Fred Catano, 71, is scheduled to parole from San Quentin this month, after serving 53 continuous years behind bars. He was one of about 190 prisoners remaining in custody of the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation, serving an outdated seven-years-to-life sentence for murder, according to public records.

Catano arrived in prison with a sentence of death, but that was commuted in 1972. “Those were the years I hated myself,” he said. The CDCR records show he appeared before the state parole board 13 times, but he said the number is 25.

Before Catano returned to society, he conversed with Warden Chance Andes in a videotaped sit-down interview. The two would have been called “Convict” and “Cop,” respectively, when Catano had entered the penal system—a decade before Andes was born. Under the California Model, they spoke more as resident and superintendent.

“I walk and talk to everyone,” said Andes. “That’s how I do my temperature check. Fred (Catano) had a different story.”

Andes said he struck up a conversation with Catano and discovered he had a “B” number, an identification number from the 1970s. Having discovered that fact, Andes said he knew Catano’s prison experience was different from most. During their interview, Andes said he wanted to highlight two main messages: A story of Catano’s 53 years of incarceration and a story about accountability.

“I consider this an honor that (Andes) wants to speak to me,” said Catano, who was called from the recreation yard for the scheduled interview atop the fifth floor of San Quentin’s medical building.

“We didn’t mess up your workout, did we?” Andes asked Catano with a smile.

Catano smiled back, shook Andes’s hand and said, “I’ll do double tomorrow.” 

The observation from the fifth floor gave Catano pause as he stood on the balcony and gazed at the panoramic view of Mt. Tamalpais. It was his first visit to that floor. “This is a beautiful view,” he said in contemplation of freedom. “It was a little overwhelming. It’s like I was already out there.”

“Has it really kicked in that in 26 days you’ll be leaving?” Andes asked.

Catano reflected on his arrival at San Quentin, and on his past. Initially, he did not appreciate his move to San Quentin from Valley State Prison in Chowchilla, Calif. “When I came here I was mad at the world,” he said. “I tried to go back.”

Upon his arrival at San Quentin, Catano said correctional sergeant Gaitan would not allow him to transfer back out, so he wanted to be sent to administrative segregation. “‘Get used to this place,’” he said Gaitan told him. 

Andes said, some new arrivals say, “San Quentin is not all that.” Like Catano, they want to leave, too. “But (then) they want more.”

“They (the inmates) struggle because they’re not ready,” said Catano. He  also struggled with his gang lifestyle, but he admitted, “Little by little, that criminal lifestyle started to change.

“If I’m going to be here, I’m going to make the best of it,” said Catano. That’s when his rehabilitative journey began. He said he showed up at self-help groups of which he was not a part, because he knew they worked.

“Sergeant Gaitan did me a favor,” said Catano.

“Andes always calls me over to speak to tours,” said Catano. “When they allow me to have a platform like that, it’s a privilege. I’ve been to many institutions and I’ve never seen a warden like him.”

“I didn’t start programming until I came here,” said Catano. “It all happened here at San Quentin. This place here is what changed me—programs and stuff.”

Another inspiration for Catano’s change arose from a conversation. “My daughter was a pivotal point in my life.” He said she had told him his gang did not have the key to let him out of prison.

“The environment here is really special,” said Catano. “You don’t have to put on a mask. Here, I could be myself—the best version of myself. Homeboys could see Fred (Catano). Family couldn’t see the beast. I don’t like who I used to be.”

“I think he gets it,” said Andes. “He got a [parole] date at San Quentin.” 

Last year’s public record request revealed that the CDCR was holding 83 prisoners convicted of murder for more than 50 years. Like Catano, they are serving seven years to life, with the possibility of parole.

“I want people to know I hit rock bottom,” said Catano. “I didn’t know how to change. I didn’t want to change.” He said at San Quentin, he saw people from his past and how much they had changed. To him, they appeared happy. “I would hate for anybody to do as much time as I did.”

A January 2025 Bureau of Justice Statistics report (for 2018), on time served in state prison before initial release, based on 44 states, showed the median time served for murder is 17.5 years. 

Catano said, “I’ve spoken to about 20 groups since I was found suitable.” He has spoken of the many opportunities to go home from San Quentin. He said he wanted others to say, “If Fred (Catano) can do it, I can do it.”