I probably shouldn’t have because I – ahem – caught  bloody murder in the middle of my cell floor.  On the board, of course! Checkmate!!!  Come on, you know me better than that, doncha?

On the 17th of June I knew I might get out on the general population yard on the 3rd day of July.  I began safeguarding myself by complaining to medical to obtain a ‘lay-in’.  If they aided me, it would stop them from giving me a conduct violation for something I couldn’t control – I was sleeping through institution counts. We should be standing, but again, I cannot hear.  Sorry, watchu say??? If I got a ‘lay-in’, they’d knock on my door or open it if they needed me. 

If medical knows that I suffer from hearing loss, why is it they don’t tell administration that I need to be prompted, and I’m not just being purposely defiant?  My apologies for rambling. This had to be expressed.   I live in a place that sees me only as a number.  Property.  Free labor.  Not human. 

They have a ‘dog program’ now.  I love puppies and kittens, no doubt about it.  But, the animals sent to be trained by incarcerated persons have more freedom and rights than the very men that nurture them and are advocates for their care.  Is this not odd?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Dr. Tracy Edgar Greer, Jr., D.D.  is a writer, poet, spoken  word artist and qualified religious and spiritual counselor.  He can be contacted at:

Tracy E. Greer #1153032
SCCC-255 W. Hwy. 32
Licking, MO 65542
Email:  Jpay.com

ALL POSTS BY TRACY GREER.

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Homer And Gracie

From 1983 to 1988, the year my dad passed away, I lived on a farm of sorts.  My dad’s property – forty acres in the middle of East Texas.  He called it The Pine Curtain.  He raised pigs, goats, chickens, pheasant and quail.  Geese and ducks lived on the pond.  I accused him of having a petting zoo, because it seemed like the animals considered themselves tenants – not a possible food source.

My dad would let them out, and they’d follow him around, like interns following the lead doctor in a hospital.  Most people would think it was an illusion or trick, but the animals just knew my dad loved them, even though some of them did eventually end up on the menu.

The goats didn’t think of themselves as goats.  They were guests. They were Nubian goats.  The female, Gracie, was black and white, and the male, Homer, was brown and orange.  When dad first brought them home, they were just kids. They’d follow him and eat the grass, meandering around like foreign tourists, “No, thank you, we’re just visiting.”

When they matured, they mated and had little goats.  Two at a time. The little ones would follow my son around when he was four or five, and if anything got near Mike, they’d chase them off.   It wasn’t unusual to see my son digging in the backyard, playing like little boys will, with two small goats standing guard like unpaid babysitters. 

When my dad passed away, my mom had me sell the larger animals, the pigs and goats, because she couldn’t handle the workload.  An older man down the road had goats on his farm and agreed to buy Homer and Gracie.  I warned him Homer was better suited to be penned in or tied so he didn’t cause any damage.  Even though Homer was a goat, he was like a bull in a china shop.

The man assured me that he’d been raising goats all his life and could handle anything Homer had up his sleeve (or hoof).

After about a week, I ran into the man at the local feed store.  He told me he was sorry he didn’t believe me.  He had let Homer roam the house grounds, unsupervised.  The goat had apparently climbed on top of his wife’s car and beat the hood up, kicking in the windshield and eating the vinyl roof.

I asked if he’d done anything to the goat, and he told me he tied Homer up.  He thought about shooting him but admitted that I had warned him, so he didn’t have the heart.

I made Homer’s bail! 

Goats are pretty smart if you raise them from babies, but once in a awhile you get one who is just plain ornery.  But much like people, even goats deserve a chance…

ABOUT THE  AUTHOR.  John is currently doing a two-year set off, after 25 years of incarceration.  He is a frequent contributor as well as author of Life Between The Bars, a unique and heartwarming memoir recognized by Terry LeClerc, “This book is so good because each chapter is short, has a point, doesn’t whine. It’s an excellent book.”  John can be contacted at:
John Green #671771
C.T. Terrell Unit A150
1300 FM655
Rosharon, TX 77583

All Posts By John Green.

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Why Did I Testify? From Death Row, Charles Mamou

My attorneys told me we didn’t need to call any witnesses.  Those intelligent white jury members understand what happened.

I’m no killer, and I was and never will be a rapist.  I never physically hurt anyone who was innocent in my life.  When I refused a plea deal to help them convict the ones they felt were responsible, I became the Kunta – that would never be their Toby.  So they did what they needed to ‘teach me a lesson’.

A few days before my trial began, I sat in the courtroom before the Assistant D.A., Lyn McClellan, and my state-appointed trial attorney, Wayne Hill.   Lyn McClellan was good at sending people to death row and was friends with my attorney – I’ve heard rumor McClellan was the godfather of my attorney’s son.   I guess if it’s true, that makes them practically family.  It wouldn’t surprise me – that’s Harris County, Texas. On that day McClellan turned to me and said, “If it was up to me, I wouldn’t prosecute this case.  It’s clear what happened here.  But it’s not up to me.   My boss wants this case to go through.  I may even lose.”  McClellan’s boss was the legendary Johnny Holmes.

I was arrogantly naïve, thinking the truth would set me free – justice. 

There were subliminal messages being sent before the trial even started.  Referring to the famous O.J. Simpson case, the judge assured jurors that was, “not going to happen here.  This is the real world.  It is not California.”  He compared the job of a juror to, “being a pallbearer at a funeral.”  “And when a child acts out we must discipline that child.  We may not like it, but we have to do it.”  My trial hadn’t even started, and he was telling the jury I was already guilty.  There was no need to over think it.

The finality came during Dodson’s testimony though.  The moment he told the jury I ‘confessed to him’ that I sexually assaulted Mary – women on the jury began to cry and look at me with vengeance.  I had to turn away from one woman’s glare after she took off her glasses and wiped her eyes.  My character was castrated for an act that never happened. 

Before the trial when they questioned me, trying to get me to take a deal – they told me they had DNA.   So, why didn’t they use it?  If they had it, they didn’t use it because it wasn’t mine.  They said I sexually assaulted her – but there was no DNA presented at my trial.  Why? 

I had two defense lawyers.  One was hired a month before the trial began and knew nothing about the strategy or defense in my case.   The people representing me had a letter written by the ‘key’ witness – Dodson – and his initial interrogation video.  They had in their possession evidence to dispute the key witness’s testimony, but they never presented it.  They allegedly ‘misplaced’ that evidence during my trial.  They miraculously found it after I was found guilty.  Dodson said I confessed to him – the letter he wrote said he didn’t know shit.  The jury never saw it.

I didn’t kill Mary.  They had someone testify about me finding my sunglasses after Mary disappeared.   They presented the glasses testimony like a smoking gun.  If the glasses were near the body – I had to be the killer.  What the jury never heard was that the glasses were found nearly five miles away from the body.  I’d dropped them in the grass two days before I ever met Mary and nowhere near where she was found.  My attorneys didn’t tell the jury that either.  Nor were they told how many miles I would have had to have driven that night in a car with a flat tire in order to do what they said I did.  They just listened to the prosecution paint their picture.     

So, why did I testify?  I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t, but after having the media portray me as a drug dealing rapist and murderer, just short of a serial killer, I was tormented so much that I knew if I ever had the chance to set things straight, I would.  If I was going out on lies– I wanted the record to show my mother I didn’t lie.

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

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The Voice

A caged bird sings,
And a condemned man writes.
The only freedom to be had
In a tomb, sealed tight.
But no, not airtight,
Just enough to breathe.
See the mugginess that looms
In the dank lonely room?
Shall it bring you constant misery
For the wrong you have done.
Murderer!
You worthless monster!
The same grief you have caused
Should be exacted on your mama.
O’ but it has,
Just not enough.
Heathenish villain
Who deserves no forgiveness,
And for that we’re going to bring
Out the lethal stuff.
Undo what God has done,
Rid fathers of their sons,
As your souls erode in darkness
Till the day of judgment comes.
And when that day comes,
No tears, nor fears,
Nor uprising peers
Will hinder the injustice
Inflicted on you for years,
From way, way back
On the slave man’s back.
We are all black,
And the distinction of skin color
Is fallacy designed by the elitist
As a means to stay in power.
Watching the seconds tick
As it nears the twelfth hour,
Where preparations are made
And sympathy forbade;
Ain’t nothing
Going on here
But the necessary removal
Of a threat to society.
Placaters
Turned player haters,
Never losing an ounce
Of sleep at night
From knowing that death
Is just a business.
Torture chambers need hosts,
Tax payers foot the cost,
With endless sights of vigil lights
As advocates brave the cold,
Chanting, “No more deaths!”
“No more deaths!”
But there will always be deaths
Till by death there’s no one left,
But the supreme man
And him who understands
That classism
Is about one clan.
Not black, or white
Nor those with the will to fight.
And neither the caged bird that sings
Nor the condemned man that writes.

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

All Posts By Chanton

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Prison Writing and Expression