By: Willie Johnson
Admin note: This was the last letter sent and was originally written in November 2010 however for various reasons, there was a delay in posting this entry.
When I first came to prison, I was nineteen yeas old, convicted of manslaughter and sentence to eight years. I knew people who served time. But I had no idea of what to expect while serving time. So I basically had to play it by ear. I can still remember the bus ride to the reception center. All I could think about was making my mark. The first person that rubbed me the wrong way was going to be an example. That’s how I handled things on the street, and that’s how I was planning on handling things in the pen. When the bus pulled into the processing area I was removed and taken to the holding cage, where I was stripped of all my personal belongings and issued a fish kit, consisting of state clothes, sheets, blankets and a few toiletries. It was at that moment I realized that my life would be different. For most of my life I had taken care of myself. Whenever I needed something I would just go get it. By hook or crook I would get whatever I needed. But now things were different. Now I had to depend on complete strangers who I held responsible for imprisoning me in the first place. So my first reaction was not to ask or accept any favors from anyone. I can still remember my first trip to the chow hall and how I reacted when I had to stand in line to eat dinner. That was one of my first humiliating moments. There I was standing in a warehouse with several hundred individuals, waiting to eat. It was a scene right out of the great depression. Where people had to stand in soup lines in order to get a meal. Or even worse, a scene out of the German Nazi camps, where everyone was dressed alike, waiting to get some food. To make matters worse the food was terrible. I had to pick through it just to get a morsel to eat. The only time I remember eating something close to a meal was on Sundays when we were allowed to eat fried chicken and potatoes. What I ended up doing was getting a job in the kitchen. That way I had access to where they kept the good food. In order to stay healthy I would steal food from the kitchen warehouse where they kept all the ingredients for what would eventually become stew. I would steal everything from roast beef to homemade cookies, some of which I sold to other inmates, but most of which I kept for myself.
Admin note: This was the last letter sent and was originally written in November 2010 however for various reasons, there was a delay in posting this entry.
When I first came to prison, I was nineteen yeas old, convicted of manslaughter and sentence to eight years. I knew people who served time. But I had no idea of what to expect while serving time. So I basically had to play it by ear. I can still remember the bus ride to the reception center. All I could think about was making my mark. The first person that rubbed me the wrong way was going to be an example. That’s how I handled things on the street, and that’s how I was planning on handling things in the pen. When the bus pulled into the processing area I was removed and taken to the holding cage, where I was stripped of all my personal belongings and issued a fish kit, consisting of state clothes, sheets, blankets and a few toiletries. It was at that moment I realized that my life would be different. For most of my life I had taken care of myself. Whenever I needed something I would just go get it. By hook or crook I would get whatever I needed. But now things were different. Now I had to depend on complete strangers who I held responsible for imprisoning me in the first place. So my first reaction was not to ask or accept any favors from anyone. I can still remember my first trip to the chow hall and how I reacted when I had to stand in line to eat dinner. That was one of my first humiliating moments. There I was standing in a warehouse with several hundred individuals, waiting to eat. It was a scene right out of the great depression. Where people had to stand in soup lines in order to get a meal. Or even worse, a scene out of the German Nazi camps, where everyone was dressed alike, waiting to get some food. To make matters worse the food was terrible. I had to pick through it just to get a morsel to eat. The only time I remember eating something close to a meal was on Sundays when we were allowed to eat fried chicken and potatoes. What I ended up doing was getting a job in the kitchen. That way I had access to where they kept the good food. In order to stay healthy I would steal food from the kitchen warehouse where they kept all the ingredients for what would eventually become stew. I would steal everything from roast beef to homemade cookies, some of which I sold to other inmates, but most of which I kept for myself.
Then there was the problem of having to share a cell with another person. This was one of my main problems for years. Not only because of the size of the cell, but also because of the people I was forced to cell up with. I stabbed my first cellmate. Because he thought I was scared of him, he would trip on every little thing I did. Like for example: I had the top bunk bed. In order for me to get to my bed, I had to step on the toilet. So one day he bitched about me stepping on the toilet. Although I wasn’t feeling that I decided to use his bunk to get on my bed. Still tripping, he told me not to do that. So one day I booby-trapped the room while he was gone. I got a knife from my friend and placed cups of liquid bleach around the cell. When Dude came back, I made it a point to step on the toilet. When he started to complain I confronted him. Before he could get up from the bed I threw the bleach in his face and begin to stab him. I’m not going to lie, I was scared as hell. Not only because the guy outweighed me by fifty pounds, but also because I didn’t plan how it would end. And it was a big relief for me when the guy began to plead for his life. That was the only reason I stopped stabbing him. The good thing about it all was that I didn’t know what I was doing, so none of his injuries was life threatening. But he did eventually tell the cops and they locked me up in the hole, where my negative behavior got worse. When I first got to the hole, the cops put me next to a guy who had mental issues. I mean, the guy would stay up all night long screaming at the top of his lungs. And whenever someone asked him to hold it down, he would curse them out. All of that was fine and dandy with the police. They loved the fact that Dude kept everyone restless. But when he turned on them they set him up to be killed. What happened was, one day at breakfast Dude got upset because there were no eggs on his tray. And when the police wouldn’t give him any, he threw a concoction of piss and shit in an officer’s face. Instead of the officer getting the guy himself, he paid some inmates to do his dirty work. That’s when I realized that everything in prison is not as it seems.
In my mind the police were our common enemy. But here it was, inmates doing the dirty work for some prison cop. I mean, I didn’t like the fact that Dude kept me up during the night. But I would be damned if I let the police manipulate me into doing something to another prisoner. What makes matters even worse is that most of the guys being used by the police are supposed to be stand up guys. So you can only imagine the impression that cast in my mind. But the good thing about it is that I lived through the experience. And I eventually got out of prison.
I was only out for five days before I got framed, convicted and sentenced to death. I know a lot of people reading this would like to know how that transpired. But because I’m going to through an appeal process I don’t think it’s in my best interest to elaborate on my case. What I can say is that the second actual innocent hearing I’ve been given since I’ve been on death row is coming up. And the justice system is not kind to those who try to win their appeals through public opinion. So I’m going to stick with my observations of what’s going on behind the walls. Which I know I could never give a complete description of. But I hope that by writing this letter I can help someone who finds themselves in this position so they can cope with the trials and tribulations that lay ahead. In a lot of respects, Death Row isn’t no different than any other place you have been in life. The only exception being you are mostly dealing with people of the same sex. Whereas if we were on the street, we would have access to our feminine counterparts, who I think present a whole nother perspective on life. So I think a person in this situation should make an effort to build a relationship with someone of the opposite sex, if not for the physical contact, then for the mental stimulation. Because, in my mind, there’s nothing more unnatural than to be around men twenty four seven.
Then there’s the psychological warfare that the prison staff and inmates play with you on a regular basis. Which I think can be counter-balanced by studying books that deal with human nature. For example, history, psychology, anatomy and physiology, etc… subjects like these will help you get a better grasp of what you are dealing with. I can still remember cats would ask me why I read books. After all, I was sentenced to be executed. All I could tell them at the time was, “it makes me feel good.” But as I reflect back on those times, I realize it was much more than just a feeling. My real reason for reading so many books was a need to know. Although I graduated from high school I never got a full understanding of what was taking place in the real world. I had a real superficial understanding of the intricate forces governing my life. So by studying books I got a clearer picture about what’s going on. Doing so helped me to deal with living on Death Row. You will be surprised by how much positive energy you will get from knowledge. It’s something like a sense of freedom. But more like learning to deal with incarceration. I’m always amazed by how energetic I feel on a daily basis. I can’t wait to learn something new. So I hope those who find themselves on Death Row consider what I am saying. And learn to love learning. Otherwise you may find yourself dwelling on being in prison. Don’t get me wrong. Being on Death Row is something that should get your attention. But it’s not something that should occupy your every thought. At least that’s the way I see it. I have seen cats lose their minds because they couldn’t deal with the thought of being locked up. Some have even killed themselves, thinking that they are better off dead. That’s all a part of how prison is designed. Prison is designed to break individual’s spirit and make them feel like something less than human. It’s the same with all institutions of oppression, designed to dominate and control your very existence. And keep you from realizing your true potential. This is one of the things you will learn on your journey through the belly of the beast. So keep your head up and stay strong!
Willie Johnson
#C-35635 1EY51
San Quentin State Prison
San Quentin, CA 94974
© Copyright 2010 by Thomas Bartlett Whitaker. All rights reserved
